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jakeyt · 3 days ago

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Covet: Chapter 12 (Pt 3 of 3)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary: Life was good. No, life was great. Was. Until. Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture. You welcomed him into your life—your home. Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want. At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; tension; recollected memories of traumatic situations; memories of very self-destructive coping mechanisms used by a teenager; crying + feelings of sadness; self deprecation/worries of being a bad mother; mentions of a (very) toxic and absent mother; vivid memories of sexual encounters; body changes as a result of pregnancy; talks of baby + pregnancy; jealous!reader; possessive!jake; pregnancy hormones of multiple variety; INFIDELITY; (intense) phone sex; self-pleasure m!receiving; self-pleasure f!receiving; loooots of dirty talk that is absolutely 18+ (!!!!); elsie + josh being our voices; mentions/talk of being unable to have children; evil evil evil inner monologue via maya (i'm sorry - it had to happen); (((yes she's just as dreadful on the inside as you'd think))); massive amounts of (very negative + hateful) manipulation; BABY KICKS <3333; PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter 12 (Part 3) Word Count: 47.6k+ (......um. yeah.... about that....)

a/n: ok. so. yeah. wednesday obviously hadn't been ~~the day~~ LMFAO. dear lord. IM V SORRY I AM ME <3 but, fr, has anyone on here ever struggled w migraines? how about w a brain stem aura? they last for days and make you move very slow + put you out of commission !!!! so fun !!!!

in all reality, this was supposed to be edited + uploaded in december... but, life.

i love you all and welcome to the delicious, official mid-point of this monstrous series <3 every single one of you mean the world to me. i hope you know that you reading and commenting and liking and messaging brings THE utmost joy to this woman's fragile heart :') thank u, my sweet loves. we're in this together. <3 "until the very end"

btw: these next few chapters will pick up right where the previous leaves off... that includes this one :)

as always, massive thank you to @joshym for being the best sister there ever was and supporting me in my writings + pursuits + listening to every time i have anxiety over my writings <3 i love you to the ends of the earth, lis. you're my person - forever + ever. <3 additionally, a BIG OL thank u to @builtbybrokenbells. you are a queen whose throne is one to be bowed at. always. you'll never understand just how much your help + friendship means to me... in this silly story, other stories, and in LIFE. ily more, canadian me <3 an ever-present thanks to my girl @alwaysonthemend. Thank you, my love, for always being just around the corner when i need you. you're a personal favorite of mine + you know this <3 and finally, an ode to my wonderful pal @gretavangroupie... for helping me in the final revisions and edits when i release my cry for help. you are a true friend + i hope you know how much i appreciate u <3

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤 (fr, i listen to it nonstop when i write this.... all of the songs are pertinent to the story and aid in telling it - either already or eventually.)

Specific songs that accompany this chapter: “We Might Even Be Falling In Love” — Victoria Monet ft. Bryson Tiller; “We Might Even Be Falling In Love/Jaguar” — Victoria Monet + co. (orchestral arrangement); “Merry Christmas Baby” — Booker T. & the M.G.’s

Covet Masterlist

"We are ever striving after what is forbidden... and coveting what is denied us."

Ovid

December 23, 2022

After a short five hours of work, Elsie had been there at 8:00 on the dot to pick you up.

Although, when she’d arrived, you’d still been checking out a few regular customers who’d stayed a little too close to closing time. Last minute Christmas shopping, of course. There was no way you were going to rush the customers. You’d even told Elsie she’d have to wait a bit. You cared for these regulars dearly, so you’d chosen to take your time. They were special to you and you were grateful to be able to wish them all a 'Happy Holidays'.

You really appreciated the extra time catching up with these people. And almost all of them were dying to know how your pregnancy was faring and you didn’t hesitate on filling them in and showing them the sonogram pictures on your phone. It meant a lot to you that these sweet people cared so much. They’d made up so many of your working days for the past four years, permanently creating a home in your heart.

And, the last of the stragglers had been none other than little brown-haired Stacy. The high school girl you and Josh and taken a liking to instantly – ironically, both of you being on the clock the first day she’d entered the store. She was a tender soul. A thin girl with freckles covering her heart-shaped face with glasses, just a smidgen too big for her petite features. Every pair she got, oversized in comparison to her slimness. Even as the other customers exited the store with one more ‘Merry Christmas, y/n!’, she’d continued to pick through bins.

But, by the way she’d hunched over as soon as the bell had chimed to indicate the others' departure, you knew something wasn’t right. And then she’d rubbed at her eyes, making your heart break in your chest. You assumed she needed more time, hence her looking past the very last minute. Though, knowing the kind hearted girl like the back of your hand after knowing her for so long, you knew she felt bad for needing more time. So, you’d urged her to continue browsing. There was an innate need in your chest to make sure she was okay and wasn’t hurting any longer. You needed her to be okay. Especially this close to Christmas.

“Stacy, just hang around for a bit and keep looking,” you gently spurred her to not give up yet. “Take your time. I have plans with Josh and my sister, but those aren’t for another hour or so. You have time.”

“But–you’re pregnant, y/n. You need to be off your feet. You need to leave,” she tried, making her way to the front without anything in hand. Her shoulders, sunken and her posture telling that she definitely hadn’t been successful in her search for vinyl. “It’s not your fault I got off work so late, y/n. You need to rest for the baby.”

“The baby is fine,” you encouraged her with a gentle smile and a raised brow, making your way over, hands stuffed in the front pocket of Jake's hoodie to fight the cold air seeping into the older store on the chilly evening. Just as she’d made it to the door to leave, you met her there. Bringing one hand out of the pocket, you put a hand on her bicep, you spoke to her as she turned to face you. “Seriously. All is well, nice, and cozy in there and I didn’t even get here until late afternoon. I’m fine. The baby is fine. Now you need to be fine.”

She nipped at her bottom lip with worry, timidly glancing up at you. “Are you sure?” Yet, even after you nodded, she continued. “Because it’s also not your fault that the Black and Gold is closed tomorrow and the next day is Christmas, so why would you guys be opened on Christmas?" She said it all so fast, you knew she was on the verge of having a break down. You'd been there. "I should have planned better, y/n. I’m just really stressed right now and I–.”

“Stacy,” you interrupted her, placing a hand on each of her shoulders to squeeze them in reassurance. “It is o-kay, sister. Plus, if it makes you feel any better, we do have chairs behind the desk. If I need to sit, I can. You only have tonight to find your vinyls.”

Even through her glasses, you could see the tears beginning to glass over her eyes. “Thank you, y/n. I owe you.”

“No you don’t, silly,” you giggled, giving her shoulders one more measured press before you texted Elsie a quick explanation. Then, pocketing your phone, you were moving down the aisles of bins in an effort to help her. “But, while we look. . . I did want to know how the college hunt is going. Also, what exactly is it we are looking for?”

After she told you the records, you immediately began to help her. You knew exactly where to find a few of them, so you instantly went to do that for her as she began to tell you about her school findings.

Stacy was right up there with the regulars who had preceded her in line – a little more so, if you were being honest. She was set to graduate high school in May, when you were set to graduate college yourself. So frequently when she’d visited the store in recent months, you’d asked her how college searching was going. You knew that finding the perfect school was important to the girl, just as it had been to you. Your decision had been easy, though, as your heart had always naturally longed to follow in Elsie’s footsteps.

And, yes, while you and Josh both had taken an instant liking to Stacy as soon as she’d started coming into the B&G a couple years prior. . . it was different for you. Josh loved her quirky personality – as did you. But you found her even more special because the quiet, unsure spirit she housed reminded you so much of your own during your high school years.

But. . . you hadn't always been that version of yourself. No, up until high school, you'd been the opposite.

You remembered now (with Elsie and therapy’s help) how you’d been chaotically fiery as a child. How, as a young girl, you easily used to become overstimulated to the point of raging aggravation. . . . But, that had (mostly) only lasted through your pre-teen years. And once you’d come into your early teens, you’d wanted to fucking change. Those parts of you had been ugly and humiliating and you didn’t want to identify with them — at least back then.

You’d only recently begun to recall random things from your childhood from time to time (thank you, EMDR). Thankfully, there weren’t many of the extremely triggering moments that popped up. Like the trials with your mother or a man named Mr. Morgan. Nothing too scary intruded during your day-to-day. . .

No, it was the ‘easier’ stuff from your childhood that came to mind; whether it be in dreams or randomly as you completed mundane tasks. These recollections were of little things you’d done to yourself growing up that had permanently scarred you. It had become obvious that you used to be very self aware. You’d felt too self aware back then, actually.

A lot like Stacy seemed. Self aware. But yours had been rather negative, where hers seemed more positive, most of the time.

In all fairness, you hadn’t even known what the words ‘self aware’ meant until a school counselor, Mrs. Reams – with curly, graying hair and ready to retire – had droned on at you. The ‘self awareness’ had felt stifling and gloomy and never ending. Like a massive thundering, swaying hurricane you were stuck in – desperate to cling to the eye of it. But the eye of your storm had always been just out of reach.

Admittedly, it was a lot for a kid – especially a traumatized one. So, at thirteen years old, you’d decided enough was enough.

You’d taken what you assumed were ‘proper steps’ and had sat after school for an entire week with good ‘ol Mrs. Reams. All in an effort to learn what she had called ‘coping mechanisms.’ Again, you hadn’t understood that term either – until she’d referred to them as 'skills learned to adapt and survive'. Then, the wrinkly woman had explained some examples (explained them rather poorly, you might add). And after meeting with Mrs. Reams, you’d even gone so far as to use your Grandpa’s laptop to further search for ways to ‘cope.’

The idea of ‘forgetting things’ had been one way in particular that had gotten your attention — when it’d fallen from Mrs. Reams’ skinny, flimsy lips. “Memory suppression,” she’d recited, monotone. There had been a pamphlet and everything that she’d handed you. One picture had caught your eye of a teen girl. She was crying and sitting on the floor, with her head trapped between her arms.

“What does it do?”

“It’s a way of forcing the traumatic memories to the back of your mind,” she’d replied, already standing to gather her things as you’d sat on the couch. Unmoving, still considering the conversation to be only midway through.

But, when Mrs. Reams had turned off her lamp, you’d gotten the hint. Time to leave. . .

That was when the search had officially begun, though . . . With Grandpa’s laptop. The hours and days worth of research you’d done to forget things. (It was important to note that you'd never failed to clear the browser history, lest he tell your Grandma his search history out of worry. And the possibility of them both confronting you with smothering, misplaced love and care. . . It was not what you'd wanted).

‘Memory Suppression’ was your goal, so those were the words you’d typed into Google. Over and over again. (‘Memory Replacement was a term you’d seen in your hours of time researching. And that had been the easier term to comprehend for your thirteen year old mind). Those blue, underlined letters on Google’s search results had never looked as pretty as they had on that first rainy afternoon in April. A couple days after your meeting with Reams - the perfect opportunity to use the laptop. Your grandparents and Elsie, having been gone for one of Elsie’s track meets. You’d claimed you had ‘too much homework’ to go.

And so the process had begun. . . ‘Memory Suppression’ . . . a helpful friend and your worst enemy wrapped totally in one. An intense and slightly subtle form of self harm, in the end. The hours of time researching, leaving you ill-informed. Your teenage mind had been (understandably) incapable of truly wrapping around the concept well enough to complete the skills healthily.

There had been ways that you’d literally transformed yourself to the point of a sort of internal mutilation. You’d succeeded in tying yourself in such tight, tricky knots that you were now, as an adult, tangled and confused. And, essentially, you were now void of incredibly essential memories that you needed to remember in order to heal.

You’d found a lot of strategies. Many of these strategies to complete the process of suppressing memories had required a lot of time spent alone. So, usually late at night (or into the earliest hours of the morning) when everyone was asleep, you’d lock your bedroom door. Once it was locked, you’d shut off all of your lights to feel utterly isolated. And, for an hour and a half, night after night you had sat there and forced yourself to feel, feel, feel and block, block, block. Knees, hugged tight to your chest. For an entire year.

You’d timed yourself every night and everything. You’d obsessively cared about getting your ‘time’ in. That grueling, horrid time had been spent unhealthily blocking out the known, problematic times in your past. You’d altered the ‘fight or flight’ traits by convincing yourself that the times you’d spent learning them had never actually happened. It was all relative to preteen y/n. After a while, there had even come this dark voice that’d begun to enter your mind amidst the changes. And, the voice hadn’t ever truly left – accompanying you into adulthood. Narrated your every move.

This voice had been yet another unhealthy coping mechanism that your immature mind had initially conjured. A classic mechanism called ‘Self-Talk’ – but yours hadn’t been anywhere near what therapists recommend. It wasn’t ‘Positive Self-Talk.’ Your ‘talk’ had just been things you thought about yourself. Whether they be negative, positive, true, or false. . . Usually, the ‘talk’ brought with it the most hateful words and phrases you could imagine at that time about yourself – which had been supplied in abundance. And, it had been nice in a sense. For a time.

That time spent in the darkest and most demoralizing solitude had worked wonders for you as a teenager. And, after one particularly “successful” night, where you’d awoken in the morning and felt more dazed than traumatized, you wanted to tell someone. Figuring Mrs. Reams was the ideal candidate (being that she’d been the one to give you the initial push), you wanted to tell her.

So, after a class, when you’d passed the counselor in the hallway, you’d found that as the perfect opportunity. . . . Only for her to mix you up with a completely different student all together. Referred to a 'dead dog' and a 'father with an ailing illness'. . . But, absolutely nothing to do with anything you’d told her or talked with her about.

And then when she’d called you by the wrong name, you’d known for sure. She had forgotten about you. You weren’t important to her. She didn’t give two shits. Her blatant ignorance when it came to you was another fun tidbit you’d added to your pile of “reasons” you had issues. Trust was shaky as fuck - even with people like counselors that you were supposed to trust the most. And that incident had caught you in the tresses of already learning new (bad) coping skills. So, you’d tacked on the idea that trusting people was bullshit unless they earned it. Your mom had begun this idea, and then Reams had really nailed it into the coffin.

The fact that it had hurt so badly, but hurt less than other memories meant you could really use it, though. So, that you did. After school, you’d sat in your car and effectively sobbed over the ordeal. All your life, people had just continued to prove why you couldn’t trust anyone’s genuinity besides your family’s (grandparents and Elsie only, until Josh).

Thankfully, that day, no one had witnessed the breakdown. Elsie hadn’t ridden home with you, thanks to a track meet. And, luckily your grandparents had never missed her track meets or your choir events. So, you’d had the entire evening to yourself. Yet again. You’d taken a long, sad shower and sobbed over the joke that was your life. You’d sat on the floor of the tub and lamented over how little you’d seemed to matter. Time and again.

But, after a few fat and ugly tears, you’d gotten an idea. Which was: taking advantage of the newer and less traumatic sadness. You could use the counselor forgetting about you. Turn the event around to suffocate some darker moments from your dingy, messy past. It was a brand new, fresh wound, right at the front of your mind, that you could use to cover a repulsive, red, unhealed scar.

It had still hurt like fucking hell to drag out the traumatic shit in order to cover it with new, painful shit. None of the process had been easy or fun. It’d hurt like a bitch. The entire time, you’d given yourself plenty of additional issues to sort through by doing it to yourself. Though, you’d clung onto it back then. Survival mode. And you’d continued to use the strategy. . . Forgetting the devastating things and forcing 'normal' life events to 'erase' horrendous, not-so-normal occasions. All of the bullshit method, used to cover the reality of why you were doing it in the first place. . . And, really. It had worked.

Hence why you always got especially angry or sad or scared with newer situations. . . It was all finally making sense as things came back to you. You were just paying the consequences now by not knowing how to handle your emotions as an adult.

“I found the other two!” Stacy squealed two rows over from you. Her excitement, breaking you from your apparent reverie.

It was funny how therapy was truly assisting you in remembering so much of this shit. All of the pieces were clicking together and occasionally left you stunned. But the the feeling was getting a little easier to come out of everyday. . . Thankfully.

You looked over to where the younger girl was, in the country music section. A part of the store you, admittedly, did not look at very often. You hadn’t been able to be much help in that area. However, the three blues records you’d put yourself in charge of had been safely secured within a couple of minutes. “And I found the others,” you replied with a giggle, grounding yourself with the now. The present time. Centered yourself in the Black and Gold – in your current plans with Josh and Elsie.

Your stomach rumbled on your way down the record aisle and you were very rapidly realizing how long it had been since you’d eaten. You really were hungry as fuck. And if you weren’t happy about that, you knew for sure that Lavender wasn’t happy about it. You didn’t want to kick Stacy out, but it was past 8:30. You saw as much when you slid open your lockscreen to your texts.

Two new ones from Els. Fucking Do Not Disturb. You continued to succeed in not checking your thread with Jake, pressing Elsie’s contact in your pinned as soon as you opened your texts.

Elsie, 8:33 p.m.: 🧍‍♀️

Elsie, 8:35 p.m.: Y/n. Seriously. Come the fuck on. We’ve got plans in like 45 minutes. 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻😐 ALSO, we still need to get your pictures taken before dinner. Don’t forget you wanted to do that. We planned that. You NEED TO do that shit. Trust me, bitch. 😮‍💨🤤🍆

You laughed outright at her texts. She was so fucking funny. But – she was right. You had plans and you did still want to take those pictures. Badly. The idea of posting something like you’d found on Pinterest, so electrifying. . . There were butterflies in your tummy just thinking of it.

And now that Stacy was smiling again and making conversation like normal as you made your way to her, you were very ready to leave.

Walking over to her, records cradled in one arm to your chest while the other held your tummy, you smiled down at the small brunette and asked a question you hoped she’d answer with a ‘yes’. “You ready?”

And to your delight, the answer was exactly as you’d wished.

After some conversation and contemplation with Elsie, she’d come up with the idea that you should make an actual post with its own picture and a story post with another picture.

“Close Friends only, perhaps?” She’d thrown out into the universe. And at that, you’d just snorted with a ‘maybe, weirdo.’

She’d continued to brainstorm it all with you as you took a shower to rinse your body. With the cold weather you had seriously wanted it. Your muscles already hurt all the time nowadays, and the chilliness outside did not help matters. Yet, when you’d gotten into the shower, you’d caught a glimpse of the vibrator that had started it all, not even twenty four hours ago. . . And, unfortunately, at the exact same moment you saw it, Elsie wasn’t there as a distraction from the memories. She had gone to grab something she’d forgotten from the car.

Thankfully, though, the warm water felt so nice against your skin that it helped you refocus. You hardly even thought about the night before with Jake. . . and Elsie didn’t take too long to return. And talking to her was the exact cure you needed for all of it. As you showered, she was busy looking at the Pinterest board you’d created at the nail salon, having added her as a collaborator while you were at work.

“Oh. . . I like this,” she commented from the other side of the curtain from her spot on top of the toilet seat.

“Which one?” You asked as you rinsed shampoo through your hair for the first step of rinse and repeat.

“The comparison picture? Like, one of your flat, pre-baby tummy with a comparison to your tummy now? Black and white?”

“Oh, yes. I think I’m sold on that one for sure,” you replied as you began to lather your hair for the second and final time. “I loved that one. I actually already found a picture to use with it during a lull period on my shift.”

Ironically, the picture you’d settled on was tied to a rather memorable day. It was one of you in your all-black bikini. You’d taken it before heading to the AirBnB the day you’d fucked Jake in the pool. It was your favorite. Your go-to swimsuit. And that morning, when you’d put it on, the confidence had been plentiful. . . That swimsuit in particular had always worked wonders at helping you feel sexy. There were the smallest pieces of lace that extended from the hems to cover the outer curves of your ass and cleavage. . . And it had led to a quite wonderful moment of your bikini-clad body riding Jake's as you'd made out on your bed.

And, then, of course. . . the pool. The pool had been the greatest reward.

“Phone’s on the counter. I favorited it. Go to my favorites,” you added, starting your conditioner.

Not one to pass up the opportunity to snoop through your phone, your curly haired sister seemed to immediately locate the photo you’d found. Or, you assumed at least, with the wolf whistling beyond the shower curtain. She wasted no time complimenting you with her words next. “Damn, sis! I see you! Fuckin’ hot ass.”

As she surveyed the picture, she explained that in order to fulfill the aesthetic aspect of the photo comparison, you had to incorporate the same colors in the new photo. So, again, all black. You were glad — it made your options very attractive.

You asked her if you could do a black bra and jeans rather than panties — you didn’t want to mimic the swimsuit bottoms. . . It seemed too risqué and very awkward to completely replicate the barely-there summertime clothing. Besides. . . You hadn’t worn the swimsuit since that day and you didn’t feel like putting it back on, lest more sadness creep in.

“Sure. That will look amazing. But. . . Why don’t you put on the swimsuit again?” She wondered aloud, humming the melody to a Sam Cooke song that you couldn’t name off the top of your head. (Your mind was busy shuffling through nerves in anticipation of the pictures. . . How would you do your hair? Just blow dry? Didn’t want to go all out. . .) “Wearing the same thing could make for an even more aesthetically pleasing side by side.”

“Elsie. No,” you shook your hair out under the stream of water in the shower, rubbing your fingers through to get all of the conditioner washed out. Then you grabbed some sugar scrub for your arms and legs. Might as well exfoliate. “I don’t want to take a picture wearing a bikini in the middle of December. That would look ridiculous,” you’d replied, telling only half of the truth. But, you decided to tack on the extra little bit. No use lying about it. “And I also don’t really feel like putting that swimsuit on again. Memories associated with it and shit.”

“Jake?”

“Yes.”

“Niiiice,” she slyly answered before her phone pinged to inform her of a new text. You rolled your eyes at her response, grinning to yourself at the memory.

“Josh will be here in like fifteen,” your sister alerted you before she let out a groan of irritation. “He’s actually running on time for once — the singular time I am not. I fucking swear, y/n. . . I love him more than anything, but his issue with promptness makes me want to scream.”

You snorted at that, finishing your body washing a bit hastier due to his near arrival. And before you knew it, you were done and pulling the curtain open. She was already waiting, hand extended with the first of two towels you'd set out.

“He has always been like that, Els,” you giggled, wrapping your hair in the towel, holding your hand out for the other that she was already handing your way. Both of you were two-towel believers. One for hair, one for body. Almost always. . . last night not being one of those times. . . Far more important matters had been at hand than the thorough drying of your hair a second towel could do. “I’m afraid there is no changing him. . . . And you knew that about him before you got together, so I have no sympathy."

She only hummed in annoyance, before she was continuing on with your conversation, nails tapping against her screen. “Anyways. . . the other picture. . . For your story,” she cleared her throat. The noise gained your attention, looking over at her as you wrapped your body in the towel, pulling it to tuck under your arms. She was showing you the other picture you’d chosen for inspiration. The sexy one from the nail salon. Butterflies went batshit in your tummy. This was the one you were most excited to take. You didn’t have anything picked out for it, but you figured the black bra would do. . . some black underwear to accompany.

And, of course, his shirt. Was it too daring? Over-confident? Did you care? For once, you really didn’t. Not with last night still playing on a loop in the back of your mind.

She pulled the phone back to herself, fingers sliding on the screen to indicate she was texting, but she kept on helping you all the while, continuing to speak. “The sexier one. . . Do you mentally have something picked out for that already?”

You went about toothpasting your toothbrush as she continued to zone in on her phone screen. “Maybe. . . I’ll probably just use the same black bra as the other one,” you’d said, as you brought the toothbrush up, preparing to brush as you looked up at her through the mirror, where she stood behind you now. She was taking turns watching you and checking her phone. “I’m gonna brush. Wanna go figure out lighting?”

“Oh, lighting? Sister. . . I’m impressed by your determination to get these photos just right. . . .” she raised an eyebrow at you. “What gives?”

“I’m a horny ass pregnant woman who is finally feeling sexy, Elsie. That’s what gives.”

Her only response was laughter as she opened the door to the bathroom, closing it behind her on her way out to begin her task.

There were no words for the black, lacy set.

All you knew was that it was fucking gorgeous. Stunning. Sexy as fuck. Everything you wanted and more for the photo. It was laid out and awaiting your body, on your bed, as your room’s lighting accentuated the allure of the black, lacy, sheer piece.

Along with the lingerie, you'd come to find your room all ready after you’d finally finished in the bathroom. And, Elsie’s Victoria’s Secret surprise had been laid out for you on your bed, the little pink bag sitting beside it. She’d assured you of a few things as she’d taken in your reaction, her face resembling the Cheshire cat. In her words, the lingerie was ‘not part of your Christmas’ since she’d ‘already gotten you enough shit.’ She, instead, insisted you call it her ‘donation to assist in getting your ass fucking laid’.

You’d rolled your eyes at the last part, but still said thank you because there was simply nothing else to say. She’d also laid out the makeup she felt was best for the pictures (you’d always trusted her makeup advice and she knew it). Your hair was already done, blow dried and brushed through exquisitely, shiny and cascading beautifully down your back. Els had even lit candles, adding to the darker, enticing vibe you were going for. . . Not so dark that you’d be a silhouette. Not even close, actually. The lamp next to your bedside and the tall one she’d brought in from the living room (that she’d already promised to ‘put back’), added to the multiple candles’ lighting in the most erotic way.

You were going to be bathed in a golden hue as the room around you was dimmed and mysterious. The theme of the photos was something you were sure would turn Jake on. And, as much as you didn’t want him to be the sole reason you were taking these (it wasn’t), it had been a big motivation to get your makeup on and get the pictures taken. The voice in the back of your head was telling you to stop thinking of him and his reaction, for fear that he might not react at all. Might see it and ignore it. No sign that he’d seen anything aside from his name popping up on the list of people who’d seen your story.

“This is going to have to be a Close Friends story,” you’d emphasized, giggling as you’d toyed with the piece laying on the bed once more before you'd gone to begin your ‘no-makeup makeup’ look.

Now, your makeup was almost completely done. And Josh was apparently pulling up with coffee for Elsie and a hot chocolate for you.

“I thought he was going to be here like twenty-some minutes ago?” You’d asked, genuinely curious as you finished the blending of your blush. Eyeing your cheeks once it was completely on, you grinned. Your complexion looked wonderful and your face was officially done. “Why’d you make him stop for damn coffee?”

Now all you had left were your eyes and lips. You’d be wearing brown mascara with your lips simply shiny from lip oil.

“How did you know I made him?” She asked, feigning offense. All you did was level her with a stare, only seconds later she huffed. “Whatever. I’m a caffeine addict. The first step to healing is acknowledging the issue, so kiss my ass," she came up behind you and fluffed your hair once before observing your makeup with a smile. "Also, I was stalling his ass. He can work on my time for once.”

You’d only snorted before going to finish your mascara. “Should the light be on for the first one?” You asked, your mouth moving awkwardly as you focused on your mascara application. One more coat. "And can you find me some jeans? American Eagle, please. . ."

“Absolutely. To both,” she replied, going to find what you trusted to be the perfect light wash jeans for you in your closet. “The button’s gonna be open on the jeans, right?” She called from where she was in your miniature walk-in closet.

“Yes,” you confirmed, curling your lashes once more – just how you wanted – with the curve of your finger. “Black bra, light wash jeans, open button.”

She was just coming out of your closet when you started stripping yourself of your towel before grabbing the black bra you’d decided on from your underwear drawer. “Light on?” She asked, your light wash mom jeans thrown over her arm.

“Yeah, go ahead. For the first one.”

When you turned to face the mirror after getting the bra on, you got the first good look of your tits since last night. And since last night, they’d changed. Fucking hell. Pregnancy was astounding, truly. Good ways and bad alike. How the fuck could a body change so damn quickly?

You eyed your swollen chest and the blue veins that had once lurked in light, subdued tracks across your growing breasts. . . But not anymore. Subdued was a thing of the past, apparently. Because today, as you eyed yourself, you saw displeasingly prominent tracks. Dark indigo, both purple and blue in their tint, now. They trailed from beneath the cups of your bra to midway up your chest. They weren't dark-dark. . .just enough that you definitely noticed a difference.

“Why? Why today of all days? Why now?” You lamented (admittedly dramatically) aloud, turning to the side to look from that position. And unfortunately, they were just as unattractive from that angle.

“What’s wrong?” Elsie responded with worry, laying your jeans on the bed as she rushed up behind you.

You were facing the mirror once more when she came up behind you, concern painting her prettily petite features. Her blue eyes swam with panic. But you saw when she noticed you eyeing your breasts, bringing a hand up underneath each to see how they looked when lifted in the bra. Still horrible, you found.

“Dear god, y/n. I know exactly what you’re looking at. Yes, you have darker veins in your tits. Your milk supply is coming in,” she informed you, as if you were an inept idiot. She was seeming to forget how you had spent an insane amount of time, cumulatively, doing research on all things pregnancy. "I'll explain. . .See, when the milk comes in, the blood flow affects the veins in your boobies-."

“I’m not a fucking child, Elsie. I know what happens and I knew that this was bound to happen. I know why it’s happening,” you explained, suddenly wanting to slap her for how much she’d annoyed you. “The veins just don’t get this dark for every woman and I was already feeling insecure about my body last night. Thankfully, I started feeling better last night. But now? Now, I’m feeling like shit about myself again. And we’re about to take pictures–.”

“They’re not even bad, y/n. And you know I'd tell you if I thought they were ug,” she said sternly, backing up from you to grab the jeans from the bed. “I happen to think you’re overreacting.”

“Elsie, you aren’t allowed to have an opinion,” you snapped, your chest heating with aggravation. “You’re not the pregnant woman experiencing these obscene body changes.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m going to pretend you didn’t tell me that. If I’m not allowed to have an opinion, I think I might die. So. . .,” she paused, holding the jeans out to you in the reflection behind you. “Just quit looking and put these on. I’m hungry.”

You grumbled the words back at her, dropping your heavy tits and slowly turning to face her. “But seriously – why in the fuck did they have to pop up today? Right before pictures?”

“Because your body knew it needed the additional sexy,” she replied with a wiggle of her perfectly waxed brows, filled in just right. “Jake will think it’s sexy.”

The jeans were tugged from her hands with another slight growl from your lips. Thinking about Jake seeing your now-strikingly veiny boobs was not a pleasurable thought. Your un-confronted attempts to get his attention were sure to backfire in your face. Even if you knew Jake would most likely compliment them, it wasn’t guaranteed that he’d actually find them sexy. Who in their right mind would think that? She rolled her eyes at your huffing as you pulled the denim over your fat ass. Seriously, there was no winning. Veiny tits, fat ass, thicker thighs, bloated everything. . .

Fuck. So much for feeling sexy enough to take these blessed pictures. You were having second thoughts. After you got your jeans on, you leveled her with a glare. Your brain was officially a mess. And the front door was opening, adding to the crashing waves that had become your brain. You could hear the slight creak of it and you heard Josh upon his entry, as he quite literally sang his arrival.

“I’ll be out in a second, babe!” Elsie shouted towards the living room before sending her gaze back to you, one eyebrow raised.

She opened her mouth to speak, but you were speaking before she could get another word in. “How in the sweet heavens are these thick, dark blue veins sexy? And how am I supposed to think I’m hot enough to take these pictures now?”

“You’re shitting me, right?” She asked, grabbing your phone for you from your bed and whipping it out at you to take. Reluctantly, you grabbed it (more forcefully than you probably should have). Your eyes were still communicating discontent with it all. “Open up your damn camera, so we can get to the good ones. Once you’re in that lingerie and getting in your thoughts about sex with your baby daddy, we’ll be fine. Swear.”

You found it so lovely that all it took was the mere mention of sex with Jake for your heart to start hammering against your rib cage. She was right. Your head was dizzy just in preparation for the thoughts. . .thinking about him to get you in the mood sounded incredible.

And at that, you were suddenly ready to take pictures. But then, you were looking back in your tall mirror at your fucking roadmaps and you weren’t ready anymore.

“I don’t even want to take the first picture. How am I going to want to be all sensua—?”

“Y/n. Shut the fuck up and quit being melodramatic,” she insisted, bossing you in a way you (admittedly) needed. But, it didn’t mean you liked it. You snarled a lip at her, still glaring because you felt like it. “If you keep up the attitude, little sis, I’m going to go sit in the living room with my boyfriend and force you to take these by yourself. I’m not down for your shit and you know it. So, make your choice, bitch.”

Placing a hand on your tummy, you grounded yourself. Planted your feet. Out with the negative, y/n.

You thought about your boobs, got a good image of them in your head and imagined how, in a few months, you’d be using them for someone who mattered much more than you. And the reason they were changing in the ways they were, was solely due to the little one who took precedence over anything and everybody. And everybody most definitely included yourself. If you could do the multitude of other uncomfortable things you had already done for her, the least you could do was take a damn picture. You wanted the world to know of her. Everyone, ever. And that began with a post of you proudly posing with the bump that housed her.

For Lavender. You could do it. For her. She was someone to be proud of in every capacity, even if for now, that was just an Instagram post.

“Fine,” you moaned, turning from your sister. Her curls were seeming to stand on end with her frustration and restlessness towards you and your back and forth mental battle. “Help me pose in this damn mirror.”

The lace felt just as good on your body as you initially imagined it would. The insecurities had dissipated as you’d continued to remind yourself of the baby girl who was thriving inside of you. She needed a mother who was proud of her, and that you were, in spite of personal insecurities. And, posing for the picture in the mirror - holding your bump - made your heart long for the moment you'd finally get to hold her in your arms. And at that, everything else simply didn't matter.

Every change on and in your body was because of her. And she was worth all of it and more.

So, by the end of your ‘innocent’ announcement photos, you were already in a much better mindset. It had only been a few of those pictures and that one pose. Your phone, up and covering your face as you gave proper camera attention to your bump. You held the phone with the hand on the side of your body furthest from the mirror. Elsie had insisted it was a 'natural' pose and you 'keep it that way'.

The said the same thing when you went to touch your belly with the palm of the other hand. You truly adored touching your baby in this way. Putting a hand to your tummy was the thing closest to holding her. You'd found, over time, you weren’t one to move your hand quickly once it was placed there. Liked feeling close to her. . .

But now, you were most definitely not holding your body. No, you were focusing on the rest of your body. You’d adjusted as much was needed, but it hadn’t been a lot. The two piece set had fit your body like it was quite actually made for you. The black, sheer, lacy lingerie Elsie had gifted you was of smutty romantic novel dreams.

You were focused on putting on some lipliner to accentuate your lips beneath your lip oil and touching up your lashes. All the while, Elsie had been gone helping Josh with his task of finding a shirt of Jake's. Though, that was a task that should have taken five minutes or less. . . and it had now taken almost twenty and you were getting antsy. And irritated. And frustrated. And grumpy. And envious of their freedom. . .

You couldn't lie. Your current predicament with Jake was ass. Not at all what Josh and Elsie had and you wanted to scream for it.

Honestly, most of it was definitely credited to the fact that you were hungry as fuck. Your stomach was growling more than you liked, so you were hesitant, yet again, to imagine how distraught Lavender was over the hunger.

At this point, you imagined the stomach growling was actually her saying her first words. Imagining her inside, begging you with ‘feed me, mommy’s’ was enough to make your heart race with anticipation. You needed to get these pictures taken to tell the world of her. . . and, perhaps, possibly, get a reaction from her father. If you were lucky.

And, as you eyed the lacy ensemble on your body once more, turning to the side and poking out a hip. . . You hoped to god - hoped that her aforementioned sexy ass father would see it and love it. And, perhaps, let you know, too. . . Again. . . if you were lucky.

You were snapped from the thought of his opinion as Elsie was crashing into your space once again. Swiveling on a heel, you gave her a look that said everything you were thinking. Or at least you tried to translate it to say, ‘Thanks for leaving me to suffer in hunger and anxious excitement for a damn quickie, bitch.’

“Okay, so Josh has secured the shirt,” Elsie said in a rush, not looking at you and hurriedly shutting the door behind her. Her hair was much messier than it had been when she’d left you. And when she finally looked up at you to urge you to get moving, you noticed her salmon-colored lip liner-lip oil combo. . . had smudged down to her damn chin. “Shut up, bitch,” she said, without a second thought. “I haven’t seen the man for a hot damn minute and I missed him. Give me a break.”

“You just saw him last night," you huffed an annoyed laughed at her excuses.

“We’re making up for lost time.”

You could’ve gagged. “I’m starving, Elsie. I’m ready to take these so we can go eat.”

“Y/n,” she huffed, voice pitching a bit higher with her annoyance. “I’m doing you a damn favor by helping you. You’re going to appreciate it without judging my ass.”

Damn. She was right. And you were grateful. But still. Pregnancy hormones and cravings and hunger and hungry baby — they were no joke. . . You figured you’d bother her a little more. Just because little sisters had to meet their monthly quota.

“Your niece is hungry, Elsie,” you remarked, watching as she began unbuttoning the shirt Josh had found. "I am quite actually eating for two and I have to make sure she is eating enough."

Her eyes flicked up to yours and there was a bit of fire in them. Along with an unspoken guilt. “For that I am sorry. We will get this finished up before you know it. I promise,” she finished with the buttons, offering the white dress shirt to you.

You’d only seen him wear this a slim number of times. Very slim. Label meetings. A few lessons with higher paying clients (you internally gagged at the idea of Maya being one of said clientele). And Halloween night.

Goddamn, he’d done it for you that night. When he’d been dressed as the most breathtaking pirate you’d ever fucking seen. When you grasped the shirt, you didn’t hesitate in bringing it up to your nose to smell it. Amber. Vanilla. Sandalwood. Paradise. Safety. Love.

When you heard Elsie’s snort just past you, you realized what you’d just done in front of her watchful eyes. You kept your head down, wanting to avoid said eyes. The oceans of teal and dark blue were most surely judging you just as she’d asked you to not judge her. Albeit, your little stunt was a little more creepy. Okay, very creepy. Weird as fuck. Whatever.

“Don’t judge me, Elsie,” you muttered, still letting your eyes shift nervously at the carpet on which your toes wiggled. “I’m just—.”

“A horny ass ho ho ho. . .What a Merry Christmas to Jake!” She finished with a singular loud cackle, flipping the light switch off behind her. The lights off with the candles and lamps was still an absolute ambient dream. “Y/n. Seriously, though. It’s okay, babe. Like I said, I get it,” she giggled a little more as you let the cool fabric slip over your arms. You could’ve sighed with relief at the hug from the material. But you didn’t. Not after your display. “He’s going to be chokin’ the chicken tonight no matter what. Maya’s stank ass will be the last damn thing on his mind when you post thes–.”

“Els!” You finally let your head wrench up from your shame. But you couldn’t dig at her for what she’d said. It was hilarious. 'Chokin’ the chicken'? Where did she get this shit? All she was met with, though, was a little smirk on your lips. She was such a little devious rat. . . . and you loved it. You faux-scolded her. “Quit that. . .,” you shook your head, messing with the buttons of the shirt for something to do with your hands. “He can’t even do that shit with Maya around. Not that he’d even want—.”

“Oh my god. Y/n. Be so fucking for real.”

“Even if we don’t like her and she sucks and I really, really can’t stand—.”

“See? You can barely say a nice word about her. She’s a whore,” she pursed her lips with a toss of her eyes and hair over her shoulder. She then went to the mirror you’d just been standing in front of to touch up her lips. Using a finger to touch up the edges, she hummed and spoke the best she could as she completed the job. “You want it, he wants it. And I, for one, am not going to pretend like him buffing the banana is not the end goal with these pictures.”

Buffing the banana? What in the sweet fuck?

“I honestly just want to post a pregnancy announcement,” you reminded her, knowing it wasn’t the full truth. Not at all.

“Also," she continued as if you hadn't said what you had. It was bullshit and she knew it. "I can almost guarantee he’ll be finding time for himself in the bathroom in that little town— what’s it called?”

“Oh my god,” with a flat brow, you gave her a look with your deadpan response. “It’s Charleston, Elsie. . . One would think you’re not a world-fucking-traveler. You know how big Charleston is. Now you're just being a rat for the hell of it."

“I know I am. . . It's fun," she winked at your expression. "Sometimes I just feel like being a bitch. Especially about things concerning her,” she said, digging through her belt bag on the dresser for her gloss. Never one to reapply the original lip. Only gloss after her lips were smudged.

You shook your head at her. "Which room did you christen so I can sanitize it?"

"Jake's, duh," she replied, as if that were supposed to be a given.

But it just left you standing there with your mouth agape. What in the-? "What in the hell? His own brother's room?" You turned your voice down, so as not to make Josh privy to the conversation. "I've-we've-he and I have-so many times-. God, Elsie. . .," you shook your head and massaged your temples. For the briefest moment, Maya didn't fucking exist. No other woman did, in fact. Because all you could think about was how that room belonged to you and Jake. Only the two of you. "Please tell me it wasn't the bed."

"Not the bed. God, no. Too far," she seemed offended like that idea was so incredibly dirty to even consider. God - your sister was a trip when it came to one Joshua Michael Kiszka. "It was the desk. And, in that moment, it wasn't Jake's anymore. . . it was only us in that moment," she explained, popping her lips a couple times to ensure the gloss was doing what she wanted. And still, she put on another coat. You were ashamed that your mind had literally been following the same thought process only seconds ago. "When the feeling strikes, it strikes," she continued in a strange tone as her lips curled for the application. "Don't tell me you wouldn't do it anywhere if Jake were to approach you for it."

You wanted to continue the argument, but. . .She had a point. The thought alone had you wanting to bend over as an offering to the man. . . Wearing his shirt as he claimed you over and over again. . . Hard. Rough. Passionate. Talk about making up for lost time. . . Fuck. The though alone - you were growing desperate with no route for escape. . . In the next moment, when you shifted to tousle your hair away from your hot face, the shirt brushed just right across your chest. And suddenly, there was only one thing you wanted. . .

So, without another thought, you were giving into a sudden urge. Turning from her, you faced the bed. And once your front was safely hidden from her sight, you very subtly brushed the lapels of his shirt against your nipples. The sensation was enough to make you shiver - the peaks of your breasts grew taut and damn near painful at the way it lit you up. . . All for him and fuck - it felt so good. Your toes curled into the carpet, eyes closing at the feeling as you continued to use his shirt for stimulation. The lace and sheer material were the ideal match for his button down and your sensitive tits.

“Yeah, you know I'm right. It’s the precise reason you want to take this second one with Jake’s shirt covering your almost-naked body,” she sarcastically interjected, playing a little too well into your current thoughts and actions for your liking. Your cheeks blushed, feeling like you'd been caught when she hadn't even turned around. When she popped her lips for a third time, though, you knew she was finished. And you were on edge for more reasons than one. So, you stopped what you were doing and went to get on the bed. Didn’t want to seem suspicious.

“Oh, the things this poor bed has witnessed. . .,” she pushed out a breath, grabbing your phone from where it laid on the edge of the bed. You rubbed your brow with a finger, ready to get the show on the road and feeling sympathetic for your bed and the way she spoke of it. (And the way she was so right. . . Your insatiable ass.) “Woo-wee, mama," she emphasized the words with a pat-pat-pat to the bed.

With a groan, you went from a sitting position on the bed to move on all fours. Had to find a good place to pose. But, moving like this was quickly becoming too much of a reminder of the night prior. So, you didn’t stay like that for long before you were scooting around the bed on your knees. Which, again, was a stark reminder of how his mouth had tucked up and inside — so well — from this angle. At the same time, his shirt once again brushed your tender nipples. Goddammit!

“Elsie, how do you want me?” You wondered aloud, done with the dilly-dallying. Turning to face her to clear your mind, you knew your expression was pinched in an effort to have her understand your frustration.

And the mischievous smirk she gave you was not helpful. But, somehow, it did still trick your mind enough for your lips to part with your own grin. “I think we should only focus on using the position from that photo. Do you remember it?”

“Duh, bitch,” you bit out, once again irritated. The hormones were not working in your favor or your sister’s. Not with the additional hunger overtaking you to push it to a higher degree.

“Alright, so bend those knees,” she encouraged, ignoring your snippiness. All she did was move to prepare for the exact spot she needed as the photographer for the photo aesthetic. So, you did just as she said, posing the exact same way the woman in the picture had. When you loosened your hips to get your ass close to the fabric of your down comforter, you ruffled the covers around you for a special effect.

The bed shouldn’t look too pristine. . . Not for the idea I’m trying to create. . .You thought, face feeling hot at the implications of this photo.

You didn’t get down too low to the covers either; imagined where a face might lay below your hips, nestled between your thighs. A handsome face with amber-brown eyes and full lips, top one curled in a grin special to only him. . . Last night had been a reel in your head all day, but now it wasn’t playing at the back. No, it was playing at the front. Widescreen in a fucking cinema.

Slowly, before you had processed anything else, your hips had begun moving again with some assistance from his persistent hold on your hips. He’d gone to fully grip your ass, assisting you in grinding down, hard against his strong, flattened, and fucking wet tongue. He hadn’t stopped once the entire time. His fucking stamina was otherworldly. And, even though you’d just (kind of) come back to, you’d already started to fall apart again. It had hit you suddenly – when you’d felt his hums switch to a low growl against your labia, right before he’d gone back in for a sloppy kiss. You’d instantly gone back in the throes of all things Jake; your body had become utterly numb as you sunk as far as you could onto his face.

The growls and groans had continued from his mouth – you’d felt every single one against your center as he’d worked to tilt your body just so, his nose, having nudged against your aching core. Right where all of the nerves met - just briefly. Your toes had curled tighter at the contact, amidst the harsh ride of your orgasm on his lips. He’d wanted you to feel every bit of work he was putting in. Every movement of his mouth was crucial to your enjoyment of the moment and he’d made damn sure you knew that.

You’d made the mistake in that moment of looking down as you’d groggily returned from your third orgasm, to the then-present time. Because, when you’d looked down, you’d been offered the opposite of reprieve. With a slow glance just past your round tummy, you’d caught sight of the very bottom of his chin and the strong column of his neck below you. And what you’d beheld had been intoxicatingly beautiful. . . And shocking.

All of your release, all over his tanned skin. . . He’d become fucking soaked. Had you squir–? Fuck. The knowledge of the fact that you'd done so. . . just enough to make a fire light up in the pit of your tummy. The flood of heat that’d enveloped your belly, washing over your entire body in a rush of glorious overstimulation, had been the only sign you’d had of a fourth orgasm.

“Oh my god,” you remembered whimpering, your body, having been incapable of handling itself as you’d let out a choked sob, tears flooding down your cheeks at the care you were being shown. Your hands had finally slipped further, nestling on the insides of his thighs. You’d leaned forward just a bit to grasp him better, the want for his dick back inside of you had been a burning desire as you got closer to it. It had been obvious that he’d been beyond ready for you — stretched readily, angrily, and so thick. . . All. For. You.

Too fucking bad nothing had come of it. That thought alone was enough to gain a sense of self in the present time. But god, you were still feeling things from the memory. Things you really didn’t want to be feeling in front of your sister. Your cheeks alone were hot from the thought of him last night, as you’d been positioned – just like you were now – in the same exact spot. You had to control the reactions your body was desiring to emit at the memory.

Not in front of Elsie. Have some respect for yourself, y/n, the voice in your head counseled you. Couldn’t tell if it was the mean one or the nice one. . . Either way, it was correct in its advice.

“I see what you did there,” she appreciatively noted, snapping a photo at the same time you messed with the blanket. “Keep moving in candid ways. You’re already killing it with that gorgeous face. I’m so fucking jealous of those darker features from Grandpa’s side of the family.”

“Please don’t talk about our Grandfather right now,” you replied, cheeks cooling when you shot her a glare. You were sure your face showed utter disgust. Because, ew.

“Alright. Almost done,” she said with a slight snort of a laugh, getting off the bed from the curved position she’d made to get the last round of pictures. She snapped a few from a standing position at the end of the bed. Then a few more, with only her chest and arms leaning on the mattress. You were sure you had at least good one from all of these as she kept complimenting you after every few. God, you were so thankful for her mindfulness and helpfulness. You really would be lost without her. She really didn’t have to be doing this, but here she was. “These are going to be so fucking hot, sis.”

You breathed out with a smile, feigning an incredible amount of effort that you hadn’t used with the back of your hand across your forehead. Though, ironically, your next breath was, actually, from back pain alone. While the position was really attractive, it was starting to hurt a bit. No Jake below you to make you feel better this time. You really did love how incredibly well it resembled last night. . . But your baby was growing everyday and your back was unappreciative. . . Especially in new, abnormal positions such as the one you were in.

The look of pain went unnoticed by your sister as she had gone to speak loudly to Josh through a crack in the door. One hand on the knob and phone in the other, she looked over at you quizzically. “How would you feel about The Monkey King?”

Anything sounded delicious. . . And The Monkey King had hit the fucking spot all two times you'd eaten there. You were in shock at the suggestion. Seriously. The Monkey King? The restaurant was not cheap. Even with grandparents who provided more than well, you’d only ever been to the restaurant a couple of times in your entire life.

“Um. . . Who will be pay–?” You began, with a scrunched brow before Josh interrupted you with a 'me, mama!'.

However, that voice had come from way too close. Was he directly outside of the room? Why was he not in the living room? You did not like the idea of your male best friend being so near when you were in such flimsy and revealing clothing.

You’re literally posting these on Instagram, y/n, a little voice spoke to you. Pretty sure Josh is the least of your worries.

“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed, grimacing again from the pain in your back just as she’d turned to speak with him again.

Thankfully, she was back within seconds with one last idea. There was a choir singing "Hallelujah" in the distance - you were sure of it. “Okay. . . One more pose I just thought of. Stay on your knees, but lightly grab the lapel of his shirt.” You did just that, following her instructions, your fingers brushing the ends of your hair strands.

“How can he afford that?” You asked as she fidgeted with the lapels of the shirt. It was honestly astounding that he’d just thrown that expensive ass restaurant out there as a recommendation like it was nothing.

“You should see the money they’ve made from some of this promotional shit with their label,” she bragged on the band’s behalf – but you knew it was more on Josh’s behalf.

“Seriously? Without a tour, even?” You wondered, letting your eyes meet hers once at the question. “Or a damn album release itself?”

She told you to ‘keep the pose’ before she responded. “It’s a lot of explanation and words and Josh talks so much that I don’t always catch everything he says,” she explained, pursing her lips before telling you to look down again. “But from what I’ve gathered, they are doing a lot of shit for the label and with the label. . . The type of shit that racks up some big money.”

“That’s incredible,” you said, speechless as you surged with a deep sense of pride for Jake specifically.

It was impossible to communicate the amount of emotion you felt for his career taking off. So quickly, too, in the grand scheme of things. Absolutely awe-inspiring for anyone to witness. It was proof that if he wouldn’t have stopped after high school, he’d have gone farther than he already was going now. The fact that they were going so far now and doing so well for themselves was further confirmation that you couldn’t ever let Jake abandon a damned thing for you. Or for Lavender. She had to see him do this wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime thing — live this dream out. In the long run, it would inspire her to follow her own dreams. It sounded stupid to already be saying shit like that, yes. . . But it was how your hormones laid things out for you — mentally and emotionally. And it really did make sense. . .

The thought alone was enough to help you stand firm in your desire for him to not be with you. And you didn’t want him with someone like Maya. You were so passed that. She wasn’t good like he was. They didn’t fit and it was hell watching them together because he was better - far better - than her. Being so close and intimate with him again was (very slowly) helping to clear your head of the bullshit that you'd orchestrated in your mind that she was right for him. Jacob Thomas Kiszka wasn’t right for anybody. He was too good for this world and no one was good enough for his heart. Even if he were to believe it wasn’t true, you believed it. And you would continue to believe it for him if you had to. You loved him enough to believe in anything for him.

You were jealous of him and Maya, yes. And you wanted him to leave her. But it went beyond that. So far beyond that. In the end, it had virtually nothing to do with Maya and everything to do with Jake. Jake deserved to live his dream without a woman tying him down. While you wanted all of him more than anything, you knew you’d only ever give so much of yourself. Only for his benefit. You would use your body to show him your love for as long as time would allow. You wanted that shit and he’d made it seem like he did, too. You’d be his friend, too. Being his friend, alone, was a gift. His friend, first and foremost.

Your entire heart — everything that came with a relationship — was too much for him and you refused to burden him with it. You loved him too much for that. God. . .you really fucking loved him. So much it physically hurt. The love you had for him was the reason you were so adamant about not letting him push anything away like he’d been forced to before. His future was right around the corner. The life that he was destined for. . . One outlined with fame and adoration from fans who loved the music he made.

He’d helped you reclaim a hellton of shit in your life. The least you could do for him was not squander it with a relationship. A relationship with a broken woman. His baby would know that he loved her. You’d make sure of it. You knew he’d make sure of it. Lavender Kiszka would only bring joy and hope in her wake — just like she already did. You brought confusion and unsureness and a broken heart from things that weren’t his doing.

Yes, your goal was to have those things healed before Lavender was in your arms. But. . that was another thing. It was for her. The healing, the getting better. . . At your core, you knew it was for her. Not him. Not even for you, as much as it was her. She needed your devoted attention. And that did not include him working tirelessly to keep up with your bullshit. No, Lavender needed to be his main focus, too.

After Elsie claimed she’d gotten the ‘perfect shot’, she left you to get changed for the night. But. . you couldn’t take off the lingerie yet. Didn’t want to. It made you feel so fucking incredible, in the end. Even when you went to brush your hair and touch up your lips in the mirror and caught sight of your vein-ridden tits. . .you didn’t begin to feel like shit. No, the veins that stared back at you above the cups of your bralette weren’t quite so offensive anymore. Not when you associated them with why they were so prominent.

You slipped a nice, black v-neck sweater over your head to match the expensiveness of the restaurant you’d be going to. And when it was just the sweater and the lacy underwear (that did not cover your ass), you turned to the side and smoothed a gentle, loving hand over your bump. She was worth every bit of everything. And so was her daddy.

“How about I post a story of you and Els? That’ll break the ice,” Josh brainstormed as all three of you got settled into your seats at The Monkey King. “We can see if he’s online.”

For the past half hour of leaving your home and waiting for a table at The Monkey King, Elsie and Josh had been talking you down from being worried. Worried about posting your pictures. The non-sexy comparison one would be first. You already had that post queued up on your end. But. . . you’d been leaning into hesitancy. You were waiting — because of nerves forcing you to believe that Jake wouldn’t even react to them.

Why would he? He was with his girlfriend, for god’s sake! And you’d even told him to ignore you. And, stupidly, you’d voiced the moronic worries to Josh and Elsie who hadn’t stopped giving ideas for the past almost-forty minutes now. But they just didn't get it. You needed a little more time. . . You just needed a bit to boost your courage to post anything at all — especially the risqué story. And that one was set to come after the first post. . . So, as it went, the sooner you posted the first. . .

Elsie had been right about the last set of pictures she'd snapped. There had been one photo in particular that had been perfect. When you looked at it, it was hard to believe it was even you. But that was how you knew it was fucking good and hot as hell. Your hair had been the slightest bit tousled from your moving around for the pictures, your hand holding onto the left lapel of his shirt. . . Your legs, opened into a small 'V' and bent at the knee, ass nearly touching the bed in your 'relaxed' position.

And your tits. Damn. In spite of the veins, you still loved how they looked at this stage in your pregnancy. They were ideally round and swollen in a way that would make any boob-lover’s day. Yes, the veins were noticeable. But you actually understood Elsie’s point about them adding a sexy touch. You saw yourself as this ethereal sort of pregnant woman in the sensuous picture. You’d made it black and white for an added noir effect. . . And it was actually perfect. But, still. You were nervous.

“I swear if this is actually about your titties. . .,” Elsie began, somehow reading your mind in her creepy ass sister way. Her words got an abrupt response from her boyfriend.

“A woman’s body is magnificent in any light, y/n. Don’t be ashamed of it, mama,” Josh encouraged, catching your eyes and blushing cheeks. His brown irises held compassion and empathy.

“Thanks, Jo—.”

“Yeah, y/n,” Elsie cut in, earning herself a glare from you. “And that especially goes for pregnant bodies.”

“I believe if my twin were here he’d have to agree,” Josh inserted, looking at Elsie when he said it. He was literally using it as a conversation piece to add onto her statement. Josh was an appreciator of the human anatomy — of all of its beautiful features and abilities.

But it felt like you were being put on the spot. Like Elsie had said some shit. Something that would make him feel the need to encourage you with a statement in reference to Jake and your boobs. “What the fuck did you say to him, Elsie?” You wondered, being cut off by the waiter coming to take your drink orders.

For once, you actually got a drink with caffeine. Coke. You knew from reading, that a little caffeine wouldn’t hurt the baby and you were craving the unhealthy carbonated drink. Christmas and Coke just went together. When the waiter had gone, you went to say more to Elsie — really chew her out — but it was Josh who spoke first.

“I don’t even know what you’re referring to, y/n,” he clarified, gaining your line of sight. His eyes screamed genuinity. You knew he wasn’t lying. “I just felt the need to insert what I knew. What I know about the man. Because. . .,” he cleared his throat, leveling you with a pinning stare. His lips quirked. “Because, I know — based on what you told me, y/n —, that that stupid ass motherfucker is part of the reason you’re nervous to post anything.”

“What, do you know that Jake’s a boob guy or something?” Elsie tried, smirking at her boyfriend. “I mean. . .could have guessed that based on the way I’ve caught him looking at y/n’s on the few occasions I’ve been around to witness it.”

What? He did that? And often enough that Elsie had noticed it after only a few visits?

“You do make quite the impeccable point, my dear. . . The fucker can’t take his damned eyes off of them,” Josh agreed with a puff of air from his lips, quantified to a laugh. “It’s hilarious, actually. Thinks he’s being subtle.”

You had no idea what they were talking about. There had only been a few times that you had caught his eyes roaming. . . And usually, it was just the two of you who were there when he did it. “I don’t know what the fuck you guys are talking about,” you interjected. “Surely he doesn’t—.”

“Y/n. Even if I hadn’t caught him doing it, he told me his goddamn self,” Josh informed you, placing his fingers together in a pyramid in front of his face. As if he were some sort of great scholar discussing this shit. “That day after he groped you in front of us all and got himself off in the bathroom — which he also admitted to, by the way. He actually told me the shit about your body whilst admitting to yanking his fucking chain.”

Okay, they had to stop with the variety of terms they used to describe sex things. “Where the fuck do you guys hear the variety of ways to refer to male and female genitalia?”

“Urban Dictionary,” they said in unison, side eyeing one another with a little grin as they bumped shoulders.

You rolled your eyes.

“We just get on there for fun sometimes,” Elsie explained, rubbing Josh’s arm lovingly as the drinks got to the table.

“You’re both gross,” you replied as you watched them fucking Eskimo kiss in front of you. God, you were so damn single.

For a number of seconds, they continued on as if you weren’t there. All handsy and flirty and in love. You stared at them blankly and with self-pity. . . All you wanted, with one person in particular. But you just couldn’t do it.

You were caught off guard when the waiter was suddenly back with your drinks, asking for your orders. You quickly ordered your meal, having checked the menu online on the way to the restaurant. The way your stomach had been calling out for help had simply left you no other choice. When the server was yet again gone, with the orders tucked into his apron, you let your eyes roam back over to your two best friends. Thankfully, they were back from Love Island. Though, unfortunately, they were both eyeing you with measured stares of awaiting nature.

“What, you two?” You snapped at them, arching a brow as you took a long sip of your Coke. Which, as you'd expected, hit the spot just right.

“You’re not even going to react?” Josh quizzed you, raised a brow as he took a sip of his piping hot green tea. “I just told you that Jake told me how much he loved your body.”

To tell him or not to tell him. . . Fuck. Whatever. What was the harm?

“I don’t need to react to that Josh,” you began. After one more little sip of your Coke, you placed your phone on the table. The confidence was coming; you could do it. “Because last night I think his mouth did a pretty impeccable job informing me — on my body.”

“In her body,” Elsie added, with a pointed look at Josh.

The curly headed twin almost shot green tea out of his nose, choking slightly as he swallowed his most recent sip. “What?!”

“Yes, Joshua, we both took your sage advice. Thank you so much, Wise Counselor,” you griped, for no reason besides how hungry you were. Because, truly, you were grateful. Josh was working wondrous Christmas miracles in Brooklyn, NY.

“Dr. JMK,” Elsie wiggled her brows at him, patting his back as his coughs turned to little huffs and puffs. “My favorite therapist.”

You didn’t even have to guess that they were referring to sex. Not with the way he was smirking and rubbing at his bottom lip as his breathing calmed. His eyes, darkened and looking in the distance - far away from you. Then, he was whispering in her ear and you wanted to gag. Again.

Their public display of affection was enough to encourage you to go to your own little world. And the most effective way to do that at the time being was to just get the damn picture posted. Just the comparison. The one in the jeans. You could do that. With the caption up and ready and everything, all you had to do was click a certain button.

So, you did it. Posted. Just like that.

The left side, the picture of you in a black bra with your jeans undone in the front to showcase your protruding lower tummy. And then, of course, the right side was the picture of your pre-baby body the day you went to the pool. In your little black swimsuit – but just enough of the picture to be a near-replica picture of the one you’d taken that evening. Just your face behind the phone, your chest, your tummy, and the very top curve of your ass.

The focal point of both pictures, being how your body had changed. Which, you had to admit. . . you were beginning to prefer the baby bod. Whether that was thanks to Jake’s assistance the night before or the fact that your changing body meant your daughter was growing - well and healthily. . . you weren’t sure. Though, you were leaning more towards being proud of the little human you were housing. She was right there, obvious to everyone, all of the time, and you loved that fact. Lavender made the cutest little bump. And when you weren’t in your head about your appearance, you could see just how much you loved your bump. You were admittedly blessed with quite the adorable round tummy.

And, after comparing your body to hoards of other pregnant women, you knew you were also blessed with incredible pregnancy-induced tits. You’d seen plenty of other women who had perfectly suited bodies to accompany their pregnancy… but, you were glad to simply prefer yours than compare it to others’. Your nipples were still smaller and lighter, those not having changed too much (strangely, you were terrified for those to change). It was nice to not have to get used to those changing along with everything else (Seriously. Everything else: belly, ass, thighs, swollen feet — the works.). The only thing that had really changed about your breasts was the size of them. They’d grown beautifully larger, in your opinion. Round, sexily swollen, and sitting just right on your body above your bump. . . (If you took time to consider it, you could understand why Jake had focused on them so intentionally the night before.)

Seriously, where this confidence was coming from, you had no idea. You assumed it had to do with the night before.

You stared at the post for just a moment longer, not daring to refresh the page to see any comments, likes or anything of the sort. The caption was very sweet, the ideal thing to accompany the black and white side-by-side comparison. It was simple, pointing out the obvious. (Your tummy was still small-ish, yes. However, it was also pretty clear that you were, in fact, more than a little pregnant.)

For your caption, you’d written:

Just a bit of a difference… 🤭🫶 May 2023 🐣💜

The notification ping! on Elsie’s phone went off with your post. At the noise, you looked up at your sister to see her reaction to it. Thankfully, it had been enough to break her and Josh from their mini lovefest (seriously, thank god). She’d given you an eye with a smirk that said she was proud of you before she picked up her phone to see the post. Josh was looking over her shoulder as she clicked through to the app, curious to see the highly anticipated post finally up and in action.

“Oh, y/n. . . . it is perfect!” She’d excitedly squealed, instantly double clicking her screen with her pointer. She flourished the action with a little flick of her wrist, which made you laugh. And soon, Josh was readily getting his phone out to, presumably, do the same. “I’m gonna comment and share it to my story. . . How about you post your story pic, sis? Please. I’m dying.”

Still maneuvering around his phone like he was a grandpa, Josh held the phone away from his face a bit to get a good look. With a gentle grin, he double clicked before sending a wink your way. “So cute, Mama. Jake’s going to love it.”

“I can’t look to see if he’s liked it yet,” you admitted out loud, only eyeing the post for a second longer before you started preparing your story post. “And I literally just posted, so I know I sound ambitious even referring to it yet.” It seemed like the right time to get the truly risque picture set and ready while you were feeling so good about your figure. . . And to distract you from Jake possibly seeing the other post.

“We don’t have to quite yet. Els, why don’t you. . .?” Josh said across from you. From your peripheral, you noticed he was gearing up his phone to take a picture of you. You glanced up at him just as Elsie was moving around the table to sit beside you. The crinkle in your brow questioned what they were doing, but you didn’t have to ask as he was revealing it himself on his next breath. “I’m going to make that story post I mentioned earlier. And, if he sees mine, then I’ll be able to call him on his shit if he doesn’t pay attention to yours.”

“Josh,” you scolded with a stern brow. Though, in spite of your slight disagreement with the plan, you went along with it. It did make sense. . . you just weren’t sure you wanted him calling Jake out. You said as much, just as he got the phone set up just right to get the best angle. “You shouldn't call him out for anything. He is with Maya. His focus doesn’t need to be on me. I’m just being weird about him seeing it.”

With another glance, you eyed your phone screen before turning it on its face – didn’t want to show how it was opened to a new Insta story. The black and white picture of you in the sexy black lingerie and Jake’s shirt, only awaiting a song to accompany it for your second post of the night.

“We all want to know his reaction, sis,” Elsie clarified as she snuggled up beside you, wrapping her arm around you and pulling you close. “Now, smile for my boyfriend.”

You did just as she said, the smile not hard to fake at all. This night was honestly of your dreams, getting to be with your two best friends. Elsie living in New York again still felt too good to be true. . . But, it was, in fact, very true. And you were overjoyed. There was only one person truly missing.

Josh continued to narrate as he took a few pictures. “I want him to see what he’s missing out on, too. Selfishly, I’m also pissed he’s spending any time away from me this holiday season, too. . .,” he grumpily noted. “I thought that the ‘prioritizing the girlfriend’ shit was behind us.”

With a flush in your cheeks, you couldn’t help but agree that it was aggravating that he was away. “Yeah, it sucks that he’s not here,” you said, not really caring to be transparent about that. It was just Josh and Elsie. . . you were tired of hiding all of these pent up feelings from them. There were only certain things you were not about to divulge to them. . . . like your love for the man. “I was looking forward to spending some of the holiday with him, too.”

The curly headed man turned the phone around to show you the pictures with measured scrolls between the pictures. “I feel you, mama,” he solemnly noted in return. “Tell me to stop when you see the one you love.”

They were all very good. Josh knew his way behind a camera. . . truly knew how to make people look their best. But there was one in particular you instantly stopped him at. It was the happiest you’d seen yourself for a hot damn second and Elsie looked majestically gorgeous with her curly hair falling around her petite, fairy-like features with ease.

“That one is my favorite,” you said, tapping the screen to hit the favorite button to emphasize your point. “I love our smiles in it. You look gorgeous, Els.”

“This is about you, sis,” she grasped Josh’s wrist to halt him from moving his phone away just yet. “Do you like how you look in it?”

You shook your head at her insistence, smiling at her. Gently, you lifted her fingers from Josh’s wrist and grasped her hand in your own. “Yes, Elsie. I love how we both look in it,” you promised her, keeping her hand in a tight grip when she gave you a grin to match your own. “But can you please stay beside me for a bit? I need you right here when I post this fucking sensuous story.”

“Yes, silly,” she responded, a glint in her eye as she winked. “Do you want to post first? Or do you want Josh to?”

From the side, you saw Josh pause before placing his phone on the table. “You stopped me just in time, babe. . . Was just about to post it. Instantly knew the song to make him feel guilty with, and put it on there, too," he said, relief and a giggle evident in his tone. “And before either of you see it, yes. I can confirm my words are a little braggy, but I like them that way.”

“I’m sure whatever you said was fine, Joshy,” you said to him with a pat on the back of his hand, curious at the song. But. . . you didn't worry too much about it, though, since you had your own shit to worry about.

His lips quirked under his mustache before he asked you the same question as your sister. “So, you first or me? What would you like best, mama?”

“And Close Friends only or do you want Maya to see it, too?” Elsie asked, brow raised when you caught her eyes next. “Honestly, that would be poetic fucking justice for her to–.”

“No, Els. Only Close Friends. No Maya,” you rolled your eyes at her antics. “I don’t want her to feel any type of way over me posting this. Want her to enjoy Christmas and not worry about me or any of this,” you motioned to your belly.

Silently, you added that you really didn’t want to give her any reason to question you. Didn’t want her to catch on to anything you and Jake had done right before they’d left town. . . . or the fact that you were wearing his damned shirt. You liked it being posted in a sort of secret. For a second, you sat and contemplated it, though. You knew what you truly wanted to do. You were ready. Mostly. “I think I’m gonna post mine. Then, if he’s ignored that and my actual post-post, we’ll see if he’s actually online and not interacting with me if he’s viewing your story.”

“Sounds good,” Josh agreed with an approving purse of his lips. “The floor is yours.”

For some reason, you were beginning to question all of your concern about wanting him seeing it. . . was it stupid? Juvenile? “Why do I even care about him being online, again?” You questioned, out loud, to them. It was better than drowning completely in your own thoughts.

“Because you care about him and you want him to see these,” Elsie said, knowing you better than you knew yourself. “You know you look good and you want him to see you.”

Briefly, you questioned your motives. “But, like. . .is this okay? Am I using my daughter for some sort of weird, personal gain or some shit?”

“Oh, babe. No. Not in the slightest, sis,” Elsie insisted with a squeeze to your bicep. She went to grasp your arm with both of her hands, urging you to look at her. And you did, eyes glazing with tears as you observed the sincerity in hers. “Get out of your head. Are you using your body to take sexy pictures while you look so fucking good pregnant? Yes. I would judge you if you didn’t take sexy maternity pictures. . . And I will judge you if you don’t take more with a professional, later in the pregnancy.”

“You’re taking advantage of being confident in your current state,” Josh added on. You looked over at him, a smirk present on his lips to encourage you. “And I’m glad you are. Every woman should feel divine as fuck in her body while carrying a human life. That’s fucking incredible shit that only you women are able to do and you should fully flaunt the fact that you’re doing that shit. It’s fuckin’ badass, y/n.”

“I completely and wholeheartedly second that,” Elsie tacked on to the end, your gaze going back to hers. She grasped your chin in between her dainty, soft fingers. “Don’t convince yourself of this shit about you being selfish or whatever. I know that's what you're doing. You're confident! It's good to be confident. And you'll get to teach your daughter the same. Don’t you dare dim your light. . . because you won’t want her to dim hers. Yes, you’re posting this to look sexy for Jake, but you did it for yourself, too. And–.”

“And ultimately, it is for Lavender,” Josh finished for Elsie.

Her name. Your eyes snapped over to him, instantly welling with tears at hearing her name flit from his lips. Out in the wild.

It took him a second to register what you were reacting to, but when he did, his expression went flat and his eyes went sympathetic. “Fuck, y/n. I– I didn’t even–,” he rubbed an eyebrow before using his hands to aid in explaining himself. (Which he did not need to do, but you couldn’t say that yet. All you could do was simply sit there in shock at hearing her name in the damn wild.) “Jacob told me. He told me of the significance of it and everything and he just really wanted me to know. . . . Told me to keep my mouth shut and not tell anyone. Because, duh. He wanted to wait for your time for everyone else to find out. But, again– he did tell me you would most likely be okay with me knowing and I just really fucking hope he was correct in this–.”

“Yes!” You adamantly interrupted him, a huge smile lighting up your features at all of it. “Yes. I absolutely am fine with the fact that he told you. I would’ve told him to, but pregnancy brain and all – just slipped my mind,” you shook your head with a contented smile, catching his eyes once more. “I just– I loved hearing you say her name, Josh.” His own smile widened under his mustache as his eyes got glossy. He reached a hand out for you, which you gripped surely and tightly to communicate your love to him.

It’d definitely caught you off guard. But you truly were elated that Jake had told him. You liked it being only your little circle of people that knew. Just your circle. You hoped Jake viewed it as special as you that only your few chosen people knew about her gender. . .And now, a couple more new the name. Only Josh and Elsie. In your heart, you knew he viewed it the same. You’d bet anything on it.

So, feeling emotions rise in your chest and love pouring out of your ears at the support from all areas. . . you decided it was time. And without a second thought, you went for it. Posted the picture, which you’d edited to be a faded and fairly aesthetic black and white tone. On top of the photo were thoughtfully curated words and a favorite holiday-esque tune of yours to match them.

Your words, ‘Most definitely ✨falling in love✨ with my favorite gift ever.’ And, to add to the darker and more mysterious vibe of the shot, you’d tacked on a tiny black heart under the text.

The song you’d chosen was by one of your current favorite artists. Victoria Monet. An orchestral, instrumental rendition of her tune, “We Might Even Be Falling In Love.” The song had been released by her a couple of Christmases ago, with a bunch of her other tracks that she’d added a Christmas sound to. The song fit the overall theme of the story exquisitely. Sexy for Jake to hear as he watched the story, yet loving to fit the message meant for Lavender. And of course, Christmas-y for the season and the text you’d added.

Even with the nerves whistling through your system, you relished in the fact that it was out now. For everyone to see. For a specific person to see. You watched it play through again, admiring the way you looked in it. Elsie had done a damn good job, you were impressed.

“Ready for me to post mine, mama?” Josh asked, breaking you from your reverie of the fact that you’d just posted the picture.

You blinked at him once. Twice. And then told him yes. But it was barely any time after he posted his story that you decided to finally click through to your notifications. When you did, you saw a name you were awfully enthusiastic to see. And that was an understatement.

jakekiszka liked your photo.

16m

jakekiszka commented: 💜

16m

Sixteen minutes ago. . . You clicked through to the post, noticing the time stamp implied that you’d posted it nearly the same length of time ago, save for a couple of minutes. Fuck. He’d seen it basically right away? You couldn’t help the smile that floated to comfortably sit on your lips in silent relief. And on top of seeing it right off the bat, he’d been the first to comment, many others following to offer comments and likes to offer congratulations. Elsie and Josh, taking the cake for the first people to like the post. . . But Jake had taken the time to comment.

And a purple heart, at that. To match yours. For your girl.

Jake’s POV

The initial post had been enough to make me forget where I was. Then she’d posted her story. And the concept of space and time and the people around me mattered fucking none. My dick, doing all of the thinking in my damn pants. . . Daring to react like it wanted to. Goddammit.

She was wearing nearly nothing, only the most breathtaking lacy and sheer bra and panties. Matching. She’d put fucking thought into this. Her tits, so fuckin' heavy and swollen for what they were preparing. . . And when I noticed it was my goddamned shirt on top of her basically naked body - those perfect tits - I was done for. I knew exactly what she was doing. I crossed my legs, rubbing at my jaw in complete and utter appreciation of her heavenly fucking body. My phone, hidden from Maya the best it could’ve been.

I made sure Maya was still engaged in whatever she was talking about with her dad before I turned to the side just slightly to avoid her eyes on the screen. And I really took a moment to digest the image on my phone. My thumb was holding the story in place like my damn life depended on it. . . My dick was fucking aching to do something about what I was looking at. . . And right here, at dinner with Maya and her father, I felt myself getting real fucking hard for y/n. Couldn’t stop it if I fuckin’ tried. This image was sealed in my mind.

Fuck. And I'd been I’d been so damn good. . .

After spending the entire day wanting to continue our conversation from earlier, I hadn’t. A few times, away from Maya’s eyes, I’d opened our thread and almost started something. But I had refrained each and every time. I’d done a damn good job of honoring her wishes by focusing on Maya. I knew that y/n had a point with her insistence on that and I knew it was the right thing to do. Ignore her and think about Maya. . . I knew she’d had a point.

But, still. After last night, all I wanted to fucking do was wrap myself up in all things y/n. Being away from her right now was fucking torture. And not being able to talk to her at all? Worst part of all. But I couldn’t respect her wishes to not communicate when she was posting shit like this.

It lit a fire under my skin. . .

The little act even made me grit my teeth in anger at her. Why did she get to pull shit like this, but I wasn’t allowed to simply text her? Didn’t seem fair to me and I fucking wished there was something I could do about articulating this point to her. Words really wouldn't do it justice. I wanted to use my mouth, my hands, my cock to get the damned point through to her.

But I couldn’t fucking do that at the moment, could I? I crossed my legs tighter together, crushing my fuckin' nuts. Though, I didn't care too much at the moment. . . I was too busy contemplating what was happening in my mind and my damn pants. It was starting to hurt — trying to conceal the throbbing problem in my jeans. So, I decided I needed to say or do something. Teach her a fucking lesson. I just didn’t know how.

Fuck, she needed to understand that she couldn’t do shit like this when I wasn’t around. When I was with my girlfriend.

All I wanted to do was make her understand that this wasn’t fair. . . . Wanted to use my body and hers to do so. . . But I fucking couldn’t do that, now could I? Then — as my dick strained just a bit harder in my jeans, threatening to expose me — I got an idea. Without taking even a second to consider anything, I clicked my phone closed before I turned to Maya.

“I’ve gotta call Josh about something,” I told her, gaining her big brown eyes, making sure to sound as sincere as I could. I felt sort of shitty doing it, but my dick was doing all of the thinking at the moment. My brain was not in charge. “I’ll be real quick.”

“You’re good,” she smiled, patting my thigh and leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek I didn’t want from her at the present time. “Make it quick, though? This place closes in a couple of hours and I want you to try all of the desserts that come out on the tray. . . I have a story for each and every one.”

Again, not really thinking much, all I could do was offer a quick smile and an ‘mhm’ before rising from my chair quickly and quietly. I did my best to walk with my ass facing the table, covering my front the best I could with my phone and sweater. Without needing much time, thinking on efficiency mode, I found the sign for the bathrooms in no time.

Once I made it to the family stall bathroom, I unbuttoned my pants for some relief. I sighed at the feeling of my jeans not crushing my fucking pulsing cock. And while, yes, it felt better, it was still not good enough. Not even fucking close. I opened my text thread with her. It only took me half a minute to decide on what I wanted to say.

Me, 9:53 p.m.: okay so

Me, 9:53 p.m.: I’m not allowed to talk to you... But you can apparently get fucking naked and wear my shirt when I’m not there to do something about it?

I reached into my briefs and gave myself a few strokes, getting impossibly harder as I watched her name on my screen. Just her name had my head fuzzy as shit right now. I continued to pay special attention to my dick. It was dense as fuckin' lead, so my hand only offered decent satiation. It was nothing compared to her hand, her mouth. . . And especially not her wet and fucking warm pussy. That shit hugged my dick like a damn glove.

I studied her contact picture in my phone. . . Fuck. She was so damn perfect. No other woman compared. I still had her picture in my phone set as one I’d taken over the summer. . . From that day at Sam’s AirBnB pool. Her, laying on the edge of the pool, arms crossed to hold her up right beside where I still still sat in the pool. She was grinning down at me, smile wide enough that I could see her dimples. Her eyes, squinted shut, under the summer sun. The way her skin glowed under the sun. . . And if I were to click through to see the whole picture, I’d be able to see each and every droplet of water that had been clinging so flawlessly to her soft skin.

The swimsuit in the contact photo, the same damn one as the post from earlier in the evening. God. . .That post had been pure perfection. The black bra and jeans, the swimsuit. . .I’d clicked through to that first post so quickly— as soon as I’d gotten the notification. (Yes, my post notifications were still on for her. . . I’d initially set them up over the summer when she’d posted quite frequently.) Standing in this bathroom, I came to the realization that the baby reveal post had been the first real post she’d made since summertime, aside from the occasional story.

The first post alone — an incredible way to come back. Damn. As soon as I had gotten the notification that she’d posted, my heart had started hammering in my chest. Like I was a fuckin’ teenager with a damn crush. She’d had that effect on me since day one.

The picture of her in her cute little black swimsuit — the one with the lace that shaped seamlessly to her tits. . . Then, there was the new picture of her that it had been compared to. Y/n, posing in the mirror. Wearing only a black bra and worn jeans, the fly undone to show off her cute, round belly. The belly that was holding my baby girl.

Goddamn.

And those tits. . .I could still feel them, what they'd felt like in my hands. In my mouth. In the picture, they'd been sitting just right in that maternity bra – something I’d never known to be hot until y/n was the one wearing it. I couldn’t help but think she made everything sexier. More beautiful. But god, did I want to hold those motherfuckers in my hands again — grip them and make her whine for more. Lick her tender nipples into my mouth. . . Shit. . . . .My hand continued to wrap around my dick, pumping the best it could. A sad comparison to y/n. . . . . . Fuck, I missed her.

I went back to Instagram with the hand that still held my phone. When I was back on the app, I had to click away from the story post. Art in its finest form. But, as I exited from it, I mentally promised that image that I’d damn well be back. I just had to look at the other post. Let my delusional ass travel back to summer time. That older photo in the black and white comparison. . . I’d recognized that cute ass photo right away.

The day it was taken, locked in my fucking memory. The photo from her post had been taken right before we’d left for the pool. I’d caught a glimpse of her taking it, right before knocking on her door with a gentle rap of my knuckles. The door, only being cracked, easily opened for me to enter. . . That had been normal for us. Doors open. Casual entry. God, things had been so damn perfect.

She’d smiled at me with this secretive little grin on her pretty lips. And that had led to me sauntering over to her to take her in my arms. I could remember every detail from the moment— the way she’d melted into my grasp, the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks, and the way her soft lips had tasted like her coconut chapstick. . .

Before I could get too carried away with my memory, my phone buzzed in my hand. Her name, floating across the top of my screen. I tapped that shit on sight, letting my eager hand ease up a bit on my dick, but kept a sure hold of it in my flexing fist.

Y/n, 9:57 p.m.: Jacob. What the fuck did I say about texting me?

Oh, fuck no. She was not going to tell me what to fucking do. Not when she’d pulled her shit. She'd known what she was doing with her little photoshoot. That picture with her tits out, pussy just about visible in her lacy panties — and in my clothes. Yeah. . . Y/n was the furthest thing from an idiot. She knew. This meant she was the one who needed a damn talking to.

Me, 9:58 p.m.: oh baby... You will NOT tell me what to do any fuckin more today

Her next reply came quicker, barely enough time for me to register that she'd read mine.

Y/n, 9:59 p.m.: Yeah? And what gives YOU the right to decide that, Jake? I’m pretty sure I can make MY OWN damn choices, baby.

Me, 9:59 p.m.: yeah. But you telling me to stop texting you and to focus on my girlfriend… that IS you telling me what to do

Me, 10:00 p.m.: and just like you I get to make my own damn choices. YOUR little stunt tonight is making it pretty damn hard for me to not want to talk to you. Quite frankly… I wanna do more than talk to you

Me, 10:01 p.m.: looks like I need to teach your ass a little lesson, hm?

But, after I sent that, I just stood there. My hand, loose and lazing up and down, on my dick, for a good while, waiting for her to answer. After a few long ass minutes, I started to get fuckin’ pissed. I didn’t have time to wait on her shit. She’d started this mess, she needed to fucking finish it. And I was on a stupid fucking time limit. Had to try this goddamn dessert tray. Fuck. I was just aware of one very clear thing. . . I was aware that there was no way I could go out like this. At that thought, I lifted my hand from my aching dick. Damn near ready to bust and lacking real attention. I let my boxers snap against my hips. Leaning against the wall, I got into the best position I could to get a picture for her.

I opened the camera in my texts with her, letting my hand go to grip my straining cock over my briefs. Tilting my phone just right, I made sure she could see the entire imprint. Every detail. Tip to base. My wrist lifted my sweater just a bit. And from the exposed skin at the bottom of my abdomen and down, it was clear what was happening in my damn underwear. She’d be able to see what the fuck was going on for me right now. What she’d caused.

As I finished taking the picture, feeling satisfied with the result, my phone buzzed in my hand. Her name, yet again, at the top of my screen. But I couldn’t read her text before I sent the photo, as was the case with iPhones. So, very quickly, I went ahead and sent it so I could see what she’d said.

Y/n, 10:06 p.m.: Please, Jake. Tell me about this ‘stunt.’ And how it concerns you.

Oh? Okay.

Me, 10:06 p.m.: you’re wearing my damn shirt, y/n. That’s how the fuck it concerns me

At the same time I finished that text, my picture was finally sent.

Me, 10:06 p.m.: so. now thanks to you my dick hurts like a motherfucker. I want your tight fuckin pussy around me so damn bad but I can’t have that shit can I?

Shockingly, she didn’t take forever to respond this time. It appeared all she’d needed was a damn reality check.

Y/n, 10:06 p.m.: I never said you couldn’t have my pussy.

She was determined to make me go crazy. . . goddammit. Though, I was soon distracted by her next text, which made it clear to me that she’d seen my photo.

Y/n, 10:07 p.m.: Oh.. okay. Fuck me, then, huh? Wanna fuck me over with a picture like that? Real nice, babe. Way to return the favor.

Dammit. I wished I could fuck her. My hand slipped into my briefs again as I sent my text. I imagined how I'd hold her hips. . . my dick, pounding into that slick heat over and over and over. . . Damn. It was hard to type with one hand, but so fucking worth it to (hopefully) get off with her help. . . It had been too damn long. Come on, y/n. . .

Me, 10:07 p.m.: damn right I’ll fuck you, baby. If I had MY way I’d fuck you right here, right now. Take you out to the fucking middle of this restaurant. Put on a little show for everyone... show them how damn well I can fuck that sweet pussy

The thought was debilitating. My knees, getting weak as I’d typed that shit. I would love to show her off to all of the people in this goddamn establishment. Make everyone else appreciate this perfect woman. Those swollen tits, already so much bigger than they’d once been. And that was considering they’d already been ideal before. Prettiest, perkiest fuckin’ tits. And, the bigger they got, the more of them I got to appreciate. And that ass. . . It just got bigger and rounder, the more she grew with my baby. Then there was the cutest damn bump; always growing with that hard ass work I couldn’t even begin to pretend to imagine. She was working fucking magic in that body every damned day. I'd never admired a woman so much in my life.

Fuck it all. I could've blow my fuckin' load at the thought alone. How indescribably hot it was that she was taking such care, every damn day, of my baby that lived inside of her. My hand began to move in a pattern of torturously slow and a speed right in the middle of fast and slow. . . Had to pace myself. . . I wasn’t going to last with this thought process.

Y/n, 10:08 p.m.: Fuck, Jake. Shut the fuck up.

Me, 10:08 p.m.: no way baby. It’s my turn to make YOU imagine this shit

Y/n, 10:07 p.m.: Now you’re trying to get the upper hand? Is that how it is, Jake?

Me, 10:08 p.m.: seems fair… Wouldn’t you say?

Y/n, 10:08 p.m.: I'm just pissed to hell that you’re not going to send me a fully naked picture of your pretty dick. That’s fucking rude, babe.

The little grin that lifted my lips was out of nothing but pure appreciation for her. God. She made my fucking head spin. She was a dream and a half. And now that I’d had a bite of her again, allowed myself to give in to what I’d been keeping myself from? It’d been bad enough when she’d given me that incomparable head at the fuckin’ stoplight a while back. . . A domestic ass grocery trip that had turned into a whole lot more. . . Satisfied more than her cravings that night.

But, honestly. . . While the head was fuckin’ killer, her body was the one that deserved worship. All of her. . . Goddammit. And now that I knew how much sweeter her pussy tasted? My hand started to move in languid, pulsing pumps up and down my dick, thinking of her body. . . How delicious she was. . . Fuck. It was only a month or so ago, I’d read that pregnant women sometimes emanate a different smell. . . a different taste. . . And now that I knew that shit was goddamned true? I couldn’t control when my hand began to move a touch faster, fist tightening in a way that had my eyes daring to cross. Her pregnant body— fuck everything on this earth that wasn’t her and her beautiful body.

My mind had been a constant loop of her bedroom. Nonstop. I could still taste her. . . Fuckin’ swore on that shit. Even before pregnancy, nothing on the goddamned earth had tasted better than her release. But now that she was carrying my baby? It was even more magnificent. It was warm fucking honey. More delicious than that. . . the most addictive, intoxicating taste. A drug that I couldn’t get enough of and wanted to keep devouring. I shook my head of this path of thought, coming back to reality to text her back. She was walking on thin damn ice with me.

Me, 10:09 p.m.: you don’t get to talk about me being rude when you started this shit, baby. I wouldn’t be in the fuckin bathroom at this fuckass restaurant if you hadn’t posted your little story

Y/n, 10:10 p.m.: did you listen to the song?

God, y/n. My hand stilled around my dick, pausing so I could focus on only her. I couldn’t take much more of this. . .

Me, 10:10 p.m.: couldn’t. You posted it while I was at the damn table with my girlfriend

Y/n, 10:10 p.m.: But you said that you’re in the bathroom now?

Me, 10:10 p.m.: Yes

Y/n, 10:11 p.m.: So… listen to the damn song. Tell me if you remember that melody.

God, her love for music was so sexy to me. I couldn’t even be mad when I let go of my dick to gain some sanity. This woman captivated me on a regular basis with how much she loved music. That wall at home, with racks of vinyl. . . Seriously. Music was a way of life for her. She translated her emotions using it. Just like me. Women like her weren’t only rare, they were fucking extinct. We talked to each other with melodies and rhythms. And sometimes, it was only with our eyes. God.

Like that night at the bar when she’d caught me, unabashedly eyefucking her. Then, to make matters worse, she'd held my gaze like her life had depended on it. I’d seen every emotion pass from her irises to mine. We hadn’t been talking at the time, so this had been a big moment for me. She’d known – she knew – what that song was to us. “You’re All I Need” and “Natural Woman” were our songs. But, for some reason, "You're All I Need", specifically, would forever feel like making love to her. . . There was no stopping the imagining of her tight pussy around my dick when I heard that song in particular. Shit, even that night, I’d reminisced about fucking her to that song with Maya sitting right next to me.

But. . . I couldn’t feel too bad. Because it was y/n. And to think she’d been sitting there, knowingly pregnant with my baby as we’d shared that moment. . . It made me sort of angry, sure. But not so much anymore. No, now it was just real damn captivating to me that she’d been so openly obvious about all she was feeling. With my baby in her belly. Even if it were just with her eyes. . . her eyes meant the world.

Carrying Lavender had helped y/n. Our baby girl had assisted in her being braver with her emotions. . . and I fucking loved it. Lavender and music – working together to bring this enigmatic, worthy woman out of her convoluted and complicated shell. She was still hiding, yes, but she was easing back into that girl from the summertime. The one who’d wanted me to stop in the middle of sex to put on an Aretha vinyl. . . . The love I’d felt for her when she’d asked that of me. I’d felt so in love with her in that moment. . . on that rainy morning. I had known then that my love and admiration for her had surpassed any and everything else in my life. . . . God.

Why did that have to change? Why had she so willingly let me go? Was it all trauma related? Or was there a part of her that really didn’t want me? Because, there was no forgetting how easily she’d drawn lines. I just had to remind my (hopeful) thoughts. . . even if she was coming back to that version of herself now, she had still put up this massive roadblock back then that had changed things. Not everything, but enough.

Though, whatever may have changed and would continue to change, she’d always hold a place in my heart. Firmly in her grasp. She’d always live there. No matter how much she’d hurt or would continue to hurt me, her spot in my heart was eternal. I felt this all-encompassing ache at the thought of her that I’d never felt before her, or since her. . . Only y/n.

I’d felt it everyday for her since the moment I’d laid eyes on her. And, as I stood in this bathroom, with her on the other side of the phone. . . I realized just how far she’d truly come. Where she was once afraid of letting me in at all, apparently now she was okay with publicly posting a song I should recognize the melody to. . . And with a sensual photograph of her, at that? This was all a huge fucking deal for me. And, well. . . that shit was just hot as fuck.

As I clicked through my phone, to see her story again, I paused on my home screen for a a brief moment. Appreciated the picture I’d taken of a sonogram shot. . . No gender reveal was obvious – didn’t want anyone knowing that yet. Well, besides Josh. . . who I’d spilled that shit to (couldn’t help myself – had to tell my fuckin’ twin). I couldn’t help but admire my baby girl. She was the first thing I saw on my phone, every time I sused it. She'd successfully secured her place on my lock and home screen.

I’d just been too consumed in her mother for the past several minutes to pause on her picture until now. . . God, I loved this little girl. So much more than she already knew. Didn’t know until her – how much one could love another - I loved this little, tiny person so goddamn much. This tiny person I hadn’t even held in my arms yet. . . But god, I’d kill for that little girl. Already.

When y/n’s story was on my phone screen again, I took a moment to just look at her (again). But after I’d taken a proper amount of time to ogle at the damn photo of my dreams, I let the story play through again. Tried to ignore my stupid, impossibly hard dick for y/n, and turned up the sound.

The song on her story was incredible. Not something I’d normally have found to put on a playlist, but it was damned good. And her taste to a T. A track, completely composed with an orchestra. No lyrics. Just melody. A symphonic melody. I had an affinity for orchestral compositions, so I’d immediately closed out the story when the little snippet ended. Searched for it on Spotify, then immediately added it to a playlist I had specifically for that style of music.

Orchestral Equilibrium was what I’d titled the playlist, long ago when I'd made it. And, I instantly pressed the box and the square, sending the list in a text to y/n. Just wanted her to have access to a playlist I loved so much. Because, apparently, she loved these types of arrangements as well. A lover of philharmonic symphonies, too? On top of her other otherworldly tastes in genre? She was a woman unlike any other, truly.

Me, 10:14 p.m.: added it to my playlist :) that arrangement is fantastic

Y/n, 10:14 p.m.: 🥹🤭I’m really glad you liked it.

I assumed another text was coming. . . I just knew she’d send something along the lines of “but… do you remember me playing it?”. . . Something of the sort. She’d asked a question, after all. Needed her answer. So, when the ellipses appeared and then disappeared to be replaced by a new text, I wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

Y/n, 10:15 p.m.: Do you remember me playing it though?? 🤔

And there we go, I breathed a laugh to myself as I read it, the grin still stuck on my face. I had quoted it practically verbatim, too. Knew her well. And while I hadn’t heard this version specifically yet, I’d heard one a lot like it. . . So, hastily, so as not to lose y/n on the other end of the phone, I pulled up my Spotify again.

When I opened the app, it was still showing my Orchestral Equilibrium playlist. It took me zero time to realize it had a new like. One like, where there’d been none before. The grin that floated to my features was the most natural reaction to something so precious. She was precious. Such a small act that. But, I knew that as a fellow music lover, the act was as big to her as it was to me.

After a second, I typed in the song “We Might Even Be Falling In Love.” The title of the song from her story. And the first result, a black and white picture of a man and woman, caught my eye. I recognized it. From y/n’s Apple CarPlay screen. I pressed play on the song, pulled up the album photo to get a good look at it. Yeah. I remembered it. What the screen had looked like the day she’d picked me up from the guitar lesson. The lesson I had not wanted to be at, but kept a positive face about. I had wanted to be with y/n that day. . . Could still remember that shit.

(Same as every day I’d had something going on, when she’d been free. Was even worse when I'd wake up with her wrapped around me and have to say goodbye. . . Wasn't to say that, on those mornings, the goodbye sex wasn't real damn good.)

Music was the way my brain moved. I lived in a constant state of melodious tunings. My mind, an assonance of grandeur, all on its own. I’d gotten so used to it, I hardly realized it wasn’t normal to hear music on a constant loop in your head. But, because my brain worked that way, I could hear a song and be transported back to moments in my past instantly.

The car’s cool air had been blowing through her lustrous locks and against her radiant, sun kissed face. She might as well have been moving in slow motion — like a fuckin’ romance film. I’d watched the goosebumps appear on her flushed skin, the freckles that’d twinkled on her beautiful face. The twitch of her nose when a few strands of hair had tickled her face.

I’d watched her so closely – observed every intricate detail of her features. She was spellbinding. Irresistibly breathtaking in every possible capacity. It had been out of my control entirely when I’d gone to grip her thigh, wishing I was touching her skin for extra relief from the skin to skin contact. Yet, even though she’d been wearing jeans, I’d taken advantage of what I could do to calm her. She’d seemed burdened, as always. I'd always hated how much she kept on her shoulders. Wanted to take it all away from her. Make things easier.

The way I’d felt for her – it was beyond what words could articulate. I felt tender, yet animalistic for her all at once. I’d wanted to make everything better for her all of the time. The little switches in her mood were so apparent to me. . . I could tell from a mile away if she was thinking or in her head. . . And, for some reason, she had been at that moment. But it was okay. I could make it okay – had to. For her.

Her cheeks had begun to grow pink, even with the air blowing on her face. So I’d known – she’d felt at least a touch of peace. Her skin reacted beautifully with her emotions, a piece of art on her features that marked a pathway to her soul.

In that moment, all I’d been able to think about was showing her what she meant to me. And while I hadn’t been in the right place to lay her down and express myself with my body and hers, I could do one thing. When her cheeks had grown a touch more pink, she’d bashfully grinned. The dimple in her cheek, such a tiny detail, but so precious to me. It’d encouraged me. This one way to convey what she meant to me came to mind. . . Carefully, hand still holding tightly to her thigh, I leaned over the armrest and touched my lips to her blushing cheek. Right where the dimple pinched her skin, my mouth met.

Her skin, like the finest velvet, under my lips. Fuck. I’d only lingered for a moment, knowing if I didn’t stop, I’d end up fucking her right there. And we had somewhere to be. Her grandparents were waiting.

But, before I could even move fully away, she’d been swiveling her body. Setting her eyes, once again, on the street ahead before she put the car in drive. Why is she pulling away so quickly? What do I mean to her?, I’d wondered. Still, those thoughts constantly cycled through my head. What did I mean to her? In that moment, my eyes had drifted to her thigh and my hand there. My hand. . . it looked so fucking good against her, holding her.

Underneath my hand, I could feel her muscles flex as she pressed down on the brake to keep the car in place. She’d been busy on her phone, thumbs moving as she scrolled. Without even glancing at the screen, I’d already known she was picking the perfect music to serenade us to our destination. Music was a big fuckin’ deal to y/n. And that was fucking heaven for me. The first thing about her that made me fall.

And now, it made my heart beat fast for one more reason. I know that she had our baby girl listening to the best damn music. Lavender would, naturally, love music. I knew it. And that made my heart fuckin' rush with an exhilarated sort of adulation.

The song she’d ended up choosing, I’d genuinely really liked. It hadn’t been my taste, per se, but it could’ve been. Reminded me of her and her very eclectic taste. This style, one she really loved. I'd noticed. Those songs heavy with the bass and rhythm. A true rhythm and blues admirer. The way the bass bumped against the speakers. And the rhythm, really fucking delicious. It made my head bob, foot tapping to keep in time. Good fuckin’ music, honestly. More Josh’s speed than mine. But, more than him, it really, truly reminded me of y/n.

And the fact that I correlated this type of music to her. . .made it even better to me than if I were to try to give it a shot for Josh. No, for y/n, I was willing to immerse myself in her taste of music. Just a way for me to swim even deeper into the crashing waves of her soul.

“I actually like this,” I’d commented, trying to make things seem okay. Because they were. Had to convince her. Was she doing okay? God, I hadn’t been able to tell. . .

She was worth knowing that her world was okay. That she was safe. She was worth all of that and more.

The summer had been one of the most incredible fantasies, come to life. Just a bit of a girl I wanted all of, but still. I’d gotten a bit. . . More than I could've gotten had I continued to dick around with her like the asshole I'd been before. So, I knew I'd treasure what I had gotten -forever. Though, frequently, back then when I'd have these thoughts, I’d reminded myself that she hadn’t wanted forever.

Nonetheless, I’d caught onto these little quirks she had. I'd decided, however long she’d give me the access to her soul, I'd use every moment I could to discover more, more, more. Because of this, I had started to really notice those minuscule moments where she’d begin to pull away. Even if she did want to pull away. Even if she didn’t want me, I’d still wanted to help her. All I wanted to do was make things easier for her. Be a safe place for her. Her muscle had seemed to relax under my touch once she’d started to drive. Though, I had not wanted to move my hand from her. In fact, I did what the fuck I could with our location. Even if I couldn’t lay her down, I could still appreciate her - her body. Communicate my care for her, to her with my touch.

I’d let my thumb twirl over her thigh, making thoughtful circles. She’d sighed, seemed to enjoy the attention. And when she’d done that, I’d known she was feeling better. So, I continued, urging her to talk to me. Always wanted to talk to her. “What’s it called?”

I paused the song on my phone int the Carmella's bathroom, the memory still so clear in my head. And, the title of it. . . Had she been telling me something? With the song? The title, subject matter of the track. . . Made me wonder. My mind was suddenly, in the present time, going insane at the possibility that she’d been telling me something with her song choice way back then. . . Had I been too much of a moron to realize? But - no. It didn’t matter now — was too late now.

Me, 10:17 p.m.: That night at your grandparents :) You played it on the way there

Me, 10:18 p.m.: I really did like the composition of it on your story. It’s gorgeous. Accompanies your picture real damn well 🔥

Y/n, 10:18 p.m.: 🤭I really love it too… I thought of something after I posted it, though.

Me, 10:19 p.m.: and what’s that?

Y/n, 10:19 p.m.: Something else happened right before I played that for you, too. Remember?

Yes. Fuck yes, I remembered the entire night. Every single detail.

I'd taken my time with her that night. Laid her on her back, her tits, laying just like always on her soft chest, so pretty, full, and supple. I'd taken one of her smooth thighs and held it up by my arm as I'd fucked her with raw passion. Slow thrusts, on my knees to get the best angle to feel every bit of her, to make sure she could feel me. . . Every whimper and whine and moan that had fallen from her lips that night, the praise and encouragement I'd given her for the sounds - a little more notable than before. A momentous occasion, I'd call it. It had just felt different for me. After I'd witnessed her, breaking down. . . openly crying and panicking - desperate for comfort - in her grandparents' hallway.

The noises she'd made, as I fucked her slow and deep, hitting every inch of her with a feverish force. I'd taken that night as an opportunity to use my body as a vessel - to help her truly understand the fact that I was a safe ground for her to fall on. I always wanted to be safe person for her. I could only hope she felt as safe with me as I longed for her to. Then, at the end, as she'd fallen apart, soaking my dick in her release, she'd moaned from the pit of her tummy to the depths of her chest. Almost like she felt that same relief from the new connection. That beautiful sound, forever a part of my walls. Like it should have been.

This newer, revered sort of dance that had started happening between our bodies. It had always been more with her than any other woman, but that one morning, with the songs - things had changed. She'd given me a glimpse of her head and heart and past. And then directly after that conversation, the way I'd held her body on the pallet of blankets. I'd watched her so closely, every line of her face one I wanted memorized for all time. And, I'd almost damn well spilled into her on that living room floor because I'd been so distracted by her face and her noises - fuck. And then. . . there was that night, after her grandparents'. Before and afterwards, she’d let me in, just a little more - opened up to me. In the hallway and then right there in my bed. As we’d laid in my bed, sweaty and fulfilled. Her hair fanned over my heaving chest, when she'd told me more details from her past. Told me enough that it had impacted me. I'd vowed to help her that night, and I'd kept that promise. Intended to keep it. As long as she'd let me.

But, now wasn't the time for reminiscing - my dick twitching in my pants, reminding me itself to get on with the fucking matter at hand. The memories of fucking her and the closeness - weren't doing me any favors. Goddamn. I needed her help. With one thing in particular. Soon.

Y/n, 10:20 p.m.: It was the night I got to see Maya for the first time. Realized you’d been seeing this fucking goddess of a woman for lessons all summer. Felt so insecure that you’d been around her for her lessons every week.

Again, with her assumptive fucking ass. Here we went. . .again.

Me, 10:20 p.m.: well. For one it wasn’t every week. She didn’t have lessons every week

Be easier on her, Jacob, a voice counseling me. One that sounded strangely like Josh.

Me, 10:20 p.m.: and two… I’m sorry you felt insecure… but there was never anything you needed to feel insecure about, honey

There were a few minutes between that text and her next one. . . I could only assume she was pondering something. Always in her damn head. I walked a fine line whenever she’d get like this. I always contemplated whether to insert myself in her thoughts to get them to shut up. Or, whether it was best to just let her think through it, so she could think and heal – uninterrupted.

She had to figure some of this shit out on her own (with Gia’s help, of course). . . But it didn’t mean it made it easy for me to just sit around and watch. I hated watching her, while also knowing she was spiraling. This was at least the slightest bit easier, though. . . Since I didn’t have to watch her pretty face fold in that way it would. Her brows scrunched, mouth puckered, or a straight line as she’d chew the inside of her lip or cheek. This incredible woman, rigid with cruel self doubt and years worth of confusion that was unraveling. I typed and deleted and re-typed a few things. . . But, after a minute of doing so, I decided I needed to give her space.

I’d learned there was little I could do to get her out of her headspaces, anyhow, so I usually just waited them out. . . Unless I found it was absolutely necessary for me to step in and battle the voices. Help her battle these hateful, never-ending thoughts. . . So, instead, I used my time for good and checked on that Ovia app she’d told me about. Checked on Lavender’s growth for the week. Just to remind myself of all of the terms. . . I checked this thing every fucking day. Wanted to know exactly what was going on with her little body.

Every time I'd checked the app, I'd read through the same paragraphs of information for that given week. The first paragraph of information for this week explained a bunch. Her neurons, making connections with her muscles. . . helping her to gain strength in her legs. . . Her arms and legs, in proportion with the rest of her tiny body, now. . . Only about nine inches long (at most). . . About nine ounces (again, at most). . . She was starting to become covered in a waxy substance called Vernix Caseosa, which protected her unharmed skin from any amniotic fluid. . .I was losing myself in my girl, completely forgetting about everything else for a minute as everything became about her. My body, the least of my concerns – losing speed and fucking forgotten as it all became about Lavender. But, I hadn’t been able to get much further than the first bit of information. Because, after refreshing my memory of a few of her developments, my phone was buzzing in my hands. Y/n’s name, at the top of my screen.

I gave a silent goodbye to Lavender as I went back to her mother.

Y/n, 10:23 p.m.: It’s fine. It’s in the past now. I just thought about that shit after I posted it… Sooo, I’m just glad I gave that shit a new correlation tonight. Now it belongs to being excited for my baby.

Her saying that made something in my mind click. It had clicked before, of course. The night we got high — first time I’d fully realized. Her own damn mouth, telling me so. . . And multiple times since, when she’d spoken of Maya. . . When she’d seen Maya that night, after the lesson — that had really been the beginning of the end for us. Knowing y/n, it made perfect sense for her to go down a rabbit hole at seeing Maya. Seeing how beautiful Maya was. . . Should have known y/n would take that the wrong way and compare herself. Why did she do that though? If only she would’ve known. No one had ever compared to her in my mind. Y/n's beauty was unparalleled.

I’d tried to explain it all to her. Tried real damn hard to communicate my feelings on it to her. . . Over and over. She just never listened. Or cared to listen to me. She’d chosen to be stubborn, give in to the harshness of her thoughts. . . continued to do so. And now. . . I was with Maya. In a very serious relationship with her. And y/n was being very clear about it being the past. She had no desire to discuss it. No desire to approach the shit that had come from that night she’d seen Maya for the first time.

Now my mind was spinning with the following weeks. The one truly positive thing that had followed was the night we’d conceived Lavender. The night we'd gotten high. . . Then how it’d all fuckin' downspiraled. . . With no way for me to stop it. No competing with y/n’s stubborn insecurities and persistent moments of self-deprecation. . . That only led to self-destruction. I’d had no chance to get through. Her mind had been made up and everything had changed. Those weeks after, when I’d taken time to fall for Maya, after y/n had closed herself off completely. . . I hadn’t wanted to look at her, she'd hurt me so damn bad. But. . . I hadn’t wanted to leave the apartment, either. Even with more money, I’d wanted to stay close to her. I was fucked in the brain. Stupid.

But I’d been desperate for her — all the while, heartbroken and lost and confused. And she hadn’t given two fucks about any of it. And that was a paramount reason I'd stayed with Maya. She was consistent. Nothing to question about her intentions with me. While y/n had ignored me, Maya had been there to pick up every single piece - just like she'd been there for me before. . . after my first heartbreak.

The same woman as before. . . Maya was always. the. same. Except this time, Maya and I hadn't been 'the same'. We’d become more. It meant more to me than aimlessly fucking a ridiculously hot woman against and on every solid surface of her giant home. Because the relationship with y/n had been different than the relationship with Amelia. After Amelia, I'd believed love was nothing more than a social construct to destroy the human mind. Stopped believing in it. Because I'd realized that I hadn't actually been in love with Amelia for a long while. She'd been a high school girlfriend that I'd tried to extend past high school.

That was why y/n had made me so angry at first. When we'd first met. I hadn't wanted to be in love again because I hadn't thought love was real. And she'd shown me, so damn quickly, that I'd been dead wrong about love. Because, with y/n, I felt it all. Exponential. Otherworldly. An astronomical and cosmic connection, only designed in the stars for us to find. A purposeful accident, finding true love. I'd been destined to find y/n. Everything had led me to her, it'd seemed. Love had been real. A way of life, not a pointless, hollow sensation like I'd believed before her.

So, after y/n, I'd been so hungry to find that connection with someone else. I'd been embarrassed and ashamed that I'd fallen so hard for a woman that hadn't felt the same for me. . . . At least not enough to fight for me. I'd known love was real this time. And I'd needed to find it with someone else to erase the marks y/n had carved into my heart. So, who better than a woman I'd already gotten to know, just a little, over the summer? And even better that she'd been someone that made y/n jealous. That had been an asshole move, yes. But, wise decisions weren't ever made with a genuinely broken heart. Though, I'd come to quickly find that the love I'd felt with y/n was exclusive to y/n. I'd found a love in Maya, but not the same as y/n. I didn't want to admit that I loved her anymore. I'd worked to erase that. . . But my love for Maya's just paled in comparison to the love I'd felt for y/n.

So, while y/n had lose some of me, she hadn't lost all of me. She still had me. A big fuckin’ piece. Always would. And no, the ‘piece’ of me wasn’t our Lavender. Our Lavender really just worked as an additional metaphor for how much of me y/n truly had. . . I was an eternal fool for y/n.

But. . . Not completely. I wasn’t fool enough to risk my heart in her hands again. Because, well. She’d proven she didn’t want to fight for me. She didn’t want to listen. She hadn’t listened to me.

And, at the moment, I had to reject the overwhelming urge to make this conversation become any more than it was. . . Reject the urge to fight for her. When I wasn’t sure she’d ever do it for me. We’d lost that. That chance. Because I was with Maya now. And I didn’t want to make that shit change. That stability. Not for the very real possibility that y/n would only ever repeatedly say no to me. All for the sake of her own damned pride or whatever the fuck. . . Hell, her lack of love for me, perhaps? I really did still question the hell out of that shit. All I knew for sure was that the woman I was currently with loved me. And I loved her. Fuck yes I loved Maya. Who wouldn’t?

But. . . when I glanced down at the screen, my heart was no longer on Maya. Because I saw a word. An important word. That nine ounce little girl. . . whose arms and legs were finally proportional with her body. . . This word that brought me back, crawling on my knees like a lost puppy, to y/n. Because on top of being so much to me, she was also the mother of my child. . . A fucking superwoman. Just had to correct her phrase. . .

Me, 10:25 p.m.: our baby… :)

Y/n, 10:25 p.m.: Yes. Of course. Our baby. :)😘

Ridiculous as it was, I had to resist the urge to cry. I had never felt this effect from a woman until her. This incessant, perpetual longing. A longing that hurt, yet felt so fulfilling, all at once. And it just continued to be true; because, no matter how mad she made me, my dick was still plenty hard. Only for her. It was still ready, for something it wasn’t going to get tonight. I was literally staying rock fuckin' solid at the simple, pathetic fact that she was texting me. And, with barely any time to process it, she was texting me again.

Y/n, 10:26 p.m.: By the way… you mentioned you’re in the bathroom?

Y/n, 10:26 p.m.: …are you still?

Didn’t know where this was going, but it took me no time to respond. My dick twitched in anticipation. . . Getting harder again, coming back to life fully with almost zero assistance. . . Sorcery.

Me, 10:27 p.m.: yep. All because of YOUR damn picture. Fuckin ridiculous. All your damn fault

Y/n, 10:28 p.m.: Well, you got your fucking revenge, Jacob. I had to go to the damn bathroom after YOUR picture. And those texts… about fucking me??? Damn it, Jacob. Thank god for family stalls.

Me, 10:28 p.m.: you’re telling me lol

Y/n, 10:29 p.m.: And a safety rail to lean my ass against… better angle for my fingers. Humiliating as fuck, but. It's what I have. You knew you’d do this to me, Jacob Thomas… 😒

And… my hand was going to hold my dick. Yet again. The back of my head hit the wall of the one stall. This was torture. My dick was red fuckin' hot with this aggravating need for her. . .

Me, 10:29 p.m.: damn straight I knew that shit, baby. You gonna fuck yourself well with those fingers for me? Make that pussy ache a little more for me?

I stroked my dick slowly. But, as good as it felt, it could only be so enjoyable. My hand was not even nearly soft enough to replicate her hands. Fuck me. I needed her.

Y/n, 10:29 p.m.: Fuck, Jake. Yes… So wet for you, baby. Gonna do the best I can to pretend my fingers are your dick... but I know they won’t even fucking compare. Miss it so bad... Been so long.

God. My fist tightened around myself, desperate for the pressure. Still wasn’t enough. I could feel sweat, accumulating at my hairline. My hair, sticking to my neck as my breath came out in hot puffs. I was a mess.

Y/n, 10:30 p.m.: And… you were right when you said I started it. Really fucking loved wearing your shirt. Made me miss you more than I already was. And I just had to include you in those pictures somehow… 💜

Fuck. The heart? And she was admitting that she missed me? Today had been a clusterfuck of emotions. . . My heart was barely holding on. . .She was so damn special to me. And I needed her so desperately at this moment. Hated the stupid ass result of last night.

Me, 10:31 p.m.: I miss you baby. So damn bad

She didn’t respond to that right away. It made me worry for a hot damn minute about whether or not I’d said too much and freaked her out. . . But I didn’t sit there for too long. Made myself gather my thoughts so we could finish this damn thing. My dick was begging me to do something about it. Matter at hand, Jacob.

Me, 10:34 p.m.: so that post...

Y/n, 10:34 p.m.: What about it?

Her instantaneous response reassured me that I hadn’t needed to worry, so that made it easy for me to pick up exactly where I wanted. . . Start us down the path that I was desperate to go down.

Me, 10:35 p.m.: let’s talk about you wearing my shirt

Y/n, 10:35 p.m.: Let’s.

Me, 10:35 p.m.: you wore it for me? Thought about me every time you spread your pretty legs for those pictures?

Y/n, 10:35 p.m.: Jake. Let’s just say it’s safe to assume that if I post myself in that type of position, it’s for you. Whether I’m in your clothes or not… 😶

Y/n, 10:36 p.m.: I really did think about you the whole time I was taking them…

Hell fuckin’ right she thought about me. . . .

Me, 10:36 p.m.: oh yeah?

Y/n, 10:36 p.m.: Yeah. Your shirt felt so good against my nipples, baby… :( Might sound weird, but...

My hand squeezed tight at the base, flexing intermittently to get some mild relief. Then, I skated to the top, massaging only my tip. . . Imagined her mouth. How good it would feel to have my dick, about ready to bust, pressed between her tits. . .

Me, 10:37 p.m.: fuck, y/n. Not weird at all baby. I hope to god it helped you in some way. Hated leaving your beautiful body last night

Y/n, 10:38 p.m.: Not my favorite situation. But it is what it is.

Me, 10:38 p.m.: is what it is

Yeah, Jake. It is what it fuckin’ is and it will continue to be like this if you don’t get a damn move on.

Me, 10:39 p.m.: so my shirt… did you get yourself off after you took those? Wearing it?

Y/n, 10:39 p.m.: No, actually… :( Went to dinner with Elsie and Josh right after taking them. No time. Didn’t help that they made me wait for pictures while they had a damn quickie… lol. Got behind on time… no time for my imagination to go as wild as I wanted…

Me, 10:40 p.m.: those fuckers…

Y/n, 10:40 p.m.: Literally. Hahah :p

I glanced at the time at the top of my phone. . . I’d been in here for forty minutes. . . If this didn’t already look suspicious, god knew it was about to. . . If I didn’t get the fuck out of here and back to that table.

Me, 10:40 p.m.: but you had all that time while they were doing that shit… had you already been in my shirt?

Y/n, 10:41 p.m.: No. :( I would’ve taken that opportunity to get off to you, wearing your clothes… right in the spot you fucked me with your mouth last night.

God help me. My dick throbbed in my hand. I felt it – that familiar sensation. . . . But I needed something more. I wasn’t going to finish until I had what I wanted from her. . . And I knew exactly what it was that I wanted.

Y/n, 10:41 p.m.: Promise I would have done it… 🤞

Me, 10:42 p.m.: prove it, then

Y/n, 10:42 p.m.: How the fuck am I supposed to do that? I don’t have your shirt.

Me, 10:42 p.m.: you damn well know how, sweetheart

Y/n, 10:42 p.m.: Oh, do I?

My lips curled into a wry smile, my hand pausing on my cock to focus on her attitude. . . She was something else. And I needed her to quit with this shit before I decided to really take it out on her tomorrow night. . . She wouldn’t even know what was coming when I’d finally have the chance to walk through our front door. . .

Me, 10:43 p.m.: y/n. Baby. tell me what the fuck you’re wearing before I stop playing nice.

Y/n, 10:43 p.m.: You act as though I’m not pregnant with your child. Show me some respect.

What she didn’t realize (or, maybe she did) was that there wasn’t a single woman that I respected more than her. She had all of my respect held in the palms of her pretty hands. Right where she held my useless heart. Her mind, her unparalleled beauty, her immaculate body. . .Fuck. I needed her. Every bit of her. My hand itched to continue its ministrations. . . But I had to get her to work with me.

Me, 10:44 p.m.: y/n. Dammit. I know you are and that shit turns me the fuck on. You know this. Jesus fuck.

Me, 10:44 p.m.: it’s why I’m in this bathroom with my hand down my pants right now. The fact that you put that gorgeous body that’s holding my baby on display... You’re making me wait and you know damn well how all of this is making me feel. How your body makes me feel...

Y/n, 10:45 p.m.: Do I?

Her little games were doing something real damn bad to me. I dropped my dick with an exhausted huff. I grasped my phone in both of my hands, willing my dick to be patient. If I kept playing with myself, I wasn’t going to last worth shit. And I needed to fucking last. She needed to stop. . . . Was walking a real fragile line with me right now. . .

Me, 10:45 p.m.: if you ask me that question one more damn time…..

Me, 10:45 p.m.: seriously. Need I give you a play by play of last night? Did I not make that shit stick? Did my mouth not do a good enough job for you? Seemed to, but seems like you’re not thinking about how well I treated you… hm?

Y/n, 10:46 p.m.: Fuck, Jake. Of course it stuck. I can still feel you between my thighs… So damn wet for you right now. Have been since you left. I just... NEED you. I don't think you understand the dire need, baby. I’m fucking miserable as hell that you’re not here. Need you so damn bad.

Me, 10:46 p.m.: there we go, sweetheart…

The fuck I didn't understand. I understood real damn well. I couldn’t get her sweet taste out of my mouth if I had tried. Fuck that dessert tray. After last night, I was completely convinced that there was nothing on this planet as sweet as her. Intoxicating. Addicting. My entire body was on edge for her and the things her body could do. . . If I, god forbid, never had her again, I’d spend the rest of my days searching for a taste so sweet. It would be a fruitless outcome, though. Only she could ever satisfy such an intense craving.

Y/n, 10:47 p.m.: And that damn shirt was nothing compared to your mouth.

Me, 10:47 p.m.: I hope the fuck it wasn’t. I don’t want anything else on your body that makes you feel as good as my mouth does

Y/n, 10:48 p.m.: You don’t need to worry about that, baby. I’m not the one on a date with my girlfriend, now am I?

And there she was again, walking that extremely fragile line. . . .

Me, 10:48 p.m.: watch it

She was quick with her response to that. Seemed like she’d been waiting for it.

Y/n, 10:48 p.m.: Why? When I’m going to have to think about HER getting you off all fucking night? Nothing against her, but… damn it. The idea of another woman on you makes me want to tear down this entire establishment.

Fuck. My dick was pleading for attention from me. The way she’d said all of that made me want to drop everything and go to her. . . . Let her be the woman with my dick in her mouth. God only knew I wanted her to be the woman doing that. . . At least for tonight. Didn’t want anyone else.

Y/n, 10:49 p.m.: These pregnancy hormones are no joke. Lol.

Yeah. . . and neither was the idea of leaving my girlfriend, high and dry in her hometown. Knew I couldn’t do that shit. So, y/n needed to do what she could from there to prove to me that she could be the woman getting me off. . . Do what she could to make me reach that peak. . . It wasn’t impossible. Not at all.

Me, 10:50 p.m.: Y/n. Maya does not have to be the one getting me off tonight… I’m talking to YOU for a reason. I’ve left her at the damn table for you

Y/n, 10:50 p.m.: What does she think you’re doing??

Me, 10:50 p.m.: the fuck does that matter?

Y/n, 10:50 p.m.: It matters.

Dear god.

Me, 10:51 p.m.: she thinks I’m talking to Josh

Y/n, 10:51 p.m.: ??? This entire time?!

Y/n, 10:51 p.m.: Jacob Thomas Kiszka. Get back out to the table. Jesus.

This woman was surely mistaken if she believed I was about to move out of this bathroom in this state. Absolutely fuckin’ not. Besides. . . I didn’t want to follow her instructions. I’d told her this.

Me, 10:52 p.m.: what did I tell you about telling me what to do?

Y/n, 10:52 p.m.: What the fuck are you going to do about it from there, smartass? I don’t need her to find out you’re talking to me and be mad at me. So, please. It’s Christmas. Supposed to avoid the negative shit at this time of year.

If Maya were to find out (god, please, no) and wanted to be mad at y/n, that would be fucking ridiculous. I wouldn’t let her be mad at y/n over this. If she were to say something, I would correct that shit right away. But she wasn’t going to find out it was y/n I was speaking to. . . Wanted to keep this thing a secret, so it could last as long as possible. . . Just like summertime, if this was what I was going to get with y/n (all she'd give and all I’d let myself have, too), I wanted to savor it.

Me, 10:52 p.m.: why would I do that yet when I haven’t gotten what I wanted?

Y/n, 10:53 p.m.: What is it that you want? Want me to talk to you until you finish? Let's get it done, then. So you can go back to the table.

Okay, the fucking attitude needed to stop.

Me, 10:53 p.m.: jesus. Don’t think you could sound more thrilled if you tried

Y/n, 10:53 p.m.: Well, I’m pissed, Jake. Pissed that this isn't happening in person. Pissed that I couldn’t do it last night. Pissed you’re not here still. Wanna get down on my knees for you more than anything. Suck that pretty cock clean...Fuck! But all I can do is WISH I fucking could. Like an idiot. It all just pisses me the fuck off.

Y/n, 10:54 p.m.: Happy?

Damn. I was just relieved we were, apparently, in the same damn boat.

Me, 10:54 p.m.: well, no. I’m not ‘happy’ at all... I’m pissed about all of that too

Y/n, 10:54 p.m.: Just hate that we have to do this through the phone. It sucks and it’s stupid.

Me, 10:54 p.m.: and I agree with that too... I’m sorry baby :(

Y/n, 10:55 p.m.: Not your fault her dad lives twelve hours away. Ha :/

Me, 10:55 p.m.: What can I do for you? Wanna help you feel better now. First. Now that I know you're as sad as I am. Need you to be better...

Y/n, 10:55 p.m.: Um, no…? I wanna help YOU, Jake. However I can, from here. I need to be the one to please you, baby. Let me.

And, like an asshole, I couldn't deny her. Wanted to hold true to my word, but. . . She'd gotten me here, after all.

Me, 10:55 p.m.: oh yeah?

Y/n, 10:56 p.m.: Baby, I take f u l l responsibility for being the one that caused you to be in that damn bathroom. And I intend on NOT letting anyone else see you through it… That dick is MINE to take care of right now and I promise I’ll do it well.

Well then. If she could prove to be a good girl, she’d be able to see me through it. . . And my dick was absolutely hers. She was damn right.

Y/n, 10:56 p.m.: What can I do for you, baby?

My hand jerked against my dick at the mere thought of what I was about to ask her for. . . Had been thinking about them all night. . .

Me, 10:57 p.m.: I wanna see those beautiful tits… need to see ALL of you

Y/n, 10:57 p.m.: Go look at your girlfriend’s.

The way my eyebrow raised at my screen. The scoff that left my lips, entirely provoked by her behavior. . . She was testing me. Not being good for me. . . So, I’d test her right back. See if she truly wanted to be a little tease. . . And I was genuinely wondering. . . Wasn’t sure what exactly she was doing with this. I assumed she was playing around, but. . . Just in case.

Me, 10:58 p.m.: is that really what you want me to do?

Her response was instantaneous.

Y/n, 10:58 p.m.: Not at all.

Okay. Was just being a little tease, then. . . Had a feeling. Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming. . .

Me, 10:59 p.m.: that’s what I thought. Don't be a fucking brat, baby... you know better

Me, 10:59 p.m.: Yes I do... I'm sorry. 🧎‍♀️

Oh. On her knees? Fuck. If only she were fucking here. Before she took any picture, I had to know. So, with a swift thumb, I began my burning question.

Me, 10:59 p.m.: tell me first…

Y/n, 10:59 p.m.: Anything.

Don’t say that. Fuck.

Me, 11:00 p.m.: you still wearing that lacy thing from your picture? Under your clothes? I could see the entire outline of your nipples through that bra… And those panties did very, very little to hide you…

Damn I wanted to get possessive so badly. Kept typing and re-typing. . . But. . . I had literally zero say in that considering I chose to not be with her. It was just. . . the more I thought about how revealing that shit was — how it hadn’t been for only me. I wanted her to know that sense of jealousy. Wanted her to know how my stomach twisted at the thought of anyone else seeing her like that. Wanted her for my eyes only. But I knew that was not right and not the move. Sometimes, I was ashamed of the way my brain worked. . . Stupid ass shit that came with the chemically wired male brain. It was what I always accredited feelings like that to. At the end of the day, I was only a man. A man who was weak for her. . . and that body was just too damn beautiful for me to be willing to share it. But I had to be okay with sharing it. She wasn’t mine. And she could flaunt that body if she wanted. Whether we were together or not.

Y/n, 11:02 p.m.: That was the point ;)

When my phone buzzed next, my eyes went to the time. And my stomach fell. Because, fuck. It was already past 11:00? I couldn’t even take time to appreciate her text. Because, when I'd glanced at the time, I'd felt like shit momentarily. This had taken much longer than I’d initially intended. . .I needed to finish this. And while I loved her flirtiness, my question was still hanging in the air and I needed an answer before we moved on.

Me, 11:02 p.m.: you still haven’t answered me.

Y/n, 11:02 p.m.: What was the question, again? Must’ve forgotten.

Me, 11:03 p.m.: why are you playing dumb with me? do you seriously enjoy putting me through this?

Y/n, 11:03 p.m.: 🤭

She was so goddamn cute. Only y/n could succeed in making emoji reactions cute. Never felt like that before her about the stupid ass yellow faces.

Me, 11:03 p.m.: well. Since you won’t answer me about the lace… I think the least you could do for me is let me see your tits

Y/n, 11:04 p.m.: Jesus. A bit needy, aren’t we?

Me, 11:04 p.m.: a bit patronizing, aren’t you?

Seriously? Out of everything, the word patronizing was going to burst her bubble? I could only guess that was why I was left on read for two solid minutes.

Y/n, 11:06 p.m.: 🙄 oh yeah? Patronizing? Asshole.

Yep.

Me, 11:06 p.m.: 😒 dear god, y/n

Y/n, 11:06 p.m.: Practice a little patience, Jacob. You really don’t think you’ll get what you want?

Patience? I had given her nothing but patience. I didn’t even have time for patience at the time being, but I’d damn well given it to her. Had no choice.

God, no girl had ever put me in such a state. I felt utterly pathetic standing in a fucking bathroom, stroking myself because of the unrelenting desire I felt for her. And the little game she was playing with me. . . She knew what she was doing to me. She was no fool. I swallowed what little saliva was left in my dry mouth when I watched those little bubbles appear under her last text. Waiting, patiently, to see those incredible tits that nothing could compare to. . . Because apparently, I was going to get what I wanted. . . The pure anticipation of seeing them pop up on the screen of my phone had my cock pulsing, throbbing. Fuck. I needed her so bad – it was hurting me. What the fuck had she done to me?

Y/n, 11:08 p.m.: Here you go, baby 😘

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

But – I stood there for a bit. . . wondering why I was seeing only words. No picture. Had to be the fucking cell service. Why was the service such shit in this goddamned bathroom at this very moment? Several seconds, too many seconds passed. . . as I waited for the next text from her to come through.

And when it finally did. . . God, such a little fucking tease.

Me, 11:09 p.m.: y/n.

Y/n, 11:09 p.m.: Yes? ;)

Me, 11:09 p.m.: you know what I want, sweetheart…

Y/n, 11:10 p.m.: I was just answering your question about the lace piece... AND I showed my boobs. Just like you asked… I’m confused… Is that not what you wanted? 🤔

Well, she was right about that. She certainly answered my question. She was still donning that pretty black lace. Almost sheer enough to see what I was craving. Almost. Enough to make my dick ache all the more. So impossibly fucking hard for her. I needed more.

The way she’d pulled her sweater below her tits, using her forearm to push them up, covering herself just enough with it that I couldn’t see everything the bra's material could’ve shown me. . . . Still, I bit my lip and willed my dick to calm down. Just the thought of her bare tits was enough to get me off. I had to see them. . . Nothing less. Couldn’t go the rest of the godforsaken night without having a photo of her tits to get me through it.

Me, 11:11 p.m.: come on, baby... you know that’s not what the fuck I want. I need to see ALL of you... you give me what I want and I'll return the favor...

I wanted to be pissed. But, fucking hell. I just couldn’t. She was my kryptonite. The sweat was pooling on my palms. My phone was threatening to slip out of one hand, the other gripped tight around my dick, imagining it was her instead. (Fucking hilarious that I was even trying to imagine it was her — she had the warmest fucking pussy. . . And so damn wet now that she was pregnant. Couldn’t even explain how incredible that was, by the way - not even to myself.)

Y/n, 11:12 p.m.: Yeah? And what might that favor be?

Jesus. I could hear her saying that to me. Hushed and sultry, the sexiest voice I’d ever known. Especially in these types of moments. She’d adopt a little rasp to her tone, just enough that her velvet voice would deepen just a bit. It took everything in me to not just call her. Listen to that pretty voice while I look at her incredible tits. I knew I couldn’t, though. This shit was risky enough. Couldn’t add her another layer to it.

Me, 11:12 p.m.: well, you seemed awfully bent out of shape over not getting to see all of my dick… we help each other out in this little mess we’ve created?

Y/n, 11:13 p.m.: Oh, so now you’re bribing me… Lucky enough for you, I’m not opposed to a little bribery. Especially if it means I get what I want.

What she wants. Fuck.

Y/n, 11:13 p.m.: And yes. Seeing your dick is exactly what I want right now, so.... 😘 Just give me a sec, k?

I couldn’t bring myself to type another fucking word. All I could do was wait, stroke myself slowly in anticipation for her next message. That blinking ellipses. . . taunting me as I used every bit of my strength to not crumble. I had to hold myself the fuck together.

And then. . . The photo finally came in.

Those perfect, gorgeous tits on the screen of my phone. Fuck. No matter how many times I’d seen them, it was like the first time every time. The most beautiful set of full tits. Fuckin' stacked. She'd pushed them up with her forearm that rested beneath them. Her right hand cupping her left breast, fingers touching the perked nipple. And the right one, fully bare and exposed. Those tits. . . so round, always the perfect size to hold in the palm of my hand . . . But, now, big enough that they spilled from my grip. . . Just enough to make my dick throb at the thought. God, I could feel those pretty tits against my fingertips. . . In my mouth. So fucking soft. I pumped my dick, taking careful consideration for how close I was as I took in the entire image.

What I loved about the photo just as much, if not more than her chest, was that I could see the lower half of her face. Her rosy lips, kissable as fuck, curved in the sexiest little half-smile. Her bottom lip tucked deliciously under perfect teeth. Jesus, fuck. I felt myself getting close, starting under my belly button, my balls tightening to the point of pain. But only the best kind of pain, of course. . . Just wished she was here to hold them in her hand. . . My dick felt hot, pulsing in my grip. . . I could feel it coming.

Y/n, 11:15 p.m.: Well? I think I deserve to see what that ^^ did to you… ;)

Me, 11:15 p.m.: you sure as fuck do, baby

Just like before, I opened the camera in our text thread and positioned the phone just right. Not much different than before, only I made sure that this time, she’d be able to really see what the fuck she’d done to me. How it was even worse than before. How close I was. . . She’d been a good girl and she deserved to see just how good.

I was twitching ridiculously from this little game we had started with each other. And if I were to be honest with myself, the pure fucking risk of it all only made it so much worse. My goddamned girlfriend only feet away from me. Nothing more than a few walls and a door to separate us. I knew it was wrong. And I knew I should've cared about that a lot more than I fucking did. But when it came to y/n, Maya became nothing more than the girl that was there to help me get over her. Clearly, that wasn’t working worth fucking shit. Y/n made that little dream fucking impossible.

I pulled my briefs down just enough. Enough that I could free myself from the tight material. I snapped the photo the same as I had before, letting my sweater lift to give a clear view of my lower stomach on down. I gripped my cock with my hand once again, hissing through my teeth as I did so. One wrong touch, and I was done for. . .

Y/n, 11:17 p.m.: Oh, fuck… you’re so close, aren’t you, baby? Poor thing… 🙁

Me, 11:17 p.m.: y/n… I’ve been close since you posted that picture lol

Y/n, 11:17 p.m.: Well, then… You ready to let go for me?

Me, 11:17 p.m.: never been more ready for any other fuckin thing in my life…

Except, the next thing that showed up on my screen wasn’t a text. . . No, she was fucking calling me - what I’d been too much of a coward to do, she was doing it for me. Without even realizing how badly I'd wanted it - she just knew me. Wanted the same as me. Fuck. My heart started hammering in my fuckin’ chest the moment I saw that beautiful name show up, along with the photo of her from the summer, filling up the whole damn screen. . .Hearing her voice was bound to set me off. . . And I was damn ready for it, so I pressed that green button.

“Thought it might help to hear my voice,” she began, her tone bright, but more sultry than anything. It instantly captivated me — just like I knew it would. “Have you spit in your hand yet?”

Shit. No. I hadn’t. “Not yet,” I breathily laughed in response, before doing just that. When my hand was wet, I let it wrap around my dick once more. . . Felt much better. But, still. “Not as good as your pussy, though, baby.”

“Yeah,” she responded, her breath hitching on a bit of a whine. Fuck. Was she—? At the same time—? Oh, I fucking hoped to god she was. “Tell me about it. . .”

“Y/n,” I said, questioning and stern all at once. Wanted her to listen to me. Needed her to stop what she was doing so she could hear me. It was about damn time she did something I asked of her.

“What, Jake?” She sighed, with a huff. Sounded irritated. Good.

“Oh. . .,” I began, ready to correct her attitude. “You’re about to behave as if you’re the one who’s been jacking off to your picture for the past hour?”

“Almost as long,” she snapped back. She was frustrated. . . Right where I wanted her.

Before I replied, I heard a noise in the background of her call. It sounded like a hand smacking against skin. What in the—? “What was that?”

“I was just making sure it was clear to you, Jacob, that I am not about to be bossed around by you,” she said, each word in its own breath. She was making a point, it seemed. “It was the hand that’s been shoved between my legs. Slapped my thigh with it because I’m impatient.”

“Well, me fuckin’ too. No need to act like such a damn brat,” I said with an intentional edge in my tone. “I was simply saying your name to ask if you were touching yourself already. Seems you were, hm?”

“I’m a horny woman with pregnancy hormones that escalate at lightning speed, Jacob,” she responded, not taking my shit for a second. (And, I had to say, I really liked it.) “My skin was all tingly at the table at the idea of what you were doing. . . It led to me to the damn restroom. Pulling my pants down as soon as I was in here.”

“Touché,” I agreed with a grin. “Except for the pregnancy hormones part. . . Don’t have those.”

Why was I stalling? My dick was hard in my stilled hand, pulsing in my fist. . . And I’d been ignoring it. It was also late and I needed to get to my girlfriend. Couldn’t help this, though. . . I just wanted to revel in the sound of her voice. Wanted to simply talk to her. No sex. Just us.

But, my body wasn’t going to let me forget about the very present problem at my groin. So, as not to reject the need, I let my hand glide. My steady fist, readily pumping myself before I was addressing her again. “Go ahead and begin again. . . We’ll talk each other through it, baby,” I said with a heavy breath that turned to a grunt with one particular press of my fist to the tip. Now that I could hear her voice, I’d made up my mind that I needed her to get there before me.

“Thank you,” she breathed, relieved. Her breathing was picking up on the other end of the call. The sound made my dick feel as though it was getting impossibly harder. But that definitely wasn’t possible, so I knew it just meant that one tiny jerk meant I was going to crumble. “Miss you so much, Jake,” the words left her lips on a choked sob, my name nothing but a whimper.

So. . . She’d really been waiting for my permission? Damn. . . Just wanted her under me right fucking now. Life wasn’t fair. “Yeah? Why don’t you help me understand how much, sweetheart,” I urged her, knowing I was close to finishing and just wanted to hear her voice again.

“Let’s just say, whether I finish or not tonight–.”

“You will,” I interrupted, with zero room for argument in my tone. “I will stay in this bathroom as long as I need to get you off, baby. Don’t you worry.”

And I meant every damn word. Her finishing came before everything else at the moment. Including myself. . . Which was a lot to say since, at the moment, I knew I’d explode if I were to be breathed on the wrong way. I let go of my cock to spit in my hand again, before bringing it back down to wrap around me. I gasped at the touch of it, but tried to keep a cool front for y/n.

“Jacob,” she said suddenly, insistent with the utterance of my name. “Let me fucking finish what I was going to say,” she paused, seemingly waiting for me to talk. But I was not going to. “I was saying. . . whether I finish tonight or not, it won’t matter. Because I know I can only do so much to myself. It will be nothing like what you’d do for me. . . I’m still going to be a mess. Makes me want to scream.”

My lips turned up in a sly, yet doleful close-lipped grin. “It’s okay, baby,” I began, attempting to reassure her when I felt the same exact way. “Because, either way, you’re gonna be soaking those fingers and that’s what matters to me. . . And my name is going to be the one falling off of your lips,” I took a second to let that sink in. I heard her push air through her lips, breathing heavily before a moan of acknowledgement. But it wasn't enough for me. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Jake. I promise I understand. I promise, baby,” she gasped. All I could hear were her sharp breaths as she repeated the promise. I imagined how frantically she was moving those fingers. I knew now how much honesty she spoke when she told me of how difficult those pregnancy hormones were. Knew just how high her libido was. . . . .

“How close are you, sweetheart?” I said, holding myself and only giving my dick attention if I felt it twitch. Needed her to get there.

Before she even began to speak, she was huffing on the other end before she let out a little whimpering noise that had my balls tensing in a way that made me realize I had to let go of my dick for a moment before something else might occur. Not yet.

“I am so close. Was close before I even got to the bathroom. The knowledge of you getting off to that picture alone had my panties wet,” she explained, making a groan release from deep in my chest. I encouraged her to continue, giving myself a swift pump before she began speaking again. “Wish I could explain – just want to crawl out of my skin with this need for you,” she said on a labored breath before she was whining again. Fuck. Hand off of the dick, Jake. “When I tell you I’m miserable for you, Jake. . . I have never experienced these feelings before now. There is nothing in the world that will be able to stop me from coming if we keep– fuck. Yes,” she whimpered, before practically growling. I knew that noise; she'd hit a spot. Fuck yes. “I’m just waiting for you to give me the word, to talk me to the edge. . . Want you to do it.”

“Fuck, y/n. . . That’s–.”

“Let’s just say - I learned something new about my body last night. . . my damn clit - you've made it pulsate in a way I didn’t know it could,” she gasped on a breath, her little noises coming through the line, and into my ear, beautifully. “I can’t touch it until you’re ready for me to finish because once I do, it’s over. So embarrassing. . . I can’t believe I’m this wound up.”

“It suits you, baby. . . Love when you’re so damn needy and desperate for me,” I said on a mewl that quickly translated to a growl. My hand was itching to touch my dick, and I couldn’t resist the single stroke I gave myself before continuing. I groaned when I let go of myself again. “You want me so damn bad, hm? Tell me how badly you want this, y/n. . .”

“I just did, Jacob,” she replied, frustration clearly marking every single word.

“Oh? You’re going to use that tone?” The voice in my head seemed to judge me, in agreement with my dick - and the time on the damn clock - that we were cutting it real damn short. Come on, Jake. . . We don’t have time for the games, dude. . .

But – I couldn’t give it to her if she wasn’t going to be good. She knew better.

“I’m s-sorry, babe. I just–I can’t–,” she purred, apparently hitting another sensitive spot. . . had me wishing I was the one hitting the inside of her like that. God knew I could go much deeper than those fingers. Stretch her wider. “I want you so badly that I would run on my own two feet all of the way to South Carolina right fucking now if I were a crazy person. There. I said it. And it’s the truth, Jake. Humiliating as fuck.”

“I’d do the same damn thing for you, sweet girl,” I replied, my heart lodged in my throat and dick at the thought. “Now. . . how wet are those fingers?”

“S-soaked,” she gasped back, my ear tingling at the tremor in the word.

“How many do you have inside of you right now?” I asked, not able to help it when my head fell back against the wall. Couldn’t touch my dick yet – was punishing myself for the sake of her pleasure. But it was worth every second of denial.

“Only one. ‘M s-so tight, Jake.”

Fuck. Me. I knew how goddamn tight she was. But. . . “I fuckin’ know you are, baby. . . Just like you should be. But, do you think you could fit one more finger in there for me?”

“Don’t know, Jake,” she choked before releasing a trembling whimper. “But I’ll try. For you.”

“Good girl,” I encouraged her before eyeing my angry fuckin' dick. That motherfucker was hanging on for dear life.

“I did it. Two,” she breathed before letting out a strangled groan. “F-feels so good. . .”

My cock was past the point of strain – in need of my grip. So, I went ahead and spit in my hand again before wrapping a hand at the base, moving at a torturously slow speed to the tip.

“Oh, baby. . . I’m so damn proud of you,” I moaned, unable to reject the way ‘proud’ trickled pathetically from my lips.

“‘M gonna cum like this, Jake,” she said with a trembling, needy whine. “I will. . . Promise.”

“Full of so many promises, aren’t you?” I pushed her, letting my hand continue its agonizing pace against myself. “Do you promise your tight pussy will still be ready for me when I get home? Gotta keep that shit ready for me. . .”

“Oh, yes, Jake. I will be because I know– shit. You’re s-so– so damn thick. I– Fuck!” She let out an intense cry that would’ve scared me if I didn’t know better. I knew exactly what it meant when she got this loud. . . Could only mean one thing. “Jake, baby– I’m g-gonna– but want you to– before–.”

“No fuckin’ way, sweetheart,” I interrupted her, sweat dripping down my forehead from the utter exertion required of me to wait. But I wouldn’t before her. “I’m not going to cum until I know your thighs are soaked with everything you have. . .”

“No, Jacob Thomas,” she argued back, voice suddenly sharper than it had been for the past several minutes. She’d found some sort of strength in her and I heard that damned slap against her thigh again, in the background of the call. Goddammit, y/n. “No fucking way am I going to not cum at the same time as you. I won’t finish this unless you finish with me.”

Okay, that option was starting to sound pretty appealing. . . My cock was a ticking time bomb in my hands, just waiting for the word to bust. . . “Jesus Christ, y/n,” I grunted, letting my hand tighten once more around my shaft. If we were going to do it like that. . . “Fine. Then you damn well better put those fingers back in that pretty pussy because I’m damn fuckin’ ready.”

“How’d you–?”

“Heard that goddamn slap against your thigh for a second time,” I bit back, patience gone. “Stopping while you know I’m about to–.”

“That’s why I stopped, asshole! Want you to cum all over your hand while you say my name,” she sighed. It was the same one she’d give when I’d sink into her. So, I knew those fingers were back where they belonged. “You just haven’t let me talk you to the edge like I wanted to and I’m mad about it–.”

“Y/n, fuck!” The heel of my palm nudged the underside of my tip in a way I thought would be my undoing. I couldn’t help how loud the curse word had drifted off my lips. . . dammit. And it’d been loud enough to very possibly gain the attention of anyone near these bathrooms. Quiet ass establishment. I brought my voice back to a hush for the next thing I said. “Your voice– and the filthy noises you’ve been making– shit. Trust me when I say you’ve done your part, sweetheart.”

“Really?”

The way her voice had quieted just a bit; her question was completely genuine. That ‘really?’ was so incredibly her. . . She sounded hopeful that I was telling the truth. And I knew why she was asking. I knew her and I knew she’d seriously wanted to keep her word. She wanted to make damn sure I was being honest before she let this continue.

The smirk that tugged at my lips was easy, turning into a full-blown smile when I reassured her as my hand stilled. My dick was crying out to me, but I had to reassure her first. “Yes, baby. You did your part with that post,” I chuckled under my breath at the culprit in all of this. “Anything you did was going to send me over the edge. . . . Especially after last night. But, I just wanted to talk to you so badly– just wanted an excuse to keep texting you until you were tired of my ass. Then you called and– it was over for me the moment I heard your voice.”

Every word I said was true as fuck. But, I shut my mouth and gave her a chance to speak. . . Needed it. “Shit, Jake. . . Over for you? Did you already–?”

“No,” I insisted, letting my hand continue its ministrations on my dick. Nice and slow. . . “Trust me when I say, babydoll, you’re going to know when that happens.”

Babydoll. . . hadn’t used that one on her yet, but I liked it. . . It fit her.

“I fucking better,” she replied, her voice breaking up a bit as she began to breathe heavily. She was working herself up again and we were not stopping this time.

Spitting in my hand once more, a sense of finality laced all throughout me, I let my palm go to very delicately grasp my dick. And then, as I felt necessary, I applied pressure, my head falling against the wall for the umpteenth time. I was hot, all over, my cock like fire in my hand. . . It throbbed in the most fulfilling way as I let my hand do what it’d wanted to all night.

“Jake?” She tried from the other side of the call, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts for the time being.

“Yes, baby?” I replied, not able to stop my hand from moving, but tried my damn best to let her voice control me. But that shit was damn near impossible at this point in the night.

“I really do miss you,” she said. I heard her sweet voice choke up a bit – for more than sexual reasons.

Again, I knew this because I felt it, too. “I miss you, sweetheart. So fucking much. I can promise you that,” I insisted, the rumble in my chest, coming to life in the tone of my voice when I spoke next. “But just think about how ready you’re going to be for me. . . When I finally see you again. . . When I finally get to fuck you like we both want. . .”

“Gonna feel so good,” she said with a hiccup and a quiet, shaky sigh. “Can’t wait to feel you fill me up again, baby. . .”

I was going to burn this place down. “Tell me just how hard you want me to fuck you, y/n. . .,” I began, feeling those words leave my lips was like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel I’d been trying to reach for years.

“Shit, Jake. . . I’m just ready to see you finish again. Been so long. . . Haven’t gotten to taste you on my tongue–.”

“The night in the Jee–?”

“But you never came for me that night. . . Remember? I haven’t gotten to taste you for so long and fuck– I miss the way it feels when I swallow you down—I need it,” she beautifully sighed, then moaned on the cutest little lilt of a laugh.

I couldn’t emit a proper response. What in the fuck did I even say to that? A pornographic harmony, spoken to leave no fucking man alive. . . Said just for me. . .Fuck, I was so ready to come for her again. My dick was swelling with this urgency for her. . . So damn close.

She wasn’t finished, though, so I didn’t have to form a coherent thought as my eyes began to roll back in my head. Her smooth voice, like damn silk flooding my ears, “. . .or feel you spill out of me since the night we. . . you know. . .”

Even in the heat of this moment, I couldn’t stop myself from asking. . . My heart, being fucking stupid, begging for answers. “Do you remember much from that night?” I asked, my voice faltering.

I knew most of the tremor in my tone came from the feelings flowing through me from my current desire to let the agony from tonight end in triumph. But. . . I wasn’t a fool. I knew it was also faltering because I wondered this shit every day. Ridiculously, that night was a sensitive topic for me. . . for reasons not concerning our daughter.

“Oh, Jake. . . I remember it so well. Every single day, I remember just a little more. . . My brain–no, my heart won’t let me forget, baby,” she said, voice cracking on the last few words.

There was a little sniffle behind her words. . . By the way she’d sniffed, I knew she was trying to hide it. And, ironically, at the same damn time, I felt that familiar, tight sensation – constricting my throat – daring me to cry. But now was not the time. We’d discuss this later. Now that I knew she hadn’t forgotten as much of it as I’d previously thought, we damn well were going to finish this conversation.

“It’s because that shit isn’t meant to be forgotten, babydoll,” I rushed out as I clung on for dear life. My cock seemed to hum with pleasure under my palm, a sort of feeling of appreciation from my body for what was on the precipice of occurring.

On top of her words, my mind went crazy thinking of how she’d fall apart. . . When I'd fuck her, watching her finish was always my final undoing. . . Every time, I was left a man spent with nothing left to give. . . A man who only knew her name. . .

Last night, I’d been so enraptured at the prospect of sinking inside of her again. . . I couldn’t help but remember – how her thighs had trembled above me last night. Every angle had been glorious, but being underneath her, eating her pussy while I watched her full body take everything it was given. Watched her heavenly tits bounce while her thighs tempted to squeeze my head, over and over – shit. How well she’d fallen apart. She’d opened up for me – completely – soaking me when I’d made her release fully. . . It had been exquisite – all of her, covering my face and chest in the most mouth watering arousal.

And, after making her finish multiple times (just like I’d wanted), I'd been so close to finally giving her what she’d wanted. But I hadn’t gotten to give it to her. Hadn’t had the chance to enjoy the feeling of her swollen, soaking wet pussy, sheathing my dick. I’d felt the thrumming, pounding beating of my pulse, all the way from my balls, to my heavy ass dick, to my dizzy mind. . . And then. . . Maya had fucking knocked. Mine and y/n’s luck was shit.

Josh and Elsie had been a non-issue. I knew them well enough to know that if y/n were to have put them off for what we’d been doing, they’d have let us at it. Hell, they probably would have celebrated (fucking weirdos). And she’d just about let them off easily when Maya had made her presence known.

I’d been so fucking angry over it. The sinking feeling that had happened in my gut at that moment had made me shut down. . . And like the fuckin’ dick of a boyfriend I was, it hadn’t had shit to do with feeling bad for doing anything to (possibly) ruin things with Maya. No, all my brain could spit at me was how close I’d been to finally being buried in y/n again. And how viciously it’d been yanked from me. By a single knock. Not tonight. No, I was going to see this shit through.

“Keep going, baby,” I told her. I was not letting that shit happen again. No interruptions. We would get our beautiful ending. Together. I wasn’t stepping foot out of this goddamn bathroom until then. “Keep fucking yourself for me, honey. Don’t stop.”

“Jake. . .,” she cooed in response, not much more than a whisper that had fallen off her tongue. “S-say my name, Jake. . .Please, baby.” Fuck. The prettiest goddamn voice to ever grace my ears. Melodic. Tantalizing. And her breathing, still labored, coming out in tiny huffs. High in pitch — they had become quicker. The sweetest staggered huffs, tiny gasps. She was close. I could hear it. In her voice, her breathing. Imagined her nimble fingers - thrusting in and out of her soaked pussy.

I was fucking done for. Those little noises alone, setting my body alight. My dick threatened to spill with the gentlest touch of my hand. So fucking careful. “I hear you, y/n,” I sighed, barely finding the air in my own lungs. I closed my eyes, picturing her in the very spot she was in. Getting herself off, all by herself. “G-give it to me, babydoll. Please. Let me hear you finish for me.”

Desperation had completely taken over, with a strength unfathomable. My dick was throbbing under my palm. My head became light and fuzzy, lacking all the blood I needed to keep myself upright for much longer. And then, I swore I heard it. The technology behind these damn iPhones could be so sweet. Because, after really concentrating on the faint sound, I knew I heard it. Those slick sounds, from her pretty little fingers working her oversensitive pussy, so well. . . Fuck yes. She breathed the most ethereal sound. The sound. The one right before she'd. . .God, fuck. I bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood. I tasted it on my tongue, focused on it instead of the urge to pump myself one last fucking time.

“T-talk to me, babydoll. Need to hear, — Jesus!. . .,” My dick twitched against my palm, creating almost enough friction to force my end. No. Not fucking yet. We had to do it together. I would settle for no fucking less. “Let me hear you, y/n. Don’t fucking hold back for me.”

“J-Jake! I’m cumm — fuck!”

She was there. She was fucking there, making all the same pretty noises she had made last night when my tongue was in the same place her fingers were now. Tasting her when she. . . god, fuck! A string of spit left my lips, my mouth hanging open with the gasped breaths. And, as if on purpose, past my sweater, it met my lower abdomen. I shivered as it slid down to the base of my dick. I reached for it, coated my hand and gripped my dick - squeezed it real fucking hard. It felt so exhilaratingly good that it hurt.

“Cum with me, Jake. . . P-lease,” she pleaded, and that was all it fucking took.

With the iron grip of my hand, I pumped myself with haste — Once, twice. . . I hissed through my goddamn teeth, bit the fuck out of my tongue to keep my volume to a low rumble. I squeezed my eyes shut, so hard it nearly hurt. My head had fallen back against the wall, my balls and stomach tightened painfully with the movement of my hand. She was still moaning in my ear, still working that gorgeous fucking pussy with her fingers when I felt the closest I had all fucking night.

I pumped my dick again, and again. And with one more thrust of my fist, I coated my fucking hand. God —it hit me so fucking hard. The building up from the entire night— The moment I saw that blessed Instagram story, the texts, her tits, and then her fucking voice. . . Just her. Everything that was her. My every thought of her left my body numb and trembling with pure goddamn pleasure. Tear inducing.

I felt so close to her, and she wasn’t even here with me. Not physically. Not the way I wanted. But the fact that I did feel that way was a testament to the undeniable effect she had on me. Not even fucking here, and she still had me worked up as though she were. Still had this claim over my body - like it belonged only to her.

And apparently, I had the same effect on her.

My jaw had gone slack, and the only thing my lips could muster was her name. “Y/n, y/n, y/n. . .”

“There you go, baby. Fuck — listen to you. . .”

I kept stroking myself, slowly and fucking carefully as the blood had started returning to my head. My body was vibrating. My dick was tender as fuck. Sensitive to the goddamn touch. But I couldn’t let go of myself. Not yet. Not when she was on the other end of the line. Waiting for me. “How are those fingers? Are they fuckin' soaked like I wanted?”

“So-s very soaked, baby,” she sighed between heaving breaths. “I think I. . . I'm actually - my thighs. They're drenched. It’s just like last night. . . when it'd covered your chest and face. . . Did I just. . . ? Fuck.”

Fucking Christ. “Did you squirt for me, baby?”

“I’m pretty damn sure I did,” she breathily giggled, my heart picking up speed at the sound. “Th-the insides of my thighs are seriously drenched to fuck.”

I chuckled along with her, under my breath as I tried damn hard to not book a stupidly impulsive flight to New York. Even though we were done, I still wasn’t finished speaking to her. I knew it was late, but I needed to hold onto this moment with her. It was all I had at the moment. “How are Josh and Elsie tonight? Disturbingly flirty and shit?”

She began laughing outright at that, though her voice still cracked a bit from the rasp in her throat. She was exhausted. . .Could only imagine. . . And I was all the way in South Caro-fucking-lina. But, she succeeded in snapping me from my irritation, with a sigh, so beautiful, into my ear as she agreed. “Oh, you already know. . . And talking about the most absurd shit they find on Urban fucking Dictionary of all places. . .,” she laughed again, taking a deep breath before she told me about the place she was at tonight. The food sounded much better than the wallet-breaking, tiny-ass portions I’d had earlier in the evening. . . But it had been Maya’s favorite, so we’d had to go. Just like the dessert establishment we were at now.

I was about to respond to another remark she’d made about Elsie and Josh’s escapades – still on my blissful high. . . . When we were interrupted. By a goddamn fucking knock. The sound of a knock on the door was truly becoming one I hated at this point.

And when I heard the voice on the other side of the door. . . . My blood ran cold.

“Jakey? You almost done talking to Josh?” Maya. Voice calm and kind – completely unassuming.

I loved my girlfriend, but dammit if hearing her knock made me want to punch the nearest wall with all of the strength I could’ve possibly mustered. . . However, I stood in the same place I’d been for the last almost two hours. My hand, still comfortably around my dick. And the result of the phone fucking I’d just partaken in, all over my hand. . . Shit.

Though, unlike last night, bit by bit – second by second –I began to feel guilty. Because, now, my girlfriend had been left at the table – abandoned by me – for the better part of almost two hours while I did this shit. I checked the lock on the door with a careful eye, terrified that I’d somehow forgotten to lock it. The thought of what might occur if she were to open the door had me wanting to throw up. I felt so goddamn terrible. What the fuck was I doing?

I had these two beautiful women – who I cared for so deeply – hanging on by a thread. Granted, how I felt for y/n was worlds different than I felt for Maya. . . In that way, I meant that my love for Maya was the type of love I could explain. . . It was a deep love. But. . . the way I felt for y/n? I didn’t even know where to begin. . . It was beyond words. And where I felt deeply for Maya, it didn’t stop at ‘deep’ for y/n.

No, with y/n, I felt like I was constantly drowning in the most beloved waters. . . Desperate for air while also enjoying the feeling of being utterly encompassed by these stunning, yet treacherous waves. . .

But. . . in the end, they were both special to me and I was fucking with both of them. I didn’t know what to do.

“Jake?!” Maya’s knuckles hit the door once more, her voice level raising in a way that made me want to tell her to quiet down. This was her quiet restaurant that she knew so well. . . She’d already given me the talk about not speaking loudly in the place. So, apparently she was irritated enough that she–. “Jake!”

Okay, not quite as loud, but definitely obvious that she was fed up with waiting on me. I couldn’t blame her. . . I’d just give her some excuse about how Josh was really going through it or some shit. She’d have to understand that.

And, just as she was tapping against the door once again, y/n was in my ear. . . Her soft voice, making me feel lighter – better. “Hey. . . what’s wrong, baby?” She questioned, real concern guiding her tone. I knew that she’d noticed that something was off by the way I’d just stopped interacting. “Was it something I sai–?”

“Jakey, please, I’m really worried about you, baby!” Maya squeaked from the other side of the door.

“I have to go,” I hurriedly hushed into the phone, hoping y/n would be the easier one to put off this time. She’d understand. Right? “I’m sorry,” rushed through my lips as I pressed the red end button for the call.

I hated doing it to her, but she’d be easier to explain this all to. . . She’d been very understanding about me needing to dedicate time to Maya in the past. . . And she’d already told me to get off the phone and go back to her earlier in the conversation. . .

In complete shame, I looked down at my hand that held the phone. Our texts, staring back at me and making me immediately miss her. Fuck. It was like I’d escaped to this other world with her for such a short time. . . Only to be yanked back to earth. Was she going to be mad at me now? Then, there was the evidence on my other hand. My release, covering the hand that was holding my dick (that was still too hard to leave the bathroom). . . It was drying real quick, making a sticky mess over my skin.

I felt like shit. This wasn’t supposed to be so damn difficult. . . I just wished we still had the easiness of a few months ago. . . Very little interruptions, so much time for only each other. No one in the way. . . I felt like I could’ve cried in that fuckin’ Carmella’s single stall bathroom. Stupid as it was. . . But I’d been waiting for this and hadn’t even been able to begin to enjoy the post-coital bliss.

Was y/n okay? She was also covered in herself. Completely alone in the bathroom of whatever restaurant she was at. With Josh and Elsie. I really would have left South Carolina right that instant if I could’ve. Flown back on the next flight to be with them. But I couldn’t. I had made this commitment to Maya and I had to see it through.

But. . . My heart hurt for the woman in New York, so fucking precious to me, who I’d effectively worked up and thoroughly drained. Only for me to leave her immediately upon finishing. And her gentle voice in my ear. . . It’d been so nice — creating that familiar swirly feeling in my chest. Yet, no matter how she’d made me feel, I’d just left her.

Fuck—I couldn’t even worry about that. Not when my girlfriend was still outside the bathroom, making her presence known with little intermittent spurts of knocking. Damn. . . the woman really liked to knock until there was zero doubt of her presence. My teeth had ground together every time I heard her after the first knock. It was a lot — considering it had happened at least ten times in the span of a couple of minutes.

My attention was drawn back to my hands. . . To the phone in my grasp that was awfully silent. Why was I expecting anything from her? Why would she want to text me? With how I’d left things just now, my heart would be broken if roles were reversed.

Dick move, Jake, my thoughts called out, judging me. Way to use her and then hang up, asshole.

I shook my head of the thought, knowing it to be true, but not having the energy nor the time to deal with it. Not when Maya was still doing her best to make sure I knew she was still out there. My phone got clicked to lock and slipped into my back pocket. Then, I was trying to silently pull up my briefs and pants, zip my jeans, and maneuver very quietly around the bathroom, so as not to make Maya question anything else.

Just needed to wash my hands. . . Get my fucking semen off of my hands before she saw that shit. I triple checked the bathroom door to make sure I’d locked it. And when I’d reassured myself again, I turned the faucet on.

Talk, Jacob. “Yeah, My, I’m okay—sorry,” I finally called out, panicking to get myself cleaned up and get this night over with. When I said I felt like shit, I meant it. Pure, utter shit for hanging up on y/n, with no explanation and no warning, but I had no other choice. “Josh was just really going through it. . . Needed me to talk him down.”

“Oh. . .,” she began from the other side, her voice breaking just a little. But what caught me was the way the word was spoken – as if to question what I was saying. She had no reason to question it. “Saw he posted on his story like right before you came to the bathroom to talk to him. . . He’s with y/n and Elsie. They looked pretty happy in his story.”

Mother of fuck. Of all times, Josh. Thank you, brother.

Improvise, Jake. Improvise. . . “Yeah. . . They were really awesome at being there for him tonight when I couldn’t be,” I said on a whim, soaping and washing my hands for a second time under the water as it heated to scalding. Was helping to snap me back to reality. “He’s just having a hard time. I didn’t know how else to help him from here other than staying on the phone with him.”

“Is he better now?” She asked, seeming legitimately curious over the illegitimate situation. The lie.

“Y-yeah,” I stuttered, drying my hands against my pants, not wanting to hear the harsh noise of the hand dryer. I wasn’t sure I could handle that at the time being. . . “He’s fine. Feeling much more like himself.”

“I’d hope so,” Maya laughed, the sound seeming more mocking than anything. She was over the bullshit of me being in the bathroom. I understood that for sure. “You’ve been in there long enough. . . The dessert tray is at the table. And lucky for you, there’s no ice cream.”

She seemed like she was joking, but I could hear a slight edge in her tone that wasn’t usually there. So, I busted ass. Made sure my face was wiped of any residual sweat and that it wasn’t flushed to fuck. Thankfully, I seemed to look relatively put together. . . And I believed (really hoped) to have washed all of the leftover smell off of me that could indicate I’d been doing what I’d been doing.

After a deep breath in and out, I slapped a smile on my face and left the nerves in the bathroom. . . . And when I saw her beautiful face, completely aloof as to what had just happened, I felt a punch in the gut. The same punch I felt when I instantly thought of how y/n was going, five states away from me. . . Was she crying? Was she going to be able to clean up okay? She’d had her entire body out for me tonight, only for me to leave her. Fuck. It was all on a loop in my damned head.

As Maya talked to me about the fucking dessert tray, I contemplated my next steps with y/n. And once we were seated back at the table, I immediately noticed her father was glaring at me. And while I was never one to disrespect a partner’s parent, he didn’t fucking know me. It didn’t help that, at the present moment in time, I was not in the mood to deal with any shit. After giving him a forced smile, I decided to ignore him and continue to ponder my mess of thoughts concerning y/n.

I decided the best (and only) option was to text her. So, I took a few moments while Maya and her dad started in on a conversation. And from the sound of it, she’d apparently stopped in the middle of to come get me from the bathroom. God. Could she not have just waited to finish her damn conversation before coming to me? It would’ve been better for all parties involved. God. Whatever. All it meant was I had an ample opportunity to send this text.

Me, 11:35 p.m.: I’m so sorry, baby… I promise you I didn’t want to leave. Maya came to the door and needed me. I promise it had absolutely nothing to do with you, y/n

When I sent it, I decided the least I could do was look at Maya to pretend as though I was listening. The conversation happening between them wasn’t one I could participate in – they were talking strictly about work. I wasn’t needed here. But, as the minutes ticked by, I realized. . . y/n was fed up with me. She’d read my message at the time I’d sent, and still, five minutes later, there was zero response from her. I hadn’t even witnessed the little ellipses bubble when I occasionally opened my phone to check on a response.

I could admit. Shitty as it was, the woman beside me had barely been a thought to me all night. Even still, as I sat there, with a forced smile and a dick I was begging to soften all of the way, she wasn’t who I was thinking about. I decided to go to Instagram. Curiosity had me wanting to check Josh’s story to see what Maya had been referring to.

And, the picture on his story was enough to make my breath catch in my throat. The bright smile on y/n’s face and her hair, falling so prettily over her shoulder. In this picture that had apparently been taken before the texting and the phone call. . . She’d been so full of joy. Goddammit. Then, there was the song he’d used – I knew it very well. "Merry Christmas Baby" by Booker T & the M.G.’s. And I knew exactly why he’d used it. He’d used it to get my attention. This was one we’d regularly listened to at Christmastime as a family, growing up. I could remember the day I’d learned the guitar part and everything – a snow day during our freshman year of high school.

Weird that I remembered that. But, he’d known it was special. He'd known that it would trigger some sort of memory for me. Make me feel something. What was he trying to say? Was he just mocking me by putting a sentimental song on his story to accompany a picture of her? Was he trying to make me jealous? Knowing my brother, I was sure to fuck that he was doing all of the above.

Fuck you, Josh. Seriously.

After eyeing her for just a moment longer in Josh’s photo, I decided that while Maya was engaged in such an intense conversation with her father, I could go look at y/n’s story again. With a clear head. Really appreciate the picture this time. So, with a quick message to Josh telling him to ‘go fuck himself’, and a glance in Maya’s direction to make sure she wasn’t looking, I speedily tapped y/n’s name in Josh’s story. And once I was on her profile, I made hasty work of my mission by clicking on her cute little icon photo.

And there she was. I was quickly realizing, though, that maybe it was a mistake to look at it because it was only making me angrier that we’d essentially been cut off in the bathroom. I had needed her – before, during, and after. I’d taken the fucking L last night in her bed by not getting to fuck her and done so again tonight by sacrificing talking to her after getting her off.

The lace on her skin – it was just so fucking gorgeous. I wanted nothing more than to pull it over her tits myself and pay those pretty nipples some real attention. . . God, her tits. Then there was the underwear, nearly see through. . . How I’d pull those to the side and fuck her sensitive pussy until her perfect legs trembled, yet again, with my name on her lips. Her pretty release, seeping out of her, right before I’d let loose inside of her. . . And when my spend would trickle from her tight, pulsing cunt, I’d pull those sexy little panties back over her. Cover her up and let her feel me against her until she understood to not post shit like this without me near.

My dreams were stalled when her name flashed across my screen, though. I didn’t even wait to read it. Had to talk to her.

Y/n, 11:41 p.m.: I’m not talking about promises anymore tonight, Jake.

Goddammit, Jake. What the fuck had you done, man?

Me, 11:41 p.m.: you know that I wanted to talk you down from that, baby… you know me. You know me better than that

Thankfully, she immediately read that one and responded. Fucking win.

Y/n, 11:41 p.m.: Just hate that you’re gone and it was just a vicious reminder of why you’re gone… I’m just being selfish. Ignore me.

She was being selfish? Fuck no she wasn’t.

Me, 11:42 p.m.: you are NOT selfish, y/n. Please don’t say that about yourself. Wish you wouldn’t say shit like that

Y/n, 11:42 p.m.: I jacked off with you while you were with your g i r l f r i e n d tonight, Jake. No, actually… while you made HER wait for ME. It was all my fault and I am so sorry.

Oh, fuck no she was not going to apologize.

Me, 11:42 p.m.: sweet girl… don’t you dare say sorry for anything. That was the peak moment of my entire day :)

Me, 11:42 p.m.: don’t overthink any of this. Please. The situation is what’s shitty… not you. The situation could be MUCH fucking better

What was I implying? Surely I wasn’t considering what it would be like to not be dating Maya. . . That would be fucked up. But– dammit. I couldn’t help how drawn I was to this girl on the other side of my phone. As I waited for her to respond, I went to her photo again. Sound turned down, of course. . . Maya was still busy conversing. I was fine.

There was a solid minute to appreciate the way y/n’s breasts were swelling – how gorgeously marked by veins. . .– fuck. All for my baby– shit fuck. I was truly realizing, as my stomach turned in arousal at her body – looking at this again had not been a good idea. And, as if a saving grace, her name was at the top of my screen again.

Y/n, 11:44 p.m.: You deserve to be happy, Jake. That is the best “situation” for me.

God. What was she implying, now?

I didn’t know what to say in response to that, so instead, I decided to switch back to her Instagram story and tell her exactly what I thought of it. Perfect. That’s what it – she – was. Y/n. . . Her heart, her face, her body. . . she was perfect. Maybe not for me, due to everything that had transpired between us. So much history in a shorter amount of time. . . . but she was the most perfect specimen that graced this Earth.

Before her, I hadn’t been sure about having kids. But with this woman? My uncertainty about having kids was out the window. When she was the mother of my children, I didn’t care how many there were. Anything that came from her would surely be flawless and so easily lovable. God, the singular thought that there would be a tiny her also gracing the planet in a few months?. . .

I’d never felt the amorous flame – this pure, overwhelming light inside of my chest. . . . All because of y/n. The chance we’d taken over the summer. . . The chance of a lifetime.

Y/n. . .she was worth all of it and more.

End of Jake’s POV

Maya’s POV

When Jake got back from the bathroom, I assumed the night would continue as it had started. Jake’s attention being on me. All on me.

A whole twelve hours away from Brooklyn, New-fucking-York — where there were possible distractions galore. But here, there truly were none. A glorious victory for me. The one complaint I’d had before now had been earlier in the day. He’d been immersed in his phone this morning as we’d walked around my favorite Charleston shopping centers. Though, even if it had annoyed me at first, I hadn’t complained. Because, he’d bought me any and everything I’d wanted. Merry Christmas to me!

And, as he’d told me, he’d been texting with his brothers. Which, I could only get so annoyed by. They were fun enough and seemed to like me a lot. So, they passed in my book. Really, more than ‘like me’, I knew his brothers loved me. And obviously, I appreciated this. They saw me for me.

Occasionally, I still stopped to silently appreciate Josh. His noble act of stopping the display in the living room on that horrid game night. And then, going the extra mile and stepping in to talk to Jake the morning after. . .? God. A keeper for sure. At this point, I didn’t think I’d ever make Jake cut off communication with his family. . . And that was saying something. I’d definitely done it with boyfriends in the past when their family members rubbed me the wrong way, so. . . He was lucky he had a decent family.

Even if I did like his brothers, though, it had gotten annoying after about an hour and a half. Every time I’d wanted his attention, he’d tell me to ‘wait a second.’ But, thankfully, once he’d put the phone away finally, his focus had all been on me. He’d looked frustrated (which had annoyed me), but when I’d asked him what had been wrong, he just shook his head. It was obvious after one try that he hadn’t really wanted to talk about it. So, I’d dropped it. He’d talk to me if he needed to. No use poking him. All day long, I’d told him memories of my childhood. Little things from when I’d come to stay with my dad. Everywhere I looked, there was something to tell him about that had to do with me. It was heaven. Had been. Not any-fucking-more.

Because, when he’d gotten back from the hour and a half long conversation with Josh in the bathroom, I’d borne witness to his fucking screen. And the sight had not made me very happy. I’d had every reason to lose it when I initially saw that green circle around her picture. That classic pick-me bitch icon she used for Instagram. Trying to stay all natural with her lightly edited photo. Her, in a (surely cheap) white sweater, and a New York Yankee baseball cap on. A little cutesy grin on her features. Trying to look all adorable and shit. And failing. Puh-lease. Stupid fucking bitch. Y/n. The baby momma whore.

And, unfortunately, even if she was a giant slut, I had to admit, she was very pretty. . . Well, had been very pretty. . . She was subpar now with the baby bump constantly expanding at her abdomen. More and more by the day. Gross.

Even more disgusting and sneaky, after a hasty glance at my own Instagram, I’d soon noticed she hadn’t included me in that little green bubble of Close Friends. But. . . To be fair, of course she wouldn’t – I had the thing she wanted. Her envy of me drew the line at us being ‘close friends.’ Women were naturally envious of me, intimidated by me. Had been my entire life. It was why I still had zero female friends. Bitches were haters.

I really, sincerely knew it was simply because she was jealous of me — as she should’ve been. . . But, she’d succeeded in getting under my skin. No one ever did that shit anymore — except for y/n. I was a very pleasant person, but y/n. . .Oh, that bitch brought out the worst in me. Close Friends. I could’ve strangled someone.

Seriously. Whore. A whore who was posting shit like this to lure my boyfriend in. And, no. She couldn’t have him. She got to have his baby. That was plenty for her. It was too much, if I were to be honest. But no one was asking me.

I had to put up with a lot from her. Most women would have dragged her away from him by her hair. Told her to get the fuck out of his life. And then told her to fuck off and give another woman (me) the chance to treat him better than she had. Like trapping him, right before he started his career, by getting pregnant in a primarily fuck buddy circumstance.

Crazy to think Jake had lied to me about that, by the way. . . When we first really got together in September, I’d questioned him about living with another woman. And, he’d fed me a bullshit line about being ‘just roommates’ with her. “Just roommates,” he’d told me. “It’s just the most convenient living situation.” And, I’d believed him. Like a fool.

That was before I’d had to spend my Thanksgiving focusing on the new knowledge that his roommate was pregnant with his kid. He’d so carefully told me the morning of the blessed holiday. And seriously, I’d been a stunning girlfriend to him when he’d told me. I’d had and still did have every right to be pissed. But I’d reacted as calmly as possible. . . Even if I’d been exploding on the inside. No woman would put up with that besides me. ‘Just roommates’ my incredible, fat ass. ‘Just roommates’ with a damned history of fucking each other enough to make a kid from it. She was lucky I hadn’t screamed in her pretty little face by now. Couldn’t upset the pregnant lady. God forbid. Lest I be a terrible person to all of society.

And she had that heart thing Jake had told me about. Pits? The Pits? Stupid name for a disorder. Something made-up about her heart beating too damn fast. So, on top of being pregnant, she was also at risk with whatever the fuck that illness was that she had. Sounded like a y/n problem, not mine. She was a true ‘pick-me’ girl. To her core, always begging for attention.

God. . . I had such a good heart. Loads of tolerance for the never ending bullshit. I had been the bigger person through all of this. The biggest person, actually. Well. . . not physically. I could’ve laughed at that. No, no. That spot belonged to Jake’s fuck buddy roommate. Past fuck buddy, of course. I knew I gave it to him so fucking good now; he didn’t need her or her tired ass, fat ass pregnant body. That show, The Biggest Loser — right in front of me.

She’d had her chance. When her body was tight and her face wasn’t at risk of fattening like a pregnant bitch. And now she seemed to think she could offer him anything worthy in this body? Her new (not improved) one, which only got progressively fatter every time I saw her? Though, no matter how fat she was, she still never managed to shoot her shot. Reference: game night. Her, being a disgusting whore in front of us all. And Jake, still sleeping next to me that night. . . as she’d slept with that moron from her school. Comedy. Peak comedy.

I looked over briefly at his screen again. It had been a couple of minutes since I’d last checked on him. And he was still on that damned story of hers. Why?! What did she have to offer that I didn’t? Nothing. Seriously. If all she had to offer him was that kid, that was still nothing compared to me.

A baby was all she had to offer him. A tiny little thing that took up hardly any space. So, I knew I made her insecure. How could I not?

And my body wasn’t bloated and expanding with an unexpected kid like hers was. My body was the same as it had been when Jake and I’d first gotten together. The day of the guitar lesson, at the beginning of summer. The guitar lesson that had led to me being bent over my kitchen counter, where he’d fucked me until my eyes had watered. So fucking good. Best sex of my life — and that was saying something, too. That ‘situationship’ of ours had only lasted for a few (too-short) weeks. . . And, towards the end of it, I’d been able to tell she was pissing him off. The sex had gotten rougher and he’d been harsher when he’d spoken to me. But I was there for him. Talked through life with him. His breakup, those stupid rules that y/n had put in place at one point (control freak). . .

I’d even gone to a few of those shows of his — which I’d never seen her at. Only that festival when she wore that white outfit that had done very little to cover her up. Just like this story he was still looking at. Barely anything to cover her fat ass body. Slut. She constantly gave me every reason to believe I made her insecure. . . This story, for one. Couldn’t handle her precious roommate being with his fucking girlfriend. Had to post this shit to try and get his attention.

But. . . he was still looking. . . Seriously. What gives? Did he just feel bad for her or what? Was he gawking, repulsed by her ugly body like I was? In shock that she’d post such a horrendous thing?

I thought back to last night, her hiding herself under that hoodie when she’d left Jake’s apartment. I knew why she’d done that shit. She probably couldn’t stand the sight of herself anymore, especially when she knew I was around. Couldn’t let Jake make the unfair comparisons when I was so near, so she chose to hide. Good. Best option for her. Hide, bitch. She was insane if she thought he found her attractive right now. Sure, maybe he did before she got knocked up. But not now. Again, comedic to think he could find her anywhere near pretty.

Besides, she had no hope for post-pregnancy either. Everyone knew women were at risk of losing their entire figure when they had kids. And I had no doubt she would. But that wouldn’t happen to me. Not ever. I would stay looking just like this, just how Jake liked. My tight, not pregnant body. God, just – it was Jake. I couldn’t let her have him.

There was not a chance in fucking hell that I’d let her have him. I knew she still wanted him. I knew she did. Any girl would want to be with Jake. I knew for a damned fact that every woman who saw him wanted to be with him. I’d seen the bitches staring at him. Everywhere we went. What woman wouldn’t want him? He had everything anyone could ever want in a man — anything I could ever want. He was a long-haired fucking rockstar on his way to a huge fucking career with a killer body. He was the definition of perfect. And I was the one who had him.

Besides, it was kind of fun to be around her knowing that he’d chosen me. At this point, I’d only tolerated her because I liked being the winner. Watching her be pregnant, fat, and sad while I got to suck face with her baby daddy right in front of her pathetic ass. . . Like a blue fucking ribbon.

Even after a couple of minutes more of conversation with my dad, I noticed with a sideways glance that Jake was switching hastily between apps. What the fuck was he—? But before I could see a glimpse of his texts, once again, he was back on Instagram. And looking at her hideous post. I was shocked to find it was the other one. The one I could see, on her page. Ugly, cheap ass, deplorable maternity bra for her engorged tits. And equally cheap American Eagle jeans. However, that post did stop me in my tracks the slightest bit. . . Before she was pregnant, she really had been very easy on the eyes. Nice, tight body. Decent ass. Perky tits. Good skin.

But man, compared to the picture of her now. . . It was sad how she’d let herself go. Disheartening, really. The woman was just so fucking fat right now. And the unfortunate thing was, she’d probably only allowed herself to get pregnant in the first place, to keep him. It was just hilarious that she believed getting fat would make him want to stick around and be with her. Carrying his kid or not, she was fat.

Truth hurts, you fucking delusional and selfish cunt, I thought as I did the ‘right’ thing and liked her stupid post.

It didn’t matter in the long run. A nice little gesture. Sure. I could do that – because I knew I was the one he wanted. All along. He knew that he’d hit the fucking jackpot with me. I knew, from his mouth, that he’d regretted letting me go. On a couple of occasions, after a few shows where drinks had run aplenty, he’d told me as much.

But. . . I knew that if she could dig her claws into him, she’d somehow be able to figure out a way to manipulate him into going back to her. Even if it were just for sex. If she was given the chance, of course. . .Except, as long as I was around, he wouldn’t be able to even think about going back to her. As long as he had me, he wouldn’t want her. Wouldn’t need anything from her. All she was good for was making the kid. Her body was a waste, her manipulation tactics were tried and true. . . She was only surface level pretty. . .but everything else about her was shit.

Too bad he didn’t care about her. This pregnancy wasn’t about her for Jake. Because, while she may have thought that Jake was helping her, he obviously was not. I could read him like a book. I knew him so well. And I knew everything he did was only for his kid. That kid was the only reason he had jack fuck to do with her. He only felt like he had that obligation to her. And, like the kind, understanding, Christian woman that I was, I’d let it slide this long. . . Too damn long.

She’d already tried to pull one over on me. On that stupid game night, she’d tried. With her tiny ass shorts and tight shirt to show off her bulging, overweight tits. And then, right there, in front of all of us, she’d spread her legs for him. In front of me, the love of Jake’s life. I was still shocked that, for some reason, he’d fallen for that shit. Even with me sitting right there. I’d watched her pick at him and be a little bitch about getting comfortable. I could only imagine it was hard to get situated and comfortable with that fat, disgusting body.

I’d wanted so badly to make a comment about her being so gross, but I’d known then, just as I did now. . . I had to keep face — especially in front of Jake. I was just grateful Josh saw that it was wrong, too. When he’d come in, telling me to nicely leave so he could (presumably) personally discuss the ludicrous situation with Jake. Discuss the whore and her conniving ways. I trusted that Josh had told Jake everything I would have. Surely. What else?

With another side eye at Jake’s screen, I saw him switching from texts and Insta — again. Except this time, I saw her name on his texts. Did she really need to be distracting him this badly? Could the bitch not have waited for his assistance with baby shit? God. . .Jake was simply too nice and blinded by that kid in her belly. Thought he had to do so much for his fucking kid. And y/n only used that. She constantly took advantage of Jake. She got under his skin and tricked him into shit using that kid as collateral damage. Seriously.

What. A. Vicious. Whore.

The worst part of all of it was. . . I’d let her get this close. But now that I’d seen this little trick she’d just pulled, I was not so sure I could keep my mouth shut anymore. Her claws had no place in my man. Who the fuck did she think she was that she could put him on her Close Friends list like that? And post that hoe ass picture to her Close Friends? The little stupid bitch just wanted to make sure he would see that slutty picture.

I just thought it was pretty pathetic that she was showing off her body like that when she was going to be a literal mom. Didn’t seem like something a mom should do. . . Not to me. What would the kid think? Growing up knowing its mom cared more about flaunting her body than being a good mom? And that just proved my point that she didn’t give a fuck about anyone but herself. Didn’t give a flying fuck about him. She was an embarrassment. Right along with that clump of cells in her belly.

I had let her cross too many lines. And I could make it so she’d never get Jake alone again if I really wanted to. Shit, I’m sure I could even convince him to let me move into the apartment. Never give them a moment alone. Yet, while I was worried about her advances, I wasn’t worried about how Jake viewed her. I knew he loved the kid, but I couldn’t believe for a second that he could ever think she was worth it.

Which was why I couldn’t fucking understand why he was still looking at it. It had been minutes of this aimless conversation with my father about my branch of his company in New York. An hour while Jake went to talk to Josh and then came back to the table to look at y/n on his screen. Post, story, post, story. The occasional text with her. Couldn't see what they were saying. He was quick. Whatever. Probably some stupid ass pregnancy bullshit.

And now he was back on the blessed story. How was he looking at it? God. I still couldn’t tell. Was he glaring? I didn’t know. All I knew was he’d been holding his thumb on the screen for a long fucking time so her story wouldn’t close out. There was no chance he actually liked that, right? There was no way.

His thumb had held the screen long enough, but when he finally moved it and let the story play through, I started to feel a little better about her little trick she’d tried to pull. . . But it didn’t actually get to play through. Because then, he’d slid his thumb up on the raunchy ass photo and clicked the fucking heart eye emoji to react to it. That was fucking shitty enough. Then, the fucking fire emoji reaction came next. What the hell? Two emoji reactions?

What did it for me, though, was when he’d slid his thumb again, tapped the send message bubble and typed out ‘God fucking damn… So perfect’. What in the fuck?! Did the idiot think I couldn’t see over his shoulder? Seriously? Why was he encouraging her behavior? Nope. Not fucking okay. I was not going to let him get away with that.

“God. . . She is just so pretty, Jake,” I finally said with all of the sugar I could muster in my tone. Sweet, but invading his space just enough to let him know that I’d seen everything. The way he’d jumped out of his seat at the sound of my voice made it pretty clear that he didn’t realize I was looking. And it gave me a sick satisfaction. Caught ya, buddy.

I knew I’d caught him off guard. . . that little ‘she looks really good, doesn’t she?’ sort of comment in response to his moment of openly staring at her. The blush that was slowly but surely covering his features as I blinked my long lashes at him pissed me off. . . And the message. I couldn’t scratch it out of my mind. What the fuck? Had he simply sent it because he felt bad for her? Had he been taking a long moment to pity her? Or, in some part of his brain, had he actually thought she looked good like that?

God. I hoped not. Jake was smarter than that — classier than that. . . Than to think she looked anywhere near attractive as a pregnant sow. What could actually be so hot about an overweight, bloated body? The man had good taste, so surely not. . . I mean, he was dating me, for God’s sake. All he’d ever done with her was fuck her. She had her rightful place secured. Below me.

It was quite funny, actually, how little she’d truly had of him. It made a smug grin come to my face, just as he was looking over his shoulder at me. He was locking his phone at the same time that I turned my grin into one of faux authentic appreciation for her. But seriously. Fuck that bitch. I was really doing such a good job at this front I was putting on. I bet that he couldn’t tell that I was actually pissed about it. I’d gotten quite good at this ridiculous act to hide my distaste for her.

For added effect, I tacked on an extra bit of falseness that made me want to puke. “She carries pregnancy so well, huh?” I was doing damn good at keeping this smile on my fucking face. Part of the reason I was trying so hard to look nice and undeceiving was to make sure he knew that I was the more beautiful of the two of us. Both looks-wise and heart-wise, I beat that bitch by a landslide.

And even if it pained me, I would keep up this stupid act that I liked her. . . If all it meant was I could keep him, that would be enough. Because no matter what, I just wanted him to know I was the better person of the two of us. He was staring at me, at a complete loss for words. It made me want to question him. But considering we were at this restaurant with my father, at a very nice establishment. . . now was not the time or place.

“Who is it, MyMy?” My father had asked from across the way, which just made me raise a brow at Jake. “Who is pretty?”

Oh. . . yes. I hadn’t told my father about Jake’s situation. I’d known better than to do that. My father would not be happy to know I was dating a man who’d knocked up another woman. Whether it was before me or after me, my father wouldn’t hesitate to have very little patience for that.

And, as much as I wanted to shame Jake for his actions, ruining Jake’s image for my father was not what I wanted in the long run. Not at all. He’d done so enough on his own. . . Leaving the table for so fucking long. No. I had to try my best to make him look good. I wanted to keep Jake in my life. But, my father had to find out sometime. . . if I was going to have the role in this kid’s life that I knew I was bound to take on. Mommy #2. Or simply, a variation of Mom or Mommy or Momma. . . Any of those titles had a nice little ring to them.

“Do you want to tell him, Jakey?” I posed the question, so innocently, to my boyfriend with a couple of flutters of my dark lashes. “It’s your exciting news to share.”

His expression was one of peak confusion. Like he thought I’d already told my father about his predicament. . . Ha! There was no way in hell my father would have greeted him with such open arms had he already known. Who in the fuck did Jake Kiszka think my father was?

It really showed how little Jake actually knew about being a good, decent father. He had a lot to learn. When he was leaning over to whisper in my ear, I was momentarily sidetracked from my thoughts by how damn good he smelled. It should’ve been a crime to turn someone on so effortlessly. . . With only a mere cologne.

“Does he not know?” He asked me, his tone slightly clipped in my ear. Like he was upset with me, of all people. That was fucking laughable!

I moved towards him, muttering quietly in his ear with a tiny smile that was somehow sticking to my features. All in the name of an act. “I wanted you to get to share our exciting news, sweetie.”

Our. Yes, our. Even if thinking of the kid invading my life with its dad made me want to vomit profusely, I wanted to continue to be with Jake. And fuck y/n if she thought this kid only belonged to them. I was in this for the long haul because of my love and desire to be with Jake. . . Wanted to get to see his fame come to be and be a part of that with him.

“I uh –,” Jake started, slowly pulling away from me as his eyes darted back and forth between my dad and me. Eventually, his eyes landed in his lap. A look of. . .defeat? Shame? Good. Sit in it, Jacob.

“Well, I had a thing with this girl,” he began, ruffling the front of his hair like he so often did. It pissed me off when he’d do it — messing up his hair for nothing. “Wasn’t too serious, I suppose. . . But, well. . .,” he paused once more and I reached over to grasp his hand. I gave it a slight squeeze to urge him to keep going. Jesus Christ.

“Well what, son?” My father urged, his face showing zero patience for his lagging. Seriously. Same, Dad.

“She's pregnant.” Deplorable fucking words that made me want to scream. But they were out there. Fucking clear as day.

My dad straightened his body against the back of his chair, setting his fork down on his plate firmly before crossing his arms. He wasn’t happy, but in such a nice eatery, he would keep his cool. All about the image in this family. Although, his face was set, hard as stone. Lips, a flat line, and his jaw so impossibly tight with quiet aggravation. . . I knew that look from my father very well. He could hide his irritation from most, but not me. Not when it was a look I found so fucking impressive.

This look – one he’d give people when he was all ears, but not in a good way. Not in an understanding way. I rarely got the look. My father had told me nearly my entire life how I could do little wrong. He’d always understood me. This look had always been reserved for the people who had wronged me, or him, or us.

Amir Mustafa – my father – he was. . . a simply powerful man. I’d looked up to him and his ability to control people and situations for my entire life. Many employees of ours had gotten this brash, stern look right before getting kicked to the fucking curb. He did it all my laugh growing up, right in front of me, to countless miserable people. (And now I got to do the exact same thing to my employees. . .) I watched my father, seeing the wheels in his mind beginning to turn. And god knew my father was not going to let this news set easily over our barely touched dessert trays.

“And she’s, um. . .,” Jake looked at me again as he cleared his throat, a look of fear and embarrassment on his face. For the sake of putting on this ridiculous show of understanding for him, my grin widened.

Thankfully, Jake quit stupidly pursing his lips. His mouth, opening timidly right before he said the punch line. “The baby is—. She’s pregnant with—with my baby.”

And there it was! He was so stiff under my hands, which still held onto his arm in the spirit of fake pride and togetherness with this obscene news.

I was glad he was so stiff underneath me. He needed to sit in this. Because god knew — I’d be embarrassed if I were him, too. Embarrassed to admit I was the father of her offspring. And, yeah, I knew this wasn’t easy for him. But he didn’t deserve for it to be easy. He’d gotten himself into this mess. And put me in the middle of it with him. The little stunt that had gotten him here had happened after he’d left me high and dry over the summer. . . If only he’d have stayed with me. He wouldn’t be in this ludicrous situation. But, in spite of how he deserved to be treated by me, I just sat and smiled. Supported his mistake-making ass.

God. . . I was so easygoing and compassionate for this man. So kind hearted and patient to put up with his and y/n’s bullshit. He was so lucky to have me. Even more lucky to have me than I was to have him. . . And that was saying something. He was a gift, sure. But I was a serious gift to him to stick around during this shit. Though, I would let him sit in his uncomfortable, messy truth that he had to come clean about — to my dad. I couldn’t keep picking up Jakey’s mess. Fuck no!

I was just so excited for my dad’s reaction. It was, undoubtedly, going to be in my favor. Knowing my father, I wondered if now was the time he’d reveal the little secret I’d kept from Jake. Surely this information would set him over the edge enough that he’d mention it. Get offended that this had been flaunted in front of my face for ‘X’ amount of time. He’d get spitting angry for one very specific reason.

This reason. . . Well, it was one my father had cared much more for than I ever had. . . Getting this certain information years ago hadn’t bothered me at all, really. But my father? He’d always hated the idea for me. This man had defended my honor when it came to topics such as this. And now that I was directly involved in the pregnancy of someone else?

“The baby is due in May,” Jake continued, apparently feeling the need to fill the air with more words.

Rather than rolling my eyes like I wanted, I let my faux smile widen at my dad. I even grabbed Jake’s arm tighter, laying my head on his shoulder, as though we were telling my daddy the news together. But, of course, I wasn’t about to say a damned word. I’d let Jake do all the talking. Wasn’t really my news to share, honestly. His little fucking joyride he was paying the consequences for. Besides, the less I had to speak her name, the better.

I had zero problem putting Jake through this awkward little confession. Especially after I had caught sight of his little interaction with y/n’s instagram post. He deserved it after that. No matter the reason for messaging her. He was dating me. Other women shouldn’t exist. He deserved my dad’s piercing stare; this stare, smothering Jake for a long time before anyone else spoke. I knew what that meant, too. It meant my dad had a lot to say, but he was letting it all sink in before he said all that he was thinking.

I knew he wouldn’t speak out of anger. I knew he would say it all in a way that would make Jake feel really bad about the whole fucking thing. Make him think about it in ways he hadn’t yet. But I also knew where it was going. That little something I hadn’t brought up to Jake yet. I was waiting for the right time, and for the appropriate situation to come up. The situation that I would come out on top of. For once, everything wouldn’t be about her.

With a sarcastic smile on his face, my dad finally took a breath to begin his response. And I, still hanging onto Jake’s tense arm, kept the same smug ass grin on mine. “This is certainly news to me,” my dad said, with zero congratulations. There was none necessary. Fuck this kid, seriously. My father kept his arms crossed tight against his puffed chest. “And this girl. . . I assume, then, that she’s still in the picture? Do you see her often?”

I could feel Jake taking a deep breath at that question. The air was shaky as he breathed it out of his nose, his arm rock solid with the increase of tension. And, god. . .Try as I might have. . . The flexing of his muscles began to turn me on. Yeah, I knew it was an inappropriate response given the situation. I rubbed my thighs together subtly under the table. I could feel however I wanted, though. I wasn’t the one in the hot seat. And in that moment, I felt solid in the fact that Jake’s tension was because of me. And that made me want him all the more, because I knew that tension was because of how much he cared about me. And I was loving it.

I wanted him to feel tense about it. He was finally getting an idea about how I felt about the whole situation. Being with Jake was all I desired, and I was willing to go through this shit to be with him. But he needed to be slapped in the face with the reality of it all. And I was glad my dad would be the one to make him understand my side. I couldn’t be the one to do it. I needed to keep up my nice girl act in front of everyone. Not let on to the fact that it all pissed me the fuck off.

Jake looked at me with wide eyes, and I just smiled. I wasn’t going to help him explain that shit. I left the floor open for him to tell my dad about the fucked up living situation. Maybe Jake saying the words out loud to someone outside of the whole thing — seeing someone else’s perspective on it — would make him understand how I felt about it. I waited, on baited breath, ready to listen to Jake give my dad the truth. He lived with this woman. And I couldn’t deny, he deserved a negative reaction for it. . . For what he was putting me through.

The sexy man under my hands gulped as he turned his attention back to my dad, whose piercing glare never let up. I swore he didn’t blink once as he waited for Jake’s response, his thin lips under his black mustache pursed.

“She’s. . .,” Jake cleared his throat once more, and his body stiffened completely against the back of his chair as he sucked in a deep breath. I kept my grip on him, held his arm even tighter than before, felt the sudden urge to dig my nails into the muscles. Fuck. I watched my dad’s eyes flit to me, then narrow in on Jake. “She’s my, uh—she’s actually my roommate.”

Jake’s hand shot up to his scalp, fluffing his hair and smoothing it back down. God. Stop messing with your hair. You’re ruining it. Then he began rubbing away at his chin. Little nervous ticks of his that pissed. me. off. But, I was more focused on the excited nerves surfacing in me about admitting the fucked up truth. It made me shiver with excitement.

When I looked over at my dad, I got even more thrilled. Because it was obvious he was far from happy with that news. It was apparent in his body language, and the silent non-verbals he was communicating to Jake. The clenching jaw, the breathy chuckle of disbelief. Jake knew it was fucked up. He wouldn't have been so goddamn nervous about admitting it if he didn’t know. The way he hesitated before delivering the news said that he was probably not so proud to admit such a thing. Who would be? And who would want to tell their girlfriend’s dad about such a thing?

Let’s just say, he was lucky my dad had never been the physically violent type. No, his weapon of choice was always in his words, in the way he could manipulate people with them. Watching him get what he’d wanted out of people my whole life taught me a lot; he taught me how to get what I wanted out of people. I knew how to play nice, learned to easily pick up on how people ticked and used that to my advantage. I’d learned to tell people the things they wanted to hear, made people like me by faking whatever I needed to in order to earn their trust.

My dad was always quick to acclimate himself to any situation, to anybody with a simple manipulation tactic based on what he'd known about them. And I always did the very same thing. Because of that little trait of ours, I knew what he was going to say and how he was going to say it. He knew just what to say to pull even more guilt from Jake. That’s why I never told him, because I knew the right time would come. And this was the right time. Perfect, actually.

He let the silence linger just a bit longer, making sure Jake was nice and petrified of his reaction. “You know, Mr. Kiszka,” my dad said as he uncrossed his arms, his voice much softer than Jake had probably expected, given the harsh breath he’d sucked in when my dad began speaking.

But I knew exactly what my dad was thinking, how he was feeling. I knew the sweet voice was only a front, a tactic he used often when he wanted to make someone feel, well, like shit. “I, uh, don’t know if MyMy has told you this yet. . .,” he paused with a sincere smile, making sure the silence hung in the air even more to add to the effect of the news.

I smiled too when Jake looked at me again. A sad smile, though. As sad as I could make it. My dad and I locked eyes and communicated with each other that we were on the same page. Silently, of course. We could always speak with our eyes. I carefully nodded my head at him, giving him the ‘okay’ to keep going.

I could feel Jake’s arm loosen just a little under my fingers when he looked back to my dad. His pretty lips were parted and his eyebrows were scrunched. He had no idea what was coming. I felt a little bad for him because of that, actually. No one should have to carry as much guilt as my poor Jake did. With as much as I knew he really loved me, I knew this would hurt.

“Jake,” my dad said as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m overjoyed for you — overjoyed that you’ll have this singular opportunity to experience being a father.”

He was using the exact tactic I knew he would. Excited for Jake, but with a tone that held sorrow for me. I felt it coming. I had to contain myself—I was ready for it. Ready for the news that would seal Jake’s guilt and keep him with me. My father cleared his throat before he laced his hands together, eyes intent on Jake’s. “Because our beautiful MyMy will never be able to carry a child.” There it was.

Jake stiffened under my hold before he looked down at me. I laid my head on his shoulder, even sniffed a few fake tears. It was true—I was born with a defect that made it impossible for me to ever become pregnant. Sure, it was sad. Whatever. Sad for most women, maybe. My dad had always felt horrible about it. But for me, it was a different story.

I had always viewed it as a positive thing. I didn’t want kids. I had never wanted kids. No, definitely not my cup of tea. First of all, kids were simply a nuisance to me. I was glad I’d never had to worry about getting pregnant. Second of all, having a kid would undoubtedly take the attention away from me – only my kid getting the attention. Yeah, no thanks. And, third, it just meant I got to have a lot of unprotected fun. Well. . . until Jake. Who hated having sex without condoms. Probably despised that he was having a kid in the first place and wanted to be extra safe, but didn’t want to say so. That was probably why he was protecting himself so well. But, now, that was something he knew he never had to worry about. No surprises, no accidents.

Knowing Jake, I knew this “sad” fact about me was something I could use to make him feel bad for me. Another little tactic I’d learned from my father. And that combined with me knowing the way Jake ticked. . . This little “unfortunate” truth about my body would force him to sympathize with me. Make him feel so bad that he’d stop giving such a fuck about y/n and give more fucks about me.

“Maya. . . why didn’t you—,” Jake’s voice was solemn, shocked. He looked me in the eyes, with his that had started glassing over. He was about to cry? Ugh, poor thing. He felt it right along with me. He knew that my heart had been broken by the triggering news of him becoming a father. Something I would never be able to give him. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

I mustered all the fake emotion my body was able to create, even shed a few alligator tears to really add to the effect. “I’m sorry, Jakey. I didn’t want to cause you anymore stress, baby. You’re already under so much.” All because of the mistake baby and stupid ass y/n's attention-seeking ass, I added silently. I sniffed to cover my inward irritation. It was the last of my tears, though, so I decided to lean in and kiss his stiff lips. My poor Jake. So full of sadness for me that he couldn’t even kiss me back. “You know, with y/n and all. I didn’t want to add anymore pressure to you. I just didn’t want you to feel bad for me.” Because she does such a good job at making you feel bad for her and I'm better than that, I added (once again) silently.

“Feel bad for—?” He looked at me in pure confusion, and I was starting to get upset over his lack of a response. I had fully expected him to hold me right when he was told the news, tell me how much he loved me and that he’s sorry for everything he had put me through in our time together.

But to my shock, he pulled his arm away from me. Completely yanking it from my hand. A knee-jerk response, I thought. Maybe his way of coping with such a thing was to withdraw, let it really sink in before comforting me in such a difficult moment. I’ll say this, though – he should’ve considered himself lucky that my dad hadn’t been paying close enough attention to pick up on that little move of his. Yeah, he surely would’ve put Jake in his place had he witnessed that. Dad had reached for some chocolate something sitting on the giant dessert charcuterie board during the awkward lull. This had kept his eyes focused elsewhere when Jake had pulled that little trick. God. . . this lull - inevitably caused by Jake. Aggravating. . . BUT, I was understanding. So, even if it were annoying, I didn’t take that as a bad sign. I not only knew that it wasn’t anything more than Jake’s way of dealing with the news, but I was the calm and stable girlfriend that didn’t flip shit over those things.

“I know this may be hard for you to hear, Mr. Kiszka,” my father said, his voice breaking through the silence that Jake had opted for. “Especially since you clearly aren’t opposed to having a family. Not the careful type, are ya, son?” My dad laughed, and I laughed, too. Made it seem as though it wasn’t a big deal to have a baby momma. I didn’t want Jake to take this whole having a kid with y/n thing any more seriously than he already had been. Yeah, it was a big deal. But why make him think it was the biggest deal in his life? When I was right there?

“Listen,” my dad continued. “You and I both know that our Maya is worth it. She’s worth more than all of the babies in the world. She’s no less of a woman because of it. You’re enough of a man to understand that. Isn’t that right, Mr. Kiszka?”

Jake just stared into his lap. His eyes were squinted from the crinkle in his brows. He must’ve not heard my dad, because he wasn’t very quick to respond. And it really began to annoy me when he didn’t respond at all. It was like his mind was somewhere else. And I didn’t like it, because I didn’t know where it was. It took me nudging his shoulder to get his fucking attention. And even then, he’d asked my father to repeat himself when he lifted his head. When he decided to join us at the table again.

When my dad said everything for the second time, and then cleared his throat for emphasis, Jake nodded his head. “Y-yes, sir. She—uh, yeah. Yeah, she is.”

That didn’t convince me for shit. He sounded unsure, like he didn’t believe it. It could’ve been the shock of the news that made him sound that way. Had to be. He knew it was true. He knew I was worth more than any—than his—baby. Having me at his side was the real prize. He knew that. But it still felt. . . Not how I wanted it to feel. He wasn’t giving enough. I wanted him to give more. More of a reaction, more of a response, more to me.

I started having a hard time putting on a front any longer, because I was confused. I looked at my dad. And he was confused, too. But he didn’t say anything else. The best thing to do at that point was to let Jake stew on his words.

And even though my little act was beginning to crumble, I still managed to put on another smile. I squeezed Jake’s thigh, holding my hand there to offer him the reassurance that he wasn’t offering me. He’d hear about this later, that was for certain. “Thank you, baby,” I said to him, keeping my hand on him to remind him of who was by his side.

A woman who had put up with more from him than any woman would. Me.

End of Maya’s POV

It was Christmas Eve when you felt the first kick.

At first, you hadn’t been totally sure what it was, waking up in a panic in the middle of the night.

You’d felt something rustle in your tummy. . . thought it was an upset stomach, leading to something that could possibly be wrong. But when you’d realized you didn’t feel sick, you’d let yourself lay there and think as the little thumping feeling happened again in your tummy. The feeling had you reflecting on Dr. Rose’s words from your last visit. You’d been on your way out, with fresh knowledge of the fact that there was a baby girl bouncing around in your tummy. After hearing how (apparently) active she was, you’d asked about kicking. When would you finally be able to feel the baby kick?

Dr. Rose had answered wisely and unworried, knowing the answer without even having to think about it. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t start feelin’ your sweet girl’s purposeful movements within the next couple of weeks. The “Quickening,” as it’s most often called. When she starts movin’ to tell ya she’s there,” she’d winked, explaining as she clicked a few buttons to get your next appointment set up on the front desk’s computer. The office had been empty at that point, as you’d been the last patient that day. An early evening appointment, as you remembered. “The movements feel strange at first, just a warnin'. Like a little flutter in your tummy, but different. I’d say what most compare them to are tiny pulses. Each kick from the foot or elbow being flung – they feel like a single pulse of a heartbeat – that’s what I hear from first-time mothers more than anythin’ else.”

And that was exactly what it felt like to you. Right now. Honest to God. The feeling was so strange; odd enough that it’d literally awoken you.

Lavender had woken you up. Your baby girl.

And her little movements — so purposeful. They truly felt like teeny tiny heartbeats in your belly. You looked down, lifting your giant t-shirt to observe. Stevie had rustled for the briefest of moments at your feet, but had snuggled back down when she’d realized you weren’t in trouble. You watched your tight, round tummy to observe if you could see any of the movements. . . you knew it wasn’t unusual for babies to be visible from the outside. Little imprints from their feet or hands. . . . you’d watched enough TikToks to know that.

It was a few minutes that you watched and waited, but the movements stayed internal. No external evidence. . . Too early for that, surely. But. . .you knew there was a way to feel them externally. If you just touched your tummy where you felt her on the inside, you’d be able to feel her right under the palm of your hand.

Yet, as badly as you wanted to touch where you felt it, you were also hyper aware of not doing so much that could inadvertently make the baby stop. Yes, it sounded unlikely, but you’d been dying to feel her and you wanted the feeling to last as long as it could. However it could. It was the craziest sensation and completely took your breath away. . . you could have felt it happen forever and it still wouldn’t have been long enough.

But. . . you had to feel closer to her. She was right there. You couldn’t stop yourself if you tried. And, when you gently placed your hands on the taut skin of your tummy, your breath caught in your throat. Tears immediately sprung to your eyes. It was unlike anything else ever. . . To feel your baby girl moving under your hand. Little, tiny kicks as if to say ‘hello, mommy!’.

Very carefully, you went to raise onto your knees, the softness of your sheets pressing delicately into your soft skin. You kept your t-shirt raised, then put your palm on your belly once more. . . And it took almost no time to feel her. Still. She just kept on going. . . Dr. Rose had said she was active. . . And god, you loved it. You could tell now. She was old enough to show you herself – finally.

God. Tonight had truly been a night to rival all others. First, the Nutcracker. Then, the wonderful bubble bath you’d treated yourself to, to combat the cold temperatures from the evening. And finally. . . the cherry on top – Lavender kicking.

The only person missing from all of it. . . the one you wanted there most — for all of it. . . . . .Was the same one who’d left you on delivered for the past twenty four hours. An entire day of nothing.

The texts that had started after your earth-shattering, toe-fucking-curling phone call – the texts that he’d started. But, no response after your final text (which had not been the type of text to end a conversation on). Nothing in response to you when you’d responded to his Instagram message. You’d taken fucking courage and responded with a damn heart, too. It was terrifying using a heart in a text with someone you were secretly in love with. . . And it had been the second time you’d done it last night. But. . .he hadn’t even seen it. Hadn’t even cared to look.

You were so damn confused. And hurt.

But, the night before with Josh and Elsie, watching movies into the wee hours of Christmas Eve morning. And then, with your time with them and your grandparents at the ballet tonight. These events had been more than enough to raise your spirits. The ballet, gelato at Amorino, and having your people with you had done very well at distracting you. You’d taken time to tell your grandparents the gender and the name, but hadn’t divulged the full significance of the name. All they knew was that the plant was a favorite of yours that correlated with certain events that concerned your pregnancy with Lav.

When you’d gotten home, you had felt a hint of sadness as the dark, empty apartment had surrounded you. The disheartening feeling that came with the lack of communication with Jake. The deafening static of crickets from your phone’s text and Instagram message thread with Jake. You’d kept your phone on Do Not Disturb, but the urge to check to see if he’d responded had been too strong on a few occasions that evening.

So, in order to get your mind off of it, you’d focused on Stevie for a long while. You’d fed her, given her a couple of her favorite treats, snuggled and pet her as you’d scrolled TikTok. . .

And before long, you’d decided on self care; a bubble bath. And it had been very nice. So damn nice. You’d used the little bath tray Elsie had gotten for you the Christmas before last, filled your bath with a lavender-scented bubble bath soap, threw in a pink bath bomb, and lit many candles that smelled like your favorite plant.

On a last minute thought, right before you’d settled in the tub, you decided on a movie. So, with your phone on a stand on the toilet seat, you’d watched through Barbie in The Nutcracker. It was a favorite of yours and Elsie’s that you’d watched the night previous with Josh when they’d stayed the night with you. But the temptation to watch it again had been too great and it always lifted your spirits to indulge in it.

Once the bath had done its job at relaxing you, sleep had come easily. Though, it was as if Lavender had known that you’d needed a touch more of encouragement to see through Christmas Eve. To see through her father ignoring you.

It’s fine, you’d told yourself all night. He’s not yours. You can only be so upset. Get. Over. It.

Yet, with Lavender giving the tiniest, feather-light kicks to your palm, Jake was, once again, on your mind. How badly you wanted him here for this. Home. With you.

When you glanced at your phone screen, you noticed it was already past midnight. . . You had no clue what the flight schedules were and he hadn’t told you shit about when he’d be headed home. Considering he’d ignored you completely all day long. . . But, seriously. You couldn’t blame him. You weren’t together. He didn’t necessarily owe you that specific knowledge.

So, all you could do in the waiting was sit there, on your knees and feel her. . . Let the warm sensation that was blooming in your chest take over. For the millionth time in the past two days, though, you really fucking hated this trip that Jake was on that had taken him away from you. . . Because he should’ve been here for this.

Lavender’s very first kicks.

Jake’s POV

Only ten minutes away from home. Only. Ten. Minutes.

I didn’t know where this had come from, but it hadn’t stopped for the past three and a half hours. On the way to the airport, waiting at the airport, on the way to the car at the airport, and now. . . On our way to y/n’s apartment. Home.

All of this shit from Maya, directed at me, coincided with me doing shit I’d gone out of my way to do for her. I’d taken time away from my Christmas with Josh – with y/n – for this little trip to South Carolina to see her father. . . I’d absolutely gone out of my way to do that shit to make her happy. But apparently what I did wasn’t enough as she was pointing out ways she needed me to give her more.

“I just feel like you’re not giving me all of you, Jake,” she’d said as we’d ventured through the airport in South Carolina. “For instance, your baby. . . I don’t even know half of anything about the baby.”

“You’re holding back. There’s so much more to you and what’s going on in your life all of the time. . . So much more that I’m not getting,” was what she’d continued on with as we’d boarded the plane to come home. “And as your girlfriend, I feel I deserve all of who you are. . . I love you, Jakey. . .So I want more of you.”

Then, waiting at baggage claim at LaGuardia, it had persisted. Holding onto my arm as I’d given her kiss after kiss to get her to stop talking. . . But, of course, that hadn’t worked. “I just can’t believe there is so much about all of the baby stuff that I still don’t know, Jakey. . . There’s all kinds of fun, exciting shit that I don’t know and I want to,” she’d explained, one hand going to slide into my back pocket as the other had only tightened on my bicep.

I’d looked down at her, raising a brow at her antics. Yes, it was sweet of her to care. . . It was just a lot. I didn’t know why she was so adamant about all of it. If it had been because of insecurities due to seeing my response to y/n’s story, I had already said sorry for responding to it.

And for not knowing how the fuck to explain it when she’d brought it up to me, I’d done a damn good job lying to her. Obviously, I’d had to lie. I’d talked her down from all of the story shit. I’d done all I could to lie my way out of that. I couldn’t honestly tell her it hadn’t meant anything, but I’d lied enough that I felt she’d fallen for it. I’d told her that I’d only been talking about my baby’s perfection. . . . I had just known, when it came up over breakfast (just the two of us, thank god), that I had to hide it – this thing between y/n and me that had come to be again. I couldn’t lose it just because I was foolish enough with my actions for Maya to see some words and shit.

Much to my relief, she’d bought it. She had been totally fine after I’d explained it, it’d seemed. . .Was it the fact that I now knew about her inability to have kids? Was she feeling better about having that all out in the open? More open to discussing things about the baby? Or was there something else that she was insecure or upset over? I didn’t know how to explain this sudden influx of demands and the nonstop talking. It was new. These tangents she just kept going and going. Even with just my eyebrow raises and half assed replies — she’d taken those as indicators to continue.

“I’ll wait, though. . . For a bit. I love you enough to wait, but. . . Only for so long before I get really hurt. . . You know?” She’d rubbed my arm right before I’d had to leave her to grab her first (enormous) bag. And still, when I came back with it, she was wrapping around me the same as before and kept going. “I’m dying to be more involved. I want all of you. Wanna help you however I can. Really, baby. . .” And, she’d gone the extra mile on that one, rubbing her incredible tits against my arm as she’d grasped my ass through my jeans, left hand still in my back pocket.

Once we’d gotten her second (equally huge) bag and my one duffel, we’d had to make a quick stop in a single stall bathroom. I’d already been on edge about getting home to y/n after last night. . .and after Maya’s little trick with her boobs? I was but a man who loved a good set of fuckin’ tits. And Maya knew that – pulled that shit on purpose, And while I was definitely not complaining, I was beyond ready to get home. Thankfully, there hadn’t been a whole lot of talking in the bathroom. It had just been a lot of skin slapping against skin. And her (slightly irritating) whines I’d covered with my hand. It hadn’t been too bad, as I’d finished pretty quickly after getting her there even quicker. Because, seriously. I was tired from the trip and ready to get home.

However, she had tried to make me pause to discuss why I had still put on a condom when I knew now that she couldn’t have kids. . . I didn’t explain to her that it was because I simply never had sex without condoms (unless it was y/n, of course). I’d just acted as though I hadn’t heard the question and said some shit about getting home.

Getting home was the goal.

But even after that quickie and after me ignoring that one question about the condom, she was on the same shit from before. . . So. Fucking. Persistent.

“I just don’t know how else to get you to understand I’m hurting for more, baby. . . I’m in the dark and it does not feel good. If you’ll just let me around more and if you just tell me more about your baby and all of the baby news. . . I’ll feel so much better. I want to stick around for the long haul, but I need to feel more connected to it all. . . It’s important to me.”

She wasn’t wrong at the fact that I hadn’t given her as much of me as I could, with all of this baby stuff. But, I still felt like I was doing a pretty damn good job for my predicament. I had a child now. A child that deserved more of my time than Maya did. I also had a responsibility (and a burning fucking desire) to be there for y/n. I couldn’t just be everything, all of the time, for Maya. Not anymore. But she was suddenly acting as though that was what she needed to stick around.

I especially didn’t want to lose her – break up with her – after finding out her news. Not like I had wanted to lose her or anything before. . . But now, I knew how much I really wanted her to stay around. I felt for her. Very deeply, I felt for her. I loved her and I wanted to do everything in my power to give her even half of the good she’d given me for the majority of our relationship. The entire time I’d known Maya, she had been a helper for me. A listening ear. A sweet and kind confidant, no matter the situation. Through my heartbreak and joy, she was there and she was good for me. To me. She showed her love for me and her heart on a daily basis. I knew that I had a prize in Maya. It was one of the biggest reasons I hadn’t broken things off with her to be with y/n.

That brought me to the paramount reason I couldn’t end things with her. The painful realization that y/n could very well not ever want me. At least not in the way I wanted her. How I’d always wanted her. Y/n wanted things to stay the way they were. She had already said plenty to indicate that she didn’t want to change the arrangement we used to have (and were hopefully going to have again). I didn’t want to risk losing Maya, only to not have y/n. I’d stayed with Maya to fill that void. I couldn’t trust that y/n wouldn’t still hurt me if I gave her all of me. . . I knew y/n very well — and well enough that I knew she could still get scared enough to lead us back to the day in the kitchen. And we couldn’t do that yelling at each other shit anymore with a baby around. . . Y/n’s inability to commit and my longing for that with her. . . Not a good match. And that was all we’d come to, yet again, if I were to try to take us beyond the just-fucking.

And, then, there were the two talks (yes, two – one at Carmella’s and one afterwards) her dad had given me. . . All of the talk of her not being able to have kids and the good she deserved. I couldn’t lose her. Her father’s words were the final reason for not ending things with Maya. The tense moment, at his home, on repeat in my head. Said he’d “wanted a moment to talk with me about everything” – only him and me.

It had happened after we’d gotten back to his massive and expensive home, from that famous sweet treats place called Carmella’s. Fuckin’ Carmella’s.

When we’d gotten to her dad’s house, it had been late enough that Maya had wanted to go to bed, lay in her (probably) 100 percent cotton Egyptian sheets. It was obvious that they had money – a lot of it. . . And it was obvious that her father loved to spoil her with it. To each their own. But, I hadn’t wanted to sleep yet.

No, after my day, I’d wanted to take a shower to relax my mind. . .to think about everything that I’d found out about from Maya’s father. Not Maya, but her father. That had stung like a massive bitch, but not nearly as badly as I’d expected. . . Though, in my head, I could only imagine having babies with y/n. I’d mentioned more babies to her before and I’d meant that shit. Had slipped up when saying it, but in my heart, I’d known. It was the truth.

Considering this, I’d only really been sad for Maya, more than me. . . Not really sad for me at all. Just hurt that she’d kept that from me. I just couldn’t feel sadness for it on my future’s behalf because I didn’t want her to be the mother to my children. Didn’t trust her with that. Loved her, but not enough to be my future babies’ mom. . . . Only trusted y/n that much.

It was odd, because even if I didn’t trust y/n with my heart, I explicitly trusted only her with my kids. I think it was because I knew she was only scared to care that deeply for me – it seemed wouldn’t ever let herself. But I knew, wholeheartedly, that she could care for our children like that. That she would. Already was. Lavender was a lucky baby girl to have a mommy like her. . . To have her as a mommy specifically. Because y/n’s heart was so incredibly huge.

In the end, I was just pissed the fuck off that she’d let her dad tell me. She was a thirty year old woman who’d damn sure informed other people of it, so why not me? I was someone she’d told me she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. . . She felt comfortable enough telling me plenty of other things. Personal things.

It’d been quite a lot to process with her giant father there, eyes stony as he’d stared me down. I hadn’t even wanted to worry about his opinion of me. . . I would’ve preferred to only discuss this type of thing with Maya. Even if I didn’t want it with her, her lack of care to inform me of it sooner had pissed me off beyond words. It was like she’d wanted me to be humiliated. But. . . I knew Maya better than that, right? She’d never been like that before. . . . Conniving or anything of the sort. Perhaps she truly had been worried to tell me because she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me.

When I’d finally somewhat calmed down from it after my long, hot shower, I’d only had y/n in mind. So, after I’d changed into my pajamas, I’d been on my way to call her from the front porch. Just wanted to hear her voice. To ease me. . . And, I’d be able to explain my sudden, unexpected absence. But, right before I could exit the hallway of Maya's old room, her father. Amir. Her father was humongous. Towered over me by a solid foot of height, and was easily 280 pounds of man.

He’d approached me with purposeful steps and quiet footfalls. He didn’t want to disturb Maya’s sleep, but he’d wanted to make a point with me. That much had been obvious right off the bat. And, just as I’d gone to greet him, he’d held a large hand up, in front of my face.

“I’ll control this conversation, Mr. Kiszka,” he’d rumbled at me, my name having come from deep in his puffed chest.

I’d been nervous as fuck. The man intimidated me in a way I fucking hated. And I was tired of news about Maya coming from him. I hadn’t known if I could handle anything more that he could’ve wanted to tell me. What was next?, I’d wondered. Was Maya going fucking blind, too? And couldn’t tell me that, herself, either?

My mind had begun swirling with other things that she possibly just hadn’t told me yet.

“Yes sir,” I’d offered on a shaky breath. (I wasn’t easily intimidated, so I hated how this man made me feel so fucking small – in stature and as a human being.)

At my words, he’d held up his hand again. His features, curving down to say ‘don’t test me’. “I wanted to take a moment to talk – just you and me,” he’d all but growled, crossing his massive arms across his chest.

After being scolded for speaking twice already, I’d only nodded while (sadly) placing my phone in my pocket. I’d known, based on his tone and stance, that I wouldn’t be able to go outside anytime soon. “Maya has been perfect her entire life. She has always been a dream. And she does not deserve to be treated like she isn’t just because you got yourself into a sticky situation,” he’d told me, backing me up against the nearest wall of the hallway. This moment had been worlds different from the restaurant. With Maya there, he'd taken a calm and cool approach.

Though, when it was just me, he’d been a lot more serious than before. Quiet, stern. Intent on intimidating the fuck out of me.

“And, I’m inclined to believe, Mr. Kiszka, that if you haven’t ended things with my daughter by now,” he’d taken a deep breath in through his flared nostrils, gripping his arms to the point that his thick fingers, umber brown in color, had turned white. I’d swallowed – thickly. “Well, it seems to me you don’t intend to. You want my baby girl to stick around. You’ve kept her around and forced her to experience all of this, led her around by a string. . . . And all while she can’t have her own children.”

He’d walked close enough to me that my back was up against the wall, arms limp and lifeless at my sides as I hadn’t dared to look away from his almost-entirely-black irises. His pupils, dilated in his apparent rage. With his next words, I’d felt tiny droplets of spit land on my forehead. I hadn’t been able to control my fury, being spoken to like he had spoken to me. My fists had tightened at my sides and my entire body had stiffened to the point of completely unmoving. “It would be a seriously dark and ugly mark on your character, Mr. Kiskza,” he’d spat my name at me, the words landed on my face in the form of his saliva. He’d been fucking snarling at me. No fucking joke. “To force my Maya through all of this and then get rid of her as though she doesn’t matter. . . My sweet angel of a daughter.”

I had never one to let people get to me, intimidate me all for the purpose of knocking me down and making me feel small. And, angry as I was, this conversation with her dad had certainly succeeded in shrinking me, inch by inch. . . . In that moment, I’d like shit for ever thinking of anyone but Maya. Felt tiny as a fucking mouse. . . Like gutter trash. Which, I knew, was what he’d wanted. And, he’d fully succeeded in getting it from me. . . I had put up with that shit, and let myself feel small all for the sake of loving his daughter enough to feel guilty for putting her through the shit I had. He’d had just a bit more to say, but had waited. Tapping his foot in anticipation for my response. As if I were his child, getting disciplined for stealing fucking cookies from the cookie jar.

After a nod of confirmation from me that I’d heard his words, he’d cleared his throat and continued.

“Our Maya deserves the world and if you don’t give it to her for the simple fact that you’re going to have a child, you’d be a damned fool. And you’d be cheapening my baby girl of the opportunity to be an incredible second mother to your child.”

I hadn’t even dared to argue with him over my child not needing a second mother. She’d have a solid one mother — already did, in fact. Y/n was the only mother I wanted for our baby girl. Lavender didn’t need multiple mothers. Only one perfect mother. And she already had one. Maya could be someone in my daughter’s life, but not a mother. I didn’t want her doing that. I wouldn’t allow her to be a mother to my baby girl. Maya’s father had been wrong for insinuating anything different than that.

But he wouldn’t have listened to me for a second. Not if it had anything to do with questioning his word. And everything else he’d said had struck me enough that I hadn’t wanted to correct him at that moment. Come to think of it, his little confrontation and how shitty it had made me feel was definitely part of the reason I’d been on edge for the past almost-twenty four hours.

And, unfortunately now, we were trapped in her car for the time being – as we’d driven to the airport in her car. Thankfully, I was driving – so I got to control the speed at which we got back to my place. I’d also needed some sort of distraction from the way her voice was grating on my ever-loving nerves – this nonstop questioning. The mere sound of her voice felt like a nail being driven in my eardrum. Again, this was something new that had recently developed. . . Most of my irritation with Maya, though, I was attributing to an insane amount of tiredness. All of the traveling. All of the talks. All of the emotions surrounding the texts and the phone call.

“Jake, I don’t understand why you’re keeping anything from me. None of it is that big of a deal, babe. . . . It’s just cutesy little baby stuff.”

Where was this coming from?

“What about the gender, babe? That’s a good one! Just the gender. . . Everyone is going to know it soon anyway,” she tried to reason, as I mentally pled with the traffic light to just fucking change. “If I just knew what we were expecting. . .”

Goddammit. Not the gender. What the fuck? Seriously – Maya, confronting me about wanting to know the goddamned gender, had been the last thing I’d needed to deal with. I did not want to tell her. That was exclusively mine and y/n’s to share for now, along with my twin and her sister. There was no reason for Maya to know.

But. . . . she was pushing me awfully close to a breaking point of some capacity. And I’d never felt that way with Maya. This way. This longing to just get her to shut up, somehow, some way. This ongoing frustration with her was something new. Something I felt starting last night at Carmella’s . . . . Hanging on to me – clinging to me when that had been the last thing I wanted at that moment.

I didn’t want to be annoyed with someone who I wanted so badly to love unconditionally. She’d done so much for me; the least I could do for her was try to get past wherever this vexation had come from. But god – I could hardly take anymore. I was just tired, surely. . . I was ready to get home and lay in my own bed. Speaking of which. . . I had no idea if Maya was planning on staying the night, but I really, really hoped she was planning on going to her own home, too.

Didn’t want her to stay with me. For multiple reasons, but mostly one. One very beautiful reason, hopefully still waiting for me. . .

“Jakey, please, babe. I just want to know as much as I can so I can start buying baby clothes for–.”

“No, Maya. Fuck!” I finally snapped, voice raising a decibel higher than it should have in the small space of the car. I’d been giving half assed responses for the past few hours – spent a lot of time giving her a variety of ways to say ‘I’ll try my best’ or 'let me think about it’. But I couldn’t take it anymore. Thankfully, the traffic light switched within seconds of my heated way of reply. I felt really fucking bad – didn’t want to snap at her. But it had been threatening to leave my lips for the past several hours and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The last few words that somewhat sputtered from my mouth were from utter irritation and they couldn’t be contained, even if they were unintelligible. “I’m not–I can’t– The fucking–? God! No. Please fucking stop. Just for a minute.”

My words hung there, uncomfortably, for a few seconds before I heard her sigh. She was not happy about my response, but I’d had enough.

“Well,” she replied, her voice more of a huff than anything. She was noticeably upset. And I wanted to roll my eyes at her sudden theatrics. She’d never been like this. I couldn’t handle this shit right now.

But. . . when I heard a subtle sniff, I looked over at her with regret painted on my features. And, just like the sniff implied, there were legitimate tears accumulating in her pretty eyes. I hadn’t ever seen her cry for the entirety of our relationship. Even when we’d just been fucking at the beginning of summer. . . And for the past few months of dating her, never a single tear. . . Maya had never cried. Last night at Carmella’s was the first time I had ever seen that from her. Those tears after her dad told me the news. . . It had been hard to see from her.

Maya was a dream, usually. So sweet, yet extremely even tempered – not one to frequently break her calm resolve. It was something I loved about her. She was predictable. But I couldn’t have predicted anything at Carmella’s, just like I couldn’t have predicted this. Had I not tried well enough to know her? Fuck. That made me feel really shitty. Seriously, was it a bad thing that I’d never seen Maya cry until last night? And the idea that I’d made her cry. . . the idea that I could make any woman cry. . . I couldn’t help but think of y/n’s tears. . . when she'd been forced to tell me about being pregnant with Lavender. How easily she’d broken down. And I’d hated it. . . didn’t want to see her cry. God.

And while seeing Maya cry wasn’t nearly as bad as seeing y/n cry, it was still tugging at me – eating at me. There was another traffic light. The last one. Right before we got to the apartment. I could see the complex. And while I really didn’t want to tell her the gender, I couldn’t stand the sniffling anymore. . . When I glanced over and saw a few tears spill from her eyes to her beautiful caramel-toned cheeks. . . Fuck. She was so pretty. And I loved her so much. . . it wasn’t that I didn’t love her.

I just. . . fuck. I knew what the fuck it was. It was the other reason – the main reason I was so urgent to get back home. The person I was so fucking anxious to simply be around again. The person I’d been missing since the damned moment I had to leave her — unexpectedly.

The woman that, no matter what, was popping into my mind. At every turn, I was relating things to her. For a reason. And I knew why. I fucking knew. . . . Ever since moving to New York, I had spent a lot of time thinking. And in this thinking, I’d come up with a theory. A theory that life was a song. And, no not like a song. Life was a song. Every person had their own enigmatic masterpiece, unfolding to reveal more of the melody everyday. And by the time a person died, the melody would be chaotic and beautiful – all at once. The life song, all tied up with instruments unique to every person. Every incident in life, a different lyric that described a person.

Then, of course, in every song, there was a chorus and a bridge. The chorus in life was what a person came back to – at every turn, there was the same chorus to tie you back to the true meaning behind the song. The chorus was the reminder that, no matter what, it existed. And, without it, the song would be empty – meaningless. Every song had a chorus and it was undoubtedly, the predominant and most essential part of the song.

And then, there was a bridge. The bridge was the triumphant part of the song that made the entire song make sense. . . The Sui Generis, as I’d call it. This idiosyncratic, rare, special section of the song – so unlike the rest of the melody. . . The bridge made goosebumps build because it made one wonder – where had it been for the entire song? It was so magnificent and beauteous that it made the song have purpose, standing out from everything around it.

And, while I didn’t want to admit this, I had to. It was undeniable. Y/n was my chorus. Lavender was my bridge. . . And if y/n was my chorus, it only meant one thing. . .

I loved y/n. And I loved her more than Maya. So much more. An infinite amount. Wrong as it was, it was true. But, to be ‘fair’, I loved her more than I’d ever loved anyone. Anyone. I loved y/n past the point of life being a song. . . Past death, I would always love y/n – I’d always love her – and so fucking much. I hadn’t seen her coming, but the love had been unstoppable – unavoidable. . . . She was destined to come along and be my chorus.

And with that, I would forever feel this need to protect her and what she wanted held sacred. . . . and in this instance, I also wanted it kept sacred. I watched my fingers flex against the steering wheel, my emotions piling so high. . . I let out several breaths to calm myself. Thought of y/n. What would she want me to say? Honestly, as the light changed, I really thought about it.

In all of what y/n would always be to me. . . the gender of our baby was only a small piece in the grand scheme of things. . . There were so many other things that were more important. Like the baby alone. Lavender, on her own, was only mine and y/n’s. She was who was important. Nothing could change that. The same, unchanging fact I’d been sticking to, mentally, since Maya’s dad had confronted me. . .

Goddammit. Everything he’d told me. . . . What Maya had finally admitted to me. . . . How she couldn’t have kids. Fuck. She just wanted to experience it. Just this once. She wanted to feel the excitement of the preparation for a baby. And, the gender of a baby was a huge part of that thrill. . . the fun.

Surely y/n would understand all of this, right? If I were to let Maya in to this little part. . . She had been intent on me prioritizing Maya anyway. . . She wouldn’t want Maya to be sad over something that I could just tell her? Right?

As I was finally turning into the complex parking lot, she spoke up again. Her tear-filled voice chipped, once more, at my heart. “L-look. . . I’m sorry, Jake,” she started, at the same moment that I turned into a visitor parking space. I let out a deep breath through my nose, coming to my decision before I even let myself look into the wet pools of her dark chocolate eyes again. But when I did, my heart broke further. Her full lips, trembling. “I’m just excited and I’m ready to start planning for it–the baby. And I–.”

“She’s a girl,” I hastily cut in, averting my eyes towards the windshield, closing them as I spit it out. Just had to say it. Before I could beat myself up for telling her. Didn’t want to regret that I’d said it. “The baby–she’s a– she’s a girl.”

a/n: for one, i apologize for maya's pov. she is, in fact, a hateful ****, as elsie would say. buuut it was necessary. and - ohhhhh, jake...... like, shit, guys.... what's gonna happen next? i mean for the love of all things holy, y/n is upstairs feeling kicks while maya is KEEPING JAKE IN THE PARKING LOT UGH !!!! guys. what. w d y m ???

i love you all !!! ....+ you can ask @joshym + @builtbybrokenbells if you don't believe me....... but, PLEASE BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY -- chapter 13 is, in fact, JUST AROUND THE CORNER !!!! SEE U SOON <3

AS ALWAYS -- please send in asks, respond to chapters, etc. I PROMISE I SEE THEM AND IT IS THE BEST REWARD FOR THE DAYS, WEEKS, AND MONTHS SPENT WRITING THIS STORY! <333 this story takes up SO MUCH time in my already busy family-filled, work-filled, etc. life, but YOU all make it WORTH IT. So I LOVE to hear from you!!!!! <3 xoxoxo

trying my best to keep up w the Covet Visualizer... you may view it if you'd like. however, you don't NEED TO. i simply am a very visual person, sooo i made it for my fellow visual learners/lovers. the photos i pulled inspo from for y/n's photos in this chapter will be in the visualizer :D !!! (IF YOU DO CHOOSE TO USE IT, PLEASE VIEW IT IN PRINT LAYOUT!! — esp if you’re using the docs app/are on your phone!!)

Taglist (continued in reblog):

@joshym, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlover, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule, @texas-bbq-pringles, @jennyraye20

I always try to tag everyone, but you all know how it goes! ughhh (taglist will be cont. in reblog !!) Please make sure you’re filling out my Google Form if you would like to be tagged and aren’t already on the taglist! <3

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake fic #my fics #covet #MINOR (non-spoilery) WRITER THOUGHTS IN TAGSSSS #MAYA SUCKS #loooove josh + els and their weird/cute relationship <3 (i cry)#jake..... bro.... get it together bb #y/n. you are precious and deserve the world <333 #hehehehe #i just LOVE the convenience of iphones..... don't you????#;)))))#oh #and yeah... jake definitely has a preg!kink in this lil 'verse of mine.... ;)#DUHHH #jake kiszka smut #MINORS DNI

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theharrowing · 8 hours ago

Text

MY CHELL!!!!!!!

i read this review back when you posted it but life has been so hectic that i haven't had a chance to respond 😭😭😭 but i am here now and so excited to see (once again) what you have to say.

that ursula gif tho 💀💀💀

how i picture you wiggling in your seat:

you know, i hadn't fully considered the image of Taehyung in a balaclava, but now that you mention it..........................yes.

Stroll in with a pair of bloody chopsticks and a simple, “Darling”...what a charmer.

lolol idk why this is so funny to me.

definitely manipulative to bring Jimin along. i did my best to paint it as him bringing the whole crew as man power but those of you who've been paying attention know that Jimin is not a fighter, and that at the end of the day, he is absolutely a bargaining chip.

MC comparing Yoongi and Ryujin hurts. I can see what she means but damn does it hurt to admit it. After all is said and done, Yoongi is a shady ass dude with a shaky track record in love. The way he goes about things aren’t always clear and are often very infuriating.

yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. sigh lmao. this is something i have been anticipating showing for a long time and i am glad you had thoughts.

i actually had other plans for Ateez, but i scrapped some chunks of my outline that i didn't think suited the story anymore and lost those characters in the process. now they are heeerrrreeeee haha. i also think they fit the vibe, honestly.

I love that you can include such innocent and cute scenes in between the death, sorrow and destruction.

that's what i do hehehe.

The one on one talk went a lot better than I thought it would. MC needed to let those tears out with Yoongi and I’m more at ease that he is willing to wait for her mental health to get better. Healing takes time and having him/the guys not push for her to come home too soon means a lot.

....................we'll see how this thought has aged in chapter 24 lmao. i know you will have WORDS.

There is a subtle shift in the family dynamics or I could just be reading too much into it but with Seokjin’s bullshit out in the open, it seems to me that everyone is a little more relaxed. Not as on edge with being alive.

you are so observant 🥰🥰🥰

your observations re: ryujin & yoongi (and ryujin & mc) are on point. definitely nothing is black and white but where are the lines drawn, and where are they grey???

I hope Yoongi puts a fucking bullet in Ryujin’s skull, right between her eyes! This slimy two-faced bitch! Harmless my ass! I want to reach through the screen and punch Ryujin myself!

THANK YOU FOR READINGGGGGGG!!!!!!!! you will get answers soon but i wonder if you will also have more questions. my hope is that from chapter 24 on, all we are doing is answering questions and letting all of the pieces finally fall into place. it's.................going to be a mess haha. SEE YOU SOOONNNN!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😍🥰💜😍🥰💜

Collateral 🗡️ 23: This life of death and destruction

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon

🗡️ word count: 13.6k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️warnings: violence (a man gets stabbed in the eye, weaponized chopsticks, blood); recreational drug use & getting drunk; vomit.

🗡️note: are we ready to continue this story??? the cast of characters has doubled in size, and i think the angst & drama has multiplied, as well. i wrote this opening scene on april 20, 2023 moments after watching the Haegeum mv. it feels good to have finally built the rest of the chapter around it over a year later. this chapter is like 80% dialogue, lol sorry. we are setting up for what is to come in the rest of the fic. enjoyyy!!!

🗡️ also note: in this chapter, mc is borrowing clothing. if you are comfortable with imagining the clothing belongs to the thin kpop idols, please do. if you are not, then please don't. i am not making assumptions or allusions to body size but instead trying to paint a picture of being at the mercy of others.

🗡️ if you have not read the Yoongi POV chapter, i strongly recommend you do so before reading this.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted sept. 2024 | read on ao3

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“He looks hesitant,” Ryujin drawls in a bored tone. She turns to face you and her lips upturn at the edges, eyes sparkling. “Like he’s scared of what he may find when he gets here.”

The air is stiflingly hot, creating a sticky film over your skin, and your body feels heavier than it should. In this humidity, you are dizzy and agitated. More than anything, you are not ready to come face to face with the man who has caused you so much confusion and mental duress.

“Good,” you say, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Your fingers dig into your hip bones, and you do your best not to shuffle anxiously. You do not fully believe in your conviction, but you want your performance to be believable enough that the girls don't think you're weak. “He should be.”

“Looks like he brought all the family men,” she adds, turned back to watch their approach.

Your heart flutters suddenly, wondering whether she means Jimin is there too, unable to hide the tremble in your voice as you ask, “A-all of them?”

This time, when Ryujin faces you, her expression appears contemplative, almost sad.

“All of them,” she confirms, causing nausea and excitement to stir.

All you can say in response is, “Oh.”

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are carrying you forward, toward the window. You do not fully approach, not wanting to be seen, so you stop as soon as you spot them walking in the street toward the noodle shop downstairs that doubles as your hideout.

Seven figures approach in a V formation. Six of them wear ratty dark t-shirts and khaki pants, and they hold what look like juvenile weaponry—baseball bats and chains. Over their heads are balaclavas, reminding you of Christian's men. Is it meant to taunt him, you wonder. Do they think they will find him and his men here?

Yoongi is in the center, leading the charge, with no face covering and wearing a baby blue satin bomber jacket with thick white lines down the sleeves. On the breasts of the jacket are embroidered dragon heads, reminding you of Namjoon.

Namjoon. The thought of seeing him again, like this, makes your insides stir. You feel the urge to vomit, but you hold your ground and watch as the men approach, wearing a frown on your lips.

When the heads disappear from sight, you turn and listen for the silence that lingers in the air, save for the thrum of your pulse. A calm before a terrible storm.

Ryujin lets out a long, loud trill of a whistle—a signal, no doubt—and you listen as the

hideout breaks out into chaos. Men scramble through the short hallway that leads out into the open space that Yoongi and his men will soon enter.

"No guns!" Ryujin commands as she stomps through the space toward the hallway, clad in a white tank top tucked into a short black tennis skirt and tall leather equestrian boots. "You are on the defense only. Do not harm a single hair on any of these men's bodies. Do so and you die!"

As you stand near the window, you listen to the street commotion below. Vehicles drive along the narrow roads, vendors shout while ringing bells and chimes, and in the distance, a dog barks.

You know that you will not hear the men's approaching footfalls, but you listen for them, anyway. Yoongi and the family men only need to walk through the small dining hall of the open-air restaurant below, then up a flight of stairs. You hear nothing that might give their positions away.

"Wanna hide?" Hwasa—the nickname of your darling friend Hyejin—asks. She rests her chin on your shoulder and loosely wraps her arms around you, engulfing you in a perfume of roses and lilies.

You shake your head and mutter, "No," watching the doorway for any movement.

Finally, heavy footfalls echo through the space, giving you goosebumps, and when you hear the sounds of shouting followed by someone running into the room, you hold your breath.

"Fuck, fuck!" a man yells as he rounds the corner and cowers, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He seems to be patting himself down for a weapon, then he sighs and squeezes his eyes closed as he presses his back to the wall.

"Ya!" Hwasa yells, making the man gasp. "What is it?"

"B-big Duri," the man stammers, eyes wide. He shakes his head quickly as if attempting to clear away his thoughts.

Duri is a hulk of a man who stands watch at the top of the stairs. He is as muscular as he is tall, with a bit of softness around his belly, and his towering status has earned him the title Big Duri from the other men. One snarl from him makes men cower away in fear.

"What about him?" Hwasa asks.

"He was s-stabbed," the man says, staring at the floor. "In the f-f-fucking eye."

Hwasa drops her arms from around you and stands up straight. You open your mouth to speak but find no sound can pass your lips.

Footfalls approach, heavy and fast. You are not sure who you expect storming in from the hallway, but for some reason, it is not Yoongi.

He walks in assuredly like he owns the place, dark hair framing his face in waves. Clenched in his right fist are two bright red chopsticks that look like the ones served at the restaurant downstairs, and you could swear the thinner ends of them are dripping with blood.

"Darling, let's go," Yoongi says, wide eyes fixed on you. He looks like a madman with his hair somewhat disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his throat.

You are surprised to see Yoongi dressed as he is. Under the pastel jacket is a white tee tucked into loose-fitting blue jeans. When was the last time you saw him in blue jeans? Your first trip to Hong Kong?

You heavy-blink, breaking from the thought process, and attempt to hold steady and keep cool. But you do not feel cool. Your pulse quickens, and you worry you might faint.

"I'm staying here," you say, voice trembling.

You half expect Yoongi to storm over and grab you by the arm. Part of you even feels saddened when he stays where he is.

"Darling," Yoongi says, lifting his free hand to wave you over. "I'm not asking you twice."

"How many men did you kill out there?" you ask, eyes on the chopsticks that drip blood beside his dusty white sneaker. Yoongi's arm drops to his side and he heaves a weighty sigh, shoulders falling.

Behind Yoongi, Ryujin saunters in. She grins and stands beside Yoongi, resting her head against his shoulder as she reaches for the bloodied chopsticks in his fist, saying, "You owe me a bodyguard."

Yoongi—whose eyes never leave you—throws the chopsticks to the floor, off to the side. They clatter against the uneven wood, and you wince at the thought of blood splattering.

He mutters, "Fine."

With that admission, you surmise that Yoongi has, indeed, stabbed Big Duri in the eye. How he managed to do so when he is so much smaller than the man is beyond you. You would be amused by the visual of Yoongi leaping onto him like a kitten if the situation were not so infuriating.

Slowly, Ryujin lifts her head from Yoongi's shoulder. She turns her gaze to you as she says, "She doesn't want this life, Yoongi. She told you so, herself."

"Darling," Yoongi says, seemingly ignoring Ryujin, making her roll her eyes. "I will make some changes. We will figure it out. Just come home."

You shake your head. "I told you I wanted to leave."

"You are in danger," Yoongi insists, and you scoff. For the first time since you have arrived to this dingy place, there has been no hint of violence until he turned up.

As Yoongi sighs, his nostrils flair. You can clearly see that he has something on his mind, but he remains still and silent.

Anger rises, and you clench your fists at your sides. This is not the reunion you expected, but you cannot say you are shocked. "I told you I no longer want this life, and the first thing you do is stab a man—a good man!"

"Darling, I—"

"Go home," you interrupt.

Yoongi watches you, expression cold save for a flicker of sadness in his eyes. Every nerve in your body wants to propel you forward and into his arms, but you do not want to return to the home of a maniac who attacks men with chopsticks, beautiful as that maniac may be.

"I have told you time and again that I cannot handle this life of death and destruction! And here you are, bringing it straight to my feet. Go home, Yoongi."

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, raising his eyebrows. In the doorway, you see Namjoon appear, balaclava raised to his forehead. His dark grey tee is smeared with sweat and blood, and before he can open his mouth to speak, you turn around. There is absolutely no way you will be able to keep your strength if you are forced to face any more of them.

"She wants you to leave," Hwasa says. You are grateful for her as you hear the heels of her boots against the rickety hardwood. "Now!"

"I want to speak to her," Namjoon says, and you are surprised to hear Yoongi say, "She does not wish to speak. Come on."

As their deep, low voices mutter, tears fill your eyes. You breathe in deeply, hoping to ward them off, but as you exhale, the air comes out shattered, and you know that you are only moments away from crying.

"Tomorrow night, we can sit down and discuss matters," Ryujin says.

You keep your eyes on the late afternoon sky, hanging on her every word.

"Amicably," she continues. "No weapons. No hot tempers. And you have a man en route to Busan to take Duri's place when we arrive. Deal?"

"All of us?" Namjoon asks, and you fight the edges of your lips, which curl into a sad smile.

Ryujin sighs. "Yes, all seven of you sordid little devils. Now get the fuck out of my hideout. You gave our darling a scare and I will not have her fainting because of it. I will send you a time and place, and you will show up dressed as respectable men. Seriously, what the fuck are you guys wearing? You look like trash."

Ryujin's voice fades as she continues to berate them, footsteps retreating, and it occurs to you once more that somewhere out in the chaos is Jimin. You turn, and the movement causes Yoongi's head to lift and eyes to open wide and expectantly, standing halfway in the hallway. You were not expecting him to still be here. To your disappointment, Namjoon has already left the room.

"Is Jimin here?" you ask.

Relief floods Yoongi's face, and he cracks a smile, nodding as he says, "Yes. Come see him."

You shake your head, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall.

"Glad he's awake," you say. "Perhaps I will see you all tomorrow."

Yoongi's expression turns sad, and you watch as he mouths the word perhaps before you turn your attention back to the window. The sound of his shoes retreating makes you want to throw up, and you swallow it down as a single tear streaks your left cheek.

* * *

Ryujin lies on a large fur rug that she has pulled near the window. Atop the rug is a mess of blankets and pillows, and her limbs tangle with those of Hwasa and the other three girls.

You sit arrow straight on the wide window sill, staring at the street below. The sky slowly darkens, illuminating the buildings with an orange glow that is exaggerated by the neon lights on each restaurant and storefront.

"Yes, Yoongi," Ryujin says into her phone, playful irritation in her tone. "I swear to you there is nobody by that name in our ranks. Seokjin-oppa has already warned me about his possible presence."

You listen, hoping to hear traces of Yoongi's voice coming through the phone, but you know that it is hopeless; his dulcet tones do not exactly travel far even while in the same room as him. Muffled and at a distance, the notion is hopeless.

"You know," Ryujin continues, "you would have less to worry about if you hadn't stabbed my most trusty security guard in the fucking eye with a chopstick."

Her words make you wince, and you turn away from the window, staring at the empty wall opposite where Ryujin and the girls rest. The floral wallpaper is peeled in places and tinted brown from water damage, but otherwise, the space is clean and empty, save for six suitcases and the items Ryujin has brought in and strewn about for comfort.

Outside of this room is a hallway that connects to more rooms, though you have not bothered to look into any of them, save for the bathroom, which is the first room to the right as you exit this one. Whatever this hideout was originally built for, you do not know, and you do not care, although you imagine at least one of the rooms could serve as office space for the restaurant below.

A shrill laugh barks through the air, making you jump. You gaze over your shoulder to find Ryujin's head tilted back, eyes closed as she full-body laughs.

"Don't be a fucking idiot," she says, opening her eyes to meet your gaze. "No scrub in clown paint is going to buy our little darling from me. Now get some sleep; we'll talk about this tomorrow evening, as promised."

Something about Ryujin calling you our little darling sends a chill along your spine, and you turn back to staring at nothing. She ends the call abruptly, and you hear as her phone clatters against the wooden floor, undoubtedly tossed aside.

"Darling," Ryujin calls, voice soft and pretty, causing your shoulders to rise to your ears as if protecting you—from what, you are unsure.

You swallow hard. "Hmm?"

Ryujin giggles. "Come. You're so tense. Relax with us."

She is correct that you are tense. You have been tense for days. When you got into her car at the airport, she said you would be here for two or three days, but it is going on a week, and you are tired of sleeping on rugs in a pile of bodies. You want to return to a bed. Any bed.

As you turn to face Ryujin and the others, you are struck by a sense of homesickness and longing that makes your stomach churn. Hwasa and three slender beauties called Solar, Wheein, and Moonbyul crowd Ryujin, who sits up on her elbows, gaze fixed on you.

Hwasa's head is against Ryujin's left shoulder, near her breast, and she watches you, as well, gaze soft but pleading. Moonbyul, with her long, straight hair lightened to a pale gold blonde, has her head on Hwasa's tummy, curled in on her. The other two are resting similarly, with Solar clinging to Ryujin and Wheein clinging to Solar, long dark hair draped over limbs which are draped over more limbs clad in white cotton and black spandex.

You watch them in their near-stillness, questioning where you would fit. Clearly, the five of them are tight. They call her mother, and she proudly dotes on them as if they are her precious children.

Ordinarily, you wait for everyone to begin dozing off, then you curl up on one of the outside edges, back turned from whichever woman is beside you. But you know that Ryujin wants you to be physically close to her—you can tell by the way she watches you.

What would physical closeness to a woman like her entail, you wonder.

"So shy," Ryujin pouts. "So moody."

Hwasa, as if mirroring her energy, juts out her bottom lip.

Ryujin tilts her head, studying you. "What does the lady require to help take the edge off?"

Although she is not explicitly saying so, you know that she is offering pills. Every day that you do not give in and crawl to Ryujin and her pile of women, she assumes it is due to some defect in your ability to relax. In a way, you suppose, she is correct.

"Going home would take the edge off," you respond, voice flat and lacking all mirth.

Ryujin sighs, and her pretty, impish smile falls into a dramatic frown. "I, too, would like to go home. And I promise that we will, soon. Yoongi is convinced there is some third party attempting to track you down, and he has been insistent on weeding the man out. He seems to think that you are safest while remaining in hiding. I, however, think we are sitting ducks."

You hum and nod.

She sits up ever so slightly, causing the clinging women to shift along with her movement. "What do you think?"

What do you think? Such a simple, innocent question, yet it stirs an anger in you that is so deep, festering in the dark pits of you that are fed by lack of proper comfort and sleep.

There is a part of you that wants to snap at Ryujin and ask whether she really cares what you think. You want to storm up to her, take her by the straps of her white tank top, and shake some sense into her while demanding she returns you to Korea at once.

Another part of you worries that Yoongi is being too paranoid to think clearly and that he is making an already strange situation worse. You find it hard to believe Christian has weaseled his way into Taiwan and is lying in wait to pounce, if that is what the phone call just now suggests.

But, then again, you never would have imagined Christian would show up with a briefcase of money, nor did you expect to see him turning up to the mansion in the middle of the night. Still, the notion feels ridiculous. You're not in Korea anymore.

You shrug, purse your lips as if you are thinking it over, and say, "I don't really know."

Truth be told, you are exhausted, catapulting emotionally from one extreme to another, finding it impossible to truly relax. You are not sure whether Ryujin has done anything to deserve your vitriol; she has kept you safe and fed, even if you are slowly succumbing to exhaustion-induced hysteria.

Her history with Yoongi notwithstanding, she appears reasonable and kind. It is hard to hate her for her past when it has opened up Yoongi's arms to you—for better or worse. It is not as if you regret the time you have spent with him.

And, if you are being honest, you wonder whether the transgression between them was as simple as the men put it, or if there is more to her side of the story. Surely, she did not wake up one day and decide to betray the man she loved.

Or, perhaps, she is charming you the way Yoongi did. What better way to tame a wild beast than to uproot it from the comfort and safety it has grown accustomed to and force it into close proximity, giving it no other choice than to be grateful and eventually feel some semblance of love toward its captor. Maybe she and Yoongi have more in common than you realize.

The thought makes you snicker, and you stand, taking notice of how Ryujin lifts her chin and watches you. Hwasa stirs and sits up, causing Moonbyul to roll off of her with a groan and clench onto the pillow below her.

"Going to the bathroom," you say.

Hwasa stands as Ryujin sing-songs, "Buddy system," causing you to smile and roll your eyes.

You are not allowed to do anything outside of this room—including taking a shit—without the accompaniment of one of the girls. Lucky for you, Hwasa is always willing and eager to be close.

Hwasa tiptoes over and snakes an arm around your elbow, momentarily resting her head on your shoulder as the two of you walk. You have come to enjoy her company quite a bit, and you are relieved to have her here.

While it was shocking to lay eyes on Hwasa after your plane landed in Taiwan, she was very clear and open about her circumstances, and you found it easy to trust her. According to her, Seokjin and Jimin gave her the position at Paradise knowing she was one of Ryujin's women, reminding you of Hyunjin and how he and his family were safe, after all.

Yoongi may not have been working directly with Ryujin this entire time, but it seems that his men have been. And, judging by how comfortable he seemed with letting Ryujin touch him and boss him around earlier, you do not suspect that he harbors the same ill thoughts that he seemed to when you first encountered her all those months ago.

You wonder what has changed. Has it been your presence in his life, or something more? After all the destruction Ryujin's team has caused Yoongi's family over the last several months, ending with Jimin in a coma, some sort of truce had to have been made. You have heard whispers of conversations, but you are curious about the specifics. It seems the woman who was at the helm of the destruction, Hyungseo, is not here.

In due time, you think. You have no doubt Ryujin will open up to you.

As you and Hwasa leave the room and venture quietly into the hall, two armed men look up from the game of Chinese checkers that they play on the floor, and smile. They are beautiful, and you smile back, yanking your gaze away from them before you are able to make any more of an impression on either of them.

Admittedly, you are lonely. Physically, emotionally, sexually…and there is something in the gleams of their eyes that stirs you deeply, but you know that it is not them who do it for you.

It is their eyes. They share the same piercing, knowing gaze of hunger and brutality that glimmers in the eyes of the family men. Your family men.

"I think Yunho likes you," Hwasa teases, voice loud enough for him to undoubtedly hear, though you do not turn back to look.

Instead, you press your palm against the cold metal door leading into the small bathroom and sheepishly ask, "Which one is he, again?"

A snicker comes from the floor, undoubtedly from Yunho's companion Seonghwa, and you turn as you enter the dimly lit room, grinning widely at your friend. The bathroom door swings shut, and the scents of toilet cleaner and bleach sting your nose.

There are three toilet stalls in this room with mint green painted metal doors. The walls are a similar shade of green, and the yellow and white tiles on the floor are chipped in places.

You make your way to the sinks straight ahead and turn on the water, which is always cold, and run your hands under the stream. On the counter, in the corner, is a large black makeup case containing travel-sized toiletries for yourself and the rest of the women, and you open its lid and rummage around for your toothbrush and toothpaste.

"How are you holding up?" Hwasa asks as you unscrew the cap from the toothpaste and squeeze a small dollop of its contents onto your bristles, careful not to take too much.

You shrug, and rather than respond, raise the brush to your mouth. The mint is cloyingly sweet as it hits your taste buds, and you close your eyes, worried that its minty sting may tangle with your emotions and cause tears to well.

"Will you be joining Ryujin to meet with them for dinner tomorrow?"

Without opening your eyes, you begin to shake your head, not sure whether you can handle sitting at the same table with all of them. But then Jimin's bright, gleaming smile crosses your mind, and you shrug and nod. You may as well.

Hwasa chuckles, and her hands rest softly on your shoulders before giving a gentle squeeze. All at once, you relax, dropping your shoulders and tipping your head forward, instinctively giving her permission to do anything she would like.

As you finish brushing your teeth and tongue, she squeezes your muscles and rolls her thumbs in circles. You hold the small plastic brush between your teeth, feeling a dribble of frothy, minty spit roll down your lip to your chin, and you rest your palms against the counter until Hwasa lifts her hands away.

"I suppose I should brush my teeth, too," she says with a pout in her tone, and you open your eyes to see her squirting some paste onto a matching toothbrush that she has written AH on in large letters for Ahn Hyejin.

You spit, rinse, and spit some more, then use the inside of your sweaty black tank top to dab the moisture from the edges of your mouth. When Hwasa is finished, the two of you link arms once more and make your way out of the bathroom, ignoring Yunho and Seonghwa as you walk by.

The rest of the girls, led by Ryujin, walk by in a fit of soft giggles, and you make your way to the pile of blankets and pillows, feeling physically exhausted despite being uncertain of whether you may actually be able to sleep.

Hwasa follows and lies down beside you, beaming as she scoots nice and close and wraps an arm around your waist before you have a chance to roll away and face the wall.

"Not so fast," she says, causing you to chuckle despite yourself. "You always roll away. Snore in my face for once."

Affronted, you attempt to wiggle out of her hold, surprised by how strong she is as she holds you in place. "I do not snore."

Hwasa rolls her eyes, says, "Everyone snores a little," and wiggles closer as her hold on you loosens—so close your noses nearly touch.

You feel too warm, and the scent of Hwasa's perfume mingling with her body heat stirs something inside you, filling you with the urge to flee. You are lonely, and she is beautiful and soft, and suddenly it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room.

At a loss, you close your eyes. Whether you roll your body away or continue to face her, she will not create more distance because she cannot. As soon as the other girls return, they will pile into the bed, and you will feel the weight of ankles and wrists drape over you.

"Good night, pretty dove," Hwasa sing-songs.

You crack a smile, unable to hold back despite how dangerous it feels to allow yourself to be anything but stoic and collected for the time being. The nickname reminds you of Paradise and of Jimin, and you are unable to hold back.

"Good night, Hyejin," you mutter in response, forgetting her nickname for the familiar one as her warmth and comfort lulls you fast into a sleep you did not expect to come.

You actually feel…good.

* * *

The rattle and clanking of dishes and silverware have all of your nerves on high alert, causing your pulse to spike and your palms to sweat. You are acutely aware of the fact that at any moment, several men you miss and adore are going to come walking into the private dining room to join you, Ryujin, and Hwasa, and you are going to have to face them.

Each time a member of the serving staff enters, your eyes dart up in panic, and each time they bow apologetically, confusion painted across their features. Under the table, from your right, Hwasa grips onto your hand and mutters kind words that are lost over the pounding of your heart.

When your trio arrived first, you were grateful. You assumed that by the time you waited on the arrival of the men, your nerves would have calmed and you would have composed yourself.

But you were wrong. Oh, how you were wrong.

With each passing second, your heart riots behind your ribs, quick and dizzying. You feel the urge to excuse yourself to the bathroom, but you are terrified of what it may do to Yoongi if he arrives to find that you are not sitting at this table.

Food and drink are brought in. Large dishes covered in steaming meat, vegetables, rice, and noodles. Carafe after carafe is set down, and as you sit forward to peer into one of them, Hwasa says, "That is kaoliang. Fermented liquor from China." Your mouth begins to water, but you are not sure you are ready just yet to start drinking.

Shadows linger outside the door to the private room, tall and wide blobs obscured by the privacy glass. Ryujin glances at her watch, mutters, "Fucking finally," and stands, causing Hwasa to stand as well.

You remain glued to your seat. Even if you wanted to stand, you are not sure you would be able to.

As the door slides open, your heart pounds. Seokjin enters with a smirk and a bow of his head, followed by Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jeongguk, Namjoon, and finally, Yoongi.

Jimin beams, eyes and mouth wide and happy, and he rounds the table in a rush, pushing past Ryujin, who attempts to pull him into a hug. Your eyes fill with tears, and as you finally get onto your feet, legs wobbling beneath you, the tears spill, streaking your cheeks.

You stumble and crash into the papered wall from the force of Jimin's hug, elbow scraping and stinging, but you do not care. Jimin smells and feels so familiar, and you sob in his arms, burying your face into his black lapel and letting out a deep, shattered breath.

"Oh my god," you manage to mutter against his shoulder, and he tries to loosen the hug to hear you speak, but you shake your head like a petulant child and pull him closer, refusing to let go. "I was so scared, Jimin. I thought I might never— I've missed you so much."

Voices greet one another, and chairs scrape across the floor, signaling that the others have begun to find their seats. This time, when Jimin begins to release the hug, you allow him, dropping your hands from his shoulders but holding them loosely around his hips.

Jimin's eyes are glassy with tears, and hair is slightly longer, almost grown out into a mullet. For the first time since you have met him, it is brown, and you mutter, "Nice hair," while doing your best to smile widely despite still crying.

He grimaces at you, lifting his hands to thumb away the moisture under your eyes. Then he leans in, kisses the tip of your nose, and says, "All better, dove."

"Thank you," you whisper, sound lodged in your throat, then you release Jimin for good and pivot to take your seat, taking a deep breath before allowing your eyes to fall on the rest of the men.

To your surprise and dismay, you find Ryujin sitting across from you with her eyebrows raised and a sharp, devious smile playing on her lips. To her left is Hwasa, and to her right is Jeongguk. You do not need to look to see that Yoongi and Namjoon have taken the seats on either side of you because of course, they have. Where else would they be?

But you do look. You sweep the sprawling rectangular table, starting with Namjoon at your left, then Hoseok, with Seokjin at the far end, where you anticipated Yoongi might sit. Past Seokjin is Taehyung, then Jeongguk, then Ryujin, who is leaning to the side and whispering something to Hwasa, whose hand reaches to where Jimin sits on the other far end.

Jimin inspects Hwasa's rings and nails, dainty fingers tracing delicate lines. When she turns back to look at him, there are tears in her eyes, and you realize belatedly that she has missed him, as well. Of course, she has.

You do not look at Yoongi, gaze ending with Jimin. Yoongi clears his throat, causing Ryujin to stand, and—feeling uncomfortable with also standing while she speaks—you quickly have a seat.

Ryujin bows her head, hair pulled in a tight bun at the back of her head. She, matching Hwasa, wears a black suit with a white silk blouse, blending in with the black suits and black satin undershirts the men wear. You are the odd one out in a sleek black evening gown; Ryujin was insistent. At least it, too, is satin.

"Gentlemen," Ryujin says, and all at once, the men stand, bow their heads, and sit, including Yoongi, who scoots in close beside you. "Thank you for joining us tonight. I trust you have found us a replacement bodyguard?"

Yoongi hums a gruff, low note, and you are acutely aware of his presence by your side. His scent—earthy and musky, ever so slightly tinged with citrus—sneaks past the savory blend of food smells and floods your senses. You swallow a lump of trepidation that has crept its way to your throat.

"First of all, I would like to thank you for trusting me with taking care of our little darling," Ryujin says, turning to look at Seokjin. She remains standing. "As you are all aware, things between Yoongi and I have not always been easy. But, moving forward, I would like for all of us to remain amicable."

At this, Ryujin's eyes land on Yoongi. She appears fierce and ruthless in the way she looks down at him, lips upturned as if to show that she is enjoying this position of power.

You glance from the corner of your eye to find that Yoongi peers back up at her, sitting tall on the edge of his seat. His expression is blank, as is to be expected. There is a long pause during which you wish someone would speak or move to eat or drink—anything to cut through the tension.

Finally, Yoongi folds his arms over his chest and sits back, shifting his weight in a more relaxed position. He clears his throat, and you turn your gaze to the piles of meats, vegetables, noodles, and rice.

It sounds as if Yoongi attempts more than once to speak but struggles to find the words. At this, Namjoon sits forward, pulling your attention to the left, and he asks, "May I?"

Ryujin's face lights up. "Of course, Joonie-oppa. The floor is yours."

"Firstly, thank you for your hospitality. The hideout was certainly difficult to locate—"

Ryujin snickers. At this, Jeongguk stands, facing her, "Look, noona, if you would have answered your phone, we never would have shown up there with—"

"Sit down," Ryujin snaps, turning a playful but intense glare on Jeongguk, whose mouth snaps shut as he takes his seat. Beside him, Taehyung snickers. "I didn't answer my phone because I wanted to converse with her before making any choices, and you idiots acted irrationally."

At the word her, Ryujin lifts her hand and gestures to you, momentarily pulling your gaze. Although you do not glance around, you are certain that all heads turn to look your way, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat while you begin watching droplets of condensation streak your water glass.

"Pardon us for being concerned," Yoongi responds, voice tense and pained.

This seems to quell whatever emotion that has Ryujin acting defensive, and she slowly takes her seat and reaches for the bottle of kaoliang. All seem to be waiting for her response, and she takes her time lifting her glass to her lips and sitting back in her chair.

"Nobody faults you for being concerned, oppa. But you need to be more considerate of the reason she has come to me in the first place."

Yoongi must open his mouth to speak once more because Ryujin lifts her hand to stop him before she continues.

"Yes, I know that you are concerned for her safety, especially in the wake of some mysterious man from her past showing up out of nowhere. But she was already planning on leaving for mental health reasons. So maybe storming in with chopsticks blazing is not the wisest way to reunite with someone who is already shell-shocked from all the other bullshit she has had to witness."

"Some of the bullshit was at the hands of your people," Namjoon interjects.

Ryujin levels her gaze on him. "The most heinous bullshit, I would imagine. And as you can see, Hyungseo is not present. I am dealing with her, and Seokjin, Yoongi, and I have already discussed ways I can help with harm reduction."

Your gaze moves to the right, to Jimin, and you are surprised to find he is already looking at you. You smile, unable to stop the tears that form from how relieved you are that he is alright.

"I know that trust has been tarnished between our families, and that myself and my girls have taken things too far," Ryujin admits. "I sent my people out to scare you, and they did so much more than that. I will never stop feeling sorry for what has happened. Not a night has gone by that I have not been filled with regret over someone so precious to all of us becoming seriously injured."

Ryujin lifts an arm, reaches over Hwasa, and holds out her hand to Jimin. He takes it without hesitation.

"He could have died," Jeongguk says, brows knit in a frown.

Ryujin sighs. "I know this, Ggukie. And I am so, so sorry. I am determined to quash any bad blood and begin earning your respect. Tomorrow we leave for Busan. Once we are all back home, Serendipity will be opened for a night of drinking, drugs…whatever you heathens do."

To your surprise, many of the men snicker, amused.

"Seokjin and Hoseok already have a security team on standby so that you are not only relying on my people to keep you safe," Ryujin continues. "The era of family feuding is over. I am happy with my little piece of the peninsula, and I want drug operations to continue in a way that is lucrative for both of us. We will remain your first line of defense in the harbor, and in return, all that I ask is that we get free reign in Seoul to come and go."

Yoongi clears his throat. "If Sunmi-noona will accept the offer, she can be your liaison in the city once more."

At this, a mischievous smirk tugs on Ryujin's lips. She gives Jimin's hand a squeeze before releasing it, then raises both elbows to the table to cradle her chin in her hands. "Tell me, oppa. Why does Sunmi-unnie spit at my feet whenever I mention your name?"

Yoongi says nothing.

Rather than press him, she winks, then reaches for a large metal spoon and begins to fill her dish. Everyone hesitates, and it is Jeongguk who breaks the tension and follows suit, scooping food onto Taehyung's plate and causing the others to act in kind. You sit still, unsure whether you have an appetite.

"Darling?" Yoongi asks at the same time two fingers gently caress the back of your arm.

Your evening gown is a form-hugging halter top with a low back, leaving your skin open to soft, delicate assaults like the ones Yoongi likes to conduct in gentle motions. You flinch but try not to pull your arm away, worried about hurting his feelings.

Yoongi chuckles softly. "Are you not hungry?"

You shake your head but mutter, "I don't know."

"Should I have sat elsewhere?" he asks. He shifts as if he is looking over and around you, and you imagine he is speaking nonverbally to Namjoon.

The room is too bright, the food and cologne smells are too numerous, and the sounds of voices and silverware and porcelain are too loud. You raise your shoulders to your ears, then turn toward Yoongi, still unable to meet his eye as you ask, "Can we talk somewhere else?"

Yoongi stands, says, "Excuse us for just a moment," and waits for you.

As you stand, you catch Ryujin's eye. She appears concerned and places her palms on the table as if ready to stand and defend you.

You nod and say, "We'll be right back," and watch as she relaxes.

A warm palm presses against your lower back, and Yoongi guides you toward the door, out into a small hallway, and to the left. The restaurant's main dining hall is to the right, and you are thankful to walk in the opposite direction, not sure whether you can handle another person's eyes on you.

Yoongi walks into an empty private dining room, switches on the light, and holds out his arm for you to enter. As you step inside, you hear him conversing softly with who you assume to be an employee, and then he joins you, closing the door behind him.

As you stand and face the large, empty dining room, you expect Yoongi to touch you or prod you into speaking. Perhaps you expect him to beg you to return home. Instead, he seems to be waiting.

After only a handful of seconds, you decide you cannot take it anymore. Every ounce of you yearns for Yoongi, and knowing he is so close and being so patient has you reeling. You turn and quickly step toward him, reaching for his lapels and burying your face against his chest. He smells like home, and as he wraps his arms around you, warmth fills your chest, and you begin to cry.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm sorry I had to leave. I miss you, Yoongi, but I can't stand being there. I can't do it."

"Shh," Yoongi whispers, lips pressing to your temple, causing you to cry harder. It has only been a week, and yet you feel as if you have been away from him for so long.

"I'm sorry we keep creating distance. I don't know how to make it work out. I'm so scared, Yoongi." You are fumbling, mouth on autopilot, dredging up each time you and Yoongi were apart, feeling somehow responsible for everything despite knowing you have always only done your best.

"Yesterday was a mistake," Yoongi says, peppering kisses from the crown of your hair to your cheek and back up. "I was terrified and not in my right mind. You left in a frenzy, and then there was that letter, and it all been very confusing—"

You sniffle loudly, letting out a sound that halfway sounds like a laugh. "Oh my god, the letter. I'm so sorry."

Yoongi chuckles, gently grabs your shoulders, and pries you away from his chest. You allow him to move you, and you stand straight but keep your eyes on his black satin shirt. You do not want to see his scar or the pretty way in which his eyes downturn when he is sad.

His voice is soft and conspiratorial as he says, "I almost killed Seokjin after I found it."

With wide, surprised eyes, you look up, unable to hold back any longer. Yoongi's smile is loving and big, and his eyes sparkle with happiness, making your stomach roil with uncertainty. His scar is still so red against his soft skin, but it adds so much to his allure and beauty.

"I was under the impression you were running away with Barom, what with the timing of it all. You packed a bag, left behind all of our gifts, and disappeared into the night the moment he arrived."

Despite Yoongi's high spirits, you shake your head somewhat desperately. "I wrote it earlier that day, thinking I might run away a night or two later. I was scared that if I said goodbye, I wouldn't be able to leave." Tears build once more, and your body goes limp, hanging against the weight of Yoongi's hands. "Yoongi, I'm so—"

"Alright, no more sorries," Yoongi says, pressing against your shoulders enough to signal that he would like you to stand up and get your shit together. "Seokjin explained your conversations and motives to us already, and I have long since forgiven the both of you. I understand why you felt you had to sneak away. Remember when I went missing in Hong Kong? I was also in the midst of a mental health crisis, darling. I have no hard feelings."

You straighten out and search Yoongi's eyes for any hint of dishonesty, but all you find is a soft, loving gaze looking back at you. With a relieved sigh, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing the side of your cheek against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"I love you," you say, feeling the words fill you with warmth.

Yoongi drapes one arm over your shoulders and rests his other hand against the back of your head. "I love you, too," he says. "And if you need time and space, I will give it to you. Despite everything, I trust the girls to take good care of you."

"Is it weird?" you ask, pulling out of the hug and stepping back only far enough to see Yoongi's face. His only response is to raise one eyebrow. "Being around her again, I mean. Was she always so bossy?"

Yoongi chuckles and shakes his head. "I suppose it is a little weird, but we were friends first and foremost, and being friendly with her again feels easy. She has not always been that bossy, per se, but she has always been strong-willed enough to face all seven of us down the way she did tonight."

This makes you laugh, and you lean into Yoongi once more, tilting your head to press your lips to his throat, just under his chin.

"Thank you," you say. Yoongi hums, and you add, "For giving me time and space. For being understanding. That night was a fucking mess, and I have been really scared for what the aftermath may look like."

"No hard feelings," Yoongi repeats. "As long as you are happy."

All at once, you are flooded with myriad thoughts. Are you happy? This last week, while being more or less calm on your nerves, has also been lonely and strange. Would you feel better if you cut your losses and went back home to your men, where everything felt familiar again? Could you cycle through medications until finding the magical cocktail that would allow you to be whole again?

No, you think. Probably not.

"Are you sure?" you ask, voice soft and uncertain. "I don't know how long I might need. I can't promise—"

Yoongi kisses your forehead, pressing his lips slowly as he hums. He says, "I'm sure. We can figure it out one day at a time."

With everything out in the open, your stomach pangs with hunger. You smile and ask, "Can we go eat now?" and you are delighted when Yoongi smiles with relief and says, "Yes, of course."

With his thumbs, Yoongi rubs below your eyes. His hands linger on your cheeks, and you expect him to lean forward and kiss you, but he drops his hands a beat later, then grabs onto one of yours and asks, "Shall we?"

Yoongi leads the two of you back to the dining room, and as you enter, you are pleased to find the entire table has erupted into pleasant conversation. Jeongguk's arm is draped over Ryujin's chair while Hwasa emphatically tells them a story, and Jimin is leaning close, listening with his chin propped onto his hands.

Taehyung is explaining something while glancing between Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok, and as you and Yoongi round the table and return, nobody acknowledges the two of you until you take a seat and Namjoon—eyes still on Taehyung—gently places a hand on your knee.

It is only when you begin to reach for half-empty bowls of food that Namjoon takes your plate in his hand that you realize how long it has been since the two of you have spoken. You are once again overwhelmed with emotion and fight the urge to say sorry a hundred more times.

Instead, he points with a large metal spoon and says, "Both of these dishes have a tangy garlic sauce, but this one is a bit more spicy."

"I'd like to try both," you say, watching as Namjoon spoons a heap of chicken with vegetables onto your dish, followed by a heap of tofu and peanuts with vegetables in a slightly redder sauce full of chopped red peppers.

As Namjoon sets your plate in front of you, you reach with your long metal chopsticks with the intent to gather some noodles from a dish that is across from Yoongi, out of Namjoon's reach. However, Yoongi takes the dish and begins to scoop some onto a smaller plate for you, and you sit back with a smile and wait for him to finish.

"Still having those dreams?" Namjoon asks.

You know in an instant that he is referring to the dream that you wrote about in your letter, and you feel silly as you bite your bottom lip and nod.

"That has to be really stressful," he says, reaching for a pitcher of water to fill his empty glass.

You smile sadly, imagining his white shirt filling with blood. It is stressful, but— "On the plus side, I get to see you."

As you lift your gaze to meet Namjoon's, his furrowed brow and wilted frown gently lift, not quite into a smile, but at least something a bit more relaxed.

"Hi," you say softly, taking in Namjoon's familiar, beautiful face.

His smile widens, creasing his cheeks with dimples. He mutters, "Hey, you," and the soft, dulcet tone of his voice fills your chest with warmth.

You open your mouth to tell him that you love him. That you miss him. That you're sorry for leaving. So, so sorry.

But Ryujin loudly asks, "Caviar?" pulling the attention of everyone at the table.

Behind her, waitstaff hold new plates, and everyone nods in agreement before continuing their conversations. And although you could pour your heart out now, Hoseok steals Namjoon's attention away, and you decide the moment has passed.

Food and drink continue to appear in waves, and suddenly, you are tipsy and full and tired. Namjoon stands to walk around the table and have a quiet conversation with Ryujin, and Jimin seizes the opportunity to steal his seat. He and Jeongguk discuss business operations at Paradise while you rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes listening to the sound of his voice. He is alive. He is awake.

He speaks slower, and there is a rough quality to his voice that was not present before. It seems to take him more time to process what is said to him, and he reacts as if on a delay. But he is here and alive and awake.

Only when more kaoliang is poured, and Ryujin raises a toast do you sit up and take your cup. You barely hear what she shouts, booze and excitement slurring her speech, but you make out the words together, family, and happy, and you tap your small glass against as many as you can reach before shooting the strong liquid down.

A large, warm hand rests on your right knee, and as you set down your empty glass, you turn to find Yoongi watching you, glassy-eyed with a smile on his lips. You attempt to smile back but instead, swallow thickly and search for something to say. Luckily, he speaks first.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it has been without you at home?” Yoongi’s gaze becomes pained but remains soft, tugging at your heart.

And although the sentiment is sweet, you are unable to ignore the impossibility of his question. In fact, for some inexplicable reason—you suppose you must blame the alcohol—you become somewhat annoyed.

You ask, “How could I possibly know that? And anyway, don't you have your hands full as it is?”

Across the table, Jeongguk snickers. It takes Yoongi a second to react, and you are glad when the corners of his lips raise into another smile, even if just for a second.

“Being around those girls has made you sassier than you were before, darling,” he mutters under his breath.

You roll your eyes. “It has only been a week, darling.”

Leaning close, elbows on the table, Yoongi lowers his voice and says, “It only took me about a week to begin wearing you down.”

Arousal stirs from the tone of his voice, but so does your stomach. Being kidnapped and worn down is not exactly a topic that you delight in discussing. You must not show your dissatisfaction, however, because Yoongi leans in close and presses a soft, warm kiss against your cheek.

As the raucous dinner comes to an end and you begin to wish everyone a safe trip home, Jeongguk finally approaches. You have been holding back the urge to kick him in the shin all night, feeling somewhat scorned by his lack of attention.

"So you're going to stay with the girls?" he asks, standing close enough to wrap you in an embrace but keeping his arms to his sides.

You nod and find it hard to hold his eye contact, looking down at his satin-clad shoulder instead. Jeongguk lifts a hand and delicately places two fingers under your chin, tilting your head until you look him in the eyes. The contact of his skin against yours sends an electric current through you, and you shiver.

"Call me if you need anything. I can be to Busan in a matter of hours."

Sheepishly, you glance down again and mutter, "I don't have anyone's number anymore."

Jeongguk drops his hand, turns to the left, and says, "Seokjin-hyung! What the fuck, man?"

Arguing ensues, but you are too distracted by Namjoon wrapping his arms around your side and pressing his lips to your neck. Suddenly, your bones are jelly, and you stumble to the right, leaning your weight against his embrace. Yoongi joins, taking your chin in his hand in a similar fashion to Jeongguk, and tilting your lips against his.

"We'll be ready whenever you are," Namjoon insists, lips grazing over your skin. "Whatever you need…please don't shut us out."

Somewhere behind Namjoon, Seokjin shouts, "Yah! I'll upload everyone to her contact list. Quit fussing!"

"Okay," you mutter while smiling against Yoongi's retreating mouth, unable to find anything more substantial to say despite it all lying in wait at the tip of your tongue all night.

"We miss you," Yoongi says, pressing another kiss against your temple. "But we can wait if that is what you need."

Tears well and you fight the urge to sob. Not here, you tell yourself. Not now. You have already cried so much.

You hug everyone, even Seokjin and Hoseok. Jeongguk attempts to play it cool, but he stares at your lips the entire time, and you practically beg him to kiss you before ultimately letting him walk away. Jimin litters your cheeks and temples with loud, wet smooches, causing you to giggle and shriek.

Taehyung asks about your medication, making your heart ache from his kindness. You briefly inform him that you have been having no dizzy spells, and he promises to send you more medication as soon as you are in Busan.

Finally, Namjoon and Yoongi pull you into another three-way hug and take turns kissing your lips, cheeks, and forehead. They mutter soft, sweet phrases that you only make out the tones of, feeling the whooshing of your pulse as you begin to question whether you are making a huge mistake and should just grab your shit and go home.

And then, all waving and clambering out the door haphazardly, they are gone, and the room is quiet.

You sigh and glance around at the dregs of food and alcohol, feeling simultaneously full and empty in more ways than one. Tears fill the edges of your eyes, and you do your best not to blink, worried that any movement will cause them to spill.

Ryujin sighs loudly. "Alright, well, this was fun and all, but I want to get fucking laid. You girls down for a night on the town?"

You glance down at your outfit, ready to complain, only you look good enough to go to a nightclub and find you have nothing to say to the contrary. You even wear a pair of cozy black ballet slippers, which you slid on while feeling unsure whether you could handle so many tumultuous emotions while wearing heels, and for that, you are grateful.

"Sure," you utter while turning to Hwasa, who has a drunk but devious grin tugging on her lips. Her smile widens and she claps excitedly.

The drive to the nightclub is long, and you are exhausted by the time you arrive, having been fading in and out of a stupor. You feel more drunk than you had earlier, and you are tempted to suggest taking a cab back to the hideout alone. Of course, that would never fly. You can already hear Ryujin singing buddy system in your head.

Hwasa eagerly pulls you from the back of the car and chuckles as she rubs her fingertips along the edge of your hairline and says, "Poor sleeping beauty. We'll get you something that will wake you up, okay?"

You respond with a halfhearted smile and nod, and she takes your hand in hers and yanks you to the door, not bothering to stop for the security guard who, to your surprise, makes no move to stop you either. Inside, loud bass-heavy club music plays, and you are led through a series of hallways until you enter a large room full of the rest of Ryujin's girls and a group of men.

The room is dark and somewhat hazy, lit by strips of purple lights along the ceiling and floor. Short two or three-person sofas line the mirrored walls and are dispersed throughout the space, most of which are occupied. On tables set beside each sofa are bottles of champagne and piles of cocaine, with glasses large and small scattered throughout and topped with small lamps that emit very little light.

Ryujin approaches a man sitting amidst the chaos by himself, sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees, thumbing through his cell phone. You are curious whether these men are people she knows, and you watch to see how familiar she is with the lone man, but Hwasa steps in your line of vision and takes your chin in both of her hands.

"Coke?" she asks.

You want to say no, proud of yourself for being off the shit for as long as you have been away from home. But you are certain that without it, you will not survive this night, so you nod and allow yourself to be tugged further into the room, to an unoccupied table.

"Don't worry, this is from our stash," Hwasa says as she picks up a discarded rolled-up 100-dollar Taiwanese bill and tightens it between her finger and thumb. "Moon and Solar were in charge of overseeing the distribution process."

You mutter, "How generous," doing your best to smile, and watch as Hwasa snorts a small pile into one nostril and then the other. When she hands the bill to you, you take in a deep, slow breath, and let it out, then lean forward to snort from the edge of the pile first into your left nostril and then your right.

As you let the bill fall to the table and tip your head back, sniffing in again on each side, you ask, "Does Ryujin know these men?"

"Mmhmm," Hwasa hums as she fills two glasses with champagne and hands one to you. "A few of these guys worked at Paradise while I was there, and some of them are from Serendipity. Maybe you know them."

"Oh," you say, pulling the glass to your lips but stopping to ask, "How did they end up here?"

Hwasa purses her lips and tilts her head, making a show of how hard she is trying to conjure the answer to your question. Then her eyes widen and she says, "Oh! Some guy started to come around to Serendipity and just sort of gathered the rest of these guys up as, like, a posse. I don't really know what they do, to be honest, but they always dress up in matching suits and cover their faces, which is creepy as hell."

Your stomach tenses, and you feel too anxious to turn your head to the left and figure out who Ryujin is talking to. Although you know that there is absolutely no way in hell it is Christian, something about the description of the men reminds you of his men, and you begin to wonder whether there really was credence to Yoongi's worry surrounding the possibility of Christian being on this island.

"What's his name?" you ask, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Hmm?" Hwasa asks into her champagne glass as she leans closer.

You begin to glance over to where Ryujin and the man are, but your heart pounds so hard, you worry you might be sick if you see him.

"The man who gathered all the guys, from Serendipity, " you say, leaning closer.

"What's his name?"

"Oh," Hwasa says, taking a slow slip of her champagne while her wide, dark eyes stare past you. She blinks owlishly, then pulls the glass from her lips and says, "He has a nickname…Insanity? Something like that."

Unable to stop yourself, your head flies to the left, searching the features of the man whose lap Ryujin has claimed with her legs. His nose is sharp and somewhat hooked, and it is not a familiar shape. Worried, you glance around the room, but there is no sign of Christian, as far as you can tell.

"Something the matter?" Hwasa asks, touching fingertips to your arm and making you nearly drop your glass of champagne.

You must look frantic when you turn back to her, based on the fear that pulls at her pretty features. You blink and wet your lips, shaking your head. Unconvincingly, judging by the way her brows knit and she continues to stare at you.

"I just..." you swallow thickly and glance around the room once more, slowly scanning every face you can see. "I just thought he sounded familiar."

Hwasa makes a small sound, and you scan several more faces before returning your gaze to her and asking, "Huh?"

"It's just," she says, uncertain, "well, I heard he was previously working on Jeongguk's team, back when he was a drug runner. So…maybe he is familiar?"

Something is not adding up. Although Seokjin mentioned that he has kept Christian around to do whatever he pleases, it seems odd that he would be known to these women as someone who was once part of Jeongguk's team. As you recall from the day you were taken to the mansion, he did not seem to perform his drug-running duties to Yoongi's liking. Did Seokjin keep him on Jeongguk's team even after that day? Could he have had something to do with the group of men Jeongguk massacred with kunai knives for fucking him over?

You stare at your glass of champagne trying to make all the pieces fit, but it feels like you are missing a huge chunk of information.

Hands touch your shoulders, causing you to jump. You mutter, "Shit," under your breath at the same time Ryujin's high, somewhat mocking laughter fills your left ear.

"So sorry to scare you, pretty darling," she slurs, sounding quite inebriated.

"Don't worry about it," you say, attempting to loosen your posture. Ryujin's hands remain on your shoulders and you do not want her to feel how tense you are. But then she squeezes your shoulders and you close your eyes, this time succeeding in relaxing.

"How do you feel after such an emotional dinner?"

"Good," you respond while her thumbs circle over your muscles. You wonder whether she is the reason Hwasa always gives massages. Or perhaps it is the other way around. "And, I don't know. I guess also conflicted. Homesick."

Ryujin's hands fall away and she rests her chin on your left shoulder, loosely wrapping her arms around yours and pinning yours to your sides. Hwasa busies herself pouring a third glass of champagne.

"You really like them, hmm?" Ryujin asks.

"Yeah," you say, possibly too quiet for how loud the music in this room is. "Most of them, anyway."

The last part is a joke. You like Seokjin and Hoseok just fine, but you are certainly not as close to them as you are to the others. Taehyung, too, for that matter, although he has had the pleasure of watching his boyfriend rail you, which has formed its own kind of bond between the two of you.

"What is your relationship with the guys?" she asks.

Hwasa hands her a glass, and she releases her hold on you and takes it, muttering a soft, "Thank you."

You turn to face Ryujin. Although you still hesitate to become too close to her, you do feel comfortable in her presence, all things considered. If Yoongi is willing to trust her again, then perhaps you should be, too.

"Yoongi, Namjoon, and I are a thing." After a pause, you add, "And…sort of Jeongguk."

Ryujin's mouth falls open and she gasps. "I need to know more!"

You feel your cheeks become hot, and you pick up your glass of champagne, which Hwasa has filled. But rather than explain, you ask something that has been on your mind for a while.

"Before, when you and Yoongi were together, was Namjoon…" Unsure how to finish the sentence, you trail off. Luckily, Ryujin knows just what you mean.

She nods. "Yes. Romantically, those two have always been the closest. Namjoon and I were never super physical. We were just very, very comfortable around one another because of Yoongi."

Interesting. You suppose this makes sense, remembering a conversation between you and Jimin a while back when he told you about how marrying Ryujin was a means to an end more than anything else.

"Yoongi and I were meant to bring two families together. And, don't get me wrong, we were physically and emotionally attracted to one another. But we also had more fulfilling relationships on the side. For Yoongi, it was Namjoon."

"And for you?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

Ryujin smiles wide, but then it falls to a frown. She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. Nobody you know."

You nod and accept her answer. You suppose that perhaps the two of you are not that close, yet. In tandem, you and Ryujin raise your glasses to drink. But then she yells, "Oh!" and you startle enough to nearly spill your champagne onto yourself. "Jeongguk, though! What happened with him?"

You tip your head back and chug the rest of your bubbly. It is truly miserable to drink quickly, and you instantly regret your decision, feeling the carbonation sloshing around in your guts.

"We, uh…" you begin, feeling shy. Why do you feel shy?

"You should see those two," Hwasa interjects, causing your face to heat even more. "They bicker like children but then circle one another like feral animals. I can only imagine their chemistry behind closed doors."

Affronted, your mouth falls wide. "We what? No we do not!"

Hwasa nods, grinning. "Yes, you do! I thought the two of you were fucking for sure when I first started working for Jimin. I was shocked to learn Jeongguk was with Taehyung and you were with Yoongi."

"And Namjoon," Ryujin supplies.

Hwasa's grin widens.

You raise your hands to your face as if to hide. This day has been exhausting, and these two are giggling at your expense like a couple of school girls.

"Oh, stop," Hwasa says as one of your hands is tugged down from your face. You open just the one eye, keeping the other closed tight behind your palm. "Everyone wants a piece of your ass. Don't be shy about it! Embrace it."

With a sigh, you shake your head. "Not everyone," you groan, feeling defensive.

"Everyone with eyes," Ryujin says, waggling her eyebrows while Hwasa makes kissy noises. "I would shoot my shot if you weren't already so taken."

Hwasa nods and says, "Me too!"

Suddenly, it is too warm and too loud in here. "I need a stronger drink!" you declare, making both women laugh.

You take a step back and turn, moving in autopilot toward the door before realizing you have no idea where you are nor where a bar in this building is.

Ryujin takes your right hand and yanks you gently back, sing-songing, "Ah, ah, ah, not by yourself."

"Alright," you concede, interlocking your fingers with hers. As you begin to walk toward the exit, your left hand is engulfed and you glance to find Hwasa is coming along.

You exit the mirrored room and turn right, taking a dark hallway about halfway and then turning right once more, through a thick black curtain that is guarded by two men on the other side. There is a bar directly to the right, and Ryujin tugs you to the counter and orders a bottle of whiskey that you do not catch the name of.

With a nod, the bartender grabs an unopened bottle from a high shelf and then delicately stacks three medium-sized glasses. Hwasa takes the glasses, Ryujin takes the whiskey, and your hands remain held by both of theirs.

Back in the mirrored room, you return to the table off to the right, toward the back. The girls release your hands to pour three drinks, and you fidget by pinching the satin of your skirt between your thumbs and knuckles, suddenly feeling antsy.

"Cheers," Ryujin declares as she slides a drink in front of you. You take it, hold it up, and tap it against their glasses, then pull it to your lips and smell the strong, bittersweet liquid before taking a sip.

The potent, boozy caramel flavor that you have come to expect is accented by a hint of something earthy, possibly wood. You take a bigger drink, hold it on your tongue, allowing your taste buds to open and fully experience the onslaught as they adjust, and then you swallow it down.

"Tomorrow, we return to Busan," Ryujin says for the second time tonight as the whiskey flows down into your chest, filling you with warmth. You look forward to being at a proper home rather than on some random floor in a balmy, empty building.

"I'm looking forward to seeing your home," you say, sounding far more meek than you intend to.

"I'm looking forward to hosting you."

Hwasa leans her elbows on the table and says, "You finally get to have your own room. That is, of course, unless you want to stay with me."

The playful smile on Hwasa's face, paired with her tired and intoxicated bloodshot eyes is almost enough to make you melt. Almost enough to make you follow her into any room she wants to lead you into.

When you shrug and say, "Honestly, I may be too lonely to sleep alone," you are being brutally honest, and not all all flirtatious.

"I can even decorate it like your room in the mansion," Ryujin says. "Is it still yellow?"

Her words halt your movement of lifting your glass back to your lips. "How did you know that?"

Ryujin rolls her eyes and says, "Please, nothing about that man has changed, down to the way he likes to outfit you. It's exactly as it was seven years ago."

Bile swirls around in your tummy, and you set the glass down on the mirrored table with a clank that is louder than you intend. Could that be true? Is Yoongi really outfitting you in the same fashion he was outfitting her all those years ago.

Hwasa clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and swats at Ryujin's arm, muttering, "Mother, don't say things like that to her," under her breath.

You shake your head, determined to not show how strange the information makes you feel. But Ryujin turns, pouts dramatically, and wraps her arms around you.

"Oh, sweetie, I don't mean to suggest he was trying to turn you into a second me. He just seems to have the same tastes and fashion sense, is all. Trust me, he loves you way more than he could ever love me. I can tell."

You have no idea whether Ryujin is being truthful or trying to make you feel better, but you decide that either way, you see no use in dwelling on it. You are going to be living under her roof for the foreseeable future, and becoming upset whenever she says something a little too blunt, snippy, or insensitive is not going to get you anywhere.

With a nod, you say, "I know. Don't worry." But it only makes her squeeze you tighter.

"Just look at his bullshit excuse for taking you home with him," she says. "Collateral, my ass."

What an odd statement. You ask, "What do you mean?" But what you really mean to say is what do you know?

"The man takes you as so-called payment from your ex but then spends millions of dollars on a wardrobe, an armored vehicle, the most lavish birthday party in all of Seoul. Make it fucking make sense!"

Ryujin releases the hug, and as soon as you are free, you slam back your whiskey and pick up the 100-dollar bill, squeezing it tighter into a tube. Ryujin whoops and claps as you lean close and snort from the edge of the cocaine pile into your left nostril and then your right.

"Mommy needs some, too," she says as she takes the bill from your hand and leans forward.

You tip your head back and raise a knuckle to each nostril, sniffing deeply to make sure none of the drug is stuck inside your nose cavity, then you stand up straight, stretching your back by pushing forward your chest, and reach for the bottle of whiskey.

"Partying so hard without me?" a male voice asks from behind you, and you nearly drop the bottle.

The tone, the accent, and the cadence all confirm your fears are true.

"Christian?" you mutter as you spin, and you almost do not believe your eyes.

From the expression he wears and the way his gaze falls to the floor, eyes widening as they lift to your face, you wager he also cannot believe his.

Christian steps forward and you take a step back, elbow hitting the table and causing you to grip tighter to the bottle of whiskey.

"Barom-oppa!" Ryujin shouts as she pounces on Christian, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hey there, dearie," he says, lifting his arms to return the hug, never taking his eyes off you.

Christian looks somewhat normal compared to the last time you saw him, with a white and red floral button-up tucked into black slacks, and a black leather blazer. His hair has some product in it to give it a slightly messy style, falling in front of his eyes, and he wears minimal makeup.

But there is a darkness to him. Smudges around the eyes rather than clean lines, tattoos on his throat and neck. On his left hand, he wears a black leather driving glove, and across his nose is a red scuff, as if he has been punched. Under the rich musk that fills the air around him, you sense the stale smell of cigarette smoke, and he has silver hoops in his ears and one in his left nostril.

A lot has changed about Christian in the months since you have known him.

Ryujin releases their hug and takes a step back, causing Christian to look down at himself and rub his hands down the front of his jacket as if her tiny body could have somehow managed to do anything to the leather. Then he stands up straight and shakes his head to the side just enough for his hair to move out from in front of his eyes, and you realize that his left eye is completely white. Is it…missing?

"Oh my god, your eye!" you shout, lunging forward before you can stop yourself and raising your left hand toward his face while your right hand nearly drops the whiskey bottle once more.

Christian takes your wrist in his gloved hand and holds firmly onto you, and your entire body flushes hot with nerves as you realize the mistake you have made. The way his gaze holds onto you, even with only one dark iris and pupil, is piercing and intense, and you attempt futility to pull your hand away.

"Funny story how I lost that," he says, expression pulling into a strange, sad grin. He leans close, nicotine on his breath as he says, "I'll have to tell you some time."

You pull on your arm, desperate to release it, but his grip is far stronger than you remember. Should you be afraid of this man?

"Christian," you begin, glancing from your hand to his face.

"Perhaps over drinks, some time," he continues. "Just the two of us."

You nod, willing to lie to him if it means letting you go. Panic rises as you continue to take stock of how different he is from the man you used to know.

Ryujin takes the whiskey from your hand, sets it on the table, and then grabs his hand in both of hers as she says, "Alright, that is enough of that. I need you two to play nice."

The room returns to view, and you remember why you are here and who you are with. You realize belatedly that these two not only know each other but that they are friendly with one another.

"Wait," you say, turning to Ryujin, "you told Yoongi—"

"Look, I lied to him," she says, cutting you off.

Your mouth falls open and your pulse whooshes in your ears. "You…but…" Could she possibly know what she has done by bringing the two of you together? "Why?"

Ryujin chuckles and steps close to Christian, placing her dainty, manicured hands over his chest. "Oppa is harmless. You know that! And Yoongi…well, he's paranoid. Trust me, darling. Nothing bad will happen to you."

You are not so sure you are convinced, but you know that freaking out will do nobody any good. Especially when you are so far away from home. You are not eager to show any more weakness to any of these people. Especially the one they call Mister Insanity.

Someone shouts for Christian, using the name Barom, and you turn quickly back to the table. Your glass contains more whiskey, courtesy of one of the women, you assume, and you pick up the glass with shaking hands and slam it down, then reach for the bottle again.

Intoxication roils through you in hot waves, and you squeeze your eyes closed to take a deep breath in and out before shooting more whiskey. A small hand touches your lower back, and you wish you were curled up in a bed all by yourself, far away from these people and this music. You are tired of being touched.

"I know it's weird to see an ex," Ryujin says. "Sorry for surprising you like this. He told me he wouldn't be around tonight."

"How did he lose his eye?" you ask, focused on the wrong thing as you turn to face Ryujin. You tremble so hard that your teeth clatter.

Her smile falls to a frown and she shakes her head. "That isn't my story to tell."

You nod, accepting her answer, and turn to Hwasa, who watches you with a concerned expression. You mouth the word, "Bathroom?" and she nods and rounds the table, taking you by the arm.

"Down the hall to the left," Ryujin says.

As you walk through the room, you squint, attempting to ignore all the movement in the mirrors in your periphery. It's too much. Everything is too much.

The darkness of the hallway is a blessing and a curse, relieving you from the chaos of the private room while introducing challenges of its own; it is almost too dark and somewhat claustrophobic.

You stumble and Hwasa's hold on you tightens. She picks up the pace and leads you straight into a single-stall bathroom, then turns on a light that is thankfully relatively dim. The moment she closes and locks the door, you stumble forward, fall to your knees on the rough tile before the toilet, and vomit the contents of your stomach.

Your mind races with myriad thoughts, but one is the loudest of them all: What the fuck is Christian doing here?

Oh, oh, I broke down all my doors Oh, do you see it now? Nothing was fixed at all

I never asked to be like this

🎵 visit the playlist

hello, hello!!! we meet again!!! i hope you have all been having great middle of the year months! things have been ok for me but i have been reading a lot more than i have been writing. how did you feel about this one??? it is a little slower, as it is setting the stage for the final chapters. any guess how things are going to go? how do we feel about the new (and returned) characters??? it felt really nice to writing Jimin into the scene again. 💜 i'll be honest, describing Ryujin & the Mamamoo girls laying on the rugs and blankets made me think of Quanxi and her harem of fiends from Chainsaw Man.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! REBLOGS ARE IMPORTANT BLAHBLAHBLAH LIKES ARE ALSO AMAZING AND SO ON. 💜 tags will be coming in reblogs. also, character asks are always active if you have some burning questions or comments (just don't expect me to outright spoil anything hehehe.)

i love you, stay hydrated!!! if you are somewhere with a heatwave, stay cool!!! 😘😘😘 until we meet again!!!

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#youremychaos #my chell 🐚🥺💜#reader reviews #fic: collateral

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something-tofightfor · 22 hours ago

Text

A Wonderful, Awful Idea / 5

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Female Reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 9,438

Summary: You and Pero have talked things through - and it's time to figure out what comes next for you.

For both of you, though, that means being open, honest ... and asking for exactly what you want.

Rating: M/E : This is a smutty one, friends. It's finally happening.

Author's Note:

The end is here, and I cannot thank you enough for the support and interest you've shown in this story. It definitely grew from what I first envisioned it to be, and I'm really happy with the outcome - I hope you are, too. It's always so intimidating to write for a new character, but to know that one of my favorite Pero writers - I'm looking at you, @oonajaeadira - has enjoyed this take on him means a TON.

The title comes from Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

Thank you for reading!

*dividers by @/strangergraphics

You both sat on the couch while you ate, and Pero filled you in on exactly what had happened with the power at the party.

“Something in the kitchen overloaded the wiring.” He waved his hand in the air, fingers clutching the remnants of a sandwich. “And when they tried to reset that breaker, they tripped the whole building.” He laughed, shaking his head and swearing under his breath. “That’s how it all came back so quickly.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t anything serious.” He nodded as he chewed. “Did they get pissed at you since you weren’t right there to protect Christina?”

“No.” He took another bite. “The assignment was never to be right beside her at all times. William and I were further away than her team, and I just happened to be near you.” You didn’t quite think that was the truth; Pero had to have searched for you in order to be that close, since you’d purposely moved almost all the way across the party space. “And I got to where they were as soon as I could to assess the situation. I did my job.”

“You protected me.” You took a bite of the food he’d gotten you, giving yourself a few seconds to think. “You were there to protect someone else, and you still … You were mad at me, Pero. I didn’t expect …”

“I did. And I would do it again. I told you that.” He sipped from his cup, lips wrapping around the straw. “Even upset, I was still worried about you.” Pero balled up the wrapper from his meal and then leaned back against the couch cushions. “I was actually going to pull you to the side at the party and apologize because I acted like an asshole. But you didn’t give me the chance.” He looked past you and his eyes widened. “It’s almost midnight.”

You looked, too, and with a smile you realized that as soon as the clock struck 12, you could be the first person to wish Pero a Merry Christmas. I wonder if he’s ever had anyone with him for a holiday like this before. “I’m sad we don’t have our hats from the meet and greet.” You looked back at him, grinning. “Santa Pero tucking me into bed on Christmas Eve would be -”

He groaned, covering his face with both hands as you laughed, reaching over to settle your hand between his shoulders. “You would like that, wouldn’t you.”

“I would.” Leaning in, you let your mouth hover just above his ear. “I would like that very much, Pero Tovar.” You weren’t used to having to take such a lead with men, but until Pero truly believed that your interest was genuine - and not short term - you had no issue with being a little more forward than usual to get results. Because I don’t think it’ll be this way forever. He just needs to get comfortable.

“I kept your toothbrush.” He looked over at you, a half smile on his lips. “I hoped you’d get to use it again.” Really? You both sat up and Pero pointed at the hallway. “I’m going to clean up out here, if you need to do anything to get ready for bed.” He stood, reaching out with one hand. “I have one request though.” Arching a brow, you waited for him to continue. “Wait… and let me help you out of those clothes.”

It took a little while for the two of you to do what you needed to do, but the whole time, your heart was racing.

You figured he was nervous, too, but you hoped that it was in a good way, Pero’s desire for you outweighing any lingering apprehension he felt about the situation. By the time you made your way into his bedroom, flipping the light switch on and taking a look around the space, you were determined to do whatever it took to put him at ease. It keeps me from getting into my own head, too.

There were a few photos on the walls - mostly of Pero, Lin and William, but there were a few more, too, that looked like they’d been taken on his phone and printed out. Some of them were scenery, some of them were cityscapes, and you made a mental note to ask him about them - and where they’d been taken. Later. Not tonight.

His room was cozy, and out of the other places in his home that you’d spent time in, it felt the most like him. It wasn’t just because it smelled like Pero - it also seemed to be the most lived in. “I like seeing you in here.” He appeared in the doorway, and then leaned against it. “It’s unexpected, but I like it.”

“Do you?” He nodded, eyeing you up and down. I like being in here. “Your bed looks comfortable.” You pointed, leaning back and against the dresser. “Is it?”

“You’ll find out soon.” Pero stepped forward, his motion smooth and slow, almost graceful. “Before anything happens, I …” He stopped in front of you, lifting one hand to tilt your chin up. “After what I told you earlier, I figured you might have some … concerns.” Oh. The paying for sex. I didn’t … “It’s been months since I’ve done that. I’m careful, and always use protection. And afterward…” He wet his lips. “I get tested regularly, since all of my relationships are short-lived. I haven’t been with anyone since the last time I got results, so …” He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out, holding it up. “I can show you, but -”

“I trust you.” You put a hand at the center of his chest. “And I know you’re going to say that it’s stupid to trust someone with something like that, but I do.” Because trust is important. He looked confused and then the expression turned to acceptance, Pero’s gaze moving over your face. “Anything else?”

“No.” He paused, and then frowned. “Well, yes.” You smiled at that, giving him a chance to continue. “I might need …” He closed his eyes and groaned. “Just be patient with me, please?”

“Patient?” He nodded slowly. “Of course, Pero.” But what does that even mean? “Do you need anything else, or are we in here for the night?” He thought for a few seconds and then moved his head from side to side, eyes locked with yours.

“I only need you.” Inhaling sharply through your nose at the confession, you didn’t even think about it before you leaned in and kissed him, the tips of your fingers curling inward and against the material of his shirt. His hands settled in at your waist to hold you close, and when Pero returned the kiss, he did it with purpose, his full lips moving with yours like it wasn’t a new thing.

You felt his tongue probing along your lower one and parted them for him, hoping that Pero wouldn’t tease you the same way he had earlier. Seconds later, you got your wish when it slipped past your lips to meet yours, Pero’s fingers digging in and making you sigh. He stopped immediately, breaking the kiss and backing off enough that you saw the wide eyed expression on his face. This must be the patience thing.

“That was a good noise. Please don’t stop.” You moved your hand as you spoke, sliding it over so that you could begin to undo his buttons. “This shirt is a great color for you.” Breaking eye contact, you watched the motion of your fingers and listened to each of Pero’s sharp inhales as you moved downward. “I can’t wait to see it on the floor.”

He snorted at that and you were thankful for it, the sound confirming that he wasn’t getting too lost in his own head about what was happening. “I was thinking the same thing earlier tonight about what you are wearing.” He spoke quietly, pulling the bottom hem of your shirt free from where it was tucked in. “But I was also wondering what you have on beneath it.”

You reached the last button before his waist and then looked back up, biting your lip. “You’re about to find out.” His smile spread slowly, the expression one you weren’t used to seeing him wear. Pero tipped his head to the right and dropped a kiss at the corner of your mouth, hands sliding up and beneath your shirt so that his palms were flush with your skin.

It was your turn to gasp then, the warmth of his hands comforting. He continued to kiss his way across the lower half of your face, lips skating over your cheek and then toward your ear before dropping down to follow the line of your jaw. Your hands stayed busy, moving lower to the button on his pants and popping it free, which gave you a chance to pull his shirt loose, too, and finish undoing it.

He groaned when you touched his abdomen, pushing the sides of the shirt apart, and when Pero backed away, there was a wild look in his eyes.”I like this. The … slowness? You are taking your time, and… it is new.” Glancing over his shoulder so that you could see the clock on his nightstand, your eyebrows shot up. Perfect.

“I’m just enjoying opening my first present.” You wrinkled your nose. “Merry Christmas, by the way. According to your clock, it’s after midnight.” He turned to look, too, and then said your name when he faced you again.

“Sorry that I am not wearing a bow.” He wet his lips, the flash of his tongue distracting you. “To make this more festive.”

“You don’t need one.” Using one finger, you prodded at the chain around his neck. “This is shiny enough.” And. “And I think you should leave it on.” That took him by surprise, but Pero quickly agreed, the arch of one eyebrow telling you that he was intrigued by your request. “Help me out here.” You moved your hands to his shirt again, easing it back and over his shoulders. “Let go of me for a second.”

He did. It only took you moments to remove the silvery fabric, revealing that beneath it, he had on a black v-neck t shirt that was stretched over his chest and shoulders. Holy shit look at him. “What is that look for?”

“I… you…” Gesturing with one hand, you laughed nervously. “You’re still almost fully dressed, and …” You trailed off as he reached down and pulled the shirt up and over his head, giving you your first real glimpse of skin.

“There. Now I have solved your problems.” He grinned, scratching at the back of his neck with one hand.

“No, you’ve given me about a million more.” That made him laugh, and when Pero reached for your hand and squeezed it, leading you the few steps toward his bed, you followed. You eyed him as you walked, mapping the way his muscles looked as they moved beneath his skin and the way his unbuttoned pants sat at his waist, hugging his hips.

“I think,” he started, turning back to look at you and reaching for your shirt, his fingers working the buttons. “That I enjoy you looking at me this way almost as much as I enjoyed the way you spoke to Christina that first night.” He paused, palming the swell of your breast with one hand and then returned to his task. “Would you say the same thing to anyone else that talked about me like she did?”

“Would you want me to?” You were breathless as you spoke, the feeling of his touch and the heat of his gaze making it hard for you to concentrate. “Is that something that I can… oh God, Pero, please just…” You broke off mid-sentence as he finished and began to push your shirt over your shoulders, his hands sliding slowly up your body. “Keep touching me.”

The smile remained on his face as he removed your shirt, the material sliding down your arms and then onto the floor. Instead of putting his hands back on your torso he used them to cradle your face, tilting it so that when he leaned in, your mouth was perfectly lined up with his. “Yes.” He mumbled the words between kisses, one hand siding back to the nape of your neck and the other dropping to your shoulder. “I would want you to.”

You whimpered at that, wrapping your arms around Pero and stepping forward to press yourself against him. The feeling of his bare chest pressed to your body made you almost dizzy, and when your fingers dug into his back for balance, He grunted, pulling on the strap of your bra and dragging it over your shoulder.

As much as you wanted to slow things down and savor the first time you went to bed with Pero, you knew that as soon as he removed your bra, there’d be no going back. And that’s fine. It surprised you when he broke the kiss and spun you around, winding his arms around you from behind and then ducking his head to kiss your shoulder. Wait, what is he…

Pero rocked his hips forward, the hand on your stomach urging you backward while the other one slipped downward, the tips of his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. Tipping your head back so that you could lean it against his shoulder, you sighed, closing your eyes. He was hard beneath his own pants, the length of him pressed against you, and when you reached for the hand on your belly, guiding it upward, he let you.

He got the hint - Pero using that hand to paw at your chest, the contrast between his skin and your bra moving against your skin almost distracting you from the fact that his other hand kept moving lower and lower, pushing your pants with it. “Pero, I -” That was all you got out before he kissed you again, the angle not the most comfortable but still welcome, as was the way he bit down on your lower lip before sucking it between his. Fuck, I am lucky.

He pushed the lace of your bra - one of the ones you saved for special occasions - to the side and then swirled a thumb over that nipple, the motion making your back arch and pushing you into him again. Pero’s mouth moved from yours back down to your shoulder and stayed there, the scrape of his stubbled chin sharp in contrast to the way he touched you elsewhere. But I don’t want him behind me. “What is wrong?” He spoke quietly, turning his head inward and nuzzling against your jaw. “You are stiff.”

“I want…” You hummed, reaching down to stop the movement of the hand at your waist. “I want to look at you, Pero. I want to see you, not just feel you.” Turning to face him, you nodded at the sight of the confused expression he wore. “We only get this once.”

You hoped he understood what you meant - that after that night, you’d never get the chance to be together for the very first time again. And I want it to feel personal, not like … not like it’s just something that’s happening. “Whatever you want.” He smiled again, hands gliding down to squeeze your hips. “I cannot wait to see all of you.”

Taking that as a sign, you reached up and behind you, unhooking your bra and then shrugging out of it before letting it drop to the ground. He watched that, lips parted, and then looked back at you, his palms following the contours of your body as they rose. Yes. Finally. You arched your back again, encouraging him to keep going, and when Pero’s hands finally made it to your chest and he touched you, you moaned, closing your eyes.

As soon as he heard that, his touch went from light and exploratory to certain, pushing your breasts together as he leaned down and mouthed at your collarbone again. And when he moved lower, you urged him to continue with one hand in his hair, fingers tangled in his locks.

He took one nipple between his lips and sucked on it before releasing it only to follow that with a few quick flicks of his tongue before switching to the other side. You would have been content to stand there for hours, but Pero straightened up, his eyes blazing as he met your gaze again. “I think it’s time we get into that bed.” He cleared his throat, both hands still stroking over your skin. “Do you want me to turn the lights off?”

“No.” You answered immediately, flattening one hand against his chest. “Unless that makes you more comfortable.”

Your answer took him by surprise, but Pero wasted no time walking you backwards the few steps it took you to reach the bed. And when your shins made contact with the frame, he stopped you, both hands moving to the button - and zipper - of your pants, undoing them swiftly. He pushed them down so that you could step out of them, but left your underwear in place.

You were stunned that you didn’t feel self conscious standing in front of him in so little, because it hadn’t been that way with your previous partners. You sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up at Pero and watching as he put a hand on his hip and stared at you. A few seconds later, his smile widened and Pero reached for his waist, finishing with the zipper and easing his pants down.

He was wearing trunks, the waistband low on his hips, and the legs stretched tight around his upper thighs. “Wow, Pero.” You licked your lips, head shaking back and forth as you eyed him, lingering on his torso - and waist. “I had no idea you were hiding that under all those clothes.”

“I could say the same about you.” He reached down, adjusting the elastic over one hip without looking away from you. “Beautiful.” Heat rushed to your cheeks then, and you ducked your head but still heard Pero’s quiet chuckle. “You do not like compliments either, hmm?”

“I’m not used to them coming from you.” Cautiously, you looked back up and put your hands out, waiting for him to take them. “Want to get in here with me?” He nodded, taking a half step forward and standing between your legs. “C’mere, Pero.”

He leaned down, mouth finding yours again, and the series of events that followed happened almost before you could process it.

As you kissed, Pero put one knee on top of the mattress and balanced his weight on it, using the forward motion of his body to urge you onto your back. He let go of your hands, sliding one of his beneath your head while he flattened the other palm on the bed, allowing him to hover over you. You moved your hands over his back, exploring the expanse of muscle as it flexed beneath your touch. I can’t believe this is happening.

When you moved them down to his waist - and then lower, palms curved to follow his contours, Pero growled into your kiss, his hips snapping forward to push his length against the front of your hip. Your fingers curled inward, holding him in place - and Pero took the hint.

He lowered his body more, grinding against you and letting you feel the weight of him. “Pero we need to move up. I…” Sighing as he paused long enough to breathe - and kiss the column of your throat - you shivered the words out. “I want us to be comfortable, and…” He backed off, giving you an opportunity to resituate yourself - and then he was on you again.

He straddled you, legs spread wide so that when he leaned forward, he could continue the same motion as earlier. Your hands returned to the same place they’d been before, too, but instead of just touching him, you pushed your fingers beneath the material and held onto him, guiding his hips with skin-to-skin contact for the first time.

But Pero didn’t kiss your mouth again; instead he worked his way down your throat to your chest, lips trailing along the length of your collarbone before he bit down gently, accompanied by a thrust of his hips. You could feel the cool metal of the chain as it dragged against your skin, your mind trying to focus on that and the feeling of his mouth at the same time - and failing. You were overwhelmed by him, and he’d barely touched you. I haven’t really touched him, either.

He dragged his tongue over your skin and kissed his way down, drawing one nipple back between his lips before releasing it with a pop. “I could do this all night.” He spoke without moving away from you, the breath from each exhale warm as it hit your damp skin. “But I am impatient, and I’m sure you are, too.”

He moved off of you and then laid down beside you, stretching out along the length of your body. When you turned your head to look at him, you weren’t expecting him to kiss you right away, his hand laying lightly against your cheek.

Wiggling your hips, you settled in, heartbeat rapid, even after he backed away. “So I have to be patient, but you get to be impatient? That doesn’t seem fair.” He rolled his eyes, mouth opening to reply - but you didn’t give him the chance to. “Lay back.” He did as you asked, and then you propped yourself up on one elbow, taking him in.

You were impatient too, but the desire to remind him that you were thinking beyond that night was more important. I need to show him that I want him. Sliding your hand over his stomach, you focused on the skin beneath his navel and above his waistband, fingertips circling over the dark trail of hair there before you moved back up, dragging the edges of your nails along his skin. Pero grunted, gritting his teeth - but didn’t look away.

You leaned forward and kissed his chest, closing your eyes as you pressed your lips to his skin. You kept your hand moving, too, covering as much of his body as you could without wavering in your attention. There were parts of him that were more sensitive than others - his body jerked when you reached a spot on his side that was about halfway up his ribcage, and he groaned at the feeling of your tongue dragging slowly over the base of his throat, the breath leaving him in a whoosh when you took the chain between your teeth and tugged.

But when your hand moved back down at the same time you redirected your kisses to the underside of his jaw, Pero stopped you, his fingers closing around yours. “No. Stop.” You raised your head in concern, but he didn’t look angry - just overstimulated. “If you touch me now, I will not make it inside of you.” He swallowed as your eyes widened in surprise. “Next time. I promise you, but … not yet.”

“Ok, Pero.” You took a deep breath. “I understand.” He squeezed your hand and then released it, and you used it to balance yourself as you lowered your head again, mouth returning to its previous path. Pero’s hand moved almost lazily up your side as you left a trail of kisses across his face, though you avoided his mouth. You lingered at the patch in his beard before turning your head inward and nuzzling against his nose before taking another breath and deciding that if you were in - you were all in.

When you pressed your lips to the bottom edge of his scar for the first time, Pero’s hold on you tightened, but you didn’t let that deter you. You followed the length of it with your lips, mindful of the fact that he could tell you to stop at any time, but it wasn’t until you softly kissed his closed eyelid - and felt dampness beneath your lips - that you pulled away. “Pero? Is everything… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have -”

“No.” He moved faster than you thought was possible from his position, rolling the two of you over so that you were on your back and he was above you again. “You are … no one has ever…” He couldn’t get the words out, but you understood what he was trying to say. “You are too good for me.” His voice was unsteady, but he kissed you in the pause before he spoke again, mouth gentle. “I do not deserve someone like you after what I -” He needs to stop this.

“You do, Pero.” Reaching up, you took his face between his hands, forcing him to look at you. “You deserve good things. You deserve to be happy. And all of those people that treated you like shit don’t matter, because the way they were to you says more about them than it does about you. And I know this is entirely too fucking much for the first time with someone, but you need to hear it. If I have to keep reminding you that that’s the truth, I’ll do it every single time we’re together, if that’s what it takes.”

He was stunned - you saw the surprise in his eyes … but to your relief, he didn’t contradict you. “If you say so.” He gave you a small smile. “Did I ruin it?”

“No.” Biting the inside of your lip, you cocked your head to the side. “You can go ahead and find out just how much you didn’t ruin it if you want.” He looked confused, but after a few moments seemed to understand, shifting back into position next to you and then dragging his hand down the length of your body. “You can touch me, Pero. I -”

That was as far as you got before he did as you asked. Pero’s eyes went wide as he felt the dampness of the only piece of clothing you still wore, your back arching as you reacted to his touch. “You are … this is…” He looked down, chest heaving as he watched the movement. “Shit.”

He touched you through the thin material first, two fingers gliding along the outline of you, and when you widened the spread of your legs to give him more room, he took the opportunity to add a third finger and some pressure, his attention still on his hand. But that’s fine, you rationalized as he swirled his fingers in a slow circle. I want him to watch.

You reached down then, lifting your hips again to push the waistband down and over your thighs. Pero helped you out, tugging them further and exposing you to him for he first time. He slid his hand back up the inside of your thigh, and when he finally touched you, you moaned at the feeling, closing your eyes and pressing your head into the pillow. “Pero.”

You didn’t recognize the sound of your own voice, but it did something to Pero, who dropped his head, lips latching onto your shoulder while his fingers kept moving. He parted you with two of them, using a third to circle slowly over and over in the space between. It felt incredible, Pero’s touch not at all what you’d expected, and when he widened the circle and extended his fingers down, you curled your toes and opened your eyes - one hand fisting the blankets beside you and the other clamping down against his bare back.

He slid one finger into you and you rocked your hips forward, Pero replacing lips with teeth as you tilted your chin down, burying your nose in his hair. One finger became two, Pero thrusting them in and out of you slowly. He was slow and methodical, entirely focused on what he was doing - and you couldn’t get enough.

Widening the spread of your legs even more, you rolled your hips to meet each thrust, mouth open as you took and released quick, shallow breaths. You didn’t even register that he’d released your skin from between his teeth until Pero’s head rose and he spoke your name. “I think you’re ready for me. I hope you’re ready for me, because -”

“Yes. I - ohhh.” He kept his eyes on you as his hand continued to move, and even though it was difficult, you didn’t close yours. You caught the smile he gave you as he watched your reaction, Pero’s lips quirking upward and his eyes darkening. “Need you, Pero.” Reaching down, you touched his wrist, pushing on it gently. “Please.”

He removed his fingers slowly, and you hummed as they slipped free. “Give me a second.” He brought his hand up, eyeing how slick they were - and then before you had a chance to say anything, he popped them into his mouth, eyes closing at the taste of you. You gasped, but it didn’t cover up the sound of his deep, satisfied groan. Holy fuck, I wasn’t expecting that, I didn’t…

He rolled away from you, fingers still in his mouth, and then you heard the bedside table drawer open. It’s happening. But Pero stood up suddenly, climbing out of the bed and then tossing a condom toward you. “What are -”

“What do you want?” He glanced down as he spoke, hands at his hips and beginning to push his underwear down. “No, that is the wrong question.” He looked back up, the smile back on his face, though that time, it was more of a smirk. “How do you want this?”

“I…” You were torn between looking him in the eye and wanting to watch the final bits of his skin come into view. “Pero, I…” He laughed, the sound low, and then stepped out of his underwear, briefly bending over before he straightened up, giving you an unobstructed view at his entire body. Wow. Ok. You wanted to touch him - wanted to know what he felt like in your hand and sliding between your fingers. You wanted to taste him, too, the thought of weight of him against your tongue and the heat of him as he came consuming you. But that’s not happening tonight.

Pero reached down with the same hand he’d touched you with to wrap his fingers around his length, which distracted you again. Damn him. “Well?” He stroked himself lazily, and you filed the motion away for later, paying attention to the way he held himself and where he squeezed just a little extra. His hands are so goddamn big. “I need to know how -”

“Whatever you’re used to?” You rested one hand on your abdomen, turning your cheek toward the pillow without breaking eye contact. “I want the opposite.” It was yet another risk to ask Pero to consciously choose a different position and approach to sex than he usually did, but you hoped that he understood why you were asking for it - and what you hoped it would signal. “Is that alright?”

He was surprised by your request, but it didn’t keep him immobile for long, Pero putting one knee on the mattress and climbing back into bed. He reached for the foil square with his free hand and only let go of himself when he moved to open it. “It’s more than alright.” He looked down, and then resituated his hand at his base as he rolled the condom on, nodding his head. “It is a good reminder.”

He crawled toward you then and leaned over, using the knuckles on one hand to stroke your cheek. “A reminder?”

“Yes.” Pero stretched out beside you, rolling onto his side and facing you. “That this is not that.” He understands. Pero closed the distance between you, his hand on your side. When he kissed you, it wasn’t quite timid but there was a slight hesitation before he fully committed to it, his full lips slotted with yours before he parted them, urging you to do the same. It’s going to be OK, Pero.

As the kiss deepened, he used the hand on your side to guide your leg into place, positioning it so that your thigh rested atop his hip. You could feel him that way - pressing against you, each shallow flex of his hips increasing the contact.

“Are you sure?” He spoke between kisses, his damp forehead pressed to yours. “That you want this? With me?”

“I am.” You nodded, moving your hand from the back of his head to his shoulder. “Are you?” He didn’t speak, but Pero reached between your bodies, his fingers brushing against your center again as he lined himself up. You kept eye contact with him as he inched forward, and were unable to look away, even as he used a slow thrust to push inside of you. Finally.

You nodded after a few seconds and then Pero rocked forward again, moving his hand to the back of your thigh to pull you closer. “I need a minute.” His voice was strained, and you could see that he was gritting his teeth. “If I move, I -” You kissed him then, interrupting his words and trying to keep your own hips from moving. It’s alright.

He didn’t need to explain to you, because you understood. You were already tightly wound from the way he’d touched you, and thanks to the way he was holding you open, you knew that once he found a rhythm, you’d be able to come from the friction of your body against his alone. And if I finish quick, he will, too.

Pero licked into your mouth, tongue dragging over the edges of your teeth, and when he moved his hips, you did, too, meeting his motion. As he picked up speed, the kiss turned sloppier and his grip on your thigh tightened. You threaded your fingers through his hair, gripping it and tugging, mouth hanging open as you lost yourself in him.

You stopped trying to kiss him back and instead turned your head so that you could pant into his ear, Pero’s cheek pressed against the pillow and each of his exhales hitting your throat. He kept hold of your thigh and lengthened his strokes, slowing down. What is he…

When he rolled forward, pushing you onto your back, you went willingly, Pero angling his hips so that he could keep moving. But when he pulled all the way out of you you cried out, fingers tightening in his hair and against his shoulder. “Why did you stop?” You gasped the words out, eyes wide open as you stared up at him. “Pero, why did -”

“I did not stop.” He murmured the words, leaning down to kiss you again as he ran the hand on your thigh along your skin. “I paused so I could make us more comfortable.” After sitting up, he reached down with both hands and widened the spread of your legs so that he could kneel between them. You didn’t miss it when his gaze moved over the length of your body, or the way his jaw twitched at the sight of you, Pero’s fingers curling against your thighs.

“You’re a fucking tease, Pero Tovar.” You covered your face with both hands. “And you know it.” He laughed, the sound low, and then you felt the mattress dip as he shifted, one of his hands releasing your leg. I want to see this.

Propping yourself up on both elbows, you looked down and watched as he concentrated, eyes moving between himself and you as he re-aligned. Pero’s shoulders rose and fell as he took and released a deep breath… and then he was sliding into you again, the sight of his length disappearing into your body making your eyes close as you collapsed back onto the bed.

He started with deep, slow thrusts as he leaned forward, hands moving to the blankets on either side of your body. By the time he’d stretched out enough that he could bend his elbows and rest his weight on them, those movements had quickened. He went deeper from that angle, each forward flex of his hips accompanied by a quiet grunt and met with a reflex thrust of your own.

You flattened one foot on the bed and bent your knee, angling that leg outward while wrapping the other one around his hip again, your heel digging into the back of his calf and urging him even closer - which was next to impossible. As you closed your eyes, you raised both hands and dug your nails into his shoulders, not even trying to conceal the noises you made - and to your delight, Pero didn’t, either.

You’d remember them forever - the way he grunted and groaned, a quiet snarl escaping his lips when you lifted your hips and met a particularly sudden thrust of his, which was followed by an equally devastating one, his head dropping so that the tip of his nose met the front of your shoulder. He kept it there for the next few minutes, his bedroom filled with the sounds both of you made, but when he spoke your name, pulling it from deep within himself, you forced your eyes open, watching as he raised his head and looked down at you.

Pero didn’t falter in his movement, and you bit your lip at the way he gritted his teeth, nose wrinkling before he was able to speak again. “You feel incredible.” He swallowed, nodding as he continued. “Fucking perfect.” It was enough to make you shiver, and you knew he caught the motion when he actually smiled, Pero leaning down to kiss you on the mouth. “Will you come this way? Is -”

“Mmhmm.” You closed your eyes and gasped, back arching off of the bed when he swiveled his hips, the length of him buried inside you. “Oh, fuck, Pero.” He switched to shallow thrusts, giving you a chance to collect yourself. “Can you?”

“Of course.” He licked his lips, nodding. “I am holding back, I -”

“Don’t.” Don’t you dare. “I don’t want you to.” Moving one hand from his back to between your bodies, you nodded again, flexing your calf muscles. “Come, Pero. Let me feel you.” You dragged your hand over your skin and moved your fingers into place, making sure to graze his skin with the edges of your nails. He looked confused for a second, but when you went lower, spreading your fingers wide enough so that you could feel where he entered you, the look in his eyes changed to one of understanding. “Fuck me like you’ve waited three years to do it, Pero.”

He sped up again, maintaining eye contact for a few seconds before he slammed them shut and tilted his head back. You closed yours, too, sighing. It felt good, the length of him sliding between your fingers before you moved your hand into place, two fingers pressed against your skin and gliding in a slow circle. But before you could find your own rhythm, Pero slowed down again, a growl tearing from his throat.

“No. Not like this. Not with you.” You opened your eyes, the motion of your hand stuttering - and it stopped when you saw the way he was looking at you. He’s never looked at … oh, shit. Pero’s brow was furrowed, his lips parted, and he was staring at you like you were the only thing he ever wanted to look at again. “Let me watch you.”

He sunk into you all the way and then paused, rotating his hips in a slow circle. It trapped your hand between the two of you, and Pero’s eyes were molten when he spoke again, voice low and full of need.

“Let me feel you.”

He drew his hips back, giving your hand the space it needed to begin moving again. You were hesitant. But when he nodded, arching a brow, you let out a long breath and did just that.

Starting slow, you circled your fingers, dragging them through your slick and spreading it over your skin. You hummed at your own touch, letting your mind wander to Pero’s fingers earlier, and when he started to move again, gradually increasing his pace to match the motion of your hand, you squeezed your eyes shut and let out a shaky breath. “Pero, it won’t…” You hummed, adding pressure and a little speed. “It’s going to be quick, and -”

“Good.” He leaned down, mouth finding yours briefly. “We have waited too long.”

You agreed, and that was all you needed to speed up more, touching yourself the way you usually did. Eyes opening again, you found that Pero was still watching you, though his were heavy lidded - evidence of his body’s response to yours.

As the moments passed, you felt your own body’s response - a heat in your belly, the quickening of your heartbeat, muscles tensing as you got closer and closer to a moment that hours earlier, you hadn’t imagined was possible. “Pero, I -”

He smiled at you, nodding, and when you let go of him to drop your hand to the mattress, he grabbed for it without missing a beat, linking your fingers together and bringing both of them up next to your head. His grip tightened with your gasp, Pero’s hips flexing forward at the same time you thrust yours upward, increasing the friction.

It was enough.

You came with a gasp, fingers stuttering as your muscles clenched around him, Pero’s motion continuing as your toes curled and you squeezed his hand. He mumbled two words - that’s it - and you watched as his smile grew, your own mouth hanging open as you pressed your head into the pillow. Oh my god.

You cried out as a wave of pleasure coursed through you, the feel of him moving within you prolonging the moment - and then Pero was coming, too, one last sharp thrust burying him as deep as possible as he finished. You felt him as he filled the condom, Pero’s release coming in spurts as your body pulled him in deeper and sent a second wave through you, making you shudder beneath him. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck, I…

Your hand fell away from your body and Pero’s head dropped again, his breath ragged as he rested his forehead against your shoulder and more of his weight on you.

Neither of you said anything for almost a minute, and to your surprise, it was Pero who opened his mouth first, head turning inward so that when he spoke, it was against the side of your neck. “I do not want to move.” He sighed and then kissed your skin, lips pressed to your pulse point. “Are you alright? You -”

“Pero.” Unlinking your fingers, you reached up and dragged them through his hair, pulling the sweat-damp strands away from his face. “I’m more than alright.” He lifted his head to look at you, eyes wide. “And I don’t want to move either, but if we don’t, I’ll fall asleep right here, and that would be messy.”

His lips twitched into a half smile and before you could say anything, he was kissing you, tongue dipping past your lips and into your mouth. I’ll never say no to this. He kissed you deeply, only breaking it when he needed to breathe… but the smile was still there and his eyes were bright - Pero obviously sated but still alert. “You’re right.” Without saying anything else, he reached down between you and then pulled out, rolling away and laying on his back beside you.

You missed him immediately, and weren’t able to conceal your gasp at the way it felt to realize that, head turning to the side so that you could look at him. “Pero, I -”

“No.” Turning his head, he winked at you. “Not yet. We will talk when we are done.”

Ten minutes later, you stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in one of his robes only to find the bedroom empty.

Your pulse had settled and you felt calmer, though you were still reeling from what had happened between you. You hadn’t stopped smiling while you were in the bathroom - even as you washed your face and brushed your teeth again, the expression had stayed put. And it’ll be there for a long time, too. Because … that was everything I wanted.

“Are you going to sleep in that?” He spoke from behind you, and when you turned toward the sound, you saw that he was holding two bottles of water, his shoulder pressed against the doorframe. “Because if you are, you are overdressed.”

He’d only put on his underwear, and you didn’t even try to keep from staring at him greedily, taking in the sight of his almost naked body. “I didn’t plan on it.” You untied the belt and let it drop to the floor, the sides of the robe splitting apart to expose a strip of skin at the center of your body. “If that’s alright.”

“It is preferred.” He moved closer, holding one of the bottles out to you. “I usually wear nothing to bed.” That was a piece of information you filed away, too, and after draining almost half of the bottle, you shrugged the robe down and over your shoulders before tossing it to the side and getting back into bed - though you climbed under the covers that time.

He flipped the light switch off and then drank deeply from the bottle before setting it down and taking off his underwear. Even in the low light coming in through the slats in the window blinds, you could see him clearly, watching his outline before he climbed into bed and moved as close to you as he could get. “What were you going to say earlier?” He flattened his hand atop the pillow as he spoke, though he didn’t touch you.

“I was going to say,” you started as you stroked the length of his bare arm, knuckles dragging along his skin. “That when you just … rolled away? It was … I missed …” Just say it. “It’s so stupid, Pero, but you were there and then you weren’t, and I realized that -”

“It is not stupid.” He moved his hand enough so that he could touch your face, his thumb sliding over your cheek. “I was … abrupt. I will work on that.” He inched closer, his cheek scraping across the pillow. “With you, hopefully.” He blinked slowly, and you felt as he held his breath, waiting for your response. Oh, Pero.

“We might need a lot of practice.” Biting your lip, you also moved your head closer, though you didn’t break eye contact. “But I’m up for it.” A smile spread slowly across his face, Pero’s eyes widening slightly before he closed them, mouth finding yours in a brief - but tender - kiss.

“Practice is the only way to improve.” Moving his hand from your face to your side, Pero curled his fingers over your hip. “I hope that tonight was what you wanted it to be.” Is he seriously questioning this?

“It started out kind of rocky, but yeah, Pero. It was.” You paused, thinking. “It is.” It made your head spin to think about everything that had happened throughout the previous evening - and the weeks leading up to it. But it’s worth it. He’s worth it. “How do you feel about this?”

“About this or about you?” He narrowed his eyes, but then grinned. “Because the answer is the same for both: I feel good. This is what I want.” He kissed you again, nodding. “You are what I want.”

His direct response caught you off guard. But as the kiss continued, his arm winding around you and pulling your body flush against his as you flattened your hand against his back, you understood that it shouldn’t have. If there was anything that you knew to be true about Pero, it was that when he spoke, the words had meaning. It takes him a lot to get there, though.

The kiss ended and as Pero settled back in against the pillow, he yawned, you not far behind. “It is late.” He sighed, moving his leg so that he could hook it over your calf. “We should sleep.” You agreed - you were exhausted, and the warmth and comfort of being in bed next to him was making you drowsy.

Instead of replying, you tucked your chin and rested your forehead against his collarbone, closing your eyes. I could get used to this. He kissed the top of your head and you felt when he relaxed, the weight of his arm heavy where it laid against your body. I might already be used to this.

You began to doze off, but were interrupted by the quiet utterance of your name, Pero’s fingers dancing over your lower back. “Thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me tonight and making me listen to you.”

“It wasn’t just me.” You didn’t move your head, speaking the words with your lips just above his skin. “Christina was -”

“She put us in there, but it was all you. You said what I needed to hear, and I know you would not have made so much of an effort if you did not mean it.” He kissed you again, that one lingering. “Please don’t stop doing that.”

You assured him that you wouldn’t, but the steady beat of his heart was lulling you to sleep, and you didn’t even try to open your eyes. We’ll talk more later.

The following afternoon, you pulled up in front of William and Lin’s, Pero’s fingers tightly laced with yours on the center console.

He’d woken up before you - and woken you up with his hands and mouth, Pero trailing touches and kisses over every part of your body that he could reach without disturbing you. From there, you’d had each other again - once in the bed and then again after breakfast, Pero pulling pleasure from you with his fingers in the kitchen before leading you into back into his bedroom.

You’d showered at his place and changed back into your clothes, which made the stop at your house short, leaving you plenty of time to get to your destination. You hadn’t talked much about what came next, or how you’d present yourselves to your friends. But the fact that they know I left with Pero and didn’t come to get my car was probably telling.

“Pero, we need to talk about something before we go in.” Shifting in your seat, you squeezed his hand. “What will we tell them? They’re not stupid, but -”

“They are not.” He cocked his head to the side, gesturing at the house with his free hand. “But is it their business? We don’t… we don’t even know what this is, do we?”

“I know what I’d like it to be.” Pressing your lips together, you took a deep breath. “And what I think it could be, but … it’s only been one night, so maybe you’re right. Maybe we should just say that it’s not something we’re ready to talk about.”

“Then we are on the same page.” He leaned closer, lips curving upward as he smiled. “Maybe we should just wait and see if they ask, and then we decide how to respond.” The same page? Really? It shouldn’t have surprised you, especially with the way Pero had responded to your touch that morning and the previous night. It was obvious there was more to things than just physical attraction, that it hadn’t waned between you after the first time you’d been together.

You wanted to kiss him in reply, but instead just nodded, giving him a return smile before pulling your hand free. “Want help carrying stuff in? I know you only have a couple presents, but I might as well make myself useful.” He laughed, nodding, and moments later, you were walking side by side up the driveway and toward the door. As the two of you paused on the front step, Pero reached for the doorbell while you froze, eyes on the space just above his head. Shit. Damn you, Lin.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He frowned, and then tilted his head back, looking up, too. “Oh. Is that … what I think it is?”

“Yes.” You chuckled, looking down and closing your eyes. “That definitely wasn’t there yesterday. I can’t believe she’d put mistletoe up after the diner. It -”

“She is clever.” Pero took a step forward, reaching out to touch your chin. “I should have known.” His gaze dropped to your lips, Pero’s expression thoughtful. “It is tradition.” Heart pounding, you parted your lips and closed the distance between you, your fingers tight around the handle of the gift bag you carried. It is. “And I did say it was not the mistletoe I was saying no to, just the timing.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Pero.” He laughed quietly but did as you asked, his lips warm against yours. You leaned into him, one hand flat against his chest, and your own heart beating wildly behind your ribcage. You meant to pull away quickly, but he didn’t let you - instead moving the hand at your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you in place while he continued to kiss you. He nipped at your lower lip, the bite of his teeth making you gasp.

But Pero only laughed quietly and did it again before he deepened the kiss, his tongue pressing forward to meet yours and giving you a taste of the mouthwash he’d used at your place.

“Well that worked out better than I thought it would.” With a jolt, you broke the kiss and whipped your head to the side, finding Lin and William standing in the open doorway, her phone held in her hands. Oh no. “Now I don’t have to ask how last night went.”

She lowered the device and your attention moved to William, the man’s attempt to hold a laugh back not at all successful. “No, you don’t.” Pero cleared his throat and stepped closer to you, his arm winding around your waist. “And now we don’t have to figure out a way to tell you, either.”

William laughed and Lin’s eyes widened as they stepped to the side to let you in. Say something. This isn’t what we just talked about. “Pero, I -”

He stopped you with a kiss to the temple as you crossed the threshold, his arm tightening. “This makes things much easier, I think.”

He wasn’t wrong. William and Lin had seen - firsthand - what they needed to see in order to answer questions about what had happened between you the night before, and about whether or not things were resolved in regard to the contract. They’d still probably ask questions, which was fine. But maybe now they’ll do it in private. You knew you’d say much more just to Lin, and figured that Pero would be the same with William.

After taking your coats and boots off, the four of you headed into the living room. You and Pero put your gifts beneath the tree with the others and then moved to sit on the couch while William and Lin chose an oversized chair, the woman curling up on his lap.

Pero lowered himself onto the cushions first, and then, to your surprise, reached up to take your hand, fingers closing around yours before he pulled down on it. Oh. Is he… “Come here.” You sat next to him, leaving very little space between you. He released your hand as you got comfortable, draping his arm across your shoulders and urging you to lean against him. He is. He really…

You couldn’t help yourself, closing your eyes as you leaned in further to kiss Pero’s stubbled cheek before whispering the words “I like this” into his ear. He hummed, fingers tightening on your shoulder. There was no containing your smile as you straightened up, moving your hand over to rest it on his thigh. I really like this.

“So.” Lin cleared her throat and then spoke, her eyes bright as she looked between you. “Are we opening presents now, or after we eat?”

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