#also i missed u!!!!!!!!!! hi i hope you're ok!!!

[softshuji]

*I make my choices, pay for them and try to scope the area* At least its clear for now. -Keisuke

.....

[chasedeys]

bengals win today yes?

[zreamy]

i'll love you forever

pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader

summary: you were sunghoon's first everything; first friend, first love, and first heartbreak. after years of quietly crushing on you, he was finally ready to confess. so ready to confess, that he told his parents the two of you were already dating! it was an easy enough lie to keep up and he kept it up for months, what could possibly go wrong? he thought. little did he know, you would have a falling out and stop talking for months.. and then, you'd both get invited to spend a week at home with his parents, who still believe you're his girlfriend.

genre: smut, fluff, angst, college au, childhood best friends to lovers, fake dating

warnings: minors dni, fake dating is pretty mild (sorry), she kinda doesn’t rate him at the start, these two kind of exist in a vacuum a little bit idk i had a self-enforced word count to stick to and broke it.. (im within the 10% allowance !), sunghoon in a vest, sunghoon arms, sunghoon

word count: 21,858

playlist: click here.. (for my non-spotify babes, the main song is light by wave to earth (which for some reason i put last.. whatever))

author's note: for silly @asahicore. happy birthday pooks i hope it's amazing and that u enjoy reading this when u have the time !!! LOL (lots of love) also im never writing without telling you things again this was so absurd.

to everyone else.. ok happy reading also emma did not beta read this so im sure it's missing its charm .. anyway it's for emma not you 😭 anyway i hope u enjoy regardless and lmk ur thoughts! omg this is the first fic im nervous about posting.......... please enjoy or else.

In the three years since Park Sunghoon moved away for university, he’d been doing a pretty good job of going home to see his parents. They’d welcome their baby back to the nest with open arms and wide grins. With a rehearsed level of indifference, his younger sister, Yeji, would say, “Oh, I didn’t know you were coming home this weekend.” when she saw him at the dinner table. Sunghoon pretended to only be marginally hurt by this. 

In the last three months, he hasn’t so much as sent a text to his parents. 

Or to you. 

Ignoring texts from his mother is devastating. Between classes, he watches as, “Hi, sweetie, I love you 😍,” turns into, “Missing you, honey, know you must be busy but spare some time for your old mummy, no?” which turns into, “Getting really worried now, are you doing okay? Has something happened with YN? Talk to me, I love you, my baby boy!” 

Ignoring texts from you is easy because texts from you never come. 

Sitting at the end of his bed, Sunghoon rereads a text his mother sent a few minutes ago: Please talk to me, son. Really worried and YN isn’t answering calls either. What’s going on with you two?

When he leaves his room, he finds Jake lying on the couch, and with his keys in hand, Sunghoon says, “I’m going home.” 

And the drive is great! At least, he tells his mum it is. In truth, the drive home without you was nearly impossible. Your ever-expanding home time playlist buzzed through the speakers in his car, but without you there to screech along to the songs, it wasn’t the same. He felt your absence the most when he stopped to get petrol and you weren’t there behind him struggling to carry enough snacks to feed a small family without offering to pay. 

The look of worry on his mum’s face stirs a pit in his stomach. “Why are you so quiet these days? God, you look so tired,” she says, frowning. “Is it school? Or something with YN? It’s not like her not to text back.” Her brows crease as she whispers the word unless. She pulls him into a hug, her chin resting perfectly on his shoulder, and her comforting hand strokes the hair on the back of his head. “Breakups are never easy, honey. I’m so sorry, I know how much you love her.” 

Breakups are never easy. The sentence hangs heavy over his head. 

Whether she knows it or not, she’s handed him a get-out-of-jail-free card, the opportunity to set things straight, to end this mess once and for all. No further questions, and most importantly, no more lies. 

For the first time since he left your flat three months ago, Sunghoon lets himself cry. He’d imagined this moment countless times, his first cry since you ended things. In his mind, it was always intense. Today, as it happens, only a few salty tears leak from his eyes, spilling onto the cuff of his sleeve, darkening the blue cotton in tiny indigo splotches. 

“We didn’t break up,” he says in a small voice—for some reason. “I’m just having a hard time.” Neither statement is technically untrue, but the words taste rotten in his mouth.

The tightening grip of his mum’s arms around his body is what brings on the harsh, shoulder-racking sobs he’d been anticipating. For a while, they stand like this, Sunghoon weeping into his mum’s cardigan until she sends him upstairs to lie down, promising a cup of tea that never comes. 

His childhood bedroom is chilly, so he changes into clothes he left behind and climbs into bed, pulling his duvet up to his chin. He turns his head to look at the walls and the room around him, everything is exactly where he left it in the summer. It should be comforting, but it’s weird to be home without you. 

There are photos of you and him everywhere, growing up and around each other through different stages of life. The two of you together during the summer your family moved in next door, you wore glasses back then and were the first friend he’d made in his life. Sunbathing and sharing earphones at the beach, listening to music together on your iPod classic. Sunghoon in thick glasses with a stiff smile and your arm around him on the first day of high school. Wide grins at the start of this summer, the last time things were okay between you. 

Overwhelmed, he stares up at the ceiling, only realising he’s crying when a hot tear slips from his eyes to tickle his ear. Because Sunghoon likes to upset himself, he screws his eyes shut and thinks about the night before you stopped talking. 

Though he didn’t know it at the time, you’d left Yeonjun’s place to sit with him in a tiny restaurant on campus, the one you’d only visit to toast to each other’s heartbreaks. It had become a ritual — ever since your first year boyfriend dumped you after two weeks — to cry as much as you wanted and drink as much soju as your bodies could handle before stumbling back to your apartments. 

Having spent years suffering from an unrequited crush on his best friend, Sunghoon was always the one to comfort you. But that night was different; you were there to comfort him. It was easy enough to play the part of ‘boy whose crush likes someone else’ because he spent your entire friendship in that role. He’d had no problem accepting his fate, but his composure started to slip when you met Yeonjun. It was the first time you’d dated someone who Sunghoon had reason to be jealous of. In every way, Yeonjun was better than him—taller, funnier, hotter. Sunghoon knew he didn’t stand a chance. He took it personally, you liking Yeonjun instead of him, and let his jealousy consume him from the inside out. 

This jealousy led him to start telling you about Minjeong—lying to you about Minjeong, and his feelings for her. She was a girl from a college out of town that he saw on his Instagram Explore page. He followed her by accident, and by some stroke of luck, she followed back. Sunghoon didn’t really have feelings for her — he didn’t even know her — but she was a girl that you didn’t know, so you wouldn’t be able to meddle. 

It only took a few weeks for Sunghoon to become so upset about your relationship that he couldn’t hide his emotions anymore. So, in a fit of tears, he told you over the phone that things ended badly with Minjeong, and he was in urgent need of a soju ceremony. 

But the night was missing its usual comforts.

It was strange to be the one crying, to see you looking put together and ordering the food. To see you pouring the drinks and raising your glass to propose a toast to ‘Hoonie’s first heartbreak’. You were driving that night, so you only had a tiny sip of soju and let him drink as much as he needed, the way he always did for you, at the same table, in the same restaurant for years. 

Hours later, in your car, you entertained his drunken rambles, though he remembers how your lips were set into a frown that he wanted to kiss away while you gripped the steering wheel like you thought it would run from you. Sunghoon was more drunk than he’d been in a while, drunk enough to let you sling his arm over your shoulders and keep him upright until you reached his flat. 

The voices coming from Yeji’s room disrupt the memory. He’s thankful.

“Your brother’s going through something, so be nice to him this weekend.” His mother’s voice is her version of hushed—a loud whisper. 

Yeji’s response is harder to make out, but he doesn’t miss the way their mum says, “I mean it, missy.” 

A dramatic sigh rumbles through Yeji as she barges into his room without knocking. Sunghoon sits up, feeling an ache in his back and crossing his legs. 

“Mum told me to lay off you today, which is fine, but before I do, I need to tell you something.” 

Yeji pushes the door shut behind her, and the open window makes it slam, both of them flinching from the sudden noise. She pulls her hair out of a silk scrunchie and throws herself on the floor. A pang of irritation forms in his chest, knowing that he could immediately find the empty hanger in his wardrobe where the shirt she’s wearing used to live. 

“I hate you and your perfect golden boy image, Hoon. Would it kill you to fail a class for once? I don’t know how I’m supposed to carry on your legacy.” She’s looking up at him, her chin in her hands and irritation written in the crease between her thick brows. 

It’s impossible to know if it’s because of Yeji’s complete lack of boundaries or the fact that her ‘perfect, golden boy’ big brother is on track to fail three out of three classes and get cut from the hockey team, but Sunghoon immediately bursts into tears. 

“Oh, uh.. I’m sorry?” Yeji offers. “I was kidding if that helps.” 

“I’m alright, it’s okay.” The tears don’t stop stinging his eyes. “Why do you want me to change everything about myself?” 

With a frown, Yeji pours out her frustration and mild resentment. She doesn’t understand how Sunghoon effortlessly conquers every aspect of life while she struggles. Neither do their parents, who had been baffled by her plummeting grades since she moved to boarding school, especially when Sunghoon’s academic performance has only soared since he left for university. The weight of this perceived injustice pulls Sunghoon’s shoulders down with guilt as she talks about the expectations he has inadvertently set for her. 

“But other than that, I’m good.” She shrugs, sitting with her legs out, and leaning back on her palms. “How’s YN?” she asks. It’s clear from the brightness in her voice that she thinks she’s helping. 

Sunghoon cries again. 

Back on campus, he’s trying to scrape together what’s left of his academic career with the help of two of the smartest guys he knows, and their friend Jay. Though the word ‘friend’ feels a little strong at the moment given the way Jay’s goading him. 

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, sitting back in his seat. “There’s nothing you can do that I can’t,” he says, meaning every word. 

Jay scoffs, shrugging and raising his brow in a way that, over the years, Sunghoon knows to interpret as his ‘about to say something ridiculous’ look. “Pretty sure I could call YN right now, and she’d answer.” 

There’s a pit in Sunghoon’s stomach as Heeseung turns his head in the other direction like he’s been slapped, trembling with stifled laughter. At least Jake doesn’t hide his amusement, throwing his head back in a fit of giggles that draw nasty looks from the other students in the library. Sunghoon doesn’t waste his energy trying to argue because Jay’s right.

Now composed, Heeseung turns back to the table, flipping through some of Sunghoon’s course materials to find whatever his class was doing in class that week. The English Literature class he’s taking — The Modernist Movement: Joyce, Woolf, and Hemingway — is the same class he had to send a million emails over the summer to get enrolled in, but it’s the same one Heeseung aced two years ago. Lucky for him none of the boys seem to be in the mood to make fun of him for trying so hard to have a class in common with you, and then practically failing out of it before the term had started properly.

“This class is, like, beyond easy, dude.” Heeseung pauses to sniffle and twist the stud in his ear. “Everyone in my class aced it. How are you doing so badly already?” 

“I only took it because YN thought it’d be fun if we had a class together, but.. I kind of haven’t been going since we stopped talking.” Sunghoon shrugs, pretending to be unaffected. 

As if the mere mention of your name has some sort of summoning power, like saying Biggie Smalls in the mirror three times, you appear in his eye line, rounding the corner with a furious stride. Your demeanour crumbles when Jay waves at you, and you grin, waving back, but as soon as you look Sunghoon in the eye again, the rage comes back, and you smack a hand on the table when you reach it, leaning over to him. 

“Sunghoon, a word?” you ask.

He thinks you’re asking, but it’s hard to tell with the way you set your jaw afterwards, and the way the warmth of your signature vanilla scent hits him hard. Dazed, Sunghoon lifts a hand, pointing at himself. “Me?” 

“Does anyone else at the table answer to Sunghoon?” 

“Okay,” he says, somewhat pathetically, nudging Jay for laughing at him. 

As slowly as possible, Sunghoon pushes his chair from the table and stands up, following you to the corner of the references section where only anthropology students in scratchy thrift store knits, and Jay, come to check out encyclopaedias by volume. You look good, save for the rage written all over your face—which, honestly, Sunghoon thinks he likes.

Sunghoon isn’t sure what to expect, so he says, “Hey.” He’s being cautious, waiting a moment to gauge your reaction. “What’s gooooood?” His cheeks burn as soon as he closes his mouth around the vowel, but you laugh. You laugh, and it’s beautiful and happy, and you’re laughing because of him—or at him, but he’s glad either way. 

Annoyance quickly clears all traces of amusement on your face. “Were you ever going to tell me we’re spending next week at Mum and Dad’s?” you ask. 

Sunghoon gasps dramatically, clicking his fingers. “I knew there was something I’ve been meaning to do.” 

His attempt at lightening the mood falls flat, and you only nudge his shoulder gently, sighing. “Can you be serious? For once in your life, even for a second, can you please think about how the things you say affect me?” You’re frowning, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at your feet. “It’s not fair, Sunghoon. For you to keep saying things—making plans involving me and then acting like I’m the bad guy when I turn you down.” 

“I don’t think you’re the bad guy at all,” Sunghoon admits. “If anyone is in the wrong, it’s me, I guess.”

You scoff, looking at him like you hate him. “You guess? Are you serious?” You look furious, but you sound hurt and Sunghoon hates it. Hates himself. “I can’t have this conversation with you right now. Tell mum I’m sick, and it’s contagious.” You roll your eyes and walk away, leaving Sunghoon alone with his thoughts and judgemental stares from students in crochet scarves so long they graze the floor. 

He sighs, slumping against the wall. How does he keep getting it wrong with you? 

Back at the table, Sunghoon manages to act like he’s not falling apart and makes some serious headway on his missing assignments with Heeseung’s help before they call it a day as the sun starts to set. 

When he gets home, he lies down on his bedroom floor, spending hours poring over the conversation you had. Over the minute changes in your facial expression, the tone of your voice, and the endless list of things he should have done, rather than watch you walk away. 

The moment feels familiar, both identical to and worlds apart from what happened after you left three months ago. When he managed to scrape the last shreds of his dignity from the kitchen table, he dragged his feet to his room and lay down like he is now, face to the rug. That day, he left his door open and lay so still that Jake thought he was dead. Sunghoon remembers wishing he had been. 

For once in your life, even for a second, can you please think about how the things you say affect me? The words run on a loop in his mind, over and over, until he can’t remember the order of the sentence or where you put emphasis. They’re cutting all the same. 

Sunghoon sighs into the itchy fibres of his black rug before rolling onto his back. In the diminishing purple light of the setting sun. he looks at the walls of his room. At the Fleetwood Mac poster, he stole from Jay when they moved out of their first year dorm, that curls away from the wall towards the ceiling—a diagonal strip of shiny tape being the only indication of the otherwise invisible tear through the face of Stevie Nicks. 

He’s glad when his phone rings, cutting through the quiet, though the sight of your name and the anatomical heart emoji next to it only dampens his spirit. Reluctantly, Sunghoon answers the phone, holding it to his ear. 

“I just got off the phone with Dad..” You trail off. Tangible silence follows, so thick it weighs on his chest. “I’ll go home with you.” 

“You will?” 

“Yes. Goodbye.” 

Sunghoon reaches your flat at five in the evening. You don’t smile when you open the door for him, nor do you invite him in. Instead, you dump your bag at your feet and he cringes, looking from the floor to you. You’re aggressively beautiful and cosy-looking as you pull a jacket over the sweater you wore that night. Sunghoon’s heart aches in his chest and he wonders if you even realise. Suddenly, the memory of the last thing you said the morning after hits him like a truck: Then let’s not be friends at all. 

A familiar weight lands on his shoulder—your hand. Concern lines your eyes as you ask if he’s okay. 

With a lump in his throat, Sunghoon nods. 

In the discomfort of his car, the two of you sit in silence while he starts the drive home. 

“How’s Yeonjun,” he asks, eyes flicking towards you but regretting it immediately when he sees how you clench your jaw. 

“No,” you say simply, shaking your head. “You don’t get to ask me about him.” 

These are the only words you exchange until Sunghoon stops for petrol. He has enough fuel for the rest of the journey, but he feels like dying and thinks the fresh air might quell his thoughts of running his car off the road. Like always, the two of you get out and head into the kiosk, where he follows you wordlessly through the aisles, watching you debate on snack choices before settling on the same things you always get. Sunghoon pays for your snacks and you roll your eyes but don’t protest, mumbling thanks as you take them into your arms, leading the way back outside.

He knows he needs to tell you before you reach the house, but he’s not entirely sure how to say it—so he just does. “My, uh.. my parents think we’re dating.”

You stop so suddenly in front of him that he almost bumps into you. Stepping around you, Sunghoon keeps walking. 

Over the top of his car, he watches your face cycle through all five stages of grief until anger comes back around in the loop as you scoff. “Why do they think that?” Your face is devoid of expression now, the blankness over your features dragging a sharp chill over his spine. 

He stares blankly at you, processing. “Because I told them we’re dating,” he mumbles. 

“Why did you.. do that?” You tilt your head, eyes pressing shut in a long blink. “What are you even talking about? Why did you.. What?” 

A thin layer of sweat coats his palms despite the cold. Why did he do that? “We can stage a breakup during the trip or say we broke up right now,” Sunghoon offers. “Just one night, YN, please.” 

The wind whistles by, ruffling your hair and jacket that you hug tightly to your chest. Behind you, Sunghoon takes note of the group of girls standing by the pumps, all five of them jerking their heads abruptly when they notice him watching, suddenly finding interest in the scattered litter and flickering halogen bulbs in the steel canopy over their heads. 

You’re staring when he looks back at you, nostrils twitching with a sniffle before you sigh. “Or we could say that you’re a liar and end things there,” you say. “Or better yet, you go down there on your own and tell them the truth.”

Sunghoon’s gaze drops, his thoughts racing in his mind. He knows you’re right. At some point, his parents will have to find out, and it’d be better for them to find out now. Sunghoon sighs, nodding. “Alright,” he concedes. “I’ll take you back.”

An angry laugh comes out of you as you shake your head. “No need, I’ll walk.” 

The station you’re at is neatly nestled in the middle of nowhere, on a road so narrow he’s not even sure it has a pavement. You’re halfway through the three-hour drive, so there’s no telling how long the walk would be, never mind the fact that the sun is already setting and it’s deep enough into October for the wind to sting. 

“From here?” he asks, incredulous. 

“Yes, open the boot so I can get my bag.” 

Sunghoon can only bring himself to say your name, a desperate whisper. 

“Open the boot.”

He repeats your name as if it’ll make a difference, he’s pleading with you, begging—though he doesn’t know for what. 

You go to the back of his car where Sunghoon joins you, a pit in his stomach when you step away. With misty eyes, you look up at him and his heart breaks. “Please.”

Sunghoon knows you well enough to know that you’re not actually going to attempt the walk home but also knows that you won’t back down if he keeps challenging you. He nods, opening the boot for you and getting into the driver’s seat—your move. 

You stand there, unmoving, and long enough passes that he thinks you’ll actually leave. The boot closes softly and you join him in the passenger seat. You sigh, buckling your seatbelt. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

For the rest of the journey, you sit in silence as Sunghoon briefs you on the relationship, fighting a smile as he thinks about being your boyfriend—even if only for a night. You scoff when he ‘reminds’ you that you’ve been together for four months now and the only reason you haven’t been able to come home recently is that your schedules don’t match up very well anymore—which couldn’t be further from the truth as, before term started, you went out to celebrate the fact that your class schedules couldn’t be more suited for seeing each other. 

Finally, at Sunghoon’s childhood home, the two of you smile and laugh for his parents before going to bed. Your relationship has only made his mother more averse to the idea of you sharing a room under her roof than she had been when you were younger. He’s relieved about this, and in the solitude of his bedroom, he lies on the duvet of his twin bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about the last few hours. 

With his parents, you’d sat up in the living room watching TV. They sat on the couch together, his mum nestled in his dad’s side, while you two sat on the couch opposite, mirroring their position. If your complete stiffness was anything to go by, you were less than comfortable with his arm around you and Sunghoon felt terrible for begging you to go along with this. It was after midnight when you all went upstairs and you let him kiss your forehead before all but slamming the door to the guest room in his face. His heart twirled and his mum beamed at him before saying goodnight again. 

Now, at 3 a.m. he can’t sleep. Flinching at the knock on his door, he furrows his brows and goes to open it. It’s you. Standing there with your hair scraped away from your face in one of his t-shirts. Your eyes are red, brimmed with tears as you step into his room and sit on his bed. 

He closes the door softly, heart aching at the sight of you so upset, and when he sits next to you, his heart tears apart because you move over, putting a distance between you. It falls out of his chest onto the floor when he realises you’re not wearing your necklace. 

Sunghoon suspected you might have stopped wearing it, it only made sense that if you didn’t want him, you wouldn’t want the necklace he bought for you either, but at least earlier, your sweatshirt sat so high he couldn’t see if you had it on or not. 

It was a gift for your sixteenth birthday, after your first heartbreak. He was so upset and angry that you let some loser hurt you that way, upset and angry that someone could be loved by you and fuck it up. Sunghoon was inspired by Jay, who’d gotten a pretty necklace for his girlfriend, and talked about her cute reaction for weeks, how happy she was to have a piece of him with her all the time. It was a locket, with a picture of Jay in one side and a picture of her in the other so the pictures would kiss when she wore it. 

While at the jewellers with Jake, Sunghoon thought something like that might be a bit much for the two of you and eventually picked out an equally pretty piece with his first initial on it. He wrote a corny note to put in the box, something about how ‘boys come and go but Sunghoon is forever’ and gave it to you with trembling hands a few nights later—it was the first time he ever made you cry. Immediately, he thought he’d done something wrong and was ready to snatch the box and run back to the jewellers (even though he trashed the receipt). You hugged him and told him you loved him. Sunghoon’s been riding that high ever since. 

Until tonight at least. 

“Are you okay?” he whispers. 

“I’ll do it, Hoon.” Your eyes lift from the floor to meet his gaze. “For as long as you need me to, I’ll pretend.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Sunghoon feels lighter, an unbearable weight slipping from his shoulders. You haven’t called him ‘Hoon’ in ages, and he can’t tell if you’ve said it out of vulnerability, or even noticed that you’ve said it at all, but it warms his heart nonetheless. However, he’s not fully at ease, still curious about your sudden change of heart and why you’re crying. 

“What happened?”

You pull him into a hug, and his eyes bulge out of his head. “It doesn’t matter,” you say, the words muffled by the skin at the base of his neck. 

For as long as he’s known you, you’ve smelled like vanilla, a sweet warmth that grounds him. Yet it’s only after these months apart that he’s able to put a name to the sensation: home. The realisation of how much he’s missed this feeling, missed you, floods him with a rush of emotion so overwhelming he can’t find the words to press the issue. A moment passes before he remembers to hug you back, his arms finally wrapping around you, pulling you close, and you sink into his hold. Months ago, he would have kissed the top of your head and mumbled reassurance into your hair, but tonight, Sunghoon settles for stroking the back of your head and hopes it’s enough. 

“You can talk to me, you know? You can always talk to me.”

A heavy silence follows, sharp as a dagger—scraping his skin, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge and lodging itself between his shoulder blades. Sunghoon’s breath hitches in his throat when you cling onto him even tighter, shifting so close you’ve had to settle in his lap. His heart races in his chest, pounding a rhythm so loud it fills the room. 

Finally, you speak, assuring him that you know and that you’re okay. At this, Sunghoon holds you as tight as he can, and neither of you speaks for the rest of the night. You fall asleep like this, in his arms, so deeply that you don’t even stir when he lies down. 

Rubbing your back, he watches the clock on his nightstand, the piercing green LED digits cycling through two whole hours right before his stinging eyes until you wake up. Sunghoon presses his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep when you kiss his cheek and leave his room. 

For the entire morning, you stay in your room, and although Sunghoon is concerned, he decides not to bother you. In the afternoon, he sits at the dining table with his mum, listening as she talks about work. When she asks him, he gets up to make a cup of tea for her. It’s at that moment when you finally come downstairs, looking so effortlessly pretty. Your hair is still damp from the shower, and you’re bundled up in one of his old sweatshirts. There’s a bright grin on your face that leaves his heart thudding. 

“Baby!” you squeal when you see him, charging towards him and wrapping your arms around him from behind. “Good morning.” Your words are muffled against the back of his t-shirt, and the four-letter word, and the sugar coating it, make his cheeks burn. 

“It’s great to see you too, YN,” his mum says with a smile. “My night was amazing; I slept very well and had no dreams.” 

You let go of Sunghoon and walk over to the table, kissing his mum on the cheek and wishing her a good morning as well. “Sorry, mum, how are you?” 

His mother doesn’t seem to have the heart to correct you either, allowing your 3 p.m. ‘good morning’ to go unnoticed. 

Sunghoon carefully fills both mugs to the brim and, with extra caution, carries them to the table. He places a steaming cup of peppermint tea in front of his mum and a milky coffee in front of you. A warm smile spreads across your face as you mouth a ‘thank you’, and his knees turn to jelly. 

The next day, after eating an early dinner with his parents at the table, the four of you go out on a walk along the bike path you used to take for school. His parents have gone ahead, not intentionally, but because Sunghoon can’t stop you from dragging your feet. 

As with most things in the town where you grew up, nothing about the trail has changed. The leaves are yellowing in standard form for the season, and crunching under his feet with each step he takes. The only foreign experience is the silence that you’re determined to uphold. Everything Sunghoon says to you is met with either a hum, a nod, or no acknowledgement at all. At this point, he feels like he could drop dead at your side and the most you’d do is step over his body like a fallen branch. 

After letting you go ahead, the weathered slats of the wooden footbridge sag in the middle under his tread. It’s been like this for as long as he can remember and he wonders how nothing has been done about it. The stream rushes under it, loud and unruly, the smell of wet grass both comforting and suffocating as you look over the railing. It’s like something from a postcard, the low-hanging branches sweeping back and forth under the breeze, the grass lush and green around the path, murky water thrashing against the mud and rocks underneath with you in the middle of the frame, peering over the edge.

You keep walking when Sunghoon approaches, leaving him alone on the creaky bridge with nothing but the ache in his chest. He looks up, staring at the grey clouds in the sky through the gaps in the leaves, and sighs. 

Eventually, he catches up with you, grabbing your hand and locking his fingers with yours when his parents slow down. You stiffen, looking up at him with cut eyes and a creased brow. “What are you doing?”

Sunghoon matches your clipped tone. “Holding my girlfriend’s hand.” 

“No one’s looking, boyfriend.”

“You think my parents aren’t going to wonder why we’re lagging behind?” 

A scoff—your fingers remain defiantly stiff. “Do you think your parents are going to care whether or not we’re holding hands?” 

“My mum might after the show you put on yesterday afternoon, baby.” Bitterness covers the word like a blanket, a stark departure from how you said it. 

A long sigh rumbles its way out of you before you fix your lips into a strained grin. “Sorry, sweetheart, this is my first time pretending to be in love.” 

As your words hang in the air, Sunghoon’s emotions brew like a storm within him. Frustration gnaws at his patience. All hopes for a smooth week are dashed, though determination simmers in his chest with a strong resolve to make this work, to fix your relationship. It doesn’t stop the sharp pang of hurt piercing his stomach—he knows you don’t feel the same way, he knows you’re faking, but the word ‘pretending’ hits him like a truck anyway. 

“We held hands all the time when we were friends,” he points out.

Your smile drops immediately, hurt flashing behind your eyes. “Yeah, and now we’re not.” 

If there was a competition for who could hurt Sunghoon’s feelings the most, you’d be a shoo-in for first place. With distinction. 

“Exactly!” he says, feeling the sting of his own words. “Because now we’re dating.”

At the sight of his mum turning around, you switch up in an instant. Lock your fingers with his, wrapping an arm around his bicep, leaning into him, giggling. It’s forced but his parents are far enough away that all that matters is the curve of your lips.

“You two okay back there?” she asks. 

“Perfect! I feel like a kid again!” you call back, beaming up at Sunghoon in a way that makes his stomach flutter even though it doesn’t meet your eyes. 

The two of you don’t talk at all when you get home, with you hugging his parents goodnight and running up the stairs. 

“She’s not feeling too well,” he explains, nodding when his dad tells him to make you some tea. 

His parents spend the whole day at work, and you spend the whole day following him around like a shadow until the evening when they return. He doesn’t pretend not to like it.

Sunghoon helps you make dinner, turning leftover rice into fried rice with the help of some eggs and vegetables. It’s nice moving around the kitchen with you, watching you scramble eggs in his t-shirt and bump his hip with a playful frown when he eats some of the peppers you’re chopping. 

His parents watch from the table, cooing over the two of you and he does his best to fight the blush forming on his cheeks and neck. Embarrassed, he hugs you from behind, hiding his face in your neck—the scent of your coconut conditioner mixing with your vanilla perfume doesn’t do anything to stop the flush. 

Over a bottle of wine, the four of you eat together at the table, swapping stories about your days. Sunghoon tries to hide his surprise as you lie about the time you spent at the play park by your primary school, competing for height on the swings and spinning on the roundabout until you couldn’t stand up. You grin at him, and it meets your eyes as you hold his hand under the table, and kiss his cheek.

After eating, his parents head upstairs, leaving to clean up together. You hum a song he’s never heard as you load the dishwasher, carefully placing the plates and cutlery in the rack, shaking your head when he hands you the glasses you’d used. 

“Leave ours,” you say. “If you want.” 

Sunghoon nods, putting them back on the table, where you sit in the seat across from the one he was sitting in. He sits too, staying quiet rather than saying the wrong thing. You don’t speak either. It’s reminiscent of the past—the hours you’d spend in the same room, only speaking to share a funny post you’d come across or to ask if you were hungry. 

His eyes track your movements—reaching for the half-empty bottle on the table to pour yourself another glass, filling it to the brim. Before putting it down, you offer him some, filling his glass too when he nods. The three glasses of wine he’s already had must be the reason he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand, run his thumb over the soft skin on the back of it. 

Sunghoon doesn’t know why you’ve been so nice to him all day or why it makes his chest hurt. 

“You know you don’t have to be nice to me when we’re alone, right?” The words come out before he can stop them.

Over the top of your glass, your brows knit together. A sound of confusion, a low hum, comes from your throat as you try to finish your sip. “What?” you ask finally. 

“I only asked you to do this because of my parents, you know? You don’t have to sit or talk with me when they’re not around.” 

Sunghoon’s known you long enough to recognise the look that flashes across your face. The way your eyes narrow and your brows tug together, the little pout that sets on your lips before you speak; you’re hurt.

“Why can’t I just be nice to you because it’s the right thing to do?” 

Because it hurts, is what he wants to say. He wants to cry, to beg you to forget everything he said that day. “Because I don’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than I already have.” Is what he settles for. 

Your face softens. “I don’t feel uncomfortable around you, Hoon. We were best friends for ages, I don’t think you could ever make me uncomfortable.” You pause to take a gulp of wine. “Why can’t I just want to be nice to you?” 

Sunghoon has to chew on his cheek to distract himself from how much your word choice stings. The implications of were and all of your past tense. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

“What for?” 

“Everything.” 

There’s a sadness in the way you run your fingers on the base of your glass. The way you chew on your lip, how your hair falls when you tilt your head and how it moves when you shake it. “It’s not your fault,” you say. “I don’t know anyone who would choose to have unrequited feelings for their best friend.” 

Wow, he thinks. You’re on a roll. Sunghoon wonders if you’re meticulously choosing your phrasing to upset him. Wonders why you feel the need to remind him that his feelings aren’t reciprocated as if he didn’t live through and spend hours reliving the day he confessed. 

“But I didn’t have to tell you about it. It was unfair of me to spring that on you when I knew about Yeonjun.” 

“Did you.. did you think I was going to leave him for you?” 

“Maybe?” Sunghoon chews on his lip—he has no idea what he thought would happen. “I think I thought I loved you enough for both of us, that you might play the part for fun or out of curiosity, and.. I don’t know, just learn to love me.”

“Hoon,” you whisper, frowning. “How could you even think about settling for something like that?” 

Sunghoon shrugs. “It’s not settling if it’s you.” 

Silence takes a seat at the table after he speaks, interrupted only by the ticking clock on the wall—a glittery mess of scrapbooking paper and washi tape layered over each other that Yeji had decorated at summer camp years ago. You’re picking at your fingernails, letting flecks of black polish fall to the table, stark against the varnished oak. 

“I know it’s not my place to ask,” Sunghoon starts after a while, hesitant and only continuing when you nod. “But what did Yeonjun say when you told him? About.. everything?” 

You take a long sip from your glass and sit quietly for so long that he thinks you’re not going to answer him—he doesn’t blame you. 

“I didn’t.” 

He waits for you to elaborate. You don’t. 

Sunghoon nods slowly, deciding not to ask any follow-up questions. Instead, he takes another drink, scrunching his nose at the bitter taste. “He didn’t ask why we stopped hanging out?” he blurts out.

“I told him we fell out but I didn’t say why.” You shrug, but your posture is stiff. 

“Where did you tell him you were going to be this week?” He knows it’s not his business at all, that he’s pushing your boundaries, but he can’t help his curiosity.

“Nowhere.” 

“You told him you were staying on campus?” 

“I didn’t tell him anything.” Your gaze shifts, avoiding his as you toy with the stem of your glass. You drum your nails against it, letting the dull clink ring out. 

“So you just left?” 

“Does it make a difference to you?” 

Sunghoon nods.

For a while, you tug at the drawstrings on your hoodie, pursing your lips to the side, considering this. “Yeonjun and I aren’t together anymore.” Your admission is so shocking that Sunghoon’s jaw drops. He tries to cover his surprise by coughing, his tongue sticking out like a small child. “I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want you to think it was because of you.” 

Sunghoon’s thoughts move at lightspeed, too fast for him to catch onto any of them and process this information. His emotions compete with each other—disbelief, guilt, and a painful glimmer of hope he hadn’t dared to acknowledge until now all at the forefront. 

“Was it?” he asks. “Because of me?” 

You scoff—an incredulous sound that doesn’t match the sad look on your face. “I don’t know, Sunghoon. Do you think my boyfriend used me to make his ex jealous because of you?”

He’s not sure what he expected you to say, but this is.. Complete disbelief eclipses him as his heart sinks in his chest, shock, and guilt bubbling in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” he says after too long. “That I wasn’t there. That I haven’t been there.” 

“You didn’t know,” you say, gaze softening as you look up at him. 

“But I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about it.” 

You shake your head. “I made me feel like I couldn’t talk to you about it. All you did was change the friendship, I’m the one who ended it.”

“I still should’ve been there.” 

“You’re here now, right?” 

Sunghoon nods, earnestly. “Always.” 

Only one thing comes to mind when you repeat the word ‘always’ before taking a sip from your glass, downing its contents. Sunghoon gets up and crosses the room with wobbly steps to open the fridge, where he pulls out as many bottles of soju as he can hold in his hands and puts them down on the table. He goes back to collect some glasses from the cabinet, puts some of the leftover fried rice from dinner into the microwave, and brings it all over when it’s done, with bowls and utensils. You watch him with a fond smile as he opens a bottle and he hopes you think the flush on his cheeks is from all the drinking you’ve been doing. 

“Is it bad that I’ve missed doing this?” You’re grinning now.

Sunghoon shakes his head, raising his glass. “To YN’s fifteenth heartbreak.” 

You grin, clinking the rim of your glass against his. “To YN’s fifteenth heartbreak,” you repeat. 

Both of you down the glasses, and Sunghoon refills them, pouring the soju with an oddly steady hand. As you eat spoonfuls of rice and sip your drinks, silence settles over the room. The soft glow of the kitchen lights forms a warm ambience, a cosy familiarity that brings up simple memories—doing homework together at the table while gossiping about your classmates, the first New Year after you were both eighteen and had your first drink with his parents. 

For at least an hour, the only sounds are the occasional clinks of forks against bowls, glasses hitting the table, the faint hum of the refrigerator and the steady tick of Yeji’s clock. Sunghoon’s eyes meet yours, and he can’t help but notice the slight change in your expression when they do. 

You clear your throat, running a hand through your hair. “This is my sixteenth, actually.” 

“What?” 

You take a small sip of soju, staring down at the table. “My fifteenth heartbreak was losing you. Yeonjun is my sixteenth.”

In the two days since your soju ceremony, Sunghoon finds himself sinking into the role of your boyfriend like a hot bath. But there’s no use pretending it doesn’t hurt. Pretending it doesn’t hurt when you kiss his cheek before bed, or when you reach out to push the hair out of his face or snuggle into his side on the couch; because it does hurt—a lot. It hurts to think that in three days when you put your bags in the boot of his car, you’ll sit in silence all the way home. When he drops you off at your flat, you’ll close the door in his face and stop talking to him again. These realisations are harder to confront when he’s alone in his room, like now. 

About an hour ago, you asked if you could borrow his car, saying there was something you needed to do on your own. It seemed important, so he handed over his keys with no question. Sighing, Sunghoon gets up from his bed and heads to the shower, where he jerks off to clear his mind. On his way back to his room, he notices the light leaking from the open kitchen door that illuminates the landing. 

He hears the lock on the front door clicking, and stands at the top of the stairs, dripping water onto the carpet while listening attentively. His ears perk up when he hears a gasp—his mother. 

“What’s this for?” she asks. 

“I just..” You trail off. “I know it’s not much, but I wanted to thank you both for always looking after me.” You pause, and Sunghoon holds his breath, waiting. Your voice trembles as you continue. “It’s been hard since my parents went back home, and I guess it was still hard when they were here, but you both supported me. I don’t think I could’ve managed without you guys. I want to make you guys proud, you know? And I’m trying, really, so this is me saying thank you. I’m sorry it took me so long.” 

He grips the railing by the landing, digging his nails into the wood until they start hurting—an ache in his fingertips that makes him wince. 

An odd feeling settles in his stomach, a bittersweetness tinged in his fondness for you, and the gentle shock of realising how much his parents have done for you. Growing up, you became an honorary member of Sunghoon’s family. His parents showered you with gifts during holidays and birthdays, which you often celebrated with them rather than your own family. 

The memory of your parents’ sudden decision to move across the country still lingers, and Sunghoon vividly recalls the tearful conversation he overheard at the top of the stairs. Your parents understood the enormity of their request but had earnestly asked if Sunghoon’s parents could continue looking after you. 

His chest tightens when you start crying. 

“You don’t have to thank us for anything, sweetie. Just you being here and taking care of our boy is more than enough thanks. You never forget our birthdays, and you always come and visit when you can. You’re doing a great job, and you should give yourself some credit,” his dad says, a little choked up. “We’ve always been proud of you.” 

Sunghoon’s eyes sting with tears and his skin gets dry in the spots where the water from the shower is evaporating. He presses his fingers to his closed eyes, forcing a few tears to fall and walks the rest of the way to his room with his eyes shut. He can’t hear anything through his closed bedroom door, which he decides is a good thing as he coats himself in moisturiser and swipes deodorant under his arms with intention to spend the whole night alone. Once he’s dressed, he gets into bed and pretends not to be bothered by the way his wet hair dampens his pillow. Under the duvet, he tosses and turns before sighing and heading to Yeji’s room.

In her absence, the room’s subtle transformation is stark. The sage green-painted walls, once a backdrop to the A3 faces of Wave to Earth and Beabadoobee, now bear the faint imprints of those missing posters. Tiny, shadowy rectangles are the only remnants of the 6x4-sized pictures of her and her friends, of her and Sunghoon, that she took away with her to school.

Her hairdryer is still on her desk where she’d left it for him to use and he sits in her stiff wooden chair, plugging it in. The airflow starts immediately, hot and loud, humming throughout the space as he runs his fingers through his wet hair, feeling cosy under the heat. His shampoo is fresh and soapy scented under his nose, and his reflection watches him in Yeji’s mirror, eyes red and concerned while his hair blows around his head. Sunghoon closes his eyes and finishes his hair, sighing as he lets his worries slip under the whir of the fan. 

Finished, he shuts off the dryer and opens his eyes, flinching at your reflection in the doorway behind him with a soft smile on your face. “Mum and Dad are going to open a bottle of wine if you want to join,” you say, meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

Sunghoon can’t find it in himself to speak, only nodding in response. You smile wider but don’t move. He unplugs the hairdryer and leaves it on the desk where he found it before crossing the room. Without giving himself a chance to think about it, he pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head, smiling into your hair when you wrap your arms around his waist, holding him closer. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub, mumbling sleepily that you’re never going to drink again, and Sunghoon leans over the sink brushing his teeth, he’s glad you have the decency to cover your mouth as you speak. 

“Brush your teeth and go back to sleep then,” he mumbles around his toothbrush. 

You don’t respond. 

Sunghoon sighs through his nose, spitting foamy toothpaste into the sink, leaving bubbly, blue splatters on the porcelain. “And quit staring at me, I can feel your beady little eyes on the back of my neck and it’s freaking me out.” 

“But you’re so pretty,” you coo. 

There’s a flutter in his stomach and he rinses off the sink and his mouth, buying himself some time. With a hand on the Listerine, he lifts his gaze to meet yours in the mirror and stops short. You’re still staring at him, features soft and glowing under the afternoon light. You look like an angel; a gentle smile spreading over your lips, and a sleepy glint sparkling in your eyes, wide and gorgeous as you watch him. Sunghoon gulps, mumbling his thanks and looking back at himself. He hopes you can’t see the flush on his cheeks. 

“Go back to sleep,” he says. 

“Will you come and lie down with me if I do?” Your voice is a sleepy drawl, coming out in a slow, high-pitched slur, and your eyes are closing on themselves. 

Lying down doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, especially not if it’s with you, so he nods. “If you brush your teeth, then yeah, baby, I’ll lie down with you.” 

You chuckle softly at Sunghoon’s agreement, the sound carrying a mix of exhaustion and genuine amusement, showing no repulsion to him calling you the B-word. He didn’t mean to, it’s been a confusing few days. You nod, saluting to him and getting up to join him by the sink, using your hip to bump him out of the way, but he feels like he’s glued to the spot. 

“Move, baby,” you mumble sleepily, reaching for your toothbrush. “We can cuddle in my bed,” you suggest, to which Sunghoon only nods, taking your words as a cue to unstick his feet from the floor and go to your room, playing the word ‘baby’ on a loop in his head. 

He stands in the doorway staring at your bed, the duvet is all crumpled in the middle, and the pillows are in an L shape at the top corner. He sighs, he can’t go on like this, can’t stand around hoping even a tiny part of you called him ‘baby’ and it meant something for you as it did for him. It’s not fair for him to project his feelings on you like this, but he can’t help it. You’re already pretending for his parents, so would it be so bad to pretend for his sake as well? Even if only until the day after tomorrow when you leave? 

The sound of the bathroom door shutting behind you snaps him out of his thoughts, your bright smile making his heart race when you tug him by the sleeve to your bed where the mattress dips underneath you as you curl into his form, resting your head on his chest and falling asleep. You’ve shared the bed before, countless times, but he knows you’ve only asked him because you’re tired. Because your brain is foggy with drowsiness that clouds your judgement, not because you want him there, not because you miss him when he’s two doors down the hall, tossing and turning at night thinking about you. He wonders absently if you can feel his aching heart beating through his chest, a painful, yet all too familiar rhythm that pulls his own eyes shut, plunging him into a deep sleep too.

It’s dark in the room when he wakes up, the sun already down behind the curtains and the soft yellow of the bedside lamp casting a glow around the space. You’re staring up at him, smiling and you don’t look away when he catches you. “What is it?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. 

“Nothing,” you mumble. “I just missed you.” Sunghoon has no time to respond or even register what you said before you clear your throat, speaking again.  “Come on, dad’s cooking tonight, he’ll need help.” 

Helping Sunghoon’s dad with dinner always looks an awful lot like Sunghoon eating snacks on the kitchen counter and staring at you as you help his dad cook. Tonight is no exception, he’s sitting on the island, and his snack of choice is a family pack of Chilli Heatwave Doritos his mum bought for Yeji. He’ll have to remember to replace them before leaving seeing as he’s reaching the halfway point. 

You go back and forth with his dad about measurements, with you rummaging through the drawers for measuring cups while his dad says it’s best to trust your gut. Reluctantly, you nod, chewing the inside of your cheek as you watch him eyeball the seasoning. 

The gas stove turns the kitchen into an oven, and you complain about it while opening a window, pulling your hoodie over your head and leaving it in Sunghoon’s lap. Time stops when you grin at him, the light from the stove hood illuminating the necklace you’re wearing, his initial resting on your chest and glowing under the light. He chokes around a crisp when he sees it, catching your attention with his coughing. 

“You’ll spoil your dinner, snacking like that, baby,” you scold, using a hand to push his knee. “We’re almost done, I swear.” 

All he can do is nod, cheeks burning as he folds the crisp packet over before putting it back in the bread bin where he found it. 

“Wow,” his dad says, resting his hands on his hips and shaking his head in amusement. “Being in love looks good on him, he’d never have listened if I said that.” 

It’s already your last day when Sunghoon picks up Yeji from school. She grumbles for the entire half-hour drive and all the way to the front door about why the two of you couldn’t have started the trip today instead of ending it, but all of her irritation dissolves when she sees you in the hallway, leaving the front door wide open to fling her arms around you. You and Yeji exchange compliments for a while — You look so pretty. No, you look so pretty. I love your hair. I love your hair. — as Sunghoon locks the door and watches with a smile.

“God.” Yeji sighs, holding you by the waist and craning her neck up to look at you, as you push some of her hair from her face, pinning back her wispy bangs with the palm of your hand. Yeji giggles. “I’m so happy you two are together, even though I have no idea what a girl like you sees in my loser brother.” 

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, leaning back against the wall. Despite his mild irritation at Yeji’s words, he finds the sight of you with her so adorable his stomach flutters. Over the top of Yeji’s head, you look at him with a fond smile. “He’s not so bad.” 

It doesn’t sound like a compliment, but Sunghoon takes it to heart. 

Like always, Yeji manages to capture your undivided attention and the two of you giggle and whisper with each other all afternoon while Sunghoon watches, too enamoured by the sight to care about being left out. An hour or so passes like this, until his parents get home from work, excited to see Yeji after a few weeks, and you leave her side, coming to cuddle with Sunghoon instead. 

It’s nice being home with everyone, laughing and sharing a meal before his family walks the two of you to his car with at least a month’s worth of cooked food for you to share at university. Yeji makes you pinky promise that she can visit you and waves with a pout on her face until the car is out of view.

Contrary to what he’d been expecting, the drive back is nice. Your playlist is on, and you’re telling him about all the new songs you added, catching him up on things with Chaewon and Yunjin, and all the things you got up to in the time you spent apart. You tell him about a new café that opened up near your place and how you’ll have to go together when he has the time, and Sunghoon bites his tongue before telling you that he always has time for you. The first half of the trip goes on like this but you start dozing off around the halfway mark, your sentences becoming few and far between, eventually turning into half-mumbled thoughts that end prematurely. 

You’re still asleep when he reaches your flat, head propped up against the window with your soft lips parted, looking too pretty and cosy to wake up. Instead, he drives in circles around your block, deciding to wait for you to wake up on your own. It only takes a half-hour but you blink your eyes open, stretching your neck before looking around and out the car window, recognising the street. You don’t say anything, only smiling when you look at him, a small curve of your lips that makes his heart race.

He gets out of the car with you, opening the boot to get your bag before pulling you into his chest for a hug, liking the way your arms settle around his waist. “Thank you,” he mumbles into your hair. 

Sunghoon doesn’t follow you when you take your bag from him, only watching from the back of his car. You don’t notice until you reach the main door, looking over your shoulder and frowning at him. “Aren’t you going to walk me up?” 

The two of you walk in silence up four flights of stairs as the lift in your building is out of order. Your bag feels much heavier in his hand now than it did outside. At your door, he watches you dig around for your keys, sighing with relief when you find them. 

“Do you want to come in?” you ask from your open doorway.

“I—uh—I have training in the morning and I’m already pretty tired, so..” He trails off.

Unfazed, you nod. “Right, of course. I had fun this week.” 

“Yeah, me too.” 

You smile at him, sweet and sincere. “Text me when you get home, yeah?” 

Sunghoon nods, saying goodbye. Out of habit, he doesn’t leave your doorstep until he hears the lock click shut, and walks back to his car with his head down. 

True to his word, he sends you a text to let you know he got back to his place safely and you read it immediately but don’t reply. It’s empty in the apartment, Jake is out with his football team and the space is larger than usual in his absence. Far too tired to even consider going out and joining him, Sunghoon goes through his night routine, putting his phone on the charger and stepping into the shower where he spends entirely too long wishing he could live in this week forever as he scrubs his body. With brushed teeth and damp hair, he goes back into his room where his phone lights up with a notification; a text, from you.

YN🫀: i’m glad you got home okay, i just got into bed :) i don’t want to make you uncomfortable or overstep or anything and you can say no (obviously).. i’ve been missing you so much and didn’t know how to reach out or if you wanted me to but i had soooo much fun this week and spending time with you again made me happy, so i’d like it if we could keep hanging out, like before yk? ik it’s a long shot ahahaha but just say you’ll think about it? 

hoonie: You’re not overstepping at all, I’ve missed you too, so bad. I had soooo much fun this week as well and I’d like it a lot if we kept hanging out, thank you for agreeing and coming along 😚 If you’re free after Lit tmrw you could come over? Or we could go out and do something, whatever you prefer

hoonie: I missed you so much.. 

hoonie: 🤍

The texts greet you as the first rays of Monday morning light filter into your room, instantly lifting your mood. Your bright smile doesn’t escape Chaewon’s notice as you find her in the kitchen, bathed in the soft light seeping through the sheer curtains. The kettle is boiling with a loud rumble that fills the whole room and leaves her yelling as she speaks to you. 

“Good trip?” she asks, coming over and hugging you. “Never leave me for that long again,” she mumbles into your shirt. 

“It was a week, Wonie,” you say, rolling your eyes even though you missed her too. 

She leans away, looking at you with knitted brows. “It was nine days.” 

“The longest of my life.” 

Chaewon pulls air through her teeth, tilting her head and releasing you. “That bad, huh?” she asks, walking back to her seat at your tiny square table and shooting you a look that tells you to join her. 

During your trip, you gave her nightly updates over text, so you know she knows how much you enjoyed yourself, but you elaborate anyway, sitting across from her. 

“No, not at all,” you say, shaking your head and trying to fight a smile. “I had fun.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you have to bite your bottom lip to stop the grin curving them; it doesn’t work. 

Chaewon raises a suggestive brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “How much fun?” 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“I didn’t even say anything!” she defends, holding her hands up. “I made an implication. It was only a matter of time, you two have that whole.. lifelong best friends to lifelong lovers thing going on, and it’s hot.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You’re telling me, you spent nine days playing lovers with Sunghoon and you still don’t want him? You’re a lost cause, people would kill for that chance,” she says, tilting her head. “I think I would kill for that chance.” 

“Don’t touch him.”

“Oh?” 

“Jesus, Chaewon, it’s not like that. Hoon’s too sensitive for your roster.” 

“I never said it was like anything, you’re the one who’s dangling me over the ledge for saying I want to fuck your hot best friend.” 

“Sunghoon isn’t hot; he’s..” You find yourself at a loss for words, unsure how to continue your lie. Of course, Sunghoon is hot, you’ve known since you were seventeen and spent the summer at your grandparents’ house, only to come back to find your previously scrawny best friend having ditched his LEGOs for dumbbells. You sigh. “Just leave him alone.”

Chaewon grins, eyes sparkling as she leaves the table. “Okay,” she says in a singsong voice, leaving you and the irritation in your stomach alone in the kitchen.

You sigh, pressing your eyes shut and trying to will away your discomfort. It’s not like Chaewon would actually try anything with Sunghoon. Right? Even if she did, it wouldn’t bother you, nor would it be any of your business. They’re grownups and reserve the right to explore their options. Still, there’s a nagging feeling you can’t shake, an uninvited guest in the back of your mind. 

When you check your phone, you realise you have half an hour before you need to head to campus, so you leave to get ready and text Sunghoon back on the way to your room.

you: sounds good, see u later 🤍

After showering, you stand in front of your wardrobe, towel hanging from your body as you pick an outfit. For some reason, you feel under pressure, picking a pair of jeans that do the most for your ass and a low-cut top that Sunghoon once — drunkenly — said he loved on you.

You have the residual sting of mouthwash on your tongue, and one foot out the door when your phone vibrates in your hand. 

hoonie: Do you want to head to class together? 

you: sure! i’m omw out, where should i get you? 

hoonie: .. I’m outside your building :D 

Breathing a laugh through your nose, you don’t fight the giddy smile on your face as you make your way downstairs to meet Sunghoon. Through the glass in the main door, he’s standing at the edge of the pavement and kicking a stone between his feet. The top of his puffer jacket covers the bottom half of his face, and the draught nips your skin when the door opens. Two girls you vaguely recognise stumble in with smudged makeup and heels in their hands, smiling at you while holding the door to let you out.

“Hey!” you call out, jogging over to him. 

Sunghoon turns around, his head poking out of his jacket to grin at you, holding a travel cup and an abundance of tinfoil in your direction. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d have eaten anything yet, you don’t normally in the morning,” he says, a sheepish smile spreading over his lips when you take it. “Matcha. Ham and cheese toastie.” 

“Did you make these?” you ask, inspecting the familiar cup and appreciating the warmth it provides. 

He hums, nodding his head.

You ignore the heat spreading over your cheeks and thank him with a hug, grinning when he offers to hold your drink while you eat on the walk. The toastie is still hot, the cheese coming close to burning your tongue as you chew, but you appreciate it wholeheartedly, humming contently with each bite. When you’re done, you shove the foil into your pocket, taking your drink from him and smiling around the sweet taste of a matcha latte as he tells you about his schedule for the day. 

“I’m meeting with Coach after class to talk about my grades, but I’m all yours after that.” 

“Talk about your grades? What’s wrong with your grades?” 

Sunghoon groans, head falling back and highlighting the bump of his Adam’s apple. “My grades are.. I failed my coursework this month, so I have resubmissions during finals, and I think he’ll bench me if I fail again.” 

He sounds like he’s being serious, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he is. The news creases your brows because for as long as you remember, Sunghoon’s grades were your parents’ favourite point of comparison.

“Really?” you ask. He nods. “What’s up? Is something the matter?” 

A humourless laugh slips out of him before he pulls air through his teeth. “Yeah, my best friend didn’t talk to me for three months.” 

“Oh..” Guilt stirs your stomach as you look up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not blaming you, it’s not like I was trying to talk and you ignored me.” He nudges your arm with his elbow, giving you a warm smile. “But if you feel as guilty about it as you look, you can tutor me for Lit.” 

“Deal.” 

Sunghoon grins, wrapping his arm over your shoulders and holding you close; the action itself isn’t unusual, but the increased heart rate it brings about is. “You’re too good to me,” he says, holding onto you for the rest of the walk to class.

At his request, you sit with Sunghoon in the back row, watching as the lecture hall gradually fills up in front of you. He seems well-prepared, with his laptop and a small notepad and pen neatly arranged on the desk in front of him.

Throughout the class, your eyes inadvertently track his every move. He diligently types up colour-coded notes, occasionally pausing to write things in his notepad before continuing to type or stopping entirely to listen. There’s something melodic about his actions and the way his fingers run over the keyboard. 

During a five-minute break, you glance at his screen. What you find is more than just lecture content; it’s a document adorned with Sunghoon’s own musings about Hemingway’s style and carefully analysed quotations that go beyond the class discussion.

“How are your notes so good?” 

“I picked up the book over the summer when you mentioned it,” Sunghoon replies with a shrug, a shy smile playing on his lips as he leans back in his seat. “I liked it.” 

A slow nod is your response, though your thoughts swirl like autumn leaves in a breeze. The last time Sunghoon read for leisure, you were in primary school, buddy reading Diary of a Wimpy Kid. But this—this is different. You can’t help but stare at him, awestruck as you take him in. His eyes are wide, shining amber in the sunlight as he pushes some of his hair from his face, frowning when it falls back where it was. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles. 

Sunghoon takes a new line in his document and points at the screen where you watch the cursor move through the words he’s typing: I would’ve read and annotated the Bible if you wanted me to..

There’s no time to digest what he wrote or the funny feeling in your chest as you reread it before he deletes the whole sentence, pressing his lips together and looking out the window. Speechless, you stare at his side profile, willing your heart rate to slip back to normal. Steep-sloping nose, plump lips flattened into a line, two points of the triangular mole constellation on his face. Analysis worsens your condition, breath hitching in your throat before stopping entirely. Warmth and trepidation blend within you, fuzzy enough at the edges to seem like one thing—a single force that makes your palm itch with desire, desperation, to reach out and run a finger over his features, feel the bump of the mole on his nose — the most prominent — against your skin. 

You remain this way — silent, watching — even when your lecturer resumes the lesson, and Sunghoon starts typing, writing, and listening again. Polite enough to pretend he doesn’t notice your gaze searing into his face.

After class, and his meeting with Coach, you let Sunghoon lead the conversation and the way to your flat, where you find Chaewon and Yunjin sitting on the couch, whispering to themselves while the two of you study at the coffee table. It’s uncomfortable, an awkward height, too high for the way you’re sitting but you feel calm under the supervision of Chaewon and Yunjin—you won’t do anything to merit teasing in front of them, no matter how badly you want to feel Sunghoon’s face in your hands or stroke his cheekbones with your thumbs. 

To the best of your ability, you answer the questions he has for you—he’d written a ton in his tiny notepad during class, his own concerns clear with each neatly-penned iteration of: How to see actions/dialogue for what they are and not what I want them to be? written in the margins and you try not to feel heartbroken for him.

Three hours have passed by when you walk him to the door, the two of you wrapped up in a bubble so secure you’re surprised to find Chaewon and Yunjin still sitting on the couch. They don’t say anything about Sunghoon in his absence, or the fact he’d given you his sweater when he noticed you were cold. You’re not sure why their silence disappoints you.

Instead, Yunjin asks you about trivial things like dinner while Chaewon sits in silence. 

“What flavour for ice cream?” Yunjin asks, rolling her eyes when you tug on the blanket but not complaining. “And don’t say something ridiculous like mint chocolate, YN.” 

“That happened once! And it was three years ago.. How was I supposed to know you hate fun?” 

Chaewon leans into you, letting you curl your limbs around her from behind as you rest your chin on her shoulder, liking the way her clean scent tickles your nose. 

“Mint-cho isn’t that bad,” she starts. “It’s a little jarring, sure, but it’s kind of sweet. Like watching people come to terms with their feelings for each other.” 

You nod your head, humming in understanding and furrowing your brows when Yunjin scoffs, staring straight at you. Her tone is equal parts cutting and loving, so you know she’s not trying to insult you, but don’t know what she means when she says, “It must be so nice to be as oblivious as you.” 

Yunjin never elaborates, and you never ask, actually feeling the statement’s journey in through one of your ears and out the other when dinner arrives. The three of you share pizza, ice cream, and secrets — the three pillars of 20-something-teenage-girlhood — at the kitchen table, with Chaewon sitting in your lap and picking pepperoni from your slices. 

It’s only hours after Yunijn’s gone home, that her words circle back to you, the statement and all of its weight perching on your chest with all the debilitation and persistence of a sleep paralysis demon.

“I think I’m getting sick,” you say as soon as she opens her door. “It’s been coming on for a while now, at least a week, maybe more.” 

Unimpressed and exhausted, Yunjin looks down at you through half-closed eyes. “Do you..” She pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Do you have any idea what time it is right now?” 

“Yes. It’s three a.m.” 

“Exactly. See a doctor if you’re sick, I’m going back to sleep.”

“This is an emergen—” Yunjin cuts you off by pinching your lips together. “It’s three in the morning,” she reminds you. “You can’t yell like that in my hallway, come in.” 

You nod, crossing the threshold and taking off your shoes next to hers. “Sorry,” you whisper when the door is closed. 

Using her hand, Yunjin lifts your chin, squinting as her eyes adjust to the light when she flips the switch to inspect your face. “You don’t look or sound sick,” she mutters, flicking the light back off and going to her room. “What are your symptoms? And why did you come here?” 

You don’t have an answer for her last question so you ignore it, following her and tripping over a pair of her shoes in the process. “My cheeks start burning like crazy and my heart races, sometimes it gets hard to breathe.”

“You seem fine to me.” 

A shoulder-slumping sigh slips from your lips. “That’s the thing. I’ll be fine and then Sunghoon shows up with his pretty smile and perfect hair and I feel like I’ve run a marathon.” You know how it sounds, choosing your wording meticulously to let Yunjin be the one to say the words out loud instead of you—it’ll be easier to confront that way. 

From the doorway, you watch as she arches a brow, her interest piqued. “Oh?” 

“I know.” You nod, head bobbing rapidly in furious agreement. “It’s only a matter of time before I cough up a lung and die in his bedroom.”

At your words, Yunjin doesn't reply, only lifting her duvet and getting cosy underneath. You feel like you’re glued to the spot, waiting for her to say something, anything, but nothing comes. All she does is pat the empty spot in her bed. 

“What are you smirking for?” you ask, entering the room properly and closing the door. 

Her response only comes after you’ve taken your jacket and hoodie off, sitting next to her under the covers. “It’s nothing,” she says, laughing. 

“Tell me.” 

Yunjin sighs, resting a hand gently on your shoulder. You think it’s meant to be comforting but it’s the opposite. “You’ll be fine, I promise. Lovesickness isn’t deadly.” 

Feeling the weight of her reassurance, you settle down properly and sigh when your head hits the pillow. Lovesickness. Hmm. 

Closing your eyes, you try to sleep but can’t help tossing and turning as Yunjin snores behind you. You pat blindly around the end table for your phone, grabbing it and wincing at the brightness of your screen. Chewing on your lip, you open Google, looking up ‘lovesickness’ and frowning immediately at the results. Endless negativity fills the screen, terrifying words like ‘unrequited love’ forming a pit in your stomach. There’s nothing negative about what you feel for Sunghoon, nothing unrequited—you think. 

It was obvious during the trip, painfully so. In the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when his parents weren’t there to see, or how he slipped up and called you ‘baby’ in the bathroom, blushing when you said it back. You can’t fake something like that.. Can you?

Yeonjun did.

Shaking your head, you open Instagram to distract yourself. Jake’s story comes up first; he’s at a party where Jay is losing a game of beer pong, and at the other end of the table is Sunghoon grinning with a bright red lipstick kiss on his cheek. You lock your phone, using your hands to press on your belly to stop the stirring. 

Oh, you think. Lovesickness. 

When you wake up, the first thing you do is check Jake’s story again. The video is still there and that terrible stir in your stomach churns on, burrowing deeply into a pit of canyon-like proportion—so vast there’s a safety railing lining its edges. 

You eat breakfast in silence with Yunjin, zoning out mid-chew to figure out the origin of these feelings and how to handle them. Suddenly, the moment hits you clear as day, vivid like you’re watching it on a screen—it was your third night at his parents’ house, after your walk. 

You felt bad about how you acted, and what you said, so went straight up to your room. With nothing but the bedside lamp turned on, it was dimly lit, shadows cast on the walls as you sulked, replaying everything in your head. Guilt wrapped its long arms around your body, making you feel sick as you thought about it all. About the hurt etched over his face with every word you said, and the frown that stuck around for the rest of the walk as his hand clung limply to yours. 

There was a knock at the door, so gentle you almost missed it, and Sunghoon was standing there when you pulled it open, chewing on his lip with a mug in his hand. Steam skated over the opening, a rich chocolatey smell hitting your nose but the real kicker was the mug itself. In its place on Jake and Sunghoon’s mug tree, it was unassuming, a regular white mug, but upon meeting hot water, the face of young Sunghoon appeared, grinning with his tiny glasses on. It was a gift from one of his old coaches and though he never used it, it was your absolute favourite cup in the world. 

You felt soft around the edges when you looked up at him, his eyes wide and unsure as you met his gaze—he brought that mug three hours across the country so you could use it again. The thought shifted your heart into a comfortable position, settling in your chest with overwhelming warmth and an increased rate. 

“Hi,” you said, clearing your throat. 

“Hi,” he repeated, holding the mug out for you to take. “It’s still hot so be careful.” 

Nodding, you covered your hands with your sleeves, taking the cup from him and asking if he wanted to come in. Sunghoon nodded, shutting the door behind him and standing by the bed, watching you set the hot chocolate on the bedside table as you sat down. The two of you stayed like that for a while, with him only moving when you patted the spot next to you on the duvet. Your train of thought escaped you as soon as he sat down, the warmth of his familiar fresh, citrusy scent taking over and becoming the only thing you could register. The smell of summers with him, long days at the beach and short nights spent on the couch at random parties, cuddled into his side with his arm over your shoulders. The smell you’d come to associate with comfort and home—with Sunghoon. 

“It’s not fair for me to treat you like shit just because I’m annoyed, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that earlier. I’m sorry.” 

A crease ran over Sunghoon’s thick brows as they tugged together, he shook his head. “You don’t have to apologise. I roped you into this whole thing and didn’t even try to think about how you would feel. I’m sorry.” His eyes carried a mix of regret and sincerity, mirroring the weight of his words.

“Anyway, I only came to bring you that,” he said, pointing at the cup. “And to check up on you, I’ll get out of your hair for tonight.” Sunghoon wiped his palms on his pants before standing up, reaching behind him to pick up the cloth he brought. For a moment, he stood there, staring down at it in his hand while you thought about telling him to stay, telling him that you wanted him in your hair—whatever that meant. But he spoke before you had the chance. “You left this, at mine, after.. well, you know. I’m sure you left it intentionally, I mean it was folded up perfectly on the end of my bed, so I know you did, but it didn’t feel right keeping it, you always wore it more than me.” 

Sunghoon extended his hand, holding it out to you and you knew exactly what it was as soon as the fabric touched your skin after so long. It was the shirt Jay bought him for Christmas in first year—they were roommates still trying to get a feel for each other. For a few weeks, Sunghoon had been pestering you about what he should get for Jay, saying it didn’t feel right not to get him anything, and you suggested a targeted t-shirt, one you’d been laughing at all day after seeing an ad for it on your timeline. Sunghoon was sceptical, but bought the red shirt anyway, hoping Jay would find BEING DAD IS AN HONOUR, BEING PAPA IS PRICELESS funny. He did. And Jay bought Sunghoon a targeted shirt too, your favourite. It was black and two sizes too big, with I NEVER DREAMED I’D BE A SEXY FIGURE SKATER BUT HERE I AM KILLING IT written over the chest. 

“Goodnight, YN,” Sunghoon said, crossing the room to leave but hesitating before closing the door. He poked his head through the opening and sighed. “I really am sorry.”

That night, you fell asleep in the shirt, the thinning, yet cosy, fabric wrapped around you like a hug as your heart started to beat a new rhythm, one that eerily echoed the five-foot-eleven figure skater who you let break it. 

This morning, Yunjin claps her hands in your face, seeming irritated when you look over at her. “You have class in an hour, what are you doing?” Before you have the chance to speak, realisation covers her face. “Oh, the feelings.” 

You nod solemnly, too caught up in the butterflies raiding your stomach to come up with something to say. 

At lightspeed, you scarf down the rest of your food, apologising for showing up so late as you head out the door. When you get home, you take the fastest shower of your life and feel grateful Chaewon isn’t around to tease you about the smile you can’t wipe from your face thinking about Sunghoon—you’ll text her later.

You run to campus, feeling the brisk autumn wind beating against your face while the rest of your body overheats under your jacket, hoodie and long sleeve. Despite the discomfort and ache in your lungs, you don’t stop until you reach the door of your lecture hall, huffing and puffing into the faces of classmates who don’t take any notice. Of course, in a stroke of pure luck, your lecturer is late, and you realise bitterly, that all of your huffing and puffing was in vain—you would have gotten to class with time to spare even if you walked.

It’s not a total waste though; you use the time to update Chaewon. 

you: i have news wonie..  i like sunghoon

wonie: …………….. fork in the kitchen yn what’s the news? 

wonie: OHHHH news to YOU.. can i call? 

She calls you immediately. You answer without thinking because your lecturer still hasn’t arrived, and there’s no one sitting close enough to hear or notice you taking a call. 

“Are you going to tell him?!” Chaewon’s voice is so loud you wince, pulling the phone away from your ear. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug even though she can’t see you, still holding the device at a distance just in case. “I don’t have any confirmation that he still.. likes me. It’s been a while, and I was pretty mean that day. 

Chaewon groans and you can picture her throwing herself onto her bed, exasperated. The rustling that comes through the receiver only frames the image, hanging it up. “Did you have to tell him to get a grip?” 

“You know..” You trail off, chewing on your bottom lip. “In hindsight, probably not.” 

A beat passes, she’s thinking. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll help you.” 

“I.. have never been so worried in my life.” You sigh, picking at your freshly painted nails. “But I know you’ll do something no matter what I say, so do what you want, Wonie, but please be subtle about it.” 

Chaewon squeals down the phone. “I love youuuuu!” And it’s the last thing she says before kissing the mic a few times and hanging up. 

Slumping in your seat, you don’t have any time to stress about Chaewon’s plans because your lecturer walks in, with a travel cup in her hand and a paperback tucked under her arm. 

She apologises for being late, running a hand through her hair as she announces that you’ll be watching a film, an adaptation of a book you read at the start of term—Ian McEwan’s Atonement. You spend the first hour of the movie falling in and out of sleep until a text comes through from Sunghoon, and sheer excitement keeps you up.

hoonie: Wanna study together after class? 

you: of course!!!!!! 

hoonie: 🤍

The rest of the movie goes by in a drag, and you come away from it with a mild irritation towards Saoirse Ronan.

you: class just finished, heading to lib rn 

hoonie: Shit, still in the locker room, sorry !!! Omw, can you get a table? 

you: i’ll try..

It takes a while but you find an empty booth on the second floor, and set your bag on the plush green seat to take pictures of your surroundings to send to Sunghoon. You sit on the side facing the stairs so he can see you when he arrives. The thought of seeing him makes your heart race and you try out a few natural-seeming poses for when he’s here, cycling between resting your palm under your chin and sitting with your arms crossed a few times until the top of his head comes into view. 

Seeing him knocks the wind out of you as he approaches the staircase, taking them two at a time with his damp hair clinging to his forehead and neck. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing a tight black vest, and his sweats are hanging low on his hips. A breath you didn’t realise you were holding slips out when he lifts his head, spotting you immediately as a grin spreads over his lips and he raises his arm to wave, the veins in his forearm peeking out to say hi too. You can’t tell if it’s his lack of winter wardrobe or your newfound appreciation for him that’s making his biceps look so huge but it’s hard to look away, even when he reaches the table. 

“Are you hot?” you blurt out. 

Sunghoon laughs, raising a brow and something about the way he’s looking down at you makes your cheeks burn. “Depends who’s asking.” He takes his backpack off, leaving it on the table as he sits down, dumping his jacket and hoodie in a pile beside him.

“I’m asking,” you mumble. 

“Then, yeah, I’d hope so.” 

Is he flirting? It sounds like he’s flirting. Flirt back! “Nice arms.” 

He looks down at his biceps for a beat before looking at you warily. “Are you flirting with me?” He can’t fight the smile twitching at the corners of his lips but he tries his best, pressing them into a straight line.

“A little. They are nice though,” you admit.

Sunghoon grins. “Thanks, I’ve had them for a while now.”

You can’t come up with anything to say, too distracted by the way his smile reaches his eyes, lighting up his whole face and forcing a flustered heat to spread over your cheeks and neck. It’s only when you look away from him that you remember what you’re here for. It’s a study date, not a study date—there’s a difference. 

You hand Sunghoon the material you’d printed for him over the weekend, excerpts from texts you’d studied in class, so he can practise close reading and proper citation. As he makes his way through them, you can’t help stealing glances, smiling at the way his tongue sticks out a little while he focuses, or how he twirls his pen in his fingers while he’s thinking. You aren’t making the best use of your time together, copying out the slides from class yesterday, but you can’t help noticing the way he watches you when he thinks you can’t see. The small smile on his face while he does so only flusters you, an odd weakness settling in your knees as your cheeks heat up. 

After a while, Sunghoon sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Could you stop watching me?”

“If you noticed me watching, that means you’re watching me.” 

He shrugs, chewing on his lip. “Well, yeah. I’m always watching you,” he says like it’s a given. “But you don’t normally watch back, it’s distracting.” 

“You’re distracting.”

A playful smile curves his lips as he arches a brow, smugness painting his face. “Am I?” 

Too scared to verbalise your response, you nod slowly, hoping you don’t look as wound up as you feel. 

Sunghoon’s eyes flick over your face, flashing with something you don’t recognise. At least not from him. He sits back in his seat, assessing you and eventually shaking his head. 

“You know,” he says, eyes glowing with something you do recognise: cockiness. “If my sexy arms are getting to you that much, I can always put my hoodie back on. Wouldn’t want my little tutor getting distracted, would I?” 

Oh. 

Your stomach turns with want, mind reeling from his tone and the way his gaze lands on your lips. Sighing, you roll your eyes and try to seem unaffected. “Sunghoon, I never said your arms were sexy.” 

His phone starts to go off, buzzing against the table and he turns it over immediately, screen down on the surface as he shifts his focus back to his work. He chews on his lip while he does, eyes flicking back and forth between his phone and the words on the page. Curious, you lean over the table, elbows propped up as you rest your chin in your hands. He doesn’t spare you or his phone, which vibrates another four times, a glance.

“Are you going to get that?” 

Sunghoon shakes his head. “It’s nothing.” 

You hum, letting just enough curiosity seep into the sound that he’ll elaborate without being asked to. It doesn’t take long for him to deliver.

“It’s just Chaewon,” he says, running his hand through his hair and lifting his head. Sunghoon smiles. “We’ve been texting a lot these days.” 

“Cool.” You nod a few times, aiming for nonchalance but hitting bobblehead as you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t, only humming in response, nodding too. 

After a beat, he picks up his phone, angling it just high enough that you can’t see the screen. He reads the messages, an exhaled laugh coming from his nose as the tips of his ears redden—Fuck. This is worse than you thought. 

Chaewon’s commitment to girl code runs deep—she’s been rebuffing Jake since first year when she overheard a girl she’d never seen before telling her friends she thought he was cute. So you know without having to read the texts that nothing she’s saying is even remotely flirty, you can smell the auto-caps and use of the word ‘buddy’ from across the table. 

What you hadn’t counted on, however, was the potential for Sunghoon’s feelings to shift. If they really have been texting more, can you rule out the possibility that he might like.. her? Chaewon is a catch, beyond a catch, and you’d already turned Sunghoon down. Brutally. Of course, he���d move on, he has moved on. 

The rest of the study session is spent manifesting, writing Park Sunghoon over and over in the back of your notebook. You fill three pages while brainstorming ways to snatch a lock of his hair until he suggests that the two of you call it a day. He walks you home, telling you about how Jake’s been bribing him with food to get a ride to the LEGO store across town for the new Marvel set. 

“With or without the meals, I would’ve taken him, but his ramen is my favourite, so..” Sunghoon says, climbing the last step of your building and holding the door open for you. “He even brought a slice of tiramisu to the rink for me after practice.” 

“You’re terrible,” you say, frowning up at him as you search for your keys. “Do you want to come in?” 

Sunghoon chuckles, shaking his head. “I have a meeting with one of my lecturers soon, I’d have to leave in—” He pauses, rolling up the sleeve of his jacket to check the time. “—eight minutes.” 

“I’m cool with that if you are,” you mumble, suddenly shy. 

A bright smile spreads over his lips and he nods, following you in. 

Chilled by the harsh wind, the only thing on your mind is a hot drink as you lead Sunghoon to the kitchen. He shakes his head when you offer him one, sitting on the countertop and exhaling into his palms before rubbing them together. You can’t help but frown at the sight, feeling guilty that you can’t change the weather to suit him. At your thought process, your brows raise. Wow, you think. Is this who you are? 

You busy yourself with the selection of hot drinks you and Chaewon have accumulated, eyeing each container from top to bottom. A purple tub of Cadbury’s hot chocolate that you’re sure is on the brink of expiration, coffee—sachets of the instant stuff you’ve grown to like since leaving home, Earl grey from one of many brands, or the fancy silk tea bags Chaewon’s mum brought home from a trip—rooibos or plum-apple-cinnamon. 

Craving something sweet, you settle for hot chocolate, pulling the heavy container from the cupboard next to Sunghoon’s head and setting it beside your cup. He’s on his phone, scrolling too fast to take in anything he’s seeing and he shakes his head when you ask if he wants something to drink. 

On the dish rack, Chaewon’s mug catches your eye, so you pick it up to dry it off and put it down next to yours. “I’m going to check if Wonie wants any,” you say, wiping imaginary crumbs from the counter onto the floor. 

Sunghoon only clears his throat, shaking his head. “She’s not home, one of her acrylics popped off so she’s at the shop waiting for a cancellation.” 

The information itself isn’t jarring but hearing it from Sunghoon is. You put on what you hope is a neutral smile and nod, taking milk from the fridge and assembling your drink on autopilot while thinking of ways to redirect the conversation. 

“If you knew you’d have to go back to campus so soon, why’d you walk me home?” you ask, watching your cup spin in the microwave. “I could’ve walked on my own.” 

Sunghoon is already looking at you when you turn your head, his cheeks puffed out with air as he blinks slowly. Because I love you, is what you hope he’ll say. You think you need him to say it. 

“Because you don’t have to do anything on your own when you have me,” he says instead, and it’s infinitely better. 

The words seep through your every fibre, his intonation and lucid affection making a home for themselves in your heart, spreading warmth from head to toe. Your smile becomes a radiant grin, only brightening when he shakes his head, smiling down at his feet. 

Sunghoon hugs you in the kitchen when it’s time for him to leave, his arms holding you tight to his chest as he rocks you back and forth. You inhale his scent, all warm citrus under freshly washed cotton and something exclusive to him.

Wiping the smile from your face feels impossible. You don’t let go when he does, and a sweet laugh — a giggle, you think — tumbles out of him as he mumbles that he really has to go. Still, you cling onto him, taking clumsy steps backwards, with your arms locked around his waist, to your front door, smiling as you watch him put his shoes on. 

“You don’t have to walk me downstairs, honestly,” he says, looking down at you in the doorway.

“I want to.” 

His lips quirk up at the corners, a full smile breaking through and causing your stomach to flutter with so much force you’re sure it’s visible through your shirt. His eyes fall to your lips, lingering, before he clears his throat, looking away. 

“I’ll text you when I get to the door, promise.” 

You lock your pinky with his. “Send a selfie, just so I know it’s you and not someone else using your phone.” 

Sunghoon’s head falls back in a laugh. “Should I just call you? That way you can make sure I get back to uni in one piece.” 

You nod.

“That wasn’t anything with Chaewon earlier, I just needed advice on some girl stuff..” He trails off, searching your eyes. It’s obvious that he’s telling the truth, that he wants you to believe him. You do. “I wasn’t sure if that was something I could talk about with you.” 

Girl stuff. Hmm. You try not to read too much into it and look at the bigger picture instead—your best friend is going through something and doesn’t feel like he can come to you about it.. You squeeze his pinky reassuringly, a flutter in your stomach when he smiles. 

“You can talk to me about anything,” you say, meaning it. 

Sunghoon presses his lips together, humming and unlinking your fingers. “Next time,” he says after a beat, waving at you. 

You shut the door, locking it while watching through the peephole, he leaves as soon as the lock clicks shut. In the kitchen, your hot chocolate is cooling down, and your phone rings in your back pocket. Sunghoon’s calling. 

Hanging out with Sunghoon. Making sure he sticks to the time-blocked schedule you made for him. Quizzing him on biology terms until he gets restless. If the last two weeks were an episode of Family Feud, those would be the top three answers to the question: Name something YN is doing right now.

Thankfully tonight, it’s the first one. 

You’ve been sitting on the couch for so long, Jake has both left for football practice and arrived from football practice. Conversation ebbs and flows—an hour or so of nonstop talking, followed by another hour or so of comfortable near silence. 

It’s during a quiet hour that Sunghoon sits up straight, clearing his throat before saying, “Let me ask you something. He retreats to the other side of the couch, turning to face you with his whole body. “I don’t want things to be weird after I ask, so no matter what your answer is, I won’t bring it up or ask again.”

Arching a curious brow, you nod. “You can ask me anything,” you say, meaning it.

Sunghoon’s face is impressively blank—minus the motion of sharp teeth worrying plush lip, there’s absolutely nothing behind his eyes that seem to stare right through you. 

Eventually, he asks, “Can I kiss you?” He says more. Big, scary words like for closure and moving on, but they don’t register. They don’t matter. 

Your heart pounds at the base of your throat as you find interest in your hands that sit in your lap. Even without looking at him, you can’t get over the slight crease he had in his brow and the slight tremor in his hands. 

“For closure,” you repeat, though your voice doesn’t sound like it’s coming from you, muffled under the thump of your heart. 

Sunghoon nods. “For closure.” 

A humourless laugh sneaks past your throat as you look at him. You shouldn’t have. In the lamplight, Sunghoon is golden and glorious. Warm light casts one side of his face, diffusing gently over the steep slope of his nose, highlighting his moles and the look in his eyes, gentle and curious all at once. Unwillingly, your gaze falls to his lips, parted, tempting. 

One firm nod of your head brings Sunghoon’s hand to your face, his palm cupping your cheek with soft skin as his thumb traces your cheekbone. You grow anxious under his stare, under the drag of his eyes over your features, taking them one at a time like he’s committing them to memory.

Leaning in, your eyes flutter shut as your lips meet his and he freezes, mouth completely still on yours. Delicately, your tongue traces the seam of his lips, soft and plump, until they part for you, moving with yours. Sunghoon’s kiss is unpolished when it reaches you. It’s hesitant but tender, clumsy but sweet, he’s trying and he’s perfect; your favourite. 

The kiss is.. it’s everything. It’s the racing of your heart, the thudding, the vibrant buzz you can hear, feel humming against your ears. It’s a rush of blood to the head, a lightness all over that pulls you out of your body. It’s Sunghoon’s soft lips curving into a smile against yours, his gentle hold on your face never letting up as he holds you as close as he can manage, and it’s every bit as lovely as the rest of him.

Palpable is the heartbeat of your friendship, beating to a lull under the surface of the kiss, fizzling out into nothing, a steady silence, flatlining to give way to something more, something bigger. 

Every brush of your lips against his is a revelation, a confession. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, you tell him with your kiss. You’re everything I need. His free hand finds yours, locking your fingers and squeezing, the action timed well enough to make you think he hears you, to make you think he’s saying, we’ll be okay, I still love you. 

With that, he pulls away, a delicate tension piercing the air. Blown eyes and laboured breathing—he’s beautiful, fuzzy around the edges with warm orange and all of the love in your heart. Breathless, you chew on your lip, cognisant of Sunghoon’s hand in yours and the sparkle in his eyes as he looks at you. 

Belatedly, you squeeze his hand back, smiling. “Was it everything you ever dreamed of?” you whisper, part teasing, all curious.

Abruptly, Sunghoon stands up, letting go of you in the process. “I have to go.” 

You want to stop him, you think you’re supposed to. To grab him by the arm and kiss him again, to yell in his face that you love him until he understands. But you don’t. Instead, you stay seated, staring at Sunghoon’s back and following him with your eyes out of the room and down the hall until he’s out of sight. 

It’s your first time being so upset after a kiss, and you can’t tell if it’s his leaving or the mention of him moving on that’s tripping you up so much. That’s causing melancholy to crawl from the shadows, sinking its jagged nails into your skin to pull you under. 

You love him. He’s gone. 

Eyes stuck on the doorway, time stretches over the room around you, thick and malleable, wet and cloying—clay stuck under your nails for days as the fire in the kiln rages on. 

Sighing, you get up and wait at his door. You ball your hand into a limp fist, knocking weakly. Sunghoon doesn’t reply. You try again, harder. Still nothing. 

Barging into the room, you find him sitting on the end of his bed with his face in his hands. 

“Don’t move on.” The words come out before you realise and Sunghoon lifts his head, squinting at you. 

“Huh?” He tilts his head, watching closely as you approach him, tipping it back enough to meet your eyes when you stand over him. 

You take a breath, holding it until your head starts to spin. “I don’t want you to love someone else, Sunghoon. Please don’t move on.” 

The stillness that follows is disconcerting, a long quiet you can feel on your skin, amplifying the blank stare on his face as he looks up at you. His eyes flash, a spark of hope behind them so bright it stings to look at.

“Do you..” He trails off, his lips moving to form the next word though stopping short.

“I do,” you whisper, nodding. “I’m sorry for taking so long.”

An exhaled laugh comes from his nose as he grins, shaking his head. “You like me?” he asks, excitement and disbelief fighting for authority over his voice, his hands holding your waist and pulling you down into his lap.

“I love you,” you admit, settling on his thighs. 

“You do?” His eyes are wide and gleaming, searching every feature on your face before settling on your own.

You nod. “So much.” 

Sunghoon’s chin tips up, his lips pressing against yours, excited pecks that can’t turn into much more for the smiles on your faces. You rest your arms on his shoulders, hands clasping behind his head, nervous fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“So.. will you be my boyfriend? For real?” 

Tilting his head, he tries and fails to fight a smile. “I will. I’m a little bummed though.” 

“Why?” You raise a brow, and the word tips up at the end with it. 

“I wanted to be the one to ask you.” Sunghoon’s honesty warms the room, endearing you completely. 

You grin, loving the heat spreading over your cheeks. “Ask me anyway.” 

“Please can I be your boyfriend?” 

In the weeks that followed, it became immediately clear that boyfriend Sunghoon operated on a pendulum swinging between sexual ferality and terror. He’d get distracted during study sessions at home, finding more interest in biting at your neck than stream-of-consciousness prose, but closed his eyes if a sex scene came on TV. He’d buck his hips against yours while making out but flinch at the sight of condoms in the store.

He wasn’t ready to have sex and didn’t know how to tell you, so you took matters into your own hands, asking if you could wait until after his results for resubmission came in, saying you didn’t want the distraction for either of you. Sunghoon agreed, pecking your cheek and holding you tight to his chest. 

The only thing was that your lecturer hadn’t given him an exact date, so every morning, you held your phone in a vice grip waiting for Sunghoon to update you, and every morning, you got the same text: Nothing today, baby ☹️ 

This morning, you’re brushing your teeth when he texts you, in all caps: NO FUCKING WAY I GOT A 98 !!! LOOK !!!

When the picture comes through, it’s of him in the mirror and you choke on mouthwash at the sight. He’s smiling, bright and beautiful, in a black vest that he’s holding up a little to show his stomach, though his palm is in the way of his toned abs, and it cuts off right at the top of his grey sweatpants. 

Your mouth goes dry as you click on it, fixating on every little detail you can find: the thickness of his fingers against his phone, the dip in his collarbones, the breadth of his shoulders and the cinch of his waist. In a fit of desperation, you try swiping at the bottom of your screen, willing the picture to magically extend. It doesn’t. 

hoonie: Finger slipped.. You like?

you: mm.. 

you: 98??? HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT YOU!!!

hoonie: All you.. do you like the picture?

you: i love it………….

hoonie: My girl 🤍

Another picture comes in, and sure enough, through the glare of his laptop screen, you see: Course name: The Modernist Movement: Joyce, Woolf, and Hemingway. Marks Awarded: 98.0.

you: well done baby !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

hoonie: Thx 😁

hoonie: Can I have my prize now ha ha .. haha 😈

you: just for that emoji, no you absolutely cannot.

Your resolve isn’t strong enough when it comes to Sunghoon, because purple devil emoji and all, you show up at his door with condoms in your bag and a bouquet of lilies behind your back. 

The door creaks open and Sunghoon greets you with a grin. “Hey, gorgeous. You proud of me?” 

You beam at him, holding out the flowers. “I’m very proud, Hoon, well done.” 

“I don’t want to ruin the moment,” he starts, taking the bouquet from your hands and sniffing the flowers with an approving smile. “But hearing you say you’re proud of me is awakening something I didn’t know existed.”

“A good something?” 

“Mm,” he hums, arms finding your waist before he pecks your lips. “A very good something.” 

Sunghoon’s words hit your lips and your core, a desperate heat flooding your stomach as he kisses you deeply, his body pressed tightly against yours while he pulls you into his apartment. He kicks the door shut with his foot, slipping his hand under your jacket to settle in your back pocket, not quite squeezing but holding your ass as gently as he can manage. 

He breaks away from you, love in his eyes as he stares down into yours, catching his breath. “I don’t think we own a vase.” 

In his kitchen, you rifle through cupboards to find something to hold the flowers, eventually finding a whiskey decanter in the cupboard under the sink, and holding it up for Sunghoon to see.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “It’s Jay’s. It’ll work right?” 

You nod, taking it to the sink to rinse it. Sunghoon wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder watching you fill the decanter with water and flower food before grabbing the bouquet. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck and you struggle to stay focused as you cut down the stems on the flowers, arranging them neatly. 

“Can I take a photo?” he asks when you’re done. 

He’s smiling when you turn around to look at him, a soft curve of his lips that makes your heart race, a deep tenderness in his eyes when you meet them. You smile too. 

“They’re yours, baby, do whatever you want.” 

“A photo of you with the flowers,” he clarifies. 

Warmth settles in your chest, a grin spreading over your lips from ear to ear. You nod, taking the decanter in your hands when he lets go of you, holding the flowers up beside your face and smiling for his camera. As his phone shutter clicks away, you steal glances at his face behind it. He’s watching the screen with a smile, telling you how beautiful you are.

“I want pictures of you too,” you say, handing the flowers over. 

“I’m yours, baby, do whatever you want.” 

Sunghoon poses for your photos, smiling sweetly in some and sniffing the bouquet appreciatively with closed eyes for others. He’s glowing and he’s beautiful and your heart triples in size while taking picture after picture until your phone tells you it has ten percent. 

“Thank you, YN,” he says. “I’ve never gotten flowers before, I love them.” His arms settle around your waist, lips pressing against yours before you have the chance to respond. 

You try anyway, mumbling against his lips that you love him. In response, Sunghoon grins, but the feeling of his cock growing hard against you is distracting, a lust-coated thorn in the side of the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. With locked lips and uncertain steps, the two of you bump into corners and trip over your own feet, stumbling to his room and parting only to tear his hoodie over his head.

Breathless, you pull away, eyes trailing over him and picking up on everything, from the tremble in his hands to the lust-addled worry in his eyes. He’s nervous, you think—though it escapes you, the last word coming out like a question.

Sunghoon scoffs, his hands resting on your waist under your shirt, skin clammy against yours. “Of course, I’m nervous.” 

“You don’t have to be.”

“I just want to be good for you.” 

“Don’t worry about that, let me take care of you, Hoon.” Your palms drag up his torso — firm abs through soft cotton, defined chest over racing heart — to rest on his shoulders. “Sit,” you say when he nods. 

He gulps, taking a seat on the end of his bed under your gentle push, eyes widening when you sink to your knees between his legs and reach for his drawstring, pulling the ends to untie the knot. 

“Wait,” Sunghoon says, breathless, scrunching up his face and dropping his head. “Let me calm down, baby. At this rate, I’ll come just seeing your hand on it.” 

You giggle, resting your head on his thigh and wrapping the drawstring around your finger.

“I’m serious, YN,” he mumbles, laughing as he takes his vest off. “I need a minute.” 

Sunghoon’s eyes are pressed shut as he tries to collect himself, lips pouty and kiss-bitten, slightly parted with ragged breaths slipping out. You wait patiently for him. He’s so pretty like this, with the crease in his brow and the pretty pink flush dusting his cheeks as his chest rises and falls. You can’t help but smile, leaning into his touch when his hand rests on top of your head, his blunt nails grazing your scalp. After a while, he seems more at ease, his eyes finding yours and he smiles shyly, telling you he’s ready now and lifting his hips from the bed to let you pull his sweats and underwear down. 

Free from the constraints of fabric, his cock slaps his stomach with a wet sound as the tip meets his skin, leaving a pearlescent streak over his abs. The sight makes your mouth water and you can’t look away. “Pretty,” you whisper.

Wrapping a hand under his tip, you swipe it with your thumb, taking time to memorise the flutter of his eyelids, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, and the soft sigh he lets out. You stroke him slowly, liking the way his breath picks up as his brows knit together before you take him in your mouth. It’s a tight fit but you do your best, spurred on by the way he tugs at your hair and stutters through a holy fuck as you take as much of him as you can. 

Sunghoon goes silent, only squirming when you use your hand to stroke him near his base. Self-conscious about his lack of vocal affirmation, you look up at him through your lashes, and the pure bliss on his face is unbearably attractive. His eyes are rolled back under furrowed brows, his mouth hanging open as he throws his head back.

“Am I doing okay?” you ask, using the moment to catch your breath.

He nods, inhaling shakily and screwing his eyes shut while his hips buck up into your fist. “I’m.. You’re doing such a good job, baby, so good.”

Satisfaction courses through you from the praise, a high that dulls the ache in your jaw. Still watching him, you massage his balls in your palm, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his tip when he whines. You tongue at his slit until he thrusts back into your mouth, tip hitting your throat, and he gasps when you gag, his arm coming up to cover his eyes. A belated apology slips from his lips, mumbled as he strokes your hair with a shaking hand and goes quiet again. When you speed up, his breath stutters, the muscles in his thighs contracting around your head as you suck and lick and drool on his cock. 

A moan of your name, and his hand holding your hand down, are the only warnings you get before Sunghoon comes, spilling his load right down your throat. Whining, his hips buck up against your face, pushing further and further until he falls back onto the mattress.

Your throat is hoarse and aches while you use the back of your hand to wipe at your lips, enjoying what’s left of his taste on your tongue. Deep red tints his neck and chest, a pretty flush gleaming under the sheen of sweat on his skin. He’s mesmerising, as he tries for air through swollen lips and looks up at you through squinted eyes. He reaches for you, cute grabby hands tugging your shirt and pulling you down so you’re lying next to him with your head on his chest. 

“You’re amazing, baby, so good for me,” Sunghoon whispers, eyes fluttering shut as you drag your nails over his torso, feeling the subtle heave of the slick, sculpted muscle over his stomach and chest. 

Pride heats your chest, satisfaction rolling over you like a wave. “Really?”

He hums in affirmation, nodding his head. 

“You were so quiet, I couldn’t really tell,” you add, hungry for more praise. 

“The walls are so thin in here, I just got used to being quiet,” Sunghoon says, frowning. Hand meeting your chin, he tips your head up towards him, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and mumbling, “I’m sorry. You were perfect, I swear.” 

It’s a sweet kiss. Until lips move harder and hands get lower, desperate as he thumbs the top of your leggings, palm unmoving but a dangerous heat blooms in your stomach anyway.

“Can I..” Sunghoon pinches you softly through the material, unsure eyes boring deep into yours. 

You nod. “You can.” 

Slipping under your waistband, his fingers skate across your skin dipping between your thighs. He grazes your slit, satisfaction clear in the groan he lets out as he feels the wetness there, pulling it over the length of your slit to cover your clit. Your breath hitches, a strangled gasp, pleasure and surprise meeting in your throat under the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the gentle sting of his finger pushing into you. 

What Sunghoon lacks in experience, he makes up for with the sheer length and thickness of his fingers. It’s almost jarring, it’s enough to force your eyes closed and bring a sigh rumbling out of you, ache and relief settling between your legs, where he curls a finger against your walls and drags slow circles over your clit. 

“Can you take these off, baby?” he asks, hand away to touch your leggings. 

You don’t waste a second, sitting up to pull them off, throwing them and your underwear across the room. Sunghoon licks his lips, tugging at the hem of your shirt. 

“And this? If you want..” 

You nod, pulling it off immediately to let it join the rest of your clothes in a heap on the floor. The way he gulps is a confidence boost, his dilated pupils taking in every inch of your body, though his gaze always pulls back to your bra—white and lacy, thin enough for your nipples to push through the fabric and Sunghoon can’t seem to get enough, though he waits until you’re lying down again to touch you. 

Sunghoon props himself up on his elbow, leaning over you. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, dragging a finger over the lace at the top of your bra, toying with the material and the little bow sitting between your breasts. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “So beautiful,” he repeats. 

Hiding your face in his chest, you mumble, “Thank you,” into his skin while trying to ignore the heat spreading over your body wherever he touches you. His hand trails from your arm to your waist, resting on your hips to slip over your ass for a beat, where he grabs and squeezes the flesh there before coming back around to slot between your legs—you lift one of them, resting it over his body, and he’s smiling sweetly when you look up at him.

Sunghoon’s movements are unchanging, though the sensation is heightened by the unbridled desire in his lidded eyes that urges white heat to lick over every inch of your skin—this time he pushes two fingers into you.

It doesn’t get better than this, you think. But it does, quickly. 

Leaning over you, his eyes flick across your face, one feature at a time as he chews on his lip. Reaching up, you push some of his hair from his face, holding it back and saying, “Relax, baby.” 

“Don’t want to hurt you.”

Moving your hand, you blink when his hair flops back over his forehead, tickling your eyelashes. His eyes are focused now, staring straight down into yours, want and worry flashing behind them. 

“You won’t, I promise,” you say, locking your pinky with his, feeling relieved when he smiles.

Sunghoon pushes in slowly, his name slipping from your lips when he exhales shakily, head falling forward. The sting, the pleasure, make it hard to breathe, molten desire taking hold of your lungs as he carves out a place for himself as far as you’ll take him, all the way to the hilt as slow as he can manage. 

A moan tears out of him, lewd and whiny as his hair tickles your collarbone, head falling into the crook of your neck. His skin is hot and damp against yours, his breath burning your shoulder as he tries to calm down. It’s difficult to register much else, tethered only by the sound of his voice when he asks, “Am I hurting you?” 

“Hoon,” you whisper. 

“Can you look at me, baby?” He lifts his head, resting a hand on your cheek. You blink your eyes open, gaze locking with his, where concern pushes through his desire. “Am I hurting you?” he asks again. “Are you okay?” 

You nod. “I’m okay, just..” You sigh. “Full. Need a minute.” 

Sunghoon kisses you, lips moving gently with yours, passing breathy whines between your mouths until you feel yourself relaxing. Pulling his plush bottom lip between yours, you suck on it, nodding. “Want you to move, baby,” you mumble. 

He scans your face, eyes meeting yours as he pulls his hips back. He’s slow, so slow with his thrusts that your belly turns with want, your fingernails sink into the taut skin of his back, and jagged sobs fall out of you with each drag of his cock along your walls. 

Everywhere his skin touches yours is set ablaze with scorching heat, goosebumps pushing past the surface as his breath fans your neck and his sharp teeth graze your skin. He bites hard enough to sting, and you wince as his tongue flicks over your bitten flesh to soothe you.

You were so worked up earlier, writhing against the sheets and coming undone in his palm, so bliss quickly pushes through the ache between your legs. “Good, Hoon, feels so good,” you manage, struggling to convey how perfect it is.

“Just want to make you feel good.” His words melt into each other, vowels soft and elongated as they curl around each other. He’s working up a steady rhythm, his tip consistently nudging you where you need it—the spot that makes the room blur around you. “That’s all I want.” 

Before long, the knot in your stomach pulls you up from the mattress, arching your back towards the ceiling. Mouth to mouth, chest to chest—it’s the closest you’ve ever felt to someone else, the closest you’ve ever been. The thought alone knocks the wind out of you, and his persistent whining does nothing to help.

Your want and adoration for Sunghoon run bone-deep, inching up your spine and creeping over your shoulders, intertwined with an all-consuming pleasure that turns the heat in your stomach molten as a shudder zips through you. Even though you can’t find the words to let him know, he lifts your hips from the bed to fuck you deeper, harder, into the mattress until shaky orgasms pull both of you under. 

You let him fall into you, fingers curling around his hair, whispering I love you into the skin of his neck as he comes, most of his weight on top of you while you catch your breath, relishing in the fullness you feel as the last waves of your high pull back. You stay like this for as long as he needs, his head coming up from the crook of your neck to smile at you before pressing his lips to yours. A sleepy haze fills the room around you, tongue swiping tongue as you giggle happily into his mouth. 

After a while, he gets up, tying the condom to throw it away and comes back with his shirt. He uses it to clean up—gentle between your legs, pressing kisses to your calves while he does. Sunghoon’s tenderness wraps around your heart, and love clouds your vision, forming a blurry trail that follows all of his movements, glowing like something from a dream, ethereal, an apparition. 

The bed dips beside you, his arms around you, pulling you in so his chin rests on your head. You push your cheek into his chest, hoping the two of you will meld into one—the thought makes you warm all over, a fuzziness that reaches every part of your body while he presses kisses into your hair, rubbing your back. 

“I love you,” he says, voice as soft as the rest of him. “I’m glad I exist.”

mama park: Hi lovely 😍 missing you lots, wondering when you’ll be home for Xmas………..love ma

Sunghoon stirs, nose scrunching as he snores softly into the quiet of a winter morning. His chest rises and falls steadily under your head and he doesn’t move when you sit up. The lamp on his desk is still on — neither of you could be bothered getting up to turn it off last night — and under its dim glow, you admire him. Perfect lips gently curved—long lashes kissing the skin under his eyes. 

Love hits you from all angles, warmth all over from head to toe despite the chill in Sunghoon’s room. You can’t help but grin, leaning up to nose along the underside of his chin, his natural scent so soft yet dizzying as you nuzzle into him. He stirs again, turning his head this way and that before resting, you feel a bit bad, deciding to leave him be and text his mum back. 

you: hi mum !!! missing you sooooooo much :((( will be home asap

mama park: BTW Sunghoon told me everything. I raised such good actors LOL make sure he looks after you and keeps you happy!

you: i’m so sorry we lied to you..

you: but i’m really happy with him and he loves me a lot

you: i love him so much .. never been so sure of anyone in my life

© zreamy (2023), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let my know your thoughts !

permanent taglist: @asahicore

[yeahxsurexokay13]

ideal weekend, lando norris

summary: while fans stress about the fact that, following their breakup, the actress won't be there to witness the driver's first ever f1 win, y/n gets asked about her ideal weekend off in an interview and accidentally manifests it [actress!reader]

warnings: i think only very bad editing (i tried) and me bringing up yet another footballer i feel affection for for literally no reason

fc: madelyn cline

started this as something completely different from what it ended up being but i think i like it. i'd love it if you let me know what you think tho (((:

y/n.y/l

📍miami

Liked by rudeth and 1.059.326 others

y/n.y/l yet another victim of a @/maxverstappen1 win. had so much fun but i think i'll just stick to acting 🙃🙃🫠 thank you @/redbullracing for having me!!! <333

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username at a red bull event? what happened to once a mclaren girl always a mclaren girl????

username this event was basically work for her ?? you ppl need to stop taking everything so personally omg

username professional SUPER FAST driver, part time actress ❤️ by author

username you're in miami the same week of the miami gp. coincidence? i think not 😌😌

username GORGEOUS GORGEOUS GIRL

redbullracing Glad you had fun Y/n! Maybe we should start considering you for a guest appearance in our garage 😉

mclaren Thanks for the offer, Red Bull! But we've already got dibs on her 😉

username UM I HOPE THIS ISN'T A JOKE ??

username don't play with me like this admin!!

mclaren Don't worry. We won't hold this against you 🧡

y/n.y/l ily guys 🧡🧡🧡

username Ok cool now go finish season 4

username Why are u in Miami shouldn’t u be filming obx 4 😪

y/n.y/l side quest

username not the Y/n x F1 content I was hoping for but at this point I'll take what I can get

maxverstappen1 Next time I'll give you a head start. Enjoyed having you with us, Y/n 🫶

y/n.y/l there will definitely not be a next time but thanks tho!!!👍🏼 always a pleasure seeing you ❤️

username pretty 🩷

username Why is Max literally this🧍🏼‍♂️❤️ by author

landonorris Um what's this?

y/n.y/l 😶 not what it looks like

username seeing you two banter like this makes my heart ache 💔

username i'm never moving on from y/nlando sigh

username OBX S4 WHEN QUEEN

29 April 2024

mclaren added to their story

y/n.y/l

Liked by maxfewtrell and 1.890.345 others

y/n.y/l me and FORMULA 1 RACE WINNER lando norris

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username JUST WHEN I THOUGHT TODAY COULDN'T GET ANY BETTER OMFG

username formula 1 race winner lando norris has a nice ring to it 😉 ❤️ by author

username What a race, and what a win for Lando!!!

username IM LOSING IT YALL I JUST CHECKED OUT OF CURIOSITY AND BRIGHTON ALSO WON TODAY Y/N MANIFESTED HER IDEAL SUNDAY

username minus the relaxing part lol i know for a fact bestie was stressing in that garage

carlossainz55 It's great to see you back at a race! Missed having you around! ❤️

y/n.y/l thank you carlitos ❤️ wish i could've got to see you up there with lando

charles_leclerc ouch ? 🫤

y/n.y/l noooo, i didn't mean you!!! x

maxverstappen1 ouch?

y/n.y/l i did mean you. sorry /:

username are we back in 2022 and i didn't realise?????? not complaining at all tho

mclaren You and FORMULA 1 RACE WINNER Lando Norris look amazing! 🧡 ❤️ by author

username admin definitely ships

username children of divorce rise !!!!!!! ❤️ by author

username u think u're so funny liking this @.y/n.y/n but we're actually hurting we want our mum back!!!

username seeing you celebrate with lando was everything 🥹🥹🥹

username when i tell you i sCREAMED !!!!!!

username Everything in the world has been healed due to this post

oscarpiastri Awesome that you could come watch. Missed you ❤️

y/n.y/l missed you more pastry boy ❤️❤️

username we were robbed from this friendship !!!😪

username can't believe how emotional I am seeing you two together at his big win

francisca.cgomes ❤️❤️❤️ ❤️ by author

username just realised i am not as over y/nlando as i thought i was. in fact i am not over y/nlando at all.

username well seeing you with FORMULA 1 RACE WINNER Lando Norris just hit me right in the feels💔

landonorris Thanks for being there to share the moment with us ❤️ ❤️ by author

landonorris Also I think after this you might now have to come to every race ever

y/n.y/l clearing my schedule as we speak 🫡

username i am so ready to be delusional

05 May 2024

[hemmingsleclerc]

Scandal!┃CL16-MV1

I just want to say I love w all my heart charlotte so I'm not trying to hate on her, she looks very friendly but I just used her for her pics with charles

Also I had this idea on kylie and timmy's ''relationship rules rumours'' she put on him, poor timmy😭😭

instagram

f1_gossip

Liked by 183,573 others

f1_gossip According to reports, there is drama in the paddock! It all started when rumors came out of testimonies close to the couple where Aurora (Charles' new girlfriend) has imposed ''rules'' in her relationship with the driver!

"First, Aurora wanted him to cut ties with all of his exes, especially with the female driver, with whom he is still very close", Let's remember that Leclerc and Y/LN dated for almost 3 and a half years but they separated and they remained on friendly terms, before this they had been friends since childhood and the model ''did not like that'', they tell us.

comments

username girl what the fuck??

username stop, pls you're literally a ''model'' bc your mommy knew people and got u a job, on the other hand, Y/N has trained her entire life for that sport and she is super talented and has achieved all that by herself, stop embarrassing yourself.

username IF SHE MAKES SURE WE NO LONGER HAVE MOMENTS BETWEEN CHARLES AND Y/N, SHE WON'T LIVE TO TELL ABOUT IT FRRRR

ynln

Liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 1,845,295 others

ynln Made some great memories in Miami, had dinner w friends, and podium celebration this weekend, see u on Imola <3

lewishamilton fun night!

username I miss charles' comments on her posts 😭

maxverstappen1 🤘!!!

landonorris why wasn't I invited?

ynln bc I hate u

landonorris lol wth? I literally apologized 5 times for laughing at your pic,pls :(

redbullracing 👏👏

charles_leclerc

Liked by scuderiaferrari, aurora.official, and 1,642,795 others

charles_leclerc A little bit of blue and leo 😘👑Miami, thank you

aurora.official SO PROUD OF YOU BABY!!!😍😍

username girl okey we got it, now stop.pls

username PLS- THE WAY HE CROPPED HER FROM THE PHOTOS 🤣🤣🤣

scuderiaferrari blue suits you 🩵

username you look so good on blue cha 😭💗

cha_yn

Liked by 843,537 others

cha_yn I miss my parents, pls they were so in love 😭😭💔

username the way charlie looked at her

username my man was so deeply in love....

username she used to shine more when she was with him :(

twitter

comments

username Ok max having a crush on yn wasn't on my bingo card this year

username ok but what a great and hot couple they would both be

username I SEE IT 👀

rebullracing

Liked by ynln, maxverstappen1, and 739,539 others

redbullracing P1 and P2!!! What an amazing race for our team, very proud of max and yn!

ynln ❤️‍🩹

maxverstappen yes baby!

username did anyone saw charles' face when yn and max celebrated together??? no?? okey

f1_gossip

Liked by 429,683 others

f1_gossip Apparently after the great victory of both Redbulls, both went out to celebrate at a bar and sources claim that both were "very comfortable around each other", what do we think of this?

username nooo, I was still hoping charles and yn came back :(

username I'm here for their reputation era

username Idk if I want to be yn or max

aurora.official

Liked by charles_leclerc, herbestfriend and 284,626 others

aurora.official My baby got P3!! I'm so proud of him❤️❤️

username girl,do you at least know something about the sport?

aurora.official duh

username :/

maxverstappen1 has posted a story!

caption: yn send me this pic earlier today and thought I needed to show u, do we look alike?

charles_leclerc has posted a story!

music: I bet you think about me-Taylor Swift

twitter

f1_gossip

Liked by 947,594 others

f1_gossip What the hell happened between these two?? In the first practice of the weekend both drivers fought! According to some fans who came today, Charles approached Max furiously while he was yelling at him and Max wasn't far behind! What could have happened between these two?

username STOP WHAT IF IT'S FOR YN!!?!??!?!

username WHAT IS HAPPENING

username what the fuck 😭😭😭

Part2

[bsdawgz]

desperate sex with dazai please! you both had a long day at work and just wanted to indulge in each other. Both moaning messes as you cling onto him as he holds you. You don’t have to do it if you’re not comfortable!

JUST ONE MORE KISS ... armed detective agency: osamu dazai

a/n: anon, i LOVE THIS IDEA!!! you're also so sweet for being considerate of how i might feel. i hope u enjoy + that i did ok!!!

genre: nasty in a cutesy and domestic way

content: f!reader. MDNI! oral sex (f!receiving), pet names (angel, my sweet girl), the sex gets prety rough. he spits in your mouth once. some body worship (f!receiving). established relationship <3 cutesy at the end =)

Pulling away from what was supposed to be a chaste greeting kiss proves more difficult than Dazai would have ever imagined. He finds himself leaving your lips swollen, his own sweetened by the saccharine taste of your mouth melting on his tongue. It's not that you're complaining, though. His warmth is more than welcome, especially after a day as long as this one. You linger where he left you, if only just to bask in the heat of his body for a moment longer. A moment before you return to the mundane – take out the trash, prepare dinner, hang the laundry out to dry. Such menial tasks must be done whether you like it or not, no matter how exhausting work has been today. Truly, you ought to start on them now. Surely, Dazai also has had a tiring day and has chores to get to at home as well. And yet...

"Just one more kiss," he hums absently, as if reading your mind. He's always been good at knowing exactly what to say and when to say it. He's also always been an exceptional liar. When he leans in to kiss you, it's clear that just one won't be enough tonight. Not that he was trying to convince you otherwise, anyway. Then, in a heated whisper that's pressed to the base of your neck, "You know how greedy I am."

You shiver as his lips caress you; so soft, so loving, his mouth so inviting as it closes in on yours. His hand meets your waist, the other stroking the side of your neck, rearranging the tendrils of hair that frame your face. "Is it wrong of me to want more than just this?" he muses, tracing the plump of your lips with his thumb, watching in awe as you part your mouth instinctively to take in his fingers. "I missed my sweet girl at work today."

Leaning in for another kiss, you seal your lips against his, letting him guide you backward until you feel your body press against the brick wall of your cozy apartment. You can feel Dazai's teasing smile through his kiss as he hikes your skirt up, grabbing the plush of your upper thigh and trailing his fingers along your sensitive skin. You writhe and squirm, seeking the warmth of his hand, the sweetness of his touch, and those delicate fingers that you want to feel inside you. "Dazai, please."

He relents – of course, anything for his sweet angel. You feel him push your panties to the side, tracing your folds with his fingers. "God, you're wet," he murmurs, and you can hear the sheer satisfaction in ragged tone of his voice and feel it in the way it makes him grip your waist tighter. Still, you blush profusely, flustered by the fact he's pointed it out so plainly. "My sweet, needy girl," he whispers, stroking the side of your cheek lovingly. "Let's take good care of each other tonight~"

The sight of Dazai getting on his knees for you is always a precious one; and for Dazai, seeing you from this angle is one of this favorites. Though, to be fair, he finds the reverse just as arousing. You make quick work of the buttons of your shirt as Dazai unzips your skirt, slowly peeling your panties down your hips. "That's my needy little angel," he teases, "Wanting me to please her already..."

You hold your breath, gazing down at him with your lips parted as he lovingly places kisses up your thigh. Then, you gasp aloud, feeling the tip of his tongue prod inside you. You reach for his hand immediately, seeking the comfort and warmth of his skin, squeezing his palm tight as you feel the cold wetness of his tongue encircle your clit. He moans hungrily against your heat, lapping at your arousal. His name sounds so perfect in your mouth, he thinks, and as the syllables spill out of you, he can't help but glance up to admire the shape your lips form when you say his name. You'd sound much sweeter with his fingers inside you, he muses as he eases his index into your aching hole, smirking at the way you pulse and the way you stammer out his name once more. "Say it just like that," he coos.

You need him more than ever, "Dazai, Dazai" relentless on your lips as you desperately grind against his hand. "Kiss me," you plead. Tonight, your boyfriend isn't so much of a sadist as to deny your requests; tonight, he'll treat you well – just as promised.

Of course, you'll treat him just as well.

"Take it out," you moan as into his shoulder, unbuttoning his vest and dress shirt with haste, leaving them a mess on the floor to deal with later. "Please. Let me touch you, too."

He nods fervently, undoing his belt with a clatter, then he lowers his slacks just enough for you to reach clumsily into his boxers, where you find him pulsing with need, the tip leaking with precum. Then, he sighs with pleasure, seething with desire as you wrap your fingers around the shaft, throbbing in your hand as you stroke him.

This time, it's him who says, "please," his voice raspy in your ear as he leans in once more, locking lips with you and capturing your moans in his mouth as he curls his fingers deep inside you. Thrusting his pelvis forward to meet each of your strokes, he guides your fingers up and down his shaft with his other hand as he tries to get off on the feeling of being fucked by your fist. “Please,” he pants, breath strained as his hips stutter, as his knees begin to give. “Let me fuck you…”

You nod, and he’s frantically shuffling through his messenger bag for a condom, then tossing you down on your mattress. It’s feels like not even a minute more until he’s shoving himself inside you, groaning as he buries himself between your slick folds. You take him in – all of him, all at once, crying out his name when he starts to snap his hips into you. He’s greedy, so greedy, each thrust faster and harder than the one before. And you want it; you want more, more;

“More.”

You hook your legs around his narrow waist, clawing at his back, scratching at his spine and urging him to fuck you deeper. Dazai's panting into your shoulder, brown bangs falling beautifully into his eyes as he ruts into you like an animal desperate for relief – because for you he is, lips parted as he gasps, as his hand slithers around your neck, fingers squeezing just tight enough to deprive you of enough oxygen that you feel yourself grow dizzy. You kiss him hotly, just as fervently, biting his lips and drinking his moans into your open mouth, clinging to him as his fingers leave your neck. As they slip between your thighs, gathering the wetness between your legs where you're aching for him, where you're so wet that you're dripping onto the sheets beneath your sweaty bodies. You shut your eyes.

Fuck work tomorrow –

This is all you need. Dazai, Dazai, Dazai.

The laundry chime goes off, but you can hardly hear it with the buzz in your ears – "Close."

"Me too."

– Take me to heaven and back.

It's you who comes first, convulsing in Dazai's arms; and you don't feel him slow at all, not even a little bit, just feel his spit fill your mouth, saliva trickling down your chin as he grabs you tighter, as he forces your legs over his shoulders and fucks you even harder until you can barely form thoughts, let alone words –

and you split open, body searing with pain, yet you can't help but grind your hips against his fingers as you teeter on the verge of a second orgasm. You sob out yes, yes, yes, thighs trembling as you gasp for him, as you plead for him to bring you there once more. You spasm, then you feel him spill into you with one final thrust, grabbing you and pulling you tight against his body lovingly, wrapping his arms around your shoulders because god, does he need you closer than ever right now.

Then, he rolls onto his side. Buries his face into your shoulder. Nuzzles his nose into your neck. His lips brush along the shell of your ear. "One more kiss. You know how greedy I am," he whispers, interlocking his fingers with yours. "Then we can order take-out."

© BSDAWGZ Please don't steal or reblog! That's plagiarism! If you enjoyed the fic, likes and reblogs are always appreciated! ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ Beautiful dividers by @ v6que!

[harryhighkey]

look after you

Hi! Here is another Lee Byung-hun one shot!!!

This is pure fluff, older boyfriend looking after his drunk girlfriend.

Hope u like!!

You were drunk. Perhaps wasted was a more accurate description. What had started as 'just a few drinks' had turned into many plus the odd shot or five, honestly, you'd lost count of how many shots it had been.

You'd had fun, you loved to be out with your friends, but now you were too far gone and only had one person on your mind. So between long, slow blinks you began texting that exact person.

-TEXT CHAIN-

Hi

Hi miss, having fun?

Lots but I am so feeling drink

Are you okay?

Missed call from BH ♡

Baby, please let me know you're okay.

Hi yes I ok but I want come home now

Want me to pick you up?

Yes plsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss love you

I love you, I'll be there soon.

Your drunk self smiled at that response, knowing that soon actually meant soon with your boyfriend. You'd dated men your own age before but never had you been able to believe someone so confidently. Twenty-four years was a significant age gap, but god your heart had never felt safer. Lee Byung-hun offered you a sense of security you had never experienced before.

Which is why when his car pulled up, you quickly said goodbye to your friends and began hurrying to him. You'd never been the girl who was in a rush to get back to her boyfriend. But fuck, you were so in love with this man.

Upon seeing you, he got out of the car - being the gentleman he is - planning to open your door for you. These simple acts of kindness was another thing about him you hadn't experienced with guys your own age. Once the door was opened and he turned back to face you, you crashed into him with a hug, swinging your arms around his neck. It was lucky he was not drunk because it was his hands on your waist that kept you upright.

"Careful, my girl." He cautioned, his eyes scanning over your face to gauge how drunk you were. The flush in your cheeks and your eyes not being as opened as they normally were combining with the frequent slow blinking gave him the answer he was looking for. What he wasn't expecting was for your face to contort into one of pain and for you to suddenly push him away with force.

He watched as you began moving so quick to turn and take a few steps away from him. "(Y/N) what-" He was cut off by the sound of you vomiting.

---

"Feeling better?" Byung-hun asked.

You were now sitting naked in the bathtub whilst your boyfriend held the showerhead in one hand and soap in the other, sitting on the edge of the bath. You'd wanted a shower when you got back but he was worried after you'd gotten sick so he insisted on doing this for you.

"Mhm." You nodded, you had your eyes closed and were enjoying the feeling of the warm water running over your body and the fresh smell of the soap ridding any smell of alcohol as he ran it along your skin. It wasn't all you were enjoying, you were also enjoying how nice it felt to be looked after. Which is exactly what he'd been doing all night.

When you vomited, he held your hair back and rubbed your back. Once you were done, he helped you into the car and did your seatbelt up for you. He kept his hand on your thigh through the drive, giving it a squeeze anytime you groaned and said something like "Why did I drink so much?" In a very whiny voice. Throughout the drive he was continuously opening and closing your window from the control panel on his door, anytime you asked for fresh air he happily pressed it down but once you screwed up your face and turned away from it claiming it was too much wind, he lifted the button. He had to do this many times, and did so patiently.

He sat you on the kitchen bench top when you got back and made you two slices of toast, at first you protested, still feeling ill from the alcohol but he knew you hadn't had anything to eat since drinking and that this would help to make you feel better. He stood between your legs and held up one of the pieces of toast to your mouth, telling you he'd give you a kiss for every bite. He laughed as you rolled your eyes and took a bite. "Good girl." He told you and then you giggled as he kept his promise and dotted kisses across your face and rubbed the outer part of your thighs as you ate the toast.

Then you ended up here, now being bathed by your boyfriend.

"All clean now, baby. Let's get you to bed." At the sound of Byung-hun's voice you opened your eyes to see him turning off the water and placing the showerhead back in it's place.

He smiled down at you and you smiled back but he could see how sleepy you were, your eyes barely able to stay open so he held out his hands, once again offering his help. You placed your hands in his and he helped you up before wrapping a towel around you quickly so you'd stay warm.

Once you were dried and dressed, you swore you had never been so happy to be in bed. "Oh my god, I love to be horizontal."

This made your boyfriend laugh. "Horizontal?"

"Yeah, look at me, I'm horizontal. I don't love anything as much I love being horizontal."

"What about me?"

His question had you snap your vision to him. If only this man knew how he set your heart on fire.

"Except for you."

"Come here." He told you as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in close so your body was flush against his. You fit so perfectly together.

"I mean it, you know?" You said, and your eyes welled up as you started to get a little overwhelmed by just how grateful you felt for him. The amount of alcohol you had drunk tonight only helped to intensify your emotions.

He noticed the wetness in your eyes and pulled you in tighter. "What's wrong?"

"I love you, I love you so much." You brought your arms around him this time and buried your face in his neck, clinging onto him.

"I love you too," He switched one of his hands to cradle the back of your head, his other rubbing circles over your back. "What's going on?" He was confused by the sudden outburst of emotion. "Are you okay?"

"Don't ever leave me, okay?"

"Hey," He called for your attention. "Let me see your face."

You brought your head up from it's hiding spot in his neck and met his gaze. "I'm not going anywhere." He reassured you, placing a kiss to your forehead before finding your eye contact again. "Okay?"

You nodded and offered him a smile, blinking away the tears that had built up momentarily. "I've never had anything this good, I can't lose you."

"You won't." He pulled you in tight once more and you relaxed into him. "Close your eyes now, baby. You need a good sleep."

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (vii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal.

A/N: hello. i am late again. i almost gave up but we are here. for better or for worse. i will most likely go back ad edit the second half again ok love u guys mwahmwah

Previous part || Series masterlist

Only after hours, nay, a full day of hunching over his desk, eyes red-rimmed and burning, four crushed cans of energy drinks next to him lending to him the nervous energy of a chihuahua, Bucky realises that there’s no beating it.

He absentmindedly takes another sip of the RedBull, flinching when the taste registers. Either he’d reached his threshold or the medicine flavour had begun morphing into something else entirely. The caffeine didn’t even work on him, so really, he was just placebo-ing himself into having energy. 

Every site he’s visited has had a vastly different interpretation; ones that don't match what he thinks has been happening, or the context past his past provides. Others are simply blatantly wrong based on the additional research he, in his infinite wisdom and totally accurate self-assessment tendencies, has been gathering in the last 3 days. 

The Star. Six of Cups. The Hanged Man.

Bucky knows he could ask someone in real life about this, someone who possibly had more experience than a simple website whose code broke every time he tried to scroll to the bottom. However, that would mean that he had to tell them his dead sister was probably haunting him out of her spite and hatred for the very fibres of his being.

Also, Bucky may be haunted by his dead relatives, but he’s not haunted enough to actually leave his room over it. 

Video consultations were also an option, but he’s convinced that if word got out that Bucky Barnes was half-convinced ghosts were following him around, it would make headlines for a mighty long week. 

Therefore, he resorts to shady, online websites that demand he pay up before giving him the results of the readings they’ve done for him. 

The “lady” that he paid to talk to using Steve’s credit card on mistytarot.com types for a very long time before a message comes through.

The thought bubble disappears for another half an hour, and Bucky thinks hat either she is a complete scam, or it’s run by someone who is about as technologically proficient as Steve was. 

But a message does in fact come through, and it’s enough to have him be covninced that the 20 bucks he blew on Steve’s card was worth it. 

Lady Lilia 

Considering that you think you’re being haunted, The Star could represent the absence of hope. Do you feel like you’re being trapped in darkness? As if you are being abandoned by the universe and with no room for healing?

B. Barneswell i forgot about it until now

Lady Lilia If your sister passed away a long time ago, the reason The Six of Cups may have presented itself is because you may be feeling like you're ensnared in the past, constantly reliving moments that hurt or confuse you, rather than finding peace. 

A frown grows on his face. 

Lady Lilia If you’re haunted by a person who used to be in your life and it is reminding you of past mistakes, The Hanged Man could be because feel like you're stuck in a cycle of stagnation, unable to move forward, as if these spirits are keeping you suspended in a state of emotional paralysis. 

However, if the cards were upright–

Bucky slams the laptop shut, inhaling and exhaling sharply through his nose.

From the corner of his eye, his phone lights up with the fifth missed call in the last ten minutes, but considering that he keeps that thing on silent, he never even noticed.

Shoving aside whatever he may be thinking for the moment, he checks the caller ID, only for feelings of confusion and despair to be immediately replaced with annoyance, or disgust even. 

He calls back anyway, preparing for the worst. 

“Did you drink all my RedBull?” Clint booms the second he picks up.

“No,” Bucky lies smoothly.

“Fucker, I know it was you. Pay me back. With interest.”

“No.”

Clint switches to whining. “You know I need that shit to stay awake at night. Some of us don’t have superhero cocaine in our system.”

“I don’t care, go to sleep at a normal hour.”

“Say, did you drink every last one?” Clint instantly switches to a curious tone for a second. “Because one of them’s not like the others.”

Bucky looks at the cans that littered his bedroom floor. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you what it is over the phone.”  

“Why?” 

“Let’s just say it’s not exactly allowed in the country, but–”

Bucky cuts the call and tosses it onto the bed. 

He runs a hand through his hair, softly exhaling while contemplating whether or not to continue the chat. Steve wouldn’t miss another 20 dollars, he had the wealth of a small prince with all that army back pay bullshit. In fact, Steve should ideally be funding more of Bucky’s endeavours. 

There comes a knock at his door.

Bucky immediately leaps off the bed, sprinting to the door, because he fuckin knows that knock, goddamn it–

He throws open the door before you get the chance to full body slam against it.

“Oh.” You blink, relaxing away from your stance. “Hey. How’d you know–”

“You do this every week,” he breaks in. “You do this multiple times a day.” 

“Don’t you dare say I’m predictable,” you warn, raising a finger. “I’ll start crying right here, then you’ll have to deal with that. You wanna see snot running down my–”

Bucky slams the door shut again, waiting to turn around. 

“Can you take me to the doctor?” Your voice is muffled through the solid wood.

It’s enough to make him hesitate, hand on the doorknob.

“What’s wrong with you?” he inquires.. 

“Nothing, I’m perfect,” you reply instinctively, before course correcting, “Wait, no, I’m sick.”  

He lets his head drop against the door. “Go to the fucking infirmary.”

“The infirmary told me to go to the hospital. Can you just take me?” you bug. “They won’t discharge me unless I have someone with me to drive me back.”

“You have a head injury?” Bucky asks, before following it with, “Actually, that tracks.”

“Rude.” 

“Ask Nat.”

“Nat’s in Lagos.”

“Ask Sam.” 

“Yoga.”

“Clint.”

“Really.”

“Glad to know I’m your first choice,” he mumbles, opening up the door. 

You send him a blistering smile. “You’re my favourite choice.” 

______

“You gotta take this turn,” you instruct, too close to the actual crossing. 

“The nearest hospital’s five minutes away, what the hell are you talking about?“ he points out, eyes on the road. 

“We’re going to the one on King’s Road,” you read off of Google maps. “Take that lef-– well, you missed that. Now you gotta make a u-turn.”

“What’s the problem with Chastain Park?” he demands. “King’s Road is half an hour away.”

“This one’s got all my files,” you insist. “Otherwise I gotta start over and it's so much effort.”

“Aren’t you in a database?”

“Yeah, but not a medical one.”

Bucky lets out something akin to a growl and a groan. “What's the time?”

“Like eight thirty?”

“What’s the time,” he emphasises, because he most definitely had another email due from another lady on the internet who he had sent his cards to a few hours ago. 

“Fine, it’s eight twenty two,” you shoot back.  “Did that make a big difference?”

“Yeah, it did actually,” he fires indignantly, “My life is radically different. You have no way of knowing.”

“Liar. You’re a lying liar, who lies.” You scoff. “And details are for losers.”

“Losers can drive all the way back to drop you off at the infirmary and let them deal with you.”

You relent, flashing him a grin. “This won’t take long.”

“You say this every fuckin’ time,” he groans, before complying and taking a u-turn anyway.

“You’re fucking joking,” he states. 

“No, it’s actually called lying,” you correct casually.  

“Is this an abandoned hospital? What the fuck?” Bucky asks, staring up at the huge decaying building.  

The outside looks run-down, with cracked, weathered brick walls and broken windows. The entrance is blocked off with rusted gates, some sections of which have fallen over. As the car rolls up, the air is thick with a musty, damp smell, mixed with a faint odor of decay.

“Yes,” you say simply, opening the trunk of the car and pulling out all the supplies you had from last time. “Video time. Let’s go.”

“You didn’t have to lie,” Bucky mumbles. “I’d have showed up.”

You give him a deadpan look. “You famously never do.”

That’s fair, but also, that was the old Bucky. The new Bucky circa this week is a bit more… invested. He feels the need to gather some more information, and unfortunately, the only opportunity to do that is here.

So for the time being, he decides he will hang on. For purely selfish reasons. 

“Just tell me next time,” he grunts. 

You observe him for a second like you're about to call him out on something, but instead you simply say, “Okay.”

Bucky grabs his usual stuff– the spirit box, a lapel mic, while you levitate the camera. 

“Hello?”

You both look beyond the camera at the same time to someone stalking up to you.

“Who’s there?” demands a middle aged woman with straw blonde hair, wrinkles decorating sunburnt skin, and a navy blue jacket. 

“Uh–”

“Who are you?” she asks, cautiously stopping a few feet away.  

“We’re here on a video shoot,” you inform. “Just wanted to check the place out.”

“Oh, you’re one of them camera folk,” she says, ponting her flashlight at you. “Those ghost hutner types.”

“That’s us,” you agree, flinching from the bright light. “We're from The Graveyard Shift.”

“Who are you?” Bucky cuts in, because why should only the both of you explain. 

“I’ve been working security here for the last thirty years.” She shines her flashlight at the musty place. “Name’s Brenda.”

“Why does an abandoned hospital need a security guard?” Bucky inquires. 

“Management just underwent a shift. White collars are setting up a mall here, so they bought up the whole place, fired everyone and now they’re gonna build an all year ski world or something in there.” There’s a tick in her jaw as she draws it out. “Whole damn place is cursed. They better hope it only burns down.”

“Okay,” you drag out, giving Bucky a sideways glance. “Anyway, we’re gonna go check out the place. See if we can find some ghosts.”

“Oh, you’ll see ‘em, alright. Everyone who was collateral damage in the buyout is still in there.” Her voice is distant, arm coming to rest on her hip.  “You’ll have to hit up specific rooms. Y’all got a floorplan?”

“No, figured we’d just wing it.” You pause. “Hospital wing it.”

“Shut up,” Bucky replies on instinct. 

“You’re gonna be spending a lot of time in there if y’all dont know where youre’ heading. It’s a maze,” she continues, ignoring your brilliant joke. “I can show you the rooms, but I can’t guarantee that it has ghosts in there.”  

“Uhhh—” you begin. 

“It’ll cut down your time in half.”

“Deal,” Bucky says immediately, sticking out his hand for a shake.

Brenda sticks out her hand too, only to wince immediately, following it up with a curse.

“What’s wrong?” you interject.

“Damn back’s killing me,” she mutters. “You’d think death would stop the pain, but it’s not let up yet. Come on then.”

Both of your eyebrows knit together at her statement, but she leaves no room for a reply as she marches inward, one hand on the small of her spine. 

Bucky elects to use his phone flashlight, as if he keeps that shit charged above 40% at any given point of time. If anything is not going to make it out of the night alive, it was that thing. 

The air inside is stale and heavy, filled with the scent of mildew and old, rusted metal. All three of your footsteps echo in the silence, reverberating through empty halls with each cautious step. The moonlight  in conjunction with the flashlight casts long, unsettling shadows. The faint taste of dust lingers in the back of Bucky’s throat that he cannot get rid of. 

“Y’all gonna sleep in here tonight?” Brenda pipes up, swinging her flashlight around.

You look at Bucky with a grin that’s alarming.

His face immediately pulls into one of “What the fuck”

“No, we aren’t,” you announce instead. “But do people do that often?”

“You’d be surprised,” she comments. “You’re not the first folks we’ve had here with those fancy shmancy gadgets.”

“That explains how you have a tour all planned.” 

“We get a bunch of you every couple of months.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Bucky cuts in.

She pays him no need. “Y’all run a podcast?”

Bucky looks personally affronted. “No, we do not.”

“We run a YouTube channel,” you offer instead. “It’s for ghosts and stuff.”

“I see,” she considers, tone thoughtful. “So, this will go up online?” 

“Unfortunately,” Bucky murmurs.

“Have you caught ghosts before?”

“Not even one–”

“Several,” you chirp. “And we have a witch cat. Her name’s Alpine.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. “Since when is her name Alpine?”

“I gave her a bunch of options and she told me she liked that best.”

“The cat can’t talk.”

“To you. She and I chat shit everyday,” you dish back. “She hates that stupid fern in your room, she says it smells.”

That fucking fern was not even his idea. But Sam got it for him when he moved in, so there was a zero percent chance it would be leaving any time soon. 

“Tell her to fuck off.”

“Y’all got a large following?” Brenda interrupts.

“Building towards it.” You look at her before looking at Bucky. “Once we hit a sizable amount and Bucky becomes an official internet boyfriend, we’ll stop the series.”

He sends you a withering look. “We’ll be doing this till I die.”

“Nonsense, everyone loves you,” you dismiss. “You’re a pretty boy and extremely irritable. They think you’re hilarious.”

 His nose twitches, and he feels the need to clear his throat. 

“Your camera records ghosts?” Brenda asks again. 

“We’ve got a bunch of devices. We’ll catch it,” you sound confident. 

“Great, because here’s the first stop,” she says, pressing her shoulder onto a double door.

The door groans as she pushes, its hinges protesting with a long, rusty screech, the cold metal heavy under her hand. A stale gust of air hits your face, carrying the faint smell of rot as the door finally gives way.

She steps back with a small huff, stretching her back with a small, “Shit.”

The pale blue walls had turned greenish, wallpaper peeling away. Counters were covered with a thin layer of dust. Old tools laid unused on the surgical table, once stainless steel but now rusted. 

“A lotta deaths happened in this operating theatre,” she imparts after a bout of stretching. “They thought this place was cursed for a while.” 

The sterile, tiled walls are cracked and chipped, and the old surgical lights hang dim, their bulbs long burned out. The air still lingers with antiseptic that’s long since turned sour.

Bucky feels a little too acquainted with this setting. 

He doesn’t even realise his silence is palpable until you nudge his side, drawing his attention sharply back to you. 

“You doin’ okay?” you whisper.  

“Fine,” he says, tearing his eyes away from the tools and towards you.

It only twists his stomach a little. It makes him think of how different his reactions used to be even a few years go. 

“Old, dingy hospitals may not have been the best idea,” you admit to him, using the flashlight to shine a light in the corner. 

It occurs to him a second later once he forces himself to compartmentalise. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice low. 

“Yeah,” you reply, slowly looking around. “Just looks like my nursery.”

A small crease forms between his eyebrows. 

“Not gonna lie, mine was way prettier. Lot more mould on the walls,” you continue, tone light. “You know, timeless decor.”

His nose lets out a small exhale in the form of a laugh. “Leviathan not into blood stain wallpaper?”

“Couldn’t afford it. Fuckin’ place kept referring to itself as Hydra’s sister org but had none of the budget,” you say, swiping a finger across the dust. “You’d think that at least some of the people that left would give alumni donations, but no.”

Bucky snickers at jokes literally no one else would laugh at. It feels good for once, not to feel the need to censor himself to make others less uncomfortable. 

You take a step forward, camera following behind you. 

You shine the flashlight around the room, noting all the surgical trays piled together. 

But something flashes on the ceiling. 

You swing your flashlight toward it immediately, only for the table beside you a few inches away to start rolling, making a loud whining noise as it did, snapping your attention towards it.  

By the time you finally bring the light back up towards the ceiling, it’s gone. 

“What the–” you mumble. 

“What?” Bucky asks, looking up from where he was scrolling through his phone. 

“Could’a sworn I saw–” you frown at the empty space now, only an old defunct looking camera staring back at you. 

“Red eyes?” Brenda inquires, looking at you. “Yeah, that happens.”

Bucky glances up at you, and then the wall. “Probably just the lens glare.”

You scrunch up your face at her. “How’d you know it was red eyes?” 

“That’d be the spirit of ol’ Doctor Damon, chief of neuro,” she says. “You’ll find him here or his cabin, but that’s a few floors away. He never liked climbing the stairs.” 

“Right,” Bucky acknowledges monotonously. 

“When he worked here, he spent so long in surgery that his eyes were always bloodshot. One day he just dropped dead from exhaustion,” Brenda explains. “So his spirit walks around here, red eyes, wheeling surgery tables waiting for the next patient.”

“What’s he doing on the ceiling?” Bucky questions, going back to his phone. “He did his surgeries suspended midair?” 

“Are you trying to gatekeep the ceiling?” you scoff. “Have you never seen Spiderman hanging upside down for fun?” 

Bucky finally lifts his sight from the phone. “The doctor is not an insect superhero, he would have no reason to be hanging upside down–”

“How would you know if he’s a superhero or not? What if he was bitten by a bat?” you challenge. “Like a bat…guy. Batman.”

He jeers. “Then he’s got a stupid codename.”

“Oh, and Captain America is poetic genius.”

“At least Sam has a codename, where’s yours?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe you should have paid attention when your mother was screaming it las-”

“Shall we move on?” Brenda asks calmly. 

“Yes,” the both of you reply simultaneously. 

She doesn’t even bother looking at you, almost as if she’d seen it all in her lifetime. 

“Besides, sometimes you can see him sitting on one of the operating tables. He doesn’t just hang out on the ceiling like… bat…man,” she explains, leading the way back out. 

“See?” 

“See what?” you ask. 

“Nothing,” he replies. “There’s nothing to see. That’s the fuckin’ point.”

You shove him lightly. 

Bucky bites back a grin.

_____

The morgue is silent. 

The ceiling is low and chipped, streaked with stains of old water damage, the paint fallen away in patches. 

Against one wall, old, disused morgue drawers stand open and half-broken, the once-sleek stainless steel now speckled with rust. Some of the drawers are bent out of shape, while others are stuck, sealed tight from years of neglect. Inside some of the open drawers, tattered, yellowed tags hang loosely from the handles, swaying gently as the chill air moves through the room.

“This room’s self explanatory,” she says. “Sometimes, you can hear spirits still trying to claw their way out of the drawers but they never open.”

“Skill issue,” Bucky mumbles under his breath.

“Shut up, oh my God,” you whisper-yell, still mouth pulling into a thin line to stop from laughing. 

“What?” Brenda asks, suddenly from near the drawers. 

You had no idea when she even went there. 

“Nothing,” you reply, before thoughtfully asking, “Bucky, truth or dare?”

“No.”

“Dare it is.” You shine a flashlight at one of the closed drawers. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you get in one of them for a few seconds. Let’s see if the ghosts come at you.”

“You're deranged,” he replies, incredulous. 

“It’s for science,” you insist. “How else will you know for sure?”

“I’m sure it’ll be comfortable,” Brenda quips. “Like a coffin.”

The both of you look at her together in silence.

She shrugs. “It’s what I’ve heard from them.” 

You look at her for a second more, before turning to Bucky. “Anyway, if you want I’ll come lie in there with you.”

“How does that make it better?” he exclaims. “I am not lying in the morgue.”

“Even if I’m in there with you?”

“That’s even worse–”

There’s a loud knock from one of the drawers on Brenda’s side. She looks down at it, almost like she was expecting it. Soon, there are further loud thuds that come from inside the remaining drawers. 

“Hey, Magda,” she calls, before more knocks come from inside. “You’ve got visitors. Say hello.”

You grab the spirit box from behind Bucky’s ear and hold it in the direction of the wall. Nothing registers.

“Animals,” he answers the question hanging in the air calmly. 

“The spirits?” Brenda replies. “They’re not gonna like that.”

Sure enough, a few of the drawers start rattling on their own accord.

You look at Bucky with an eyebrow raised.

“What?” he carps. “I’m not gonna go lie down in there, if that’s what you want.”

“Come on, take one for the team,” you whine. 

“You take one for the team.” 

“I’m literally the one pulling all the weight around here. You do it.”

Bucky doesn’t agree with you on the last part, but the first one is undisputably right. He makes a mental note to start contributing a fuckton more if he plans on continuing on in the series. 

The rattling around comes to a halt eventually. 

“If none of you want to get in there, should we move to the next one?” Brenda points to the door. 

“Yes, please,” you confirm, sending Bucky a glare.

She leads the way up the stairs while you both follow, bickering and shoving lightly.

Once upstairs, Bucky glances down the hall, only to  see a large double door that is noticeably different from the rest you’ve seen so far. There’s a fading rainbow drawn on the front, little footsteps painted onto the floor leading towards it.

Bucky hesitates, steps faltering. “Is that the children’s ward?”

“Yes,” Brenda looks over her shoulder briefly. 

For a second, he wonders. Whether it was worth a shot. He hadn’t heard from her since the incident at the house, and the tarot cards have been suggesting nothing but reasons to believe she may actually be there.  

“Are we going to check that out?” he asks. 

“No, there’s nothing there,” she shrugs it off. “No spirits. I’ve asked the others too.” 

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. “Are you sure?”

You shoot him an odd look that he refuses to meet. 

“Yep. Next stop’s the other way.”

Bucky spares the doors another long look, before traversing down the hallway with you. 

“Why do you wanna go to the children’s ward?” you query, voice low. 

“Just thought it was worth checking out,” he replies, voice steady.  

“We can always make a run for it and go check.”

“No,” he says, giving you a curt shake of his head, “it’s alright.”

“We’re right down this way,” Brenda calls, turning a corner and disappearing out of sight.

“Coming!” you call back before spinning to Bucky. “Hey.”

“What?” he responds, moving at his own brisk pace. 

You tug him back with you with force. 

“What are you doing–’ he hisses.

You link your arm with Bucky’s, pulling him along with you as you walk, shutting him up. He eyes your elbow looped with his and the proximity with which you walked beside him and all of a sudden, the back of his neck feels quite warm, extending down to his chest.

“I think Brenda’s a ghost,” you tell him casually.

Bucky stops in his path, drawn very much back to reality. 

“Keep walking,” you grit through a smile. “I’m pretty sure she’s dead. Why else is she totally chill with the ghosts here-”

“Because there aren’t any. It’s animals.”

“Why is she saying coffins are comfortable? Why is she talking to the ghosts and knowing exactly where they are and aren’t?”

“I can make shit up too, look,” Bucky comments enthusiastically. “Oh, down the hall is the isolation room. You’ll hear heavy breathing because that’s where the tuberculosis patients were–”

“That’s one of the isolation rooms,” Brenda’s voice echoes down the hall. “It’s next up.”

You yank your arm away from Bucky when he blinks, a bit surprised himself. 

“Are you dead?” you whisper-yell.

“Only ‘cause the government declared it,” he sighs. “Do you know what a fuckin’ pain it is to get undead.” 

“Come on.” Brenda beckons to the both of you with her flashlight. 

With a slight shove, the door to the room swings open easily, but the smell of old paper and mildew floods your senses. 

The bed is now a rusted, sagging frame, the thin mattress long since torn and discolored with age. The once-clean sheets have yellowed and frayed, with remnants of old stains. Thin, brittle blankets lie in a heap on the floor.

The walls are bare, save for a few faded medical charts and broken instruments that were left behind in haste. The small window that once offered a faint glimpse of the outside is now cracked and filthy. The weak, filtered light that struggles through the dust-covered glass barely illuminates the room. 

“Patients who were highly contagious were quarantined here. Some of them died without family by their side, so you can still hear their cries. Some of them have problems breathing, so sometimes you’ll hear it through the vents,” Brenda explains. 

“I bet,” Bucky drags out, sending you a “I fuckin’ told you so” look.. 

Down the hall, something makes a loud sound, almost like something had crashed into the floor. 

All three of you turn towards it. 

Brenda’s face flickers for a moment before turning back to its regular calm. 

“I think someone’s angry,” she decides. “I’m gonna go check it out.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” you offer.

“I’ll be okay, I’ve known these people all my life. We’re friends,” she comforts. “Oh, sometimes if you look out the door, you’ll see shadows of people in the waiting room down the hall. They’re just old families lingering around, hoping for better results but they always leave upset.”

“Is there no way to get them out of here?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Unless you find a way to fix their disappointment, I doubt they'll leave. They’ll stick around until something improves or changes.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow at the implication. If that were truly the case, and not just something he concocted in the deep, self hating crevices of his mind, then he had to figure out which part of the fucked up mess that he was had pissed his sister off enough to come back to let him know she was disappointed. 

You nod at her and she nods, spinning on her heel to exit the room, but not before she stops for a second, hand on the doorframe as she catches her breath, and one hand on her spine.

“Are you okay?” you sound genuinely concerned.

She flashes you a thumbs up, leaving without so much as another word. 

“She’s gonna come back with some bullshit about the hospital canteen staff dropping their pans or some shit,” Bucky remarks.

“Yeah no, that was me. I just wanted her out of the room so we could discuss something,” you wave it off quickly. 

Bucky stares at you.

“What? I dropped a cart. It’s not a big deal. Anyway, listen–”

“She’s not a ghost,” he states resolutely.  

“But what if she is,” you insist, a wicked grin on your face. “Imagine saying we got a ghost tour. By a ghost.”

“I can imagine saying that, yes. I have a very wide and limitless imagination.” 

“Ugh, what if we’re meant to help her find her way back?” You peer over his shoulder to see if she’s walking back. 

In the distance another crash sounds through the empty hallways. Bucky stares at you.

“I’m just making sure, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone” you insist, dismissing it. 

“You could've just closed the door,” he says, extending one hand behind him to slide it closed.

“Don’t do that,” you blurt out.

He stops, eyebrow raised.  

“I don't like when doors are closed,” you shrug it off. “Anyway, back to the point. We should totally figure out how to help her exit this realm.”

He slides the door back open slowly, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“EVen if she were a ghost, which she’s not– she seems happy here. Maybe,” Bucky comments, taking a seat on the worn out bed. “I can’t really tell.”

“She can’t be. Imagine being forced to roam the same hallways over and over again till the end of time.” you shudder. “Sounds miserable.”

Bucky shrugs, poking at the pillow, watching a cloud of dust fly up from it. “Routine sounds fine to me.”

“I’d hate it,” you counter immediately. “I hate routines. Fucking inescapable once you get stuck in one.”

Bucky watches you curiously as you shift up and down the small room. “How do you get anything done?” 

“I can get things done without a routine.” The camera follows your command, checking outside the window or the door occasionally facing Bucky. “Why?”

“Just asking,” he replies, checking the time on his phone. It’d been a while since Brenda had gone to investigate.

“And having a routine totally makes you an easy target. Haven’t you watched any assassination movies?”

“No. I didn’t like bringing work home.”

You look at him in surprise before your face splits into a smile. 

Something makes a noise from the wall adjacent to the door. 

You both look at each other, and he gets off the bed to go see what the deal is. The door is adjacent to the wall, giving him a clear look into the hallway that was still empty. 

A faint wail sounds through the vent above his head. You take quick steps towards where he was, and the camera follows suit, pointing at the grill on the wall.

You stand underneath it, spirit box raised as close as you could get it, but the damn thing picks up nothing. 

Another noise comes through, almost like someone was wheezing, before the vent rattles, stopping altogether.

You stare at it, before taking a gigantic inhale and exhaling obnoxiously, forcing all the air out of your lungs with a wheeze. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bucky stares at you like you're insane. 

“Well, you can’t just back down,” you argue. “I’m gonna breathe louder than that thing.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles.

You give another gigantic inhale and exhale, rattling all the bones in your body, and the faint noise from the vent stops too. 

“We win,” you beam 

 “You’ve completely lost it.”

“Uh, no, I didn’t. I totally won.”

“That’s not what I–” Bucky starts but stops himself when you grin at him devilishly. 

He sighs, asking instead, “Should we go looking for her?” 

“I guess so,” you shrug. “We’re not exactly cut to be her saviours right now. I’m pretty sure she knows the layout of the hospital better than we do if she’s been haunting it for fifteen years.”

“Where did you get that number?” he demands. 

“Does it matter?” you urge. “Didn’t realise you’re a valid ghost only if you have a certain number of years in haunting.”

Bucky ignores you, taking off down the hall. 

“If you had to haunt a hospital or a ship, what would you choose?” you quip, matching his pace. 

“Hospital,” he answers without thinking much.

“Why?”

“I spent a lot of time in them,” he tells you, voice clear. “Steve’s mom was a nurse. We’d meet her there a lot when he got his ribs broken or his nose busted.”

The memory, though faint, is enough to pull a smile from him. 

“He also used to be sick a lot, so I used to come pick up his medicine for him,” he adds. “They used to know us by name because we’d be there nearly every second day.”

You exhale a small laugh. “Every hospital in the state of New York has a chart for Steve even now.”

“Fuckin’ guy just dosn’t learn.” Bucky shakes his head with affection-laced irritation. 

The hallways stretch out endlessly, dim and wide. A few doors line the walls, some ajar, revealing only darkness inside. The silence is unnerving, broken only by the soft sound of you and your footsteps.

Bucky looks over at you. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you hum, small smile still on your face. 

“What would you haunt?

“Ship, I guess,” you reply. “I’ve always wanted to be a pirate.”

“Should be your next job.”

“You gonna come with? We’ll turn it into a vlog.

“Fuck no.”

“Well, thanks for taking the time to really consider it,” you sing, not really offended. “Way to let me down gently, Barnes.”  

“What? It’s got nothin’ to do with you.” Bucky clarifies still, pausing before letting out, “I get seasick. Can’t be on water for more than five minutes before I’m throwing up all over the place. You want that in your vlog?”

It’s enough to elicit a laugh from you, that in turn makes the corner of his lip curl.

“We could always–

Right in front of him, something moves darts across the wall at the end of the hall.

It cuts you off mid-sentence too, the both of you glancing at each other before turning towards it again.

Against the glare of your flashlight, another shadow darts across the wall. 

“That’s what she was talking about,” you whisper, slightly in disbelief that she wasn't wrong. “Shadow people. Do you think they got to her?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, continuing to walk on ahead. 

“Um, hello?” you scramble to catch up with him. “Where is your self preservation?”

“Against what?” he asks stoically. 

“That,” you say pointedly at the wall, when another figure darts across the wall and disappears out of sight. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s a shadow, the fuck’s it gonna do?”

“Haven’t you heard of shadow demons? Succumbing to darkness?” you chastise. 

Bucky stops walking, standing solidly in the middle of the hallway.

“Okay,” he says, refusing to budge. 

The hall goes silent, no movement other than the steady rise and falls of your chest. 

You stare at him. “Now what.”

“I'm waiting for them to do something,” he says. “I’m waiting to succumb to the darkness.” 

“You’re so annoying,” you bite, dragging him along with you. “And I’m tired, we’ve been walking for like, eight hundred hours. Let’s go.”

“We’ve been here for two hours,” he reminds you, taking a turn into the corner that the shadows disappeared into. “You did this to yourself.”

“Fine, next time I’ll bring an electric scooter with me.” You huff. “And I won’t even let you use it.”

“Where’d Brenda fuckin’ go?” Bucky mumbles, eyes squinting into the darkness to see if there are any clues.

“Where are you guys going?” Someone pipes up from behind you, sending the hairs on his neck up. 

The both of you spin around instantly, arms clenched in a fighting stance. 

“Sorry, it's a habit to take the scenic route back.” She chuckles, unfazed. “Not a lot to do when you’ve been here so long.”

The both of you lower your hands slowly, letting out an exhale.

“Y’all ready to head out?” she inquires, coolly. “I think it’s time we all get some rest.” 

The walk back is relatively quicker, ater she leads you down a path she calls a shortcut. 

The only thing that slowls you down are the occasional stops you had to make for her back ache.

Right by the entrance of the hospital, she holds onto the door frame again in the midst of explaining who was haunting the basements. 

After a particularly hard exhale and a clamour to stand back up, Bucky awkwardly clears his throat to ask, “Have you tried this stretch?”

“What?” Brenda asks, eyes curious. 

“Learnt it in physio. Doesn’t cure it, but it helps,” he explains, craning his neck to the sides, before taking a step ahead towards her.  

You watch him in thinly veiled delight as he shows her exactly what joint to bend and in which angle, and the degree to which she had to pivot.

He even uncomfortably guides her shoulders in the strangest yoga session you’d ever witnessed. 

“Should help,” Bucky mumbles, taking a step away. 

She raises her shoulders and drops it, lips pursuing and bows raising in a look that seems impressed. The small hunch she carried wit her seems to have disappeared too. 

“Let’s go,” Bucky doesn’t wait for a thanks or anything, taking a step away from her and towards the exit. 

“Now that you’ve fixed her back ache, how do we fix her haunting the place?” you ask lowly. 

“She’s not a fuckin’ ghost, she’s fine,” he whispers back. 

“Nothing about what she’s said tonight is normal,” you argue.

The night is clear and cool when you step out, the musty scent of the building dissipating almost immediately.

“Just say bye, we’re fuckin’ leaving,” Bucky shoots. 

You sigh loudly, giving him a glare at his lack of helpfulness before plastering a smile on your face and turning around. 

“Well, thanks for everything, Brenda,” you say, turning around to stick your hand out. “We sure couldn’t have–”

But she’s gone.

“Holy shit,” you say. 

Bucky looks over his shoulder at the disturbance, before turning around fully. “Oh, fuck off.”

“I told you she was a ghost,” you gush. “You fixed her back ache and now she has crossed over to the other side.”

“Shut up,” he replies, looking all over the place for a sign of where she could have disappeared to. 

“You did it, Bucky, you helped a lonely spirit,” you cheer. 

“I did not.”

“Hey!” Someone shouts from afar, commanding your attention to the gate again. 

“Not again,” Bucky mumbles, eyes snapping shut. 

“More ghosts,” you point out excitedly. “Come on, Charon, ferry those spirits–”

“You ferry your own spirits, I’m going to sleep,” he interjects, fully intending on ignoring the person at the gate and simply getting in the car.

“What are you guys doing here?” A man pants, jogging up to the both of you before Bucky had the time to leave. 

“We were just taking a look around,” you say, sticking your hand out, much to Bucky’s displeasure. “We heard the place was haunted.”

“Ah, I see,” he replies, taking in your appearance. “Podcasters?”

“No,” Bucky replies instantly. 

“We were just leaving,” you cut in. “We already got a tour by this ghost, and Bucky totally sent her to the afterlife.”

“I did not,” he seethes. 

“She disappeared after saying ominous shit this entire evening, what do you call that?” you challenge. 

“Going home,” Bucky responds, frustrated that he was clearly not afforded the same privilege.  

“Uh–” the guy holds up his finger. “--not to intrude, but you got a tour by a ghost?”

“Yes,” you bubble over with excitement. 

“And this ghost… did they have a backache?”

Bucky’s interest piques, the irritation giving way to intrigue . 

“You know her?” you puzzle.

“Uh yeah, that’s Brenda,” he admits sheepishly. “She’s very much alive.”

Bucky would have sworn he had never been this elated in his life, but unfortunately he realises very quickly that he simply does not care.  

 “She said she was a security guard here– wait, who are you?”  you tilt your head at him, seemingly not upset at all. It reduces Bucky’s non-existent triumph even more. 

“Travis Dowell, Labyrinth Inc. representative,” he says, shaking your hand. “We’re–”

“--the company that bought the place,” you complete, eyebrow raised.  

“Yeah.” He nods. “Brenda was a security guard here for nearly thirty years. We had to let go of her when we bought the hospital. We’ve been trying to turn it into an apartment for years, but there’s a lot of red tape that we have to get past because of healthcare reasons.”

“Yeah, she told us that it got bought,” you follow along. 

“Hospital was in the worst financial situation possible. There was just no way out.” He shrugs. “But she was super attached to this place. She didn’t take the redevelopment plans well, so she’s taken it upon herself to make sure it never happens, I guess? I don’t know, she spends a lot of time here convincing people that it’s haunted so that people don’t build anything here. She’s got an apartment close by so she knows when someone’s around. You’ll probably find her there, if you want.”

“You guys know about her?” Bucky questions, crease between his eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah, we do,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “We sorta ignore her. Her schtick’s annoying, but it’s not the reason we haven’t demolished this place yet. Once all the zoning issues get cleared up, the building’s coming down. And besides, all the PR’s just gonna have people pay a shit ton to stay here. You know, novelty of it being haunted, and all that.” 

“How’d you know we were here?” you ask pointedly. 

“We’ve set up motion sensors in the place?” he replies. “You may have seen them. The red lights in the operation rooms. We know she takes people there.”

“Oh, that’s what that was,” you turn to Bucky who simply shakes his head lightly. 

“Yeah, she really goes the extra mile.” Travis shifts from one leg to the other. “There’s raccoons in the morgue that start running around if she hits the door. What else… oh yeah, she’s made a hole in one of the isolation rooms to make noises through the wall.”

Bucky wonders what will happen of all the footage now that none of it was essentially real. It made sense why she kept trying to find out where the video was going to be posted and how many people were going to view it now, as if a large number of views were going to save her beloved building. 

“So you’ll just let her do whatever until the demolition happens?” you question. 

“If it gets her to stop vandalising our office downtown.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t make a difference to us either way.”

“Right. So the real horror…” you say. “...is capitalism.”

Travis stares at you, before raising and dropping his shoulders. “Sure.”

“Alright.” You blow out an exhale. “Well, was anything about tonight real?”

“I mean, she really does have back pain,” he adds helpfully.

You turn to Bucky. “Net positive, then.”

Sure. Why the fuck not.

“Okay, Travis, thanks for this. You’ve been an immense help,” you say aloud, hoisting the camera onto your shoulders. “You can watch us on The Graveyard Shift, if we can figure out what to do with all these videos now.”

“Sorry about that,” he replies, shoving his fists into his pocket. “Good night.”

You watch as he turns and jogs away to his car that was parked a bit closer to the gate than yours was. 

Bucky plucks the camera off your shoulder and places it under his arm, even though he’s well aware you can carry fifteen of them at once.

“That was fun,” you tell him, seemingly over it already. 

“I’m fuckin’ starving,” he replies. 

Bucky should be glad then, that he didn’t bother with the children’s ward, if nothing about tonight was real–

“Travis, wait,” you shout all of a sudden. “What about the shadows?” 

“What shadows?” he calls back, confused. 

“The shadow people moving across the hall from the isolation room?”

He raises his eyebrows. “We haven't heard reports of that.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky mumbles.

“Hell yeah,” you reply, knocking into his shoulder. “Haunted hospital, baby.”

When you walk into the dining room, you don’t really expect anyone to be there that late at night.

But fiery red hair pulled into a ponytail and an oversized t-shirt perched at the kitchen counter catches you off guard, dulling the arguing between you and Bucky as you argue the logistics of Brenda having a hand in the shadow demons. 

“Took you guys long enough,” Nat keeps her mug down on the counter before hopping off the chair. You note that it’s the same one you got her a few weeks ago from the flea market, the blue ceramic one.

“Oh, hi!” you smile wide, when she pulls you into a hug. “I thought you were in Lagos.”

“I was,” she replies, pulling away. “Got done early.”

“Of course you did. Overachiever.”

In the end of the common room, Bucky can hear the faint sounds of late night infomercials play through the TV. Clint’s legs hung off the couch as he lay snoring in front of it, blanket dropped on the floor in a heap. 

“Hot chocolate?” she offers. 

“I’m good, we went to the drive-through before coming back.” You beckon with your shoulder towards Bucky. 

She finally turns to him. “Hey.”

Bucky gives her a curt nod, glad that she’s back safe. 

“Why were you out so late?” She gives him a onceover, before raising an eyebrow. “Together.”

“Hospital date.”

“Video shoot,” he says at the same time, glaring at you. You shrug. 

Nat’s lip trails up into a smirk. “Put on your big boy pants and finally admit your crush?”

Bucky drags a palm down his face. “I do not have a crush.”

“If you say so,” she concedes innocently, eyeing him over the rim of her hot chocolate.  

“Are you all in on this? Do you have a quota to reach?” he groans. “Why’s everyone asking me this?”

“Who is ‘everyone’?” you sound delighted. 

“If you don’t want people to call you out on our shit, maybe don’t walk around with heart eyes,” Nat comments.  

Buck’s look is ice cold, but Nat just gives him a wink when you laugh. 

“Hey, I needed to talk to you about something.” She turns to you. “You free for a second?”

“Always,” you reply in earnest. 

Nat leads you a few steps away, hand on your shoulder.  

Bucky takes his seat at the counter, stealing a sip from Nat’s mug. Of course, it was fantastic. Overachiever.

He tunes out intentionally, focusing on the fact that Clint was splayed out on the couch with the TV on a low volume. He knows for a fact the blonde was asleep, and probably would wake up with the worst neck pain in his life, but this was the life he chose.

After watching Clint nearly fall off the couch twice, he looks away, not intending on prying on your conversation but vaguely watching the interaction out of the corner of his eye.

He frowns at what he sees. Nat’s face has turned solemn while she talks to you in hushed tones. Your eyebrows were pulled together, arms crossed over your chest. 

Bucky feels a shift in the air, but he’s not sure what exactly has gone down. 

Nat finally tells you something surely, and you nod. She cups the side of your face and you force out a smile at her, before her hand drops.

The both of you make your way back to him. He turns his gaze back to the counter. 

“You owe me a hot chocolate,” Nat tells him, before giving him a quick kiss on the temple and stealing her cup right back. 

“I barely drank any,” he retorts, eyes still trained on you.

The TV clicks off and she drags a half asleep Clint back down the hall to his bedroom while the man rubbed at his shoulders, trailing behind her obediently. 

Meanwhile, you grab a glass of water from the tap, drinking it slowly as you head towards the elevator.

“G’night, Buck,” you tell him, passing by him.

“Hold on,” he says, voice less gruff than before as he watches you, face tight, “What’s going on?

You observe him for a few long seconds, but he gets the sense you aren’t exactly looking at him. Your eyes are slightly glazed over, and your mind is… elsewhere. 

“What do you do when people refuse to let go of something you’ve already escaped?” you ask finally.  

“What do you mean?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together tighter.  

“Do you feel like everyone’s eyes are on you?” you say, voice strange. “Like there’s nowhere to go?”

“Where is this coming from? What’d Nat tell you?”

It seems to snap you out of whatever funk you were in, at least partially. “It’s probably nothing.”

His frown only deepens. “Is someone threatening you?”

“No, nothing like that.” You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s gonna be fine.” 

Bucky stares after you as you press the button to the elevator. He isn’t really sure what to make of the what you just shared. He isn’t even sure he should ask Nat about it later on considering that she didn’t want him listening in now. 

He watches the light above the elevator light up before a ding sounds through. 

“Just so you know–”  

Bucky’s eyes snap back to you, one step in the elevator. 

“I had a codename, too,” you tell him. “I just never liked it.”

Bucky is only left staring as you disappear into the elevator, leaving him in silence. 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

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Next part

[mattsjuul]

GRAVITY. chris sturniolo

༣ summary: chris is on tour and misses his girlfriend .ᐟ ♡

༣ pairing: clingy!reader & tour!chris

༣ warnings: suggestive, just a cute lil oneshot tbh, pet names ( i think only one tho ), long distance ???? idk

༣ authors note ♡: ok i rlly didnt know what to do for this tbh i js wanted to write for chris lol!!!! this MIIIGHT get a pt 2 tho. so twoshot!

you stand in your kitchen, your mind constantly filled with thoughts of your boyfriend while he's off on tour. is he sleeping? maybe he's eating something. i hope he's enjoying it. is he gonna call me? isnt he in new york? thats three hours ahead. three whole hours. so if its six pm here then its... seven... eight.. nine. nine pm there? so is he asleep? i dont know if tour's got him sleepy. gosh. can he call me? i bet he looks so good right now. fuck. then your thoughts are interrupted by a very specific text tone. it's chris! "Hey" "R u busy imy" you read, causing you to almost start jumping for joy in front of your open fridge. although you do a little squeal instead. "definitely not" "call me im begging" you reply. "I like that" he replies, making you giggle to yourself. seconds later, your screen lights up with a picture of chris with a big smile holding your dear friend, madison, 's cat.

"well hellloooo" you answer with a smile far too big. "hey sexy" he smiles back just as much. "i've been waiting for this call" you admit. "yeah? you been thinking about me?" he asks in a cocky tone. but it was lowkey doing things to you. well. highkey. "you'd like that wouldnt you?" you ask. "yeah." he proudly says. "i was actually about to rub one out since im alone. show me your tits" he jokes. "don't tempt me" you giggle. "i mean.. you're free to do whatever you want. you're an adult with free will in your own home" he babbles on. you take a deep breath, honestly debating it. why not? he's seen them pleennttyy of times. more so, touched them plenty of times.

"ya' know." he interrupts your debating. "i've had lots of time to think. especially to think about you. and ya' know, we're never really apart for longer then a week. and it's made me realize that you really hold me down. i feel like i need at least one night with you every week to function. not like night.. i mean one sleep. i feel like it's made me sleep not so well. is that crazy? i'm not making sense. but then also, it'll be like 10 am here and i'll argue with nick or matt and i cant run to you. you'd be asleep and i dont want you to be upset the moment you wake up. i hate this seperation. i hate making you wait.. like what if you stop liking me before i get back. fuck. you're not hanging out with that actor guy you like, right?" he goes ooonnn n on. well boobs wouldnt be too appropriate right now. "okay.. no" you reply for starters. "and i dont think it's crazy. i get it. but you're veeeryyy cute for thinking all this. i love you chris. i miss you so much." i say. "i love you. can i see your boobs?" he asks, a giggle escaping your lips at his very stupid words.

yet you lift your top up, getting a shocked look from chris. "oh.. i like those.. a lot." he says, a big smile on your face as you shake 'em a little. "just.. stay there for a second" he says, seeing him moving around, clearly pulling his sweats down. "join me, yeah?"

a/n: ohhhhh em geeee.... idk if i like this tbh lol. but lmk if u want a part two w phone sex hehe. im sorry its so so short sad face.. i actually rlly liked writing this tho idk. yaaay hope u like :') ♡ lmk if there r any mistakes pls i didnt proof read!!!!!! (im in class..) 🐻‍❄️

[miruac]

dating osamu miya - headcanons

masterlist

navigation

warnings: not proofread, extremely self indulgent, minor atsumu cameo, word vomit. disgusting word vomit.

a/n: guys why are we making fun of osamu for liking food...i think its cute...that means hes a chub hub and his love language is probably acts of service also i go feral for slight chub <3

in highschool he acts like he didnt care

the typical stoic guy nonchalant guy

but when it came to you? EHEHEHE HE HAD A LITTLE BLUSH ON HIS FACE

the first time you guys saw each other was after an assembly

you were cleaning up, and coincidentally it was the end of the day

tsumu and osamu were racing to see who enters the gym first and ended up fighting...

tsumu THREW osamu and he landed at your feet...you literally had to nudge him w/ur foot to see if he was still alive

he gave you the nastiest side eye bc he thought you were atsumu 😭

but when he realized you weren't he got up so fast and apologized so quickly

ok moving on i rambled 2 much

during the talking stage he's still a little quiet

like he just listens but he remembers everything

you said you liked how his bento box looked?

he got it for you

you said you use only a certain type of pencil/pen because you like how smooth it is?

he got it for you

everyone writes osamu as if he hogs his lunch but its his lunch!!! he has a right to!!! its his food!!!

he always packs a little extra just for you to have </3

atsumus starts wondering why the food in the house disappears so fast but when he saw you and osamu he immediately understood

you frequented the convenience store down the street, whenever it was during your lunch break of after practice

if osamu had to rank onigiri, it would be his moms and then the convenience store

and that says smth knowing how picky his tastes are...

during games you'd be on the edge of your seat

ok this may be ooc but i literally see him mouthing 'this is for you' before he serves and he winks in your direction

I THINK THATS FUNNY YOU GUYS

surprisingly he didnt miss

atsumu teased the HELL out of him

would always walk you home even if it was out of his way

literally wouldn't leave until he saw you go inside HES SO PROTECTIVE

speaking of protective it deffo helps he's actually six feet not like those posers

will tower over you and any guy who even dares approach you like oh hes behind you? everybody RUNS

his mom LOVES YOU

shes not like those stereotypical boy mothers like she does care for the twins but isnt OVERBEARING

hc that he hugs his mother whenever he comes home after a long day </333 nothing is more comforting than a motherly hug

his mom gives you that same hug WAHHH SHES SO WARM AND CUTE I LOVE MAMA MIYA(hey sounds like mamma mia)

osamu invited you over bc you two had to study and she got so GIDDY LIKE HER SON ISNT BITCHLESS

she cooked up a FEAST that night

and know you know where osamu got his cooking skills from

the entire time atsumu was silent but he was lowk sulking that he got kicked out of his room and no one paid attention to him that night.....

is clingy

he is CLINGY

his love languages are quality time, acts of service, and physical touch

if hes tired or down in the dumps he'll literally slump over on you

he NEEDS to have a hand on you whenever you're together

even if its like as minimal as you guys linking legs when youre sitting on the couch together that satisfies him enough

my shayla....my shayla </3

-----------------------------------------------------------

...guys. GUYS. HI!!! im back!!! sorry its been so long, i've actually been so busy with exams and post secondary stuff 😭😭 just recently started rewatching haikyuu during winter break and im back on my osamu brainrot BUT EHEHHEHE HERE WE GO!!!! I HOPE U GUYS LIKE THIS ONE

[aangarchy]

Ok but the fact aang is a child. And thinks u have to forgive someone who killed ur family. I bet Monk gyatso and the others were rolling in their graves devastated they can't ever tell Aang the real deal that he would've been told when he got older.

Monk gyatso probably: NO AANG. ITS JUST ABT LETTING GO

Ah, yet another shining example of someone who missed the entire point of the show.

If you think monk Gyatso would be "rolling in his grave" (which he doesn't even have, and i'm pretty sure air nomads don't do graves anyway) to see Aang grant Ozai mercy, you have completely misunderstood what air nomad culture represents. Air is the element of freedom. Yes, it's about letting go, not having any attachments. But not having attachments also means letting go of your feelings of hatred, letting go of grudges, and not letting your feelings consume you. Aang understands that remaining angry and bitter will not bring his people back. All he can do, is try his best to preserve and protect his culture, and part of that culture is an oath of pacifism. Aang choosing to spare Ozai does not mean he forgives him, or his predecessors for what they have done to the world. Instead, he lets go of his anger and hatred towards them so he himself can be free. Maybe eventually Aang will forgive them, but i personally don't believe it's then and there.

If anything, monk Gyatso would be proud of the decision Aang made in the end. It's the ultimate middle finger to the fire nation to show that they failed at destroying the air nation. Aang is not only a symbol of hope for the other remaining nations to end the war, but also for his own culture to prevail, and keep existing in whatever limited form Aang can preserve.

I think what you're referring to is TSR, with "thinks u have to forgive someone who killed ur family", when he tried to teach Katara about letting go and forgiving. Aang wasn't doing that bc he's against Katara getting justice. If anything, he agreed Katara needed to face Yon Rah for her own closure. But he's not trying to teach Katara forgiveness so he can save Yon Rah, he's doing it so he can save Katara. He knew that if Katara went through with this she'd get consumed by hate and anger for the rest of her life. Zuko even admitted in the end that Aang was right about what Katara needed, and it wasn't killing her mother's killer. And Katara did end up forgiving someone at the end of the episode, namely Zuko. Katara still learned and accepted Aang's lesson by the end, when at first she insisted forgiveness was impossible.

Also I think you're forgetting that Air nomads swear a non violence oath. Gyatso swore this oath as well. So again, idk where you're getting this idea that Gyatso would be "rolling in his grave" to see Aang stick to this oath.

[kiwinatorwaffles]

two aroaces try to figure out dates 28 injured 3 dead

(image description in alt text and under cut)

Image description:

The first page of a three-paged comic. Panel 1: Edgeworth crosses his arms with an uncertain expression, saying, "miss maya, i hope you don't mind me requesting your help on such a short notice. Panel 2: Edgeworth lifts his hand to his chin, saying "i want to show wright appreciation by inviting him to a date, but i have no idea what to do. i was wondering if you had any advice or ideas from the perspective of someone who also doesn't experience romantic attraction. Panel 3: Maya grins and says, "oh yea, totes! i can help! lemme quickly just--" Panel 4: Maya pulls out her phone, scrolling through her Ao3 page titled "mayoinnaise." She says uncertainly, "um…. date ideas right… erm…. ok gimme a sec…."

The second page of a three-paged comic. Panel 1: Maya and Edgeworth have a back-and-forth conversation, starting with Maya's speech bubble. "how about going to the countryside and horseback riding and having a picnic?" "horseback…? the countryside is hours away…" "okay um… just a picnic then?" "i'm allergic to pollen." "sounds like you're just allergic to dates. "apologies…" Panel 2: Maya says, "wait i have a great idea!! you should get drinks and watch something on tv until he gets mega drunk and starts crying at you because you're so beautiful!!" Below Maya's speech bubble is a little bubble titled "Maya vision:" where Phoenix is blushing with his tie around his head, saying "miles i love you" with a bunch of "u's" stretching out. Panel 3: Edgeworth, unamused, says "…you know maybe i should've gone to larry". Panel 4: Offended, Maya replies, "hey!" in all caps and bolded italic text. "do you think LARRY would have better advice? he'd be all like," Her speech bubble cuts off here, switching to one that mimics Larry, indicated by a small Larry head beside the speech bubble and text saying "Larry voice". It reads, "edgey boy you should take him to your place and fuck him raw!" Panel 5: Edgeworth, looking sick, replies, "…good point. now excuse me while i go throw up."

The last page of a three-paged comic. Panel 1: Maya scrolling desperately with a speech bubble consisting entirely of ellipses. Text on the corner of the panel reads, "(on her 7th ao3 page)". Panel 2: Maya suddenly exclaims "dinner!" in italicized all-caps. "nothing bad ever happens with dinner!" Panel 3: Edgeworth closes his eyes and presses a finger against his temple, saying, "last time we had a dinner 'date,' wright ate his salad with a butter knife…" Dejected, Maya replies, "right. that time. post cancelled no dinner i guess". Panel 4: Maya looks back at her phone with one hand up in defeat and says, "man, i'm sorry… pretty much all i write is homoeroticism and angst! maybe we should ask larry…" Edgeworth's speech bubble reassures her, "i appreciate the help regardless…" Panel 5: A context box in the top-left of the panel reads, "meanwhile, phoenix:" Phoenix sits on the couch outside the office with a confused expression, thinking "wtf are they talking about". There is text in the bottom left corner that reads "(they kicked him out of the office)".

End ID.

[emotionalsupport-ljh]

Breaking and Entering

You don't want Jihoon to worry.

Fluff (a miniscule amount of angst) - woozi x fem!reader

A hell of a lot of words for a sick fic :D Described as "princess treatment" by my friends 😌

AO3 link

Word Count: 3.1k

////////////////////////////////////

Before you even open your eyes, you feel a scratch in your throat that burns like hell. You reach for the water on your nightstand and take large gulps trying to soothe the pain. As your eyes open, they droop heavily and take a moment to adjust to the early morning sunlight that makes its way past your curtains. A chill suddenly attacks the uncovered parts of your body. You duck back under your comforter only to have an oppressive heat come in waves that cause sweat to cling to your forehead. On top of all that, you can’t breathe out of your left nostril. You’re terribly sick.

As you lament in your miserable state, a notification brightens your phone and you have to shut your eyes. You blink them trying to get used to the light, but all it does is give you a headache. You brave through the pain to turn your brightness down and check the notification. It’s a text from your boyfriend, Jihoon.

Jiji: good morning babe~ 😘

You: Good morning!

Jiji: what are ur plans for today? work?

You: No

You pause for a moment before continuing your response. You wonder if it’s a good idea to tell him that you aren’t feeling well today. On one hand, he might want to know that kind of stuff so that he can take care of you. On the other hand, it could cause some unnecessary stress in his already stressful life. Also, with his busy schedule, he probably wouldn’t be able to do much. You decide ultimately that this illness would probably be over quickly, and you don’t want to make Jihoon worry about nothing a little cough medicine and tea would fix.

You: I'm going to take the day off to relax and be lazy lol 😏

Jiji: that sounds nice

i wish i could do the same 😮‍💨

You: Busy schedule today?

Jiji: yup 🙃 but im excited for our date later this week

You: Me too!

Jiji: i have to go to work

text me later

You: Will do! I love you 🩷

Jiji: love u too~🖤

Putting your phone down and taking the chance to move from your bed to at least retrieve some relief in the form of medicine or warm tea, you feel your muscles ache in a way that makes you never want to move again. For now, you stare at the ceiling with the resolve to get over this silly little cold. You fall asleep soon after and stay asleep for many, many hours.

When you finally awaken again, the chill in your bones still hasn't subsided, no matter how many layers of sheet and blanket cover you. You have to force your eyes to open against the deeper sunlight now pouring through the cracks in your curtains. You power through the discomfort to get them to adjust to the brightness. Again, you reach a hand out for your phone and see that it is afternoon and that you have some missed texts from your boyfriend.

Jiji: hey~

wuts up

Jiji: taking an afternoon nap huh

text me when u see this

The messages were all sent about 45 minutes ago. You feel a little bad about lying, but it only strengthens your resolve to get better and put the whole lie behind you. You text back like normal, hoping that he has the time to read and respond even for just a few minutes.

You: Sorry! I fell asleep watching anime

It doesn’t take too long for a reply to pop-up. You had been dating Jihoon for months now, but you still got butterflies every time he texted you. Even now, aching all over and dripping from your face, he makes you feel a warmth you swore would make you even healthier than you were before.

Jiji: oh rub it in my face 🙄 lol

dont get too far without me

You: I would never!! 😫

How’s it been today? You're not too stressed, right?

Jiji: eh

im coping lol

nothing im not used to

You: Don’t push yourself too hard ok? 🥺

You're doing such a great job!!!!!!

Jiji: thx lol

i gotta go. love u~ 🖤

You: I love you too 🩷

You decide to try to come up with the ultimate healing game plan for the rest of the day. You plot out your meals and activities to maximize the time you can spend getting better. Or at least you try to as you come to realize that sleeping an extra 4 and a half hours without getting out of bed means that you’ve yet to relieve yourself. This kickstarts your game plan as you rush to the bathroom.

You power through the aches in your body to finally brush your teeth and put your hair in a manageable bun for the day. You put on your sweats and some socks to keep warm and make your way to the kitchen where you heat up some soup and make a mug of herbal tea. You take medicine and take it easy all day. The change in scenery from your bedroom to the living room not only motivates your mind to change, but also it motivates your body to move. You swear you already feel better.

Unfortunately, the next two days look the same, and you do not, in fact, feel any better. Even with minimal movement throughout the days, you still manage to leave a mess of dirty dishes, clothes, and tissues strewn about the apartment. You are miserable and finally starting to come to terms with it. The delusion of your ability to heal quickly and on your own was finally starting to dissipate. You thought seeing a doctor was a waste of time, but you start to see the necessity of an appointment the more time you spend with a scratch in your throat and a headache hammering your skull.

The worst part, however, is not the pain, nor is it the constant sweating or the need to breathe through your mouth. No, the worst part is that today is Jihoon’s one day off; you are supposed to be ready to go on a date.

It's a little late in the morning when you wake up. You thrash in your bed frustrated that you are still sick and very tired. When you check your phone, there are no new messages. It isn't unusual for Jihoon to sleep in on his days off. You dread having to tell him the truth that you had been sick all week and couldn’t go out tonight. You could anticipate his response: a string of crying emojis and then a laugh where he says he’s just kidding and he’s fine as long as you get better. He wouldn’t really be okay with it, but he would say he is. He would be really disappointed; he isn’t very good at showing his true emotions, but you know he feels them so deeply. You don’t want to cause him any undue stress or heartbreak. At this point, it unfortunately is inevitable.

You grab your phone and hover over Jihoon’s contact, trying to muster the courage to send your good-morning-text and your confession followed by a long apology and promises to make it all up to him one day. You don’t expect your phone to ring, brandishing a very familiar sweet smiling selfie with the name “Jiji” underneath. You are startled then you take a deep breath, clear your throat, and answer.

“Good morning, my baby,” a sleep-rasped voice calls out from the other side.

“Good morning,” you try to answer in a normal voice, doing your best to hide your congestion.

“You sound different. What’s up?” Jihoon caught on immediately.

You whine a little over the phone, only prolonging the inevitable. There’s only silence from the other side. “I’m sick,” you say, then blurt out, “I’ve been sick for the past three days. I really, really tried to get better, honestly. I’m so sorry, Jiji. I can’t go out tonight.”

Your heart beats quickly in your chest, maybe from the nerves of finally coming clean, maybe from the extra exertion on your sick body. The five seconds it takes for Jihoon to respond feel like five hours. All he says is, “Oh. Okay.” After that, he hangs up the phone, leaving you stunned and with a horrible pit in your stomach.

You’re in shock. The kind of shock people feel after breaking a limb or recovering from a disaster. It pushes every other feeling out of your body. You do your morning routine in a fugue state. When you sit back in your bed, it all hits you at once. Tears stream down your face almost unconsciously, and you lay down with your face in your pillow. Eventually, you fall asleep again, too tired from the illness to continue to cry or feel anything.

Jihoon makes up his mind quickly. After abruptly hanging up the phone, he immediately gets up and goes through his own routine faster than ever, even taking 30 minutes off of his normal workout just to have more time for his own plan. After coming home, he does something a little out of character. He goes to the kitchen to cook something that isn’t chicken breast and white rice.

This surprises his roommates. Soonyoung tries to help him with the big pot of what was so far just stock and vegetables. He gets distracted easily, and it takes him a long time to cut up an onion. Jeonghan takes a picture of Jihoon and sends it in the group chat asking if this is normal behavior for Woozis. Seungkwan tries to taste it before the dish is ready and whines when his hand is met with a smack from a wooden spoon.

“This isn’t for any of you. Leave it alone,” Jihoon says in a stern voice.

“Wait, what? Then who is it for?” Soonyoung raises an eyebrow at him.

“Y/N, my girlfriend. She’s sick.”

The mood in the apartment changes. Now, Jeonghan is texting more furiously in the group chat about how Jihoon cares so much about his poor, sick girlfriend. Seungkwan now insists on tasting the dish the whole way through the cooking process to make sure it’s suitable for such refined tastes as his and yours. Soonyoung calls his mom and asks what the best thing is to cure illnesses. It becomes a whole big thing that has Jihoon a little bit annoyed but also grateful his friends care about you almost as much as he cares about you.

Jihoon’s morning and the better part of his afternoon off of work are then filled with surprise visits from Mingyu, Jun, and Seokmin who bring an array of dishes that could feed you for a month and Minghao who brings a special tea blend that he uses when he's feeling sick. Vernon sends a playlist of chill music for you to listen to while you recover, and Wonwoo writes a list of movies he recommends you watch to rest. Chan makes a special delivery of his grandma's famous kimchi, which has the rest of the boys groaning that they don't get any this time. Joshua sends the best essential oil wax melts so you can indulge in some aromatherapy. Finally, Seungcheol makes sure that Jihoon tells you that he can send anything in the world to your house using his card whether it be medicine or a treat from your favorite bakery or even a new designer pajama set to make sure you are at maximum comfort levels.

As he makes his way over to your apartment, Jihoon feels silly carrying a bunch of bags filled with various gifts from everyone on top of the soup he made that seems to pale in comparison. He curses Jeonghan under his breath for telling everyone his plan to bring you supplies, effectively making him the delivery boy because he is the only person who has the passcode to your apartment. He tries to call you on his way over, now adding his phone to the pile he was juggling. It rings a few times and then goes to voicemail. He tries again and meets the same outcome. He assumes that you’re resting; being sick for multiple days sounds exhausting which is why he is so willing to bring over everything he (and the others) could possibly think of to make you feel better.

Jihoon reaches your front door and knocks loud enough that you would be able to hear it from your room, but soft enough that you wouldn’t wake up if you were resting. He waits a beat before just typing the code and letting himself inside. He makes his way to the kitchen and sets down the various bags on the countertops. Only once his arms are empty does he realize the state of the apartment. He slowly takes in the dirty dishes and various random stuff left on the floor. The trashcan is full, and tea bags litter the countertops. There are tissue boxes everywhere, each one full of used tissues.

He walks slowly to your room and, opening the door, he almost couldn’t make out your sleeping shape on the bed. You’re curled up into a ball under many layers of blankets on one side, and on the other was a pile of clothing. There’s more clothing on the floor. Jihoon goes back to the kitchen and takes a deep breath. He meticulously puts all the food everyone prepared into the fridge, rolls up his sleeves, and decides to start there. He makes a list in his head of all the things he could realistically do in the few hours you would be asleep.

The next moment, Jihoon is elbow deep in soapy water scrubbing dishes and wiping countertops. He finds all the cleaning instruments and proceeds to sweep and vacuum. He fills a trash bag with tissues, tissue boxes, and food containers. He gently tiptoes around your room, gathering up the clothes from the floor, which he assumes are dirty, and putting them in the wash. The clothes on the bed, which he checks are clean, are now folded and put in a hamper for later sorting. He even has time to reheat his soup and make a pretty plating of it paired with some rice and a cup of some of Minghao’s herbal tea.

You awaken when you hear dishes clanking in the kitchen. Someone is in your home. You freeze until the noise stops and begin to get up from your bed. With your legs swung over the side of the bed, ready to stand and possibly defend yourself, the door opens slowly and in walks Jihoon with a tray of dishes.

He looks surprised, then flashes a big smile, then says, “Good, you’re awake. It’s time to eat.”

All you can do is stare at him in disbelief as he sets a tray of soup and rice and tea on your lap. He sits cross-legged in the empty space beside you and scrolls through his phone as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

“W…what’s all this?” you stutter out, utterly confused.

“Lunch,” Jihoon answers nonchalantly.

Looking at him beside you, you realize that there is indeed empty space on your bed for him to sit where there was once a pile of clothes. Tears appear behind your eyes when you look around at the spotless floor of your bedroom. You look at your boyfriend as one tear falls.

“Did you…”

“Yeah, it was a real mess in here.” He turns to look at you and uses his thumb to wipe the one tear from your cheek. “Start eating. I bet you haven’t eaten all day. How are you supposed to get better if you don’t eat?”

He was right. You take a spoonful of broth and bring it to your lips. It tastes wonderful. Alternating between tea and soup and rice, you feel fuller, and the heat from the meal eases your throat just a little more. Jihoon looks at you and sees how happy you look to be having a meal that wasn’t microwaved from a package. You are already almost done with the meal after only a few minutes.

“See, you were hungry, huh?” He teasingly shakes his head.

You lightly push your boyfriend's arm. You make a face, suddenly feeling awkward to be around him. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“What? Why? Because you lied to me for days and didn’t let me take care of you? Or because you canceled our date on the day of because you assumed I cared that we went out somewhere?” he starts sarcastically, “I actually hadn’t thought about it all day.”

“I’m serious, Jiji!” you try to whine but end in a cough. He’s laughing at you as you get a little frustrated.

“I’m seriously not mad. I wish you would’ve told me, but being mad won’t fix anything.” His smile is soft, and he’s looking at you with love in his eyes.

“I’m really sorry. I just didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t know it would last this long. Honestly, I don’t know what I have, and you probably shouldn't be sitting so close to me right now.” You weakly try to push Jihoon away, but he sits like a rock, not budging at all.

“I’m fine,” he chuckles, “The plague couldn’t even keep me away from you.” He leans to kiss your forehead.

All your muscles relax as the last few bites on your plate disappear. Jihoon takes the empty tray in one hand and uses the other to guide you to your feet with him. He wordlessly walks you both out of the room. You see that not only is the entire apartment clean, but there are small gifts left out on the coffee table.

“What is all this?” you ask your boyfriend as take a seat on the couch, waiting for him to put the empty plates and bowls from the tray in the sink.

He takes a seat next to you and rubs the back of his neck with one hand and avoids eye contact when he answers, “The guys heard you weren’t feeling great, so, of course, they had to help out, too.” He goes through and shows you the wax melts, medicine, and self-care products. He also tells you about your new stock of homemade meals from the best cooks in the group. You get really excited about the kimchi from Chan’s grandma. He sends you Vernon’s playlist and Wonwoo’s recommendations. He even shows you the text Seungcheol sent him about using his card for whatever you might need.

Everything is perfect for the rest of the evening that was supposed to be a fancy, romantic date night. It turns out that watching movies and listening to music while snuggling and talking is the best medicine for illness and the most romantic date you have ever been on.

[sanguineterrain]

Sanne on the topic of femjay... do u think she'd like giving gifts? I feel like she's the type to shower u in gifts and act like it's nbd she didn't even think about it when she got it for u (she is lying)

ok anon I'm pretty sure this isn't what you meant buuut it's kinda related? anyway i was inspired so please enjoy awkward arkham knight femjay who doesn't know how to interact with her old best friend/girlfriend when she returns from the dead so she starts leaving gifts instead. i ❤️ my weirdo wife

ak!female!jason todd x fem!reader.

****

Someone has been leaving you presents.

Normally, you'd be freaked out. Probably, you should be freaked out anyway. How someone knows your exact dress size and what chocolate you like and your favorite flowers and your birthstone... well, it would scare anyone.

But. But the thing is. Every gift and every placement of the gift feels very familiar. It feels like the habit of an old love. Because she used to do the same. Pretty rocks or flowers found on patrol. A t-shirt for the band you liked. A kiss.

It feels like training, like muscle memory: here is how to break in without breaking anything. Here is how to leave a scene undisturbed. Lessons that a friend shared with you.

A friend you loved. A friend you mourned.

The dresses are beautiful and certainly not cheap. But they have a familiarity to their design. They're extravagant, fairytale dresses that you dreamt of wearing when you were young. Dresses you have no reason to wear now.

They aren't revealing or risqué either, and that comforts you too, even though it probably shouldn't. Bruce would be upset at your lack of self-preservation.

This is you living in the past. This is hoping for the impossible.

The jewelry is also beautiful and nothing you could wear to work or to a grocery trip. It's all necklaces and bracelets heavy with diamonds or emeralds or sapphires. But there's a single ruby ring you've received, and it's plainer than everything else. You wear that regularly, even though that definitely encourages your admiring stalker.

The gift-giving is random but they never go more than two weeks without a visit. And there's no note, no demand, nothing. It's like you have an invisible pet raven who likes bringing you trinkets that cost more than your rent.

After the seventh gift, you plan a trap. You want to face this admirer, show that you're not afraid. Well, you're a little afraid. Mostly, it's fear at the fact that you haven't called the police or Batman, even though you and Batman haven't been simpatico for a long time.

No, something stops you. The hand that leaves your gifts is a hand you know. You're certain of it.

You set up a camera behind your shuttered closet, then leave for the day.

You return to the camera gone and a beautiful gold carved statue of a dove. And a note.

Not yet.

Well, fine. You can wait. You're mad because that camera wasn't cheap, but you can wait.

Weeks pass. Gifts arrive. You make a batch of cookies as a thank you on one occasion. Three cookies are missing when you come home. You smile.

Then the night comes.

You don't know how you know it's the night you'll meet them. You just have a feeling. You've written them notes, certain they've been received. No notes have arrived for you besides the one from all those weeks ago.

You put on one of the dresses, a delicate, frilly blue creation that shows your shoulders and neck. You finish it with the sapphire necklace, one of the first gifts you received.

She slips in through your window and freezes when she sees you, even though you know she timed it so you'd be home when she came.

"Hi," you say.

She doesn't speak. She approaches you slowly, carefully. She's very tall, very muscular. Her face is covered with an intricate helmet and she wears similar armor on her body. A new hero in Gotham? Or a villain?

"Do I know you?" you ask.

She shakes her head. You study her for a moment. Glowing eyes stare back. You can't tell if she's lying. It seems like she means it: you don't know her.

"But you know me?"

Your admirer hesitates. Then she nods.

You close the distance until you're a foot apart. Her breathing remains steady but her fingers are restless.

"I like the gifts," you say. "Though I'm confused why you're giving them to me."

Her fingers still. She says nothing.

"A friend used to give me gifts too," you say quietly.

You're both startled. Why did you say that? You don't know.

"You don't want to hurt me," you say.

She shakes her head fiercely.

Suddenly, you want her to touch you. You lift your head and expose your neck. You can tell she's tracking the movement. It sends a thrill down your spine. Maybe something's wrong with both of you.

"Do you like your necklace on me?" you ask.

Touch it. Touch me. Prove you aren't a ghost.

You hear her swallow and inhale shakily. She reaches for you and lightly touches the gold chain around your neck with one gloved finger. You close your eyes. A name falls from your lips. God, you miss her.

The window creaks. You open your eyes. She is gone.

[jakeyt]

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

[samrsgyi]

Premium Rody Lamoree Smut Headcannons

Note: So these are more advanced smut Headcannons for our French Puppy Rody and part 2 because in the last one y'all were going wild in the comments ( send help- ) so here ya go.

He's into Rimming ( Receiving) and Cunnulingus ( Giving ). It's just the way u Lick, Suck, and# Kiss his butthole and make-out with it. It's just the way you lick it makes his legs give out. He will jerk off too so that he could come quick and if he does he'll moan loudly that you'll have to calm him down after and tell him it's ok. For Cunnilingus, when eating you out he likes to go for the clit since it's the sensitive part of the vagina , and likes to lick and swirl his tongue around it just to hear you moan his name. Rody will even rub ur sweet bud to watch you fall apart.

When he gets home from work he loves to show you how much he missed you by pinning you against the wall and kiss your neck or even leave hickeys and love bites that trail down your shoulder or kiss your chest leaving small bites. He's into fingering as well and once you say ur gonna cum he's gonna say , " That's it just fall apart for me," and ur fluids would spray all over his fingers ruining the sheets leaving you a puddle

When he thrusts up into he'll say something like , " Your taking me so well," and if he's about to come, to not wake up the neighbor's he'll kiss you and moan in ur mouth. He loves to call you names like " Lovebug," " Pretty Baby," "Sweet Cheeks," or " Mon Amour." Mon Amour is his most favorite to call u because it shows how he can use his language ( French ) through showing his love and affection for u. If you guys are laying in bed and it's the orange hour Rody will compliment you by saying, " You're beautiful," and push your hair back behind your hair and giggle softly. He would get on top of you and make-out with you while slipping his tongue inside your mouth with soft groans following

He loves seeing you in his clothes, so please if he catches you in his clothing just know you are gonna get punched with softness. If at any point u guys are laying in bed and it's an orange hour after you guys had sex and ur just both staring at each other Rody will randomly say, " You're Beautiful, Mon Amour," and swipe a piece of hair out of ur face and put it behind ur ear and giggle softly. At random times at home He would also get on top of you and cup ur cheeks and kiss you then it would form a saliva string.

When you guys have a make-out session Rody likes to pull u closer to him run his fingers through ur hair gripping it softly as you slide ur tongue in his mouth making him moan

He admires how you wear Luminous makeup on that makes you look Ethereal and Have a Radiant Glow. He loves ur skin, and how smooth it is. He would kiss your skin and loves the feel of how soft it is. At home he'll ask you if he can touch your breast which you'll say yes to and he's gonna say, " You're so soft and warm." He loves the clothes that you wear cuz they're beautiful and slightly revealing which makes him a red tomato, but it doesn't bother him that much

I hope you guys enjoyed these advanced smut Headcannons of Rody so that you guys can stop your feral-ness. The reason I chose a female s/o is because when i was reading about his sexuality and how he was bisexual it said that, " He leans more on the women side," so yeah 👍.