It wasn’t on purpose.

When he was young, he was so deadset on becoming a surgeon that everything else became an afterthought. He maintained relationships here and there (he wasn’t a saint) but by the time he was an attending none of his girlfriends managed to keep up with his relentless schedule, demanding workload, and emotionally reserved nature.

Truly, he doesn't blame them. He wasn't exactly carving out the time for them either --- too focused on being the best and too single-minded in his career to put any relationship as a priority.

Long story short – good surgeon, bad boyfriend.

And then he woke up and he was 40 years old with a very pissed off mother.

When he reluctantly asked his friends about it, the warnings were immediate and repetitive.

Dating in the modern century is different now. The women are different. Difficult.

Too demanding. Too clingy. Too much.

By the time Yolanda sidelined him quietly with a proposition, he was already dreading the worst and preparing himself to disappoint his mother for the first time in his life.

You were a welcome (gorgeous) surprise.

Yolanda’s friend of a friend of a friend that she set him up with. Something about a ‘sweetie-pie that could just soften you up, big guy’.

What she failed to mention was the noticeable difference in years between the two of you.

He was never one to go for someone young just to compensate for a void in his life or make himself feel better about getting older. Even though he saw the appeal, it was never a requirement. If you had asked him before the date, he would’ve thought dating someone younger was more trouble than it was worth.

But watching you beam as he waits for you by the door of the café he had reserved a table for today’s date, holding a fresh pink bouquet of flowers just because Yolanda mentioned that it was your favorite, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was too confident with that assumption.

“Flowers on the first date? You’re winning me over already.”

He couldn’t help but frown in confusion, remembering a coworker's quip about not coming on too strong. Already feeling an unfamiliar feeling of minuscule panic creeping up his throat. “Is it too much?”

Your eyes widened, head shaking, “No! No, they're beautiful. It’s just – men don’t really – it’s less of a thing now.”

He hums, deciding that that was stupid. Especially when he saw just how beautiful the flowers looked when you held them --- like they belonged in your arms. He opens the door for you. “That’s a shame.”

You laugh, head back and so carefree. It warms something in his belly. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

The two of you continued a casual conversation as you lined up for your orders, an official introduction of sorts. Thankfully, it wasn’t as awkward as he dreaded, your cheerful disposition perfectly counteracted his restrained one.

He couldn’t help but notice you intimately checking out the pastries bar but not ordering any when you got to the counter. Thankfully, he was quick enough to take note of those that caught your eyes for longer than half a second, ordering it along with his drink and swiping his card for both of your orders.

As he pulled back a chair, he noticed the few seconds of shock on your face before you sat. A small touch on his bicep and a bashful ‘thank you’ had him concluding that this was also no longer ‘a thing’ in this generation.

If he were honest, he'd admit he was dreading this. It's been a while since his last proper date. He wasn't sure if he could muster up enough topics to keep the conversation going or accidentally say something rude or stupid that would turn this date into a humiliation ritual.

But you were pleasant company and a surprisingly great conversationalist. Picking up where he was prone to awkward silences. You carried the conversation with an ease that he admired. To his surprise, the conversation shifted from one topic to another, and by the end of the night, you somehow even managed to get him actually interested in the New York sports team you were dedicated to. A sport he had never given a thought to his entire life.

“You live in Pittsburgh.”

“So?” you giggle at his obvious accusation.

“Now, that’s just treason.”

That got an adorably loud laugh out of you that embarrassingly puffs out his chest – he knew he wasn’t exactly the funny type so to have you genuinely throwing your head back at his banter felt good.

Three drinks, 6 pastries, and too much caffeine later, he realized it had already turned dark outside and your friend (probably Yolanda wanting all the details) was already texting you incessantly about dinner.

“So, how much do I owe you?”

He looks down at you in confusion as he helps you put your jacket on.

“For what?”

A respectful palm gently leads you by the curve of your back and into his car, which was parked just a few feet from the café.

“Lunch.”

He shuts the door, still confused even as he pulls out of the curb.

“I asked you out, it’s on me.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask me out. We were set up.”

He rolls his eyes at that, huffing out a laugh. Cheeky brat.

“I’m the man. I pay for dinner.”

“That’s very old-fashioned of you, Brendon.”

“Well, I am 15 years your senior, baby." It doesn’t escape him how you press your legs together at that statement. Interesting. “I get to be old-fashioned, don’t you think?”

You turn your body fully toward him, blessing him with a shy, sweet smile.

“Old-fashioned enough to not to kiss on the first date?”

He takes a deep breath, pressing on the gas.

“Old-fashioned enough to ask first."

‘Busy morning and tied up in surgery this afternoon. I’ve got about 30 minutes for a call at 11:30 if you're free?’

‘Sounds perfect. Can’t wait <3”

“👍”

“What’s this?”

You flip the thick piece of paper back and forth as if the words were written in hieroglyphics.

He watches you register what he had just done.

“Tickets. For the Knicks game this weekend.”

You stare at him as if he just popped out a second head so he sighs and continues. “You said you loved them on our first date.”

“Brendon.”

“It’s the Eastern Conference Finals.”

“Brendon.”

“What?”

“It’s in New York.”

He cocks his head at another pair of tickets sitting on his coffee table.

“Those are our plane tickets.”

“You bought plane tickets?!”

“Can’t exactly walk there, sweetheart.”

“You bought Knicks tickets, plane tickets, and planned an entire trip without telling me?”

“Well, such is the nature of a surprise.”

You actually let out a snort of laughter before jumping into his lap on the couch pressing kisses and ‘thank you’s’ on whatever skin you could reach. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You haven’t even heard of the restaurant reservation yet.”

Or the fact that he somehow tracked down a friend of a friend of a friend who is somehow dating someone working game day operations just to make sure the kiss cam landed on the two of you during half-time.

And they said he wasn’t a romantic.

It took Park 3 months in your relationship to realize … you have never truly slept over his place.

When you mentioned on your second date that you were a virgin and that you planned to wait until marriage, he was – for the sake of honesty – taken aback.

Not that there was anything wrong with it and you had bashfully admitted that you were willing to do some 'other stuff' as long as you didn’t go 'all the way'. Something about a vow with the women in your family that the only man who should be able to touch you is the one who is willing to commit.

It makes sense, in theory. But they never took into consideration that the man who plans to worship the ground you walk on is a stressed-out orthopedic surgeon in a trauma center whose only source of relaxation is in between your thighs.

So, yeah. He was a bit taken aback. And frustrated.

But he respected it.

(He was too far gone for you to let this minor complication stand in his way.)

Sucked it up like a man, met your parents, swore to them that this relationship would end in marriage once you were ready, and now added meditation to his workout routine so he wouldn’t pop a boner every time you lounged around his place in just his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

He asks from the en-suite bathroom’s door, finally ready for bed after a long day of bullshit in the hospital only to find his girlfriend quietly trying to book a taxi from his bed.

“Oh! I figured you’d be too tired to drive me back home so I was just going to book a car.”

He frowns in confusion. Quickly walking to where you were lounging in his bed to grab your phone and cancel it.

“Wha – hey!”

“I think we’re past asking permission to stay over.”

You open your mouth to protest before hesitating, choosing instead to crawl to the edge of the bed so you can sit by where he was standing. The fresh smell of his soap, body wash, and clean skin lights your skin on fire.

“I don’t have my skincare stuff in here,” you weakly protested.

He hummed, hands petting the back of your head.“Let’s go buy it tomorrow after brunch. It’s my day off.”

You beamed, gasping in glee. “Really?”

"Really." He can’t help but chuckle at your delight – so pleased with a couple hundred dollars of products. Seems he wasn’t doing quite a good enough job spoiling you, he plans to change that starting tomorrow. “Anything else I should know before our first official sleepover?”

You rubbed your cheeks into his hands like a cat before shyly nodding.

“I know you’re having a hard time with the … abstinence thing,” you pout your lips up at him, your chin digging firmly on his navel which definitely didn’t help.

He clears his throat, taking a beat to look up at the ceiling and collect himself before letting his hands cup your cheeks, “I’m a grown man, babydoll. I can handle sleeping next to my woman without pouncing on her.”

“I trust you, Bren,” you insist earnestly. “But it doesn’t mean I want to frustrate you any more than I already do.”

“Hey, where is this coming from? I’ll behave,” he pokes the tip of your nose to lighten your mood but you only bit your bottom lip in even more hesitation. “Or is there another reason?”

He wouldn’t want to push you if you were truly uncomfortable.

“The thing is,” you groan, cupping the hands holding your face. “I can only sleep naked.”

If he had to go back to the bathroom for five minutes to listen to the calming meditation exercise his therapist recommended to him, it would be something the two of you agreed to take to the grave.

“Alright, my eyes are closed, babydoll.”

He prepared as best as he could.

Lights are off, sleep mask on.

Now he just needs to not think about his girlfriend sleeping naked beside him for the entire night. His adorable, sweet, angel of a woman who is not wearing a stitch of clothing on her bo –

“Thanks for doing this, baby.”

He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels you press a kiss to his cheeks.

He grips the comforter so tight he swears his nails ripped through it. “Warn a man next time.”

Your giggle disappears under the duvet. He makes it a point to put a pillow between the two of you – for your sake and mostly his.

It’ll be fine. Everything will be –

-- fucked! He is so fucking fucked.

The nudity wasn’t the challenge – difficult, yes but manageable with the proper monk-like focus. What you have failed to disclose was that you slept like a possessed octopus. Something he himself only found out when he felt your entire body weight on top of him at 2:47 in the morning.

Once he felt the swell of your chest on his ribs his entire body instinctively flinched so quickly, he almost developed a cramp.

“S-Sweetheart,” he whispered, trying to see if he could jog you out of your sleep gently to save him from the suffering of having to push you back.

To his horror, you just whined, grabbing even more tightly to his biceps as you dragged your body up the length of his so you could push your face in the juncture of his neck.

The contrast of the warmth of your skin on his, the small puffs of air a siren’s call on his ear, and the plump of your lips grazing his neck as you sleepily mumble mindless nothings was torture to his already frazzled sense of self-control.

He grips his bedsheet tightly, knowing his willpower would snap if his hands ever got ahold of you.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“’luv yu’, Bren.”

He sucks in a breath. What the – did you just say – “Babydoll?”

“So nice to me,” you whimper the words on his neck. “Love you so much.”

That felt like a jagged knife of guilt to his heart.

The shame and responsibility you felt for what he could only believe other lovers saw as a drawback or a burden. It must’ve been a heavy weight to carry for his sweet girl.

He swears you won’t have to carry it anymore as long as he is here.

He holds his breath for 10 seconds and lets it out for 5. He thinks about surgical risks, antibiotics, anesthesia regulation, and proper post-op instruction. Thinks about Gloria on his neck, the pressure to live up to their expectation as the upcoming Chief of Surgery. He thinks about Robinavitch’s jealousy even though the both of them knew the pressure Brendon was in would eventually fling the ER attending from the roof he so often escaped to.

Anything and everything to keep his mind clear and disciplined as he refuses to be another weak man who resents your boundaries.

With a deep breath he finally gathers you in his arms, curling around you until his body threatens to swallow you whole.

Saying instead the words that always seemed to get stuck between his heart and his tongue whenever you looked at him. Reminding himself to repeat it tomorrow before you could say it first.

He’s an old-fashioned man, after all.

“I love you, babydoll.”

'Going to the gym but i'm gonna be busy all day. Text me '911' if it's an emergency and my assistant will track me down.'

'Go it. I'm planning to cook you steak for dinner tonight, can I use your kitchen?'

'DON'T SEND ME MONEY. It's my treat.'

'I know your fingers are hovering Brendon Park. Don't!'

'Fine'

'Fine <3'

'Check your jewelry box. I slipped a spare key to my place there.'

'Okay <3'

'Wait what.'

“Hi, babyyyy,” you jump into his arms as he drops his work bag unceremoniously on the floor.

Your text that said you were going to spend your day off going to the grocery store and preparing him a steak dinner genuinely was the only thing that pushed him through a long day of surgeries and consultations.

He lets you rope him into a kiss, sitting the two of you down on his couch as you continue to map out his face with your mouth.

“Missed you so much,” you mutter in between kisses. He smiles at your earnest confession. “Say you missed me too.”

You press a finger on his chest, and he glances down at it as if unconvinced. You squawk in offense and try to get off his lap but not before getting caught in his arms and flipped into the couch.

“You’re all I ever thought about all day, sweetheart.”

You hum, running your hand on his hair. “That’s a dangerous habit, doctor.”

“Don’t worry. I’m a professional.”

With one last deep kiss he lets you out of his arms and back into the kitchen. He prepares to stand up and set the table but you pressed a hand into his chest with an explicit instruction to go shower and relax.

“It’ll be ready when you’re out.”

By the time he was done, you were already getting the wine out of the chiller. “Oh, by the way, some important-looking envelope from your bank arrived.”

You point a finger at the side table by the door. He opens it, his eyes moving carefully with each line.

“Babydoll?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you give me your landlord’s bank details?”

A pause, he turns back to see you staring at him in bewilderment.

“Uh, what for?”

He drops the letter on the coffee table before walking towards you. “I need it to set up an auto-pay in my account.”

You blink up at him as he casually presses a kiss on your lips before sitting at his seat beside yours.

“Are you … moving?” You ask even though you had to admit how incredulous it was. Why would he switch his immaculate penthouse to your subpar building? Is he buying the building then?

“No, for your apartment, honey,” he continues patiently, taking your hand.

Your eyes widened, finally getting what he is implying. “What?! Why – you don’t have to do that! I-I know I complain a lot but I’m fine really!”

He presses a kiss on the back of your hand. “I know, sweetie. But I’m planning on moving you with me by the end of the year, and I want that transition to be as smooth as possible for you.”

Your mouth opens and closes in shock as he drops two bombs on you at once.

“Are … are you asking me to move in with you?”

He slices a piece of his steak before feeding it to you.

“By the end of the year,” he reiterates casually. “At least that’s the deadline I gave my realtor.”

You audibly swallow the barely chewed steak, pushing it down with large gulps of wine.

“I … I don’t want to make it seem like I-I’m a gold digger or something.”

His face hardens at that. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious. People talk.”

“Let them talk,” the reprimand was there but it was gentle. “I know why you’re here.”

That softens you.

“Because I’m funny and a good lay.”

You almost snorted your wine into your nose and he finally smiles hearing you laugh. He raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘see?’.

“Brendon –”

“Hey,” he takes your hand, pulling you closer and letting the chair screech in protest. “You’re allowed to like the things I do for you. I work hard, I make good money. And I’d rather spend it making you happy than letting it sit there in the bank.”

He holds your hesitant eyes, only letting a victorious smile appear on his face when you let out a resigned sigh.

You stand up and he automatically pushes his chair back so you can sit in his lap.

“Okay. Thank you. I love you and I will move in with you by the end of the year even though you technically didn't ask.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispers on your lips. “Also, that was your new credit card in the envelope.”

The photo of you stumbling out of a pink limousine is plastered all over the tabloids sold in kiosks along Hollywood Blvd. Your stomach drops as you catch the headliner, your pristine reputation torn within minutes.

It isn't like you're a prude; your songs of shitty ex-boyfriends and unsatisfactory situationships have spoken enough to the world that you aren't some naive virgin. But your reputation is clean for the most part, adored by the general public for your class.

Being caught stumbling out of a limo at 3 AM after riding Jack Abbot, famed rockstar of the late 90s and early 2000s, did not match the public's general expectation from you. Except they didn't know it was Jack, at least. The world finding out that you've been regularly fucking a man that may be old enough to be your dad would just add fuel to the fire of your tattered image.

The news had broken the night before but the brunt of the damage didn't hit 'til this morning as you sit in one of the many conference rooms in the company building. Your schedule had only consisted of recording a few tracks, maybe a brainstorming session with some of your writers. A last-minute meeting with your agent, publicist, and a representative of the recording company you're signed under at eight in the morning hadn't been expected.

But neither has been bumping into Jack at a friend's birthday party at a bar in Silver Lake last night. With the private venue and the strict 'no phones' policy enforced, the both of you had thrown all caution to the wind when the older musician had pinned you against the exposed brick walls of the bar. His hands had wandered in the places you needed him most, artfully drawing out sweet moans in time with the bass drops of the DJ hyping up the small crowd. While the two of you might've garnered some interesting looks and playful whistles, there's no question that most things that go on in parties like these stay hush-hush.

And yet Jack had taken your hand, his graying curls flashing purple under the colorful lights, as he dragged you out of the side door and into the empty street where the garishly pink limo that your friend had arrived in a couple hours ago is sitting, abandoned. The two of you exchanged a single look before he's hustling you inside the backseat, snorting laughter when the zebra-print walls greeted you upon entering. But even with the tacky decor, it didn't take away the building lust the two of you held as Jack had all but ripped your panties aside, shoved his cock in you as your knees bracketed his hips.

It had been filthy and quick, sloppy drunk kisses exchanged in the dim lighting while your hand had slammed up against the roof of the limo for some balance while Jack fucked up into you. He finished fast and quick right after he made sure you did first, pressed a careless kiss to your lips while you returned the favor with a bright red lipstick stain on his collar. He exited one side, you went the other. Your hair askew, your dress rumpled and crooked to reveal more leg as you're half out of the limousine. Hickeys littered your neck.

Just in the perfect view of a paparazzi pack (hiding in the literal bushes across the street) awaiting for the perfect shot.

The shot is staring up at you as your publicist slides it across the glass table. You feel juvenile in your comfy hoodie and yoga pants, sitting across your team who's dressed in business casual. Your sleeves fall over your fidgeting hands.

"I didn't think anyone was out there," you mumble as you push the glossy camera shots of you back to your publicist, Dana. The older woman sighs. She's all hard edges, a no-nonsense attitude crammed in her petite 5'3" frame, but she's soft towards you.

"It's alright, hon. You're not a kid anymore, the company knows that," she says, her Pittsburgh accent still as strong as it has been since she relocated to Los Angeles decades ago, with a gentle pat to your hand. "So what— a grown woman like you had some fun at a party, no big deal. Our job here is to lessen the public outcry but we won't know that 'til we see how the internet's feelin' about all of this."

Her face is unreadable as she pulls out her iPad from her bag, flicks it open with a few sharp taps, and hands that over to you and your manager, Cassie.

@mariasont : god forbid a WOMAN wants to get fucked!!! in a pink limo, no less!!! user1: where's her class? it's demeaning @pearlessance: she's not a child anymore!!! people forget she's literally in her 20s jfc

The comments are plenty and while the negative ones are what steal your attention first, there's a flicker of hope that lights within you when you catch more people defending your actions rather than reverting to full-on slutshaming. You release a shaky breath as you return the iPad.

"See?" Dana hums. "Not so bad. Just gotta redirect the narrative, sweetheart, all there is to it. You just gotta help us out a bit, give us somethin' to gnaw on. Think you can give us the name of your Romeo?"

Your cheeks burn as you avert your gaze elsewhere.

—

ROLLING STONES PRESENTS: NIGHTCRAWLER, THE PRODIGAL BAND RETURNS.

NIGHTCRAWLER HAD BEEN THE 'BOY' BAND OF THE EARLY 2000S, REIGNING SUPREME ON THE RADIO DESPITE THEIR UNCONVENTIONAL IDENTITY OF OSCILLATING BETWEEN HEARTTHROBS FOR TEENAGERS OR SERIOUS MUSICIANS FOR THE OLDER DEMOGRAPHICS. DESPITE THEIR REFUSAL TO LABEL THEMSELVES, IT DIDN'T TURN AWAY THE GENERAL PUBLIC FROM DIALING THE VOLUME UP WHENEVER THEIR ADDICTIVE GUITAR RIFFS COME ON THE RADIO.

WHILE THEIR IDENTITY HAD BEEN IMPOSSIBLE TO PIN DOWN, IT WAS UNDENIABLE THAT NIGHTCRAWLER HAD STAR POWER. MICHAEL 'ROBBY' ROBINAVITCH, FRONTMAN AND RHYTHM GUITARIST, WASN'T AFRAID TO SHARE THE SPOTLIGHT WITH FELLOW BAND MEMBER, JACK ABBOT, WHO PLAYED LEAD GUITAR. ALTHOUGH THE POSITION OF DRUMMER AND BASSIST WAS ALWAYS FULFILLED BY A NEW FACE ALMOST EVERY OTHER ALBUM, THEY WERE NEVER FORGOTTEN BY THE FANS.

(PICTURED: ABBOT, ROBINAVITCH — CIRCA 2006, GRAMMY AWARDS AFTERPARTY.)

NIGHTCRAWLER DIDN'T BLOW UP OVERNIGHT— ROBBY AND JACK HAD BEEN CHILDHOOD FRIENDS, MOMENTARILY SEPARATED WHEN ROBBY HAD PURSUED A MASTER'S DEGREE AND JACK HAD ENLISTED AFTER THEIR COLLEGE GRADUATION— BUT AN EXPLOSION OF TALENT IN THE MAKING. WHEN THE SIMPLE LIFE HAD PROVEN NOT TO BE ENOUGH, ROBBY AND JACK REUNITED UPON HIS HONORABLE DISCHARGE FROM THE MILITARY TO FORM NIGHTCRAWLER.

AFTER ONE RELEASED ALBUM (YOUNGBLOOD), THEY RECEIVED THEIR FIRST GRAMMY NOMINATION IN 2006 BUT WON THE YEAR AFTER FOR CALM IN 2007. FROM THAT POINT ON, NIGHTCRAWLER WAS A HOUSEHOLD NAME. A FEW DAYS AGO, I SAT WITH ROBBY AND JACK AFTER THEY HAD ANNOUNCED A SUDDEN REUNION ALBUM AND TOUR AFTER NEARLY FIVE YEARS OF SILENCE WHEN THEY HAD RELEASED THE SINGLE GHOST OF YOU IN COMMEMMORATING IRIS— JACK'S LATE WIFE AND BELOVED ACTRESS— AND THE FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF HER PASSING.

Q: IT'S BEEN SOME TIME SINCE GHOST OF YOU, HOW HAVE YOU TWO BEEN? J: WE'RE DOING ALRIGHT. TOOK SOME TIME OFF FOR OURSELVES. R: COASTING ON THOSE ROYALTIES KEPT US AFLOAT. Q: THAT'S WONDERFUL TO HEAR, DID YOU TWO PICK UP ANY NEW HOBBIES? R: GOLF, BUT— (LAUGHTER.) J: I HATED GOLF. I ENDED UP WRITING LYRICS IN THE GOLF CART WHILE THIS ASSHOLE PUTTED AWAY.

THE TWO MEN CONVERSED LIKE NO TIME HAS PASSED AND ALTHOUGH THEY'VE STARVED THE WORLD WITH THEIR FRIENDSHIP AND MUSIC, IT WAS LOVELY TO SEE THAT THERE HAD BEEN NO LOVE LOST. AFTER SOME SMALL TALK AND HAVING BROKE THE ICE, WE DOVE RIGHT INTO THE MOST AWAITED TOPICS.

Q: SO. A NEW ALBUM AND A TOUR. HOW THE HELL DID THIS COME AROUND? J: (SOFT CHUCKLES.) IT'S ALWAYS BEEN SOMETHING WE TALKED ABOUT AFTER THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY OF IRIS PASSING, WE NEVER DID STOP WRITING MUSIC. R: THAT'S RIGHT, WE JUST FINALLY HAVE ENOUGH TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. IT'S BEEN TEN YEARS SINCE WE DID SOMETHING LIKE THIS AND WITH HOW THE MUSIC INDUSTRY'S CHANGED SO MUCH, WE DIDN'T WANT TO DEAL WITH THE BULLSHIT OF PROMOTIONS AND TEASING SPOILERS OR HOWEVER THE FUCK ARTISTS DO IT NOW— J: WE THOUGHT TO KEEP IT SIMPLE. ANNOUNCE OUR NEW SELF-TITLED ALBUM AND OUR PLANS FOR A TOUR, SIMPLE AS THAT. WE'RE A COUPLE OF OLD MEN NOW, WE CAN'T KEEP UP WITH THESE YOUNGSTERS. Q: SPEAKING OF NEW ARTISTS, HOW DOES IT FEEL KNOWING YOU'VE INFLUENCED A WHOLE GENERATION OF SINGERS? MANY OF THEM HAVE NAME-DROPPED YOU BEFORE, ONE NOTABLE AS 'STAR' WHOSE PREVIOUS ALBUM HAD ELEMENTS OF PUNK WITH HER USUAL POP GENRE. SOME MIGHT EVEN SAY IT HAD A HAND IN HER FIRST GRAMMY WIN IN 2022, AN UPSET WIN WHEN SHE HAD BEEN NOMINATED AMONGST THE EXPECTED WINNERS. R: AHEM, YEAH. IT'S INSPIRING FOR US, TOO, YOU KNOW. NOT TO STROKE OUR OWN EGOS BUT IT'S NICE THAT WE CAN LIVE ON IN OTHER WORKS RATHER THAN JUST OUR OWN MUSIC. STAR'S A GREAT SINGER, SHE'S ONE OF OUR FAVORITES. J: … DEFINITELY, SHE'S BEEN LIVING IN MY PLAYLIST FOR AWHILE NOW. Q: COULD WE BE EXPECTING A COLLAB ANYTIME SOON? R: NO PROMISES.

BEFORE THE TOPICS GOT AWAY FROM US, THE CONVERSATION WAS REDIRECTED BACK TO IRIS TAYLOR-ABBOT, JACK'S LATE WIFE. SHE HAD BEEN A PHENOMENAL CHILD STAR, GROWING UP IN THE PUBLIC EYE AS SHE GREW INTO HER OWN SHOES OF ONE OF THE BIGGEST NAMES IN CINEMA. HER LOVE STORY WITH JACK HAD BEEN ONE FOR THE AGES, ONE THAT PEOPLE TODAY STILL TALK ABOUT WITH REVERENCE. IT WAS A WHIRLWIND ROMANCE, HOW SHE TAMED THE INFAMOUS ROCKSTAR WITH A SIMPLE WINK WHEN SHE HAD WON HER FIRST OSCAR AND HE WAS IN THE CROWD FOR NIGHTCRAWLER'S SCORE FOR HER FILM.

THEY HAD BEEN THE NATION'S IT COUPLE OF THE EARLY 2000S.

J: I LOVE HER, THAT'S NOT GOING TO CHANGE, AND TIME DOESN'T HEAL ALL WOUNDS BUT IT SURE MAKES THE PAIN LESS. I CAN THINK OF HER WITHOUT WANTING TO LIVE IN THE BOTTOM OF THE BOTTLE. Q: THAT'S WONDERFUL, JACK. WE CAN SEE THAT SHE STILL LIVES THROUGH YOU, AT LEAST, IN THE MULTITUDES OF LOVE SONGS THAT YOU'VE RELEASED. R: SHE'S ALWAYS GOING TO BE A PART OF US.

HER UNTIMELY DEATH IN 2016 HAD BEEN A BLOW TO THE ENTIRE WORLD, ULTIMATELY LEADING TO NIGHTCRAWLER'S HIATUS. ON THE FIFTH ANNIVERSARY, GHOST OF YOU WAS RELEASED WITH LITTLE FANFARE BUT IT CHARTED ON TOP FOR MONTHS. PEOPLE HAD SPECULATED THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL BAND BUT CAME TO NO FRUITION.

UNTIL NOW, NEARLY TEN YEARS AFTER THEIR DISAPPEARANCE FROM THE PUBLIC EYE.

—

The ceiling spins above Jack's head as he reclines in his office chair, drumsticks loosely grasped in his hand while Robby messes with the soundboard. There's staff inside the recording booth, readjusting mics and filters.

"Did you see that TMZ article?"

Jack snorts. "Since when did you pay attention to gossip, brother?"

"Since your girl's plastered all over the front pages."

The chair releases a loud creak before Jack tumbles onto the floor, unceremoniously lifting himself off his feet with as much grace his prosthetic leg allows. "What the hell did you say—?"

Robby chortles as he hands his phone over, the obtrusively red logo of TMZ splashed across the top of his screen. Jack settles onto the leather couch pushed against the far wall of the room with his bandmate's phone in hand, shoving his readers on before he scrolls.

Sure enough, it's a photo of you exiting the pink limo from the night before. His concern for you (along with the feral instinct to protect you from wandering eyes) is momentarily silenced when pride grows at the sight of you wearing his marks. It isn't until his eyes snag onto the blunt and crude headline meant to clickbait, ultimately tearing down your character to the public.

His grip tightens before he hands the phone back. He leans back against the couch, head tilted backwards with his eyes shut.

"Can't do much. TMZ didn't name anyone and talking about it would just prove me guilty."

Robby releases a hum, half-distracted now as he turns his attention to the soundboard and the files he had just opened. The album's half complete now with just mixing and final changes needed before they hand the whole thing over to the company's in-house producers.

Although the album was supposed to be done half a year ago, you had entered Jack's life, kickstarting nearly five new songs from the first evening he spent with you. Robby doesn't mind, he likes you well enough. You're younger, maybe a little too young to be messing with old men like them, but you've got a love for music that reminds them both of their own start all those years ago.

"Did Star text you?"

Jack shakes his head as his gaze returns to the back of Robby's head where it's slightly bowed as he fiddles with a few chord progressions. "No. Also, she's got a name. You don't have to keep calling her by her stage-name."

"Habit," Robby shrugs while he hits the save button. A half-lie, he knows your name but Jack is possessive, moreso with you than anyone else. It almost feels like an intrusion, a false sense of familiarity that hasn't earned, to use your given name. He turns in his chair, grabs the acoustic guitar to absentmindedly strum a few riffs. "You heading over to her place?"

"I don't know, maybe. It's her first scandal, not sure if I'm what she needs right now."

"She'll always need you." The simple remark has Jack looking up in mild surprise, searching for any kind of jab there from his bandmate (maybe something about your age again), but nothing but sincerity lives upon Robby's features. "It's been six months, brother. Your past flings never lasted this long."

Something uneasy settles into his stomach then, his mind nearly splintering to try and skip over the almost-revelation there to stitch something half-true about your importance in his life. He shifts in his seat instead, grabs the other guitar by its neck as he keeps his hands busy by tuning it. "I'll call her later. Make sure she's okay."

Robby nods in slight approval. "Maybe lay low a little. I know you two like hitting up your usual bar but with the article out…"

Jack hits a sour chord. He didn't realize Robby had been keeping tabs of their 'usual' places. "Yeah— yeah, good idea. Or maybe I can stop by, pick up her favorite before heading over." He readjusts the tuning peg, misses the way his best friend shoots him an incredulous look at the blatant domesticity. Jack looks up then. "What?"

"Nothing. Just don't forget her fried pickles."

"… Right."

—

The bar in question is Barney's on Santa Monica Blvd, nestled deep in West Hollywood. To both of your closest confidants (Robby for Jack and Trinity for you), Barney's had been the 'usual' hangout— a perfect meeting point between your house and Jack's home. It's out of convenience, you told Trinity. Traffic's a bitch in Los Angeles and the shorter the commute, the better. Nothing more, nothing less.

No one knows that it's the first time Jack had met you in person, where he had roguishly hit on you about two old fashioneds in. No one knows that you had also been a tad bit tipsy, spinning wildly off of a strong margarita that you pounded down when your writers' block had become too much to handle. And no one definitely knows that you had giggled your way through Jack's cheesy one-liners, nearly tearing up and toppling off your barstool and into his lap when he asked you if you had a map because he kept getting lost in your eyes.

—

… SIX MONTHS AGO.

You're gnawing at the end of your pen, brows furrowed and nose scrunched up each time you scratch a line through a lyric. The bar is sticky beneath your notebook but you can't find it in you to give a fuck as your heels shift and resettle against the footrest under your stool. The bartender, Queenie, gives you a tender look before refilling your glass of water and placing a fresh margarita beside it. Despite the raucous cheers from the other patrons watching a football game, you're focused enough to follow the melody that's been knocking around your head all day.

But not enough to write a single cohesive lyric that wasn't actual dogshit.

So you reach out for the sweating glass near you, ice clinking as you lift it up to chug the rest of your margarita down. The room spins a little but you power through. There's movement on your left, silver gray curls catching your peripheral view.

"I have to say," a gruff voice sounds beside you. "You caught my attention the moment I walked in."

The cheesy one-liner coaxes an incredulous laugh as your spine straightens and you turn to face him. At least he's hot in that DILF-way, you muse to yourself. You didn't realize you had said it aloud until he's chuckling, takes a swig of his glass.

"Thanks, sweetheart. Glad to see I haven't let myself go."

Recognition would've kicked in earlier if aren't two margaritas in but it comes anyways and a flush creeps up your neck as your eyes widen when you take him in. Jack Abbot, lead guitarist of NIGHTCRAWLER. Widowed to Iris Taylor— a favorite actress of yours, if you recalled your younger days. Even though you've established yourself as a musician, considering some other artists that you've admired as a peer and colleague now after you've won your own Grammy, you still get a bit tongue-tied when you're faced with literal legends.

"You're Jack Abbot."

"And you're Star..?"

You chuckle at the stage name you picked out so long ago and offer your actual name instead. When Jack tries it on, you fight the urge to shiver at how sweet your name rolls of his tongue. The thought has you turning back to your notebook, scrawling the line in as a potential lyric.

"So, I had to come by and let you know you owe me a drink." Your brows fly up, absolutely shocked as you turn to face Jack again who swirls his drink. "Because when I saw you, I dropped mine."

A very ugly snort escapes you at the absolute shit-show of a pickup line, devolving into giggles. "That can't be your best line."

He chuckles and hides his bashful smile against the rim of his glass. "Alright, alright. Hold on, I have more." He pauses and you wait patiently. "Look, I'm just trying to drink here. You're very distracting."

The line isn't as funny as it should be but you're at that point of tipsy where everything is hilarious and you're nearly pitching forward, cheek brushing against Jack's chest as his warm hand settles on your waist to settle you. "Careful, sweetheart," he chuckles. "Here—"

In the midst of your giggles, Jack's arm carefully reaches out between your knees to grasp onto the underside edge of your stool and drags you closer to him. The easy strength of it silences you momentarily and you find yourself gripping his bicep for stability. "Oh, that's unfair."

Jack laughs, raspy and low as he retracts his hand and takes another swig of his glass. "What's unfair?"

Your hand wavers slightly as you gesture to his entire face and chest. "You— your whole… gentleman shtick. And I'm not dumb, y'know. I know the rumors about you and your manwhore ways. You and Robby—!" You might've been concerned with being a touch too crass, possibly offending Jack, but his easy and amused grin never falters as you babble adorably in his space. You haven't noticed yet but your bare knee is loosely slotted between Jack's and he's starting to crave the momentary brush of your skin against his denim jeans every time you shift.

"My manwhore ways…?" He repeats with a half-grin, hoping to coax you on to spill more.

"Yes, don't act coy, Mr. Abbot. I've seen the tabloid pages, the blind items." You sigh softly and regard him in a way that Jack feels almost exposed. Vulnerable. "If I didn't know any better, I thought I might've found my husband here in this bar in Silver Lake."

"It's concerning to think you're in Silver Lake, sweetheart. We're in West Hollywood."

"Irrelevant," you dismiss with a wave of your hand. "As long as my uber driver knows where I am, I can do anything I want."

"Alright, superstar. Maybe with how your words are slurring, it's time for that uber driver to know where you're at?" When he gently guides you off the stool, helps you with your jacket and purse, you go easily. He tips his head at the bartender who knows you by name, gives your manager a heads up while Jack leads you to the curb. He pays for your uber with just the regret of not giving you his number.

The regret goes away when he sees you at the same bar a few days later, this time stone cold sober.

—

The doorbell ringing draws you from your thoughts as you stare at the rerun of the TMZ soundbite where they have you splashed out on the screen, a half-step out of the pink limousine as an abrasive male voiceover eagerly dives in on your exaggerated exploits. Slamming the mute button, you look over your shoulder towards the door while tugging your stolen hoodie lower down your thighs.. You tug the hood over your head, harshly pulling at the strings until just a glimpse of your eyes and nose are revealed, while you drag yourself to your front door.

When you peek through the peephole, you relax and open it to see Jack with a baseball cap on, a greasy paper bag that smells faintly of your guilty pleasure snack in hand. A relieved smile curls upon your lips as you pull him in. "I didn't know you were coming," you say in greeting, shutting the door firmly before you're dragging him down by the nape of his neck for a kiss.

He smiles against your lips, reaching behind you to lock the door. "Wanted to check on you. You were trending again. Robby said so."

You groan dramatically and take the paper bag with Barney's logo on the front, turning to pad barefoot to your kitchen while Jack follows. You hear his keys jingle, settle into the bowl beside your keys, and his hat landing quietly onto the coat hanger you have by the door. "If your chronically off-line best friend knows about it, then it's definitely viral."

"Robby's getting better with the internet," Jack defends with a short laugh, leans against the threshold of your kitchen where you tear into the bag and lay out his treasure along your island counter.

"Mm, for a fifty year old."

"Sweetheart, we're forty-five." Your dramatic wince has him barking out a playful chuckle, crossing the distance that has you squealing and rushing around the island. He circles it, long legs striding with ease to catch and lift you to place you on the counter. "Glad to see the gossip circuit hasn't snuffed out your spark, superstar."

Your bare legs hook around his waist, feeding him a fried pickle. "It's not so bad. It could've been a leaked sex tape."

Jack frowns as he chews. "We don't have a sex tape."

"Not with you." When he gives you a shocked look, your face cracks and you burst into an amused cackle. "God, you should've seen your face, babe. And no— before you start to spiral, I don't have a sex tape with any body. I just—I need to joke about this otherwise I'll overthink."

His lips snag onto the corner of your lips, cradling your jaw on the opposite side. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. The general public loves you, your fans would go to literal war for you. The world will adjust." When he sees the slight wrinkle that always settles between your brows finally smooth out, he knows he got you. "Mm, there's my girl."

A flutter grows in your stomach but you stifle it. Jack's too good with his words, means it just as much as a throw-away comment, and you're too clever to let yourself get lost in it. It's been six months of bliss and if you get to have that a little longer without the security that comes with a label, then you'll gladly coast this situationship until it crashes and burns. `

"Well, your girl is exhausted and it's been too long since I was given even an inch of attention—"

"You don't have to convince me, I'll stay the night," he says as he shuts you up sweetly with a kiss. "You have anything for me to wear?"

You give him a sweet hum, sharp eyes sparkling with mischief which he responds with a roll of his eyes.

"If you want me naked, sweetheart—" He picks you off the counter, his low rumbling chuckle harmonizing well with your playful giggles, and brings you to your bedroom. He tosses you onto the mattress, unbuckling his jeans as you prop yourself up by your elbows.

"Your leg, Jack," you interrupt before you sit up smoothly, padding over to the attached closet to pull out a pair of crutches. He falls silent, looking gobsmacked with a look you miss as you set them down by the ottoman at the foot of your bed. "Jack…?"

"Right. Sorry—" He snaps out of his throughts and leans down to steal a kiss. The action of removing his prosthesis in front of you no longer carries the odd sensation of shame or embarrassment but rather frustration out of a chore that's interrupting what he wants. With his leg set aside, he's back to joining you in bed just as you tug the stolen hoodie off to leave you in just an old t-shirt and cotton shorts. It gives him pause. "Baby, was that mine?"

You bite back a smile. "You left your hoodie in my dressing room a week ago. I told Cassie that I thrifted it. Did you want it back?"

He shakes his head, takes the shirt he must've left behind at your place too because it's folded nicely and smelling like you and pulls that on next. In just his boxers and a fresh sleep shirt, he joins you into bed while you reach over to your bedside table to flick the TV on. "No TMZ," you promise while you put on a streaming app instead. "I just want to turn my brain off a little."

"I can help with that," he murmurs, lips grazing along your bare shoulder while he spoons you from behind. He drinks up you soft laughter, basks in how it shifts into something breathier when you feel his bulge prod against your underwear.

"Jack," you murmur but you part your thighs, pulling your knee up just enough to give him room to grind his clothed cock against your core. The TV continues to blare but you're only giving it part of your attention when you feel Jack's hand slide between you two to tug your underwear aside. A broken whimper falls from your lips as he presses kisses into the nape of your neck.

"Shh, it's alright, pretty girl. Just missed you." His hands are soothing as they coast along the planes and curves of your body, reverent and nearly worshipful, while his cock starts to press against your folds. It isn't filthy the way it usually is, fast and dirty while he presses your face against the mattress, but it's nearly gentle and domestic. You banish the thought before it can take root and force yourself to focus on the rerun of a show you put on, allowing tiny gasps and whimpers as Jack sheathes himself completely inside you. When he doesn't move, you glance over your shoulder with a little pout.

"Why aren't you moving?"

He chuckles, heartbreakingly fond when he leans over to kiss your pout. "I'm not trying to tire you out tonight, superstar. I just want you to rest. Unless, this isn't—"

"No, no, it's fine," you interrupt with a shy grin of your own. "Didn't think you were into cockwarming."

Jack gives you a deadpan look. "You think me sticking my cock in your pussy throughout the night isn't gonna turn me on?"

"… good point." You turn back around to the show, sighs as you sink deeper into Jack's arms while he presses more lazy kisses into the nape of your neck. "S'kinda nice. Feels good… feeling comfy and full."

He hums, chest rumbling as his grip tightens around you. "Good. Get some rest, sweetheart. You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow, right?"

You nod, half-asleep now as you trace little shapes along Jack's forearms. "I have a brainstorming session with the writers, recording… mm, but that's all after my brunch with the girls."

"That's right," he muses as he gives a little, shallow thrust. "I'll try to get out of your hair early, let you get ready."

Your eyes fly open (when did you even close them?) and release a quiet huff of protest. "No, you can stay— I like it when you make me breakfast." His laughter is warm against your shoulder, warm and sweet.

"I thought you were going to brunch, sweetheart."

"Let's be real, Jack, it'll mainly just be Trinity and I pounding back mimosas."

He sighs. "Your best friend's an awful influence. Make sure you drink water in between, baby."

Your tone is wry but thick with sleep, already nodding off but not without slipping in one last bratty little remark. "Yes, daddy."

His cock throbs inside you but neither bother to mention it.

—

Morning comes with stubbly kisses to your cheek, a kind beginning to buffer the sun's cruel rays that are most definitely not being shielded by your usual curtains. You groan, shove your face into your pillow before peeking above to see your blinds and curtains open.

"Jack—" You whine pitifully but he merely chuckles, circles the bed with his leg already on to settle on your side of the bed. His large hand smoothes back your hair, his calloused fingertips tracing along your jaw. You nuzzle into his touch like a cat. "Are you leaving already?"

He nods and lowers herself down to kiss your forehead. "Robby called. Our producer flew in early and they're calling for a recording sesh."

You sigh dramatically and lift your head up, lips pursed. "Tell Robby he owes me for stealing you away."

"You got it, sweetheart," Jack smiles against your lips, pinching your chin before he releases it to rise to his feet. "I'll call you later, yeah?"

Mumbling into the pillows to catch on some more sleep before one of your girlfriends call you up, you wave Jack goodbye. His footsteps fade into nothing and it isn't until your little security camera at your front door beeps with activity, letting you know that Jack has left your property. You sigh and roll over, shamelessly shoving your face into his side of the bed to inhale his shampoo and aftershave. It's an addicting musk, something clean but woodsy, something that reads 'older man' rather than some male manipulator's basic odor of Dior Sauvage.

In the privacy of your bedroom, you release a swooning sigh and allow yourself to daydream about Jack. It's dangerous territory, you know this, and yet you let yourself think up scenarios of simple domesticity. No one can blame you; your tumultuous relationship with Jack had gone from one night stands and stolen quickies in dressing rooms to picking up your shampoo on the way home or sharing pizzas on hotel rooftops.

Before you can sink even deeper in your fairytale thoughts, you drag yourself out of bed and stumble into the shower for a fresh start. You play your colleague's music rather than the demos you've been hoarding, all of them meant for your latest album that you've been working on. Nearly all of them about Jack.

As you sit at your massive vanity, Trinity facetime calls you without warning. You prop your phone up, accept the call with a soft sigh.

"Bitch, tell me you're ready."

You set the powder brush down and bring your setting spray within view of your camera in answer. Trinity rewards you with a bright grin as she shoves her sunglasses up her forehead to settle in her sleek updo. Despite the group chat claiming it to be a 'chill' brunch to catch up (now that all of you are finally in the same timezone), everyone is far too media-trained to ever be caught dead without looking effortlessly put together.

"We're on our way to you, get your ass to the front door!" Trinity crows as she turns the phone around, panning to the other girls in the car. Samira's glowing beside Trinity, the wonderful benefits of having wrapped up filming in Malta, and Victoria looks clean cut yet practical as if she's trying to demand the whole world to take her seriously as a filmmaker (even if she's one of the most famous nepo babies in Hollywood). The phone's passed down to Dove Tala, another singer-turned-actress that's been added into the fold of your friend group after sleeping with Trinity.

(As of now, you still have no idea what relationship they even have for each other.)

With a final swipe of lip gloss, you slip into a pair of kitten heels that match your sundress. Even now, your professional life bleeds into your personal as you slowly adopt a more girly style, something your team and creative partners had insisted on as you begin to build your next album release. They want more immersion, they said, especially with a fanbase like yours that follow your every move.

Already, some of your fans have begun to wonder if you're seeing anyone (aside from the pink limousine fiasco) due to the way you seem to be 'glowing' (a class effort from Tatcha's Luminous Dewy Skin Mist Finishing spray).

When Trinity's driver pulls up to the front of your house, the door swings open and you climb in where you're immediately greeted by a chorus of sweet 'hello's and gasps from your outfit.

"Okay, you're giving girlfriend material," Samira grins as she scoots down to make room for you. "Who's the lucky guy?"

Your eyes roll. "Jesus, I haven't even buckled in—! Can we please save the interrogation until after the mimosas?"

Dove's eyes glimmer with mischief. "I'm holding you to that, babe."

—

The car takes your group to Beverly Hills, rolling to a stop in front of a podium where a gloved valet opens the door. With your glasses firmly placed on your nose, everyone schools their expression into one of neutrality before you're inside and the host guides you to your table near an open window for some natural light. While it leaves all of you exposed to any possible photos taken, none of you have any concern for it.

"Your server will be with you shortly," the host says serenely as you all scoot into your booth, purses set aside and sunglasses carefully placed upon the tops of all your styled hair. While your friend group aren't the only celebrities frequenting the infamous brunch spot, you still garner a fair amount of looks. Mostly awe but many are of sick curiosity.

Your cheeks burn and you recall the nasty exposé that TMZ had dropped the night before. Trinity takes your hand beneath the table and you immediately understand the silent question in her eyes.

"I'm fine," you murmur and squeeze her hand gently in affirmation. She holds your eyes a beat longer before she nods. The girls around you immediately notice the small interaction. You wave away their concerned looks. "Honestly. It's my first trashy tabloid photo, I'm just being a baby about it."

Dove tsks. "Still doesn't excuse them to blow it all out of proportion, especially with just one photo! Fuckin' deuxmoi's making it sound like you dropped a sex tape."

"Wait, what?"

Victoria elbows Dove and while a silent conversation passes, you turn to Trinity with a question on your tongue. However, the other girls interrupt. "It's fine, it's nothing—!" Victoria cuts in, snatching your phone off the table with a slightly frazzled grin. "It's the same bullshit, these blind items are never accurate."

Panic brews but Trinity squeezes your hand before you can completely spiral. "No one is insinuating that you had a sex tape. It was a theory that your fans shut down immediately. However— the most common thread here is who the fuck you were with in that limo."

Four pairs of eyes land on you and while you've performed in front of tens of thousands of people, you feel an irrational sense of stage fright in front of your closest friends. But your server comes with a polite smile and you can sink into the plush velvet seats in relief.

"What can I get you ladies?"

"Let's start with a pitcher of Tommy margs," Dove smiles and her charm is blinding, eliciting a shy laugh from the poor server who nods. The rest of you rattle off your orders (the usuals, really— the five of you frequent this place so often that it's an open secret with your fans that it's the best way to catch a glimpse of you) before relaxing back in your seats when your server leaves with the promise of returning quickly with margaritas.

Samira slides her phone towards you, screen displaying the TMZ article that's been haunting you alongside the photo that's shown you at possibly your worst: your black cocktail dressed ruched up one thigh in the stolen moment, one strap sliding off one shoulder where a myriad of lovebites are painted across your collarbone and neck, lipstick smeared and your hair mussed.

It's almost theatrical if you stare at it long enough. Maybe even purposeful if it had been taken with your consent.

"You look good," Dove murmurs with a light shrug. Your eyes cast up and her easy admission soothes the panic that's been simmering in your gut. She's kind but not always the most gentle with her words. Compliments are rare but it makes the ones that spill from her tongue even more precious. When she compliments, she states it like fact.

"Of course she does," Samira cuts in. "It's just awful that it was taken with the sole intent to defame her."

Victoria's nails tap away at her screen. "Some of these blind items say so. But lots are disagreeing." She hands her phone over to you.

Popstar princess snuck away from a party. Not so innocent now.

— she's a grown adult, let her have fun.

Popstar princess caught filming a sex tape in a limo. Call it a wild ride.

— if it was a real sex tape and we're thinking of the same singer, it would've been leaked by now. this is false.

And there were more, multitudes of comments defending you or demanding proper proof before any kind of accusations can be flung onto your name. It softens your racing heart as you give Victoria her phone back. "Thanks, guys."

Your friends all send you a smile, reaching over to rub your shoulder or hand or refilling your glass. "Of course," Samira coos.

Dove nods and takes a sip of her drink. "Now that we've got that out of the way, it's time to spill. Who's the guy, babe?"

As if on cue, your phone buzzes with a text, the table vibrating slightly.

J ♡ : Robby's driving me insane. Rooftop pizza later tonight?

The girls gasp and dive for it, eyes snagging onto the blatant red heart that's tagged right after Jack's initial. Before you can scramble for your phone back, Victoria's unlocking the text and blanching at the contact photo.

"You're dating Jack Abbot," she whisper-yells, remembering they're still in public settings and making sure to mouth his name at the end. The girls struggle to take the phone from Victoria who has a terrifyingly large grin. When you do not deign to confirm or deny, Dove deems this your silence as answer enough before her sharp gaze lands on Trinity.

"You aren't reacting." Her eyes narrow. "You knew, didn't you?"

Trinity's grin is wild. "Of course I did. Best friend privileges."

Victoria's expression is a touch hurt when she asks, "why didn't you tell us?"

"It felt so surreal, I wasn't sure if he was just gonna leave me high and dry after that first night," you share with a bashful smile. "We didn't even sleep together for the first couple of times we ran into each other at Barney's."

The food arrives, artfully decorated, and plates land quietly on your table. Your group give the server a distracted word of thanks before their attention is fixed on you once more. You drag out the moment as you grab your phone to text Jack back.

To J ♡ : Serves you right for picking him over me. To J ♡ : But yes to pizza ♡

When you hit send and lock your phone, you glance up to see them staring at you with patient expression. (Almost patient, Victoria looks like she's about to dive out of her seat.)

"So he joined me at the bar that first night—you know how I like to write at Barney's—and he tried the most stupidest pick-up lines on me." You recall the evening with a smile, telling a shortened version before you continue on to tell the next time you'd seen him. "I didn't give him my number then and I was fully regretting it until I saw him again a week later at Barney's."

—

… SIX MONTHS AGO.

The loud music and wild cheers is a comfort that doesn't deter your concentration as you try yet again to continue writing lyrics. While you manage to tune out the surroundings of Barney's, you can't quite tune out your own thoughts. You're better than this, you think to yourself as you set the pen down with a little groan in favor of sipping at your glass of cherry coke.

Jack Abbot has been living at the forefront of your mind since he had helped you get home a week ago. You scoured the internet for any trace of him at two in the morning, stalking his non-existent socials only to come up with just their last release of Ghost Of You about five years ago.

The song itself is heartwrenchingly beautiful, the ache interlaced within the chords and harmonies, it had driven you to your piano and write a short melody you can't quite put a name to. It's the same melody filtering through your mind, one you've been trying to write lyrics to.

"You'll end up scratching a hole into the page if you write so hard."

You nearly fall off your stool when Jack settles into the seat beside you. Effortlessly handsome, his silver curls are messed roughly atop his head, crows feet deepening in amusement.

"Are you stalking me?" You blurt out but he chuckles and shakes his head.

"No, I just wanted a beer. But seeing you's a nice surprise." He takes the open bottle with a nod, takes a swig without losing eye contact with you. When you don't speak, a silent challenge, he gives in with a slightly bashful grin. "Alright, I might've… been coming every night to see you again."

The immediate confession floors you, flattery blooming in your chest. "Seriously?"

He laughs and it's such a boyish sound that he nearly looks ten years younger. "Seriously," he confirms. "Didn't feel right though since you weren't sober the last time I saw you."

A smile rises up your lips, unbidden. "I'm sober now. Still want that number?"

"Yes, but I was hoping for more now."

Your brows raise in playful surprise. "And what did you have in mind?"

His eyes flick up and down but rather than feeling like a piece of meat, he makes you feel like art being appraised. It sends a shiver down your spine. "One evening with you."

Maybe if it were anyone else, you would've made him work for it. Beg a little. Drag the moment until they're drooling for just a touch. But Jack's good at making you chase for it and make it feel like it's your idea.

"Take me home, rockstar."

No one bats an eye when you walk out of the establishment with Jack's arm around your waist, the other patrons turning a blind eye. His cologne is addicting when he tugs you into his side, effectively shielding you from a few stragglers taking a smoke break by the curb. When the car rolls up, Jack's got a hand at the top of the entrance as you slide in to avoid any accidental head bumps.

The drive is quiet but filled with a tension neither of you knew how to name. His hand is warm on your thigh and when you two make it to his place deep in the 'burbs of Holmby Hills. It takes your breath away when Jack helps you out of your sweater in the receiving foyer of his home.

It's massive and beautiful without seeming pretentious.

"So, be honest," you say as you follow him to what seems to be the main lounge, a plush brown leather sectional with a private bar hugging the far wall. "Do you use that line often to get women home?"

He circles around the bar, picks out a few glasses with a knowing laugh. "What—? No, I don't just hang around bars to pick up women. That's more of Robby's prerogative. Haven't you seen our tabloids? He's the manwhore between the two of us."

You laugh and lean against the opposite side of the bar, nearly bending over to flash Jack a hint of your cleavage. "That doesn't help your case! Those same tabloids that talked about Robby also talked about you, you know. You two are one in the same."

He shakes his head with another amused chuckle before he gives in, narrating his tried and true methods. "… I start off with making mocktails. Makes it look less sleazy than me using actual alcohol." He does a few tricks with the cocktail shakers, indubitably impressing you despite your attempts to remain indifferent. When he finishes, he pours the mocktail espresso martini into two glasses, adds a coffee bean in the center.

"I hate to say it, rockstar, but I'm a little impressed," you say after taking a careful sip, noting the way Jack's eyes track your tongue catching the foam left behind on the corner of your lip.

"Thank god, I don't think I'd live with myself if I ended up disappointed you," he teases as he circles the bar to join you on the same side, leaning one elbow upon the dark wooden counter as he appraises you yet again. No hesitation in checking you out and you let yourself be put on display. He watches you look around, never taking his eyes off you as he absentmindedly reaches up to brush back your hair over your shoulder to trace your collarbone.

"You have a lot of decor…"

The touch is light and undemanding, the backs of his knuckles feather-light as they brush along the remnants of glitter from your previous photoshoot. "I traveled a lot. And with the royalties, I have too much money I know what to do with— yeah, I know," he laughs at your blatant eye roll but he continues on when you sink deeper into his space. "I bought a lot of stupid shit with it. I even got talked into buying a gold massage chair."

You gasp dramatically. "No fuckin' way. Those are literal scams."

"I was out $10k, of course I knew it was a scam," he laughs as he shakes his head. The hand that had traced your jaw and collarbone travels down to your waist, skimming a thumb along your hip bone. The space between you two is nearly nonexistent but before you follow the natural progression to kissing, he tips his head to the side. "Follow me."

His hand nearly swallows yours as he guides you to the leather couch, sits you down before he wanders to the corner of the room where a gorgeous turntable sits. The room's filled with slow crooning and instrumentals, maybe something from the forties if you had to date it yourself, when he drops the needle. The plush seats dips beside you as Jack's arm stretches out across the back of the couch, effectively curling you into his embrace. You aren't complaining as your shoulder brushes his chest, lifting to move your legs onto his lap while you sip at your mocktail.

"Your age is showing," you tease. "I didn't think you listened to Frank Sinatra. Were you two classmates?"

"Har har," Jack laughs dryly, pinching your side lightly while you lean over to set your empty glass down onto the coffee table. "You're real cute, sweetheart." In your effort to escape and wriggle from his ticklish touch, he uses your movement to his advantage to pull you even closer for a kiss that steals your breath away.

You kiss back immediately, a low whimper spilling between your lips that Jack swallows immediately. He kisses you like he's starving. His touch is warm and demanding as he coasts along the expanse of your ass and hips, drawing you closer. At one point, your hips rise, grinding slightly while you hover above him and his head tips back with the force of your kiss. It's hungry and messy now, your hair cascading down that he uses the back of his hand to sweep back your tresses before tucking it behind your ear.

The gentle touch brings forth a broken giggle before you full on start laughing against his neck.

"Sweetheart. This is kinda killing my ego," he says as his large hand splays out along your spine while you bow over to stifle your laughter in his shirt.

"I'm sorry," you manage to say, your giggle dying down as you lift your head while you smooth out the creases upon his collar and chest. "I just— it was tickling me and then I just remembered— you have a massage chair? Like for real?"

He gives you an incredulous look but nods. "Yeah."

"Can I see it?"

"Not right now."

...

You sit in the massage chair with a blanket wrapped around your frame while Jack stands above you, fiddling with the remote control. The chair kickstarts and your eyes roll back with a quiet moan. Jack's eyes darken before you look up with a half-grin.

"This is great but this was definitely not worth ten thousand dollars, rockstar."

—

You're pulled back into the present when your phone buzzes in your hand. A red heart from Jack in reply to your text.

"You tried out his massage chair before you tried him out?" Dove interrupts with a bright giggle. "Did you guys fuck that night?"

When you shake your head, the girls gasp. "No, we spent the whole night talking. He took me back to bed and we made out some more but we kept laughing. At one point, we just fell asleep together."

You didn't realize you had been staring out the window with the dopiest smile until you snap out of it, glancing back to your friends who are watching you with varying looks of fondness and slight concern.

"You look smitten, babe," Samira murmurs gently. You startle and before you can deny it, Dove cuts in with a firmer squeeze to your hand.

"Just remember, honest love can be a cage that'll trick you into feeling like you're free."

Victoria smacks her shoulder. "Jesus, you're a bigger cynic than Trinity."

You shake your head and trace shapes into the condensation of your glass. "I never said it was love, guys. It's… We aren't labeling anything. And I'm not about to scare him off by asking the stupid 'what-are-we' question, I'm being cool. Chill. Relaxed and indifferent."

"Indifferent suddenly means your not-boyfriend coming around for pizza?" Trinity remarks with a sharp brow. "Be honest with yourself, he's doing boyfriend things, you're doing girlfriend things. I think six months is a little too long for a situationship—"

Victoria snorts into her glass. "Look who's talking."

Dove and Trinity share a look and an awkward silence falls on the table. Despite feeling sorry for your best friend and her own messy love life, you're grateful that the attention is finally off you.

The conversation shifts onward to different topics, Samira bemoaning the strict thematic approaches the higher-ups are placing on her next EP, Dove gushing about the last episode of Euphoria, Trinity rambling eagerly of a break after wrapping up filming for her latest movie, and Victoria complaining yet again of her extraordinarily famous director of a mother.

You sit in the midst of the beautiful chaos with a soft smile, nibbling absentmindedly at your friends before your phone buzzes again. Trinity glances over—you wonder if it's her innate overprotective best friend role—until you wave her away. It's just your manager, Cassie.

"I've gotta go," you sigh regretfully as you show the screen of Cassie calling you. The girls boo dramatically but you give your customary cheek kisses before you stumble out of the booth, answering the call and tucking your phone in between your ear and shoulder. "Hey, Cass."

Your heels carry you to the front, sunglasses back on your face. The valet approaches you but you politely wave them away just as your own driver pulls up to the curb.

"… yeah, Antoine just got here," you tell Cassie on the phone as he steps out to open the door for you. "… yup, absolutely." When you hang up the phone, you let your driver know to take you straight to the recording studio.

As you sink into the backseat, you let out a quiet huff as you brace yourself for the packed schedule that'll take up the rest of your day. In the midst of LA traffic, you mindlessly scroll through emails and correspondence to shift your brain into work mode.

Even so, your attention falls to the leather cord that's wrapped loosely around your wrist. A guitar pick dangles at the end, matte black with a red 'J' scrawled in the center.

Your smile never fades even as you enter the building upon arriving.

—

The outside world falls away when you envelop yourself into the bubble with the other writers and producers. Before you even step into the booth, you settle onto the couch as you're surrounded by a few of the other staff. Cassie had brought you your notebooks from your house for you, along with a few changes of clothes in anticipation of having no time to go home and change.

"I do have potential lyrics for one of the b-sides."

You flip through your notebook and the raw vulnerability that greets you nearly has you slamming the pages shut. But you keep it open and hand it over to Brendon, one of your harsher critics and fellow co-writers. It always feels like peeling your skin and exposing the muscles beneath when Brendon looks over your work; he may not know it's about Jack but he'll see the yearning that's been burrowing deeper and deeper in your bones.

"Not bad." Brendon nods and turns where he sits on a piano bench, testing out the chords you had scrawled above the lyrics. "Slower tempo, though. Might keep this as an opener if you want to build the storytelling to something bigger…"

The afternoon continues on like this, testing out melodies and harmonies while locking in the lyrics. Something comes to mind from the brunch and you lean over Brendon to scribble an extra line in the first verse.

He reads it over, sings it in the melody. "Honest love is a cage that makes you feel free…" the final chord echoes in the room. "That's cynical for a love song."

You shrug. "That's why it's titled 'stupid song'."

Another producer behind you chuckles at your smart wit. The progress is slow and steady but you've got a demo recorded at least and soon Cassie's hustling you out for your next schedule to the dance studio a few blocks down.

Fortunately, there's only a few dancers already there and the choreographer and performance director is close behind; you hate making people wait, fully negating the diva persona the internet tries pushing on you.

The choreo is something you're already familiar with and rehearsal goes by swiftly, blocking out your entrances as you follow the marked tapes that's meant to mimic the stage for the festival you're headlining next month.

"We'll end here today. Thanks, everybody." Everyone disperses for water, stretching out while you head over to your phone where it's been ringing.

You thank everyone as you cross the room to your bag, rummaging to bring out your phone. When you answer, a smile immediately blooms upon your lips.

"Hey, baby."

Jack's chuckle is slightly overtaken by the roar of winds and you figure he's driving with the windows down. "Hi, sweetheart. Did I interrupt something, you sound breathless."

"Oh, absolutely. I was just riding Robby," you retort with a snappy giggle.

"My best friend? That's cruel," he whines dramatically before he breaks off into a laugh. "Our recording sesh finished early, thought I could swing by and wait for you at your place."

"Actually…" Your conversation with the girls begin to weigh heavily on your mind, missing the way some of the dancers start to glance your way. "Rehearsals just finished. Do you wanna pick me up instead?"

"Depends. Where's the dance studio?"

"Are you near West Hollywood? On Melrose?"

Jack chuckles. "I am. I'll be there in ten, alright? Don't come out 'til I pull up."

You hum, not bothering to stamp down your bright smile. "I know. I'll see you soon."

"See you, darling."

Jack's G-Wagon is excessive yet blends right in with the rest of the vehicles that roll along Melrose Ave. He's shamelessly double-parked in front of the studio, hazard lights flashing, as you walk briskly to hop into the front seat. You don't relax until the door's shut behind you, safe behind tinted windows, to lean in and kiss Jack across the console. Despite the obvious traffic he's causing, his hand grasps your jaw to deepen the kiss that has your thighs clenching together.

"Mm, Jack… the cars—"

He nips against your lower lip. "Can't help it. Missed you today."

You giggle, traffic be damned, and lean in for another. "You saw me this morning."

"Not enough time," he says simply before he drops a kiss to your nose and shuts off his hazard lights. "Buckle up."

You obey immediately before a tantalizing smell steals your attention. Like a bloodhound, you sniff the air and look over your shoulder to see the familiar box in the backseat.

"You got me Vito's?"

Jack chuckles at the sharp squeal that follows, landing his warm palm onto your thigh to settle you when you attempt to turn and crawl into the back for an early slice. "It's your favorite, sweetheart, of course I did. Now quit moving and behave for me."

You retaliate with a sharp nip to his earlobe instead, dragging his hand higher up your thigh which he squeezes. "I'm giving you the sloppiest head later."

"Just for pizza?" He barks out a laugh as he turns onto your street.

"For Vito's," you correct. He rolls into your driveway, the gate shutting behind him. Once the security system is locked in place, you squeal as Jack's hand shifts higher to rub your clothed clit. His mouth finds yours, swallowing up your moans as he rubs you through the soaked fabric until you're cumming in your seat.

You're panting against his mouth when he reluctantly breaks the kiss, retracting his hand to lick his fingers clean while you watch with a burning gaze. "Always taste so sweet for me, sweetheart," he remarks casually before he steps out, circles the car and helps you out next.

The indifference he has is a ruse, you know that much, but it turns you on even more, whining playfully as he grabs the pizza and heads inside without another word. "Jack—!"

His resounding cackle only has you huffing, playfully stomping your feet as you follow him inside. "Go shower, pretty girl, I'll meet you on the rooftop."

—

(INSTAGRAM — @STARSARCHIVAL. (fan account for STAR!) 2 min ago. — [caption: THROWBACK TO WHEN STAR DID LIVESTREAMS.]

VIDEO: A screen recording of an old livestream of you that aired a few months ago. It's late morning or early noon, birds chirping. You're sitting in your backyard patio at the table, an acoustic guitar on your lap and dressed in a matching pajama set. A bowl of unfinished greek yogurt and parfait is sitting on the table beside you. "This is a demo, not really sure if this'll ever be released but I finally figured out the chorus. Hope you like it." A sweet melody rings out, mingling with the occasional songbird that flits in and out of frame behind you. It's likened to a lullaby. "And it's too hard to describe thisIn a way that feels honest, but even when I'm quietI adore you, baby, I promiseAnd I hope I never see what your face looks like goin'A face, I swear, that I could spend my whole life knowin'Here's to hopin'."

—

By the time you're showered, the sun has begun to set, painting the skies a strawberry pink tinged with orange. One of Jack's old NIGHTCRAWLER shirts hang off your frame, the black dye faded into a crackled gray, and conceal the cotton shorts beneath as you climb up the stairs that lead to your house's roof.

It had been the sole reason of purchasing this home, the gorgeous view that overlooks the neighborhood with an artifical ivy wall to create a semblance of privacy. With some renovation, you had another wall put up to project movies off of with a mountain of beanbag chairs and plush couches to sit on at the other side of the roof. A low coffee table sits nearby as well, occasionally pushed aside or dragged closer for whatever the evening requires.

But tonight, Jack has the lanterns turned on, casting the roof in a warm glow that'll replace the sunset's natural light. The coffee table is tugged close to the couch that Jack's already occupying, the pizza box open and a couple of cherry cokes already set out for the both of you.

"That mine?" He chuckles in greeting as he opens his arm for you to slide into.

"It's mine now," you grin and tuck your legs beneath you, fitting perfectly in his arms while he hands you a plate. Music is playing faintly; you may not own an exorbitantly expensive record player like Jack but you have a handy JBL speaker that's currently playing an old R&B track you might've introduce him to.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence as you assume your usual position: legs tossed across Jack's lap, his hand stroking along your thigh, and your head resting on his shoulder as you chew. While he'd been technically on hiatus with Robby for the past several years, he understands the chaos and demands of a life lived in the public eye.

Sometimes, just existing with Jack is enough to find your anchor.

"Day's been okay?" He asks quietly, plates set aside as he presses a kiss to your forehead. When you nod, a voice that sounds eerily like Trinity whispers in your ear: boyfriend activities. You bat it away.

"Just busy," you answer as you set your cherry coke down to tip your head up to meet his eyes. Your fingertips scratch along his scruffy beard, traveling up to play with his silver curls. "This is nice, though. I love our rooftop pizza nights."

Jack hums in agreement, head tipping to chase your touch. "Best way to end the day. Made any progress with the album?"

"A bit. We got the verse down but we're still playing around with the chorus," you murmur. His hand smooths up your thigh without expectations, basking in the domesticity of the evening while you ramble on about your day. He listens with a few nods and hums slipped in. "But how about you? I saw the Rolling Stones article about you and Robby. Are you excited to be back in the limelight?"

"I think so— I know Robby is," he chuckles. "Most of the album is recorded but it's shorter than we planned it to be. Either we just drop it as is or we would drag out the release by dropping singles."

"That's what my company wants me to do. Don't tell anyone but I have something slated to release for my music festival next month. Oh— that reminds me! Will you be coming?"

Jack already has trouble denying you anything but when you pair a question (that you ask oh so sweetly) with a bat of your big doe eyes, he's saying yes before he could even consult his schedule. He's rewarded with an eager squeal from you, nearly knocking him backwards as you hug him tight. "Careful, sweetheart," he laughs as he braces you against him with a hand on your back, effectively holding you like a clingy koala with how your legs hook around his waist.

"I'll have my team send over badges so you can get through security," you state while reluctantly releasing Jack so you can draft up an email to Cassie while perched comfortably on his lap. "Should I get Robby one too?"

Jack pauses before he nods. "Sure, why not."

"Good, I already requested for two." The email's sent and when you toss your phone aside, you catch your lover's questioning look as you settle back down in his arms.

"Don't give me that face— you and Robby are like a set, I know better than to separate you two."

—

Hot off the press, a stack of US WEEKLY magazines are dropped off by the kioks on the Walk of Fame a few days later. Your face amongst a few other male celebrities are splashed across the cover, garnering more attention by passing pedestrians.

US WEEKLY: STAR-CROSSED LOVERS?

NATION'S POPSTAR PRINCESS 'STAR' WAS FOUND EXITING DANCE STUDIO ON MELROSE AND GETTING PICKED UP BY A MYSTERY MAN.

MANY HAVE BEEN SPECULATING EXACTLY WHO WAS IN THE LIMO WITH STAR THE NIGHT BEFORE BUT SOURCES CLAIM TO KNOW WHO PICKED HER UP IN THAT G-WAGON. SOME SAY IT'S DENNIS WHITAKER, UP AND COMING COUNTRY SINGER OR MATEO DIAZ, CURRENT HEARTTHROB OF THE BIG SCREEN.

BUT MANY CLAIM IT'S JACK ABBOT OR ROBBY FROM NIGHTCRAWLER.

—

thank you so much for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are heavily appreciated and welcomed!

you're just a slut looking for attention, Tammi's words not his, and god does he give it to you.

when you show up at his door all pouty and looking worried sick, still in your nightie, claiming that your sink was leaking like crazy and you needed his help cause "it's wet alll over, Sammy please".

when your car shit the bed (a miracle your little fiat even held on that long) and you'd asked all syrupy sweet if Sammy could "take care of me, please Officer?".

even when your IKEA furniture came in and you needed "someone big and strong" like him to assemble it for you because you'd just gotten your nails done and couldn't afford breaking one.

and he'd willingly play along, frowning all unsure and going "eh…I dunno, sweetheart…" only to show up as soon as his wife was out of the house.

it was perfectly neighborly of him to help you, an upstanding member of his community. or at least that's what he reasoned with while he mowed your lawn on a hot-ass Sunday afternoon while Tammi was out of town.

all while trying his best to ignore how good you looked all splayed in your lawn-chair and little bikini, lips pursed around the straw of your fruity drink as your heated gaze raked over Sammy's buff, chubby body. the unforgiving July sun had made his white tee stick to his sweaty torso like saran, and you'd lapped up every detail like you'd owned him. his meaty, defined pecs, the outline of his belly pressing against the drenched fabric, the strain of his sleeves fighting against his flexing biceps…

Sammy couldn't possibly know you wanted him, but your looks were hungry, eyes voraciously gorging on every detail as he stopped mowing to stretch his back. his hand came up to wipe the beads of sweat dotting his brow and rolling down the side of his pink, plump cheeks. a small resigned sigh escaping him as he hesitantly tugged at the hem of his shirt.

"It's soooo hot…" you whine in your comfy seat in the shade, lower lip caught between your teeth in view of his thick triceps and back muscles flexing. good god was Sammy Bryant wide. built like an ox, broad shouldered and burly under a healthy layer of chub, and you wanted nothing more than to take a bite out of him. or three. "why don't you take your shirt off, honey?"

the suggestion seems to have hit a nerve, Sammy straightening up like a meerkat, his head whipping to your direction nervously. "wh-what?" he squeaks before clearing his throat. "i mean- i-…no, no i'm fine. no one wants to see the fat guy shirtless."

he doesn't understand why you look so confused at his self depreciating comment, brows pinched and nose ever so slightly scrunched as you slide off your seat and walk over to him. "That's mean, Sammy," you say, grasping the hem of his white tee to slowly peel the sticky, offending garment off his soft pudgy belly and broad chest. "I wanna see you shirtless." you admit to your married neighbor without a lick of shame. "'sides, it's hot out."

and what the fuck is he supposed to say to that except babble out a confused "thank you?" and ignore the pink flush moving from his cheeks down to his neck at record speed?

you giggle in response, clearly unfazed, or perhaps delighted, and reach up to squeeze his biceps. They're firm under your manicured fingers, a bulging vein jumping when you stroke it with your thumb. "You've got sooo many freckles!" you coo, the tips of your nails trailing down his chest like the world's horniest game of connect the dots. "Lemme get my sunscreen and I can do your back, yeah?"

any other man would probably have enough sense to push you off and hightail it to his home that he shares with his wife, but Sammy finds himself sat at the edge of your sun lounger with you kneeling behind him, almost trembling as you slather sunscreen on his freckled shoulders and back.

"Ooh..see, you're already turnin' pink, honey" you chirp, voice all sweet and bubbly. god, you sounded like you didn't have a care in the world, let alone worried that Tammi might catch you two. your hands take the opportunity to grope Sammy for all he's worth, naughty fingers grasping at his back muscles and sides with the excuse of "getting every inch!", even going as far as to pinch his love handles and laugh in his face when poor Sammy squeaks. "Goodness, you're jumpy officer!"

"Tammi…my wife…" Sammy starts, his protests melting into a soft whimper as you cup and knead his pecs, sunscreen forgotten.

"What about her?" you hum in return, peeking over his shoulder to look at his flushed face and puppydog eyes.

"Well.." Sammy starts, voice unsure "She won't be happy if you keep touchin' me like this, sweeth-heart," he stammers when you move down to rub down his pudgy belly, digits digging into the fat possessively. "Um…just worried, I guess. Don't want her to come fight you or-or something-"

you stop him in his tracks with a bold kiss to his shoulder, lipgloss staining the skin a glistening strawberry pink. it's completely out of order, a step far removed from your thus far mostly innocent flirting, and it makes Sammy's pulse thrum when he should be pushing you off.

"Oh I can handle Ms. Tammi, honey," you throw back, unperturbed by the possibility of Tammi rightfully getting in your face or even getting physical. "So you can tell her she's welcome to come over and try somethin'"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

“Why are you whispering?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Truthfully, he couldn’t remember.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Think they’d get your smile too.”

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

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

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

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

“Asshole,” you laughed, shaking your head.

“But I’m your asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, after a moment:

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

You didn’t answer right away.

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

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

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

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

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

He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

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

It wasn’t okay, not really.

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

But he’d get over it.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I know.”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“How?”

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

“What do you mean how, Eds?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, somehow, everything had changed.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, suddenly:

“Wayne’s gonna kill me.”

“What?”

Eddie finally looked up at you, wide-eyed.

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

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

“He’s not gonna kill you, Eddie.”

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

“You’re twenty-three, Eddie.”

“That’s not the point.”

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

“The proud one.”

“Come again?” You blinked.

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

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

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

“Terrified,” he confirmed with a firm nod.

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

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

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

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

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

Then:

“What about Dio if it’s a boy?”

“Eddie.”

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

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

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

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

“You were born before they even hit puberty.”

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

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

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

The horror on Eddie’s face was immediate.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

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

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

“How–”

“I know you.”

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

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

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

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

“Let’s get you two to bed, hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, you know that?”

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

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

He’s utterly, hopelessly gone.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you were.”

“Okay, yeah. Maybe I was.”

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

“Idiot.”

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

“Your idiot, though.”

Yeah, he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there he was, in all his glory.

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

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

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

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

For a moment, you simply stood there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be ridiculous, Eddie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got groceries?”

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

You blinked at the shelves overflowing with food.

“Consider this my present.”

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

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

“Ugh, I hate you.”

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

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

Well, your stomach.

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

“Eddie,” you deadpanned.

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

The suggestion made you scrunch your nose.

“God, no. Can’t stand chocolate.”

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

“Exactly. Yesterday.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You only rolled your eyes in response.

And you were right.

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

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

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

Actually, irritation might’ve been putting it lightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d tried to pitch Ritchie again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You lasted approximately seven minutes before finally speaking.

“Eddie.”

“Hm?”

“You’re touching me again.”

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

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

To no avail.

“Why are you touching me?”

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

“The baby is the size of a grape.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you muttered. “New rule.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow.

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

“What?”

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

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

“Ice cream?” His eyes narrowed.

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

“Oh, c’mon, babe.”

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

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

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

“No, it’s not.”

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

“That’s extortion.”

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

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

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

You narrowed your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie frowned as he switched off the engine.

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

“Yeah,” you murmured dryly. “Wayne.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Somebody die?”

“What the hell?” Eddie frowned. “No.”

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

“We don’t look like anything.”

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

“A birthday present.”

“A Father’s Day present.”

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

He absolutely had.

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

“Eddie. My birthday is in November.”

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

Wayne just sighed and pulled the door open wider.

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t–”

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

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

“You tell him.”

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

“Exactly,” he muttered back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Unbelievable.”

No one said anything after that for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, finally–

“You’re giving me a baby?”

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

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

“You know what? Fair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you serious?”

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

“As a heart attack,” he replied.

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

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

And there it was – the dreaded look.

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

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

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

“What thing?”

“The proud thing.”

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

“That’s what I said.”

A look of genuine disbelief crossed Wayne’s face.

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

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

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

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

So much for personal space.

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

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

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

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

“You know what?”

“What?”

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

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

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

“Started on what?”

“The piggy banks.”

“Piggy banks?”

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

“Okay, so–”

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

Neither you nor Wayne were convinced.

Well – Wayne was kinda convinced about the college fund.

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

“Boy, you’ve lost your damn mind.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Because it’s true.”

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

Neither of you had the energy to stop him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What time is it?”

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

“Why are you awake?”

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

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

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

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

“Come back,” you whined.

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

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

“Eds, I look disgusting,” you groaned.

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

You only groaned louder and turned your face away.

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

“There it is,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ugh,” you groaned immediately.

“Gotta get ready for the ultrasound, babe.”

“You’re such a party pooper.”

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

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

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

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

Despite yourself, a small tugged at your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do we have any jam?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No comment.”

“Mhmm.”

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

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

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

For the two of you.

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

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

Not that he listened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am being subtle.”

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

“Remind me to change that.”

“Change what?”

“Your last name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please don’t tell me–”

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

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

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

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

“I wanna remember you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But–”

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

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

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

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

“A family that cries together, stays together.”

“I hate you.”

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

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

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

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

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

The cold gel immediately pulled a flinch from you.

“Oh, that’s awful.”

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

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

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

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

“The round part.”

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

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

“That’s our baby,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

And then he remembered – the camera.

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

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

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

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

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

Something warm settled in your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence – complete, utterly deafening silence.

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

“Oh no.”

Your face fell. “What?”

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

“Eddie?”

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

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

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

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

“She’s not even born yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Pink,” he announced firmly.

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

“Why not?”

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

“That’s the point, sweetheart.”

“Okay, mister non-conformity.”

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

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

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

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

“No, we don’t.”

“Society says you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.”

“For out little dragon?”

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

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

“Okay.”

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

“That’s all it took?”

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

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

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

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

“The vision?”

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

“Since when?”

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

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

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

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

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“Me? Nervous? Come on, babe. Have you met me?” Steve shrugged with ease, his hands on the wheel tightening despite his words as he looked over his shoulder to flash you an easy, warm smile. 

A small laugh snorted through your nose, lowering your feet down from the dashboard to push yourself up in your seat. “I know you better than you know yourself, Harrington. You’re acting all cool and suave now, but as soon as we get out of this car – I bet five dollars your legs will be jelly.”

Steve dipped his head against the headrest as he roared out a short laugh, shaking his head as he lifted one of his hands from the wheel to reach over and rest against your thigh. “Alright. Maybe I’m a little nervous, but with you by my side I’ll be absolutely fine.” 

“Aww,” You preened exaggeratedly, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you leant over to press your lips to his arm through his t-shirt. “I know you’ll be fine, baby, they’re gonna love you. And I won’t let you out of my sight.” 

He huffed a content sight, twisting his chin to press a kiss into your hair whilst attempting to keep his eyes on the road. His palm squeezing your skin gently as you turned your head to rest against him. 

“Well, won’t let you out of my sight until we go to bed.” Your voice crept out at a smaller volume, your eyes following the road in front of you. A small hum left Steve, his fingers tapping against your thigh gently before you lifted your head to look up at him. 

“What do you mean?” His eyebrows furrowed gently, turning his gaze to your own whenever he could.

“I mean, my parents are kinda big on the whole–” You took in a sharp breath, trying to find your words. Your eyes flickered from the road to look down at his hand, your finger pushing around the silver signet ring that laid on Steve’s pinkie finger that you’d bought him for your anniversary. “Sleeping in separate rooms, because we’re not married. And we should wait until we’re married to have sex.” 

Your parents' wishes of waiting until marriage weren’t something that you followed through your life, but you’d decided in high school that you wanted to wait until you met the right person, knowing that you’d know as soon as you met them. 

And you did. You met Steve after college, when you moved to Hawkins to take a teaching job at the middle school. The infamous Steve Harrington was a part of your life instantly, spending every lunch break and lesson planning session in the other’s classroom for the entire year, until he finally asked you out on a date. 

Other guys that you’d been seeing through college hadn’t been so understanding of your wanting to wait to have sex, but Steve was completely different to anyone you’d ever met in every way possible. He didn’t kiss you until your third date, would walk you to your door and wait for you to head inside and turn the light on before even walking back to his car. 

Two years later, you’re absolutely certain with every fibre in your body that you’re going to spend the rest of your life with Steve Harrington. So, bringing him home to meet your parents was next on the cards for you both. Even though Steve knew everything about you, your family, your life, for some reason you’d kept it to yourself that your parents would be expecting you in different rooms. 

A small ball tightened in your stomach as you told him, but the gentle smile that he offered you washed every stupid fear you may have had away completely. 

“That’s completely fine, baby,” His voice hit your ears gently as he shifted his wrist from your grip, slipping his fingers through yours and bringing the back of your hand up to his lips. “I’d be happy sleeping on a bench outside. I’m just happy to finally be meeting your family.”

“God, I love you so much.” A small laugh passed your lips as you pulled your hands to your own face, peppering kisses on each of his fingers and his hand until it was shiny and covered in your strawberry lip balm. 

The last few hours of your drive passed by a breeze. You and Steve had mastered the art of long drives by now. You’d have control over the stereo, and Steve would get to choose where you’d stop for food, which was fine by you considering you both pretty much had the same palette. 

It was a Friday night, and the two of you were coming up for the weekend as your Aunt would be in town this weekend too. It was a perfect opportunity for you to introduce Steve to your family, who’d been asking to meet him since the first day you’d told them about him. Your Mom had planned a big get together on Saturday night, inviting anyone in a ten mile radius who would listen. 

Steve rolled into your neighbourhood and down your street in the early hours of the evening. You caught your Mom poking her head from the curtain in the living room window as you pulled up, laughing to yourself as you unbuckled your seatbelt and turned around to Steve. 

“Ready, baby?” You asked softly, taking in a short breath as your hand reached over to squeeze his knee gently. 

He nodded at your words, leaning across the console to press his lips against your own quickly before pulling off his seatbelt. “Absolutely.” 

Your Mom and Dad were already on the porch as you got out of Steve’s car, lifting your hand up to wave at them as you pushed the door shut behind you. You turned over your shoulder to glance at Steve, who was standing in front of his car door with his palm flat on the hood whilst the other waved over at them. 

You held your hand out to Steve over the hood of the car as he rounded it, you noticed the small bob in his throat and the small crease that had formed between his brows. His palm was clammy as it slipped through yours, but you squeezed it softly in support as the two of you crossed the road and started walking up the path to your house. 

“You guys made it!” Your Mom beamed as she practically skipped down the wooden steps to you both, your Dad shortly in tow behind her. Your right arm lifted to wrap around your Mother’s back, pulling her into a tight hug. You felt Steve drop your hand, to which you instantly lifted to complete the hug from your Mom. 

“It’s really great to meet you, Sir.” You heard from over your shoulder, you pulled yourself away from your Mom to see Steve behind you shaking your Dad’s hand. Steve was beaming, a wide smile across his face as he greeted him. 

“Pleasure’s all mine, Steve. We’ve heard nothing but great things about you.” Your Dad chirped back happily, pulling his hands back to rest on his hips. As Steve opened his mouth to respond, your Mother was quick to cut in. 

“Oh, quit hoggin’ him!” She chuckled as she made her way over to Steve. He held his hand out to her, but she was quick to the punch – pulling him into a tight hug that made a laugh choke from his throat. 

“Careful, honey. You’ll squish him.” Your Dad hollered, his arm slinking around your shoulder and rubbing your arm gently. You leant into his hug, smiling to yourself as you watched Steve get smothered by your Mom. 

“Alright! That’s enough,” You laughed gently as you stepped forward to grab Steve’s arm. Your Mom pulled away with a smile, quickly beckoning the two of you toward the house. 

“Dinner’s almost ready. You two hungry? I’m sure you are, been on the road for hours. I’ve made meatloaf, potatoes, and all types of veggies. I even got a pie from the store.” Her voice trailed into the house with her, leaving the three of you on the pavement. 

“I’ll help Steve with the bags, you go help your mother set the table.” Your Dad chuckled lightly from behind you. You nodded softly, lifting on your toes to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek before taking off toward the house. 

When you reached the front door and glanced back over at Steve, he was leant against the car in conversation with your Dad, watching the two of them laughing and chatting made your heart warm. It got even warmer when Steve caught your eye across the yard, and flashed you a small wink. Which you happily returned before ducking into the house. 

The spread your Mother had put together was obscene, enough food to feed the five thousand laid across your dining table by the time you all settled down to eat. Your Mom dressed the table beautifully, with your help of course, her favourite white linen table cloth and the fine china that only got brought out on special occasions. 

Which almost, definitely could have brought a tear to your eye, knowing that your Mom thought meeting Steve was a special enough occasion. She wouldn’t even bring it out at Christmas.

Your parents sat opposite you and Steve, but your chairs were much closer together as your arm linked through his, meaning you had to use your weaker hand to manoeuvre through your dinner, but you didn’t care.

“So, Steve. Tell us about what you do, we hear you teach at the middle school too?” Your Mom asked gently as she piled on some green beans onto her plate, your Dad tucking into his meatloaf as his eyes glanced between you and Steve. 

“Yeah, I’ve been working there for a few years now. I started coaching the baseball team then worked my way up to teaching health class. Now, I’m head of the gym department, and I absolutely love it.” Steve beamed proudly as a chunk of potato sat at the end of his fork, he smiled down at you before pushing it past his lips. 

“Steve is amazing with the kids, they absolutely love him. Steve teaches my class on a Thursday before lunch, and even after that when they come to class they’re still going on about him.” Your eyes didn’t leave his as you gushed away about your boyfriend.

In your past brief relationships, you weren’t as sappy or clingy as you are now, but there was something about Steve. You couldn’t keep your hands off him. Holding his hand, wrapping your arms around his own, clinging onto his body in bed like a koala when you slept. The two of you just can’t bear to not be touching. 

“Great with kids, huh?” Your Dad observed from opposite you, your gaze snapping to his with widened eyes as you felt the conversation shift. “Do you want kids, Steve?”

“Oh, absolutely. But, that’s still a way down the road,” Steve’s hand found your knee with ease under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he felt you tense beside him. “We want to get a dog first. Buy a house and get married, before we even think about kids, right?” 

You felt your heart swell in your chest, your grip on his arm tightening as you nodded up at him. Your smile so bright across your lips it almost hurt your cheeks. “Yeah, right. Dog, house, marriage, kids.”

“Do you know how many kids you want, Steve?” Your Mom asked gently, her own smile possibly even wider than yours at the sight of the two of you. 

A small laugh pushed through his nose, the tips of his ears turning pink as he nodded gently. “Well, I’ve always wanted six kids, but–”

“Six? Oh my, that’s just like you!” Your Mom pointed her fork at you with an amused laugh, bringing her napkin up to dab at her mouth before continuing. “When she was a little girl, she’d go on and on about her six kids she’d have when she’s older. Gosh, you two are perfect together.”

Steve’s eyes widened gently at your Mom’s words. You knew Steve wanted enough children to start your own sports team, but you’d never explicitly said how many you pictured the two of you having. 

He glanced down at you, trying his hardest to fight back his smile as he spoke. “Well. I might be biased, but I’d say we’re pretty perfect together, too.” 

The rest of your dinner and dessert went down a treat, your parents taking turns on quizzing Steve about his life. About his childhood, what he was like in school, what his family was like. You could feel him tensing up beside you at some questions, so you took it upon yourself to avert it entirely, earning a squeeze on your knee as a thank you. 

After an hour or two of sitting and chatting, Steve helped you clear the plates after dinner and he was happy to do the washing up. Your Mom offered to make you all some tea, but it was nearing ten o’clock and you and Steve had been up all day. Plus, some of your relatives were coming earlier in the morning to help your Mom set up for the gathering.  

Steve brought up the duffle bags you’d packed with all of your things, too many clothes for a weekend at home. You showed him to the guest bedroom where he’d be sleeping for the night, pushing the door closed quietly before turning to look at him. He had his back to you, unpacking his things from his bag that he’d packed.

“I’m sorry you have to sleep in here, baby.” You whispered gently as you crossed the room quietly, your hands landing on his hips as he turned to face you as he dropped his pyjamas on the bed. 

He shook his head gently, his hands lifting to cup your cheeks as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Please, baby. Don’t be sorry, I understand.”  He pulled his head back to look at you as his thumbs rubbed back and forth against your cheeks softly. “I’ll see you in the morning, honey.”

Your lips pursed together, letting out an exaggerated sigh before lifting up on your toes to press a kiss to his lips. Pulling away from his touch, you offered him a small wave before slotting yourself through the door. 

The floorboards beneath your feet in the hallway creaked as you stepped over them, your eyes automatically glancing to your parent’s shut bedroom door. You slipped into your own bedroom, clicking the door shut behind you. It was exactly how you remembered leaving it the last time you came to visit. 

Pink striped wall paper with a plush cream rug beneath your feet, even your old posters that you’d hung up in high school still proudly sat against the wall. You looked over your shelf filled with pictures of all of your friends, mentally making a note to add one of you and Steve next time you come home. 

You unzipped your bag, pulling out a pair of your sleep shorts and one of Steve’s old t-shirts from work with Hawkins Middle written across the front. The letters had faded now from years of your wear, but it smelt like him. And seeing as you wouldn’t be wrapped in his arms tonight, his shirt would have to do. 

You padded across the creaky floorboards carefully towards the bathroom with your washbag under your arm. The door pushed open and you shut it behind you, still unsurprisingly looked exactly the same. 

The familiar creak of the tap made you smile gently as you wet your tooth brush under the running water, spreading on the toothpaste before beginning to brush your teeth. You watched yourself in the mirror as you did, thinking back to every morning before school you’d do this same exact thing and now here you are again. You held your hair to the side as you leant down to spit in the sink, watching the water wash it away. 

You brushed your hair out with your fingers, pulling it up into a ponytail when you heard the bathroom door click open behind you. 

“Oh, sorry–” Steve spoke gently, quickly pulling it shut but your small laughter made him push it back open and poke his head round the door. A small whistle left his lips as his eyes dragged up and down your body, causing a playful roll of your eyes as he took a step in to shut the door behind him. “Nice shirt, where’d you get it?”

A laugh huffed past your lips as you tied off the ponytail, watching Steve come up behind you. He placed his toothbrush on the side of the sink as his hands snaked around your waist with ease. “Oh, just my boyfriends, ratty old thing.”

His arms tightened around you as he dipped his head to brush his lips against your neck, letting out a small chuckle against your skin as your hands wrapped around his forearms. His eyes lifted to look at yours in the mirror, “Your boyfriend? Or the shirt?”

“Oh, definitely not my boyfriend. He’s big and tall, super hot,” A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as you rolled your head back into the curve of his shoulder, your voice turning to a whisper as you gently pressed your ass back into him. “And he’s got a massive cock.” 

His eyes widened at your words, moving his head to the other side of your neck where it tilted. His hot breath hitting your skin as his teeth grazed it as he spoke, “Careful, baby. You don’t wanna start something you can’t finish, hm?”

“Who says I won’t finish?” You whispered with a quirked brow, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as your hips rolled back against his. You could feel him hardening against the curve of your ass, a slight groan muffled by your neck as his grip on you tightened.

“Baby,” Steve croaked warningly, slowly lifting his head to catch your eyes in the mirror. His hand slipped from your waist and pushed his fingers beneath the hem of your pyjama shorts, just resting them on your stomach. “I’m serious.”

Your hand slips down to his wrist, your fingers gently squeezing him as you take in a sharp breath, letting your body mould into his. “Me too.” Your voice left your lips as a pained whisper, rocking your hips upward to try and chase his hand that’s still resting on your stomach. 

“Such a bad girl,” Steve murmured against your skin as his hand slipped further into your shorts. The tips of his fingers brushed through the thatch of hair that laid over your mound, his eyes bearing into your own as his hand dips lower. The pad of his middle finger slipped between your folds, his smirk twitching at the tight sigh that fell past your lips. “Is this what you wanted?”

Another pleasured sigh escaped you as his ring finger joined him, using his fingers to spread you open and delve through your folds. “God, you’re soaking wet for me, baby.” He whispered against your skin, teeth grazing your neck as his thumb found your clit with ease. 

“Steve– Fuck.” You whined as his thumb hit your sensitive nub, his spare hand that was holding your waist was quick to come up to your mouth. His large hand covering the lower half of your face entirely as his middle finger pooled at your entrance, shallowly fucking into you until your hips were rocking up into his hand. 

“You’ve got to be quiet, honey. Can’t have anyone hear what I’m doing to you in here, hm?” He spoke as his lips pressed softly to the curve of your neck. His grip tightening against your mouth with each shallow pump of his finger, your moans muffled by his hand. 

His finger pulled out of you to enter you with two, your back arching against his front as the sound of Steve fucking you echoed in the small space of the bathroom. Your hand grasped at his arm that he was holding you up to keep you quiet, your fingernails digging crescents into his skin as he whined against your neck. “You feel so good, baby. So tight and wet for me, aren’t you?” His voice wavered as you nodded against his hand, your hips rocking up to meet the thrust of his fingers as your eyes watched him intently. “Are you gonna come for me, pretty girl? All over my fingers, like the good little slut you are?”

Your pussy fluttered around his fingers at his words, your nails dragging against his skin on his forearm as your head fell backward against his shoulder. “Yeah, I thought so. Gonna make you come all over my fingers, then I think I’ll bend you over this sink and stuff your pretty little cunt with my–”

Steve’s words and hands were interrupted by the floorboard creaking in the hallway, just a few feet away from you. He swore quietly under his breath, quick to coax his fingers out from your shorts and steady his hand that was keeping you quiet to hold your waist. 

Your hands dropped to the sink in front of you, holding yourself steady as Steve leant over to grab his tooth brush that he’d placed down minutes ago. He wet it under the tap, squeezing on the toothpaste all whilst you stood next to him in an attempt to catch your breath. 

“You okay, baby?” His voice muffled under the sound of him brushing his teeth, you turned to look up at him as he lifted his hand to cup your jaw, his thumb gently brushing back and forth against your cheek. 

Despite your shaky breath from the thrill of your boyfriend fingering you in your childhood bathroom and potentially almost getting caught, your heart doubled in size at the domestic sight of Steve right now. Your hand lifted to his chest, nodding gently as you rose on your tip toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

A laugh snickered through his nose, his thumb wiping off some of his toothpaste from your lips before you pulled away from him. “I’ll see you in the morning?” You asked gently, a smile growing as Steve nodded at you, waggling his fingers at you in a wave as you left the bathroom. 

You let out a long breath you didn’t even realise you were holding in when you finally made it back to your bedroom. Creeping across the floorboards and leaning on the banister, a trick you learnt when you were fourteen and had never forgotten. 

The wooden frame of your bed creaked beneath your weight when you sat on the edge of it, even more so when you leant over to your bedside table to click your lamp off. Your eyes trailed to the small strip of light beneath your bedroom door, watching Steve’s shadow cross the hallway back to his own room. 

He’d clicked off the hallway light before you heard the faint click of his door from across the way. You peeled back your familiar duvet, and sank right back into the corner of your mattress that dipped ever so slightly from your many years of sleeping on it. 

You were awoken the next morning by Madonna on the radio floating up the stairs and fitting beneath your door. Groggily, you glanced at the clock that sat beside your lamp reading 9.30. The sheets got pulled off of you despite yourself, mentally wishing for an extra ten minutes but you knew you had a busy day planned. 

The reminder that Steve was only a few feet away flickered in your mind as you shoved your feet into your slippers that you’d packed. You couldn’t have moved across the room any quicker, swinging the door open and ignoring the scent of fresh coffee drifting from the kitchen. 

Your knuckles knocked against Steve’s door gently, but you pushed it open anyway. Your eyes landed on him laid in the bed, sleeping peacefully without a care in the world on his back with his arm laid across the pillow. 

“Rise and shine, honey.” You whispered as you crossed the room, settling your knees on the edge of the bed and reaching over to softly squeeze his thigh. 

He grunted gently, his head twisting to the other side as the small crack of sunlight beamed in from the curtain hit his eyes. 

A small laugh huffed through your nose, crawling closer toward him until you laid yourself flat on top of him. His eyebrows furrowed gently at the feeling of your weight on top of him, his hand that rested across the pillow quickly coming up to rest on your lower back as he was very familiar with you waking him up in this manner. 

“Good morning to you too.” He mumbled as his eyes squinted open, the corner of his mouth turning upward as he was met with your bright grin only a few inches from his face. 

You brushed your nose against his, lifting your chin to brush a small kiss against his lips. “I missed you.” You whispered against him softly, his other hand that was tucked beneath the pillow now joining his other on your back, holding him as close to you as he could. 

“I missed you, baby,” He whispered softly, hands splaying at your waist as they squeezed you closer. His lips capturing yours as you sighed softly against him. He pulled away with a soft pop of your lips, speaking against you. “Had a crazy dream last night.”

“Oh yeah?” You pulled yourself back to look down at him. Steve always looked so handsome in the morning, his eyes heavy with sleep and his smile always too bright, almost like he can’t believe he still gets to wake up to you everyday. 

He nodded softly, leaning forward to nose his way to your jaw. Pressing his lips along the curve of it until he reached just beneath your ear, “I had a dream that I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, and some girl was in there.” 

You huffed a fond laugh at his recall of your events from the night before, your hands slipping to push through his hair as you tilted your head aside for him. “Really? That’s kind of an invasion of your privacy.”

“Mm, maybe, but I didn’t mind.” He spoke against you, sucking gently on the sensitive skin just beneath your ear before peppering his lips across the span of your neck. “She was hot, smoking hot. Wearing these tiny little shorts and one of my t-shirts. Practically begging me to touch her, fuck her over the sink.” 

You tutted gently, your hand swatting at his shoulder but he gripped you tighter. His arm snaked around your back to keep you from wriggling away from him, but you were quick to melt back into his touch when his lips found yours again. 

“She sounds great.” You giggled softly against him, your hands slipping to hold his cheeks as you pulled your lips back, running your thumb across his lower lip. 

“She was great,” He nodded happily, like a kid in a candy store, his lips pressing a kiss against your thumb before whispering against them. “She had the prettiest face and the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, so tight and wet–”

His eyebrows furrowed together slightly, his eyes frantically searching over your face which earnt your own to scrunch in confusion. “Wait a minute–” He gasped dramatically, grip tightening on your waist so he could flip you over onto your back. 

“I need to check something,” He hovered over you to press his lips against yours, humming against your lips before gasping even more theatrically as he pulled back. “It was you!” 

“You’re such a dork,” You laughed under his touch, lifting yourself to kiss him once more before pushing your fingers through his hair. “And as much as I’d love to stay and hear more about your.. bathroom dream, we need to get ready.”

“Five more minutes?” He practically whined against you as his hand slowly slipped from your waist to your thigh, rubbing at your soft skin as he sucked on your lower lip gently. 

Your breath hitched against his lips as you felt a familiar sensation pressing against your thigh. You pulled your lips back slowly to glance between your bodies, your eyes matched with his pyjama pants tightened at the crotch. 

“We won’t have time, baby.” You sighed gently, watching as his hips rocked against you gently – just to feel something. Your hand slipped from his hair to his chest, curling your fingers in the fabric as he huffed from above you. 

His hand gripped tighter on your thigh, pulling his lips from your own to flutter kisses across your face until he pulled back to look down at you. He then held up one finger in front of you before stealing another kiss. Your lips always moved so perfectly together, like in some ways you were made for just this, kissing Steve Harrington. 

You whined softly against his lips, pushing softly at his chest as you pulled your lips away. “C’mon, baby.” You looked up at him, giving him one last kiss before you slipped out from underneath him and swung your legs over the bed. 

“So, what’s the plan today?” He asked as he sat up on the mattress, leaning back on his hands as his eyes followed you as you made your way over to the door. 

“My aunt will probably be round soon, we’ll probably have some lunch then get ready. I think people are coming over for like, six? Is that okay?” Your fingers toyed with the door handle, leaning your head against the door as you looked over at Steve. 

“Sounds great. Are we jumping in the shower now?” He swung his legs over the bed, standing up to walk to the dresser where your Mom had left some towels out for him. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his question. At home, you and Steve would shower together more often than you would on your own. Sometimes it would be him just sitting on the closed toilet seat and talking to you about your day whilst you washed your hair, or you’d quickly hop in with him before work if you’d overslept. 

“Steve.” You whispered, glancing around the door to make sure neither of your parents had heard his comment. When you looked back over at him, he’d taken a few steps closer to you with a small smile. 

“Sorry, just habit,” He lifted his hand to brush a few strands away from your face that had fallen from your ponytail, his fingers settled at your chin to lift it up so he could press a soft kiss to your lips. “You go, I’ll jump in after.” 

You nodded softly, lifting up on your toes to steal one last kiss from him before stepping out into the hallway back toward the bathroom. Your arm slipped behind the shower curtain to turn the shower on, knowing the old silverware like the back of your hand. 

The water washing over you felt incredible. The steam loosening your skin as you tipped your head back under the stream, lathering up the shampoo your mother had bought specially for your return home. As you washed your body, you couldn’t help but feel the loss of Steve’s presence here with you. 

Cold air hit your skin as you stepped out of the shower, using the fluffy towel to warm yourself up as you dried yourself off. You wrapped the towel tightly around your body before opening the bathroom door and heading back to your bedroom. 

After you’d dried off completely and covered yourself in your favourite lotion that you’d packed, you got dressed in your favourite white sundress. You pulled out a box from under your dresser, where your old hair dryer was still happily living. It groaned slightly as it whirred to life, blowing your hair here, there and everywhere as you dried it with your hairbrush. 

When you finally unplugged it, the sound of laughter and conversation came booming from downstairs. The hairdryer was discarded back in the box and kicked under your bed, you slipped on a pair of sandals and made your way downstairs. 

“Do it again, do it again!” You heard a shriek of laughter getting louder as you scurried down the stairs, your fingers skimming the banister as you glided down them. 

You were met with your younger cousin, Jessie, with her arms flailed about being thrown over Steve’s head. She was squealing with laughter, and as soon as he bent over to put her down she was begging to be thrown about again. 

“Again? Gosh, any more and you might get mistaken for a plane.” Steve huffed out with a smile before lifting her up again, spinning as he did. You felt your smile grow across your lips, practically aching. 

You could’ve stood at the bottom of the stairs watching Steve play with your cousin for hours, until you felt a hand on your shoulder. Your head spun on its axis, faced with Jess’s Mom, your Aunt Sheila. “Hey!”

“Hey, sweetie,” She pulled you into a tight hug, her arms slipping around your middle to give you a tight squeeze as her hand gently rubbed at your upper back. “It’s so great to see you, you look great.” 

“Me?” You laughed gently as you pulled away, taking her bag off of her shoulder that she was still holding. Your hand gestured out to her, offering her a bright smile. “Look at you! You look stunning.”

She scoffed slightly, shaking her head as her arms slipped over her chest. You watched her glance over to Jessie who was already enamoured with Steve, her tiny hand slipping through his and dragging him toward the back of the house. “I would like to meet the famous Steve, but I think my daughter might have stolen him away from everyone already.”

Your head shook gently as you laughed, taking a few steps further into the house where you placed her bag on a hook. You turned to her as you spoke, then motioned your head for her to follow you. “I’m sure she can share. I’ll introduce you, come on.” 

When you reached your backyard, Sheila’s husband, Rob and their other two children were already outside talking with your parents. Your Dad had got the grill out ready for tonight, he’d even already set out a table by the backdoor with an assortment of drinks. Soft drinks, beer, spirits, anything you could think of. 

Despite the fridge in the garage already overflowing with burgers, steaks and sausages ready to be cooked for everyone tonight, your Mom had already spent all morning making breakfast sandwiches for all the guests who were around now. 

“Jess!” You called out as you crossed the porch and skipped down the few steps toward the grass where she was playing a ball game with Steve. Her head spun at the sound of your voice, squealing with excitement as she ran over to you shouting your name. 

You bent down and caught her as she launched onto you, sitting her on your hip as your arms wrapped around her. “Look at you, you’re so big now!” Your hands pinched her knees gently and she laughed, her foot kicking beneath her. 

“I was playing with Steve.” She said through her laughter as if you were interrupting them, to which you gasped softly. You glanced over at Steve who was jogging over to the two of you, slightly out of breath with his hands on his hips. 

“Well, can I steal him for a minute? I think your Mommy wants to meet him.” You smiled up at Steve as you spoke, your head tilting slightly toward the deck where all four adults were smiling over at you. 

Jess took actions into her own hands, climbing down from your grip and launching back across the garden like a rocket toward her parents. You felt Steve’s arm slip around your shoulder, pressing a kiss against your temple. 

“She’s adorable.” He mumbled into your hair as the two of you started walking to the deck, your own arm slipping around his waist and pushing your hand into his front pocket. 

“Yeah, she’s the best,” You beamed as you leant your head into him, looking up at him briefly as you spoke. “You looked super cute playing with her, made me think about what you’d look like playing with our kid one day.” 

His eyebrow raised slightly as his eyes read over your face, trying his hardest to fight back a smile. You pulled your arm back slightly as the two of you made your way up the steps. You cleared your throat gently to get the attention of everyone on the deck, even though they were all already smiling at you and Steve.

“Aunt Sheila, Rob, this is Steve. Steve, this is my Aunt Sheila and my Uncle Rob.” Your hand gestured between them, and Steve was quick to leap forward to shake both of their hands, offering them both a bright hello and an even brighter smile. 

The afternoon whizzed by after that. Your Mom lugged her stereo into the garden and had music flooding through the grass for hours, more of your relatives fleeting in as the day wore on. You’d introduced Steve to dozens of your family members by now, and he greeted each one with the biggest smile he could possibly offer them. 

As the evening settled and your Dad was busy grilling steaks, you took it upon yourself to clear some of the plates and cups that had accumulated through the afternoon. You flashed Steve a small wink as he stood on the deck talking with your Uncle, smiling as he tipped the neck of his beer in your direction. 

You stood at the sink, washing up some of the plates when you felt the presence of someone behind you. A faint woody, musky scented cologne filling your nose as a familiar pair of heavy hands settled at your waist. 

“Did I tell you how beautiful you looked today?” Steve spoke softly as he rested his chin on your shoulder, looking down at your hands as they scrubbed a sponge across the front of a plate. 

“Hm, I don’t think you did.” You bit down on your lower lip to push down your smile, pulling your head back slightly to turn to look at him. Steve’s eyes looked down into yours, his hand rubbing at your waist gently. 

“Well, you look beautiful. Your hair’s so damn soft,” He leant forward to nuzzle his nose through your hair, causing you to laugh gently. His lips lowered to your shoulder, peppering soft kisses against your skin as his hand splays across your stomach. “Your nose is a little sunkissed, too. ‘S cute. And this dress, wow.” 

“Steve.” You gently warned as his hand slipped down your body, his palm rubbing across your thigh. Your eyes glanced out of the window, looking at everyone congregating outside, but your breath hitched as you felt his hand slowly pull the hem of your dress upward.

“Everyone’s busy outside, baby,” He spoke into your skin, using his spare hand to pull your hair around to your other shoulder to give him more access for his lips to explore. “Need you so bad, please.”

You dropped the plate in the water and spun around as quickly as your body could manage, your hands grabbing his shoulder for stability as your lips found his own in a frenzy. He sighed into your mouth as your lips parted for him instantly, letting his tongue explore your mouth as his hands pawed at your waist. 

Steve’s thigh slipped between your legs with ease, his hand slipping to your hip and guiding you closer to him. Your bodies slotted so perfectly together, your moans vibrating past his lips as your dress pooled at your hips, allowing Steve to roll your hips against him. 

His hand slipped down to the globe of your ass, squeezing it in his hand as your hips rocked back and forth frantically against him. You didn’t realise how badly you needed him after last night, this morning, you felt yourself tighten around the thought of him as he panted from above you.

Your clit pulsed beneath your underwear with each roll against his thigh, your hands slipped onto his chest as your fingers clung to the material that laid there. You pulled your lips back from him to whine softly, “Baby, s–someone might come inside.”

Steve swallowed thickly at your words, his hand slipping from your waist to pull your skirt down over your ass as he pulled his thigh from between your legs. The two of you glanced down, a small gasp escaping your lips at the small wet patch that had gathered there from you. 

Your teeth sank into your lower lip as you pushed the tips of your fingers around the loops of his belt, unable to break your eyes away from the bulge in his jeans. You looked up at him, taking in a sharp breath. “Go upstairs and change your jeans, I’ll be up in a minute.”

His eyebrow raised gently, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smirk as he nodded. His hands squeezed your hips gently as he whispered gently. “If you’re not up in five, I’ll have to sort myself out.” 

Your jaw dropped at his words, unable to stop the mirror of his smirk against your own lips. You shook your head gently as you pushed him backwards, releasing yourself from the edge of the sink and taking a step backward. “I can deal with that, might teach you a lesson.”

He snorted a laugh at your words, following in your steps behind you to make his way upstairs without being seen. You felt a sharp smack against your ass as you turned to head back outside, and when your head spun to look at Steve he was already jogging down the hallway toward the stairs. 

“There you are, honey!” Your Mom called from the deck, waving you over with a bright smile. You smiled at her, subconsciously fixing the hem of your dress as you made your way back outside to your mother. 

She pushed a small glass of wine into your hands, pulling out the chair in between her and your cousin. They pulled you quickly into conversation, but your mind was buzzed with the idea of Steve sitting upstairs waiting for you. 

You must’ve counted down from ten at least twenty times, psyching yourself up to excuse yourself from the conversation. Your Mother was startled when you pushed yourself back in the chair, placing the glass on the table in front of you. 

“I’ll be right back, sorry.” You muttered as you practically scrambled back toward the house. You ducked past a few people in the kitchen, offering them a tight smile as you jogged down the hallway and rounded the bottom of the stairs. 

When you reached Steve’s bedroom, you didn’t knock or give him a minute to answer. As you pushed it open, Steve was already walking to the door ready to head back downstairs. 

“I’m sorry, baby, I got pulled into a conversation with my Mom and Tina, I’m sorry.” You clicked the door shut behind you and padded over to him, lifting yourself on your toes to wrap your hands around the sides of his neck. 

He shook his head gently, his own hands pushing through your hair and settling on your back as he spoke. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I shouldn’t have done all that, I’m sorry. Let’s head back downstairs, we go home tomorrow, so we can wait–”

Your own head was shaking now, your grip dropping from his neck to quickly wrap around the buckle of his belt. Your hands scrambled to undo it, picking it open and pulling it out of the loops before looking back up at him. “Nuh-uh, I won’t take long.” 

Before Steve could even blink and register your words, you’d already dropped to your knees in the middle of your parents guest room. Your fingers quick to unzip the denim and tug them, along with his boxers, down to his thighs. 

His cock fell out from the material, already half hard. You hummed happily, running your tongue along your lower lip as your fingers wrapped around the base of him whilst the other hand settled on the back of his thigh. Your wrist circled as you slowly began pumping his cock, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “God, I fucking love your cock, baby. So big, and all for me.”

He huffed a breath at your words, his fingers pushing through your hair as he watched your tongue slowly follow the prominent vein appearing on his hardening length. Your thumb gently traced across his slit, your tongue reaching out to collect the pre-come that had pooled there. You hummed happily at his familiar taste as you wrapped your lips around him. 

“Shit, baby.” Steve spoke through gritted teeth, his jaw slacking as he watched your head drop on his cock. His eyes bore into you as your hand pumped his length that your lips couldn’t reach. You’d probably given Steve hundreds of blowjobs, but every time the sheer heaviness and swell of him in your mouth surprises you. 

You pull back your lips, your hand picking up its pace as you bring your other hand that was on Steve’s thigh to assist you. Saliva pooled in your mouth, wetting your tongue as you pulled back to drool your spit over Steve’s tip, smiling contently at the sound of his choked moans. 

As your lips enveloped around his tip again and began sinking down his length, his other hand was quick to card through your hair. Watching intently as worked on his cock, your lips reaching the second fist you’d wrapped around him so it’s back to grip his thick thigh for stability. 

Moans are falling from Steve’s lips and hitting your ears like sirens luring a sailor. Each beautiful sound he’s making just makes you want him, need him even more. You hum happily around his cock, breathing in through your nose as you sank further on his length, your tongue flattening as you nose at your fist. 

“Holy shit, honey–” Steve whimpered as you dropped your other hand, pressing against his hip as your nose brushed against the hair that laid at the base of his cock. “Look at you, you love sucking my fucking cock. Huh?” 

His grip in your hair tightened, his breath tight as he held you in place, his hips rutting backward and forward gently. You hummed happily around him, albeit you did love letting him use your face like this. His grip was gentle as he began pulling your head back, then forward to meet each of his shallow thrusts. 

“You love it when I fuck your face, don’t you? Such a good girl for me, fuck.” The words tumbled past his lips, his chest heaving as you felt his hips twitching as his pace picked up. So you pulled your head back tentatively, your fist returning to pump him as you looked up at him. 

“Are you gonna come, baby? Want you to come for me, please.” You mumbled against his length as your lips trailed up the side of it, feeling heavy in your hand as you took him between your lips again. 

Steve nodded quickly, his moans bouncing off the walls and dancing throughout the room. His fingers gently rubbed against your scalp as his head fell backward, curses bumbling past his lips under his breath as your hand worked in tandem with your mouth. Keeping a steady pace to bring your boyfriend to finish. 

“Good girl. That’s it, baby– Fuck, oh my God– I love you, babe– Oh.” Words were falling past Steve’s lips like he’d just learnt how to speak and the novelty hadn’t worn off yet. His hips jerked beneath your grip, his whines peaking as he finally met your eyes. A soft, disbeliefing laugh passing his own lips as he released into your mouth. 

You hummed happily at the feeling of his warm spend leaking down your throat, your hand slowing its movements as you coaxed him from his high. His grip dropped from your hair, just to gently hold the back of your head as he followed the movements of you finishing him off. 

As you pulled your mouth away, a trail of saliva and come connected you to his tip. The two of you giggled together at the sight, you leant forward to run your tongue across him once more before pushing yourself up onto your feet. 

Steve's hand slipped from holding the back of your head to your jaw, his thumb and forefinger running along the curve of it as his eyes trailed down to your mouth. His voice was low when he spoke, feeling it in your bones. “Did you swallow it all, pretty girl?”

You nodded softly, opening your mouth for him and sticking out your tongue. He hummed in content, leaning forward to lick his tongue across yours – to which you let out a soft sigh. Your hands slipped from his hips to rest at his waist, pulling yourself back slightly to look up at him. “Was that okay?”

Steve scoffed slightly, his hand slipping from your jaw to push your hair behind your ear. His eyes crept over your swollen lips and glossy chin, his own lips breaking out into a smile as he brushed his nose against yours gently. “Silly question and you know it.” 

You rolled your eyes at his words, unable to fight the small smirk tugging at your lips. You lifted your chin to press a kiss against his lips as your hands snaked back down his body, assisting him in pulling up his boxers and his new jeans that he might have to change again. 

“I love you so much,” He mumbled against your lips as your fingers fixed his buckle for him, swiftly pulling up the zipper on the denim. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him as his lips dropped to your ear, whispering gently against your skin. “Your turn.”

“Steve–” You couldn’t help but giggle, shaking your head as your hands slipped up his body to press against his chest, creating some space between you. “We need to head back downstairs, or my Mom might think I fell in the toilet.”

Steve let out an exaggeratedly loud sigh as his head rolled backwards, huffing air past his lips as he felt you pulling away from him. Your fingers laced through his as you began tugging him out of the bedroom. He happily followed you down the stairs, the two of you manoeuvring through your family and friends that had now crowded inside. 

When you reached your garden hand in hand with Steve, he was quickly whisked away by your Dad and uncles, shoving a beer to his chest and asking him about the game last week. Your smile brightened watching Steve fit in so easily with your family, like he belonged here. 

As the sun settled over your garden and the night sky overtook above you, your house was soon to empty out. You probably spent an hour saying goodbye to your cousins and your relatives, telling you to come visit home more often and you telling them to come to Hawkins. 

Your aunt Sheila squeezed your arm as she pulled away from your hug, “It’s really great seeing you so happy, honey. I mean, Steve, you really glow when you’re around him. We can all see how much he loves you.” Her words warmed your heart as you lifted your hand to squeeze her own. 

“Yeah, I really am lucky,” You beamed at her before turning your attention to Steve helping your Dad take some of the extra bottles of beer back into the house. “We’ll be back soon, I promise.” 

Sheila leant forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek before whispering giddily in your ear. “Hopefully next time with a ring.” She’d pulled away before you had a chance to react, giggling to herself as her hand grabbed onto Jessie’s and lifted them up to wave at you as they gathered Rob and made their way out to head home. 

As the last few people faded out of the house, you and Steve were in the kitchen washing and drying the last of the plates together when your Mom floated into the house from the yard. She was a heap of giggles and slurred words, her arm linked through your Dad’s as she paused in her step at the sight of you and Steve. 

“Gosh, look at our baby,” She squeaked as her hand squeezed your Dad’s arm. She pulled herself away and made her way to you, you turned your body to her but kept your wet hands over the sink. Her hand lifted to play with the end of your hair as she smiled, “So proud of you. You’ve grown up to be such a lovely woman, and Steve–”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Your Dad interrupted, his hand settling on her back as he pulled her back into him gently. “Let’s get you to bed, hm? Don’t remember the last time I saw you drink that much wine.”

You and Steve laughed gently as she turned her face to his shoulder, giggling at herself before nodding. “Yeah, yeah. Y’might have to carry me up the stairs, though.”

Your Dad exaggeratedly rolled his eyes to you and Steve, but the warm smile across his lips and the way his soft hands guided your Mother out of the room counteracted it. You listened as the two of them laughed, cursed and banged their way up the staircase.

“Your parents are amazing,” Steve spoke gently from beside you, causing you to break your gaze away from your soapy hands to look over at him. His eyes were intent on the tea towel on his own, slowly breaking away to smile down at you. “It’s no surprise you turned out as incredible as you are.”

“Oh, honey,” You spoke gently, settling the dish in the sink and wiping your hands on your dress. He dropped the teatowel and turned to you as you moved, your hands settling on his hips as your head tilted back to look up at him. “They absolutely love you, everyone did. I can’t wait until we have our own family one day.”

Steve’s eyes brightened at your words, the corner of his lip turning upward as his hand lifted to settle at your jaw. His other hand settled at your back, pulling you closer to him as he tipped your head to his to press a kiss to your lips. “You’re gonna be the best mom ever.” 

You smiled against his lips, your fingers squeezing his hips as you whispered softly. “I love you so much, Steve, more than anything.” 

“I love you,” Steve whispered against you before pulling himself back slightly. His eyes glanced up at the clock behind you, his hand lifting from your jaw to push a few strands behind your ear as he spoke. “And I could stand right here telling you how much I love you all night long, but it’s getting late, and we’ve got to make a move in the morning.” 

A loud, exaggerated groan left your lips as your head lulled back on your shoulders. You gave him a final squeeze before pulling yourself back, grabbing the last dish and placing it on the drying rack and making your way out of the kitchen with Steve close behind you. 

Steve’s hands patted against your ass with each step up the stairs, causing small laughs to fall past your lips and a loud shush in retaliation from Steve as you rounded past your parents bedroom door. 

He walked you right up to your own, your hands pressed against his chest as he leant down to you. A soft, tender kiss against your lips as his hand rested at your lower back. He pulled his lips away to press one more against you, then another, before speaking gently. “Goodnight, baby. Sleep well.” 

“Night, honey.” You smiled up at him, your grin somehow widening as you watched him cross the hallway and turn back to you as he opened his door to flash you a wink. You rolled your eyes gently, but flashed him one in return before retreating into your room. 

The warm glow of your lamp enveloped you in as you unzipped the dress, pulling it over your head and folded it up and placed it on top of your duffle bag. Your arms snaked around your back to unclasp your bra, letting it fall onto the dress before grabbing Steve’s t-shirt from the end of your bed and tugging it over your head. 

A familiar creak sounded beneath you as you sat on the edge of your twin sized bed, letting your hand rub over the blanket that kept you warm many nights many years ago before climbing onto it properly and laying down to drift to sleep. 

What felt like forever later, your eyes eventually closed, but your mind was still racing. Thinking about how much you loved being at home, but also how you wish you could either fast forward 24 hours to when you’ll be laying in Steve’s arms, or to the future when you’re married and can lay here with him unscathed. 

Your mind thought back to the bathroom last night, the familiar feeling of Steve’s fingers curling inside of you burning between your legs. To this morning, waking Steve up and now regretting not letting him just slip in – just a little. And earlier on, sinking to your knees in the guest bedroom and taking his heavy cock in your mouth. 

Without even realising, your thighs had fallen open and your hand had drifted between your legs. Your palm dragging across your mound as you clenched around nothing, desperate to dull the ache that the memory of Steve had ignited. 

“Fuck it.” You murmured to yourself, the bed creaking and mattress springing beneath you as you lifted yourself off of the bed with fever. You tip toed as quickly as you could across the room, slowly clicking the handle to open the door. 

But when you did, Steve stood only inches in front of you, his hand had risen mid-air like he was just about to knock for you. You took in a sharp breath, a devilish smirk growing across his lips and mirroring against your own as your hand reached out and dragged him into your room. 

You threw your arms around his neck as he bent down to find you, his hands finding the backs of your thighs as he pulled you up against him. Your legs snaked around his waist, licking into his mouth as his palms rubbed you, soothing your hot skin. 

“I need you so bad, Steve,” You whispered against his lips, your arms tightening around him to press yourself into his chest, desperate to feel as much of him against you as possible. “I don’t care anymore. I need you to fuck me, now.” 

He practically growled into the kiss, his hand slipping to your lower back to keep you against him as he turned to cross the plush carpet toward your bed. His knees rested at the end of it, careful as he laid you down. 

The bed groaned under the weight of you both, so much that you had to pull away from the kiss to gasp softly. When you pulled your arms off of him to push yourself up the bed, it sighed beneath you. When Steve shifted his weight to follow you, it grumbled. And when you lifted your hand to pull him back down onto you by his t-shirt, it practically screamed. 

“Shit,” You sighed against his lips, your hand now pushing him backward as your legs unwrapped his waist, falling onto the bed – enticing another groan from it. “No, absolutely not. I’m not doing this on this creaky ass bed, my parents could wake up at any time.”

Steve slowly pulled back gently, his eyes glancing over your room before looking down at you. “The floor?” His voice was a hoarse whisper, his hands resting on the mattress on either side of you. 

You nodded quickly, bracing yourself for the noise the bedframe will inevitably make when you both get up from it. You both pull off it slowly, but once you’re stood up he’s back on you like a rash. 

Both of his hands tangle through your hair as he pulls your head back to lick into your mouth, your own scrambling beneath the hem of his shirt to feel his hot skin against your hands. The two of you awkwardly inched sideways and down onto the ground, his hand holding the back of your head as you laid down. 

Although your carpet felt wonderful beneath your feet, it did not feel wonderful to lay on. Your hands slipped to his shoulders, your body shifting beneath you in an attempt to make yourself comfortable but you couldn’t find the right position. 

Steve felt you huffing and puffing against his lips, and not the good kind. He pulled his lips away gently to look down at you, his brows slightly furrowed. “I don’t think this is gonna work either, baby. Maybe we should just wait–”

“No!” You practically yelped, clearing your throat to try and mask your outburst. Steve bit down gently on his lower lip as you pushed him off of you and scrambled onto your feet. You frantically looked around your room, waiting for the lightbulb to turn on over your head. 

You couldn’t do it on your spinning desk chair, you’d probably feel seasick. You could try letting him pin you up against the wall but considering they weren’t particularly thick and your room was next to your parents – that was a definite no. 

“Come on.” You bent to grab his hand, tugging him to stand up so you could pull him across the room. You pulled your door open, seemingly now not caring about the noise as you scurried across the hallway and down the stairs. 

“Where are we going?” He whispered from behind you as you rounded the banister, looking back at him over your shoulder as you guided him down the hallway toward the living room. 

“You’re gonna have to be quiet, okay?” Your other hand slipped through his, pulling him into you as you rounded the cream coloured sofa that sat in your open planned living room. If you sat on the end of the sofa, you could see up the staircase and into the hallway. It was risky, but you had no other ideas, and you couldn’t wait any longer. 

And neither could Steve. His hands dropped yours and splayed against your waist, pulling you into him as his nose knocked your jaw, tipping your head back to let his lips familiarise with the skin across your neck. 

You were both careful as Steve settled onto the sofa, leaning backward and letting you climb onto him. Your thighs spread across his lap, settling either side of him as his hands slipped to your ass, pulling you closer against him as you straddled him. 

“Fuck, you don’t know how badly I’ve needed you these last two days, baby.” His words hit your skin, your head lulling backward as your fingers pushed through his hair. Holding him against you as your hips began rolling against his. 

His lips were quick to find yours as your core found his hardening length confined by his thin pyjama pants, “Fuck me, Steve. I–I need you.” You whined into his mouth, your hand slipping to hold his throat as his hands squeezed the globes of your ass, pulling you into him. 

“Get this off, now,” He spoke against you as his fingers slipped to the hem of your shirt. The thin fabric fed through his fingers as he pulled it up your body, pulling his lips away to watch your breasts reveal to him. “Fuck.”

He practically lunged forward, his hand moving back to your ass to push you upward for his lips to reach you. A whine slipped past your lips at the loss of him against your throbbing pussy, but you were quickly satiated as his swollen lips wrapped around your nipple. 

His hot tongue slipped across the hardened bud with ease, his eyes fluttering up to watch your face contort with pleasure as his mouth enveloped around you. He was quick to pull off and move onto the other, gently pulling it between his teeth to earn a small gasp from you before soothing you with his tongue. He dragged his wet mouth between the valley of your breasts, your chest shiny with his spit as his lips attached back onto the nub like it was the last thing he’d do. 

“Fuckin’ love these tits, baby.” He spoke with a mouthful, pulling off with a pop before pooling saliva in his mouth. He leant forward to drool his spit, your breath hitching as it hit you and he took you between his lips again. 

Steve’s actions were only blazing the fire inside you further, desperate to feel him, taste him, touch him – anything. It was like he could read your mind, as his hand slipped between your legs from behind. His fingers scrambled to push your underwear aside, the tips of his fingers delving between your folds. 

“You’re so wet, you really needed this, huh?” He whispered against your chest, pulling his hand back from between your legs to tug down the band of your panties. “Need this pussy, baby. Need you so bad.” 

You steadied your hands on his shoulders as your hips and legs assisted him in pulling them off. They dropped beside you, and he pulled his head to his chest to look between your legs. His hand reached out, using his middle and ring finger to push through your slit with ease. 

Both of you gasped at his touch, and when you looked down at him he was watching as he pulled his fingers back slightly to look at the mess you’d made on him from just one touch. 

“Such a fucking slut,” He whispered, almost to himself, before looking back up to meet your eyes. His fingers moved at a painful pace, excruciatingly slow as the tips of them spread you open, exploring every inch of your pussy as you whimpered above him. “You’re drippin’ all over me and I’ve only just touched you. You want me to fuck you, is that what you want?” 

His fingers paused as he waited for your answer, you nodded quickly down at him as your hips bucked against him gently. “Please, baby.” You shuddered, your voice shaky as he smirked up at you. 

He hummed in contentment, his dark eyes watching you with intensity as two of his thick fingers curled into you with ease. A loud sigh fell past your lips, trying with every part of your body to keep quiet as his digits fucked into you, curling against that spot inside of you that was making you see stars already. 

His other hand held your hip steady, working with you to grind against his fingers as he dipped his head to intently watch your cunt swallow his fingers. “Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. Grippin’ on me like– shit.” Steve’s breath caught in his throat as he spoke. 

Your hand slipped to his shoulder, shaking your head gently from above. He looked up at you as you did, his eyes falling to your lips as you spoke. “I need your cock, Steve. ‘S not enough, I need you.”

“Oh, yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice, see the fire behind his eyes as his hand left your hip to move to his pyjama bottoms. “You really are a little slut. Workin’ my fingers on you isn’t enough, you need my cock.”

You quickly nodded, your grip on him tightening as he pulled his fingers out of you. You cursed quietly under your breath, your pussy tightening around the loss of him as your eyes darted between your bodies. 

He lifted his hips slightly to pull down his bottoms to his mid thigh, you practically mewled at the sight of his heavy cock. The flushed tip leaking his precum down it as it hit his stomach could’ve finished you off right there. 

His hand slipped around it, slowly pumping his fist as he tilted his head back to look up at you. His chin lifted gently, his eyes lowering to your lips, and you knew him well enough now to know what he was asking you for. 

Your lips crashed against his with ease, swallowing any thoughts you’d had about being too loud. You gasped against him as you felt his fat tip press against your clit, your fingernails digging into his shoulder as he slowly guided himself through your folds. He moved slick with ease, the mess he’d made between your legs making him slip.

“You want my cock, baby? Want you to ask nicely.” He panted against your lips, his voice hitching slightly as your hips writhed above him, desperate for him to finally be inside you. 

“Please. I want– need you, Steve.” You whispered quickly, panting as your other hand found his shoulder for good measure. 

Steve pulled his lips back from yours, lifting his hand from your hip to tangle through your hair. He pulled on it slightly as his eyes traced your face, landing on the swell of your lower lip as he whispered back. “Whose, baby? Who does this pussy belong to?”

“Please, Daddy. Please, just fuck me.” Your voice wavered as you begged, and with that, Steve’s cock pushed into you with ease. 

He silenced your cry of pleasure with his lips, swallowing each of your moans as his hand dropped from your hair to join the other at your hips. He guided you down in time with his hips as he bullied up into you, his own moans falling into your mouth with each inch that you sunk down on him. 

“So fucking good at taking my cock,” He mumbled against you, cursing against your lips with each thrust into you. You pulled your lips back to press to his jaw, desperate to hear the whimpers and moans of his you were swallowing. “Tight little pussy, all mine.”

You nodded against him as you let him use you, guiding your hips to match his rhythm as he attempted to stifle his moans back. Your hand dragged down his chest, fingers clenching around the fabric of his shirt as his heavy cock spread you out around him, the lewd sounds filling up the room. 

“F–Fuck, baby,” He whined as he tipped his head back into the couch, your lips chasing his skin as you leant forward with him. The two of you sighed in pleasure as the position changed slightly, his hips adjusting as the tip of his cock fucked you deeper. “Such a good girl for me. Taking every inch of my fucking cock, such a–”

Your hands scrambled beside you as he spoke, grabbing your underwear that he’d discarded earlier and lifted your lips from him to watch as you shoved it in his mouth mid sentence. His eyes widened at your actions, hips stuttering at the taste of you in the fabric. 

“Talkin’ too much,” You panted quietly from above, your fingers digging it deeper in his mouth with a small smirk across your lips. “If you don't shut up, we're not doing this."

You could swear you heard him practically growl, his arms slipping around your back to pull you against him, to steady you as he picked you up and laid the two of you down on the couch. 

His hands pushed your thighs open so he could manoeuvre between them, grabbing onto the back of the couch as the other pressed into the cushion next to your head. He pulled his hips back, his tip pooling at your entrance as he looked down at you. 

Your leg lifted to his back, digging your heel into his ass to silently inch him back into you. You watched his eyes sparkle, his lips smirking around the pink lacy fabric before he pummelled his cock back inside you. 

You gasped, maybe too loudly for what you’d just scolded him for, your back arched against his front. Your head rolled back into the cushion beneath you, a tight moan falling from your lips with each thrust of him, each hit of his thick cock against your cervix. 

He leant closer to you, spitting the lacy fabric out of his mouth as his hand dropped from the back of the couch to wrap around your neck, his fingers inching beneath your jaw as his voice spoke against your lips, low and hot. 

“Who’s being too loud now, hm?” His eyes glared down into yours as his lips pressed against the lower of your face, avoiding your lips as your hands clung desperately to his shoulders. “Gonna fill you up– Fuck, fill you right up.”

“Please, baby.” You managed through your pleasure, trying your hardest to hold back your moans with each hard thrust of Steve’s cock inside of you. You could feel your orgasm approaching, the familiar heat rising within you as he hit the spot with precision with every thrust. 

“You gotta be quiet, you’re too loud,” He whispered as his hand slipped from your throat to press his fingers between your lips. They parted for him, your tongue inviting him in as your lips wrapped tight around his digits. “That’s a good girl. Love having somethin’ to suck on.”

Your walls tightened at his words, Steve shifted his weight onto his elbow for composure as he could tell your climax was approaching. His eyes watching your lips suckle his fingers was too much for him, pulling them out to replace them with his own mouth. 

His hand dipped between your bodies, his wet fingers finding your clit with ease, circling the swollen nub as you moaned into one another’s mouths. You could feel his hips stuttering, his cock twitching inside of you. 

“Come for me, baby, come on.” You whispered against him, your grip on him tightening as your pussy tightened around him. As his fingers kept their perfect pace, you were first to finish. 

Your orgasm that you’d been on the edge of for two days hit you hard, pulling your lips away from Steve’s to turn your forehead against his arm. Your thighs trembled beneath him, your pussy fluttering around him. 

“Fuck–” Steve mumbled as his cock spilled inside of you. His hips worked you both through it, fucking his come into you as his hand slipped from your clit to hold onto your waist to ground you both. 

You were both panting, completely spent as his forehead lowered to rest against your neck. His chin lowered to kiss your damp skin, any part of it he could find as his thrusts stalled, shallowly rutting against you to fill you up for good measure. 

“Holy shit.” You laughed breathily, lifting your hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead and let it fall behind your head. Steve lifted his head from your neck, peppering soft kisses to your jaw before slowly pulling out of you. 

His hand pressed into the back of the couch as he pushed himself up, your legs lifting to let him sit beneath you. You laid them across his lap, his hand softly rubbing at your shin as he looked down at you with a small smirk. 

“You good, baby?” His voice left a small whisper, you watched as his eyes trailed across your body. Your chest still covered with his spit and sweat, lower and lower until they reached the mess between your thighs. 

His hand slipped from your shin to your knee, pushing it open slightly to watch the sight of both yours and his own come pooling at your entrance. His palm splayed at your thigh, rubbing it gently as his eyes glanced up to yours. 

“Steve. Seriously–” You couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, still breathless as you could practically read his mind. He ducked his chin to his chest, looking up at you as his hand inched closer to your core. 

His own chest heaved as his hand rested at your inner thigh, his thumb reaching out to circle your entrance slowly. You gasped at the touch, lifting your arm to dangle over the lower of your face as he pushed his thumb in gently. 

“Just makin’ sure it’s in there good.” He mumbled, pulling his hand back to sit at your knee. You pulled your arm off your face to look up at him, and he sat there with a smug smirk before squeezing you gently. “C’mon, let’s get you up to bed.” 

It took a lot longer than anticipated. A lot of Steve hauling you up and you dropping dramatically back onto the sofa. A lot of you begging him to carry you over his shoulder. The two of you were like teenagers, giggling as he pulled your shirt over your head and steadied you up the stairs. 

Steve, like the gentleman he is, walked you to your bedroom door. You two spent what felt like ten minutes in each other’s arms, kissing any inch of skin you could. He pushed your door open for you, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulled away. 

You watched him cross the hallway to the guest room, and like he did a few hours ago, he turned around to flash you a wink before dipping into the room. You stood there for a moment, glancing into the darkness of your room before looking back at Steve’s door. 

You could set an alarm. Wake up ten minutes earlier than needed and sneak back to your room, right?

The floorboards groaned beneath your feet as you scurried across the hallway, bursting through the door to reveal Steve crawling under the covers. He huffed out a small laugh, shuffling over to the right side of the bed before drawing the sheets backward for you. 

“Could’ve bet fifty bucks this was gonna happen.” His voice was gentle as you clicked the door shut behind you and padded across the room, crawling into bed beside him and tucking yourself comfortably under his arm. 

“I just don’t sleep as well when I’m without you.” You whispered, smiling up at him as his arm wrapped around your back to inch you closer to him. Your leg laid over his own, head nuzzling against his chest as he leant to press a kiss into your hair. 

“I know, baby, me too.” He nosed your hair out of the way, his lips finding your temple. Your hand rubbed gently across his chest, finally exhaling a breath you didn’t even realise that you’d been holding in. 

“Goodnight, baby, love you.” Your voice murmured as your body was already drifting off to sleep in the comfort of Steve’s arms, your happy place.

Steve squeezed you gently, his other arm resting on his chest to rub his fingers against your hand gently as his eyes fluttered shut. “Love you, honey.”

The quiet of the house was the perfect soundtrack for the two of you to fall asleep. Happily, comfortably in each other's arms like you have been doing every night for the last two years, and you will do for the rest of your life. Until a thought struck through your mind, gasping with realisation. 

“Steve. My panties.”