babydoll 𝜗𝜚

"And she's so pretty." Clark groans, throwing his head back, hanging over the edge of the bed while staring up at the little orrery he had helped you build, watching the little mercury inch further and further around the Sun. "I can't talk to her. She'll think I'm stupid."

"You are stupid." You snort quietly, tapping the edge of your pencil on your textbook as you flip the page.

The two of you were supposed to be studying, but after about the first hour, Clark had started his normal rant about how pretty and kind Lana Lang was, and how she would never go for a guy like him. It was getting repetitive, and at this point, you had long since learned how to tune him out the moment 'Lana' slipped from his lips.

"I know she has a thing for jocks, but she always goes out with experienced jerks." He continues, pointedly ignoring your comment as he runs his hands over his face, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I'd just make a fool of myself. Maybe it's better if I just forget about her."

Huffing, you slam the textbook cover closed, spinning around to look at him, "What exactly are you worried about? That she won't like you? She's already your friend. That she doesn't think you're hot? She wouldn't hit on you if she didn't."

He remained silent for a few moments, long enough for you to roll your eyes and turn back around in an attempt to keep studying before he responded.

"I don't..." He fell silent again, rolling over to bury his face in the pillows at the foot of the bed, pulling them into his arms. The room was quiet, only the sounds of his breathing and your pencil on paper for several minutes before he spoke again, "I don't know what I'm doing. I haven't... I haven't kissed anybody before."

"So kiss me."

"What?" His head snapped up, watching you, hunched over your calculus homework, focusing on derivatives and not paying a lick of attention to the conversation anymore. Had he heard you correctly? Did you really mean that? "What?" He repeated.

"If you're that worried about it, just practice with me." You stated, setting down the calculator when you finished the last equation, turning to look at him with a raised brow. "You can practice with someone you trust and know I won't lie to you if you're shit at kissing."

"I...I, are you sure? I don't...I don't want to take advantage of you." Clark stutters, pushing up from the bed to sit up properly, as if that would give him more stability for his rapid beating heart.

Snorting, you pulled the rolling desk chair closer to the bed, "You? Take advantage of me? Sweetheart, I'd defile you."

His cheeks turned bright red, and he immediately started to deny it, "I...that's not true! I...I could!"

"Sweetheart, you're Smallville's golden child. You couldn't take advantage of me if you tried." You laughed softly, crossing your legs and leaning back in the chair. "So. Yes, or no? I don't really care either way, you know you're not my type but it's better to practice with someone who won't lie to you."

He looked conflicted, "A-are you sure? I really don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"I promise, Clark, you won't make me uncomfortable. I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't serious. You could fuck me for all I care, if it gets you to shut up about Lana." You reassure, hoping to stop the overthink that was likely starting to take over Clark's mind. His face turned bright red at that, making you soften up. "I promise to tell you if I want to stop, if I start to feel uncomfortable. Deal?"

He chewed on his lip slightly, fingers twisting in the blankets under his hands, "Are you certain?"

Smiling softly, you pull the chair closer to the bed, reaching out to take his hand, "I'm positive. The real question is, are you comfortable doing this?"

"Yes! I...I mean, yeah, I'm... I'm okay." He exclaims, flushing slightly at his accidental outburst before squeezing your hand and taking a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to reset, already look more confident and less anxiety riddled. "I want to."

"Okay. Do you want me on the bed or on the chair?" You ask softly, squeezing his hand once more before letting it go.

"I...wherever."

Nodding, you climbed up onto the bed beside him, watching him back up slightly to give you more space, turning to face him.

"Ready?" He nodded, letting out another deep breath, his eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips. "Okay. I'm going to lean forward. You can do what feels natural to start, okay?"

Leaning forward, gently threading your fingers in his hair, you pulled him into a slow kiss, barely more than a peck as he stiffened for a moment, before he relaxed and you deepened the kiss.

His movements were awkward. He was clearly over thinking and trying to seem more confident than he was. His hands hovering in the air, unsure where to place them, although he was doing pretty well.

"See? You're a natural.' You praised softly, pulling back slightly to look up at him. "Now, you can put your hands on my waist, or in my hair, or... anywhere you want to put them. Lana likes it when people grab her by the waist."

He nodded, pulling you back into another kiss, your lips moving against his for a for moments before his hands settles on your waist, gripping it snuggling and pulling you closer.

Jesus, his hands are big.

You shifted slightly, pulling your legs underneath you to give yourself a little height so he wouldn't have to lean down so much, threading your other hand in his hair as well, pulling him a bit closer, trying to signal to him that he could start experimenting.

He took your hint, hesitantly running his tongue over your bottom lip, his hands rubbing up and down your sides, coming around to spread his palm over your stomach.

"Was...was that okay?" He asks quietly when you pull back for air, making you smile softly.

"Yes Clark, that was okay. You're doing very well, but you need to relax and stop thinking about it. Just... feel." You reassure, running your fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends lightly as you look up at him, eyes flickering over his face. "Pretend I'm Lana. You can touch me, you don't have to stay above clothes."

Swallowing thickly, he nodded, one hand sliding up to the side of your face to pull your face into his. Your lips parted as he slid his tongue between them, leaning into his touch as he started to grow more confident.

Letting out a squeak, he swallowed the sound, pulling you into his lap, his hands sliding underneath your shirt, running over the smooth expanse of your skin.

"Can I... can i keep going?" He questioned softly against your skin, burying his face in the crevice of your neck, kissing lightly. He wanted to keep experimenting, you were so responsive and, whether he would admit it or not, he was learning so much.

"G-go ahead." You wanted him to feel comfortable and you hadn't been kidding earlier when you said you didn't care what he did, even if it meant fucking you. It was better for him to learn, and pop his cherry, with someone who cared about him, would take care of him, and would teach him what to do, than to leave him to fend for himself and get taken advantage of.

He was on you again, lips moving eagerly against your own, his hands sliding higher, fingertips brushing against the underside of your breasts. He hesitated for only a moment, licking your bottom lip, before taking a handful of your chest, squeezing lightly making you gasp.

His lips trailed down your jaw, lingering on the spot that made little sounds fall from your lips, "Like this?"

"F-fuck, just like that." You nod vehemently, head tipping back, leaning into his touch. Letting out a deep breath, you tried to keep a level head, "Um... some girls... some girls like it when you play with their nipples. They...they can be really sensitive and, while it's rare, some girls can cum just from nipple stimulation."

He nipped your neck, fingers shifting to find your nipple, making you moan softly, head falling against his shoulder. He rolled the bud between his fingers, feeling you shutter against him, and kissed your neck again.

You almost whined when he stopped touching you abruptly, his hands leaving your shirt, pulling back to look at him, "Wha-"

He captured your lips again, gently laying you back against the bed, your head settling between the pillows as he climbed on top of you, looming above you, "What do I do?"

Swallowing thickly, "What do you want to do? How far do you want to go?"

He looked down at you with a look you had only ever seen him give Lana, "I wanna make you feel good, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I told you, I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable. We go as far as you wanna go." You reassure, nodding softly as you look up at him. "Okay? You wanna keep going?"

He licked his lips, nodding vehemently.

"Okay. You can take off my shirt." His hands were on you immediately, kissing along your throat and pulling at the hem of your shirt, pulling it overhead.

He looked down at you adoringly, tilting his head slightly like a puppy before diving down, running his tongue along your collarbone, kissing your neck.

"Th-there are erogenous zones all over. I, uh, told you about the nipples, but there's also the um, ears, armpits, and navel above the waist." You instruct, throwing your head back as he ventures down your torso, kissing along your skin, paying close attention to the places that made you let out little noises. "It-it's different for every person. S-some people are more sensitive than other people."

He hummed in acknowledgement, his hands running along your sides making you shiver. His lips following the movement of his hands down your body, till he reaches your hips, feeling them jolt when he presses a kiss between your hip bones. He smirks, peering up at you, holding down your hips as he presses another soft kiss against that spot, just barely a feather light brush against your skin making you gasp.

His fingers fiddle with the waistband of your jeans, pulling away just long enough to struggle with the button before he's pulling them down, pushing them to your ankles with a groan. His eyes fixed on your thighs with every inch of skin revealed.

"Can I?" He pleaded, his hands hovering over your thighs, mere centimeters from the skin. You could feel the heat of his hands on your skin, see the pleading look in his eyes as he peered down at you. Nodding weakly, you nearly cried out as his eyes gleamed and he gripped your thighs tightly, throwing your legs over his shoulders to bury his face in the plush skin. Kissing and biting softly along the expanse of skin.

"F-fuck Clark..." You choke, arching slightly. Your thighs were extremely sensitive, and he was taking advantage of it. "Th-the inner thigh is the l-largest erogenous zone, a-and usually one of the most sensitive."

"Yours?" He questioned, squeezing them between his fingers, watching the skin squish and mold to the movement.

"Probably one of my top two most sensitive spots." You confirm, biting your lip as he leans down to bite them again.

He was far more confident than you thought he was going to be, especially compared to how anxiety ridden he had been earlier at the beginning. It was like every noise and twitch from you made his confidence grow.

"Tell me what to do." Clark asked. His voice was sickeningly sweet, like a puppy searching for a command, so innocent and mischievous that it made your head spin.

"I..." Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to focus on something, anything to get your mind to stop spinning so you could focus. This was supposed to be a demonstration. Practice. Nothing but exploration between friends. But it was quickly dissolving into something more than that. "Y-you can use your fingers or t-tongue to... to spread my... my folds or...um... my labia."

You choked on the words, breath hitching when he moved forward eagerly, his tongue lapping at your skin, a guttural groan leaving him, making you shutter.

"Th-the labia is separated into labia majora wh-which are the puffy outsides near my hips, a-and the labia minora wh-which are the lips. S-some people's labia minora is on the inside, and some don't have them at all."

When he stopped, you nearly whined, but you had a sinking feeling he wasn't going to do anything without you telling him exactly what to do. He wanted to pleasure you, and who knew your body and your pleasure more than yourself?

"Y-you can keep going. Y-" You swallowed thickly, staring up at the ceiling. You couldn't look at Clark. You couldn't bear to see his puppy expression without the tension building in your belly snapping. "I... you can experiment with... with using your m-mouth. A-and your fingers, if you want. Just... start slow and focus on l-licking, biting, and suction. Y-you want to build a steady rhythm based on how she reacts."

He didn't need to be told twice. Gods, it was called 'Eat her out' for a reason. This sweet country boy moved like he was a starving man at Thanksgiving and your cunt was apple pie.

"Ah!" You breath hitched, hand snapping down from where it had been fisting the sheets to thread through his hair and tug before you even realized what you were doing.

He stopped immediately, head snapping up to look at you with a worried expression before he caught sight of the bliss on your face and the slight whimper that left you as he pulled away. He observed you for only a moment or two more before his puppy grin returned and he dipped back down, realizing the tug was out of pleasure not discomfort.

His nose brushed you clit and the breath left your lungs, arching against the bed, gripping his hair tightly. His eyes locked on your expressions before he experimentally licked the bud that brought electricity to your blood.

"Shit!" You hiss, a moan slipping from your lips. "C-congrats... y-you found my clitoris. Y-you're already doing better than most guys."

He hummed softly, paying attention to the little bud for a few moments before returning to devouring your cunt. He wanted to do this right and he could feel the way your thighs trembled under his touch as you held back from bucking against his face.

He wanted nothing more than to see that control and that restraint snap. He wanted to see you fall apart on his tongue more than anything, and he was going to stay here until it happened. Over and over again.

"T-the clitoris..." You painted, chest heaving deeply as you tried to control yourself. "...it ranges in size and visibility. S-some people have deep ones, some have large ones. T-they tend to swell and deepen in color with stimulation, generally becoming easier to find the more a-aroused she is."

He nodded, turning his attention back to the little bud that had you squealing and your thighs tightening around his head. His eyes locked on your face as he felt your cunt quiver and pulse beneath his tongue. The tight ball of tension in your belly growing tighter as he brought you toward your peak.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, holding his head tight against you, your back arching slightly, "Fuck, right there. Stay j-just like that."

And he did.

He kept his head exactly where it was. His rhythm and speed remaining just the way it was, refusing to change anything until you told him to.

And you screamed, clamping down your legs around his head, eyes rolling back as you bucked against his mouth, riding out the waves of pleasure coursing through you on his tongue.

When you finally came back down, he softened to slow kitten licks, carefully avoiding places that made your hips twitch, as he cleaned up the silky mess between your legs. When he was done, he pulled his head away, moving to sit between your legs, his hands softly running up and down the sides of your hips.

"Did I do good?" He asked softly, his eyes flickering over your face, taking in the thin sheen of sweat and the flush over your cheeks.

It took you a moment to catch your breath before your eyes fluttered open to look up at him and nod, "You did perfect. Th-the one thing you can do to ruin a girls orgasm is to change your rhythm or pace when she tells you she's close. Unless she tells you to go faster, just, just keep doing what you are doing."

He nodded, licking his lips as his grip tightened and loosened rhythmically around your waist. You're eyes flickered down, spotting the tight bulge in his pants, making you smile slightly.

"Do you wanna keep going?" You questioned softly, adjusting slightly to lean back against the pillows, one of your hands moving to caress the back of his as it continued to run over your waist.

He nodded vehemently, before a flicker of worry crossed his features, "I... can you...?"

"Women have a faster refractory period than men. Even if we don't cum multiple times in a short period, we, generally, can go for multiple rounds. Some people experience over-stimulation quicker than others though, so it's important to ask."

"And... do you?" He muttered, his gaze moving up to meet yours.

Your gaze softened, sliding your hand up his arm, gently squeezing his bicep, "I'm good. I'll be move sensitive and twitchy but... I can go again, don't worry. I'll tell you if it's too much."

He looked like he wanted to argue for a moment, before ultimately nodding, "What...what I do?"

Pushing up from the bed, you shuttered slightly as your sensitive clit brushed the comforter as you settled in front of him. Humming softly, you gently reached out, your eyes following your hands as you began unbuttoning his flannel, feeling his hands tighten around your waist. Not enough to hurt, but enough that you wouldn't be able to move if you tried.

"First, you're wearing too many clothes." You murmur softly, gaze flickering up to meet his for a moment, before returning to your hands. Shucking off the flannel, you're fingers brushed the hem of his undershirt, "Can I take this off?"

He nodded vehemently, so quickly you worried for a moment that he might get whiplash, making you let out a small laugh, your smile widening.

"Good boy." The two words were an accident, a mere slip of the tongue, but Gods if they didn't have the most beautiful reaction. His eyes rolled slightly as a shutter rake through his body.

Note to self, Clark Kent has a praise kink.

Biting your lip to hide the wide smile that threatened to take over your face, you pulled on the Henley, pulling it over head. Your eyes following every inch of skin that was exposed, fighting the small groan that threatened to escape you.

How could you forget that your best friend was a quarterback? Better yet, how could you forget he grew up on a crop farm? Every inch of his skin a reminder of years of work in the Kansas sun, lifting things that the average person didn't know existed.

"N-" You cleared your throat, cheeks slightly tinted by the slight crack that escaped. "Now there are two main ways that you can have...penetrative sex. Not getting into positions right now."

He nodded, watching you intently as you fingers trembled slightly, fumbling with his belt and jeans.

"Either you can take the lead, or she can." You muttered, finally getting the stubborn buckle to cooperate and pulling his belt out, tossing it somewhere with the rest of your clothes. "Personally, I don't like doing any of the work, even if I'm bossy and verbally leading."

"I can do it." He assured immediately, as if it had been a question. The poor puppy was practically vibrating with the desire to feel your body against his, and he'd listen to anything you said.

Follow up note, Clark Kent is a service top.

"There are various positions you can take, but I'll go over the main three...well four, technically." You murmured, gently tapping his knee as you pushes his jeans down over his hips, and he lifted obediently, helping you shuck off the fabric. "The first two are with her on her back. Traditional missionary, or, if you bring her knees over your shoulders, a mating press."

He flushed red at that but you ignored it.

"Or, you can have her on her stomach. Face down ass up being your traditional doggie, or, if you've let her hips fall and lean with her, prone bone. Both Mating press and prone bone will cause you to go deeper than normal but are a bit harder to work will."

"Which...?"

You paused for a moment, biting your lip, your fingers curling in the waistband of his boxers, "I... I personally prefer doggie cause it's less pressure on my hips. But it's up to you, which ever one you want to-"

He cut you off, silencing you with a kiss, and when he pulled back, he gently helped you lay back, "I wanna make you feel good."

Nodding, you watched him pull back long enough to pull off his boxers, and you settled into position, letting out a small sigh of comfort as your hips stacked over your knees, tension bleeding out of your lower back as your arms slid forward under the pillow, curling around your head.

His hands were on your hips immediately, his own brushing against your ass as you tilted you head slightly to look back at him.

"Usually, if you haven't done any lead up, the respectful thing to do is prep her, but...well... you just ate me out so..."

His face was bright red again, and he looked like he wanted to bury his face in his hands.

"Just... either you can use lube or you can coat your...self in her arousal fluid. To be honest, you can never have too much lube." You murmur, clutching the pillow when you felt him move hesitant but immediately. His cock sliding, slowly, through your folds, coating itself in your arousal.

Fuck he's big too.

"When you think you've got enough, you can, slowly, push in. It... for your first time with someone it is better to go slow and let them adjust to your...size, unless you have previously talked about it and agreed to just go for it."

He hummed softly in acknowledgement, clearly taking your comment about never having too much lube to heart, because he continues to just run his cock between your legs for a few more moments, thoroughly coating himself before stilling at your entrance.

"I... can I?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

He pushed in slowly, stopping the moment he heard you hiss into the pillow as the head pushed past your fold, feeling the immediate burn of stretch.

"Keep going."

"Are you su-"

"You can keep going." You reassured, pushing back against him slightly, making you both groan as you sank back, taking a few inches in doing so.

He groaned quietly, biting his lip as he slowly continued to push in until you had taken him to the hilt and he stalled. His hand trembled slightly as it ran up your spine, as if trying to sooth any potential discomfort he was causing.

You squirm slightly, "Y-you can move. Please move."

He was slow and unsure as he pulled out, pressing back in with hesitance. Though it began to fade as he grew more confident, feeling your walls tighten around him, as if trying to pull him back into you and draw him deeper.

His hesitance only lasted a few minutes before his hands tightened around your waist and you had mere seconds before he was slamming into you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"F-fuck, Clark!"

"Fuck, you feel so good mouse." He groans, drawing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "So fucking tight, squeezing the shit out of my dick."

A whine left your throat as you gripped the pillows tightly, scrambling for purchase, as if it was the only thing that could keep you grounded. You were supposed to be guiding him through it but the motherfucker was a god. Because of course he was. Clark Kent never did things in halves, and when it came to physical activities he was always a natural. You honestly should have expected this.

The tight spring in your belly was tightening again with each thrust and you squirmed when he hit that squishy patch inside you and began hammering it when he heard the moan that left your lips.

"There?" He murmured softly, leaning down to kiss the side of your neck as he continued hammering the spot.

It wasn't fair. This utter ball of sunshine had been in a near panic attack mere minutes- minutes? an hour? how long had he been fucking you?- ago about the thought of touching a woman and now he was demolishing your pussy like it was a tournament and he was determined to take gold.

"Fuck!" You screamed into the pillow as your orgasm crashed into you. It snuck up on you, silent but devastating, and sent tremors through you.

Clark groaned, feeling your walls tighten around him like a vice and he only managed a few more thrusts before his hips stuttered and he was spilling himself within you, fucking you through it.

After a few moments, when neither of you were twitching any longer, he gently pulled out, rubbing your hips as he guided your legs flat, massaging the spot where your legs met your hips.

"What do I do now? How do I...?" He murmured softly, kissing the back of your neck softly.

Gods this poor puppy was a saint. The first time he has sex and he instinctively knows there's supposed to be aftercare? Lana was going to be a very, very lucky woman.

"A-aftercare depends on the person. But generally, you s-should get a towel or something to help clean up, maybe some water or a snack, and cuddles." You murmured, throat dry and rough from screaming, breathing heavy and too tired to open your eyes properly.

He hummed quietly, kissing the back of your neck once more before climbing off the bed. You could hear the water running, and didn't know how long he was gone before he was back with a warm wash cloth, a glass of water, and a sliced apple.

He gently massaged you calf with one hand, setting your ankle on his shoulder as he softly, as if afraid of hurting you in over-stimulation, ran the wash cloth between you thighs, cleaning anything sticky. He set the washcloth to the side when he was done, continuing to run his hands over your legs and massaging the soften muscles until you were a puddle of loose muscles.

"Can you sip for me?" He murmured quietly, holding the glass up to your lips as he pulled you back against his chest. You took slow sips, leaning your head back against his shoulder as he ran his fingers through your hair.

He set the glass down, wrapping his arms around you and pulled you tight against him, drawing the comforter up and around you both.

"Thank you." He murmured quietly, pressing soft kisses into you shoulder, stroking your hip softly. "You didn't have to do this, but you did."

"It's okay. I'm glad you... I'm glad you got to practice with someone who wouldn't lie to you." You murmur quietly, burying your face in his bicep, nuzzling the skin softly. "Lana will be happy."

He let out a small sound, one that nearly resembled a wounded puppy, but that couldn't be possible right? "Don't talk about her right now." He murmurs, nuzzling your hairline, his arms tightening around you.

“you know, you’ve been really bad these last few months, do you think you deserve to be punished? it’s only fair, don’t you think?” you remove your mouth from him and kiss his shaft, leaving lip gloss marks on the parts of him you can’t take in your mouth.

“y- yes mommy. i’ve been bad, please- please punish me. i’ll be a good boy for you….ill be your good boy” he whimpers, his hand almost desperate to push your head down to engulf his aching cock before he stops himself.

“now tell me, do you think you deserve to cum baby? tell me. do you think you deserve it?” you say, no remorse behind your eyes. you love seeing him like this, sweaty and down bad for you.

he shakes his head slowly as a look of defeat washes over him. he knows he doesn’t deserve to be inside you but god, how he wants it so badly. he’ll do almost anything for the taste of your cum.

“but i’ll spare you. i’ll fuck you, but you’ll have to be quiet if you want to cum, can you do that for me? be quiet for me?” you say as you press a kiss on his tip.

“y- yes…mommy.. uh - i…i can do that” he whimpers. but god knows he can’t keep quiet to save his life, always little whimpers and noises coming out of him. you remove your panties, the wetness pooling out of you. you push him back on the bed as you sit comfortably on his throbbing cock, making him whimper at the sensation of being inside your soft wet pussy

his eyes fall to the site of your thighs wrapped around him, his face turning red as he starts bouncing you on top of him, expertly hitting your gspot each time. “i- am- am i being good for you-?” he whimpers as his hands grip your hips, his eyes rolling back in his head as his jaw goes slack.

you look at him, grasping his chin with your hand, making him look at you. “look at me while i use you, let me ruin you. gonna make you such a little slut for me” you say. “gonna be my little whore right?” you say, still gripping his chin with your thumb and index finger, waiting for a response.

“m-mhm, yeah. gonna be your slut- oh fuck mommy-“ he says, his dick twitching inside of you, signaling he’s about to cum.

but god, he’s been so bad these last few weeks you can’t let him off that easily. you remove yourself from off top of him, watching your own release pool out of him, directly on his dick.

he immediately whimpers “no no no, please mommy- come back please…i need to cum- please mommy i’ve been so good” his voice is high and needy, his eyes are worried and panicked.

god, you can’t say no to him. you wrap your plus lips over the head of his dick, bobbing on his dick. your eyes dart up at him- his jaw is slack and his eyes are rolled deep in his head,

“fuck- yes…please mommy, god please.” he whimpers as a loud grunt escapes him. “be quiet if you want to cum” you say, mouth still full of his cock.

he quiets at your request, only letting small soft moans escape his lips. you take his full shaft. after a few moments you feel his hands grip your hair, and his dick twitching in your mouth.

“f- fuck i….m’gonna cum-“ he moans as he thrusts into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. thank god you don’t have a gag reflex.

soon enough thick white warmness shots down your throat, drinking up every bit of his cum. he removes himself from your mouth, you truly drank every last drop of him. short and quiet “thank you”s leave him as he pants.

you wish he would talk back more often.

The Cameron family looked picture‑perfect strolling through the glossy furniture showroom—Rafe in his crisp suit, sleeves pushed up, Cath’s big diamond catching the light every time she reached for a fabric swatch, and their boys darting around the couches like it was a playground.

Mason tugged on Rafe’s hand, pointing at a ridiculously oversized sectional. “Daddy, can we have this one?”

Rafe chuckled, scooping him up effortlessly. “Think we need one that big, huh? For you, me, Mommy, and Bradley?” He kissed Mason’s cheek before setting him down again, eyes immediately sliding back to Cath.

She was kneeling to fix Bradley’s tiny shoe, the ring on her finger sparkling like it was mocking him—reminding him she was his now. His wife. His pretty little wife.

“Baby,” Rafe called softly, and when she glanced up, his eyes lingered on her mouth. “You’re distracting me. How’m I supposed to care about couches when you’re down there lookin’ like that?”

Cath rolled her eyes, standing and brushing her dress smooth. “Behave, Daddy.” Her voice was teasing, but the double‑meaning made his jaw tighten, the heat in his stare immediate and unmistakable.

“Say that again,” he murmured, stepping close enough that his hand could rest on the small of her back, fingers brushing just under the hem of her dress where no one could see.

“Rafe,” she warned, but her cheeks flushed.

He smirked, leaning down so only she could hear. “I’m buying you the softest damn couch they’ve got, baby. And later, when the boys are asleep, I’m gonna have you on it, calling me Daddy for a different reason.”

Her breath caught as she grabbed his wrist to steady herself. Mason’s little voice cut in, “Mommy, I like this chair!”—breaking the tension and making Cath step back quickly, smoothing her hair.

Rafe only grinned, completely unbothered, already picturing the night ahead. Because his boys might have claimed the showroom couches now—but his pretty little wife? She’d be his to break them in later.

Catherine had the picture of the sectional in her hand when her eyes caught movement—small, unsteady steps. A little girl, maybe four or five, wandering alone through the showroom, clutching a stuffed bunny by the ear.

Cath immediately lowered herself, dress pooling around her knees, voice gentle. “Hey, sweetheart… where’s your mommy?” She offered a smile, soft and warm, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the girl’s ear like she’d known her forever.

Rafe stopped dead in his tracks.

The consultant had come back to discuss their choices, Mason was tugging at a fabric swatch, Bradley babbling at his shoes—but all Rafe could see was Cath. His wife, crouched down with that lost girl, speaking in a voice so tender it hit him right in the chest.

Something moved in him, sharp and deep. Mason and Bradley were his boys, his pride. But right then, he wanted more. He wanted a daughter. His baby girl. A princess he could spoil rotten, wrap in pink and pearls, protect with every ounce of him. A little girl who would look up at him with wide eyes and call him “Daddy” in the sweetest way.

The girl’s frantic mother appeared, scooping her up with apologies. Cath stood again, brushing her skirt down, and before she could even take a breath Rafe had an arm locked firm around her waist.

He bent low, lips brushing her temple, voice low and husky.

“Baby… you keep lookin’ like that and I’m gonna give you one of those. My princess. My pretty little girl. Just like her mama.”

Her diamond caught the light as her fingers gripped his sleeve, cheeks heating. She knew that tone—Rafe Cameron’s tone. The one that meant want and promise all at once.

And deep down, she knew he’d get it. Because Daddy always got what he wanted.

⛅️

The house was still and quiet, the kind of silence Catherine hadn’t felt in three years—soft, expensive silence that came with high ceilings and walls no one else’s voices could reach through. Mason and Bradley were finally asleep in their brand‑new rooms, leaving her sprawled across the massive bed in their brand‑new bedroom.

She’d missed this. The silk sheets, the plush pillows, the sheer luxury of it all. And now she had it again—only this time with a husband who couldn’t keep his hands off her.

Rafe lay beside her, suit shirt discarded, tie on the floor. His palm slid slow up her thigh, pushing into the slit of her night gown until he brushed the lace between her legs. He smirked when he felt the damp heat already there.

“You feel that, baby?” he murmured, voice low and rough against her ear. “So wet for me, just thinkin’ about it. My pretty little wife, ready to give me another.”

Her breath caught when his fingers pressed harder, stroking her through the thin fabric. He circled lazily, teasing, making her hips shift toward his hand.

“Rafe—” she whispered, half‑plea, half‑warning.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, while his fingers slipped beneath the lace, knuckles dragging over her clit. “All I can see is you carrying my little girl. Our princess. A daughter I can spoil. Just like her mama.”

Her panties were soaked now, clinging to her skin as he pushed two fingers inside, the friction making her whimper. He didn’t bother pulling them down—he wanted her messy, ruined right through them.

The wet sound filled the room as he drove his fingers into her, harder, faster, until she was gasping, clutching at the sheets. Her diamond flashed in the lamplight every time she twisted her hand, the symbol of everything he’d given her—and everything he planned to take.

“Say it,” he growled, curling his fingers deep, making her cry out. “Say you’ll give me one more.”

Her voice cracked around a moan. “I’ll—I’ll give you your girl—”

That was all it took for his composure to slip. His free hand gripped her thigh, spreading her wider as he finger‑fucked her through the soaked lace, thumb pressed hard to her clit.

“Good girl,” he breathed, almost a groan. “Gonna knock you up again. You’re gonna give Daddy his princess.”

Her body arched, trembling under the ruthless pace, pleasure building until it crashed over her, soaking his hand and the ruined panties he refused to move.

And as she came apart in their new bed, Rafe only smirked, fingers still moving slow and deep. Because in his mind, she was already his again—his wife, his lover, and soon enough, the mother of his little princess.

Her moans had turned into broken little gasps, toes curling as she writhed under his hand. Catherine’s voice cracked, breathless.

“Rafe—I’m close—”

That was all it took. With his free hand he unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking in the quiet room, then shoved his pants low on his hips. His eyes were dark, locked on her flushed face, her soaked panties clinging to her like a second skin.

“Only protection you’re getting tonight,” he growled, sliding his cock free and stroking it over her covered cunt once, slow, “are those little panties.”

Her lips parted on a whimper as he pushed trough the damp fabric, not bothering to strip her. He aligned himself, the fat tip sliding against her drenched slit until he caught her entrance.

The sound she made when he slipped in made his eyes roll back.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, hips pressing forward, stretching her around him. He pulled back almost immediately, just to watch it—her panties sticking to her skin, strings of wet glistening on his tip in the lamplight.

“Look at you,” he rasped, angling down to thrust again, harder this time. The lace tore audibly, ripping under the force.

Her gasp turned into a cry, back arching off the sheets.

“Gonna fuck you right through these,” Rafe promised, hand gripping her thigh and shoving her open wider. “Gonna split you open, make you drip all over me until you’re beggin’ me to finish inside. You hear me, baby?”

The shredded lace clung to her as he pushed in deep, hips snapping forward until he bottomed out. She clenched around him, nails digging into the sheets, and he swore he could already feel her body begging to take him, to keep him, to give him the little girl he’d been craving all day.

The lace finally gave way, threads splitting as Rafe shoved deeper. He grabbed her thighs, strong and demanding, and pushed her knees all the way up to her chest, folding her open beneath him. The angle made her gasp, made her body take him even deeper, her walls gripping him so tight he almost lost it right there.

He pulled back, slow enough to watch it—the thick slide of his cock dragging out of her dripping pussy, glistening with her wetness, before he slammed back in to the hilt. The sound was obscene, wet and slick, echoing in the stillness of their new bedroom.

“Fuck, baby,” Rafe groaned, eyes locked on the way her body swallowed him whole. “Look at that. Look at you taking me. So beautiful, mama— so fucking beautiful.”

Catherine was panting, face flushed, diamond ring sparkling as her fingers gripped the sheets. “Yes, Ray—” she gasped, voice breaking when his hips snapped forward hard.

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear, still holding her legs pinned to her chest as he drove into her over and over. “Gonna fill you up till you’re dripping with me. Gonna keep you so full, you’ve got no choice but to get pregnant again. You want that, baby?”

Her moan was shaky, but her answer came fast. “Yes—I want it—I want to give you your princess—”

That word made him groan, thrusts turning rougher, more desperate.

“You’re gonna give me my little girl,” he panted, forehead pressed to hers. “Our baby girl. My princess. Just like her mama.”

Her body clenched tight around him, her voice breaking into a sob of pleasure. “Yes—want her too—I want to give Daddy his girl—”

That finished him. With a broken curse, Rafe slammed deep, holding himself there, cock pulsing as he spilled into her, grinding his hips to force every drop inside. He stayed pressed to the hilt, groaning into her neck, her body milking him while she shook apart beneath him.

For a long moment, the only sound was their breathing, ragged and uneven, the silk sheets rustling beneath them. Rafe pulled back just enough to look down at her, sweaty and gorgeous, her panties ripped and useless between them.

His hand stroked her cheek, gentle even though his cock was still buried inside. “That’s it, baby. You did so good— You took me so well, baby.”

And the way Catherine smiled up at him—soft, hazy, still trembling—he knew she wanted it just as much as he did.

Rafe finally pulled out, cock dragging free of her swollen, used pussy, and Catherine gasped at the sudden emptiness. Her body clenched around nothing, slick spilling out of her, soaking the ruined lace still clinging to her thighs.

“Fuck, baby,” Rafe muttered, watching his come drip down. “Look at you. Wasting me.”

He didn’t let it go. He slid two fingers down, gathering the hot mess, then pressed them right back into her. Catherine bit her lip hard, her back arching as he pushed his come deeper inside.

“Hold it, baby,” he ordered, voice rough. “Every drop’s gonna stay right where it belongs.”

Her hands fisted the pillows beneath her head, knuckles white, as her body shuddered with each thrust of his fingers. Rafe stroked himself with his other hand, eyes dark, hungry, edging her with deliberate cruelty until she whimpered.

When his cock was rock‑hard again, he yanked a pillow from beside her and shoved it under her hips, tilting her up. He grinned down at her, feral. “Gonna give it to you right this time. Deep. So it sticks.”

He lined himself up and sank back inside, groaning at the wet heat that sucked him down. The angle made it even better—he bottomed out, his tip nudging right where he wanted it.

“That’s it,” he growled, hips snapping forward. “So fucking tight, baby. You feel that? That’s me knocking you up again. Gonna keep pumping you full until that belly’s round for me.”

Her whimpers spilled into the pillows, muffled, her body arching under him.

“You’re perfect when you’re pregnant,” Rafe panted, leaning down to kiss her neck, hips relentless. “Your tits heavy and full, ass so fat I can’t keep my hands off it. That curve of your belly, baby—fuck, it drives me crazy. You’re made to carry my babies.”

She whined, clutching at the pillow under her, body fluttering tight around him. “Yes—yes, Rafe—I want it, want to be full for you—”

“Good girl,” he groaned, thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Not a drop’s gonna go to waste. I’ll stuff you again and again until you’re spilling down your thighs, and still—still—I won’t stop until you’re mine, carrying my little girl.”

He kept her folded under him, hips tilted, every thrust messy and loud, filling the room with the sound of his obsession. And Catherine could only take it, clutching the sheets, whimpering through her bitten lip, giving him everything he wanted—again and again.

The sound of him filling her was obscene—wet, sloppy, loud in the silence of their new bedroom. Catherine’s thighs trembled around his hips, her hands twisting the pillows until her knuckles ached, the weight of him keeping her open, tilted just how he wanted.

Every thrust sent her higher, pushed her closer, her broken gasps filling the room. Rafe kept his eyes locked on her face, then down to where they met, watching his cock disappear into her ruined panties, into her dripping cunt, every stroke spreading her wider.

“You feel that?” he groaned, forehead slick against hers. “That’s me stuffing you, baby. Making sure you’re full of me until you can’t hold any more.”

Her voice cracked, a whimper spilling out. “Rafe—God—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, slamming harder, the bed frame rocking against the wall. “You can take it. My beautiful wife—made for me, made to give me babies.”

Her toes curled, thighs shaking, her whole body tightening under him. He felt her squeeze around him, fluttering hard, and his cock twitched in answer.

“That’s it,” he panted, fucking her deeper, faster. “Come for me, baby. Milk me. Milk me ‘til I give you a little girl.”

Her cry was muffled against the pillow, her body arching as the orgasm ripped through her. She clenched down on him so hard it nearly undid him, her pussy fluttering around his cock like she was pulling the life out of him.

“Fuck—yes—” Rafe’s groan broke, his thrusts going ragged, desperate. He held her hips pinned up, cock buried as deep as it could go. “Gonna give you all of it—every drop—‘cause I want you swollen with me. I want that belly round, tits heavy, fuckin’ perfect—”

And then he lost it, groaning loud against her neck as he came hard, spilling deep inside her, his hips grinding down to keep himself rooted as he pumped her full a second time.

He stayed there, pulsing, grinding, forcing every thick drop inside her until he could feel it seeping out around him, dripping down to the pillow beneath her.

Breathless, he finally lifted his head, looking down at her flushed face, her bitten lip, her eyes hazy but soft. He smirked, brushing her hair back, cock still buried inside her.

“Not a drop wasted,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’re gonna give Daddy his princess. I just know it.”

And Catherine, still trembling, still full, whispered back against his lips—“Yes. Our girl.”

⛅️

Rafe rubbed his eyes as he padded barefoot through the kitchen, chewing on a bite of cold pancake, still annoyed he’d slept through half the day. Catherine had absolutely wrung him out last night, left him in pieces, and apparently still had the energy to play the perfect little wife.

He followed the sunlight spilling through the open back door and froze at the sight waiting for him outside.

Catherine sat perched on the garden table they’d picked out just last week, the morning light kissing every inch of her skin. White panties with delicate blue flowers clung to her hips, a cropped tank leaving her midriff bare, no bra, blonde hair falling in loose waves down her shoulders. She looked like sin and summer all at once.

Rafe smirked around another bite of pancake, chewing slow as he made his way across the patio. When Catherine finally looked up from her magazine and saw him, she smiled soft, standing on her tiptoes to meet him with a kiss on the lips.

He grabbed her ass in his free hand without hesitation, giving it a hard squeeze. “Thank fuck we don’t got neighbors,” he murmured against her mouth. “Couldn’t handle anybody else gettin’ this view.”

She giggled, the sound light and easy. He dropped into her chair with a lazy sprawl, setting his plate on the table beside her magazine. Catherine followed right after, swinging a leg over to straddle him.

Rafe leaned back, hands instinctively sliding over her bare thighs to her ass, guiding her down until she was snug against him. She rolled her hips once, slow, and his cock twitched under the thin cotton of his sweats.

“Baby…” he groaned, already hardening beneath her.

She gave him a sly look, grinding down again, panties dragging over the outline of his cock. “Mhm?”

Rafe’s grip tightened on her hips as he groaned low. “Fuck, don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish, Cath. You know what happens when you sit pretty on Daddy’s lap like this.”

Her lips curved into a grin, breath hot against his ear as she whispered, “Maybe I want it to happen. You still wanna give me that princess, don’t you?”

That broke him. He growled, snapping his hips up against her in a hard grind.

“God, yeah,” he muttered, his voice rough as his hands kneaded her ass. “Wanna fuck you stupid right here. Wanna keep you cock‑drunk until you’re swollen, tits heavy, belly round with my girl. You’re already perfect, baby—but fuck, when you’re pregnant… I can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

She rocked down harder, moaning into his mouth as the friction grew, his cock pressing up against her through the thin layers. Her voice was sweet, breathy. “Then don’t waste time, Ray. Breed me. Right here.”

The sight of her—panties damp, hair messy, sunlight making her glow—was enough to make him swear under his breath, hips grinding up harder and harder until he was lost in it, lost in her

Rafe’s patience snapped. He slid his hands under Catherine’s thighs and lifted her off his lap, turning her around in one smooth motion. Her surprised little gasp turned into a laugh as he bent her over the garden table, her magazine sliding to the grass.

Her panties clung to her ass for a second before he hooked his fingers in and shoved them down, baring her to the afternoon sun. He groaned under his breath, one hand stroking his cock as it pressed heavy against her.

Catherine, completely unbothered, reached for the fork he’d left beside the pancake plate. She scooped up the last streak of honey and licked it slow off the silver, glancing back at him over her shoulder with a smirk.

“You liked the coffee and pancakes I left for you in the kitchen?” she asked sweetly, voice dripping with mischief.

Rafe lined himself up, the head of his cock nudging against her wetness as he growled low in his chest. “Cold as fuck, baby.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, licking her lips, the fork still in her hand. “That’s what you get for sleeping in.”

He grinned, dark and sharp, one hand sliding up her spine to push her deeper against the table. “You’re talkin’ a lot of shit for somebody about to get fucked out here in the backyard.”

Then he pushed forward, his cock sinking into her in one deep thrust that made her gasp, the fork clattering from her fingers onto the table.

Catherine’s fingers curled tight around the edge of the table, knuckles white, as Rafe eased into her inch by inch. She hissed, her body still sore and tender from the night before, walls clenching as if they remembered exactly how he’d used her. Puffy, red, stretched for him again under the hot sun.

Rafe groaned, head tipping back. “Christ, baby… still so tight for me.” His hand cracked across her ass in a sharp slap, making her jolt and whimper. “Still so pretty.”

She tried to steady her breath, her voice coming out thin. “Ahh—still sore—”

“Good,” he muttered, hips raising from the chair forward until he was all the way in, seated deep. “Means I’m doin’ my job.”

He started moving, slow and deep, making sure she felt every thick inch. Between thrusts, his voice dropped, casual, like they weren’t half‑naked in the backyard. “What’d you do after you left me alone in bed, huh?”

Her answer was breathless, broken by a moan. “Made breakfast… breastfed Bradley…”

At that, his hand slid around, cupping her cleavage through the thin crop top, thumb dragging over her nipple until it peaked under the cotton. “Jesus, baby,” he groaned, grinding deeper, “no wonder your tits look so fuckin’ full this morning. Keep talkin’.”

Her laugh came out shaky, trembling under him as she clutched the table harder. “Then I… went online—shopping for a few dresses…”

Rafe’s pace grew rougher, hips slamming against her ass until she was whining for him, every thrust hitting deep. “Yeah? You sittin’ here all pretty, clickin’ around for dresses, while I’m upstairs dreaming about knockin’ you up again?”

She moaned, head dropping, body arching as he pounded harder, her breath catching. “Rafe—”

“Gonna give it to you, baby,” he rasped against her ear, one hand gripping her hip hard, the other palming her tit. “Gonna give you every drop until you’re leaking down your thighs. Until my little wife can’t think about anything but the baby I’m puttin’ inside her.”

The pressure broke at once—her toes curled, body tightening, a cry leaving her lips as she came around him, clenching so hard he swore. It dragged him with her, his rhythm breaking as he groaned low, spilling deep inside her, grinding his hips down to force it all in.

They both collapsed against the table, breaths ragged, her hair falling wild around her shoulders.

After a moment, he pulled back slowly, his cum already threatening to spill out. He tugged her panties back up, but as soon as the elastic stretched, it gave out with a rip.

Rafe chuckled, giving her ass a squeeze as the ruined fabric slipped down. “Guess that settles it.” His voice was smug, low in her ear. “Maybe you just shouldn’t wear panties around the house at all.”

🌥️

By noon the house had settled into the slow, golden rhythm of family. Mason was curled up beside Rafe on the couch, eyes glued to Paw Patrol, giggling whenever Chase or Marshall did something goofy. Catherine sat in the armchair across from them, legs tucked under her, Bradley nestled in her arms as he nursed.

Rafe had meant to pay attention to the cartoon for Mason’s sake, but his eyes kept dragging back to his wife. Catherine’s hair fell forward as she adjusted Bradley, crop top pulled low, the swell of her breasts full and perfect. Every time the baby suckled, Rafe’s throat went dry, and before he realized it, his mouth was practically watering.

She glanced up, catching him staring. “Rafe,” she whispered sharply, though a little smile tugged at her lips.

He shifted on the couch, tugging a cushion into his lap to hide the strain in his sweats. He leaned forward, voice low so Mason wouldn’t catch it. “Baby, let me have a taste. Please. Just one.”

Catherine’s eyes widened, and she shook her head, cheeks flushing. “Rafe, no. Not with the boys here.”

“Cath…” he groaned, running a hand over his face like he was in pain. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re sittin’ there all soft and perfect, feedin’ our boy, and I swear my cock’s about to tear through these sweats.”

She bit her lip, torn between amusement and exasperation, but kept rocking Bradley gently in her arms. “Behave,” she whispered. “You can wait.”

Rafe dropped his head back against the couch with a dramatic groan, Mason oblivious as he laughed at the TV. Catherine tried not to giggle at her husband’s misery, but she saw the way his hand clenched on his thigh, the cushion doing a poor job of hiding his hard‑on.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, staring at her like a starving man. “You’re killing me, baby.”

By late afternoon, the house smelled faintly of garlic and olive oil as Catherine stood at the counter, her phone propped up with a YouTube recipe playing. She had her hair tied back messily, Bradley in his playpen, Mason napping upstairs, and she was determined to get through dinner without calling one if the moms from the site for help.

Still, she couldn’t help rolling her eyes at herself. Married at twenty with two kids and I can’t even boil pasta without a tutorial.

Her train of thought broke when she felt big hands slide around her waist. Rafe pressed his chest against her back, his cock already hard against the curve of her ass through his sweats.

“Baby…” he groaned, dragging his lips along the back of her neck, his hands roaming over her stomach and hips. “Please. Let me fuck you. Just bend over the counter for me—I’ll make it quick.”

She laughed, stirring the sauce and glancing at him over her shoulder. “Rafe, I’m cooking. And I told you, I’m sore.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised, grinding against her, his breath hot in her ear. “You’ve been teasing me all day—sittin’ there feeding Bradley, walkin’ around with those little shorts on… You’re making me crazy, Cath.”

Her laugh bubbled up again as she shook her head, reaching for the salt. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Desperate,” he corrected, nipping her shoulder. “So fuckin’ desperate, baby. I’m beggin’ here.”

She leaned back just enough to tease him, her smile wicked. “And I’m busy.”

Rafe groaned like a man in pain, dropping his forehead against her shoulder. “If you don’t let me fuck you, I swear to God, I’m gonna go upstairs and watch porn like a teenager.”

That made her laugh harder, almost spilling the sauce as she swatted his hand away. “Go ahead. Don’t let me hold you back, baby.”

He pulled back with a pout, eyes narrowed in mock offense. “You think it’s funny, huh? Your husband suffering in his own damn house?”

She smirked, licking a little sauce off the spoon and deliberately ignoring him. “It’s a little funny.”

Rafe groaned again, running a frustrated hand through his hair before stomping off toward the living room. “Fine. Don’t come crying to me when you catch me watching some cheap shit on my phone instead of you.”

By the time dinner was on the table, Catherine was proud of herself. The pasta was edible, the sauce hadn’t burned, and Mason was happily munching on garlic bread while Bradley smeared food all over his high chair tray. Catherine sat down with her plate, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Rafe, on the other hand, wasn’t focused on the food at all. He’d been restless since the afternoon, his cock aching, balls tight to the point of pain. Every time he looked at Catherine — the curve of her thighs in those little shorts, the way her chest swelled when she leaned over to help Mason — it got worse.

Halfway through dinner, he slid his hand under the table, resting it on her thigh. He squeezed, his thumb rubbing slow circles higher and higher until she shot him a warning look.

“Rafe,” she whispered sharply, nudging his hand away.

“What?” he said innocently, but his leg bounced under the table. His cock was throbbing, pressed uncomfortably against his zipper. He leaned closer, his voice low and desperate. “Baby, please. I’m hurtin’ here. I need you.”

She stabbed her pasta with a fork and gave him a pointed look. “Eat your dinner.”

Rafe let out a strangled groan, running both hands down his face before shoving a piece of garlic bread into his mouth like it might help. It didn’t.

The rest of the meal was torture — every giggle Catherine gave Mason, every time she stood to refill a cup, her crop top riding up just a little, Rafe felt his cock twitch and swell painfully. He adjusted himself under the table more than once, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

When dinner was finished and Catherine was wiping Bradley’s face clean, Rafe leaned in behind her, his voice cracking with how raw it sounded. “Baby, I’m beggin’ you. I can’t take this anymore. My balls hurt. You’re gonna kill me.”

Catherine looked back at him, half‑teasing, half‑soft. “Poor thing,” she cooed, brushing a kiss over his cheek. “Guess you’ll have to be patient, huh?”

He groaned, dropping his forehead against her shoulder like a man defeated. “Patience is for saints. I married you, not a nun.”

Mason laughed at something on TV, oblivious. Bradley clapped his hands, delighted with his clean bib. Catherine smiled sweetly, turning back to the boys like her husband wasn’t in absolute agony beside her.

Rafe sat down heavily in his chair, running a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. “Gonna fuckin’ explode…”

Dinner cleanup was chaos — Mason chattering about Paw Patrol, Bradley banging a spoon against his highchair tray, Catherine moving between the sink and the table with that easy rhythm she’d fallen into as a young mom. Rafe sat slouched in the chair, hands fisted against his knees, watching her every move.

When she bent to grab Mason’s toy off the floor, her shorts lifted just enough to reveal the soft curve of her ass, and the print marks of his hands from earlier were still faint on her thighs and ass. Rafe groaned under his breath, biting the inside of his cheek. He could see his own claim on her skin, and it made his cock ache.

“Baby…” his voice was rough, almost breaking as he pushed up from the chair. He stalked closer, caging her in against the table while she tried to wipe it down. His chest pressed to her back, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “Please. Just give me something. I’m losing my fuckin’ mind.”

Catherine straightened slowly, giving him a look over her shoulder. “Rafe, the boys are right here,” she whispered.

“They’re babies,” he hissed back, almost shameless. His hands gripped her hips, grinding his hardness against her ass, breath ragged. “They won’t know what’s happening. They won’t remember. Mason’s three. Bradley can’t even talk yet.”

Catherine’s eyes widened, and she gave a breathless laugh, swatting his chest. “Rafe Cameron. Are you insane?”

“I’m desperate,” he admitted, his forehead falling against her shoulder as his voice cracked. “Every time you bend over, every time you smile at me, I’m undressing you in my head. I swear I can still feel how tight you were last night. My cock is hurting, Cath. I need inside you.”

She turned, pressing a hand to his chest, biting her lip as his words sank in. Her eyes softened, but she still shook her head. “Not here. Not now. I mean it.”

Rafe let out the most broken sound — half‑groan, half‑whimper — his hands dragging down her sides in defeat. “You’re evil,” he muttered, voice low and tortured.

It was torture. Pure, drawn‑out torture.

☁️

Rafe had tried everything — another storybook, a warm bottle for Bradley, Mason tucked in with his favorite stuffed dog. But somehow, the boys were restless, wriggling and giggling like they knew their dad was hanging by a thread.

He sat on the edge of Mason’s bed, raking a hand through his hair, his cock throbbing so hard it hurt. They’re doing this on purpose, he thought bitterly. They know I just need five minutes with their mom.

Finally, when Mason’s eyes fluttered shut for the third time, Rafe eased off the bed and slipped out of the room. He moved down the hall like a man possessed, barefoot, running a frustrated hand over his face.

From the kitchen came the sound of plates clinking and the low hum of the dishwasher. He stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching Catherine bend over to shove a dish inside. Her white crop top rode up just enough to tease the soft skin of her back, and Rafe almost groaned out loud.

He pushed off the frame, stalking closer, voice ragged and broken. “They’re not asleep,” he muttered. “I swear they’re fuckin’ with me. Like they know their daddy just needs a release.”

Catherine glanced over her shoulder, an amused little smirk tugging her lips. “Rafe…”

He came up behind her, crowding her against the counter, his hands gripping her hips, his cock pressing insistently against her ass. “Baby, I can’t take it anymore,” he rasped, almost whining. “I need you. Right here. Right now. Please.”

Her laugh was soft, teasing, as she loaded the last dish. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m dying,” he corrected, his voice cracking as his forehead pressed against her shoulder. His hips rolled against her helplessly. “I’ve been hard since lunch. Every time you bend over, I see my handprints on your ass and I—” he cut himself off with a groan, breathing hard against her ear. “Cath, please. Don’t make me suffer another hour.”

Her kiss was soft and sweet, a quick brush of lips that had Rafe’s chest tightening, but then she pulled back, smirking. “I’m going to take a shower,” she whispered, low and teasing. “If the boys are asleep by then… you can join me.”

He watched her hips sway in those little shorts as she walked down the hall, the bounce of her blonde hair, the smug smile on her mouth. Rafe stood there for a moment, stunned, still feeling the ghost of her kiss on his lips.

Then he bolted upstairs.

The bedroom door was cracked, and his heart sank when he heard the springs creaking. He pushed it open to find Mason jumping up and down on his bed, giggling.

“Buddy,” Rafe groaned, running a hand down his face. “Please. I need you to sleep. Like—right now.”

Mason landed on his butt, laughing. “Why?”

Rafe crouched, whispering frantically. “Because Daddy needs some time with Mommy. Grown‑up time.”

Mason tilted his head, clearly not understanding.

Rafe dug a hand in his sweats, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you go to sleep.”

Mason just blinked. “What’s bucks?”

Rafe exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath. “Jesus Christ…” Then he tried again. “Okay, okay, how about this? If you go to sleep… you’ll get a baby sister.”

Mason’s eyes widened in confusion. “A puppy?”

Rafe dragged a hand down his face, half laughing, half groaning. “Close enough. Just—lay down, buddy. Please.”

Somehow, after a lot of coaxing, water, and an extra stuffed animal, Mason finally settled. Rafe stood in the hallway a moment, exhaling hard like he’d just survived a battle, before making his way to the master bedroom.

The sound of running water reached him, and every nerve in his body lit up. He stripped off his shirt and sweats in record time, leaving them in a heap on the floor, his cock already thick and aching as he stepped into the steam‑filled bathroom.

Catherine stood inside the glass shower, water cascading down her hair and shoulders. She glanced over her shoulder when he opened the door, her lips curving into that smug little smile again.

Rafe stepped in, water splashing over his shoulders, and caged her against the slick tile, his voice low and desperate. “They’re down. Finally. You have no idea what I went through to get here, baby.”

The steam clung to his skin, his eyes devouring every inch of her slick, glistening body. Her blonde hair was heavy with suds, sliding down her back, her nipples hard and pebbled from the spray. Rafe’s throat went dry, cock twitching painfully as it brushed her ass when he pressed closer.

Catherine tipped her head back, rinsing the shampoo from her hair, water streaming down her chest. Rafe bit his lip so hard it almost bled, every muscle in his body screaming to just flip her around, press her tits to the glass, and fill her until she was dripping his cum down her thighs.

Instead, his hands slid into her hair, rough but careful, helping her wash the last of the shampoo away. His cock ground against the curve of her ass, throbbing with every tiny sway of her hips. He groaned into her ear, voice low and cracked, “Baby, you’re killing me. You’re so fuckin’ perfect. All day I’ve been walking around with a hard‑on and you’re here, all wet and soft—and I can just combust.”

She smirked, arching back against him deliberately, feeling how he twitched against her. “You’ve been desperate, huh?”

“Desperate?” he laughed breathlessly, hands slipping down to cup her tits, squeezing, thumbs brushing her nipples until she gasped. “I’ve been in pain. Watching you feed Bradley, watching you bend over in those shorts—fuck, baby, I almost lost it right there at the table. I don’t care if you’re sore, I’ll be gentle. Just—please. Let me put another baby in you.”

She turned her head, lips brushing his jaw as she teased, “And what if I said no?”

Rafe’s hips bucked helplessly, his cock rutting against her ass. “Then I’ll beg. On my knees. I don’t give a fuck. You’re gonna let Daddy breed you—stuff you so full you won’t be able to walk out of this shower.”

Her breath caught, the filthy promise lighting her up inside. She reached back, wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, squeezing until his knees buckled.

“Fuck—” he choked, teeth gritted, forehead pressed to her wet shoulder.

She guided his tip to her folds, slick already despite the hot spray. Rafe’s eyes rolled back as he felt her warmth. “Jesus Christ, baby—”

And then he slammed forward, pressing her against the fogged glass, groaning so loud the shower echoed with it.

Her ass squeaked against the glass, steam fogging the panel as Rafe yanked her leg up, hooking it around his hip. He used her thigh like a handle, grinding her open, his cock plunging so deep she gasped. Catherine’s hand wrapped tight around his neck, nails biting into his damp skin as she clung to him.

Her eyes rolled back, mouth falling open, every thrust hitting the sore, swollen ache from the night before. It wasn’t soft, wasn’t forgiving—Rafe was fucking her raw, teeth clenched, groaning as he bottomed out with every brutal push.

“God—fuck, Cath—” he hissed, forehead pressed against hers as water poured down between them. “You’re so wet, baby. You feel how deep I am? How deep you’re taking me?”

She gasped, nails digging harder into his neck, the pain only making him thrust harder. “Rafe—”

“Say it,” he demanded, voice wrecked, hips slamming into hers, their skin smacking against the tile. His hand slid up her ribs to squeeze her tits, water dripping off his knuckles. “Say you want me to fill you. Say you want my baby.”

Her lips trembled, eyes rolling, body already shaking. “I want it—fuck—I want it so bad. Fill me, please.”

Rafe’s head snapped back, eyes glazed, a filthy groan tearing from his chest. He pushed harder, faster, until the slap of his cock inside her echoed off the shower walls. “You’re already so sore, can feel how used you are—fuck, and you’re still sucking me in. This is what you were made for, baby. To be bred. To carry my kids. To give me that little girl.”

Her body clenched tight around him, the words, the pace, the raw hunger in his voice sending her spiraling. She moaned, practically screaming as her orgasm tore through her, thighs trembling, hand clutching his neck like she was drowning.

Her whole body seized around him, clamping down so tight Rafe saw stars. Watching her come undone like that—her thighs trembling violently, her back arching against the glass, her mouth open in a broken moan—was the filthiest, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Her lashes fluttered, wet from the steam, tears spilling down as she looked at him like he was the only thing anchoring her to earth. Her fingers curled tighter around his neck, choking him lightly, stealing his breath with every convulsion of her pussy. Her other hand dug into his bicep, nails scoring angry red marks into his skin.

“Jesus Christ—fuck, Catherine—” Rafe’s voice cracked, guttural, as he watched her body shake apart around his cock. His stomach knotted, his balls tightening to the point of pain, every ounce of control snapping the second he felt her squeeze the life out of him.

The sight of her—her wet hair clinging to her flushed face, the way her tits bounced with every shudder, the way she whimpered his name with her lips parted—had him breaking. His hips slammed deep one last time, burying himself to the hilt, cock throbbing violently as he emptied inside her.

“Fuck—baby—” he groaned, forehead pressing to hers, voice strangled. The release tore through him like fire, hot and endless, flooding her until it spilled out around the base of his cock. He swore he could feel heaven itself in the way she milked him, the spasms of her body pulling every last drop from him.

He didn’t stop, even as his cock twitched, his hips grinding, desperate to make sure she kept it all. His chest heaved, sweat mixing with the steam, his eyes locked on her fucked‑out face. She looked ruined, teary, glowing—and it made him impossibly harder, his cock still jerking inside her even as he came.

Rafe’s voice dropped, hoarse and reverent. “That’s it. Take all of it, baby. You’re so perfect when you come for me—I’ll never get enough of watching you like this.”

Rafe growled low in his chest as he hooked his hands under her ass, lifting her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her back pressed hard against the slick glass, water streaking down over her skin. Every thrust bounced her up, making her gasp, her whole body jolting with the force.

“Rafe—please—” Catherine whined, her voice breaking. She was so raw, so sore, every drag of his cock inside her making her toes curl. The slightest brush of his body against her clit had her body convulsing, shaking violently as if her nerves couldn’t take any more.

Her head tipped back against the fogged glass, hair plastered wet to her face, mouth falling open. “I can’t—s’too much—”

Rafe only groaned, pressing in deeper, grinding until her breath hitched. His jaw clenched, eyes blown wide at the sight of her trembling in his arms. “Yes, you can, baby. You always take me. You’re mine—fuck—you were made for this cock.”

Her hands flew to his hair, nails scraping his scalp as she dragged him down into a kiss, whimpering into his mouth. Their lips smashed together, wet and messy, her moans spilling straight down his throat as she writhed against him.

Rafe groaned into the kiss, rutting harder, his cock driving to the hilt with each desperate thrust. The sound of their skin, the wet slap of water and sex, echoed in the shower, filth mixing with steam.

Her whimpers turned broken, muffled against his lips as she clung to him, every nerve in her body overloaded. She shook in his arms, overwhelmed, pleading between gasps. “Rafe—oh my God—I’m gonna break—”

But the way her pussy clenched, the way her body kept shuddering around him, told him she didn’t mean stop. She meant more.

Rafe pulled back just enough to look at her wrecked face, his lips hovering over hers, panting hard. “Look at you—fuck—you’re trembling like I’m killing you, but you’re soaking me, baby. You’re begging for every inch.” He bit her lip, groaning as he slammed back in. “So perfect for me.”

Catherine’s scream tore out of her throat before she could stop it, her whole body jerking violently in his arms. Overstimulation ripped through her, wave after wave of orgasm crashing until her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving half-moon marks on his skin.

“Rafe—I can’t—I can’t—” she sobbed, her voice cracking. But her pussy said otherwise, spasming wildly around his cock, refusing to let him go. Even when he finally pulled her off him, her legs dangled weak and trembling, still shaking uncontrollably. She could feel herself fluttering, her cunt pulsing empty, desperate, as if it were still trying to milk him.

Rafe caught her when she slumped, holding her close, chest heaving. He pressed her forehead to his, both of them gasping for breath in the hot steam. “Jesus Christ, baby—” his voice was hoarse, reverent. “You just keep coming for me. Never seen anything so fucking beautiful in my life.”

He carefully set her down, turning her under the spray. His hands were slow, tender now, sliding over her body, helping her rinse off the mess. But every time his fingers grazed her swollen slit, her thighs twitched violently, her breath hitching like she was going to shatter again.

“My sensitive girl,” Rafe murmured, smirking as he watched her squirm away from his touch. “You’re still clenching, baby. You’d come all over my fingers if I touched you just right.”

“Rafe, no—” she whined, burying her face against his chest, her voice all cracked and desperate. “I can’t anymore—”

He only kissed the top of her wet hair, chuckling low. “I know, baby. I know. I’ll take care of you.”

When he was satisfied she was clean, he shut off the water and scooped her up like she weighed nothing. Her legs still trembled against his hips, arms wrapped weakly around his neck. He carried her out of the bathroom and into their master bedroom.

The house was quiet—boys finally asleep—and the sight of their massive new bed waiting made Rafe’s cock twitch all over again. He laid her gently down, pulling the sheets back before setting her against the cool linens.

Her blonde hair spilled over the pillows, her skin flushed pink from heat and sex, her eyes glazed and heavy-lidded as she looked up at him. She still looked fucked-out, ruined, trembling—and Rafe thought he’d never seen anything so perfect.

He crawled up over her, bracing himself on his forearms as his lips brushed her ear. “You think I’m done with you, baby?” his voice rasped, low and dark. “Not a chance. I need you in our bed—wanna make you my messy little wife all over again.”

At those words, Catherine’s chest tightened and for a second her eyes burned like she might cry. Her body was still raw, trembling, completely wrung out—and yet, the way he said it, so deep and certain, made her heart clench. But then Rafe smiled, that crooked grin of his, and she knew he was teasing, knew he wasn’t going to drag her through another round tonight.

He shifted down beside her, pulling her close into his chest, his big hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. Her damp hair stuck to his skin, but he didn’t care—he buried his nose in it, breathing her in, pressing soft kisses to the top of her head.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmured, tugging the sheet over them both. “You did so good for me, baby. So fucking good.”

She melted into him, boneless, letting him hold her. The room was quiet except for the sound of their slowed breathing and the faint hum of the AC. Rafe’s hand slid lazily over her hip, not sexual, just grounding.

After a while, he mumbled into her hair, “Since I picked the boys’ names… I think if it’s a girl, you should name her.”

Catherine tilted her head back to look at him, lips quirking into a tired smile. “You’re already thinking about names?”

He smirked, thumb brushing her cheek. “I’ve been thinking about it since I saw you with that little girl at the showroom. Don’t play dumb.”

Her chest warmed, and she nuzzled against his collarbone. “Okay then…” she whispered. “I like the name Larissa.”

Rafe repeated it slowly, tasting it on his tongue. “Larissa Cameron…” His eyes softened, and his grin widened. “Sounds like a princess already.”

“You’re gonna spoil the shit out of her,” Catherine giggled quietly, hiding her face in his chest, and Rafe kissed the crown of her head, holding her tighter. He didn’t even realize he’d drifted into a half-asleep haze with her tucked against him, whispering promises about their future.

⛅️

Three months later, Catherine was staring down at two pink lines, her hands shaking. Her stomach had been off for days—she couldn’t keep sushi down, same as with Mason, same as in her last trimester with Bradley. She sat on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, clutching the test, half of her terrified, half of her lit up with a happiness she never imagined she’d feel. She’d become this woman—a wife, a mother, and now again… and for the first time it didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like home.

That week she told Rafe she had a doctor’s appointment, asked him to come. He didn’t question it—just cleared his schedule, called a sitter for the boys, and drove her across town with his hand on her thigh the whole ride.

When they checked into the gynecologist’s office, Rafe leaned against the wall, fiddling with his watch. “So what’s this for?” he asked casually. “Yeast infection or somethin’? You could’ve told me, baby, I don’t gotta sit in on that.”

Catherine just smiled nervously and squeezed his hand. “Just… come with me.”

When the doctor pulled out the ultrasound machine, Rafe frowned, confused, watching Catherine lie back and tug her shirt up. Gel spread over her stomach, and then—suddenly—the grainy black-and-white image filled the screen.

The doctor angled it toward them. “Congratulations,” she said softly, the wand gliding gently. “Looks like you’re about twelve weeks along.”

Rafe blinked at the screen, eyes narrowing like he couldn’t trust what he was seeing. “Wait—what?” His gaze darted to Catherine, his jaw slack. “Baby… you—you’re pregnant?”

Her throat bobbed, lips trembling as she nodded. “I was scared to tell you until I knew for sure.”

For a beat he just stared, then his hand shot out to grab hers, squeezing tight, his Adam’s apple working as he swallowed. He looked back at the screen, at the tiny flicker of life, his breath catching when the sound of the heartbeat filled the room.

“That’s—holy fuck—that’s ours,” he whispered, almost to himself. He turned to her, his eyes glassy, his voice breaking. “That’s our little girl, isn’t it?”

Catherine let out a wet laugh, tears spilling as she nodded again, brushing her fingers across his cheek. “Could be,” she teased softly.

But Rafe was gone—completely undone, staring at the screen like it was the most important thing in the world. He pressed his lips to Catherine’s knuckles, his other hand tightening over her belly, protective already.

The room was quieter now except for the hum of the machine and that tiny galloping heartbeat. Rafe’s hand hadn’t moved from Catherine’s belly, his thumb stroking gently over the gel like he could feel their baby through it.

The gynecologist smiled at the two of them. “You said you’ve been through this before?”

Catherine laughed softly, nodding. “Twice. Two boys. But those were… uh—” she looked at Rafe, her lips quirking— “less glamorous clinics.”

Rafe chuckled under his breath, still staring at the screen. “Yeah, no fancy ultrasound screens with Mason. Doc held up some fuzzy printout that looked like static off a TV and said, ‘there’s the baby.’”

“And with our second born,” Catherine added, “we had to share a waiting room with six other couples. No privacy.”

Rafe finally tore his eyes from the monitor, glancing at the gyno with a smirk. “This feels… different. Cleaner. Quieter. Guess we’ve moved up in the world.” His hand flexed over Catherine’s belly. “Still feels the same in here, though.”

The gyno smiled and clicked a few buttons, printing out a strip of photos. “You’re about twelve weeks along. Everything looks healthy—heartbeat is strong.” She passed the photos to Catherine, who instantly pressed them to her chest.

Rafe leaned in, squinting. “That little peanut is makin’ all that noise?” He shook his head, smiling in disbelief. “Wild.”

“Do you want to know the gender?” the doctor asked.

Catherine’s brows shot up, but Rafe shook his head quickly, voice low and certain. “Nah. Don’t need to. I know it’s a baby girl. Been dreamin’ about her since I saw Cath with that little girl in the showroom.”

The gyno chuckled, clicking off the machine. “Well, you’ll have the option at around twenty weeks. For now, just keep doing what you’ve been doing. Catherine, make sure you’re eating enough, staying hydrated. You know the drill.”

“Yeah,” Catherine said, a little breathless, her hand still clutching Rafe’s. “I remember with my first born I couldn’t keep anything down. My second, too.” She wrinkled her nose. “Looks like I’ve got another long road ahead.”

Rafe kissed her hand, squeezing. “You’ll have me this time, baby. Whatever you need, I’ll get it. Midnight cravings, a damn chef on call if you want one.”

The gyno laughed. “I’m guessing support won’t be an issue.”

Rafe smirked, kissing Catherine’s knuckles again. “Not a chance. My wife doesn’t lift a finger while she’s carryin’ my kid.”

Catherine flushed, half-embarrassed in front of the doctor, half-melting at his words. “He wasn’t like this with our first boy,” she teased.

It only took two study sessions for your mind to change entirely.

His dorkiness quickly became endearing, especially when you realized just how cute he was up close. His messy hair and stupid glasses were stupidly attractive. He was surprisingly jacked under all the layers he normally wore. And, god, his eyes.

If he looked at you with his eyes all wide and innocent-looking one more time, you were certain you’d end up jumping him.

All of that, paired with how cute and blushy he got any time you flirted with him, was the perfect storm: you needed him bad.

You opened the front door of your apartment a little further, allowing him inside. He shuffled just past you, dropping his bag unceremoniously in order to pull off his shoes. You leaned against the wall to observe him as he did, finding yourself watching his every move like a hawk as of late. It was hard not to. You’d certainly had enough dirty dreams in the weeks prior, leading to even dirtier thoughts guiding your hand every time you go that familiar feeling fluttering in your stomach.

You only snapped out of it when he turned to you, his cheeks flushing a bit as he realized you were watching him. Only, you weren’t so nervous. You never were one to shy away from a crush. You merely smiled at him, pulling yourself off the wall and grabbing his arm.

“Come on,” you said, tugging him towards your room.

“W-what?” he blushed harder, quickly grabbing his bag as you pulled him along. “What about the… the living room?”

“My roommate is watching a movie in there with her boyfriend tonight,” you stated, omitting the fact that you asked her to occupy the space that night so you’d have an excuse to get him in your bedroom.

“Oh…” 

“It’s okay. My bed’s comfier anyway. Trust me,” you smirk over your shoulder, loving the fact that you could practically read what went through his mind in that moment.

That was the other thing you found yourself liking about Dave: you could read him like a book. Any time he was nervous, he fiddled with his hands. Any time he was stressed about class, he buried a hand in his hair roughly. And any time he was thinking dirty thoughts, those cute, pouty lips of his opened slightly and his eyes got all wide and round. Not to mention, he’d suck in a shaky breath. It was fucking endearing and horrifically sexy.

And he was doing it right then.

You turned over how you’d get your way as you pulled him into your room, though you knew it probably wouldn’t be hard. He obviously thought you were hot, and you still had plenty of time to do work on the speech before he’d leave.

You let go of him at last, shutting the door behind the both of you. You then shuffled over to your bed, sliding off your slippers before you got onto your bed, kneeling on the soft mattress. You patted the spot next to you, trying not to smile at the fact that he was looking at you as if he was thinking a little too hard about something else again. After a beat, though, he obeyed.

“Attaboy,” you mumbled, just to get another reaction out of him.

He cleared his throat, settling in uncomfortably. “So… Uh…”

“So…” you tilted your head in question, leaning in a little closer to him.

“Uh…” he gulped, looking down at you as you were mere inches from him. “Uh… We’re… Our topic is about killer whales, right?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, blinking your lashes at him. “Guess we gotta figure out how we’re doing it, huh?”

“What?” he squeaked out.

You grinned a little, raising a brow. He sucked in a breath when he finally pulled his head out of the gutter.

“Oh. Right. Right, yeah. How to… how to do it,” he nodded, too quickly to be natural. “Sorry, I don’t know where my head’s at.”

“That’s alright. No worries,” you smiled sweetly, resting a hand on his thigh gently.

He stiffened up physically, and you could only imagine the same happened in his pants. You squeezed his leg for a little extra emphasis. 

“You okay?” you asked.

“Mm… Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

He nodded a little, glancing briefly at your chest. You were in.

“Hey,” you said softly, rubbing up and down his leg. “You don’t need to act so shy. I don’t bite that hard.”

He blinked a few times, chewing on his lip. “I’m just… a little nervous.”

“Why?”

“Well… It’s just that… I mean that, that you’re–”

You chuckled to yourself. “I’m totally fucking with you, by the way.”

“What?” he asked, his voice high pitched.

“I said I’m fucking with you,” you repeated, sliding your hand up to his crotch. “Ooh. Someone’s excited, huh?”

“Uh…” he squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He paused, breathing heavy. “I don’t know.”

You laughed fully, moving your hand away again. He breathed out a sigh of relief, though you made sure to stop his relaxation in its tracks. You swung a leg over his hips, settling down onto his lap. He groaned, his hands grabbing at your thighs immediately.

“What are you doing?” he breathed out, clearly not protesting it.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you for weeks, Lizewski. You can’t seriously be that oblivious,” you muttered before smashing your lips into his.

He let out a shuddering, whiny moan into your lips, kissing you back like he’d been dreaming of it. You hoped he had been. You nipped his lip, getting him to open up for you to slide your tongue against his. He gripped your thighs and hips, his hands greedy as they wandered over your body. 

“You’re so pretty,” he gasped out as you moved your lips across his cheek and down his jaw. “Fuck, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

You hummed happily, moving your lips down his neck. You licked and sucked at his skin, drawing out a million little sounds from his lips. You nipped at him, then sucked hard on his skin, determined to leave a mark. He moaned your name, squeezing your ass with both hands, relishing in the feel of your body beneath your thin shorts.

“Shh, baby,” you mumbled, licking over the new mark on the base of his neck. “There. Looks real pretty.” “Shit,” he whimpered, trying like hell to move your hips over his.

“Desperate,” you whispered into his ear, obliging him with a roll of your body.

He moaned softly, needy and clearly wanting more. But you wanted to see how far you could push him. You rolled your hips again and again over the obvious erection straining against his baggy jeans. You couldn’t imagine it felt great, but all the same, he wasn’t complaining. He wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck, his shaggy hair tickling the underside of your jaw.

“How’s it feel, baby?” you teased.

He merely groaned, staying silent for a few moments. “I… it kind of hurts. But please don’t stop.”

“Here,” you said, going up on your knees. “Pull your jeans down. It’ll feel better.”

He gulped, but quickly obliged your request. He clumsily pulled his jeans down his legs, clearly wanting and ready despite the fact that he looked like a deer in the headlights. You lowered yourself back down, grinding against him once more. He whined softly, guiding your hips with his eyes glued to where your bodies met through the fabric.

“Have you ever done anything like this?” you asked, a little amused at how excited he was.

“Only once… high school girlfriend…” he muttered in response. 

You chuckled softly. “Poor boy.”

He groaned, continuing to move you over his nearly-painful erection. You kissed down his neck, leaving a few marks for him to remember you by when he went to bed that night. He continued letting soft, pathetic noises fall from his lips, practically panting at this point.

“You getting close already, Lizewski?” you whispered, lips brushing his ear.

He merely nodded, his hands gripping you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. He breathed into your neck, chasing his release. But you couldn’t have that.

“You want more, don’t you?” you asked softly, winding your hand in his hair to give it a little tug.

He nodded his head, staring at you with a slack jaw.

“Okay, angel. What do you say?”

“P-please,” he whimpered softly.

You smiled to yourself, moving up on your knees and quickly working to shove his jeans down his thighs further. You paused, glancing up at him with a devilishly sweet smile.

“You think you can manage to pull those off the rest of the way so I can get my shorts off?” 

He nodded earnestly. “Yes. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good boy,” you patted his leg, then rolled off of him to shimmy out of your shorts and panties, not wanting to wait any longer. 

You’d been patient for what felt like ages now, not jumping on the guy out of respect. But you were only a woman, and you could only put off your desires for so long: especially when he clearly wanted you just as much.

You kept your eyes on him as he pushed his briefs off, laying back on the bed with his chest heaving and hair messy around him. His cock was hard and ready and so gorgeous. He wasn’t massive or anything, but between the coloring and his shape, you were certain it was the prettiest you’d seen. The slightest curve pointing towards his tummy that was now partially exposed from his shirt riding up.

“Wow.”

“What?” He asked breathlessly, looking up at you with wide, wet eyes.

You smirked at his desperation. “You’re just really pretty like this.”

He whined softly, obviously trying not to look at your exposed lower half as you crawled towards him on the mattress again.

“I’m really glad we got paired up for this class,” you admitted, straddling his legs. “Don’t think I would’ve ever considered you otherwise. But now I can’t stop thinking about fucking you.”

“Fuck,” he sighed, his eyes falling shut. “Please.”

“You sound so sweet when you beg.”

“Please,” he repeated, looking at you in utter need, his hands sliding up your thighs and to your hips.

“Shh,” you whispered back to him, reaching down to stroke his firm cock. He practically squeaked, his hips thrusting into your hand. “You’re awfully responsive, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” he all but moaned in response. “God, you’re so pretty.”

“Thanks, honey,” you replied noncommittally, dragging his tip through your folds to gather the slick there. He let out a shaky groan, fingers tightening on your hips.

“Wait,” he exclaimed softly, shaking his head.

You raised a brow, stopping your movements. “You alright?”

“Yeah. No, I’m… I am so good, you have no idea,” he mumbled quickly, still staring at you. “I just… I’d really like to be on top. If that’s okay.”

You chuckled, then nodded, obliging his request. You rolled off of him, laying on your back with your head in the pillows.

“Only because you asked so nice.”

“Thank you,” he said, whiny and needy as he moved between your legs. He let out a breathy moan as he slid his tip against you again. “You’re so soft. Wet.”

“I know.”

“Mm…”

He moaned, nearly looking like he could cry, as he started pushing into you. His eyes were glued to where you swallowed the head of his cock easily, brows knit together as he breathed heavy. 

“God… fuck…” he whined, falling on top of you with his head in your neck, letting himself ease into you. You gasped softly when he finally bottomed out, feeling yourself gush around him. “Fuck. You feel so fucking good. So good.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you reply, carding your hand through his hair and tugging it softly.

He lifted his head to take off his glasses, setting them on your bedside table. 

“Thank you. For letting me do this,” he whimpered, his face lowering back to your neck. 

He started thrusting his hips against yours slowly, sucking and biting at your neck as you felt his cock drag along your walls almost teasingly. He breathed heavily, every little needy noise like music to your ears. You ran your nails across his back, wanting to mark him and make him remember you every waking moment of his life. 

“You feel perfect,” he squeaked out, his hips starting to snap harder against yours as he grew more needy chasing his release. “I’ve had a crush on you all year. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

You chuckled breathily, his body pinning yours to the mattress as his hand gripped the sheets above your head. He moaned at every thrust, practically using your body to get himself off. Not that you minded. It was unbelievably hot to see him so desperate for you that he almost couldn’t help the way he pushed himself into you. 

“I could cum inside you right now,” he moaned again, moving his head to kiss you once. “Promise I won’t. But I could… I’m so close.”

“You can cum anywhere you want.”

He groaned, kissing you again, all tongue and want. “Please… Take off the shirt. Wanna… your tits.”

“Yeah?”

“Please,” he begged, whining as he kept pushing into you. “Please. I’d do anything.”

“Okay, baby,” you complied with a self-satisfied smirk, tugging at your shirt until you were able to pull it over your head. You watched him as he eyes were drawn to your breasts bouncing in your bra before you pulled that off, too.

“Oh, god…”

“You like them, huh?”

“Love ‘em,” he groaned, gripping one of your tits roughly with his hand. “God.”

“Mm…” you moaned a little, back arching into his touch. “Fuck, I’m close, too.”

“Really?” His eyes widened.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, shit. Okay. I’m… fuck, that’s so hot,” he said quickly, looking at you like you’d hung the stars just for him. “I– I’ll make you cum first. Promise.”

“Baby…”

“No, please. I wanna watch you,” he breathed out, eyes moving between your face and tits as he tried his damndest not to cum before you did.

You decided you’d be nice, just this once, and moved your hand between your bodies. You rubbed quick little circles around your clit as he kept railing you into the mattress, trying to get yourself to finish first. He whined as he kept going, squeezing his eyes shut as he clearly put in a lot of effort to hold himself off.

“You’re close?” he checked.

“Yeah. Really close. Almost there.”

“Mm…” he groaned, lowering his head and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth.

That did it.

You gasped, moaning his name as you clenched hard around his dick, soaking him in your release as he thrusted as fast as he could manage. Though you were left empty only a few seconds later as he pulled out, just in time to shoot his seed all over your bare chest. He groaned wantonly, stroking himself a little bit as he finished.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, voice high pitched and whiny. “Holy fuck. Fuck.”

“Yeah?”

He swallowed, mouth hung open as he tried catching his breath. “Uh huh.”

“You’re adorable,” you chuckled, watching as he sat down next to you, still trying to breathe normally again.

He nodded. “God damn.”

You reached for the tissues on your bedside table, wiping the cum off of your breasts as Dave fell back onto your bed in a combination of bliss and exhaustion. You chuckled at his actions, shaking your head.

“I think this makes our study sessions way more fun,” you offered after a moment.

The feeling that went through your heart and body when you saw the two lines on that test was something you would never forget.

It was pure fear, panic, shock, sadness, and also awe. You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do, or if Billy was even going to stick around to find out.

The thought of being pregnant and having a baby was terrifying in general, but the thought of doing it alone was even scarier.

You held that secret close to your chest for a week. You wanted to wait for the perfect time to tell Billy, but that time never came. You never stopped being terrified, your stomach was never not in knots when you were around him. He noticed something was up, and he kept trying to get you to tell him, but you’d brush it off.

It became an issue when he wanted you to come with him to a party at Tommy’s house. You didn’t think anything of it at first, agreeing to go without hesitation like any other time. You felt stupid (maybe you could blame it on pregnancy brain already), but it didn’t occur to you until you and Billy pulled up to the party that you would be expected to drink.

When you walked in, Billy brought you straight to the alcohol, filling up two cups before you could say anything over the pounding music. He went to hand you yours with a grin, and you paled, feeling like it was suddenly too hot in the house.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” you said, trying to decline the drink politely and casually but knowing you wouldn’t be so lucky as to not be questioned.

Billy looked at you as if you’d grown two heads. “Uh…you’re not drinking?”

Shit. You absolutely should have thought this through. Who goes to one of these parties to stay sober, anyway?

“She’s not drinking?” Tommy asked, sliding over with Carol under his arm. “Like at all?”

“That’s weird,” Carol giggled, clearly feeling the alcohol she had consumed tonight. “What, are you pregnant or something?”

Your blood ran cold. You actively tried not to react, but the question hit you like a slap to the face. “No, Carol,” you snapped back.

Billy’s eyes never left you throughout the entire interaction. His brows were furrowed, the gears turning in his head.

“I just don’t feel good,” you added, feeling like you were standing on stage with a spotlight on you. “I thought alcohol would make it worse.”

Tommy and Carol weren’t even listening anymore, having moved on to making out in the corner. Billy’s intense gaze was beginning to make you uncomfortable, you felt like he was reading you like a book.

Despite your fears, Billy didn’t bring it up or push the alcohol again. You had a pretty shitty time, because hanging out in a crowded house full of drunk people is probably the least enjoyable sober activity. Billy had two beers before he decided you should leave early. He didn’t look like he was having any fun either, and he knew you weren’t.

In the safety of Billy’s Camaro, you let out a breath. You buckled your seatbelt as Billy climbed into the driver’s seat. He started the car and began to drive back in the direction of your house.

He drove in silence. He didn’t even turn music on, which was not like Billy at all. The tension in the air was so thick you could barely breathe. The only sounds you could hear were the rumbling of the engine and your own shaky breathing.

Billy pulled a cigarette from his pack, sticking it between his lips. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it, bringing the flame to his face and lighting the cigarette. He took a big drag, blowing the smoke mostly out the window. The smell of it nearly made you gag, but you watched his every movement with bated breath anyway.

Finally, he spoke.

“Are you going to tell me what that was really about?” he asked, driving with one hand. He doesn’t look away from the road, doesn’t look at you.

You felt like you were going to really be sick (that had been happening recently), but it was all nerves this time. You debated if there was any chance of talking yourself out of this believably, but then you realize what’s the point, he has to know sometime, somehow.

You let out a long, shaky exhale. Billy’s eyes flicked to you for just a moment at the sound, sensing that there really was something big going on. He had hoped it was some silly explanation. He took another long drag from his cigarette.

“Billy…” you began, looking away from him and down at your hands as your fingers played together nervously. “I, uh…I’m pregnant.”

The words hang in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. Billy doesn’t say anything. You don’t say anything.

Finally Billy sighed deeply, taking another drag and then putting his fingers on the bridge of his nose as if he had a bad headache. “Christ…”

You felt sick to your stomach. You didn’t want him to be mad at you, You didn’t want him to leave.

You didn’t say anything, still trying to gauge his reaction. He didn’t look happy, but you couldn’t really figure what he was thinking. He was never an open book.

Billy pulled up in front of your house. You half expected him to kick you out of the car and never talk to you again, but instead he shut the car off entirely.

“Can I come in? To talk?” he asked, which took you by surprise.

“Yeah,” you said. “My parents are home, though, so you’ll have to come through the window…”

He nodded. He was familiar. “Give me 10 minutes,” he said. He leaned over and kissed you softly on the lips and then you were climbing out, headed up the walkway to your front door as you heard him drive off. He would be going to park around the block to walk over so your parents wouldn’t be suspicious.

You didn’t know what to think. He didn’t seem mad at you, which was a good sign. He even kissed you before you got out of the car like he always does.

Your stomach was in knots as you slipped into the house, saying a quick goodnight to your parents as you headed to your room. You cracked the window for Billy before getting changed into some comfortable pajamas while you waited for him.

Just as promised, you heard your window sliding up about 10 minutes later, and you turned in time to see Billy’s large body awkwardly maneuvering in through the window.

When he was in, he shut the window behind him and let out a sigh, running a hand through his messy blonde curls. He sat down on your bed next to you, neither of you saying anything for a while.

“Well,” Billy finally said. “This is some shit.” He laughed, but nothing was really funny.

You felt bad. You felt like this was all your fault, although you knew logically that wasn’t true.

“And you’re sure?” he asked, rubbing his sweaty palms over the thighs of his jeans.

“Yes,” you said. “Do you want to see the tests?”

He hesitated before nodding. “Not that I don’t believe you,” he added quickly, his voice gruff. “I just…want to see ‘em.”

You opened your bedside table drawer, pulling out the five positive tests you had taken. Billy’s eyes widened as you handed them to him, and he realized this was really happening. There was no mistake.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, looking at those two pink lines.

“Yeah. Fuck,” you agreed.

Billy turned to you then, and he surprised you by smiling at you softly. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against his firm, warm body. You always felt safe there.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said, which was maybe the last thing you expected him to say.

You looked up at him. “Really? You actually think so?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he looked genuine. “You know I’m serious about you, right?”

You blinked at him. You hadn’t known that, not really. You had hoped he felt the same way about you as you felt about him, but he avoided talking about his feelings so much you were never really sure where you stood.

He looked at you incredulously. “You are. You’re so special to me, you have no idea.”

Your eyes began to water at that, a couple tears falling. “Billy…”

He lifted a hand and wiped your tears away. “Come on, baby girl…” he muttered. “Don’t cry. I hate when you cry.”

He was never this tender. It was making your heart beat about a million times a minute, your head spinning in circles.

“You’re not mad?” you finally asked, voice weak.

“Why would I be mad?” he asked, looking genuinely curious. “It’s not your fault. It was both of us.” He gave you a little smirk when he said that, and it made you blush.

“I just thought you’d be upset,” you said, eyes trailing down to look at your comforter. He placed his hand beneath your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I’m not upset,” he said. “Sure, this is…really not great timing, but we’re gonna be okay, yeah? We have each other.”

You nodded. You felt like you could get through anything with Billy by your side, and now that it was clear he had no plans to run, you felt yourself breathing for the first time in a week.

“I love you, Billy,” you said, and you froze as you realized what you had said. You and Billy had not said that to each other yet, and now you were positive you had really scared him off this time.

But Billy didn’t miss a beat. He leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours. “I love you, too,” he said, and you couldn’t believe your ears.

He gently placed his hand on your still flat stomach, rubbing his thumb over the material of your shirt.

“And I mean it,” he promised, looking into your eyes with his deep, gorgeous blue ones, more serious than you’d ever seen him. “You won’t do this alone. I’m right here.”

—

Billy began to act strangely in July.

He stopped calling. You stopped seeing him around anywhere. You went to the pool to see him at work, which he usually loved for you to do, but you found him there looking sweaty and sick, his body covered up from the sun. You knew something was seriously off right away.

It turned out Max and El had already figured it out themselves. They had been watching Billy, and discovered the Mind Flayer was back, and he had possessed Billy.

You felt angry. You felt scared. But Will had been able to be saved from the Mind Flayer, so surely Billy could be, too. That’s what you held onto, what you told yourself.

—

It had been a month since the Starcourt incident. A month since Billy sacrificed himself to save all of you, a month since you watched your boyfriend die horrifically right in front of your own eyes. You still had nightmares about it, seeing it over and over again behind your eyelids when you tried to go to sleep at night. When you realized you’ll never fall asleep in Billy’s arms again, never feel him again at all.

You didn’t leave your bed for weeks after his death. Really only getting up for necessities like the bathroom or forcing yourself to eat enough to keep your body going. Steve and Robin came over and begged you to get up and get out of your dark, depressing bedroom. You weren’t ready to face a world without Billy in it. The thought of going outside and seeing the world continuing on like nothing happened made you feel sick. You felt like they didn’t understand - Steve didn’t like Billy anyway. They were never fans of your relationship. The only thing that eventually gets through to you and gets you out of bed is the reminder that you’re still growing a baby, and that baby needed a mother who could function.

You had never lost anyone close to you like that before. Not even touching on the brutal way he died, or the fact that it happened while you stood helplessly watching. You thought of Billy constantly, it was a neverending physical ache in your chest that was so severe your doctor thought you might be having heart problems and sent you to have it checked out.

Nope, just heartbreak. You wondered if the pain alone would kill you, too.

You became close to Max. The two of you may have never been friends before, but you had always liked the kid, and when you and Billy first started dating, she had told you she was glad Billy finally had a real girlfriend and that you were better than any of the other girls Billy had brought around. It made you laugh at the time, and you instantly liked her.

In Billy’s absence, being the only two people you knew who really felt the pain of his death, you leaned on each other. You became a true big sister to Max, and she became a real friend to you. The excitement over being an aunt and having that piece of Billy to carry on was the only real light she held onto in life some days.

One of the biggest surprises in the aftermath of Billy’s death came from Steve Harrington himself.

You and Steve had been friends for ages, only becoming closer in the past year. You knew Steve loved you and would always be there for you, of course, but you didn’t realize how much until one day that August.

You were 15 weeks pregnant, at that point the secret was out to any and everyone. You were already beginning to show, no longer able to hide under baggy t shirts and hoodies. You were tired of the sympathetic looks everyone gave you, oh, she’s a pregnant teenager and the father died in that horrible mall fire! You could see it in everyone’s eyes when they looked at you.

The doorbell ringing jolted you from your busy day of crying in bed. You were surprised to see Steve there, looking like he had something really important to say.

“Can I come in?” he asked, and your thoughts immediately went to the pajamas you were still wearing at 4pm, the mess of a depression den your bedroom had turned into.

But you knew Steve was the last person who would judge you. You let him in, both of you walking to your bedroom. You had to step over various water bottles, cans, and dirty clothes on the way to sit on your bed.

When you sat together, Steve turned to you, grasping your hands in his. He looked at you seriously, and it scared you a little.

“I just…I have something to say,” Steve said, and you searched his eyes for any clue as to what he was about to drop on you.

“I…you might think I’m crazy,” he laughed breathlessly, running a hand through his long hair before he grabbed your hand again. “Listen, I can’t stand the idea of you doing this alone.”

You looked at him, confused. “Doing what…?”

Steve gestured towards your stomach, the still small bump visible there now. “Having a baby.”

You felt like he wasn’t making any sense. “Steve, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

Steve sighed, but he didn’t seem annoyed with you. He squeezed your hands, looking you in the eyes. “I’m saying, if you want me to, I want to do this with you. I’ll be like…the dad.” He shook his head, speaking quickly again before you could say anything. “Not the dad, Billy will always be the dad, obviously, I don’t want to erase him or anything. But like the step dad maybe. I want to help you raise the baby.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Were you crazy or did Steve really just offer to step up and be a parent to a child that isn’t even his?

“Steve…” you breathed, tears coming to your eyes as you scanned his face for any sign of hesitancy or insincerity. You found none. He looked at you determined, like he had made up his mind and nothing would change it. “You don’t have to do this. You’d practically be throwing your life away.”

“I wouldn’t be throwing my life away,” Steve scoffed. “I’ve already graduated. I can get a good job with my dad, with insurance and benefits and stuff. I can take care of you. Both of you.”

He really had thought this through. He meant what he was saying. You couldn’t imagine someone ever being this selfless, it was hard for you to wrap your mind around what he was truly offering.

“You don’t have to do this,” you told him again. Your voice was shaking now as you felt the tears threatening to fall.

“I want to,” he said again, his hand moving to rest on your cheek. “You’re like, my best friend in the world. I can’t stand the thought of you stuck doing this alone. Plus, I love kids.” Steve took a deep breath. “And…I feel like I owe it to Billy. I won’t ever forget his sacrifice. He would want you two to be taken care of.”

Those words are the ones that push you over the edge, and you cried, sobs bursting from your chest without warning. Steve was surprised at first, but quickly wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back soothingly. He didn’t say anything, he just let you get it out of your system. You had been so fragile since Billy died, he knew this conversation would bring up some big emotions.

You felt safe in Steve’s arms. You were surprised at how much comfort they brought you, and you thought maybe you would have been better off with your friends after all than rotting in your bed, burritoed in your blankets. You just hadn’t been able to stand the idea of bringing everyone down when you were stuck so deep in your personal pit of despair.

When your cries finally calmed, you pulled away from Steve’s chest, looking at him with puffy red eyes. “I feel like I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You’re not asking me, I’m offering,” Steve answered quickly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I know I can’t force you to believe me, but I want this.”

You felt the tears threatening to fall again, but you pushed the feeling back as far as you could. “Okay,” you finally croaked out. “But you can change your mind at any time, okay?”

Steve smiled at you. “Not gonna happen.”

And Steve kept to his word. He didn’t leave your side the entire pregnancy. He drove you to every appointment, sitting next to you and holding your hand when you needed him. The nurses would refer to him as “dad” and he wouldn’t correct them unless you did. He liked the sound of that, deep down. Yeah, he knew this baby wasn’t his, but he would love them like they were.

The first time Steve got to see the baby and hear the heartbeat, his eyes shone with love, his own heart nearly beating out of his chest. The fast, rhythmic whoosh whoosh whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room. You looked up at Steve teary eyed, and he looked back down at you like he had never been more proud of someone in his life.

It warmed your heart that even though Billy couldn’t be here, which is a pain that would never go away, the baby had a found family that was larger and stronger than you ever could have hoped your support system would be. The whole friend group was so invested in the pregnancy - it had nearly become the friend group’s baby by this point.

The 20 week anatomy scan was a monumental day, because you’d finally be finding out the gender of the baby. There were only supposed to be 2 people allowed back in the room at a time, but somehow your friends were able to talk their way in.

It was like a party in the exam room when the tech came in, wide eyed and taking in the excited group. You laid on the table with Steve in his normal spot next to you. Then there was also Max, Robin, Nancy, Dustin, Lucas, Will, Mike, and El, all crowded into the room with you.

The tech looked a little nervous as she got started, not used to having quite an audience. When the scan started, everyone leaned in, fighting each other for the best glance at the screen. They all began taking bets on whether it would be a boy or a girl.

“Do you want to know the gender?” the tech asked, and the whole room practically yelled a chorus of Yes!

The tech couldn’t help but smile, despite the chaos of this appointment. It was sweet to see an unborn baby already so loved by so many.

“It’s a girl,” the tech announced, and the room erupted into cheers. There were some “I told you so!”s and some money exchanging hands.

The chaos of the room around you fell away as you turned and looked right at Steve. He was already looking at you, tears brimming in his eyes to match yours.

“A baby girl…” he muttered, lightly brushing his hand across your cheek. “A daughter.”

You smiled, and your heart felt like it was swelling out of your chest. You felt so happy. Then you remembered Billy, how he’d never know and never see his daughter, and that familiar, comfortable ache settled over your bones again.

The group took you out to eat after the appointment, you all laughing, throwing out baby girl names, and talking about plans for her future. It meant the world to you how genuinely excited all of your friends were.

By the 7th month of pregnancy, Steve might as well have moved into your house, because he was there all the time. There was still nothing romantic between you, but he slept in your bed, and you loved the way he would hold you at night, his front pressed against you and hand splayed out over your pregnant belly protectively. It was innocent, but it made you feel less alone. You had spent many nights after Billy’s death jolting awake at night from nightmares, feeling like you were free falling through the emptiness.

By month 8, Steve surprised you with a small but cozy two bedroom apartment for the three of you. You had no idea he had even been making plans to move out with you, the gesture catching you completely off guard. Already an emotional mess from the pregnancy and your never ending grief, you had cried, which made Steve panic and think he did something wrong. But really, you couldn’t believe how sweet he was, how much he loved you and the baby already.

Steve, Robin, Nancy, Max, and Dustin helped you set up the nursery. You made a day out of it. There was a lot of sweating and arguing setting up the crib and dresser, mostly between Steve and Dustin, but it all came together. You were shooed out of the room as they opened the windows and painted the walls a pale pink before moving the furniture to their spots.

You nested over the next couple of weeks, and the nursery really started to come together. There was a rocking chair in the corner next to her bookshelf already stocked with baby books. There was shelving attached to the walls, filled with stuffed animals, a framed ultrasound photo, a framed picture of you and Billy.

You even had a wall hanging made with her name to put on the wall, but you kept that hidden in the closet for now, wanting her name to be a surprise for everyone.

Baby Girl was all set now, really, the only thing left was for her to make her arrival.

You had been in your pajamas, watching a movie with Steve one night when you were 38 weeks pregnant. You didn’t make it out of your pajamas very often anymore. You felt like a house at this point, you couldn’t even stand without Steve’s help. You dealt with a lot of back pain in your third trimester, your doctor said the baby was most likely laying on a nerve. Little brat. Thankfully Steve was always there, ready to help however he could, unless he was at work.

You rubbed a hand over your large belly, feeling your baby girl moving beneath your palm. You thought of Billy again, as you always did. You wondered if he could see you somehow, if he knew that you and his baby were okay, that she was about to be here and how you’d never missed him quite as badly as you have lately. Steve was great, but you would have given anything to be going through this with Billy like you were supposed to.

“Can you help me up? I have to go to the bathroom,” you asked Steve with a sigh, hating feeling so helpless. You didn’t like relying on people to this degree, not at all. You had pretty much been assigned an around the clock babysitter over the past few weeks. Someone from the friend group was always here if Steve wasn’t, and you suspected he did that on purpose.

“Of course,” Steve said, standing without hesitation. He held out his hand for you and pulled you to your feet. You made it up with great effort, but at least you were finally up.

Steve sat back down in the recliner as you started moving your aching body towards the small bathroom down the hall. As you were almost halfway there, you felt it - a huge gush, and you froze in place.

“Uh- um, Steve??” you said, panic in your voice.

“What?” Steve asked, his head snapping in your direction. “Are you- did you just pee yourself?”

You glared at him. “My water just broke.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, and he was frozen for a minute. Then he jumped out of his seat, looking frantic like he’d lost his mind and didn’t know where to go first.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit-“

As Steve freaked out, the contractions kicked in for you. You placed a hand on your stomach as you doubled over in pain and cried out, feeling like you were experiencing the worst period cramps of your life.

When Steve noticed, he panicked even harder. “Oh god-“

Steve slapped himself in the face. He had to pull himself together. This is what you had both been preparing for for months, and now it was happening, and he could do this.

He sprinted into the bedroom, grabbing the overnight bags you had already packed. There was a big one for you, a smaller one filled with Steve’s things, and one for the baby.

When Steve ran back out into the living room, he found you holding onto the back of the couch for dear life, breathing through a contraction just like the two of you had practiced in the birthing classes.

“Good, good, you’re doing amazing sweetheart,” Steve said, running a hand through his messy hair. “You think you can get downstairs and into the car with me?”

You held up a finger, telling him to wait as you rode out the last of this contraction. When the pain faded, you let out a long exhale. “Yes. Let’s just go before another one comes on.”

Steve carried all three bags in one arm as he put his other one around you, helping you out of the apartment and down the stairs. Another contraction hit halfway down the stairs, and Steve had to stand there with you, making sure you didn’t collapse and go toppling down the damn stairs. They were coming fast now, you both noticed, and that made him feel like he was going to panic again, but he pushed the feeling down deep. He breathed along with you, coaching you as he had learned in class. He had paid attention. At least he felt like he could be somewhat helpful.

When it was over, he got you the rest of the way down the stairs, helping you into the car and buckling you in himself. He tossed the bags in the back and then he was sprinting to the driver’s side.

Steve drove to the hospital fast, speeding up a little every time you had another contraction. He was terrified of the baby being born in his car, him delivering her himself. He shuddered at the thought.

Steve parked as close to the emergency room entrance as he could get, running inside like a madman to grab a wheelchair and wheel it out to you. He got you settled into it, grabbing all your bags and pushing you inside quickly, but a little less insane this time since he didn’t want to throw you out of the chair.

You received a cervical check in the ER, and it was determined you were already 7cm dilated. Things were moving extremely fast. Your head was spinning, and Steve looked like he might pass out.

They got you up and into a delivery room immediately. You were offered the epidural, but you said no, you wanted to see if you could make it without it - this is a decision you would regret soon.

At some point, the pain went from intense to unbearable. You screamed out, tears streaming down your cheeks, as the contractions got more and more intense until you felt like your body was literally splitting in half.

“I want the epidural,” you begged, and the nurses looked at each other. You didn’t like that look.

“We’ll have to do another cervical check first,” one of them said gently, and you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach.

The check was performed, and the nurse announced you were already 10cm. It was too late. It was time to push.

You cried like a baby as the delivery room turned into chaos, nurses bustling around, bright lights turning on, the doctor coming in dressed in scrubs, all preparing the room for the birth. It was actually time. Steve never took his eyes off you, brushing your sweaty hair off your forehead.

“I can’t do this,” you cried to him, desperate for someone to give you that goddamn epidural. “It hurts too bad.”

Steve looked at you sympathetically. He wanted to take every bit of your pain away, and he felt powerless that there wasn’t a thing he could do. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart,” he said, offering you some water. You gratefully drank through the straw, the cool water easing your dry mouth. “You’re almost done. If you came this far, you can finish it.”

His words did bring you a little comfort, although all you really wanted to hear was Yes, here’s the epidural you ordered! You won’t feel any more pain at all!

But of course that was not your reality. The nurse lifted your right leg, and they offered to let Steve hold the other. He looked between you and the nurse awkwardly, looking like he wanted to ask if it was okay, before he wrapped his hands around your leg, holding it back just like the nurse was.

You had never felt so exposed in your life.

“Don’t look down there during all this,” You warned Steve, your expression serious. “You’ll never look at me the same.”

Steve laughed, but he didn’t take your words lightly. He did not look.

The doctor was between your legs now, and if you weren’t in so much pain you probably would have felt embarrassed.

The doctor told you to push with every contraction. The first one came on, and you pushed, screaming loudly, a primal scream ripped straight from your soul. Steve winced, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you needed to. He didn’t care if you broke every bone in his hand, as long as it helped you in some way, as long as he can help you feel better.

You continued to push at the appropriate times, each time feeling like your body was tearing apart. You had never experienced such pain in your life, women weren’t lying when they said this shit is the worst.

“I can see her head, you’re almost there,” the doctor encouraged, and you felt relieved that the end was in sight, but at the same time the pain was only getting worse.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you cried, looking at Steve like there was anything he could do to help you. He felt helpless, and that was the worst thing when all he wanted was to take all your pain away. That’s all he had ever wanted.

“You can,” he told you, padding your forehead with a cold wash cloth. “You’ve come so far. You are almost done. She’s almost here.”

At Steve’s words, you took a deep breath. He was right. You were almost done, and there was no turning back now anyway.

You pushed hard during the next contraction, the doctor encouraging you.

“The head is out,” he announced, “The worst part is over. Just one more good push.”

You had never been relieved to hear something more in your life. You pushed hard for your last push, and you knew she was out. You tried to look down, and then you heard the most beautiful sound. A cry.

The doctor held up a tiny little thing, pale and covered in blood, crying loudly. Your eyes went wide, but you were too exhausted to sit up. The nurses wiped off the baby, and then they were placing her on your chest, this tiny little warm wiggling thing.

You wrapped your arms around her, cuddling her close to your chest, wrapping your hospital gown around her for warmth. A nurse placed a baby blanket over her as well. She settled against your skin like it was where she had always belonged.

She had a head full of blonde or maybe light brown hair. She opened her eyes and looked up at you with bright blue eyes - Billy’s eyes. God, she was his twin. Your heart clenched at the sight, and you felt tears beginning to fall.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the feeling of Steve’s arm wrapping around your shoulder, his other hand coming to rest on the baby’s back.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, and you could see the tears falling down his cheeks. “Absolutely perfect.” He smiled softly, running a hand over her soft baby hair.

You wished Billy was here to see her. You wished for that more than anything.

“Little Molly,” you hummed, taking in her perfect features, her soft skin, her tiny fingers and toes. Molly Louise Hargrove.

You could have held her all day, but finally you passed her to Steve, giving him a turn. Steve took her like she was made of porcelain, holding her so tenderly like he was terrified she’d break at the slightest wrong move. He rocked her gently, looking at her with pure love and adoration. He looked like a new dad.

When Steve called your friends the next morning to let them know the baby had arrived, he got hung up on. He looked at the phone, confused, attempting to dial back with no answer.

20 minutes later and your entire friend group was busting through the hospital room door. You laughed, shushing your loud friends as you gestured to the sleeping newborn in your arms.

Surprisingly, they all quieted down, but then they joined together in a soft chorus of Awww! as they leaned over, trying to get a better look at her. You finally announced the name, and everyone loved it.

You motioned for Max to climb onto the bed with you, and she did, careful not to jostle your sore body. She learned over, trying to get a good look at the bundle of blankets in your arms.

“Do you want to hold her?” you asked softly. You had wanted her to be the first.

She looked at you wide eyed, her blue eyes full of emotion. “R-really?”

“Of course. You’re Auntie Max,” you answered her with a gentle smile and she smiled back. She held her arms out, and you carefully laid Molly in them. “Just be careful to support her head,” you added, but the girl was a natural.

Max looked down at her niece, her eyes wide. Tears brimmed at her waterline, and she looked like she had about a million thoughts going through her head at once.

“She looks like Billy,” is what Max finally said, a huff of breathless laughter coming from her lips as tears began to fall. The sight of the younger girl crying made you cry too, it didn’t even matter that you had a whole audience. You felt Steve’s hand rubbing your back.

Every member of the friend group held Molly, even the ones who originally said they didn’t want to (Mike and Will). Molly seemed to adore Robin especially.

Your friends visited until they were kicked out, visiting hours over for the day. Only Steve was allowed to stay, since he was sleeping there.

That night, you smiled softly to yourself as you watched Steve in the dark of the room. You were supposed to be asleep, but were having a hard time. You watched Steve, who definitely thought you were still asleep, as he paced around the dark room, gently bouncing Molly in his arms.

“You are really the cutest ever, you know,” he muttered lowly to her, like they were having a conversation. “And I love you so much. Did you know that? I may not be your daddy, but I couldn’t love you any more even if I was.”

Your heart felt full as you watched them. Molly was awake, but not a single cry came from her. She was content to be gently walked and bounced and staring up at Steve’s face. She knew his voice. He had talked to her through your belly the whole pregnancy.

“We’re gonna have so much fun. We’re gonna be the best family.” He gently patted her back as he walked with the bundle in his arms. “And I’ll tell you all about your daddy. Billy. He was a hero, you know.”

You wiped away the tears that fell with the back of your hand. You still couldn’t handle a mention of Billy without crying. But your little girl was so loved, which meant everything to you, and you knew Billy would be happy to know she was loved and taken care of, too.

The day you went home from the hospital, you and Steve bickered over how the infant car seat worked. You snatched the instructions back and forth, both desperately trying to figure out how the contraption worked. Finally Molly was settled in her seat, safely and cozily strapped in, and it really wasn’t that hard to begin with.

A nurse pushed you to the hospital entrance while Steve walked ahead, carrying the baby carrier. You could see Molly peacefully snoozing in her seat as he walked.

Steve got the car seat settled into the back of the car, and then he was helping you into the passenger seat, mindful of how sore you still were. You felt like a stranger in your own body, but you knew all this weirdness would pass.

Getting home was surreal. Entering the apartment as a family of three finally. Steve carried the car seat around the whole apartment, giving Molly the grand tour. It wasn’t much to see, but it was home.

Your eyes caught sight of the framed photo of you and Billy sitting on the living room table. You thought about how things would be different if he were here. You imagined Billy holding Molly, meeting her for the first time, getting to be her dad. You had to shake the thoughts away before they consumed you again.

The party was a fucking zoo; bodies grinding, music thumping, the air thick with weed and cheap beer. Rafe, halfway through a line of coke and a Solo cup of something strong, was prowling the chaos when he stumbled into his dorm room for a break. And there she was, some chick, passed out on his bed, sprawled like she owned it. High as a kite, probably drunk too, her dress, a skimpy pink thing, hiked up over her hips, ass fully out, round and bare. No panties. His cock twitched on sight.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shutting the door, locking it. The party roared outside, but in here, it was just him and her. She stirred, barely, mumbling something incoherent, her mascara-streaked face smushed into his pillow. He stepped closer, buzzing from the coke, and nudged her thigh with his knee. “Hey. You alive?”

She groaned, rolling onto her back, legs splaying wider. Her dress rode up further, exposing her pussy, glistening, like she’d been wet before she crashed. Rafe’s breath hitched, his dick hardening fast.

“Fuck ,” he said under his breath, palming himself.

She blinked up at him, eyes glassy, unfocused.

“Take… care of me,” she slurred, voice thick, then giggled, grinding her hips against nothing—or maybe him, since his leg was right there.

That was it. Consent was blurry as hell, but she was rubbing on him like a needy slut, and he wasn’t a saint.

“Dumb little bitch,” he growled, yanking her dress off completely. She was soft, curvy, tits bouncing free, and he grabbed her jaw, shaking her awake enough to look at him. “You want it, huh? Fucking high and begging for cock.”

She nodded, or he thought she did, mumbling nonsense, and he smirked, shoving his shorts down. His cock sprang out, thick and heavy, already leaking.

“Open that mouth,” he ordered, gripping her hair and forcing her head down. She gagged as he shoved in, hitting the back of her throat, spit dripping fast. “Choke on it, you filthy little slut,” he snarled, fucking her face hard, rough thrusts, her hands flailing weakly, drool pooling on his sheets. Her throat tightened, and he groaned, choking her with his grip on her neck, feeling his dick bulge under his fingers.

He pulled out, leaving her gasping, spit-slick lips trembling, and flipped her onto her stomach.

“Ass up,” he barked, slapping her cheek when she didn’t move fast enough. She whined, lifting her hips, and he spread her thighs, spitting on her pussy, wet, messy, mixing with whatever she’d already soaked herself with. “Fucking wrecked already,” he said, rubbing his cock through her folds, then slamming in, no warning, no condom, just raw and deep.

She cried out, muffled by the pillow, and he pounded harder, watching her ass jiggle, her belly bulging faintly under his size.

“Too big for you, huh?” he taunted, gripping her hips bruisingly tight. “Dumb little party slut can’t even take it.”

She was tight, clenching around him, and he could tell she was overstimulated, body shaking, whimpers turning to sobs, but he didn’t care. He fucked her relentless, chasing the high, the coke making every thrust electric.

“Gonna cum,” he grunted, pulling out to jerk over her face. She barely flinched as he painted her, thick ropes hitting her cheeks, her lips, dripping down her chin. “Swallow what you can, bitch,” he said, shoving his cock back into her mouth, making her lick the rest off. She did, sloppy and dazed, and he laughed, dark and low.

Back to her pussy—he thrust in again, no mercy, her walls spasming like she was close.

“Come on my dick,” he growled, slapping her ass, and she did—screaming into the mattress, soaking him, overstimulated and wrecked. He didn’t stop, fucking her through it, feeling her tighten again, a second orgasm ripping out of her before she could breathe. “Stupid cunt can’t even handle it,” he sneered, loving how she fell apart.

He was close again—too close.

“Taking it all,” he rasped, burying deep and unloading, a hot creampie flooding her. He pulled out slow, watching it drip from her swollen pussy, then scooped some up, smearing it over her clit, rubbing it in. “Look at that,” he said, slapping her cunt lightly, making her twitch. “Full of me.”

She collapsed, panting, cum streaked across her face, leaking from her hole. He wiped his dick on her thigh, grinning. “Party’s still going. Sleep tight.”