#but he’d love to see a child be like parts of u and him

[saetiate]

sae is definitely someone who loves you more and more through every stage of your relationship. he loves you even more when you’re engaged than when you were dating, he loves being married to you and growing old with you. he loves watching you grow as a person. watching smile lines and starlight grey hair settle into your image, sees it as proof that he made you feel happy and loved. loves the thought of knowing he was there before and after it

it’s such a beautiful and honestly rare thing to have someone who’s love only grows for you with every milestone and who feels like knows everything about you by heart whilst simultaneously feeling like he’s rediscovering you over and over again.

[ahalliance]

qantoine’s coping mechanism to feeling left behind being both self-isolating and becoming possesive of those he cares for is so juicy as a concept . like yeah you go you funky creachure, manifest those complicated and sometimes contradictory emotions

[bibleofficial]

wallpaper is insane like u find a product w an ugly print ? wallpaper it. just multiple uncoordinated things put together ? wallpaper it. ugly door ? wallpaper it. ugly wall ? landlord won’t let me wallpaper it

[seiwas]

i maxxed the tags (what did i expect) but!!

what a soft piece ari 🥺 thank you for sharing this hurt/comfort piece w us!! i think satoru will always be a figure of strength—but i think it’s in part because that’s how he brands himself to be around the people he cares about. he’ll never truly share how he thinks and feels about things, will almost always downplay it really. but he’s always worrying, always aware and cautious, overthinking 🥺 and i felt that loads here!!

there’s a shipwreck stuck between your ribs ; satoru gojo

synopsis; three times satoru sees you cry, and the understanding you gain of each other from it.

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, the synopsis speaks for itself i think, copious amounts of hurt/comfort, i just think he’d be so good at comforting u :ccc, also fluff!!, he’s addicted to calling u ”baby,” satoru gojo vs human emotion (he loses)

a/n; pls ignore the fact that 90% of my gojo fics are hurt/comfort ok we dont need to get into that <33 the writing in this one might be a lil rusty but im pretty fond of this gojo :’3

dim lights, buttery popcorn, and boredom.

the senses invading his mind are mellow, coaxing, a little tedious. all he can see are the buzzing lights before him, all he can hear is the insistent chewing of the people around him, and all he can feel is just that:

boredom.

satoru stifles a yawn, resting his cheek on the heel of his palm. he’s trying to pay attention — really, he is. trying to pay attention to the movie he picked out himself, after thoughtful consideration, one he’s been looking forward to watching with you all week. he’s trying his best. but, gosh, it’s just so boring.

or maybe he just doesn’t have it in him today — with all these too-dim lights, too-loud popcorn-chewers, and the too-convoluted plot playing on the big screen in front of him. he has no idea what’s happening, anymore, what scene this is supposed to be. some sob-story? he clocked out a while ago.

so, with nothing better to do — satoru decides to savour another view.

that’s how it always goes. no matter the movie, no matter the snacks, whether you’re watching at home on the couch or a nearby movie theatre — eventually, when his eyelids begin to grow heavy, or when his attention span begins to falter, that blue-soaked gaze of his shifts. a moth to a flame, following his instincts. constantly looking over to see what kind of face you're making. 

after all, your reactions are far more entertaining than any movie could ever hope to be. little sighs of exasperation, jolts and shivers down your spine, or a laughter so bubbly he can’t resist leaning in for a kiss or ten — he loves it. adores it. lives and dies by it. 

so satoru turns his head, and looks at you, knowing you’ll save him from the boredom clutching at his subconscious. 

and something in his chest constricts.

at first, he doesn’t notice it. hungrily lapping over the expanse of your jaw, to your cheekbones, his gaze drinking in everything he can see. scanning your eyes for a hint of emotion; and he finds it. he finds it in something that glimmers in the dim lighting of the theatre, something that has his breath drawing back to the depths of his throat.

tears.

crystalline, dew-drawn, a fresh set of tears clinging to the edge of your lash line. they’ve yet to fall, but satoru sees them — he sees them and he doesn’t know what to do. 

tears. 

tears?

you’re crying.

in the depths of your glassy eyes, he sees a fractured scene — playing against the scope of your iris, as the movie reflects off your pupils. there’s a turmoil there, a sadness, one that has you covering your mouth with the front of your knuckle. and you’re crying.

satoru wants to tease you. he wants to lean over and purr against the shell of your ear, poke fun at you for being so emotional. such a little baby. what else is he supposed to do?

the tricky part is that he can’t. he can’t move, can’t shape his voice into a purr, can’t even speak. he’s frozen in place like a bug trapped in amber, stuck to his seat, unable to do anything but blink at you in what he thinks might be bewilderment.

his breath hitches — and that’s all. 

something about the sight of you makes him falter, makes him stop in his tracks. catches him off guard. he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t recognize the feeling stirred deep within his chest, something discomforting and foreign. doesn’t understand why his heart feels so itchy, all of a sudden.

then your eyes meet.

and you blink. once, then twice. eyes just a little wide, an embarrassed kind of surprise. he thinks you must be flustered, and he’s proven right when your gaze flees from his.

a mingle of words clog up at the base of his throat. say something, say something, say something. but he doesn’t know what. 

he wets his lips, preparing to part them, but before he can get the first syllable out you're leaning in. close. close enough that he feels your breath ghost against the shell of his ear, close enough that his heart starts skipping the way it always does when you press yourself against him like that’s where you belong.

a whisper. it’s small, hushed, a little frail. but there’s something else, too, laced together with the vowels — amusement. 

”you didn’t tell me this was a sad movie.”

a pout plays at your lips, as you murmur your grievances. but then there’s that amusement; it’s there when you pull back, in the crinkle of your sparkling eyes, the curve of your smile. 

and satoru’s shoulders relax. stiffened bones melting. he exhales a breath he had no idea he was holding, and his heart feels at ease. a grin finds it’s way to his lips, wide, teasing, cheshire and sweet. 

he leans a little closer, bumping his head against yours. gently. ”i think you’re just sensitive, baby.”

his teasing is rewarded with a little huff, as your elbow meets his side. soft. everything you do is soft. 

”oh, shut up,” you scoff. smiling. he’s so relieved that you’re smiling. 

a moth to a flame, following his instincts, satoru brings you closer. an arm around your waist, pulling you into his orbit, until you’re practically sharing seats. searching for your hand — and he finds it, intertwining his long fingers with yours, just to give it a little squeeze.

(for some reason, he feels more protective than usual.)

he feels your gaze. questioning, maybe. but you melt into him quickly, with your head slumped against his shoulder, and his heart settles back into a sleepy rhythm. just watching the movie pass you by.

the dim lighting of the theatre casts a hazy shadow over your face, a tender desaturation, and his eyes stay glued to it when you aren’t looking. the smell of popcorn hangs heavy in the air, salty and buttery, warm and sweet, and he’s almost grateful to feel that familiar boredom tug at his veins.

anything is fine. anything is better than that discomfort, that irritating itch. 

satoru watches the movie flicker by, scene by scene, whispering commentary into your ear and stealing your popcorn with a satisfied hum. chuckling when you whisper-shout at him to cut it out!

he tries not to think of the glittering tears at your lash line, and almost succeeds.

rain clouds, cups of chamomile, and frustration.

it seeps out into the open air, engulfing your living room in a feverish haze. thick and suffocating; the scent of heavy rain, lukewarm tea, and that ugly, ugly feeling underneath his skin.

it pulses. it itches. and oh, how it aches.

satoru hates it. he hates feeling angry, feeling upset — hates when either of those emotions are in connection to you. hates it, hates it, hates it more than anything.

he does everything he possibly can to avoid it; his eyes are keen, always have been, and he can see when that thin line he shouldn’t cross crawls a little too close for comfort. when the rubber band of your patience just snaps. he sees all your buttons, knows which ones not to push. he knows you.

and, more importantly, more than anything — nothing you do could ever make him angry at you. 

(well, at least that’s what he thought.) 

satoru’s anger is a fickle thing, controlled, kept under wraps. it’s a slow process; it simmers, boils, a cup of chamomile brewed too long. and then it all but invades his senses. it never gets the best of him, never, but right now he can feel it — little pinpricks against his skin, a frustration that stirs his guts and has his eyes going cold.

satoru towers over you, like this. full height on display. not slouching or draping himself over furniture, but standing tall, and proud, and menacing. he isn’t smiling, and that’s all you need to know that he’s upset with you. his eyes are layered over with discontentment. 

a sigh spills from his lips, a little gruff, unmistakably annoyed. it slices the silence of the room in half, and a shiver travels down your spine. he doesn’t notice it. his voice has a rough edge to it, something firm. something that doesn’t sound like it could come out of his mouth at all.

”don’t act like such a child.”

a flinch. or maybe more like a jolt; this time, he notices, but it’s too late. he’s in too deep, boiled water licking at his ankles, pulling him down. frustration nips at his skin, and he can’t quite seem to push it away.

and you’re just so, so unaccustomed to it. unaccustomed to seeing him wear anything but a smile, unaccustomed to that cold gaze, usually nothing but warm and fond when it meets your own. this isn’t like him.

it’s not like him at all.

swallowing thickly, you do your best to calm down. but before you can make any attempt to contain it, wetness begins to gather in the corners of your eyes. pooling, little droplets yearning to fall.

satoru notices them instantly. he sees that sad glimmer, framed by the murky darkness seeping in from beyond the curtains, accompanied by the symphony of pitter patter against the windowpane. tears, much like the rain beating down outside.

and his chest goes cold.

a tiny sniffle pushes past your lips, and the dam inside you begins to break — tears tripping over your lash line, rolling down your cheeks. cascading across your pretty face. the air fills with a sense of dread, and both of you seem to be thinking the exact same thing.

(oh, fuck.)

satoru notices, belatedly, that his throat has gone dry. that his heart feels itchy, again. it itches and itches but he can’t do anything to soothe it, and your tears continue to fall. 

his heart begins to crack. right down the middle, like a gash in the reflection of a puddle, right across his chest. it hurts.

an inhale, then an exhale. you’re still trying to keep it all together, grasping for control over your emotions, but it’s not going too well. the little breaths that escape your throat are shaky at best, hands trembling as you wipe the tears away with the front of your wrists. and your voice sounds a little like it’s about to crumble away. 

”sorry,” you squeak, taking a step back. there’s a silent panic in the gesture, one that makes satoru want to get down on his knees. ”i’ll just — i’ll leave —”

he wants to stop you. he needs to stop you. but he does nothing, nothing at all, even as you stumble out. leaving the haunting echo of tiny sniffles and tear-stained cheeks behind you. 

satoru just stands there. once again, the sight of your tears seems to render him completely helpless. useless.

and he's frustrated, honestly. frustrated by the argument, by your tears, by his own guilt. he’s so frustrated he wants to claw his eyes out. he scratches at his forearm, but it does no good. all he can think of is your frightened little expression.

(he scared you.)

satoru slumps down on the couch, head in his hands, running rough fingers through his soft hair. it’s unruly by the time he’s done, and his bottom lip is bruised with teeth marks, and everything in the world feels so meaningless. so out of tune.

(he made you cry.)

a sigh. drawn out, tinged with exhaustion, bitter and battered like the swing of a baseball bat. he feels a little like he could throw up. it’s foreign, this emotion, suffocating. how long has it been since he genuinely felt this kind of shame?

the crack in his heart grows deeper, while you’re gone. more severe. every moment you spend outside of his vision makes him falter more and more, makes his desperation grow. desperate to plead for your forgiveness, to convince you not to leave. to wipe the tears away from your cheeks, delicately, the way you deserve. but he can do nothing but sit there, useless, repeating the same old phrase inside his mind.

he’ll make it up to you.

and when you finally come back, having calmed down a bit, he does just that. you’re embarrassed, he can tell, a little meek. it makes him feel that discomforting emotion, again, that ache. the crack that only ever seems to deepen.

but he covers it all up with a smile. a little sheepish, more than a little forced, but he hopes you understand. hopes you can see his remorse, see a man who loves you, because he does. 

so satoru takes you into his arms, softly, hands finding the small of your back. delicate, protective. a little whisper spilling from his lips. 

”’m sorry, baby. i didn’t mean it.”

and it’s not enough. he knows it isn’t. but he does what he can — even when it just ends up clumsy, teasing, bordering on something that most would interpret as insincere. all he can do is coddle you. shower you in hugs and kisses, gifts and praises. he hands it out like candy, eager hands finding yours, everything spilling out of his chest all at once. 

there’s a desperation to it that isn’t lost on you.

but it works. he’ll make it up to you; he swears. and he dotes on you until you’re too embarrassed to be sad anymore, apologizes until his throat runs dry. until he’s sure you believe him. 

he brews you another cup of chamomile, stirred to perfection, warm enough to make up for the shiver he sent down your spine. the rain beating down on your windows serves as a constant reminder of his failure, and satoru does his best to ignore it. swallowing what’s left of his frustration, focusing on you.

anything to see you smile again. anything to wash away the red tint to your eyes, the puffy skin beneath them. anything to hear you laugh, to get you to feel safe around him again. 

(anything to make him forget the sight of those tears rolling down your cheeks.)

panic, panic, panic.

it’s all he can feel, all he can think, the only emotion his muddled mind can cling to. he’s in pure, sincere, genuine panic, and you aren’t saying a thing. can’t bring yourself to.

arms wrapped around his waist, tightly, you hide away in the crook of his neck. clutching the fabric of his shirt, burrowing your face deeper into his warmth — and you’re not just crying.

you’re downright sobbing.

satoru knew something was off the moment you fell into his embrace, suddenly, tackling him into a hug so desperate it left him reeling. a kind of desperation he isn’t used to, from you.

he knew something was wrong. 

he knew even before he heard it; your choking sobs, those shaky, heaving breaths. muffled into the cotton of his shirt, his uncertain arms around you.

they break his heart.

”hey, hey…” there’s a soothing lilt to his voice, awfully delicate. sweet like molten honey, almost enough to hide the panic. ”what’s wrong?”

satoru holds you to his chest, safe and secure, cradling you protectively. as if shielding you from the world — from whatever or whoever got you like this. as if you’d crumble into dust, otherwise.

he tries to calm down, but his mind is spinning like a broken clock, and your silence doesn’t help. you’re trying to respond; he knows you are, but you just can’t get the words out. any attempts only make you cry harder.

a shake of your head is all he gets — and it’s not much, but satoru’s learned to make a lot out of a little. 

so he continues to hold you, hiding his worry, tucking his anxiety away somewhere you won’t be able to see. he curses, inwardly, grasping blindly for conclusions — for some divine guidance. how is he supposed to deal with this?

(how long has it been since he felt so very useless?)

gentle. that’s the approach he takes, finally, hiding his nervosity. he rocks you back and forth, just a little, like he’s lulling you to sleep; his warm hands finding the small of your back, the back of your head. cradling you so close you hear his rapid heartbeat by your ear.

soothing whispers. murmured into your hair, so soft they seem to melt once they slip from his tongue, all honey and devotion. affection so palpable you taste it in the air, from the breaths he exhales. 

”it’s fine. i’m here, i’m here… i’ve got you.”

he doesn’t know what he’s doing, not really, but it seems to work. because you calm down, after a while, just sniffling into his neck and letting him soothe you. sobs and unstable heaves, turning into whimpers and shaky breaths. clinging to him all the while; so desperate for comfort, for him.

it makes him feel so, so desperate to protect you, to wash every single one of your worries away.

it’s unbearable, this aching desire. like a great, insatiable, unnamed something deep within the caverns of his chest, clawing at his ribcage, snarling and hissing, itching to break out so it can open its maw and devour you both.

(it’s ugly. it’s grotesque. it wants to keep you safe so badly it might kill him for it.)

a coo. sad, dripping with care, a comforting tone that he hopes you’ll find soothing. he smooths his palm down the back of your head, heavy, doting. it hurts so much to see you hurt.

”my baby….” satoru exhales, a little shaky. but he smiles, and he hopes you can hear it, hopes it’ll help mend the pain in your chest. ”what’s got you this upset, hm? you're worrying me, here…”

a broken sniffle. the guilt eats at you, gnaws at your bones, and all you can do is hide away in the crook of his neck. apologizing, your voice no more than a tremor of a breath.

”’m sorry…”

and satoru thinks his heart shatters. he can practically hear the crash, feel the broken, useless little pieces dig into his skin.

his arms travel down to your hips, steady, and he lifts you up. just for a second, just so he can plop down on the floor with you in tow — keeping you snuggled into his neck. seated on his lap with your legs around his waist, like you’re his baby koala.

”shh, it's okay,” he soothes, a grounding rumble of his chest right by your ear. he’s got you enveloped, wrapped up in his buzzing warmth, and all you can feel is him. ”you’re okay. no matter what it is, i'll take care of it, alright? you can rely on me.”

a moment passes. 

satoru clears his throat. nervous, suddenly. ”you know that, right?”

all you can give him is a shaky nod, but it’s enough. he sighs, in palpable relief, still rubbing circles into your back. ”okay,” he sneaks a hand underneath your shirt, tracing little shapes into your bare skin. ”good.”

he isn’t sure how long you spend there, on the floor, entirely focused on comforting you. washing away all your sadness, with every gentle caress, every soothing murmur of there, there… every little stutter of his heartbeat next to yours.

and when you’ve finally calmed down, melting under his touch and into his skin, arms going lax around his neck — satoru takes a breath. collecting himself, so you don’t have to. acting like his heart isn’t still a mess of crushed glass.

”you okay now?” he coos, drawing absentminded hearts into the skin of your back. his voice is teasing, but warm, spilling from his tongue and into your ear. deep and smooth. ”almost gave me a heart attack, baby.”

he feels the way your grip around him tightens, just a smidge, and he hears the weak little breath you draw in. your voice is still shaky, and it makes him want to rearrange the world, stitch those broken vowels back together. 

(he doesn’t like how irrational it is, this insatiable something. how it makes him want to bend the rules of the universe, just to see you smile. a dangerous temptation.)

”i’m sorry,” you croak, clinging to him like a shipwreck to a shore. ”it’s not — not a big deal, ’m just…” 

satoru pulls back. just a little bit, making sure your arms and legs stay in their rightful place, curled around his neck and waist. making sure the two of you stay connected.

then he pinches your cheek.

”don’t apologize,” he quips, a playful frown on his face. soft, a vague furrow of his brows. like he’s scolding you. 

it makes you wince, your eyes downcast. you look so meek. a little like a kicked puppy, glassy eyes glancing up at him in search of comfort.

satoru clicks his tongue. ”and don’t look at me like that, either.” 

he boops your nose, playful, doting, and you exhale weakly. it’s small, more breath than a real laugh, but you’re almost smiling, and —

it’s a start. it’s something.

satoru coos, voice dripping with warmth, sickeningly sweet. it seeps from his fingertips when he cradles your cheek in his palm, rubbing circles into the puffy skin beneath your eyes. there’s a mirth in his own, crinkled at the edges, tucked into that blue shade, something glazed over with pure adoration.

”there’s that smile.” 

he leans forward, closer, to press a kiss against the bridge of your nose, eyelashes fluttering. tickling your skin. you fall further into his embrace and he makes no move to resist, wouldn’t do it even if he physically could. even if he had the strength to let you go.

then he broaches the subject. hesitant. tactful, careful, delicate — he tries to remember how it works. how to handle something fragile. he thinks of those boxes you carried last week, little porcelain cups. heavy in his arms. he thinks of the way you jab his side with your elbow; gentle, always gentle, even though there’s never any need.

he thinks of you, and it all comes easy. that’s how it always goes.

”wanna talk about it?” he asks, softly. fingers treading through your hair, scratching softly at your scalp. it makes you melt, a little. clearing your throat.

”it’s nothing, really,” you mumble, tiny, seeking respite in the warmth that seeps from his body. speaking with a raspy voice, a hoarse throat, all tired out after crying. ”nothing big, anyway…” 

a moment passes, before you continue. ”i guess it's just been a rough week,” you admit, a sigh slipping from your lips, tinged with pure exhaustion. ”just little things piling up. ’m okay now.” 

a hum. satoru clears his throat.

”anything i can do?”

(please let me help.)

but you only shake your head. ”you’ve already done enough,” you assure him, leaning into his touch. ”think i just needed to get it all out, y’know?”

a beat. an itch. satoru holds you tight, a little tighter than he should. gentle, he reminds himself. but he needs you close enough to feel the flutter of your heartbeat, close enough to delude himself that you’ve merged together. closer isn’t close enough.

he gnaws at his bottom lip, teeth sinking into the flesh. pulling words out from the back of his throat, uncertain. ”i’m always here,” he settles on. ”if there’s anything you need, come straight to me. okay?”

a frown plays at your lips. you’re silent, for a while, until he hears you mumble beneath your breath.

”i don’t want to bother you so much, though…”

”— it’s not a bother.”

the words spill into the air, a little more firm than he meant to sound. but he means them.

”i’m serious. if you ever need help, with anything, come find me. i’m yours,” satoru inhales, deep, his chest moving in tune with the breath. you’re carried along with it, as if being lulled to sleep, following the steady pattern of his lungs. 

then he exhales. in, and out, and with it comes a promise. ”if anyone makes you cry, i’ll get rid of them.”

he says it casually, so casually that you assume it’s a joke, a bout of breathless giggles pushing past your lips. the sound has his own curling up, and he doesn’t have the heart to correct you. has enough tact to know that this might not be the best moment to let you know that he’s honestly a little terrified of how far he’d be willing to go to keep you safe and happy. 

but you’re smiling, finally, laughing. and that matters more than anything. when he closes his eyes, he thinks he can even feel the telltale signs that his heart is picking itself back up, gluing jagged shards into a shape that resembles you.

"that's scary!” you gasp, amusement bubbling up inside your throat. ”you’d go to jail for me?”

satoru huffs. ”bold of you to assume i’d get caught,” he tuts, a smug smile on his face. it makes you giggle, again, and he feels like a god.

”okay, okay,”  you nose at his neck, breathing him in, strawberry lotion and laundry detergent filling your senses. ”please don’t kill anyone on my behalf, though.”

”no promises.”

”satoru…”

slowly, steadily, his heart begins to stitch itself together. it helps that you’re there, he thinks. helps that you’re pressed up against him, that you’re holding him, like he’s the safest thing in the world. like you trust him.

(the word tastes like molten honey and luscious berries, sickly-sweet on his tongue. he gulps it down hungrily.)

it’s healing. the weight of your arms around him, the breaths that brush against his neck. he holds you to keep you together, intact, to keep himself together. a shipwreck and a shore — he just isn’t sure which one of you is which. but your jagged edges fit just right with his own.

”i don’t like seeing you cry.”

you blink. gazing up at him, with a contemplative look in your eyes. it melts into something a little too close to guilt for his liking. shame.

”— but i still want you to let me see you like that.” satoru smiles, with a tilt of his head. snowy tufts of hair falling across his face. ”is that weird?”

a moment passes. then you hum.

”no,” you exhale, a little breathless. smiling, somewhat weak, but still enough to have his heart skipping a beat. ”i love that about you, satoru.”

”huh?” he gapes at you — blinking dumbly. ”love what? that i want to see you sob into my chest?”

”that you try,” you stifle a yawn, sleepily nuzzling into him, all tuckered out from crying. ”even when it makes you a little uncomfortable.”

satoru stills. 

silence fills the space between you. there’s nothing more to say. his tongue isn’t really cooperating with him, anyhow — all tied up. so he leaves a kiss on the top of your head, and doesn’t say a word about the tremor running through his chest. 

he hates seeing you cry. hates how powerless it makes him feel, how useless. hates the fact that he can’t always protect you from the world, from himself.

but you let him see you like that.

he thinks of your tears, crystalline and glassy, like translucent marbles on a summer shore — and sees the trust instead of the sorrow. he thinks of your tearstained face, meek and feeble, and knows it’ll always be enough to break his heart to pieces. 

he thinks of you, and tells himself that it’s worth it; just as long as he gets to bring that pretty little smile back to life. 

[softbeej]

Rule Number One (You Gotta Have Fun)

Alastor x Reader Smut. U break his only rule and bother him while hes tryna work. Enjoy. :} Requests open btw.

Alastor had locked himself up in his radio tower for what felt like days. He was truly a workaholic, and loved to be busy. This was fine, except you found yourself actually sort of... missing him?

No sight of him creeping down the hallway or the impending feeling that he was about to catch you doing something prohibited at the hotel. It all felt too empty all of a sudden, and you wished he’d be back down soon, even if just to make you uneasy with that eerie smile.

So, you decided to break the number one rule set by him.

“Under no circumstances is anyone to ever enter the radio tower without my express permission.”

Well, what are rules if not to be broken, right? And that’s where you found yourself, climbing up into the prohibited area.

Ears pressed back, he turned to face you. There was no other way to put it, Alastor was fucking pissed.

You shouldn’t of come up here. You should of listened to his stupid rule, and busied yourself with something else. Maybe you had time to turn around, and pretend you made a wrong turn.

“I trust you have something important for me? Something that would be worth you coming all the way up here without my say so, hm?”

His voice was even more staticky than usual, his tone dripping with sarcasm. You were thinking up a response when he stood up and strode over to you. He jabbed his microphone stand under your jaw, albeit gently, and forced you to look at him.

“Well, deary?”

You only shook your head, hair bouncing on your shoulders.

“Then why, pray tell, are you up here? And use your words this time, yes?”

Within those few words, you suddenly understood why he was so feared. Just from the way he spoke, he could make you feel tiny and stupid.

“I, um, was just wondering where you were, is all...”

“Oh?” He released the microphone stand and you faced the floor again, feeling like a child about to get scolded. “You did know where I was though, didn’t you? So, I’ll ask once more. What brought you up here?”

He had retired back to his chair, and was watching you intently as you squirmed at his questioning. His smile never once left his face.

“You know what, I should go-“

Slam. His shadow had closed the door.

“Has no one ever told you it’s rude to ignore someone, darling? I’m just asking you a simple question, what’s the need for all this attitude? Why are you here?”

Blush rising to your face, you picked at skin around your nails still not wanting to look at his shit eating grin.

“I was bored. Missed you.”

“Ah, there we go! You see how easy that was?”

You nodded, “Can I go now? Sorry for interrupting...”

“Nonsense! You missed me, did you not? You came all the way up here for me, desperate for my attention. Well, dear, my attention you have got. Come, sit, sit.” He patted his thigh.

Oh, how you wished the world would swallow you up right now. But the worst part of this was how turned on you were at his lecturing. You think your reaction was doing the same to him, given the way his ears were perked up and pupils blown.

You walked over to him, gently perching on his knee, before he pulled you down by your waist so you were properly sitting in his lap. He continued working, tapping buttons and twisting dials, as you could only sit there and pray your heart rate would soon go back to normal.

"If I did not know any better, I'd say this encounter has you quite excited, darling! The way your pulse is rising, and not to mention the fact I can smell the arousal on you!" He laughed. "You'd tell me, wouldn't you? If I had brought out such emotions in you."

Your blood drew hot in shame, he knew.

You nodded and tried to save face, "Yes, Alastor. I'm fine, just- my pulse is high from the walk up here, that's all."

"And if you were to stand up, your answer would be the same, I presume?"

Confused, you cocked your head. He didn't say anything, just wrapped his hands around your waist and stood you up.

There it was, the evidence he was looking for. A wet patch on his thigh. Right from where you were sitting. Your wetness had leaked through your panties, leaving a spot on his dress pants.

“Well, look at this mess. And my best pants, no less! Do you have anything to say for yourself, dear?”

You shook your head, never so embarrassed in your life.

He tutted, "First, you lie about why you came up here. Then you lie about this? Darling, have you no manners? Or am I to teach you them myself, hm?"

His eyes were half lidded now, ears twitching.

"I- uh. I think you need to teach me, Alastor..." You admitted, not able to take your eyes off him.

“Finally! The right answer! You’re getting the hang of this now, eh?” He laughed, and patted his thigh - the one you’d dirtied, “Back up here. May as well see how much more you can ruin them.”

Legs shaking, you stood up and straddled his thigh. He leaned in close, “Now get yourself off. You can do that, yes? If your mewls at night are anything to go by, I’d say you’re to be a natural at this!”

The thought of Alastor hearing you play with yourself through your bedroom door sent shivers down your spine, in a good way. He grabbed your chin, angling your head to face him.

“I said you can do that, yes, dear?”

You nodded, hands reaching up to his shoulders to steady yourself as you started grinding down on his thigh like your life depended on it, maybe it did. You could feel his cock hardening. His hands trailed down your body to your hips where they stayed, helping you slowly ride his thigh.

“Theres a good girl, hm? See what happens when you behave?”

You nodded, breathing heavy, “Uh-huh.”

Alastor nodded, his hips gently bucking up for friction. Your hand went to zipper to help, but he brushed it away.

“This is your lesson. Not mine.” He winked.

So you kept riding his thigh, until your own thighs were weak, and you were close. And he knew it.

“If this were a proper lesson, I wouldn’t allow you to cum. But you’ve been so good, so good for me... You may cum.”

You nodded into the nook of his neck, letting out a pathetic whiny mewl as you came, soddening his pants. From the sound of it, he came too, letting out a staticky grunt that would of hurt your ears if you were paying attention, but you were too busy grinding your way through your climax, as he shushed you gently.

He helped you stand up, your thighs shaking and almost giving out under you. A sharp finger pressed into the stain on his pants, before he collected some of the wetness and licked it off.

“Head off to my bedroom, now, love. Get yourself cleaned up. I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

The walk to his bedroom was strange to say the least. Your knees shaking and panties wet, of course Angel was going to say something.

“Christ, you look like you been fucked good, sweets.”

“I have, I think...?”

“Oh yeah? And whose the lucky son of a bitch, huh? He knows not to fuck with you, right?” He winked, ever protective of you.

As if on cue, Alastor appeared, strolling carelessly toward you both. A hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, Angel, my dear, but I’m afraid we have something to take care of. If you’ll excuse us...” He guided you away, towards his room.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWELVE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, heavy topics such as death, blood, and past trauma mentioned masterlist a/n: thank you for all your support while i grow through a difficult time!! i appreciate all of you for being so patient and loving. long chapter for u!! <3

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Ghost didn’t remember much about his childhood. His mind blocked it out for him. But he did remember the pain and suffering he went through at such a young age.

He didn’t deserve that. Seeing his family, massacred in front of him. The blood mixed with the metallic scent that even now seemed to tinge his nose with a nostalgia that made him sick.

He was only a child, yet that was the day Ghost was born within him.

It was like an awakening. He saw how cruel the world could be through a pure lens and it tainted his vision red. Nothing was ever the same that day, and gradually, Simon was forgotten and Ghost was his new muse.

He could recall the nights he spent alone, digging through waste bins and slumping out on the streets like a dead dog. Stealing bread from shop merchants and having to run, barefooted to avoid getting beaten. Freezing to death on the street corner when winter came around and the pure snow covered the ground in a blanket.

It was scary for a boy his age. Dehumanizing. He didn’t deserve that.

He thought he was lucky when a ship crew came along, parading the streets to offer security. A job, a place to sleep, and meals — it seemed perfect for somebody who had absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Ghost never saw Simon again after that day. He was lost somewhere at sea, hidden under the roar of waves. Ghost didn’t know where to look for him until soon enough, Simon had disappeared and Ghost replaced him. Graves made sure of that.

A captain, like hell he was. Ghost knew something wasn’t quite right about Graves the moment he met him, yet as a child, he was desperate. Once he was in, it was too late, and the broken pieces of him became completely irreparable.

Graves held a devilish aura about him, one Ghost could practically see radiating around him. Every step he took was one closer to chaos.

No matter the destination, Ghost was held on by a leash with Graves being the handler. The sights Ghost saw, some being from his doing, was something he’d never get back. It was as if reliving that very day where he lost everything.

Living amongst Graves’ crew was worse than living in hell. He would’ve preferred it. To be banished for his sins, to taste the sweet nectar of death, and live his eternity punished. Anything to stray from Graves and his ship.

When he saw the way you looked—the darkness looming over you, the distress in your eyes—he saw himself. And when he saw Graves, he saw the life that was stolen from him.

That red that clouded his lens when he was a child was all he could see. Pure, angry red.

Now, standing in Price’s quarters, that red only grew angrier. This time, for you—for putting you in the same position he’d been stuck in for years.

You didn’t deserve that.

Your mind was a whirlwind of chaos. It was struggling to digest the information given to you. So much at once and you could barely manage to keep yourself together.

Everybody looked sorry for you. Ghost looked enraged. Price was lost. Soap and Gaz were remorseful. It was too much.

You hated that they looked at you like that. You hated when they didn’t look at you like that more. Having them worry, when for the duration of your stay it was like walking on burning rocks, it felt strange.

Their own worry caused yours as well.

“What is that?” you asked. “The mark of death. I— I don’t know what that is. What does that mean?”

You were becoming more frantic. The panic that ensued was growing, and you could tell it bothered Price. He was quick to grasp your shoulders, settling you.

“It’s complicated,” he explained quietly, hushing you. “That man you saw? His name is Phillip Graves. Some call him the Devil of the Seas. He’s a wicked pirate who feeds off of the innocent, their fear. None of us know what he truly is, not even Ghost, but we believe he’s apart of something sinister.”

“What, like he’s sold his soul? Made amends with the Devil? You are talking madness!” you exclaimed, exasperated.

“We are talkin’ truth,” Price corrected. He was as patient as ever, yet still held the firmness of a leader. “He’s that of a reaper. Souls is what he wants. The mark of death is his contract, you may say.”

“But you are not telling me what the mark does,” you cried.

Your head hurt. The world was spinning. You didn’t understand.

“I think it’s quite obvious what the markin’ is, dove,” the Captain said solemnly. “It is only by miracle it hasn’t happened to Ghost yet.”

“So I am to die? Is that it?” You flickered your gaze between each man. Your eyes told a million stories, and each of them were ones of fear and anguish. “I am going to die?”

“No,” Ghost snapped. You looked at him. He seemed as pain as you were, but the anger was taking over logic. “You ain’t dyin’. Not today, not tomorrow. M’not lettin’ it happen.”

“Ghost,” Soap tried, but he was quickly shut down.

“I said no,” he repeated resentfully. “Price, show her the map.”

Price turned to him, stiffening. It seemed he still didn’t quite want to let you know the full truth. Now, you felt it was to protect you rather than leave you out. It was too late for protection.

The Captain silently walked to his desk, pulling open the old drawer with a slam, shaking the table. He pulled out the map you’d seen so long ago, unrolling it and slapping it on the table.

“Come, dove,” he called, and you listened.

The men surrounded the desk with you, staring down at the map. The ink was still the same as it was before—islands crossed out with an X, while one remained circled.

“Suppose it’s time you knew, hm?” he asked, offering the smallest of smiles. You found that you missed his real one. The one he tried to hide when he found a joke of yours humorous.

Your nerves shot up. Your emotions were at an all-time high. You were scared, scared to find out the truth.

“These islands,” he began, tracing his finger along the map to point at the ones with an X, “are all land marked by Graves. Every single one, we went to in search of a medic. The one in the poem, remember?”

The one who heals the ill and poor

shall be the cure to all demise.

You weren’t sure how it linked to you. You’d never met Graves, nor had you met your pirate crew until they took you away. The connection wasn’t there. It didn’t make sense.

“Yes, I remember,” you confirmed quietly. “What does it have to do with me?”

“We searched for a medic from every village, yet when we arrived, they were famished with death, or on the brink of,” he explained. “All of the villages were all succumbin’ to Graves’ mark of death. We think he was attemptin’ to get rid of all villages as much as he could so we wouldn’t be able to find their medics. We don’t know how, but he knows we have the prophecy, and he doesn’t like it.”

“And how do you know the prophecy is related to Graves?” you questioned. “How do you know it relates to me?”

“Ghost got the prophecy a long time ago when he was still on Graves’ ship,” Soap piped in. His hands rested on the table and he leaned over the map, but his eyes bore into yours. “He was searchin’ for answers even then. This is all he got.”

You couldn’t imagine the desperation Ghost must have felt, knowing Graves had him under his despicable spell. Not knowing whether he was going to live or die.

Your heart ached.

“And me?”

The room went silent, as if your words burned a wound in them.

“Your village had the mark, yet nobody had suffered from it,” Gaz said quietly. His eyes were soft when he looked at you with the unmistakable glimmer of pity in them. “We knew you were the one we were lookin’ for.”

“My village was not cursed,” you denied, shaking your head. “There is simply no possibility. We rarely got outsiders unless they were coming to browse the merchants.”

It clicked in your head how quickly it must’ve happened. Graves, visiting your village under the guise of an innocent shopper, gearing his interest towards the various merchants that littered your small streets.

It would’ve been so easy for him. So terribly easy.

Your people died to Price’s crew, but the true evil was the man who gave the pirates reason to ensure a massacre.

“That’s why you did what you did,” you muttered to yourself in disbelief. “You killed them because of him. You killed Mary because of him.”

“The curse would’ve taken over the moment you left,” Gaz explained. “You were the shield protectin’ them without even knowin’. You’re meant to fulfill the prophecy, grantin’ you immunity until we found you.”

All this talk about a prophecy made you want to scream, cry, yell, anything. Why you? Why were you the one chosen, and why did it have to be you?

You wanted your life back. You didn’t want to be apart of this.

Before you knew it, tears welled up in your eyes. They stung, causing you to blink rapidly. You didn’t want to seem weak, but in this moment, you were.

“Dove?” Gaz called out, concerned.

“I don’t want this,” you cried, shaky hands balling into fists. “You—you knew I was apart of this and never told me. You kept me in the dark for this long, you hid me from the truth, and for why?”

“We don’t have all of the information yet, dove, please—” Price began, but you shut him down.

“Bullshit!” you shouted, and he reeled back in surprise. You had been outspoken before, plenty with the Captain especially, but he had never seen you lash out so fiercely. “You took my life away because you assumed I was the one in your ridiculous prophecy on a whim. You took a guess and went with it. I am hardly a proper medic, let alone worthy enough to be that person for you, so why have you chosen me?”

“You must understand, you were the only medic left alive,” Price defended. “We had no choice. We did what we had to do.”

“At my expense,” you argued.

“At all of our expense,” he retorted. “I did not care for your life when we stole it. I did not care for it when you were locked in the brig. I cared for Simon’s.”

You fell silent, whipping your head to look at Ghost. You’d heard Price call him Simon before, by a slip-up, but now he had said it purposely. Ghost simply looked away, arms crossed over his chest.

All that talk before and now, at your aid, he was as quiet as a street mouse.

“Without you, he will die. We do not know when. Graves hasn’t killed him due to the thrill of holdin’ his life in his hands. It’s a toy to him. He can take his life away at any moment, and I would not allow that, even if it meant ruinin’ yours.”

Price’s cheeks were reddened from the frustration and helplessness he was feeling. He was a Captain trying to save his crew’s life, uncaring of yours—in the beginning, at least.

Now, the mere thought of losing both had him kneeling like a pitiful dog to the Devil of the Seas.

“I do not wish to be here,” you murmured, taking a step back. Soap opened his mouth to retort, but you silenced him. “I need to be alone.”

The Captain gave you a sad smile, nodding his head. He was respecting your wishes.

“As you wish,” he agreed, and you made your way out of the suffocating quarters, returning to your shared one with Gaz and Soap.

“Dove,” a voice called out. It was quiet, like it was whispering, yet to you, it sounded loud. You hated its voice.

It was black. Your eyes couldn’t adjust to the light, no matter how much you shifted them to look around.

Your body felt heavy, as if something was weighing on you. Your lungs were tight, and when you opened your mouth for air, nothing came in. You slapped your hands over your throat, clawing at the skin.

Why couldn’t you breathe? You felt like you were drowning. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t take in an ounce of air, and you could feel your lungs beginning to protest.

A cold panic came over you, like an icy wave consuming you in its dangerous waters. You tried to move your legs, but they were stuck. They were too heavy.

All you could do was helplessly paw at your throat, praying to gasp for a breath, praying that the Gods had mercy on you.

“Dove,” it whispered once more. Where had you heard the voice before? You knew it, but your mind was blanking from the lack of oxygen.

“I’ll be seeing you, dove,” it mocked.

Dove. Dove. Dove.

“Dove!”

You shot awake, a sharp gasp invading your lungs. The burning in your chest was harsh, and it was as if you truly hadn’t been breathing.

Coming to, you blinked the groggy confusion away, lifting a hand to wipe at your eyes.

Soap peered down at you, his eyebrows knitted worriedly. His hands were on each side of your shoulders, as if he’d shaken you awake, and when you realized you had been asleep, you only guessed that’s what he was doing.

“I kept callin’ ye but ye weren’t wakin’,” he said wearily. “Are y’alright?”

You glanced around the room, taking it in. Gaz’s bed. The clothes strewn on the floor. The mess on the small desk that you’d never seen occupied.

You were no longer suffocating in darkness. It was a mere dream—no, a nightmare. A terror.

You were safe.

“I don’t know,” you confessed breathily, still catching air.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you recalled the nightmare. You couldn’t remember the voice, not when you were fearing a death that was merely fake, but you knew now.

“Tell me,” Soap urged gently, taking a seat next to you on the bed. You sat up to join him, frowning at the floor. “It’s okay.”

You risked looking up at him, searching his eyes. They were soft whenever they looked at you, and they’d been like that since the beginning. He was always patient, even when you did things that cost him a scolding from Price.

You felt like you could trust him, more than any of them.

“It was that man,” you explained. “Graves. I think he is messing with my head. I dreamt of dying, like… like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe. The whole time, I could hear his voice, calling me out. Mocking me.”

Soap listened carefully, taking in every one of your words. He cared, that much you could tell, and the situation weighed heavy on him. The worry lines on his face were proof.

Graves was tormenting with your mind, feeding into your fear. He knew you were terrified, and he enjoyed it. The way he mimicked what he told you, whispering it the same as before, it sent chills down your spine and made your blood run cold.

You understood now why Ghost was always a mystery—because he was scared, too. He just hid it better.

“I am scared,” you confessed shakily. “I do not want to die.”

“And ye won’t,” he assured, but you shook your head.

“You do not know that,” you argued. “None of you do. You have not given me a chance at life. I am stuck in this without a choice, and I am the new target. It’s not fair.”

Soap’s expression dropped into one of guilt. His focus shifted away from you, avoiding your eye, before returning back to you.

“It’s not,” he agreed quietly. “We’ve done to ye what Graves did to Ghost. Treatin’ ye like—like burdening scum, like ye don’t matter. I can’t express to ye how sorry I am for everythin’.”

You didn’t want an apology, but you accepted it nonetheless. It was the first anybody had truly apologized for the mess you were thrown into. Maybe it was something you needed without realizing. You felt a sliver of weight lifted.

“I never had a family,” you told him, staring down at your feet that hung over the side of the bed. The shoes Soap surprised you with stared back at you. “The village did not like my values or my lifestyle. It was hard being an outcast there, but it is even harder here.”

“Yer not an outcast.”

Looking back up at him, you found him smiling, a faint sparkle twinkling back at you.

“Not anymore. We thought ye were a little strange in the beginning, though,” he said, the end of his sentence bordering a tease.

You couldn’t stop your own smile from forming. Despite carrying the crushing weight of the world’s worries, as well as growing a headache with every word spoken from each of them ever since your arrival, you found yourself growing more fond over them the longer you lingered.

It’d been a bumpy road, and there were still miles ahead of you, waiting to unravel. But you couldn’t fully convince yourself that there wasn’t a part of you, yearning to belong with them.

“You are all very strange,” you retorted lightly. “I have never met such people as you before.”

“Thank ye.”

“It was not a compliment.”

Soap snorted, shaking his head at the banter. “The Captain is bitin’ tooth and nail in his quarters, thinkin’ he fucked this all up with ye. Never seen him that worried before, but with Graves bein’ around again, I don’t blame him.”

The statement caught you off guard, and you found yourself curious. “He is worried for me?”

Soap eyed you strangely, as if it had been obvious the whole time. “Ach. ‘Course he is. Cap’s got a good heart, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

“I did not realize he cared for me after everything,” you confessed.

Soap hummed, looking down at his trousers and picking at a loose thread. “We all do.”

You stared at him dumbly, cocking your head in question when he didn’t elaborate. You had become acquainted with them, surely, you lived with them now after all, but you weren’t aware they truly cared.

When Price had told you they’d grown fond of you, you didn’t quite believe it. You assumed it was his way of convincing you to trust him, but it seemed that wasn’t the truth.

The two of you sat in silence, staring anywhere but at each other. The awkwardness grew, and it felt strange to feel that when the relationships had been too uptight even consider having those moments.

You took the time to weigh out your options. The Captain being worried, especially over messing things up with you, had you in a turmoil.

As much as you wanted to deny the path chosen for you unwillingly, you felt an obligation to please them. Yet, not in the way you initially thought.

You didn’t want to let them down.

Maybe you truly were as strange as Soap thought.

“Is he still in there?” you asked Soap. He perked up, nodding his head.

“Aye. He’ll be rottin’ in there before we know it.”

You pursed your lips, facing that inner battle once more before coming to a conclusion. “Would you like to join me, then?”

Soap raised his eyebrows, watching you stand from the bed. You shot him a warm smile, tilting your head at his confusion.

“For?” he asked.

“You all need a medic,” you said, giving a nonchalant shrug. “And I do not wish to die by the hands of a filthy pirate such as Graves. I am in this now, so I suppose I’ll simply have to deal with it, am I correct?”

Soap’s smile slowly grew at your sudden courage, standing up to join you. He reached out for you, and once you became confused, he looped your arm with his, grinning down at you.

“Sure are, dove. I’ll come with ye.”

The Captain looked a mess when you entered his quarters with Soap. Ghost was beside him where Price sat at his desk, the map and prophecy still scattered on the table. The two of them were speaking hushed to one another, yet when the door opened and you stepped in, they went silent.

“She wanted to be alone, Soap,” Price protested, but you quickly shook your head, taking a step closer to the desk.

“It’s alright,” you assured. “I have had time to think.”

Price’s eyebrows raised and he glanced at Gaz for a brief moment before returning to you. “I see,” he hummed, nodding. “I have as well.”

You cocked your head, eyebrows furrowing. He gestured for Ghost and Soap to step out of the room, requesting privacy, and the sudden realization that you would in fact have to speak after your outburst made your nerves to churn.

Ghost gave your shoulder a light squeeze as he walked behind Soap, catching you off guard. When you looked at him, he stared forward, avoiding your gaze.

The door clicked shut as they left, and you stood uncomfortably in place, shifting on the balls of your feet.

“I owe you an apology,” Price began. “A true one. I may be a Captain, and I know in those regards, I come off rather violent. I can be a brute, I will admit, but I am also a man who knows times when he is right and wrong.”

He stood up from his chair, circling around the desk to face you. He leaned against the old wood, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. Upon quick inspection, you saw the faint smoke of his cigar swirling in its ashtray.

“I should not have treated you so unkindly since the beginning. I should have considered how scared you must have been, how alone it must feel,” he continued, eyes drifting off for a moment as if deep in perplexing thought. “I do not apologize for doin’ what I thought was right in that time to save my own, but I do feel sorrow for what transpired in your time bein’ here.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if Ghost had been the reasoning for this. He wasn’t a man of many words, but you knew the respect him and Price had for one another. It was safe to assume he’d speak with him privately regarding everything.

“I’d like to apologize as well,” you began, but Price stood up straight, quick to raise his hands in protest.

“You have nothin’ to apologize for—”

“I am sorry for lashing out the way I did earlier,” you cut off. Price stopped, lips pressing together. His gaze remained stuck on you, now that you had his attention. “It does not excuse what you have done to me, and I see you have realized that. If this is to be my life, I wish for compromise rather than seclusion.”

Price didn’t say anything at first. His eyes darted over your face, taking in your features. He saw the calmness you held compared to when you were last in his quarters.

You didn’t seem defeated, nor did you seem to simply agree for the sake of him and the others. You wanted this for yourself.

“I will grant you that,” he agreed in a hum, nodding once. “I do not wish for you to feel out of place no longer. You have had enough of that, I believe.”

You took in his words, and they made you smile. It was what you wanted to hear—no angry exchanges, no selfish banter. A simple compromise, one you both wanted.

“Graves came to me in a dream,” you told him. His expression soured. “I believe there will be plenty more instances where he will do that. Based off of what you have told me about him, I do not want to prolong his presence longer than I must. So, I’d like to be of help.”

Just as quickly as Price grew tense at the mention of Graves, he calmed down, shoulders relaxing when he realized your implications.

“Soap has not convinced you, yes?” he asked, uncertain. “This is your call. I may have taken you due to my own selfishness, but I give you the choice now. You do not have to be a part of it if you do not want. You are part of us now, but this is not your battle.”

“It is,” you disagreed, though remained a calm composure. For the first time around Price, you felt at ease in the same room. “If I am to be part of your crew, your family, then your battles are my battles. I may not have had a family, but I am certain that’s how it works. Does it not?”

Price stared at you; expression unreadable. It took mere moments for his lips to slowly curl up, granting you one of his rare smiles that seemed to radiate a certain light you’d never seen before. It caused your heart to pick up, though you were unclear as to why.

“That is how it works with us, dove,” he agreed softly. “Your battles are ours. You can count on it.”

“Wonderful,” you cheered with a smile of your own. “Shall we continue what wasn’t finished before, then?”

Price chuckled low under his breath, his amusement growing the longer you stuck around. He nodded, tapping his desk and calling you to it.

“Come on, dove.”

[puck-luck]

give him six | trevor zegras

warnings: extreme domination. EXTREME domination. daddy kink because i do what i want. edging. spanking. cockwarming. at the same time. don’t worry about it. i do what i want. HINTS of anal play but they don’t actually do it. derogatory language (name calling…). crying during sex. sorry! spit kink. had to be done. subspace! ugh need a man to put me in that BAD bad pairing: trevor zegras x fem!reader summary/request: “thinking about trevor zegras needing to fuck his gf roughly after a tough game to let out his frustration bc i can sooooo see him being into that. but he’d always be looking out for u too, saying to tell him if it hurts and checking in to ask if she’s ok, but as soon as she assures him she is he’s just going absolutely nuts not holding back 🫠” wc: 4109

You don’t have to look at Trevor to see how angry he is. He lost a few weeks of hockey due to his broken ankle and now he was back– but he couldn’t make a fucking goal in a shootout to get the win for his team? The worst part was that his shot was denied not by the goalie, but by the post. By the fucking post. 

Trevor loves to flaunt his accuracy in the backyard, in the practice rink, even when tossing trash into the garbage bin, but the one time he doesn’t mean to hit the post, the puck does? It’s idiocracy. It’s humiliating. He’s better than this. He knows it, you know it, the whole world knows it. But St. Louis got to celebrate tonight, and maybe if he hadn’t hit the damn post, then he’d be celebrating with his teammates instead of stewing in your bed. 

His arms are crossed over his chest and the TV isn’t even on– you join him and want to laugh at the image of your pouty boyfriend wallowing in silence. You climb under the covers with Trevor. 

“You did really well, Trev,” you compliment, settling into the mattress.

“We should’ve won,” he replies.

You sigh. “You can’t win them all.”

Trevor scoffs. “Yeah, well, we could’ve won this one,” he snaps.

You stare at him for a moment while his tone really sets in. “You don’t have to talk to me like that,” you say, your voice growing cold. “I wasn’t out on the ice with you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He, at least, sounds the part. He covers his face with his hands, the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. “I just– I’m so mad.”

You take a deep breath. You don’t have to be at work until 9 and it’s about five minutes away if you leave on time. You have to do the laundry tomorrow afternoon anyway. Trevor would feel better if you did this. You really wanted to sleep after the game tonight, but it would be a lie if you said you didn’t want to make him feel better. Another deep breath.

“Why don’t you take it out on me?” You ask.

Trevor looks over at you, surprise written all over his features. “Really?” He asks, like a child who was just told that he could have another candy before bed. “Like last time?”

Last time. You practically start salivating, thinking about how Trevor brought you to the edge and ripped you away from the cliff time after time, until you were sobbing and screaming and begging for a release. 

“Yeah, like last time,” you agree, already a little absent. Trevor notices, of course he does, he’s more in tune with your body than you are at this rate.

A smile tugs on the corner of Trevor’s lips, but he ignores it.

“Hands and knees,” Trevor says. “Right in front of me.”

You position yourself accordingly.

Trevor smooths a hand over your behind, your shirt riding up and exposing your skin due to the position you’re in. You hadn’t worn anything else to bed– why would you? You and Trevor had been together for ages and you weren’t exactly new to his… post-loss coping mechanisms. 

“Elbows,” Trevor corrects. His cock twitches when you immediately drop to your elbows, no hesitation in your movements. You’re silent, like he wants when you play like this, and you’ll do anything he says. You’re gorgeous like this, all spread out and listening to him with your head forward like a good girl, waiting for your next instruction.

You hear his voice over the thumping of your heart, although you’re not sure how. You’re always finding Trevor in the mess of everything. 

“Bite the sheets,” Trevor commands, shimmying out of his boxers. You can hear him moving and you take the bedsheets in your mouth, the fabric almost immediately saturating with your saliva. “Close your eyes.” You slide your eyes shut and wait, your shaky breath filling the room and heating your face.

Something warm probes at your entrance and for a moment, you can’t tell if it’s Trevor’s fingers or his cock. The answer comes to you via a sharp spank on your left cheek, with Trevor’s left hand. He always fingers you with his left hand so that he can keep his right around your neck– the hand that’s currently kneading your other cheek. 

He pushes his cock into you slowly, the movement more like he’s pulling you back than pushing you forward. 

“Six shots,” Trevor muses, watching his cock disappear into you. “Six shots, and I didn’t make one.”

You bite back the reassurance, swallowing it. Trevor doesn’t want to hear it.

“Do you know how that feels?”

You don’t answer. He still doesn’t want to hear it.

“I’ll show you,” Trevor promises, his voice deceptively soft. His hand rests against your skin, heavy and present. 

You get lost in the feeling easily, your mouth full of the comforter and your fingers twisted in the top sheet. Your eyes stay closed, the red-tinged darkness grounding you. 

“Yeah, I’ll show you,” he repeats, his voice darker this time. “You’re going to understand exactly what it feels like to come so close six times, just for all of that to be taken away from you.”

Your eyes open at his words and you pale. You spit the covers out and break your silence. “Six times?” You ask, incredulous. “Trev.”

“Daddy,” Trevor corrects with a spank. “Unless that’s… not what we’re doing tonight?”

You clench down on his length at the contact and the name, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sound of his voice. Trevor is playing with you, teasing you. His fingers are walking all over you– the small of your back, your cheeks, down your crack all the way to where he’s buried inside of you… and it’s distracting.

You find yourself nodding. “It is.”

“Good,” Trevor says. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make the second and third ones quick, okay?”

His voice is full of condescension, like he knows you’re going to lose track of everything as soon as he starts hitting you. He’s right, but that’s neither here nor there.

For as long as you’d been dating Trevor, you’d never seen him tap into the mindset that he has on the ice off the ice. However, when he’s bringing his hand down on your ass, he gets pretty damn close.

His spanks are precise and powerful. He’s leaving pink handprints all over your skin, from the fleshy parts of your ass to the top of your thighs, even a few falls over the hole that he’s not occupying. Each flash of his hand leaves your skin burning and your hips inching upwards, begging for more. All of this, and he’s still inside you– the torture of the spanking is that he isn’t moving, and you’re not supposed to.

You lose track of the count, feeling your stomach flip with each slap. What starts as stinging pain turns into aching pleasure, and the sensations aren’t lost on Trevor.

He feels you jolt each time he brings his hand down on your skin, the clench of your pussy around his cock, the pounding of your pulse from inside of you. Trevor smirks and shifts his hips forward as he brings his hand down, his hand making contact with your asshole just as his tip nudges against your g-spot.

You wail, lurching under Trevor’s watchful eye. You fuck back on his cock once, only managing the movement one measly time, before Trevor stills you with a hand and slides out of you.

“No,” you breathe out, voice muffled by your makeshift gag. 

“Yes,” Trevor replies, smug. “Isn’t it frustrating?”

You glare at him, turning so he can see the look on your face.

All it does is make him laugh. “Well, now I have to really punish you, don’t I?” He asks. “I can’t have my baby making angry faces at me.”

Trevor taps your hip, wordlessly telling you to move. You resume your original position next to him, expecting Trevor to tell you to put your “pretty little hand” on his cock and jerk him until he comes all over your freshly manicured fingers. 

You don’t expect him to slide under the covers and hike up your shirt until your breasts are exposed. Trevor hooks a leg around yours, his mouth exhaling warm air onto your nipple. His fingers tap at your skin, one hand on your side and the other on your mound, making its way south. 

“We’re going to do four like this,” Trevor tells you. His voice is merely a whisper, crawling over in your skin and raising goosebumps in its wake. “Just like this. I’m gonna take one,” he breathes, catching your nipple between his teeth for a split second before continuing. “Right here. Gimme one, baby, just from me licking your tits. I know you can.”

He dives in, tongue first. Your jaw drops as Trevor’s eyes close, the same way you know they do when you kiss him. It’s surreal, seeing him kiss and lick over your skin the way he normally does over your lips. His eyelashes flutter, the long, dark pieces of hair stealing your train of thought. 

Trevor surprises you with how quickly he brings you to the edge again. He promised that the second and third would be quick, but you didn’t know just how quick he meant.

You let out a strangled gasp and your hand flies to Trevor’s hair when he opens his eyes and lets his adoring gaze fix on your face. You pull him off your chest, heaving breaths filling your lungs. 

Trevor smirks, but it never quite reaches his eyes. The same look burns you, makes you shy under his gaze. You blush and look away, one of your hands covering the redness on your cheeks.

“Good,” Trevor remarks, a mere observation. “You got close, didn’t you, baby?”

You nod, still breathing heavily.

Trevor waits, expectant. He tilts his head down and blinks.

“Yes, Daddy,” you concede. “I was close.”

“Honest girl,” Trevor praises. His fingers dance over your slit. “Love you.”

“Love you,” you parrot back to him. 

Trevor rewards you by pushing one finger into your heat, pumping it in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. 

Your breath stays shaky, your eyes never leaving Trevor’s. His finger drags along your walls, petting the inside of you with its pad, and you swear you can feel the ridges of his fingerprint inside of you if you focus enough. 

It’s hard to focus on that when Trevor’s got his scrutinizing eyes on yours, though.

“What finger is it?” Trevor asks.

“What?” You stammer, finally blinking and breaking the trance. 

Trevor’s other hand flies up to steady your chin before you can look down and ruin his game. “Which finger–” Trevor asks, curling it inside you. “–am I fucking you with?”

Your brain stalls. It’s a no-brainer, really, you should know each of Trevor’s fingers by feel alone with how often they make their way inside of you. However, you’ve been denied two orgasms already and Trevor is close to taking a third from you with just his smug stare.

“Come on,” Trevor goads. “You know which finger this is, baby. The faster you tell me, the faster I get you to your orgasm.”

“Yeah, the faster you take it away,” you reply. 

Trevor’s eyes cloud over and he jams his finger inside you, increasing his pace. “Don’t be a bitch.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Trevor twists his finger inside of you.

“Unless you want me to fuck you like one,” he teases. 

You clench down on Trevor’s finger, his middle finger you realize, when he utters those words.

“You like that?” Trevor asks, unnecessarily. He can feel how you feel about it. “You like the idea of me getting my cock in you and fucking you like a damn animal? What is it, baby? Is it the primal instinct of it all or just the fact that I’m disciplining you like you’re worth less than I am?”

You moan at his words, logical responses and formed sentences too far from you to grasp.

“Tell me.” Trevor nudges your g-spot and you arch your back, your hips grinding against his finger… just for him to draw it out of you. “Not so fast. We’ve still got three more to go.”

“I was close,” you complain.

“So was I,” Trevor counters. “Hurts, doesn’t it? When things don’t work out the way you want them to?” 

“Trevor!” You frown, put off by his game.

“Well, now you’ve really done it,” Trevor growls, shoving two fingers inside of you and resting his thumb on your clit. “You know better than to call me by my name.”

You’re drenched in sweat and slick, so Trevor’s movements aren’t hindered in the slightest, not even when you squeeze your thighs shut. All Trevor does is push them open, trap your thigh under his bony knee. Somehow, even though you just had your legs spread, Trevor seems to push in further and rub your clit faster, hitting every right spot in alternating movements: clit, then g-spot, clit, then g-spot again. And over and over.

You don’t warn him this time, you don’t pull away. You try not to clench down, you try not to rock your hips, you try anything that might get you real relief from a real orgasm without Trevor noticing.

But it’s also a futile effort because your boyfriend knows you that well.

He withdraws his fingers just as your legs, the traitors, begin to tremble.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t think you’d get away with that, did you?” Trevor teases.

“Please,” you beg. “Please, Daddy.”

Trevor’s eyes flash with approval and he teases your entrance again, this time with a third finger. “Don’t worry,” he coos. “We’ve only got two more. Then I’ll let you come.”

You choke on your own spit when Trevor buries his three fingers inside of you, all in one motion. He doesn’t dawdle or stall for time. He doesn’t take advantage of the situation at hand– that you were already shaking for him and a pump of his fingers would give you away to the pleasure just on the other side of your approaching peak.

No, he doesn’t pump his fingers. He just wiggles them as deep as he can get them and smirks before dropping a kiss on your lips. He lowers himself then and blows cool air on your clit, spreading your folds with his other hand so the full bundle of nerves is revealed to him. He leans in and captures it with his tongue, lightly sucking on the bundle. It’s not the most friction he’s ever given you, but it’s consistent. He builds you up on his tongue, slowly, so slowly. 

And when your thighs close around his head, he stops. You’re aching for a release, tears building along your waterline. Your refractory period is shrinking with each near-orgasm, your babbles begging for Trevor to do something.

“I need it,” you beg, but the words feel more like a scream with how heavy they sit on your chest. 

“Oh, I know you need it,” Trevor replies, tone mocking. “You need it so bad, you’re acting up. Talking back, not using my name, not answering my questions, trying to trick me so that you can get an orgasm. I ought to leave you like this, really show you what it’s like to be left frustrated after a disappointing performance.”

“No,” you whimper. “No, Trevor, that’s too much.”

It’s not your word, it’s not a cry of pain, but it still gives Trevor pause. 

“Need me to be sweet to you?” Trevor asks, his eyes genuine and his hair wild from your wandering grasp.

You whine, arching your back. Trevor smiles fondly, but bats you away. When your back makes contact with the mattress again, Trevor’s deft fingers pinch your nipple and cause you to arch up a second time. He pushes you back down.

“Slut,” Trevor chastises. “Think you can distract me with your tits? This isn’t amateur hour, baby. I’ve still got to steal one orgasm from you.”

You blanch at that, your eyes wide. You take in every detail of his face, panting. There isn’t anything you could say that could stop him, except your word, but you’d rather curl into a ball and die than stop this right now. The words don’t come to you to tell him to continue, though.

“I’m going to get you so close,” Trevor whispers, his face close to yours. He leans down and kisses your neck. You arch into him, your once-useless hands finding his sides. You feel over the muscle there, his lean waist and strong chest. “You’re going to be right there, baby, and then I’m going to take it all away.”

“Please,” you repeat, but it’s indecipherable whether you’re begging Trevor to let you come or begging Trevor to leave you wanting more.

“Yeah,” Trevor agrees, sliding his three fingers back into your wet cunt. 

You moan sharply at the intrusion, pumping deep into you this time and dragging along your walls in a torturous way. It feels so good, it has you seeing white specks when you manage to open your eyes and look at Trevor. His eyes are trained on your cunt, watching your wetness seep all over his fingers. When you push his hair out of his face, his eyes lift to meet yours. 

His pupils are blown wide with lust and he’s got a snarl rumbling from deep in his chest. It is primal, you realize, the way he’s bullying his fingers into your cunt without a thought about what you can or can’t handle. He’s taking you, the way that you’ll only ever allow him to do.

“Gonna come?” Trevor asks, the evil smirk overtaking his face again.

“Please,” you beg again.

“‘Please,’” Trevor mocks. “Is that the only word you know?”

He pulses his hand, his fingers bouncing off your walls and causing you to jolt and scramble to find something to hold onto. That something ends up being Trevor’s hair and the pillow to your side. Your chest is heaving again, your nipples taut and pointed and begging to be touched. 

As Trevor’s eyes trail down your body at a snail’s pace, you can feel your orgasm approaching. You yank his hair and he winces, bringing his hand to your neck and squeezing in retaliation.

“Daddy,” you wheeze, the edge of your vision growing fuzzy and dark. It’s the only warning you can give Trevor as the cliff starts to crumble below you, as you start to fall away into the orgasm that was denied from you for so long.

And when Trevor pulls his fingers out of you, he yanks you back onto solid ground.

And, unsurprisingly, you start to cry.

It’s not pretty, either. It’s not a tear here and there when you’re deepthroating your boyfriend, or the beautiful running of mascara as he fucks your face at some hockey event. No, this is full-on sobbing, gut-wrenching cries that have Trevor taking inventory of all the things he did to you, wondering if he pushed you too far. He rubs your thighs with both of his hands in a soothing motion, ignoring the glistening precum that he’s inadvertently rubbing into your skin. 

“Baby,” Trevor murmurs. 

You sob and raise your arms, needing him to hold you. Trevor’s face softens immediately and he pulls you into his chest, turning so he’s sitting with his back against the headboard and you’re awkwardly dangling half on his lap, half off. You keen into his neck, burying your face in his soft, tan skin.

“My girl,” Trevor whispers, rubbing your arms now and pulling you closer to him, comforting you with his warmth. “You’re perfect.”

“Daddy,” you whisper into his neck. “Please.”

Trevor tilts your head back and looks into your eyes. His gaze looks sad, meeting your own, red and puffy. “Please what, baby?”

“I need your cock,” You plead, petting over his stomach with a hand that feels like its made of static. “I need you to make me come, Daddy.”

Trevor groans, sounding pained. He twitches beneath you. “Like this?” He asks.

You nod, losing your words again. It’s a timid but vehement nod, needing Trevor to press inside you more than anything, but not knowing if you could handle another ruined orgasm.

“Please, let me come this time,” you say, trying to look as pathetic and needy as you can. With big doe eyes like this, Trevor has always been bad at denying you the things you want. 

“Yeah, I think I’ve tortured you enough,” Trevor agrees, reaching under you and pressing his cockhead against your entrance. “Give me a bounce, baby. Wanna see your tits jump in front of my face, yeah?”

Trevor snakes his hands around to grab your bottom, his fingers tight against the skin. He uses his leverage to bounce you for him, knowing that you don’t have control over your movements as fucked out as you are, and he’d hate to see you cry more because you’re mad at yourself for not moving the way he wanted you to.

He lifts you up and down, snapping his hips up to meet yours when they fall. His eyes flicker between your boobs and your face, the teartracks drying over your cheeks as you allow yourself to be consumed by ecstasy. One of Trevor’s hands flies upward, tracing over your skin until he threads it between the strands of your hair. Once his whole hand is enveloped in your roots, he tugs and your mouth falls open.

Trevor leans forward and directs a glob of spit down your throat, his forceful hawk causing his spit to find the back of your throat. 

You convulse on top of him, trembling under his watchful gaze and his warm cock. “Daddy,” you pant, feeling like you’re burning and drowning in your desire for him. Trevor slips his thumb into your mouth as you come and you suck on it like a child, grinding against him through your aftershocks.

You’re floating on air by the time your aftershocks cease and Trevor pulls out of you gently, grasping his cock in his fist. He’s watching you and you’re watching him. Never breaking eye contact, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out.

Trevor presses his tip to your tongue and strokes his cock, squeezing on the downstroke and groaning curses with each turn of his hand. He comes just seconds later, his white ropes of come gracing your tastebuds. He pulls away after only a few drops intersect with your tongue, continuing to come in spurts over your cheeks, lips, and nose. A bit of come drips down the tip of your nose and you poke your tongue out again to try and catch it, which makes Trevor laugh.

Still lost in your post-orgasm haze, you barely notice when Trevor leaves the bed and comes back with a moist towel. He wipes your face, then your thighs and pussy, dropping a kiss on your lower belly after he’s finished. You let out a breath at that, not knowing that you were holding it, astounded by the fragility and intimacy of the moment.

“Daddy,” you say out loud, mostly just to yourself. Mostly just to feel the word on your tongue, feel it take its shape in your mouth. It sounds like awe.

Trevor deposits the towel in the hamper across the room with a toss, proving yet again that his precision and accuracy are off the charts most of the time. He crowds your space, tracing your features with his delicate pinky. “Did Daddy make you feel good, baby?” Trevor asks. “You made Daddy feel good.”

You whine at that and almost want to cry again at the praise. All the time you spent wondering if you were good enough, if you’d ever get a boyfriend who loved you and stayed with you was worth it when you found Trevor. He always said the right things, made you feel things you’d never felt before. 

“I love you,” you say.

Trevor slips his thumb into your mouth, watching your eyes close in bliss as he presses it against your tongue. You can still taste where he was rubbing your pussy with this digit.

“I love you,” he replies, voice soft. His voice sounds like awe, too.

note: small town girl chapter 1 next! (hopefully)

[dipperscavern]

idk if you would write but i would love to see in ur style a tyrell!reader x robb. imagine being the winter rose? omg living the biggest dream by being a beauty of the seven realms, having tales of ur beauty passed on, and then being betrothed to robb as a mean of house tyrell to guarantee their safety, but still, theres no northern or southern who can resist the tyrell beauty and robb is one of them

nana.. this ask did things to me. i love this idea smsmsm & thank u for sending it in !!

tyrell beauty was never anything that could be denied — by friend or by foe.

you & your twin sister, margaery, were the greatest testimonies to that. while margaery was no doubt beautiful, tales of your beauty had spread throughout the seven kingdoms. singers, poets, servants & kings alike had all heard and contributed to the spread of the tale of the tyrell rose — not only beautiful in physical aspects, but a gorgeous personality to match.

you & margaerys older brother, loras, was also rumored for his looks. safe to say, you three were widely known.. the beauties of house tyrell.

even the north, cold and harsh as it was, was not exempt from hearing the tales of you & your siblings beauty. jokes and speculations had long passed around winterfell, only increasing tenfold when hearing about house tyrell’s rumored interest in forming an allegiance with the north. when bran, rickon, & arya stepped into the castle, covered in dirt & almost soaking wet from that days ministrations, jory only sighed seeing them, ushering them to baths with a mutter of-

“the beauties of winterfell…”

robb only laughed at the teases he heard about you & your siblings, but sometimes found his thoughts wandering to you. his mind often drifting to think about the tyrell rose, absurd childlike questions, that he should’ve pushed away as quickly as they entered his mind. do the tales do your beauty justice? what are you like in person? are you warm? would you like him? what would you think of the north?

he focused on training, doing as he was told & preparing to become lord of winterfell one day, although he couldn’t stop the fleeting thoughts about you that arose every once in a while. a child’s dream, he thought.

so you can imagine his surprise when his father & mother sat him down, telling him of the alliance house tyrell wanted to make with house stark..

through marriage.

robb felt like he was dreaming. the beauty of the seven kingdoms, betrothed to him? he could barely keep the smile off his face, wanting to not only improve stature to his house, but do his duty as a husband. excitement pooled in his gut, as theon clasped his hands on robb’s shoulders at dinner, congratulating him. theon’s hands waved in the air, saying something about-

“the beauty and the beast..”

any other night he would’ve gotten a shove to the ground, but robb only threw him a playful smile. even theon’s relentless teasing couldn’t ruin this for him. if he was to be lord of winterfell one day, he’d need a strong woman by his side — he dreamed of a relationship like his mother and fathers, and he prayed in the godswood to the old gods that night, that they would guide your union as man and wife.

in the days leading up to your arrival at winterfell, countless preparations were made. the tyrell host was large, and all of the starks had done their parts to prepare to receive it. you were to stay in winterfell for a week before the wedding, and your family would leave shortly after. you had handmaidens and a few select soldiers to stay with you at winterfell, and you could visit high garden anytime you wanted in the near future. you asked your grandmother if she would visit you in winterfell again after the wedding, but she only put a hand over your own & said it would take the Father himself to drag her back to that “frozen wasteland”.

the day you arrive, robb thinks he’s might jump out of his skin, he’s so nervous. still, he puts on a brave face for his & his families sake, wanting to be everything you need and more.

you, margaery, and the queen of thornes are riding in the wheelhouse, while ser loras is in front of it, mounted on a white mare. his armor glints in the sunlight, doing wonders to illuminate his face. he’s handsome, robb can admit, and that only makes his curiosity increase about you & your sister. & once you both step out of the wheelhouse, robb feels his heart skip as many beats as it can without killing him.

a few of your cousins step out first, giggly as they curtsy to the starks and stand respectively to the side. margaery is next, gorgeous auburn hair & a button nose, a flattering dress with the tyrell colors proudly on display, and a sweet smile to accompany it all. she curtsy’s as well, standing more in front of the wheelhouse, as loras dismounts and moves to stand next to her.

when you step out of the wheelhouse, robb’s breath hitches. his body forgets every single instinct he’s ever had, & he has to remind himself to breathe, as to not kill himself. you’re beautiful. stunning. a sight for sore eyes. he doesn’t think there’s any word in the common tongue that can be used to describe your beauty without downplaying it. it seems like nobody can tear their eyes off of you, your aura doing wonders to brighten the damp atmosphere.

you curtsy to them all, along with a smile he wishes would never leave your face. robb can’t tear his eyes from you, even when you move to offer your hand to the queen of thornes as she steps out. you meet robb’s gaze in the moment everyones attention is not on you. the corner of his mouth tilts up in a smirk as he winks at you. you only tilt your head, brows lightly furrowing as you smile at him. your gaze falls to the floor as blush rises to your cheeks, retracting your hand from your grandmothers and smoothing out your gown.

pleasantries are exchanged, you and robb stealing glances to each other every so often. lady olenna & a few of your cousins go with ned stark & lady catelyn, moving to discuss the wedding, among other things. you take robb’s arm as he escorts you, margaery, and loras to where you’ll be staying at. robb drinks in every moment with you.

you’re gorgeous, soft, & warm. you have a kind heart, a love for the arts and children, and you’re very kind. your shy nature bubbles away as you grow more comfortable in each others presence.

that night, a great feast is held. everyone of the starklings is made to be in attendance, and robb prays that arya can keep her withering resolve just a little bit longer. you’re sat beside him, softly laughing at a remark ned had made. robb’s heart warms at the sight of you & his father getting along, but is quickly forgotten when he sees arya dash away & out of the hall. guards are sent after her, and robb bites back a smile at her daring antics.

he’s snapped out of his thoughts as your hand clasps his bicep, his head turns towards you as you lean into speak in his ear.

“forgive me, i must be excused. i’ll return shortly.” you say, a reassuring smile making its way onto your face as you get up. robb only nods, sighing in an attempt to soothe his frayed nerves.

it’s a few minutes later when the queen of thornes sits next to him, striking up light conversation. judging his character, no doubt. at the end of it she nods her head in approval, asking him to please find her granddaughter — wherever she’s run off to. robb stands up with an-

“of course, my lady.”

moving to follow the direction you went in. it takes him outside, and he looks around, before his gaze settles on you & a small form behind you, a guard approaching in front of you. robb was lucky to be in earshot of you.

“pardon, my lady, we’re looking for arya underfoot, ned starks daughter. ‘bout yay high, brown of hair. have you seen ‘er ‘round?”

you were stood beside a pillar, one arm behind your back as you discreetly pressed arya further behind you. one shift of your form & arya would be revealed, dragged back to the festivities she had just escaped from. robb watched you from afar, careful not to give away your position — but close enough to hear & see your response. curiosity spread through him as he and the guard both awaited your answer.

your brows furrowed in faux confusion, looking at the guard with a soft expression.

“i must confess, i haven’t seen her. brown of hair, you said?”

the guard swallowed, nodding as he eyed you up & down. you smiled sweetly at him.

“i will be sure to keep an eye out, ser…?”

you slightly raised your brows, and the guard quickly gave you his name. you repeated it to him, and the guard nodded, smiling.

“would you be so kind to escort me back to the festivities? a castle like this.. it’s so easy to get lost.”

the guard quickly agreed, not being able to resist you, & robb is enamored, having witnessed the tyrell charm firsthand. what happens next seals the deal for robb.

as you move to take the guards arm, you spot loras patrolling, his path sending him to pass on the other side of the pillar that you’re at. the eye contact between you both is minimal, and robb almost misses your eyes slightly widen & the small nod of his head. with one swift move, you’re grasping the guards bicep & using your other hand to gently push arya to your older brother, as he outstretches his hand just enough for arya to get the hint. as you walk off, loras has one hand on aryas shoulder, ushering her off with a wink — & robb watches the smile grow on aryas face as she slips away.

yeah, he thinks. you’re perfect.

his winter rose.

sorry if this was too long or not what you were envisioning, but i had sm fun writing this !! tyrell supremacy

[mustangbby]

same bitch who requested the last wrio pregnancy stuffs but I need more and I'm like kinda in love with your writing so I want to request MOREEEEEEE anyways how he deals with reader third trimester (WRIO DOTING ON U CUS UR SO ROUND AND CUTE AWEEHFUREILFRUEIWHFCIR) anyeyss thanks for listening ily nova

-> third trimester

synopsis -> wriothesley during ur third trimester of pregnancy. self explanatory

a/n -> anon ur my spirit animal i love ur energy (and u 😉) but anyways i could write so much more lmk if anyone wants a part 2

warnings -> pregnancy, lactation and vomiting mentions, besides that pure fluff

w/c -> 1.6k

he doesn’t know how to feel the moment you tell him you’re officially in the third trimester of your pregnancy. it all went by so fast, he thinks it was just yesterday you called him into the bathroom to look at the small test that changed your lives in the greatest way possible.

and now, you were almost finished growing your daughter. anyone who even took a glance your way could certainly tell that you were having a child, and it’s certainly the dukes. 

the women of the fortress have been keeping tabs on you and your pregnancy, awaiting the day you walk with your baby in your arms instead of in your stomach. they’re so nice to you, so wriothesley allows you to wander sometimes because of it. they’re always willing to make you comfortable and give you some of the nicest labor-inducing teas they can find.

now, this is around the time he’s likely going to take a work leave, or just not work as often. his job requires his undivided attention, and he has to be flexible and able to be there in case a tragedy, like the seal breaking, were to occur. (hopefully not, because he still thinks about how he’d get you out of the fortress in time. you’re unable to run and you can barely walk at a quick pace, leaving him nervous and clueless a lot, considering your living quarters were connected to a door in his office). 

besides that, your life is pretty good, despite how uncomfortable you feel all the time. you ache everywhere, and sleep is simply not a thing that comes by often anymore. so, these are the moments wriothesley is able to step in and make sure that you’re content and as comfortable as you possibly can be. 

the main thing he needs to do for you is help you stand, considering that it’s incredibly hard for you now. you can do it of course, but it’s too much effort and you always either stand and immediately sit back down due to how winded you feel, or you just don’t try at all. wriothesleys strength comes into hand in these moments, almost making you fall forward due to how quick he pulls you up (the first time he did it, it actually happened. he caught you in time, but it left you laughing and him just there like “i almost just killed you sweetheart” and worried). 

he’s so the type of husband to barely wake up when you scoot yourself out of bed to use the restroom, and him behind you giving you a little boost to get up before going right back to sleep. he’ll try to keep consciousness while you’re out of bed, in case you fall or something happens, but as soon as he sees you re-enter the room he’s out once more. 

the only times he genuinely wakes up at night is when you frantically shake/tap him or you’re crying. if you’re crying, he’ll sit up and turn on a light (if you want) and try to ask you what the problem is. if it’s just a cramp or if you’re just achy/not in the right position, he’ll massage you or help you reposition the pillows to ensure your comfort. 

and when it comes to you walking up his offices’ stairs? he’s incredibly paranoid about it, but he’ll try to not make it known. you had to tell him multiple times to settle, that the railing was enough to keep you on your balance, and that you were just pregnant, not paralyzed. he’ll still try to meet you down at the door to help you up the stairs, especially when you’re at your biggest point. he’d be anything but calm and composed if you were to take a tumble down them (he would have a heart attack on the spot). 

and oh, would that man dote on your belly. you’re just so adorable, how could he not? especially when you’re curled up on the couch in his office with a luxurious sherpa blanket and the roundness of your tummy under the cover is very evident. usually, he won’t be able to help himself and would lay down next to you, his head lightly propped up on your stomach or on the side of your body. on the occasions he falls asleep, you stroke his hair, reading whatever book in his office that has piqued your interest this time. 

he’s also a tease. sometimes. he’ll walk past you and gently brush a part of his body against your belly, usually his hip or his hand. but back to the point, he’ll rub it, massage it, hold it up to take off pressure from your back and pelvis, and cuddle it! you’re not gonna be pregnant forever, so he sees this as a chance he can’t waste. only if you’re comfortable with it, of course. if not, then he wont proceed. 

this man loves tea, so there's no surprise when he brings in a tea that he’d read induces labor, or at least makes for a smoother one. he honestly probably has so many of those types, presenting you the box and allowing you to choose which one you’d like this time. seeing your eyes sparkle and your fingers wiggle as you choose your tea of choice always makes his heart soar in adoration. 

and back on the tea thing, he’s on all of the times said book told you to have it. he’s always giving it to you right on the dot of the hour unless something else more important has taken his attention (which isn’t much, unless he’s in a meeting or something really bad has happened in fontaine/the fortress). 

he’s also one of those husbands who secretly makes an important note in his brain whenever you have an ultrasound or any sort of baby appointment coming up. he wouldn’t miss one for the world- even though it's one of the little things, it means a lot to the both of you when he shows up alongside you, and shows the world how devoted of a husband he is to you. cue clorinde in the corner taking care of his work for him during the hour that he’s away. 

like i said in my last post, his massages are incredible! usually, he’ll get the memo, and right when he gets home, he’ll set you in between his legs before rubbing the soreness out of your back, hips, shoulders, neck, foot, and calf. 

he likes to make those moments last longer, and makes him feel good if you feel good. sometimes he’ll add a little kiss to the top of your foot or along your shoulders when he’s done, making you giggle a little before going on about how he has no need to be so formal (in which he counteracts by saying something cheesy about his love for you to make you laugh once more). 

he hates seeing you in pain, and especially hates it when he hears you cry about how exhausted you are. no, not that he hates when you cry, he just hates that you have to do this all alone. obviously, he is there to give all of his support and more, and would carry the baby for you if he could, but he can't. and he knows you’re exhausted, but his issue is that there is nothing for him to do to help you feel at least a little better. he understands that it’ll come when the baby is born, and he’s already told you how for the first few weeks he’ll do anything and everything to care for the baby while you catch up on your hard-earned rest. 

another great thing about him is that he pays no mind to things such as lactation, vomiting, etc (i have genuinely seen men who make fun of their wives for things such as that out of their control). he recognizes that its just something that happens, and its normal in pregnancy, and he won't get mad at you if any of these things happen while you’re wearing his clothing, either. considering you dislike maternity clothes, you’ve been wearing his shirts lately, resulting in milk stains in some of them. you’re over here apologizing profusely while he gives you a soft lecture on how he understands that it's not your fault, that it's out of your control. because he also knows for certain that if this was something you could control, you’d choose to not have it happen. 

this guy is clingy at night, so when he realizes that cuddling you is kind of out of the options, either due to your absolutely obnoxious, in his words pregnancy pillow, or your belly is in the way, he’s certainly not thrilled. but he finds a way, which is usually just spooning you from behind or bringing your head to his chest. the first time you two did the second method, you felt embarrassed, due to your tummy barely even being able to fit the gap between you and his hip, but as time went on, you just didn’t care anymore, literally laying like half on top of him. not like he cares either. thats what he wanted you to do in the first place. 

and in the times your so so clingy, wanting to just lay flat on top of him and forget about everything and just be in the warm, strong embrace of your husband, he’s even more crafty! usually uses the side method once again unless you quite literally find a position that’ll make you as close as you possibly could be to him. sometimes it’s incredibly uncomfortable, but if it makes you happy and safe and content, he won’t fight it. just know that this might be the only time you get to do that very position with him. 

overall, mans is a great fucking husband during your pregnancy, always super patient with you and would never shame you for things out of your control. you know he’s so so soft for you and you love him so so so so much.

[jhdyuiee]

Can’t Wait

* ˚ ✦ pairing: HUSBAND!jaehyun x WIFE!y/n

* ˚ ✦ warnings/tags: smut!, fluff, unprotected sex, pet names (baby, wife, darling), breeding (jaehyun & reader want to have another child), kissing/making out, multiple orgasms, spanking, dirty talk, breast play, cursing

* ˚ ✦ w.c: 1.6k

* ˚ ✦ a.n: HAPPY ONE YEAR TO THIS BLOG ☺️☺️. i didn’t know it’d been a year alrdy, so i wrote this one as a celebration! hope u enjoy 🤍 jiji

“I’m home,” Jaehyun said softly, as he came through our shared bedroom door.

“Long day?” I asked, as he unbuttoned his white collared shirt.

“Mmm,” he mumbled, coming closer to where I sat on our bed. He placed both of his arms on either side of me and leaned in to peck my forehead. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too,” I replied, wrapping my arms around his neck. “The little one sleeping?” he asked.

“Yeah, I put him down a while ago.” It’d been almost a year since I given birth to our first child, but part of me has been aching to have another one lately. I don’t know whether to blame it on my hormones or not, but whatever it was it wouldn’t go away.

I wanted Jaehyun, I wanted to feel him in me, feel his hot white seeds filling me up.

‘Shit. Calm down Y/N.’

“Everything fine?” he asked, looking at me worried. “H-Huh? Ye-Yeah, just lost in thought,” I said, lowly.

I hadn’t expressed to Jaehyun this new desire of mine. In truth I was afraid, afraid he’d feel forced to say yes or something of the sort. The last thing I needed was for him to not love me anymore. I felt selfish. It felt ugly.

“It doesn’t seem like you’re fine Y/N,” he said, stroking my cheek. “I know when something’s up, so tell me,” he pleaded. “Please.”

I sighed, “Jae, what if we-“ I paused. “What if we have another child,” I blurted out.

His stoking stopped, replaced with an unreadable expression. ‘I knew it, maybe he didn’t like the idea-‘

“Really!” he said, rather surprised.

I shyly nodded. “Are you serious right now Y/N? You do know what you’re asking for right now.”

“Yes, I'm aware. Yes I want another child, I want to have another one of your children jae,” I said, placing my hands on his shoulders.

“But if you do-“ I was cut off by Jaehyun when he slammed his lips against mine. He kissed me with intensity, passion, and love. I melted into his kiss, into him. “You taste so good, smell so good,” he muttered as his lips tugged on my bottom lip. Then traveling down to my jaw, neck, shoulders, collarbone, nipping and sucking on my skin. I let out soft moans whenever he’d sink his teeth into my skin, so good.

“Tell me wife, tell me you want me to make you a mommy again,” he said against my skin.

“God- yes please. I want you.”

Before I knew it my nightgown was thrown somewhere in the room along with his clothes and our underwear. He sat me against his chest, opening my legs up. He slid his right hand down my body, tugging my nipple, tracing against my stomach, and brushing against my wet cunt.

“Already so wet, baby,” he chuckled against my neck. His fingers slowly rubbed my cunt, until one finger intruded inside me. The wet squelching sound could be heard as it bounced off the walls.

“So good,” I moaned.

Later another finger dipped inside, then another. I was squirming under his touch, the rapid pace of his fingers, the sounds coming out of me, and his small grunts. Fuck. It was all too good.

I tightened around his fingers. “Cum around my fingers,” he whispered in my ear and with one pinch to my clit, I came.

Resting my head against his shoulder, my chest heaving trying to regain some oxygen.

“Fucked already,” he smirked. He laid me on our bed, coming closer and his cock already hard and oozing with precum, as it rested against his stomach.

He dove down, taking my breast into his mouth, flicking his tongue on my nipple. “Can’t wait to see your breast all nice and swollen again,” he said, pinching my other nipple. He continued licking and sucking my breast, alternating between the two. “Have em’ leaking with milk,” he bit down on my nipple. “Ah-“ I quietly screamed. I couldn’t ignore the aching in cunt anymore, I wanted him in me now.

“Fuck… me… please,” I whimpered.

He chuckled, pulling away from my breast. “Anything for you my wife.”

He opened my legs, rubbing himself against my wetness, coating it. His tip pushed past my slick at a slow pace, yet stretching me out nicely.

“Fuck. How are you still so tight?” He grunted. The more his cock went in, the more moans slipped out of me. “You take me so well don’t you? Made for me darling,” he said, throwing his head back and strongly gripping my hips.

“J-Jae,” I yelled, but he clamped a hand over my mouth. “Shh, quite now baby, the little one’s asleep remember.”

I mumbled an incoherent, “okay” against his hand. Once it was fully inside, he began thrusting inside me at an unbearably slow pace, I wanted more, more rough.

Taking my hand against the one against my mouth, I moved it. “Fa-Faster please Jae,” I pleaded with the man above. He smirked down at me, grabbing my leg and holding it against his shoulder. He was deeper, hitting my g-spot more. Yes. I chanted his name like it was the only word I knew.

His thrusts more erratic and rough. I could feel as the knot in my stomach threatened to release. I unconsciously tightened around him, causing a soft moan to erupt from him.

“Shit. Cummin’ already?” He teased, bringing his thumb to vigorously rub my clit. “Yes. Just like that Jae… Fuck.”

With a slight adjustment in angle, I came. My eyes shut and my back arched, Jaehyun didn’t stop though. He kept going at it—perhaps with even more intensity—fucking me through my orgasm.

“Fuck. So tight, you’ll have me cumming in no time.” One thrust, then two, three, four, and five until he came inside me. His hot white seeds filling me up.

“Take it all, you wanted it after all,” he said, still thrusting as he stuffed me full of his cum.

“Ye-Yes, give it to me,” I mumbled, already so tired when he finally slipped out of me.

His eyes looked down at me, “Oh wife, don’t think we’re done here. You know I won’t stop until I’m sure I leave you nice and stuffed with my cum.” He swiftly flipped me over, my ass on full display. Slap. His hand collided against my ass. Slap. Another one and then another. Each slap eliciting a moan or his name from my mouth.

When he finally stopped, he gently caressed where he’d slapped me and started pushing himself into me again. His hands rested on my ass as he thrusted in me, not slowing down. “Gonna take it all again, right baby.”

“Y-Yes I’ll be nice and full with your baby,” I replied, earning a satisfied groan. With another slap to my ass, and an involuntary clench to his cock, we came. White painting my walls again, but I knew now it was far from over yet.

Jaehyun continued fucking me until dawn, stopping only to catch our breaths. If I wasn’t pregnant by the end of this I would burn the world.

He patted my stomach, “Now you’re nice and full aren’t you my precious wife.”

I grumbled, “You got too carried away, Jae.” He laughed, pulling me into his chest. He stroked my hair, his touch so soft and warm, a complete opposite of how he was earlier.

“I love you,” he said, pecking the top of my head.

“I love you too,” I muttered before drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

1 month later.

I sat on top of the toilet seat, shaking my leg uncontrollably. I was nervous, nervous at the result of the pregnancy test in my hands.

After missing my menstrual cycle and feeling awfully sick as of late, I decided to take a test. No one was home, Jaehyun was off at work and our child, Yejun, was off with his grandparents.

Endless useless thoughts flowed through my head, like ‘What if I’m not pregnant?’ As the 3 minutes approached I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer.

3…2…1…

Positive.

“I-I’m pregnant…” I muttered, resting my hand over my lips. Tears erupting from my eyes, I’m pregnant I’m pregnant I’m pregnant.

“Wife?” yelled out Jaehyun’s voice. My eyes widened, ‘Why was he home so early…’

I quickly got up from the seat, unlocking the bathroom door and stuffing the test under some towels.

“Jae? Home already,” I said, walking towards him.

“Mm, I just had a meeting and then was let go,” he said, resting himself on my shoulder.

“Something wrong?” I asked. “No, I just missed you,” he said, nipping at my neck. “You smell good Y/N.” He traveled his mouth more up, until he reached my mouth.

I was lost in our kiss, I’d forgotten about the elephant in the room. “Mmm- wai-wait Jae,” I pulled away.

He groaned. “We can’t Jae.”

“Why not?” he asked.

I hesitated a bit, ‘Should I tell him, Should I not?- Ugh, whatever he’d come to find out sooner or later.’

I backed away, walking back towards the bathroom, I grabbed the test from the towels and walked back to Jaehyun.

“Close your eyes,” I said, and he looked at me suspiciously yet complied. “This probably isn’t the best way to announce this, but… well first open your eyes.”

He fluttered his eyes open, pregnancy test resting on my palms. His eyes widened, surprise and shock plastered all over his face.

“Yo-You’re pregnant…” he said, coming out a whisper.

I nodded my head, holding back more tears. “You’re gonna be a dad again,” I said, embracing my arms around him. He wasted no time pulling me in closer.

It felt as though time had stopped, it was just the two of us. The two of us in each other’s warm embrace, celebrating the new life coming into our lives.

“Thank you Y/N,” he whispered into my ear. “I love you my wife.”

© jhdyuiee

2024.02.24

final a.n: hii!! jiji back, this fic was a quick write and a commemoration for the one year of this blog! i didn’t know it’d been a year alrdy, time sure does fly. anyways i gotta admit i had writers block the whole week, but my writing it starting to flow back, so don’t worry everyone! mouth to a flame pt. 2 will be out hopefully soon, but with school being a pain in the ass it might get delayed by a week or two :(( . anyhow, let’s brighten up && be happy! have a wonderful weekend and week!! i love u all && stay safe out there, jiji out 🤍

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 12 (Part 1 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; crying + feelings of sadness; self deprecation/worries of being a bad mother; mentions of a (very) toxic and absent mother; use of heart monitors; vivid memories of sexual encounters; body changes as a result of pregnancy; talks of baby + pregnancy; jealous!reader; baby name reveal (!!!!); pregnancy hormones of multiple variety; reader is emotional and stubborn; talks of cheating/wanting to cheat on (obnoxious) partner; EMDR; joshy coming in clutch fr (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter 12 (Part 1) Word Count: 43.8k+ (yes, i know it's fking ridiculous atp 🥲 -- honestly, i blame the characters. they have a mind of their own + I simply can't control them)

a/n: I have to say...... chapter 12 is very easily my favorite chap so far..... let's see if you'll agree with me ;) see you in a few days with pt 2 <3

as always, big 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. <3

an additional thank u to @builtbybrokenbells and @alwaysonthemend . Thank you, my loves, for always having the right words to encourage me amidst A L L of life’s stresses. I love you guys so much - I'd be lost w/out you :')

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.)

Covet Masterlist

". . .how do we begin to covet? We begin by coveting what we see every day." Thomas Harris

Theo had already left before you awoke at 8 am. 

And you were sure he’d left completely dissatisfied and grumpy. It was how he’d fallen asleep, at least. The night before, you’d completely blue-balled him. 

On top of not wanting to do anything due to tiredness, you especially didn’t feel like doing anything after your talk with Jake. Entering your bedroom to curl into a ball under the covers was immediately all you’d wanted after that conversation.

You could talk a big game and convince yourself halfheartedly of what you said, but at the end of the day. . . You knew who your heart wanted. Who it would always want — whether you allowed it or not. 

But, you’d entered your bedroom to find a smirking, sure-of-himself jock. No wallowing in bed alone. The man’s presence had aggravated you and he’d only pissed you off further with his attitude as soon as you’d entered the room.

Whenever you’d finally made it into the bedroom after your time with Jake, along with the smirk, Theo had placed his hands behind his head with a cocky brow raised. Leaning against your pillows. And, with zero remorse, you’d informed him that you were too tired for anything else and wanted to sleep. 

He’d pouted, outright. Like a child. And he’d tried a few moves to get you in the mood. . .

But, after about five attempts and rejections, he’d stopped. And, even though you’d hated that he was in your bed, you’d actually found sleep pretty easily. 

So, yes, you totally celebrated internally at him being gone. This morning was a new day, and you woke feeling well-rested and ready for the day.

And, along with Theo being gone already, the sun was shining when you woke up. There was potential for the day to be a great one. You didn’t even want to curl up in a ball to sulk and cry anymore. You couldn’t want that as the sun shone over your features.

It had also helped to open your phone screen to see a multitude of texts from Josh. Ten texts, to be exact.

Josh, 6:34 a.m.: We just left… Dragging Sam’s hungover ass through the door this morning was a TRIP.

Josh, 6:34 a.m.: Thank you for hosting our fuckin’ asses, my love. 

Josh, 6:35 a.m.: Oh! And I am SO very sorry for putting all of that on you on the day of such an important appointment. Felt REALLY fucking bad when I actually thought of that this morning.

Josh, 6:36 a.m.: Didn’t even fully wrap my mind around that shit until this morning when I saw the old sonogram magnetized to the fridge. I was in Big-Brother-to-Sam-Mode™️ last night. My brain was only halfway functioning.

Josh, 6:38 a.m.: ANYWAYS…… as repayment for your ever-devoted heart dealing with our antics, Daniel and I decided to clean up the place. I even vacuumed !!!!! 

Josh, 6:39 a.m.: The very LEAST we could do… Buuuut I actually have another way I would love to help you deal with any leftover tension…… 

Josh 6:39 a.m.: Yoga, mayhaps? Today? I heard from a little birdie that it’s great for pregnant women. 

Josh, 6:40 a.m.: Sooooo, if you wake up in time (and WANT to go), it starts at 10:30 this morning. 🧘‍♂️ I will gladly pick you up. 

Josh, 6:41 a.m.: ……Or drive to you and we can drive the Jetta. I would rather not add any more stress to your life by making you fear for your life in my beloved old lady. 🚗💨💥

Josh, 6:45 a.m.: Just let me know. I love you an  e x p o n e n t i a l  amount and would love some time with you. Just you and me. No drunken morons.

So, you sent a very sincere and appreciative text back. 

You, 8:03 a.m.: Josh. It’s fine. ❤️ I thought of the appointment thing, too. But at the end of it all, I’m just glad Sam feels like this is a safe place. I just want him to be better. I love him and I love you and I love Danny. Always. 😘Thank you so incredibly much for cleaning, too… You know how much that matters to me and I appreciate it very, very much. Tell Daniel, too.

After sending that text, you sat up and stretched with a giant yawn before answering about yoga. It did sound like a good relief for your tension, at least. . . and it was getting to the point where the baby made it sort of difficult to get comfortable. Maybe yoga would help you readjust a little. . .

You, 8:05 a.m.: YES to yoga. That sounds amazing. And YES to the Jetta….. please. Lol How much does it cost? And where?

Considering you still had a while until Josh would show up to get you, you went ahead and decided on a bath to start the day. It sounded like a refreshing, relaxing start to your day and you felt that it was very much needed after the whirlwind that last night had been.

It was going to be a good day. 

You’d just sat down at the bar with a bowl of cereal, fully refreshed from a bath. And, just as you’d responded to a TikTok Elsie sent, you heard a familiar tired groan from behind you. 

When you looked over your shoulder to see Jake rubbing his eyes, you momentarily caught his eye, a little grin fitting to his features and a nod of his head in your direction. And, just as the small action had your tummy doing somersaults, the bathroom door shut behind him.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you finished another text to Elsie before leaving your cereal for a second to check on something. . . 

You discreetly tiptoed to his room to satisfy your wondering thoughts. . . And you saw no Maya in his bed. No clothes strewn on the floor. Nothing indicating she had been there at all, in fact. (Even though you knew she had been.)

All you saw was a made bed and the blinds open to let in the morning sun. Hm. Interesting.

Now that you knew you didn’t have to sneak, you walked with a little skip in your step back to the bar. With the lack of an extra woman in the apartment, there were less nerves curling your tummy. So, you took a very satisfying bite of your Fruity Pebbles and even hummed a little as you opened TikTok to mindlessly scroll. 

The happenings from last night were lingering in your mind, but you were truly ready to declare today a new day of sorts. You were tired of feeling pessimistic and down. You had seriously decided on joy for the baby, after being all sad and weepy in the bathroom.

You and Jake – you two were a work in progress. You wanted him. He acted like he wanted you. But, you could both work to prevent that. Neither of you needed the unnecessary stress of acting on things irrationally. The dynamic didn’t need to be destroyed. All it would do is cause stress. You could get past it. Really. Truly. You could. For your baby girl. For each other.

And as much as it sucked that you weren’t together, you knew it was for the best. And, no matter what, you were in this together. You knew that – wanted to keep it that way. If you didn’t act on anything, there was nothing stupid you guys could do together that might ruin the dynamic for the baby. She needed stability.

As you glanced through the kitchen window, you saw the lavender put nicely into its old terra-cotta. The sight made your heart crack a little, while also making it feel fuller than it had in a while. It made you think of times past with a natural, melancholy longing. But. . . it also made you think, once again, of your current reality. The here and now – which, like that day he’d first brought you the plant, could be a fresh start. 

Minutes after you’d made it back to your stool, Jake came out of the bathroom. And your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him. Freshly showered. Nothing but that particular pair of pajama pants slung across his hips. You noted how refreshed he looked. His chestnut locks, hanging long against his back and shoulders, droplets marking his tanned skin. 

Well. 

He wasn’t looking up to see you, not yet. His eyes were watching his feet, brows drawn in as he walked towards you and the kitchen. He appeared to be playing what looked like an air guitar. Except, this air guitar truly mimicked that of an actual guitar, and you knew if he was holding his actual instrument, you’d hear a beautiful melody coming from him. You wondered if it was a new song or one you’d heard already. You also wondered how long you could get away with watching his biceps flex with each intentional movement on the imaginary guitar. 

Before you could think on it any longer, you decided it best to not let your eyes linger on his muscles. But, it was too late. When you looked up, you realized he’d found your eyes watching him. His own expression, brightened and a wide smile fitting to his closed lips. You matched his expression, your heart thrumming in your chest.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he greeted as he walked past you and into the kitchen, his delicious cologne caused your brain waves to falter.

You watched him at the coffee maker as he placed a mug on the base of it and popped in a K-Cup with a yawn before leaning back against the counter nearest the coffee maker. How did he manage to make such a basic task look so damn good?

No, y/n. You didn’t need to think that way. Fresh start. Stability. . . . . As long as you kept your eyes away from his half-naked form. You didn’t dare look below the waistband of his pants – you knew better. 

“Morning,” you rang back with a little grin, glancing at him briefly before finishing a new text to Elsie. To stay distracted, you went to your Ovia app to refresh on your baby’s week. You did it everyday, anyway. And you loved it that way. “She’s moving her face,” you said aloud, sort of to yourself. But you were also hoping to catch his attention.

“Hm?” Jake questioned, still across the kitchen from you. 

Lifting your head up, you caught his wondering expression, brows raised as he crossed arms at his broad, defined chest. Then, his feet crossed at the ankles.  “Our girl,” you grinned, pointing a single finger at your tummy. “She’s yawning, hiccuping, and swallowing.”

His eyes shot open, a little less sleepy than before and suddenly very interested. “That’s incredible,” he smiled, pride overtaking his features. “Is that on an app or something?”

“Yeah,” you replied, looking back down at the screen. Scrolling, you saw a few more things he might find interesting. “Wanna come look with me?”

He didn’t use words to answer. Instead, he just continued to grin and began walking, all purposeful and sexy, over to you. Oh, and half naked, because why not? When he was beside you, your breath caught in your throat at how good he smelled. His newer cologne still held hints of a musky sandalwood and vanilla. And the faint scent left over from his Tom Ford aftershave had goosebumps teasing at your skin. And his bare chest was so close to your back as he stood behind you, you felt the heat coming off of him. 

But, you ignored it all for the sake of showing him what was going on inside of you. Wanted to keep him up to date. He placed his arm on the back of the bar stool, across the wooden back of the chair. This technically meant his arm was around you and you were not going to complain about it. 

You held your phone up for him to read, balancing your elbow against the counter to avoid too much shakiness. And you heard him reading through it quickly, under his breath and to himself. He’d reach out occasionally to scroll down, making you lean towards the screen with your own curiosity at what he was reading. It seemed he wanted to read everything this week’s updates had to offer – including what was new for your body, not just the baby’s. 

“Wow,” was all he breathed once he finished and backed away to walk back to the coffee maker. You realized you’d been holding your breath as he went back to his original task. “I really like that app. What’s it called?”

“Um—Ovia,” you blinked, shaking your head once and resituating your body in your chair while his back was still turned. Your lungs deflated and your mouth opened just the slightest for a few extra breaths. “It’s called Ovia Pregnancy. It has a bunch of cool features. You just put the conception date in and it will give you updates.” And, knowing it off the top of your head, you went ahead and told him. “And that was Aug—.”

“August 26th,” he finished for you. 

Oh. He remembered the date? “How do you remember that?”

“Just do.”

Your cheeks heated at the fact that he could recall a detail like that. . . You found it very intriguing. Did that mean he regularly thought of the night? If he remembered the exact date?

Stop it, y/n. No need working yourself up over that, your inner voice chided you. You are just friends — just roll with it. It’s not a big deal.

He slipped his mug from the machine, blowing on it before he spoke again. “And you still can’t feel it when she punches and kicks?”

“Not yet,” you chirped, going to look at the other features on the app that told you about her at this point. “But soon I will, I guess. According to the app and Dr. Rose. So. . . Yeah. I’m really excited for that.”

You went to take a bite of your fruity cereal at the same time he lifted his cup to his mouth. And right before you could bring the pebbles to your lips, you looked up to catch a glimpse of him. Wrong idea. Because he was taking a sip of his coffee. And while that shouldn’t get you hot and bothered, it did. Oh, sweet and lovely baby hormones. 

But—fuck. The way his mouth wrapped so beautifully around the lip of the mug. . . His eyes, closing at the sensation of the warm liquid touching his tongue. You envied the coffee that got to melt against his tongue. The mug, that got to feel the shape of his lips. . . At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to be Jake’s cup of coffee. Your gaze found the way his tongue slipped past his lips to lick away any remaining wetness. . . As if in slow motion, too. Damn. 

“Y/n?” 

Shit. He was talking to you. Embarrassingly, you felt your mouth hanging open, your cereal once again balanced above your bowl so as not to spill. At least you’d had a little bit of common sense in your daze. Words, y/n. Words. “Y-yeah?” You stuttered. Again, embarrassing yourself. What was a good excuse for your actions? “Sorry. . . Still sleepy, I guess.”

His grin told you that he’d caught you blatantly staring at him, but his eyes were gentle in assuring you that he’d keep your secret. Too bad the only person you didn’t want in on your secret was him. Once more, he tried to bring up what he’d said while you’d been absent. “Would that work for you?”

“Jake, I’m so sorry,” you shook your head, scratching your brow with an awkward giggle. Your eyes couldn’t stay in one place for long. It was devastating how enraptured you were with him — this morning was killing you. Tan skin. Wet hair. Water droplets. Tongue. Licking. Lips. Eyes. Secret smiles. Sandalwood, Tom Ford, and vanilla. . . 

No, y/n. Be wise. Don’t let him get in your head.

Looking down, you tried your best to regulate the heat in your cheeks. You texted Elsie back quickly to reset your busy mind. Shaking your head, you tried to address him once more. You watched your bowl, though, rather than him. Balanced the spoon on the rim, watching the milk slosh against the silverware with the bits of rainbow cereal left. 

“You’re going to have to ask me the entire thing again. I’m just kind of out of it this morning,” you meekly explained.

Finally, you chanced looking at him. His eyebrows were raised, his eyes holding the same humor that was expressed in his smile. He seemed to be properly charmed. He wasn’t mocking you by any means. No, he actually seemed extremely content in the fact that you’d been ogling him. You had no idea how he could be so content with it. You were being weird. How was he not judging you?

“I was just saying I’d love to take you on a walk soon,” he replied, with a grin that made your tummy flutter. “I’ve heard it’s good for pregnant women to stay active — just to keep you healthy and all that. . . and it’s also good for people with heart problems.”

You felt all warm inside that he had even thought to do something like that with you. “Sounds like a win-win,” you enthused, feeling incredibly special. 

Quit it, y/n. Don’t make it more than it has to be, your inner humility coach counseled you. Remember everything you told him last night. You have to stop.

So, you tried to push all of the extra feelings flowing through your mind to the back of it. He was being a good friend. A really hot, good friend — but friend nonetheless. The walks would make for a good time for you two to work on a friendship. For your baby.

“When are you free?” He asked you, bringing your sights fully back to him.

“Um,” you blinked, unlocking your phone to see what your calendar looked like.

It was funny — you didn’t have a damned thing going on in your life. You knew your schedule (or lack thereof). It consisted of next-to-nothing. But you were trying to create some sort of avenue of escape for yourself from the eyes that continued gazing your way from across the kitchen. The lingering stare you felt kept your cheeks warm. Your heart was thumping something crazy.

Get over it, y/n. He’s just being nice. That’s all. 

And, with that in mind, you stopped pretending to look at your calendar. You locked your phone and caught his gaze once more. “I could do Wednesday?”

“Sweet. Wednesday is actually my one free day this week,” he lopsidedly smiled with a little chuckle. Giving a satisfied nod, he took another sip from his mug. For a minute or so, you sat in a comfortable silence with him as you replied to yet another text from your sister. “What are you doing with the rest of your day today?”

“Yoga with your twin. Probably going to hang with him for a while,” you mused, a giggle flowing from your lips. “He wants to repay me with some time of relaxation after bombarding the house with a drunken Sam last night.”

You felt the rest of last night as a giant elephant in the room. You were hoping he wasn’t, but you were sure his brain lingered on it, too. There was no way it wasn’t on his mind. Right?

It didn’t matter — because no matter what, you were not going to bring any of it up. Not if things needed to change. No more touching. No more almosts. Just friends.

“Damn right. Drunk Sam is a lot to handle,” he laughed after a lagging moment. His beautiful white teeth were on full display as he laughed, which settled your anxious thoughts. “Yoga is good for pregnant women, too.”

“You’ve really been doing your reading, huh?”

“Well,” he paused, finishing off his coffee before rinsing and washing the mug in the sink. “Just like my daughter, you matter a fucking lot to me, so. . . yes.”

Your cheeks were on fire at this point, your heart racing. You couldn’t hide your little grin without taking a final bite of your cereal. “Thanks for caring,” you told him after swallowing, your throat, thick with emotion made it a little hard to swallow.

You weren’t sure what else you could say that didn’t involve you walking up to him and giving him a long hug and a kiss right on his pretty lips. You decided to throw in a witty comment, just for kicks. “I’m very lucky that I matter to you like I’m your child.”

He cackled outright at that, even harder than he had at the mention of drunk Sam. His dimples pierced his skin, the apples of his cheeks red. “Now that is funny,” he shook his head, one brow raised. “You know I think of you in a very different way than I do our baby, honey.” 

Then he was tying his hair into a low bun. His words rang in your head as you watched with eyes zoned in on his fingers working. Such skillful fingers. . . Your teeth bit the plush skin of your lip. 

Thankfully, you snapped out of it before he could catch you watching him again. Josh was going to be picking you up soon anyway. And you still needed to change from your ratty sweats and cropped, oversized t-shirt. 

You went to dump out your bowl and rinse it in the sink. The task was completed quickly, to avoid getting close to him again. Once finished, you were walking on hurried legs out of the kitchen. But, just as you crossed the threshold, you heard his feet shuffling easily behind you. Honestly, you didn’t really want to be away from him yet. Not at all, actually. So. . . You slowed down. Just a bit. Not a big deal.

Besides, you were wondering about his plans for the day, too. . . So, you figured you’d ask. “What about you?” Since you were walking in front of him, you adjusted your sweats at your waist a little lower. Couldn’t stop the urge to show some more skin. You had to admit, your complexion was looking incredible after your long bath and stretch mark oils. Might as well show it off.  “What are your plans for the day?”

You looked over your shoulder at him. He was making his way towards you. Your eyes stayed trained on him. He wasn’t looking at you, but when he did, you caught him this time. His eyes darted immediately to your ass before he looked towards your face to answer. Your ass looked damn good in these sweats. So, you stared ahead with a smirk and kept walking, slow and deliberately moving your hips a tad more than necessary.

You heard his breath catch when he came up close behind you, making it to the living room with you. Again, though. You were trying to wisely avoid close proximity. So before he could come near enough to touch you, you were moving towards your bedroom. 

When you glanced over your shoulder at him again, you noticed him pause for a minute when you changed your path. But he just shook his head with a blush on his cheeks and scratched at the back of his head. You turned to acknowledge him as he rubbed at his lower lip with his finger. He was too pretty to not admire.

Then he was passing you entirely to lean over the couch for the remote. He bent at the waist, giving you an ideal view of his ass. So, for scientific purposes only, you gave it a nice, long look. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips at the way you could see each individual ass cheek outlined in his pants. . . But you weren’t going to think about that. Nope.

“Well,” he began, with a sort of groan as he rose from his leaning position. You ignored the way the sound made your heart accelerate, your underwear a little wet at all things him. “I have to meet with a couple of clients for lessons and then I have dinner plans at this new restaurant that Maya wants to try.”

Of fucking course. You played it cool and gave him a forced grin as he still wasn’t looking at you, but rather the finicky remote. “Will you be home tonight?” Why did you have to ask that? Shit. You weren’t desperate for him to be home or anything.

“Oh yeah,” he nodded without a second thought, turning on the TV and clicking Netflix. Thankfully, it had to update, so he was momentarily free from distraction. Pushing some hair back behind his ear that hadn’t made it into his bun, he finally looked at you — at your body. Again. Did he have no shame? (Secretly, you sure hoped he didn’t. His stare was your body’s favorite source of attention; all of your nerve endings reacted readily to his amber-brown irises any time they found you.)

His eyes instantly went to your belly, showing from the bottom hem of your cropped shirt. At the sight, he took in a deep breath, raising his brows with a measured lick of his lips. The oils worked wonders to make your skin look smooth and firm. It helped that you were one of the lucky ones who had a naturally tanned shade of skin, the oils really complimented it.

With the way he was staring at you – almost admiring you, it made your mind buzz with memories of last night. You were back in the living room, on the couch. Jake, on his knees in front of you. His hands, in your pants and his breath fanning your neck.

Last night, when his face was suddenly coming towards you again, lips brushing your ear. “Miss your body so much, baby.”

The pull to him was extremely hard to ignore when he was infiltrating all of your senses and memories in a matter of minutes–seconds. The act of looking at him — simply seeing him smile — was enough to make your brain short-circuit, so all of the other details had done nothing to help your insistence at being ‘just friends’. . . 

This morning had been an attack against your female anatomy. His wet, half naked body. Those trained fingers tying his hair back. Those beautiful eyes closing in pure satisfaction as he swallowed his black coffee. . . And now him, blatantly and unabashedly appreciating your body. You let your eyes float down his form, appreciating every line and curve of his chest and abdomen. Then you saw his fingers twitch at his waist into clenching fists, measuring his tolerance, it seemed. The assumption was seemingly confirmed with a certain twitch between his legs that you couldn’t ignore. Fuck. 

And, there you were again. Last night. His fingers, literally on your (clothed, thank god) clit in front of everyone. He’d placed his mouth on your ear once more, a groan having escaped him at the same time you’d felt your sensitive nub pulsate against his finger. “X marks the spot?” He’d heatedly spoke against your ear, in a whisper that only you could hear. 

Netflix’s tell-tale dun-dun broke the moment. His concentration on your body, gone with a few heavy blinks of his eyes and one thick swallow. 

After a moment of realization dawned on both of you, you cleared your throat and rubbed a nervous hand down your arm a few times. “So you’ll be home tonight?” You tried, blinking several times as well to readjust your train of thought – knew it was best to move past it. 

“Yeah,” he shook his head, letting his eyes find yours. You swam in his caramel chocolate irises. “She’s got plans with her friends afterwards. I should be back in time for you to tell me all about yoga with Josh,” he snorted at the thought. “Shit’s about to be en-ter-taining, I’m sure.”

You couldn’t help but follow with your own little giggle. “Of course it’s going to be. It wouldn’t be Josh if it weren’t bound to be entertaining,” you added. 

For a few more seconds, you just stood there. Both of you, not talking. Still smiling, but your eyes interlocked in a way that had the potential to be dangerous. Especially as the easy smiles faded down to muted, almost secret grins. His tongue slipped past his lips for a millisecond, yours doing the same in response. He gently bit his lip. Just long enough for you to notice. Your breath, once again hitching in your throat, at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he watched you, not letting his darkened gaze leave you for a second.

So, with that, you began to walk back to your room. Had to have a level head. God. “I’ve gotta go get ready. I’ll see you ton–.”

“Are you still using that giant Stanley I bought for you?” He pondered, making you pause and turn a bit. You raised a brow. “Just thought you could take it with you to yoga. Just to stay hydrated, y’know.”

You blinked a couple times before you gracefully (you hoped, anyway) smiled in his direction. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you nodded in response. “Yes, I use that thing on the daily. You, of all people, should know this,” you giggled with a smirk. Then you realized how that might have sounded. Didn’t want it to seem like you’d caught him watching you everyday or anything – that wasn’t it. Fuck. Would he take it that way? “I mean, considering we share a residence and all.”

“I got you, honey. Knew what you meant,” he winked. Fuck. Your belly danced at that, your heart skipping a beat when he, once again bit his lip. Murder. He was trying to murder you. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Love it,” you emphasized with the correction. Why? God. The emphasis of the word love definitely didn’t help matters. “Thank you for that, again.”

“You’ve gotta quit thanking me.”

“Why? That wouldn’t be polite.”

“You don’t have to be polite with me,” he raised a brow, shaking his head. “It’s me.”

“That means I should be polite — with everything you have done for me,” you tucked your hands under your belly. He followed your movement briefly before interlocking gazes again. “Everything you’ve put up with.”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to worry about that with me. Seriously. I haven’t had to put up with anything. . . And I’ve told you I’m here for you. And I am here for you—because I want to be – get to be. I don’t need to be thanked for something that seems like a reward to me in its own right.”

What did one say to that? Deciding you weren’t sure in the slightest, you just gave him a quick smile before going back in the direction of your room. Josh was going to be here soon. Like, less than twenty minutes.

And if Jake kept up like this, you could see yourself canceling on Josh to sit on the couch with Jake instead until he had to leave for his errands. That would be pathetic. And you needed the time with Josh. 

“Oh, also,” his voice called to you once more.

This time, you controlled yourself, the knob under your hand a good way to stay weighted to the earth. You flipped your hair over your shoulder, billowing out around you. You angled your body just enough to address him. Didn’t even look at him this time, for fear of sinking into his amber-brown irises. 

“Mhm?” You hummed, eyes trained on the ground next to your left foot. 

“‘Baby Kiszka’?” 

Baby K–? Oh. The Ovia app. The baby’s name in the app. You’d put her name in as ‘Baby Kiszka’ so long ago. Didn’t even think about it when you did it, honestly. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in your mind that you wanted her to have Jake’s last name. As soon as you’d convinced yourself out of the initial notion that she might ruin his damned life. (Which, by the way, you realized was a stupid thought process. Almost selfish, even. How had you honestly thought it would be okay to leave him out of the loop due to a nearly-baseless fear?)

To be fair, you’d been in full-on panic mode back in October – completely alone in your knowledge of her for a bit too long, your thoughts almost having drowned you. . . .Until you’d let him in that day. The day on the way to the abortion clinic. When he’d surrounded you via Apple fucking CarPlay. His voice had cleared your mind, relaxed you inexplicably (per usual). You’d let him be the one to convince you to keep her. No one else contributed to that decision. It had been between you and him. Completely unbeknownst to him at the time, of course. 

Anyway, beside the point. . . You knew it was a name to be damn proud of – her daddy was someone to be proud of. So, naturally, you were planning on her last name being Kiszka. No question.

“Well obviously,” you responded, not able to resist shifting just a little more to catch his eyes as you lifted your lips gently. His eyes were open, vulnerable – a lot like you imagined your own to look so often these days. Though, he was also seeming to process the fact that you wanted the baby so intimately tied to him. You continued, just to finish your thought. “That was a no brainer for me. I’m very proud that you are her daddy. I want her to be proud, too. Your last name is special to me, and even more so if she shares it.”

He was obviously pleased. Definitely shocked, but in quiet awe, you could tell. His gaze sparked with electricity at the knowledge of your plan to name her after him. After clearing his throat and blinking a few times, “Thank you,” was all he responded as his eyes bore into yours.

“Now, Jake,” you jokingly reprimanded, lifting a challenging brow. “Why are you thanking me for something that is like a reward to me in its own right?”

Arguably, as you left that yoga class, you felt the most relaxed you had in a long while. Your belly was still heavy at your front, but everything else felt so loose. Weightless. It was nice.

Josh had decided afterwards that it was a good plan to get a couple of smoothies. And who were you to argue that? It was even more tempting since he’d offered to buy them.

The drive to and from all of your ventures had been rejuvenating. You two had listened to music most of the car ride – enjoying the soul music you’d both bonded over several years ago. 

But, as soon as Aretha’s “You’re All I Need To Get By” came on the shuffle, you quickly reached forward to skip past that one. And, it must have been your lucky day because as soon as that one was out of the way, the other song from that morning on the living room floor was playing. The only songs you’d skipped and, of course, Josh had noticed. 

He’d snorted at you, making you glance in his direction. “What did Miss Aretha do to you?” 

“Nothing,” you shook your head with a lip stuck out. “Just didn’t feel like listening to those songs, I guess.”

I imagine your brother stark naked, inside of me, when I hear those songs, if you must know, you thought with a skip to your heart at the memory. And that’s just not what I need at the moment, Joshua.

And, with absolutely zero surprise, you were back on that damn living room floor. No point in skipping the songs, it seemed. It would haunt you anyway. The gray morning, rain pattering against the windows. The stupid idea you’d had, forever altering your association to the Queen of Soul.

You’d just sat up on your elbows to watch him as he thumbed through the records, appreciating the view. “You pick and I’ll let you know if I like.”

And, as he’d searched through the albums, you’d just let your mind wander, right along with your eyes. . .His body was a work of art. Always would be. Your favorite work of art. His thighs, ever-muscular, from the way they flexed when he’d move his body with his guitar on stage. That perfectly round ass that was undoubtedly gifted to him by the body gods. And his broad shoulders – strong to match his equally strong personality.

When he’d turned a bit towards you, you’d been given an image you’d never forget. His eyes, quickly scanning the back of a vinyl. And as he did so, your eyes had instantly found his straining dick. . . .

And, in the current moment, right next to his goddamned twin brother, you had to cross your damn legs at the thought of Jake’s dick. Fuck everything. Even if you shouldn't, all you wanted was Jacob Kiszka. All. You. Wanted. It was stupid to ever think you could convince yourself out of that particular desire. 

You could still imagine every detail from that morning. The fucking tip, even — swollen from being pulled mid-sex. Your clit still thrummed and twitched at the thought, remembering how it glistened from your dripping center. 

He’d turned to you fully, the Aretha Franklin vinyl in his grip – her Greatest Hits. You’d found his eyes. They were questioning, but you hadn’t been able to focus entirely on his glance. No, you’d looked away from his eyes to admire your most favorite parts of his body. His toned pecs and his solid stomach— fuck. He made you fucking weak. There were truly no words for the way he was built— pecs naturally firm and rounded with lean muscle. And his stomach— just a little soft and the perfect finish to it all, complimenting him just right— finishing out his sturdy, powerful stature. 

His aura alone would always be compelling. He was utterly beautiful, with his sparkling amber-brown eyes, flowing chestnut locks – even longer now than then – and his sharp features. And the way he was built matched so well with how he carried himself. Without even trying, he could control any room he was in. (And control you with a simple snap of his fingers.)

He was honestly what all of your dreams were made of. And, in moments from the past, like the sacred one you were remembering. . . you remember wishing everyday – more than anything – that he be yours. Still wanted him to be yours. You could remember thinking. . . No matter how bad you could be for him, your selfish wants had you constantly feeling pulled towards Jake.

But. . . he wasn’t yours. Not then. Not. Now. And that bitter thought had helped to snap you out of your trance, having finally looked at him to answer. He was smirking, knowingly. “I love your body, too, Beautiful.”

Your thighs pressed even closer together as you tapped out the beat of the current song on your thighs.

A Minnie Riperton song. Just focus on Minnie. Tried to remember the moment you were currently in. . . But you couldn’t. Not yet. Wait. Riperton. This song. You focused for a second. Dear god — was fucking "Memory Lane" playing? O-kay. Your life was truly hilarious. (Meaning, it was, in fact, not hilarious in the slightest.)

You tried to tune her out, rejecting the lyrics that hit far too close to home for your taste. But all that happened when you tuned her out, was Jake, in your memory, repeating the statement about your body. . . His eyes on you this morning. His hands on you last night. . . You continued to only hear those words from his mouth on repeat when you squeezed your eyes shut, so tightly. With a gentle touch, you placed a hand to the bottom of your tummy to hold it. Your body now was nowhere near the same as it had been then. . . 

How the fuck would he talk about your body now? You knew how he felt about some of your newer assets. But. . . how would it feel now to hear him say things like that about your body? And during sex? His dick, impossibly hard and leaking for your current, swollen body? Your belly, your bigger breasts? Your fuller thighs. . . Would he look at your naked body the same during sex now? Fuck. Why were you even thinking like that?! You were imagining things that were only breaking your heart. . . Getting your mind in a dangerous space it did not need to be in. Realizing it was slightly safer in your memories, you leaned back against your headrest to feel the rest of the moment.

You’d flushed at the words then. Even going the extra mile to roll your eyes. Tried your best to play off the way his words made your heart flutter. Ridiculous attempt. With a peek briefly at the record, you nodded at the choice. “Aretha is always a yes.”

“Agreed.”

He’d turned to put it on the Crosley, and as soon as the needle hummed against the record, making its wonderful crackling sound, you knew he’d made the right choice. This record was something else. (And now, the Greatest Hits vinyl held your heart in ways you could’ve never imagined on that rainy morning.) You could remember how it felt to watch him – the intoxicating combination of seeing him walk back to you, with some of the most incredible music backing him. . . Shit. (If you know, you fucking know.)

“I hope you don’t mind. I skipped past the first few,” he’d said as he came back to you, falling to his knees beside you. So near to you and ready to resume sex with you. No constraints. No girlfriends. No ugly voice in the back of your head telling you how terrible you were for him. Things were still perfect. 

You’d smiled up at him. “Perfectly fine. This is the best song on the entire record anyway.” 

“I think so, too,” he’d said, eyes lifting with a grin.

God. You felt tears climbing your throat, right next to Josh, as you thought of his sweet face. The smile on his lips that could have cured every single piece of trauma ever. . . If you would have let it. He was so goddamn perfect. And you were. . . well. . . you.

Then, he’d come back to you. Laid on his back for you as you angled your body to straddle him, sinking onto him.

The look on his face when you fucked him was one of your favorite sights. He’d always watched you so closely. . .whether it be your face, your breasts, your ass, or your core that wrapped around him, so tight. He’d scrunch his brows and let his mouth open a bit with certain movements of your hips, and bite his lip at other times. . . But, in moments like that one, with one hand holding your face while the other gripped your hip, a small, close-mouthed smile on his soft, plush lips. . . His emotion-filled eyes, boring into yours . . .

Your world had always tipped slightly on its axis when he’d do shit like that. Moments like the one from many mornings ago. . . Those moments had never failed to make a whole lot of gray in what should have been a strictly black and white situation. (Dangerous.) And, as you’d listened to the soulful voice flowing quietly from the record player, your thoughts drifted further. . .

When my soul was in the lost and found,

You came along to claim it.

I didn't know just what was wrong with me,

Till your kiss helped me name it.

The song had perfectly summed up how you felt about this man. The same man who had once been the bane of your existence, was now a light on your darkest days. And, in the present time. . . the father of your baby. Fuck.

As you’d glanced down to watch him, his hips had begun to move on their own – never failing to make you feel complete and right. . .

You truly couldn’t imagine your life without him. Having him in your life made you feel . . . whole.

Without evening knowing or trying, he’d helped you find missing pieces to your puzzle. Hidden pieces of your soul that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Some good pieces. Some bad pieces. But all necessary pieces of you. Pieces you’d forgotten even existed. And by simply being near you, he made you feel authentic in a way you’d never felt with another man. 

As you’d continued riding him, you had leaned down on your forearms to get close to his face. His handsome, handsome face. You’d given him a long kiss. A kiss that you’d hoped, then, was able to say thank you. . . Because, truly, you were so grateful for him. But when you’d separated your lips from his and pressed your perspired forehead to his own, you’d found the deep pools of his eyes that held so much of your world in them. And you’d known then that you had to say the words out loud.

“Thank you,” you’d whispered, hoping he’d understand as new tears had clouded your vision. Your hips were moving languidly at the perfect pace, matching the slow rocking of his hips. You’d been holding onto him, keeping rhythm with the beautiful, now-special song.

He’d held your gaze for more than a few moments, a secret smile forming in his eyes as he spoke. “Thank you.”

You’d studied him seriously, the feeling in his eyes seeming to match the longing in your heart. Both of you had stayed there for a minute, taking the other in. You’d kissed him once more. And, rather than continuing the conversation, you’d focused on finding a release for you both. 

That hadn’t even been “You’re All I Need To Get By”. . . Not yet. No, that song, the blissful melody from your memory, was “You Make Me Feel (Like A Natural Woman)”. . . And that he did – made you feel like the melodies of that song. Always would. He was every lyric of that song, sealed forever in your heart that way. But the next song. . . When you’d fallen apart on top of him. And him, just barely pulling out in time, to finish onto your tummy. . . All while the song had been surrounding you, enveloping your senses. . .

“Y/n!” Josh’s voice called to you from the current moment, his fingers making you jump a bit, your eyes hurriedly blinking open as he snapped in front of your face. “Earth to y/n!”

Fuck. How were you going to explain getting lost like that? Thankfully, your eyes had still been closed. You could just say you’d been sleeping. 

“I was just sleeping, Josh,” you lamely explained, smacking his hand away. Looking to your right, you hoped you were already at the cafe to escape any questioning. 

And, fate had worked in your favor, as he’d just parallel parked at Jungle Juice. Perfect timing. Avoid avoid avoid. You definitely hadn’t missed the curious look in his eye after your barely-there explanation or the way he’d opened his mouth to begin to question you. But as soon as he’d parked, you were hopping out of that Jetta. 

Soon, you were sitting down at a table inside as you took a sip of the pomegranate smoothie in your hand. Josh was still at the counter, you having instantly put distance between him and yourself. As you sat, your mind briefly drifted to the mundane task of taking a seat. Recently, it was slightly more difficult to get situated thanks to the soreness and differences in your changing body. You noticed how much easier than normal it was to simply sit comfortably, thanks to the yoga. 

Soon, Josh was sitting down across from you. And, after he took one tiny drink of his smoothie, he pushed it ahead of him with a huff. His fluffy mess of curls flowed around his head with the noise. There should’ve been no surprise when he didn’t drop what you'd started in the car. His ass had just touched his booth bench when he was asking you. “What the fuck is it with those songs?”

“What?” You crinkled your brow at that. He hadn’t ever been around before for you to skip past those songs. And for all he knew, you’d literally fallen asleep after the relaxing yoga class. “Just didn’t feel like hearing them today. And I got tired. Fell asle—.”

“Jake gets weird when they come on, too. . .,” he interrupted with a raised brow, trailing off as if lost in thought while addressing you. “Specifically “You’re All I Need”,” he mumbled, sort of to himself as he looked down at the table. Then his eyes flashed back to yours. “And, no. You were not sleeping. Faker.”

Okay. . . there was definitely no explaining your way out of this one. Were you really going to have to be honest with him about your feelings? It did not feel like the time – for more reasons than one. But you decided you’d say what you could. . . Maybe you could make him uncomfortable enough to move on. . .

“Jake and I had some incredible sex to those songs,” you began, eyes not once leaving his. He held firm, even after that blatant statement. Okay. Second try. But you had to look down for this part, too embarrassed to look at Josh as you said it. “Got really close to making the baby that morning rather than the night we got high. He pulled out just in time to aim it on my bell–.”

“Noooo thanks,” the curly-headed twin stopped you, making you glance up with a satisfied grin. He was holding up a hand, his lips turned down dramatically. “That is e-nough. Truly. I know what I need to know.”

You raised a brow, a tiny smirk on your lips as a laugh squeaked past your lips. “Joshua. You didn’t need to know any of that.”

“Well. . . maybe you’re right,” he surmised with another small sip from his green drink. 

“Well, I usually am right,” you answered, relieved that he’d gotten all he wanted – no, needed – to know. “So, how are things going with–?” “Also, you are not ‘usually right’, my dear,” he corrected you, air quotes and all. His nose twitched with his own grin as he watched you narrow your eyes in his direction. “I can tell you that right now. Your little speech from last night. . . You and Jake both. Fuck,” he snorted before taking another drink. He covered his mouth with a silent laugh before smoothing the hand down the side of his face. “Both of you are the worst liars to ever live.”

The breath you should’ve been breathing got stuck in your lungs. Shit. Where was he going with this? This had the potential to be an extremely embarrassing and awkward conversation you weren’t in the headspace to have. “What are you talking about, Josh?” 

“You and my twin, claiming you were ‘nothing’,” he began, lips quirked with a close-lipped grin and the air quotes coming out to play again with the word you’d both used to describe your situationship. “That all your relationship was was one night of meaningless sex that resulted in my niece or nephew.”

Niece, you silently added. You suddenly wanted to tell him really badly. But you’d let Jake do that. Made a note to tell Jake he could do that whenever he was ready. 

“I just find it funny,” he finished, his mouth still curved into a smirk. “I’m pretty sure we all knew that you were lying out of your asses. Well. . . except for that Theo guy. He’s kind of a moron.”

How did you even respond to this? Did you lie? Confide? Half-heartedly agree? Completely avoid it and tell him you didn’t want to discuss it? Fuck if you knew. So, you just began talking. 

“How are you so confident in this assumption that we were lying about it being nothing?” You quizzed him, taking a drink to hide a little. “You didn’t even know that we were doing it while we were doing it. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you didn’t know because it was nothing more than sex?”

“Oh, y/n. How in the world can you begin to question my empathic tendencies? You know I’d sensed the difference in Jake,” he reminded you, noting back to your conversation on the day of the first OB appointment. “And, the more I thought back on it, I remember there being an improvement in your soul during the summertime as well. . . Only towards the end of it did you get all mopey. When, I can only assume, you started doubting yourself and Jacob. And you were pulling such an Eeyore that Jake wanted to host a night to raise your spirits. . .,” he trailed off, taking another drink before tapping a finger to his chin, sitting the cup on the table. 

“But, yes. You were nothing, mhm,” he continued with a sardonic nod, closing his eyes briefly with a mischievous grin before he was looking at you again. “You both were noticeably different – good different. He noticed every shift in your mood. . . And you got emotional way back on the day of that first ultrasound when I brought up his relationship with Maya. . . Um, what else? Oh! The motherfucker takes you to therapy! Of course he does, because you feel safe with him. Big fucking deal for you, by the way. And, yes, I know this, y/n – I’m watchful and I know you. Definitely know him. Don’t you argue the facts with me,” he pointed at you with a raised brow and a slight smile. “. . .But. You were nothing. Okay.”

Well. “I–.”

“And then last night,” Josh giggled, taking a sip of his smoothie before placing his hands on the table in excitement. “Jake had his hands up your shorts, touching you. . . like that in front of everyone–.” 

“It was a card he was playing, Jo–.”

“. . .Whispering in your ear, your fuckin’ body reacting to it. His bodily reaction to it – I mean, with one unfortunate glance downwards, anyone was privy to that situation in his pants,” he outwardly cringed, lips turned down as he shook his head at the thought. He’d been that noticeably hard? Fuck. “And then, going to the bathroom to relieve himself with everyone in the living room!” Josh couldn’t stop his wail of a laugh at the end of the last line, attracting multiple eyes from fellow customers at the sound. 

“Josh, be quiet–,” you tried to intervene, once again getting stopped with his rambling.

“Well, not everyone, per se. I wish Elsie could have experienced that shit,” he shook his head again, but this time with a laugh as if remembering a fond memory. “She would have gotten a kick out of the free porn!”

Free PORN?! Josh.

“Joshua!” You were stunned, his voice still a higher decibel than it should have been for a proper establishment like Jungle Juice. Voice hushed, you leaned towards him. “Please quiet the fuck down.”

He observed your expression, still cackling. But soon, it calmed down. Calmed down enough to where he was still letting out little huffs of laughter, but his eyes bulged a bit. He seemed to remember at that very moment that it wasn’t just the two of you. Face set straighter than before, he turned, looking around to hastily address the people near you with an apology. Meanwhile, your cheeks were positively burning at everything he’d said. How in the hell did you even begin to address that shit? And why was it always on you to answer questions and never Jake? 

When he was facing you again, you decided to try that line. Just to gain your bearings. “Are you going to quiz Jake like this? Or is it only the emotional pregnant lady who’s getting the heat?”

“Oh, he got it first. I actually crashed his and Maya’s morning this morning,” he replied, waving it off. Your stomach dropped at the thought of them in bed together, like you knew it shouldn’t. They were the couple. “Well. . . if I can even phrase it as such. Maya was being completely ignored by him. He was asleep, mind you. But, he’d separated himself as much as possible from her, his body was practically pushed against the wall. I know she noticed how far detached he was, though. . . She was looking his way when I barged in, a sad look on her face and everything. Poor thing. Didn’t take much for me to make her leave.”

The way you snorted at that was unstoppable. He what? “Josh. You made her leave?”

“Well, again – if I can even phrase it like that,” he shrugged, one hand waving nonchalantly in the air with a roll of his eyes. “Like I said, she was already awake when I went in. I think she’d just woken up to notice he’d pulled totally away from her,” he grit his teeth, baring them with a hiss as he shook his head. “So it didn’t take much more than me asking if I could please talk to my brother for her to leave. She was already kind of pissy, but she readily agreed. I’m sure she thought I was going to confront him about blatantly cheating on her in front of us all.”

Blatantly cheating. Harsh words. True words. You felt guilty at them. Because, yes, you’d completely joined in on Jake’s antics – helped him be unfaithful to her. To be fair, you couldn’t have stopped yourself if you tried. . . Hence your new determination to be nothing more than a friend. As much as it sucked.

“Did you? Confront him?” Was all you could croak out. 

“I did confront him about it, yes,” he nodded assuredly, his tone stern. Damn. Was he actually super pissed? Why had he been all giggly if he was so angry? 

So, you started apologizing. You felt really bad and you didn’t know what else to do. 

“I’m sorry, Josh. I don’t know what came over me. I just couldn’t–.”

“Help yourself?” 

You blinked with a nervous gulp. “Yes. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Jake said the same. And, of course you couldn't,” he replied, intonation light once again. You blinked again, this time in shock at the change in attitude and Jake's apparent words. He continued before you could question it. “I knew he couldn't help himself even before he told me. He acted on his heart motive, impulsively. There was no other reason for him to act so rashly in front of all of us.”

It was silent for a few seconds, your brain blanking on what to even respond to that. You were curious what he’d said to Jake. What else Jake had responded with. . . But you were scared to ask – didn’t want to make even more of an ass out of yourself by prying. 

Thankfully, Josh kept on before you could consider it any longer. “So, I told him this morning. . .” You tried not to look too interested. He cleared his throat, his eyes finding yours seriously, your stomach dropping at what he could have said. “I told him that if he’s going to do that shit, he needs to keep it out of Maya’s sight. Because, while I don’t condone cheating, I do condone my brother being happy. And hopefully, she’ll be out of the picture soon anyway, so the cheating won’t even have to be a factor. Keeping it out of her sight and all - won’t be an issue.”

Stunned. You were stunned. What the fuck?! You couldn’t stop staring at him. Your eyes, wide and expression shocked. The way your mouth hung open would have been more embarrassing had you been more aware of how much it gaped. But before you could give it much more thought, you were talking without thinking. 

“Excuse me?” You responded, rather loudly, you must say. "You told him what?!"

“Y/n!” Josh laughed, eyes bugged, pointing towards you before waving his hands theatrically around the restaurant. “‘Please — quiet the fuck down.’”

With a roll of your eyes, you didn’t humor his sarcastic reference to your earlier statement. Not when he’d just said what he had. With a shake of your head and a clear of your throat, you knew you had to apparently be the voice of reason to the twin sitting across from you. Just as you’d had to be the voice of reason to the other one in the hallway last night.

“Josh,” you cleared your throat once more, tapping your nails against the side of your plastic cup before fully wrapping your fingers around the disposable. Had to do something with your hands. “I am not going to be the reason that Jake isn’t with a woman he was with before. Before knowing about the baby, he was with her. And happy. And, if you condone his happiness, you, of all people, should understand exactly where I’m coming from.”

You were trying to be stony with your words – tried to not leave any room for argument. Though, as the expression on his face would show, Josh was having none of what you were saying. 

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” he started, leaning back with his arms crossed at his chest. His white sneakers, knocking against your own tennis shoes under the table as he stretched his legs. “I don’t understand where you’re coming from, little mama.”

Completely perplexed, your eyes widened at his response. “How?! I thought you said you wanted him to be happy. Maya makes him—.”

“Well, first things first, I wholly regret using the word happy because it sounds stale and hollow,” he made a ticking sound with his tongue against his teeth as he thought, finger tapping his chin again as the other arm stayed crossed. You let out a sigh at his distaste for the word happy. Of all things, that was what he was getting stuck on. “Let’s say we both want Jake to feel whole, fulfilled, and complete.”

“Okay, so let’s say we want him to being whole, fulfilled, and complete–.”

“Oh! And joy-filled. I happen to like the term joy-filled,” he nodded with a lip stuck out, pleased with himself. “It’s such a sweet little phrase.”

“. . .and joy-filled,” you finished your statement with another annoyed sigh, pushing your smoothie away. With your next words, you asked him a question you were genuinely curious about. “You’re saying Maya, in her goddess-like stature, doesn’t make him feel that way?”

“I think she makes him feel. . . temporarily sated,” he concluded. “And she does make him feel a hollow emotion such as plain fucking happiness because she can only offer him so much of what he wants.”

You shouldn’t have asked your next question, but still. You did. “What can’t she offer him?”

With one lift of his brows, he relaxed his features with a sly smile. He winked one eye at you, tipping his head in your direction. “I think you already know what she can’t offer him, mama.”

“I–,” you shook your head, closing your eyes as you looked down to recenter yourself. At the thought, you placed both hands on your belly. Fingers, interlaced. With a huff, you looked back at Josh’s waiting face, his long, fluffy hair touching his brows. “I don’t– I don’t need to be in a relationship right now. Not with the baby coming and how fucked up I already am. He needs someone who can offer him a whole heart. A healthy heart. I am already mending so many broken fences from my past. The last thing he needs to be dealing with is my trauma-filled past – on top of a baby, and his burgeoning career.”

“You’re doing all of those things, though?” He stated the fact as a question, challenging you. “You’re tackling all of that on your own. Getting shit done. What makes Jake incapable of handling those things as well? He can handle his shit. And what about him helping you handle yours? Have you considered how relieving that might be? To have a partner in all of that?”

Hearing the term partner associated with Jake being yours, per Josh’s mouth, had you unable to consider anything. You couldn’t get into all of that at the moment. Not with what you’d just told Jake last night. Not in a fucking Jungle Juice of all places either. Not right after the most relaxing poses, stretching, and bending you’d ever experienced. And definitely not after what had happened the night prior. In front of everyone.

It wasn’t time to consider that. There were other, more pressing matters. Besides, even if they were identical twins, Josh only knew so much. He still wasn’t Jake. And Jake had been the one to pursue Maya. For a reason, he’d gone after her. It was a reason he found legitimate enough to pursue her initially and enough to make him seriously date her in the long run. And that was enough for you. 

She’d been around before you, during you, and after you. . .for him. She was special to him. No doubt. And if she made him feel good, that was still better than him feeling traumatized with all of your shit. Not to mention you’d been the one to end things. It was too late for you to take back your words. Yes, Jake said he’d forgiven you. But had you forgiven yourself enough to trust yourself with him again? 

Jake deserved someone who made his life simpler. And that was definitely not you. As much as it pained you to your very core to see him with her, it was still better than the hurt you might inflict on him with your wishy-washy heart and headspace as you navigated your current waters. That was the deepest, most sure reason you had for denying him. Truly. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him. It was that you wanted him so badly, that you couldn’t let yourself have him – for fear of hurting him.

Theo could be collateral damage all day long. Any guy could be, for that matter. But not Jake. Never Jake. You’d already done it, the one horrific day in the kitchen, all those months ago. Not again. You’d been careless with his heart and it was your worst mistake.

“I don’t need a relationship right now, Josh,” you responded with finality. You really meant it. “And I want Jake in my life long-term and I can’t trust myself to keep him long-term if I’m in a relationship with him while also not totally healed.” “I get that,” Josh responded with a nod, gathering his straw wrapper to mess with. He looked down at the paper in his grasp before peering up at you once more. “But is a person ever totally healed?”

Why was he keeping at this? He needed to stop. Now was not the time. You didn’t want this talk. Not now. Especially not with the tears gathering in your throat. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Josh,” you plainly stated, the wetness in your throat shown in your tone. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear with one hand, the other still on your belly, you stayed grounded. Well ‘grounded’ enough, eyes still zoning out on the speckled table. “If I’m healing for anyone right now, it’s for my baby. That is my primary focus. So, please. Just let me focus on that.”

It was silent for a few minutes, getting to the point that you’d wonder if he was still there if his legs weren’t still stretched out beside yours. So, you let your eyes float back to his. He was simply watching you, a distant, sympathetic look in his eyes that you couldn’t place. Was he pitying you? Upset with you? Just plain sad for you? For his brother? 

Whatever it was, you decided you’d be the one to break the silence. His stare stayed on you, even as you connected your own eyes with his. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, twiddling your fingers against your swollen tummy. “I don’t want to let you down. And I definitely don’t want to let Jake down. But. . . this is just what’s best. I really believe it.”

“Okay,” he responded, slowly nodding in agreement with you. “And please, love, don’t say sorry. Not when you’re just telling me how you feel. Don’t ever be sorry for opening up to me — being honest with me. I’m your best friend – listening to you is what I’m here to do.”

The tears were back in your throat, gathering in your tear ducts. One slipped down your cheek, and more than anything, you wanted Jake to reach out and stop it. Wanted him to hold you while you felt this vast range of emotions. But he wasn’t here. Only Josh, who slipped a napkin your way, from the table dispenser. After you’d dabbed your cheeks, you both seemed to decide it was time to leave. You still had smoothie left, sipping on it as Josh threw his away. 

Once you were back in the car that evening, having shopped at City Point for hours - for fun things and for groceries - you were on your way back to the apartment.

At the first traffic light, Josh broke the comfortable silence. “I need you to know something. . .you are not letting me down, mama,” he sweetly noted. You glanced over at him, brows furrowed - didn't know what he was talking about. At your lack of response, he clarified. “Back at the restaurant, earlier today . . . You told me you didn’t want to let me or Jake down. You’re not letting either of us down. We are grown men and it isn’t your job to take care of us. Not for a second.”

“Oh,” was all you responded at first, at a loss for words. Then, as the drive continued for a few minutes, you thought about it all and decided to say one more thing. “Thank you for being there for me. You and Jake both are so great at it and I’m grateful for you.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, a little smile lighting up his face. And his next words made your heart ease in your chest in a way it hadn’t for weeks – months, even. Words you needed to hear. And having them come from Josh’s mouth was very settling. 

“I need you to know, y/n, that however you feel for Jake is okay. And it is right – whatever it may be,” he told you. You looked over at him, his brows set as he focused on the road and the subject matter. “Even if you don’t want me to, I know how deeply you feel for him, no matter if you’re ready for a relationship. I know he feels deeply for you. And that is what’s right. Because,” he paused, for what you could only presume as dramatic effect. It worked, though, as his last statement tore through your heart in every way it deemed appropriate. “The heart never lies, my dear.”

After considering his words, you felt a sense of sureness in yourself that you hadn’t felt for a long while. So, with a fuller heart after a fun day with your best friend, and a solid sense of self-assuredness, you turned the music back on. Deciding to be a big girl, you queued up “You Make Me Feel (Like A Natural Woman).” And, just as it got to the chorus, Josh reached over. His hand laid out, waiting for yours. Without a thought, you placed your hand in his. He gave it a squeeze before balancing your hands on the armrest. 

“I’m so proud of you, little mama,” he noted after a few more songs' melodies played through the speakers. Then, he was already turning down the street to the apartment as he offered another word. “But, y/n?”  

“Yes?” You asked, already looking for Jake’s car in the parking lot. As soon as you’d placed it, you breathed easier. You let yourself look at Josh, who was pulling down the row to park in your spot. 

“You say Maya makes Jake happy and maybe she does. For now,” he surmised, breathing in deeply through his nose. With his next words, his tone was clipped, testy. “But. . . my brother will only put up with a woman for so long who’s referring to his baby so poorly. As soon as he hears it, she’s out. I can promise you that.”

Referring to his baby so poorly. . .? What is he-? Oh.

“It looked like I was about to witness that baby being made for the second time over,” she’d bit out, her lips still pursed tightly and her fingers squeezing tight on her biceps. She’d sounded bitter, angry, and plain hateful. 

All emotions pointed at your child. You could definitely agree that Josh had a point. And you only wondered if you’d be around for Jake to hear her speak that way about your baby. . . What a moment that would be.

“Well,” you slowly began, weighing your words as you tapped your tummy contemplatively. “If she does speak that way about the baby in front of him,” you let your eyes travel to Josh’s profile, “I sure as hell hope I’m around to hear it all go down.”

Josh giggled at that, his lips loose in a carefree grin as he caught your eye, raising his brows. “Me fuckin’ too, little mama.”

December 19, 2022

The following Monday was a very busy day for you. 

In the morning, you’d worked the opening shift at the Black and Gold. It had been an early morning waking up - the sun had come a little too soon for your liking after two nights in a row of staying up later than you were used to these days.

Because, when you'd gotten home, Jake had been waiting for you. And, you'd spent time with him from the time you got home to bedtime. He'd made enough stir fry for you to have some when you got home. And, as you ate, he’d kept his word and talked to you about yoga and Josh at yoga. Neither of you brought up the conversation that Josh had apparently had with you both. No, just focused on how. . . involved. . . Josh had made his Warrior II. It had been an entire production, playing on the word Warrior, creating his own character, right there, in the middle of yoga class. 

Then, you’d eventually given in to the nagging thought to ask him to watch New Girl with you, even after talking about Josh and baby things for an hour or so. And, even though you'd feared rejection because of it being close to ten o'clock, you’d gotten none. He’d immediately agreed to it. Almost instantly, he’d gone to pop some popcorn for you both and everything. And, of course, he’d grabbed your Stanley from the coffee table and filled it up with fresh ice water. 

You’d almost fallen asleep leaning into his shoulder, but you’d stopped yourself. Thank God. After a few episodes and a lot of laughter, you’d turned in for the night. You hadn’t wanted to give up time with him, relishing in it, actually. But you’d been very tired after the first day of yoga, the talk with Josh, and hours of shopping with Josh afterwards. As much as you loved the man, he was a party and a half, all in one person. He recharged you and drained your battery all at once. In the best way possible, of course. And, well, being pregnant, caring for two lives in one body, just really take it out of a person.

But, the morning at work hadn’t been too bad, even with going to sleep later than normal the two nights prior. It had been the perfect opportunity to buy a few records as Christmas presents (your go-to gift for nearly everyone, every year). You’d even bought one for Jake – hadn’t even questioned the idea of buying him a gift, doing it on instinct. In your mind, it only made sense to get him one, too. He was so special - for many reasons. 

So, you’d bought him a special record. A risky one, maybe. A particular record you probably shouldn’t have bought for him, but your impulses and heart had gotten the best of you. You'd purchased a 7"/45 rpm single. Two of them, actually. One for each of your Aretha songs: ‘You’re All I Need’ and ‘You Make Me Feel’. Original pressed singles, both in mint condition. They'd just come in on a truck, too - only one of each in the store. You’d taken it as a sign. They'd been on the more expensive side, but you’d purchased them before you could chicken out. You promised yourself to reflect on the crazy purchase later – if need be. After that, the day had been over since Lacey had arrived to pick up the mid-day shift. Then, you’d driven back home with all of your gifts in tow, to take a quick shower before therapy that afternoon. 

In the shower, you thought back on all of the gifts you’d bought today. And when you thought of Jake’s. . . You sort of blanched. You knew you would. Wondered briefly what you’d been thinking – getting those vinyls for him? Out of every other record you could have purchased? 

Whatever. As you climbed out of the shower, you vowed, yet again, to think about it later. After counseling, maybe. You were already very pressed for time with your work schedule. You hadn’t a lot of time to get ready to head to Gia. No time to think about Christmas gifts.

It had been convenient timing for Jake to already be gone for his big show tonight when you’d arrived home. Yes, it still definitely sucked that he wasn’t able to take you. But, if you weren’t worrying about trying to dodge him while wearing a towel, you would be able to get ready the slightest bit faster. 

Win some, lose some.

On the drive there, you continued to be a little nervous about not having a person with you - considering Jake couldn’t be there. 

He’d told you last night. And, he'd felt really bad about not being able to make it. As you watched Schmidt freak out over driving moccasins, Jake had remembered a big show they had to perform tonight. You'd celebrated with him right off the bat. And adamantly agreed it was huge for them to perform that show and that he couldn't miss it. You knew the venue - a decently sized, legendary one. A venue all new artists dreamt of playing in. He’d asked over and over if it was truly okay that he was busy. And each time, you’d reassured him. It wasn’t his fault and that he should be excited.

But, amidst his sad guilt for being busy, he’d so graciously pointed out that he just 'felt terrible' because 'there’s truly no way you to know what to expect from the EMDR.' And, well, obviously. You knew that. You knew that there was no telling what horrific things might greet you as you left your lavender field at each session. So, your thoughts had you very nearly spiraling on the drive there. 

But, the timing of his show couldn’t have been better. Thankfully, the appointment was an incredibly easy one. You’d spent the beginning of the appointment filling Gia in on everything that had happened as of late. She’d asked kindly if you wanted her advice. And, honestly, you hadn’t wanted any advice yet. Just wanted to tell her – a chance to confide in someone sort of neutral. 

You were relieved when she didn’t give a blatant reaction to anything you mentioned – she’d simply sat there and let you give every last detail from the past few days. The gender reveal appointment, game night, the talk with Jake, your shameful romp with Theo. . . And the talk with Josh. She did ask you a question, though. No advice. Just, pondered with her wise, psychologically-geared brain.

“How did it feel to have Josh say those things?” Was the one thing she’d asked, eyeing you skeptically as she waited for your response. 

You held that question for a minute and went with your automatic feeling that you’d associated with the conversation. “It felt like something was clicking into place that needed to,” you explained, chewing the inside of your cheek. “It was absolutely ideal and necessary for my heart.”

“Him, too, I’m sure,” Gia offered, raising a brow. “I’ve got to meet him.”

“I’ll bring him with me instead of Jake at some point,” you smirked with a wink. “You’ll love him and he’ll love you.”

She grinned, her green eyes sparkling behind her wire framed glasses. The two blonde tendrils that fell flawlessly on either side of her face swept her cheeks as she nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Having Josh be the one to say things like that,” you continued, catching a thought flying by in your messy brain. “It really helped me to view the entire situation with more of a positive attitude. His approval of things means just as much as my sister’s, most times. Which is huge.”

“I love how you trust him,” she nodded along, once more. Her eyes, still twinkling. She looked reminiscent of a fairy, truly. “That is huge. You, trusting people.”

You hummed in agreement, thinking of Josh saying something very similar the day before. With pursed lips and a raised brow, you considered that. “I think you’re right.”

“I think so, too,” she responded. Her voice, so smooth, instantly helping you feel at ease. “I think I know what happened when you met Josh.”

“What is that?” You implored, needing to know her thoughts. 

“He helped you to reach for this light that you’d forgotten existed. Wouldn’t you say?”

You nodded slowly, taking it in with a thoughtful hum. “Mhm. . . I agree.”

“Would it be safe to assume that maybe you’d gotten into a sort of bland routine in life before you’d let Josh into it?”

How did she-? “Hit the nail right on the head, actually.”

“It’s a trauma response,” she explained, as if it were a normal thing. She was good at that - helping you feel normal when you knew your trauma, did in fact, make you slightly crazy. “A lot of people close off to others and don’t allow for a lot of change and it puts you in this mundane mindset that can almost drown you. If you let it.”

You nodded once more, she had a point. She was always right. But you loved moments like this where it literally felt like she was sitting inside of your brain, taking notes. 

“And I’d venture to say. . .,” she began slowly. Leaning forward in her seat pensively, elbows resting on her knees as she peered right into your soul. Her expensive perfume came off of her in gentle waves. “His twin brother, Jake. . . He maybe gave the final push. He was the other piece of the puzzle. He forced your hand with his presence and you kind of, I don’t know, had to face reality when he came into your life? I think he held this mysterious air that you needed to know more about that made you dig deeper within yourself. Josh, he didn’t come with mystery. And, well, we both know you feel differently for Jake than you do for Josh. . .,” she paused, raising her brow at you. 

Your only response was a visible gulp. And, no, it was not put on. The gulp was very real. She was just that intuitive. Damn. “So, it all just. . . works. Truly twins, huh? Two unique pieces of a very beneficial puzzle." She said leaning back in her seat again, leisurely. She brought one thigh up to her chest and let the other foot rest on the floor. Tapping out a patient beat. “Josh helped you reach for the positive and Jake helped you push out the negative.”

“I hated how Jake made me feel things,” you said, absentmindedly. Your brain was doing the weird swirly thing where you couldn’t stop the feeling of newfound understanding if you tried. There’s therapy for you, folks. “He really did push me. And I hated it. But. . .,” You trailed, tears gathering in your throat. 

“. . .But?” She urged, mentally holding your hand. Willed you to continue. 

“But I think I hated it because I knew I’d have to face shit that I'd never had to before. Elsie sort of made that point to me at the beginning, actually,” you snorted, thinking back to that day in the car. Where she’d told you certain things about your past you’d forgotten. Without Jake, you wouldn’t have had that conversation with her. He'd really been that final push, as Gia had called it. “But I think my heart didn’t understand him. Or, maybe it understood him too well. He made me—makes me—feel so safe that it’s. . . uncomfortable. But,” you paused, brow crinkling when you finally met her eyes. “It’s like I’m uncomfortable in a way that feels so damn comfortable I could cry.”

Gia hummed, lips lifting slowly. “Sounds an awful lot like healing to me, sweets,” she deduced with a wink. “Jake. . . He came around for a reason. And it’s pretty special that there’s a little one now to show for it.”

All you could do was nod, placing a hand on your belly as you blinked once, measuring the motion with the wisdom that had floated from her mouth to your ears. Well damn. After that, she decided it was time to begin. And she attached her requested heart monitor to you before you began the session’s events of reprocessing. 

“Last time kind of scarred me,” she laughed nervously as she glanced up at you, clipping the HeartMath device to your pointer finger. “Can’t lie to you, sweets.”

And when you shut your eyes to begin, the lavender field had been waiting wistfully, along with Jake, so dreamy, in that stunning dark blue, three-piece suit – as always. Then, as you’d ventured to other places outside of your Safe Place, the only thing to greet you were smiles, laughter, and brightly colored lights. More specifically, you saw light-hearted, joyful fragments in time spent at your Grandma and Grandpa’s – all Christmas-centered memories, too. Gia had surmised your mind had conjured up the happier, holiday-themed scenes because the holiday was only six days away. 

When she walked you out, you gave Gia a humongous hug and thanked her for listening to the ‘ridiculous shit storm that was your life’. Of course, she reassured you immediately that ‘nothing about you was ridiculous and she was ready to talk more about it if you wanted to next time’. And with one final pat to your back as you pushed the front door to the office open, she reminded you.

“Think about what I said earlier. Maybe work on that ‘reaching for the positive’ thing. I’d call it ‘pushing out a negative, while reaching for a positive’,” she winked, a secret smile on her full lips. “Cancel the darkness out. Just give it a try.”

Dropping off the heart monitoring equipment to the post office came next. Once in the car at the counseling center, and all buckled up, you patted the yellow package in the passenger seat, the mechanisms all padded up inside. 

It had officially been a month of wearing it and it was time to send in your information to be analyzed. You were equal parts nervous and ready to know what the fuck had been happening with your heart a month ago. Your terrible puking spells (which had caused majorly debilitating dehydration) and low iron were still the biggest possible cause of most of it, of course. But. . . you were very eager to discuss your specific results with a cardiologist. POTS seemed very plausible, still, so.

Though, when you’d gotten in your car to drive to your next destination, something mentioned in your session with Gia came roaring back to you. Gia had said Christmas was only six days away. . . And, well, you hadn’t even decorated yet. How in the fuck had you and Jake both forgotten to decorate? And how was it only six days away?!

As soon as the thought of being forgetful entered your mind, you couldn’t help but grin, cheeks warming as you placed a hand on your belly. You’d had other things on your mind, distracting you from decorating – another person. Someone tiny, who was far more exciting than Christmas. The bubbly, energetic baby girl in your belly who already mattered more than any holiday ever. 

As you drove to the mailing office, you went ahead and began playing your favorite Christmas playlist for the sweet baby. Well, and for you. Most importantly, though, you wanted to introduce her to the holiday music because you knew how it warmed your heart. And, you figured it would only aid in making her feel just a little more cheery in her little temporary home. 

Though, when Donny Hathaway started singing about this Christmas being a very special Christmas, you realized. . . you were a little upset you’d forgotten about decorating. Christmas was your absolute favorite. The term ‘pregnancy brain’ was real as hell. So, before you forgot, you mentally jotted the additional task to the busy day: dig out all of the Christmas boxes and set them up as warmly as possible to welcome in the holiday. If anything, you wanted to enjoy the decorations for the next few days. It would be something. 

When you got home, some guilt set in (shocker). You’d had time to sit with the fact that you’d spaced out on Christmas and you didn’t have music to distract you anymore from your thoughts. If you’d forgotten to decorate now, how much worse would it be when you had an actual child to take care of? Would you forget Christmas for her, too? The thoughts were hastily becoming a dumpster fire of doom. 

But, rather than sitting on them, you did what Gia might tell you to do. She would tell you to feel it, yes. But, she’d soon say to find somewhere to turn your negative energy into positive. Just like you had always tried to do with music. Out with the negative, reach for the positive.

So, you did just that. But with decorations. You decided you’d dig out any and all Christmas decorations you could find in your apartment. Got right down to business.

After feeding Stevie, you immediately went to find the tree. Its box sat on a shelf above the washer and dryer, a difficult feat even when you weren’t pregnant. But, you didn’t let the belly get in the way – you reached and reached until the box was literally toppling down on top of the machines. You were real glad Jake wasn’t home to witness the disastrous sound of the tree’s heavy cardboard box landing on top of the washer and dryer. It was quite embarrassing how uncoordinated you had become.

As soon as you had the tree down, you only focused on getting all of its pieces and parts plugged in. Every single plug connected to the right place, the six-foot-tall tree stood as tall as it could. . . though, it seemed to lean awfully far to the right, rather than perfectly straight. Elsie had gotten it as a hand-me-down from your grandparents when she’d first moved in. It had been weak and flimsy last year, so its floppiness was to be expected this year, too.

But, even if the decoration had seen better days,  you knew you didn’t want to buy another one. So, you were hoping to God that all of the lights worked, no matter how frail the rest of the tree was. Though, as soon as you plugged it into the wall. . . Your hopes of not having to buy another tree were dashed. Half of the lights did as they were supposed to, shining so bright and looking like the spirit of Christmas. . . while the bottom half of the tree was bleak and void of any light whatsoever. Lovely.

But, rather than throwing it away, you’d decided to pack it back in its box and lean it against the wall. Even if it didn’t work, you weren’t going to part with it until you knew Elsie didn’t want it. It had been a whole event every year for the two of you to put it up – memories you held very close to your heart. Now wasn’t the time to think about that though. Not when you only had six days until Christmas and your apartment was bare of any Christmas anything. It was straight up depressing and you were not going to have that. 

So, after slipping your shoes on and grabbing your keys and belt bag from where you’d basically just taken them off, you bundled up in your coat. And off to Walmart you went. 

The smell of cinnamon pinecones overwhelmed every last sense in your body. Even without being pregnant and overruled by your senses, the smell encompassed magic. But as a pregnant lady? It was a thousand times better.

And the sound of Nat King Cole singing of chestnuts roasting on an open fire as you browsed the Christmas trees. . . It all felt so enchantingly melancholy. The feeling of Christmas, one of your favorite feelings in the entire universe. Most of your blissful memories had happened at this time of year, growing up. . . it had also continued to be that way as an adult. Tightening your coat around you, you felt cozy with the feeling of it all. The best time of year. 

But, sooner than later, your heavy, black peacoat was unbuttoned and coming off, the heated air in the superstore making you slightly sweaty. Felt claustrophobic. The sweatshirt alone, underneath, was making you overheat. Once you’d taken your coat off and thrown it over your arm, you continued tapping your foot against the cement floor in Walmart’s Flower and Garden department. After a few minutes of perusing, you heard an old crickety voice behind you. The small, frail voice was asking if you needed help with anything. And, when you turned around to answer, you were met with a familiar face.

The same old woman from the day you’d bought the pregnancy tests. Her name tag, the same tattered one from months ago, confirming it. Wanda.

With one more swivel of your body, you were able to show her your entire self. Her face lit up a little as she observed you fully, her mouth widening into a smile as she glimpsed your belly. She scooted closer and placed a gentle, wrinkled hand on your round belly. Where you would normally retract at the non-consensual touch, you instead just smiled fondly at the old woman. 

She was familiar. The obnoxiously floral perfume with hints of artificial rose that had once made your stomach churn was a comfort to you in the moment. You sort of felt indebted for her. . . Enough so that you wanted her to appreciate the baby with you. She awed and cooed. And when she asked how far along you were, age-old, glassy eyes sparkling when you told her you were eighteen weeks, you wondered. . .

“Do you remember me?” You asked, brow raised with a little quirk of your lips.

She looked up at you, the hunch in her back making it impossible to stand at full height. Her expression was pensive once she’d locked eyes with you. Her eyes trailed over your face. “Well, fiddlesticks. . . I’m not placing you, my dear,” she said in her aged tone. Sounded crinkly and worn — in the best possible way. “I’m sorry. I just deal with so many people every day. Been here for so many years! When was it that I met you, honey?”

“About 10 weeks ago,” you replied, watching for any realization to hit her. But, when you saw her squish her magenta-colored lips in thought for a second too long, you knew you’d have to explain further. “You helped me realize I needed to test for pregnancy. I’d come for tampons. Thought I’d started my time of the month. But you put the thought in my head that convinced me to test.”

She immediately brightened, her mouth opening wide in wonder and merriment. “Well, I’ll be darn-tootin’!” She laughed, placing two fragile hands on her equally fragile hips. “A bit of it’s coming back to me, honey. Good-ness gracious. How’ve you been?” She kept her hands on her hips, smiling up at you with a little giggle that reminded you of your Grandmother’s. “I see it was a good idea to test, hm?”

You joined in on the spurt of laughter, placing your free hand on your belly. “It sure was, Wanda,” you shook your head. Your hair, sleek and straightened, brushed against your cheek. “I’m just grateful you mentioned it.”

“Bless your heart. You would’ve found out sooner or later, babydoll,” she winked, messing with the front of her hair. Her nails, long and manicured, were the same color as her bright lips.

You felt so warm at seeing her again. You could’ve kept on with her for hours. Though, due to the winter season, it was already pitch black outside at seven in the evening. You were already yawning — got very sleepy very easily these days. And you still had to get this errand finished so you could go home and decorate. All of the decorating had to be done tonight. You were determined. But, right now. A tree. You had to find a tree. The perfect little tree. And — well, maybe you’d be able to spend a few more minutes with her if she helped you find the tree. That would make your night. 

“Wanda, if you’re busy, you don’t have to. . .,” you started, crossing your arms in front of you, coat over both forearms. “But I could definitely use your help deciding on a new tree. Mine is shot and I’m in desperate need of a new one.” 

“Why, I’d be glad to, sweet pea.”

Wanda had helped you decide on a five-foot-something tree. It was a green, artificial tree. It had the option for multi-colored lights or white lights, which was wonderful. Perfect, honestly. Exactly what you wanted in a tree. And it had been a highlight of your week to decide on it with the white haired woman.

You’d splurged a little and got a slightly nicer one, taking the other one dying as a sign that it was time for you to buy your very own. One that was yours and not a hand-me-down. Anyways, it was best to do it now, anyway. That way, next year, you wouldn’t be trying to juggle a baby whilst also searching for a new tree. But what you hadn’t thought through was getting it up the stairs. While pregnant. Without any help. 

So, here you were, a six-foot tree in a box, hefty as hell. The handle of the box, cutting into your grip with the weight of the box. Your hips, suddenly aching something terrible. For the past week, it hadn’t taken much for them to get sore and achy — usually after working on your feet for hours at the B&G. And today, you'd had so many errands. . . Your body was feeling it. 

So, the tree was the last thing you wanted to deal with when your body was already feeling the abnormal pain (normal for pregnant women by this point in the pregnancy, but new for you in yours). In the present moment, it was the worst concoction of factors, the box tempting to slip from your hand for the thousandth time. You did your best to keep your balance with your constantly changing body and the tree in its box, fighting each other for power. 

You kept thinking how ill-conceived the plan was — doing this shit on your own. . . The tree was definitely too heavy for you. But you hadn’t wanted to burden Jake with the task. He wasn’t even home yet and it wasn’t his job to fulfill these tasks for you. And, for all you knew, he’d be in Queens until the wee hours of the morning due to show-related things. You didn’t know how long he was meant to take.

One hand was bouncing between your belly and the metal railing as you trekked up the steps. One at a time, making sure to keep the baby safe, just in case. In retrospect, at best, this was a hare-brained attempt at being productive. It was dangerous to try to juggle the tree and your growing, unsteady body. If you were to fall down several stairs, what the hell was your damn hand going to do to keep the baby unaffected and well? 

But, you didn’t have time for that thought to fully pass through your brain as the box started doing what you feared. It was tilting towards the bottom of the stairs — just as you’d made it to the fifth stair from the top. So. Close. Fuck.

It was weightily tipping downwards, pulling you with it. A complete imbalance of gravity and equilibrium. Your feet weren't as stable as they could have been. Only one foot was on the fifth step, the other one still on the step prior. Moving didn’t seem an option. There was no telling which foot was going where if you did try to move. It didn’t matter. If you moved up a step, you were going down. If you moved back to the prior step, you were going down. There was no winning. 

So, here you were. Stuck in limbo. A substantially-sized tree in your left hand threatening to make you fall down more than a few stairs, and your right, going back and forth between the hand rail and your tummy. 

Finally, you got the nerve to try and move up – decided you were going to try to make it. Just had to believe you could. . .

Though, as soon as you tried, your foot that was shifting upwards did not agree with the tree box on the opposite side of your body. And so, you started slipping backwards. You couldn’t figure out if you wanted to grab your belly or the railing, but at the last minute, you decided the rail would probably be best. If you hung on to the rail, you wouldn’t fall. And if you didn’t fall, your baby would be okay. 

But, still, your hand was too sweaty to hold on as tightly as you needed – and your mind frazzled and stilled all at once. 

Thankfully, though, at the last minute, you gained just enough traction with the small, singular dry part of your hand. And you didn’t fall. You held tight to the railing and leveled yourself just enough to put both feet on the next step up. But once you were there, you decided that you didn’t want sweaty hands any longer. You’d rather them just be dry to avoid any more risks. 

You put the box down to stand at your side (momentarily wondered why you didn’t just let it fall, it being the main nuisance), wiped your hands on your leggings. Once you put the box aside, you realized the pure, unadulterated relief in your shoulder at not trying to hold a box that was undoubtedly way too heavy for you. In fact, you suddenly realized how very drained you were – it had been a long day. And you felt so damn overheated, in your sweatshirt and thick coat, despite the cold temperatures. So, grabbing both hand rails the best you could, you leveled yourself well enough to sit down beside the tree. 

The box stood slightly wobbly next to one of your throbbing hips as you situated, comfortably as you could on the rusted, metal step. With a huff, your hair billowed out around you with the harsh breath; you pulled the box closer to you. With a firm push, most of its weight leaned against the step behind you. You wedged your hip into the box, gaining some momentary pressure to relieve the tender flesh at the top of your thigh. Slipping your eyes closed, you went to lay your head against the box for a little rest. Better to do that than possibly faint or some shit. Because, if POTS really was truly what you suffered from, that shit was very possible. Fainting was most probably what had happened to you the night you went to the emergency room. So, best not to push yourself tonight.

But just as you went to relax, you heard the telling signs of someone else walking up the stairs. Drowsily, you opened your eyes, head still leant against the box, to find Jake climbing, two steps at a time towards you. His face said he was less than pleased and you instantly blanched at that.

“Why the fuck do you look so pissy?” You challenged with a betraying yawn, masking the irritability in your tone, making your body jerk a little when you let it out. 

With his presence, you were loosening more and more by the second; feeling much more at ease with him being home. You were not irritated at all – even if you sounded otherwise.

“Why do I look ‘pissy’?” He replied with a little laugh, eyes huge as he glanced pointedly at the box before looking back at you. “What the fuck were you just attempting?”

Rolling your eyes, you stayed in your spot against the box, looking up at him from where he stood, feet taller than you sitting down. But still standing a step below you. Dignity be damned. You weren’t getting on your feet to talk to him. You would fucking sit because you were sleepy and sore. And you didn’t feel like getting up just yet. Especially not when you had a hell ton of stuff to do once you crossed the threshold of your home.

Yes, you were overjoyed to decorate for Christmas – of course. But, the more and more time went by, it seemed like more of a chore than anything. “If you must know, I was attempting to get this tree up the stairs and into our place,” you clarified, another yawn making your eyes close with a jitter that made you feel fuzzy all over. 

“All by yourself?” He asked, a small smile daring to tug at his lips with a tone that still sounded slightly frustrated. He released a yawn to follow yours. You watched his neck muscles flex as you thought of how his vast range of emotions made him a jack of all trades. . . . . Frustrated one minute and smiling the next. . . just like yourself – admittedly.

“Yes?” You responded as a question, daring him to test you. “And? A woman can’t handle getting her own tree up the stairs?”

“Of course you can handle it, y/n. I didn’t say that you weren’t strong and shit. Anything you put your mind to, you do,” he explained, brow raised just enough to show he thought you were being ridiculous. “But should you be handling it?” 

“Why shouldn’t I, Jacob? Enlighten me.” 

You knew you sounded stupid. You knew, just as well as him, exactly why you shouldn’t have been testing fate. It was why you’d been alternating between holding the handrail and your bump for the past ten or so minutes you’d struggled to get the bulky box up the steps. 

“Well, you probably shouldn’t be managing a box that heavy on your own at four months pregnant,” he reasoned, messing with his hair briefly before tucking the hand in his pocket.

There was nothing you could say to argue that. So instead, you planted your feet and grumbled as you stood, firmly resting a hand at your hip to apply some sort of compression to the muscle. You were slightly unsteady as you grasped at the handrail. Okay. He had a point. Fine. 

“Let me finish the job,” he encouraged with a gentle smile, moving closer to you as you found your footing. His face showed that he was still measuring your responses. 

Let him, y/n. Relax.

Once you were on your feet and could see past him, you saw his guitar cases all the way at the bottom of the stairs. He never let those leave his sight for more than a minute. And here he was, patiently addressing you and your stubborn ass, back turned to the instruments completely. As if you needed an indicator that you shouldn’t have given him any trouble over it. 

“What about your guitars?” You pondered, shrinking back into yourself a bit, guiltily. Not looking into his eyes, your line of sight, still attached to the beat up cases. “Do you want me to grab those for–?”

“No,” he raspily laughed, your eyes flashing back to him just in time to catch the sight of his pretty smile. “I’ll grab those, too. Just–let’s get you up the stairs in one piece first.”

And, at that, you turned with a sigh, placing one foot on the next step. You felt him close behind you. Without any warning, you felt his hand strong against your back, supporting you. Could’ve sworn you felt the burn of his touch, even through the two thick layers of clothing covering your skin. Then, his hand was traveling towards your lower back, wrapping around your hip, under your coat, keeping you steady. Your entire body leaned into him, opening up at his touch. . . What sort of sorcery was this? One intended to kill, you were sure.

Then, he was talking, his low, velvety voice in your ear. “Remember what I told you that night at your grandparents’? I’ve had to remind you of it a time or two. . .” 

Damn – he was much closer than you thought. Your skin prickled, longing to fall back into him, to truly feel the voice against your ear. His lips – you needed them to graze your skin. You could hardly register the words, the memory seemed totally faded as your hormones took the front seat. 

“What?” You questioned, still facing ahead. Didn’t want to get distracted. 

“Do you remember how I told you to let me help you? That night we had dinner at your grandparents’?”

Oh. Yes. Of course you remembered that. You’d had a panic attack. He had found you. He’d fixed it — miraculously. How he was able to do that so well, you had no fucking clue. “Yes, Jake,” you groaned, trying to mask the way your heart was hammering in your chest at his nearness and the memory of him being the only one to calm you. 

Just as he was calming you right now. Against your will.

“Well, that applies to this and everything else as well,” he said, as your foot made it to the very top of the staircase. His chest momentarily pressed to your back, as your breaths came heavy. “I always want you to let me help you.”

There was nothing you could say with how your head was floating. “Okay,” you responded with a choppy breath. 

But you were moving away from him before you could feel anything else. It was bound to be a long night if you let yourself give in to him in any way. You could let him help you with the tree. Christmas decorations, even, if he wanted. . . You could let him help you put those up in your shared home. But that was it. Didn’t need to let him help with anything else tonight. You couldn’t – shouldn’t. And his chest being pressed to yours only tempted you to act in ways you weren’t supposed to.

Thankfully, he soon got you to the apartment door and then went to grab the tree. You unlocked and opened the door right before he was bringing the tree box through it. You’d waited in the living room, watching every movement of his. And you tried really fucking hard to not pay attention to how he handled the heavy ass tree with zero strain. It was nothing for him. You felt totally normal about this.

And then he was carrying in his two cases, the handle for each in their own gripping fist. But you did your best to put his strength, hands, and fists to the very back of your mind. To your relief, he went to change and drop the cases in his room. And that allowed you to catch your breath as you finally stripped out of your too-warm coat. By the time you took off your coat, you were still breathing choppily. . . so, you decided you'd change into pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt.

You were just so damn overheated. Jake had nothing to do with it, and you told yourself so over and over.

“This shit is fucking scary as hell.”

You looked over your shoulder from your task of placing ornaments on the tree, bottom half first, on your knees. Jake, who’d been put in charge of setting out the other decorations, was holding your Grandma’s vintage, foot-tall Annalee Christmas Mouse Doll. 

The painted features on the felt creature were botched at best. It was old. It had been your Grandmother’s mother’s. Passed down to you and Elsie, who’d been gracious enough to accept. . . But you’d definitely laughed your asses off every year when it came out of the box. It was an heirloom of sorts, but it wasn’t necessarily treasured by the two of you. It had definitely floated around your room and hers, each of you liking to scare each other with it at this time of year. A stupid, hilarious tradition. Because, truly, the thing was creepy as hell. Probably haunted, honestly. . . Joking. Maybe.

“It was my Great Grandma’s,” you laughed, hanging another hand-me-down on the tree. A little gold metal ornament that had once been your Grandpa’s when he was a boy. “It’s been kept around for too many years to try to hide it and be rid of it now.”

“Well,” he started with a laugh in his voice. “I am going to maybe place it somewhere not so visible to the naked eye. . .”

The giggle you let out was easy and made you feel so full of light as you placed another ornament on the tree. 

“Have you eaten tonight?” He asked you with a grunt as he wedged the mouse next to the TV stand. (You didn’t focus on his little noises at all.)

“Yes. Just some fast food,” you sighed as you reached to the back of the tree, trying to reach from your knees. When it hung, you blew out a breath. Your body was so worn from the past few days’ energy and emotions. “But the baby was craving it. I simply can’t be blamed for the unhealthiness of the choice.”

His chuckle at your response made your heart speed and your palms sweat. You ignored that bodily response, though, as you listened to his velvet-laced response. “As long as you feel full. That’s all I care about.”

“I do,” you grinned, continuing to stay focused on your task of the tree to keep the moment from getting to your head. “Promise.”

Saying the last hour had been wondrous with him would be an understatement. Being with Jake like this – just hanging out and putting up Christmas decorations – it was what your fantasies were made of. You loved being with him and domestic tasks like this made your heart pinch and glow, all at once. He hadn’t taken very long to get changed into some sweatpants and a t-shirt. And when he’d emerged from his bedroom, he'd instantly offered to get boxes down if you needed. He’d wanted to help you with all of the decorating. To which, you had externally, appreciatively agreed. But, internally, you’d ecstatically and enthusiastically agreed. 

It was blissful — just the two of you, decorating your home for Christmas. You’d already started fluffing the tree before he came out from his room, but as soon as you said you were good on boxes, he’d opted to help you complete your task. Though, you hadn’t allowed him to help for too long, considering every single time he rounded the tree and came up on the same side as you to help on stretching out the branches above you, he was behind you. Nudging your back end with his front and a little too close for people who weren’t supposed to be that close. 

Aka: his crotch had touched your ass repeatedly. And, you’d absolutely felt his dick against you enough times that you weren’t going to survive the night if he didn’t find a separate task.  

So, you’d quickly delegated the rest of the living room to him. The kitchen counter, too, if he felt the need. And he had. The bartop counter had two of your smaller, light-up table-top Christmas trees on either end and a few small vintage reindeer at their bases. That had been his first mission, and he’d impressed you with his skill. After a few minutes of that, he’d used the rest of his time to set up the entire living room. He had hung some garland and additional Christmas lights above the double-paned living room windows, too. It had made your heart flutter when you’d noticed his intentionality at hanging twinkle lights amidst garland there, as well as a few other places in the room. 

You vaguely remembered the night he moved in and how much of a snark he’d been about your twinkle lights. 

“You need to give this a chance, Jake,” Josh had sighed, his body move slightly from where you laid against him, feigning sleep. “She was so kind to offer her apartment to you.”

“I’m not oblivious to that, Josh. Jesus,” Jake had sighed, sounding so similar to his twin. But his voice had involved a bit of a grunt, as if he’d been pouting. “We are just too different.”

“How do you know the two of you are so different?” 

It had taken a minute for Jake to come up with his answer.

“Well, for one: she has fucking twinkle lights,” you’d been able to hear a couple of bracelets clang against each other, as if a hand of his was waving above you all.

And, it was true then and true now. You did have them and loved them. They brought a cozy feeling with them— especially so at Christmas time. 

The fact that the two of you had come from that night, to now, decorating for Christmas together was too remarkable to not appreciate. . . Yeah, it was complicated. . . But it was something. And it was something you really, really loved.

As you felt your heart heat in your chest at the progression of events, you took one last look at the bottom of the tree, full of ornaments and finished, from what you could see. Then you were glancing over at him as he focused on his tasks. The little grin that hung permanently on his lips felt similar to the way your heart seemed to literally grow in your chest at the thought of him. This felt so right. And, his heart was so evident, now, and you saw it in every tiny thing he did – including his decorating of your home. You were having a moment where you felt a lot of gratitude at the fact that you got to carry his first child. There was an overwhelming joyful feeling, in general, at the moment. The fact that there was a baby on its way that would surely feel so much love from both of her parents — that was incomparable to all else.

Going to stand to get more ornaments for the top of the tree, you had to grab on to the armchair to help you just the slightest bit. Your hips really were not in the best shape as of the past few days. With a huff, you blew back some hair that had fallen in your face. And just as you were about to rise to your feet completely, Jake’s hand was closing in comfortably around your bicep to help you the rest of the way up. It helped tremendously to have the extra help. And once you were finally on your feet, you looked up with a big grin plastered to your lips. 

After tucking some loose hair behind your ear, your lips twitched. “Thanks,” you offered, feeling how pink your cheeks were from your exertion and embarrassment. “It’s my hips. . . They’re really fucking sore right now.”

“I’ve read that’s normal,” he smiled in return, eyes twinkling. “Do you need to sit down? I can finish all of this. Seriously.”

“No,” you shook your head, looking down at your feet where your toes wiggled against the carpet. As was your nervous habit, you smoothed the hair you’d tucked behind your ear. “Sometimes, it gets better when I move. My uterus is just. . . Growing and pressing like a bitch into my sciatic nerve,” you snorted, rubbing at your hips and then your lower back. When you flashed your eyes up at him, he was watching your hands in their movements. The look in his eye made your cheeks blush further. “So, naturally, it hurts. Nothing I can do about it. She’s gotta grow. I’d rather be the one to hurt — don’t want her to not be growing like she should.”

“And that’s why you’re going to be an incredible mother,” he mentioned, using one thumb to delicately skim hairs back at the edge of your forehead before he tucked the hand in his crossed arms. Even as he seemed to realize he maybe shouldn’t do something so soft, his eyes never left yours. Something flashed behind them. “You already are the most incredible mother.”

“I don’t know about that,” you disagreed with a small, self-deprecating laugh. 

“I do, though,” he seriously stated, not letting you argue. His lips quirked as he winked. “And don’t say I’m wrong, Little Miss Know-It-All.”

You scoffed, reaching forward to slap one of his arms, a laugh lighting up your features. “Shut the fuck up.”

He laughed and jokingly rubbed at his arm as both of your hands went back to holding your lower back. “Why must you hurt me, you wild, crazy, beautiful woman?” Beautiful. 

“Wild and crazy?!” You squeaked, another giggle falling from your lips. “As if I’m a damn chimp or some shit. You’re on a roll tonight, Jacob Thomas.”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he smirked once more, reaching a hand up to your face again before apparently deciding against it and instead brushing back his own hair. Your heart twinged in your chest. “Not about the beautiful part. You are always beautiful, but you’re only sometimes crazy. Wild, though. . . I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Wild can be good. And you’re good wild,” his smirk loosened as his eyes went a shade darker with a wink. 

Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean, you ignored. “Okay,” you rolled your eyes, your chest heating. (Because, you knew he was flirting. Right? What else could he be implying?) Turning from him, you went to bend down and grab more ornaments before deciding that wasn’t the best move. “I don’t know why I’m trying to bend down.”

Without having to be asked, he was already in front of you, picking up the ornament box and sitting it on the armchair for easier access to you. “I, too, do not know why,” he chuckled, tucking hair behind his ear. You appreciated the view of his ass, from him bending to now standing in front of you, facing the tree. “The tree looks fantastic, honey.”

You snapped out of your daze just in time to not be caught. His head turning and big brown eyes, looking back at you right after you’d let your line of sight meet the back of his head. With a flush, you shrugged before looking at his work to return the admiration. He’d really done a wonderful job. 

The counter was done up with the trees and deer, but he’d since added a few Christmas picks you’d purchased from Michael’s a couple years back. They added some movement to the scene since you last looked. Garland and multi-colored lights were carefully braided together, above the windows, woven across the entertainment stand, and under the TV that sat atop it, on its pedestal. He’d tucked some tinsel in there as well, along with a few small, vintage ceramic angels, deer, and Santas you and Elsie had thrifted. The foot-tall creepy ass mouse was tucked towards the far corner of the living room, yet still on display — kind of. You internally laughed at that, a grin gracing your lips once more at the ugly hand-me-down. He’d even gotten the Christmas pillows out and placed them on the couch, balanced out to add something to both ends of the couch. 

And the armchair held a sweet little Grinch stuffie that had been yours for a long time, his green having lost most of its vibrancy from time and wear. And next to your faded Grinch sat Elsie’s equally worn out Frosty the Snowman. Tears gathered in an instant at how much care he’d shown to the living room. He’d handled it flawlessly and it made you so excited to be raising a child alongside him. If he was so intentional with things like this, you couldn’t begin to imagine the father he’d be for your little girl. And the tears weren’t helped by the emotion at the sight of the two stuffed animals. It was all the perfect storm of feelings in your extra-hormonal, uber-emotional state.

Your first Christmas living with your grandparents, and away from your mother, you’d gone to all of the major chain stores with your Grandma and Grandpa to look at all of their decorations. Kohl’s. JCPenney. Macy’s. You’d never shopped for decorations before that. Your mother hadn’t cared to introduce you and your sister to anything of the sort — hadn’t ever decorated her own place (as if she ever had her own for long enough). So, it was a tradition they’d lovingly started with you and Elsie to get your mind in happier places. 

Grandpa had picked the Grinch for you at JCPenney and Grandma had picked Frosty for Elsie at Kohl’s. 

The tradition was much like the one your Grandpa had started with The Nutcracker. Difference was, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone shopping with your grandparents. Life was so damn busy. Ironically, though, your sister had texted you to remind you of The Nutcracker on your way home from Walmart tonight. She’d let you know that Josh and Grandma would be accompanying you, her, and your Grandpa this year.

And she’d told you about an extra ticket – had asked if Jake wanted. . . Damn. This was one of those moments you were glad your memories had been triggered because your pregnancy brain would have let you forget to ask him until too late. Much like you’d almost forgotten to decorate for the holiday. You swiveled on your heel to regard him. And when you tried to speak, you realized your throat was still clogged with tears. Blinking away what was left in your eyes and sniffling, you showed him a smile just as his brows furrowed with worry. 

“I can fix whatever—.” He started, moving towards you carefully. 

And at the same time, you spoke with gratitude painting your tone. “It’s absolutely exquisite, Jake,” you lifted a finger to flick away a stray tear from below your left eye. “I can’t explain what it means to me. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to help. It’s our house,” he stepped towards you as he spoke. “And I want to show you how serious I am when I say I want to help you with everything. From before now, to now, and as long as you’ll let me. We’re in this together.”

Your heart leapt into your throat more and more, the closer he got, now housed directly under your chin. And when he stood directly in front of you again, his cologne deliciously infiltrated your senses. You wanted to close your eyes in bliss at the prominence of the amber and sandalwood, the gentle hints of vanilla. . . but you controlled yourself. 

You were able to control yourself when you remembered the offers to be there were all about the baby. Obviously. No sense in getting all weird and hormonal like it had to do with you specifically. You shook your head of the thoughts and straightened your posture the best you could. With one hand on your lower back and hip, you placed the other on your growing belly.  

“You’re going to be an incredible daddy,” you insisted, eyes wet again in spite of yourself. “I’m so glad she has you.”

“I’m learning from you how to be present for her,” he smiled, his own eyes sparkling with an unshed tear. “So, thank you.”

Fuck. Why did he have to say things so—? Ugh. Your heart hurt, right along with your hips. And, as if on cue, a particularly sharp pain shot to your hips and pelvic area. You needed rest — your body needed it — didn’t have time for an onslaught of emotions. 

“Don’t thank me,” you laughed to downplay it all. Had to move on. “You are doing that all on your own, Jake. Give yourself credit for your efforts.” Why were you going on and on? You needed to shut up and get the tree finished. Thankfully, before he could say anything else emotionally taxing, you remembered what you needed to tell him. 

“Weird question,” you started, a little laugh in your voice to try and seem less anxious at the prospect of asking him this. “But would you be free to go see The Nutcracker with my family and me on the 24th?”

His expression quickly went from a soft fondness to subtle remorse, brows crinkled and eyes casting down. “Well. . . I actually leave for Maya’s family Christmas on the 23rd. I can’t remember off the top of my head how long we’ll be there. . . All I know is I should be back in time for Christmas. She’s got all of it planned out. I’m just along for the ride,” he ran a hand through the front of his hair. His eyes were apologetic when they found yours, but you didn’t dig much deeper than that. “I’m sorry I can’t go, honey.”

No matter how apologetic his eyes seemed, his tiny smile had been evident as he informed you of his fun plans. Bile rose in your throat at the whole idea of his Very Merry Christmas plans with his extremely stunning, near-model of a girlfriend. Every word of his had sent knives to your extra fragile heart.

“Oh, yes, of-of course,” you stuttered, taking a step back and lacing both hands under your tummy. It was a position which brought immense comfort, you’d found. Because, no matter what, you had her. “Duh, y/n,” you said to yourself with a tiny fake laugh to try and play it off.

It was stupid of you to let his plans hurt so bad — as if you were oblivious to his relationship. . . You knew better than to think he wouldn’t be busy with her. Of course he had plans with her. Why were you so damn stupid as to think he would be available enough to go see the fucking Nutcracker with you and your family like you were the couple? And why had Elsie thought of that idea at all? 

Wouldn’t your grandparents have found it odd if Jake randomly showed up anyway? They hadn’t seen him in months and they had no clue of his importance in their great grandchild’s life. It would’ve been strange. In fact, you were glad he was busy. Right? Wrong, actually. Ridiculous thought — because feeling glad wouldn’t have your throat suddenly so tight with emotion. 

“What are you planning on doing for Christmas?” He asked, not letting your words sit in the air for too long. “I’m sure Elsie will be here, right? I know she was planning on moving back here around Christmastime. . .”

“Y-yeah,” you cleared your throat, blinking a few times as you relaxed your expression. Why were you being so transparent? He wasn’t yours. Absolutely nothing new there. Maya had staked her claim. And you’d let him go. Simple as that. “She’s coming back on the 23rd, actually. How funny is that?”

How funny? Why were you talking like that? How was being awkward as ass going to solve anything? God. Be normal, y/n, an inner voice urged. 

“Are you going home to see your parents at some point? I know Josh and Sam have in the past, but. . .,” you trailed, legitimately curious and desperate to think that he wasn’t going to spend Christmas Day with Maya. 

(Which, if you were thinking logically — of course he was going to spend Christmas Fucking Day with his serious girlfriend. So why were you so goddamn pressed about it? It wasn’t your business and you needed to get used to this shit. Besides, when the baby was born she’d have to spend holidays with Jake and Maya’s fam—. No. Not right now. Not that. Nope.)

“Well, my parents are going overseas to see my sister at school. She can’t get away. So, I’ll probably just hang with Maya —or Josh and Sam,” he tried to get the last two names out quickly. With the way his eyes nervously flickered, you schooled your features once more. Didn’t want to give him any more reason to be nervous. It wasn’t your place to feel any type of way about that. “Or all three. Who knows. And I’m sure Danny will go home to see his family, so. . .”

“Cool,” was all you could push out, your gaze going down to your feet. What did one do in times where a heart was so illegitimately broken? 

But, because he was so wonderful, Jake didn’t let the silence last for long enough that you got to the point of crying. (And, yes, you definitely would have started crying if he hadn’t interrupted your train of thought.) “Do you have any Christmas records?” He asked, tone airy and unworried, trying to ease you. (You hated how he could read you.)

Your eyes fluttered to his, interest suddenly piqued at listening to music. And with him. He knew. The empathy and soft smile on his pretty lips said enough. “Oh, yeah. Quite a few,” you replied with the tiniest sniffle, your voice smaller than you wish it was. You’d get over it. And the music would help exponentially if he was actually thinking the same as you and wanted to play one. 

“How about we play one while we finish the tree?” And, of course he was thinking the same. 

“I can’t think of a better idea,” you grinned, your lips pulled into a genuine smile at the thought of getting to listen to music with him again. Just like old times. . . Almost. Because, at the same time, not like ‘old times’ at all. But. . . You’d take what you could get.

You’d finished decorating an hour-to-midnight. But you’d stood together for a while, hands on your respective hips. Both of you were in awe and admiration of the Christmas-y living room. After turning the lights off, it always seemed to hit differently. The Christmas lights twinkled white, red, green, and blue. It was stunning. 

One of your favorite sights in the world, honestly. Had been since you were a little girl sitting in your brand new Christmas PJ’s (a new set every year, thanks to your Grandma), admiring the decorations you’d spend hours putting up with your ‘new’ little family – a finally joyful familial feeling with your grandparents, sans a toxic mother. Every year, you’d all spend one night putting up decor. And, afterwards, you and your sister would sit on the ground next to the tree and drink hot cocoa with tiny marshmallows as you watched the old-school, animated Grinch. Your grandparents, always sitting behind you both on the couch to enjoy the moment in their own little way.

You told him as much as you felt a wetness grow at the corner of your eye. And with a sniffle, you turned to face him to tell him goodnight. The emotions were aplenty and you didn’t need to exhaust him any further either. But, before you could say anything to wish him a sleepy farewell, he asked if you wanted to do that this year. With him. He then rushed to tell you that he’d understand if you wanted to keep the memory sacred to past times. But, you hadn’t a thought of denying the idea as you readily and excitedly agreed to the idea. 

More time with Jake was never a bad thing. It was ever-welcome and your favorite time spent in the world. (Yes, you’d come to learn that you enjoyed time with him even more than anyone else – including your family. It was a really fucking scary and vulnerable thought — you liked to ignore it on a regular basis).

He smiled wide before putting you in charge of getting the movie set up as he went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. And once he finished, he joined you with two Christmas mugs full of hot cocoa, to watch the Grinch. When he reappeared to find you curled up in the couch with a blanket, he hadn’t made any sort of move to sit at the other end. No, instead, he’d handed you your mug. At which, you’d taken it in one hand with a sweet thank you before you used the other to lift the blanket you’d laid on top of your legs, without a second thought. And, just as soon as you’d had the idea to lift the blanket, he’d naturally settled in the place you created for him. Right next to you. Under your blanket. His hip, pressed to yours. 

But that hadn’t lasted for more than a minute before he was wordlessly tapping your thighs and then his thighs, gently tilting his head towards his side (you assumed, to indicate you move in his direction). Not thinking much of it, you pressed play and did as you figured he wanted and draped your legs across his lap. And it had seemed a correct assumption since he immediately went to hold your calf (over the blanket). And, with the other hand, he held his mug, which he’d held atop your thigh for the first part of the movie (over the blanket).

At the halfway point, when the Grinch got to his ‘spot number one’, Jake leaned forward to sit his and your hot cocoa on the coffee table. And after doing that, he’d nestled back into his spot on the couch, this time, leaning a bit towards you. His left arm rested on the back of the couch and the other stayed atop the blanket, on your calf. He even tended to some of the Lord’s work and massaged your sore calf muscles, your heart beating ferociously as he reached under the blanket for the job. But, he hadn’t moved to any more skin aside from your calves. This had saved your sanity, as you would have absolutely pounced him, had his hands moved up any further. 

Too soon, though, the twenty-five minute movie was over. He tapped your leg as the last credit rolled, his ministrations on your leg coming to a relaxed halt right before you were moving your legs and he was rising from his spot. And, as he went to the kitchen to wash the mugs, you went about turning off the TV. You folded the blanket you’d shared and fluffed the pillows. But as soon as you were done, you were following him to the kitchen to see if he’d finished. 

Just as you’d gotten to the kitchen, though, he was exiting the area and turning off its light. The two of you seemed to silently agree that you weren’t done with each other, yet. Because you’d taken your sweet time, walking and talking about nothing and everything. Baby-related things and non-baby-related things as you headed to your own bedrooms.

As you finally got to your doors, you were suddenly very delighted at the idea of bedtime. You were working double time for two lives and you were more than tired because of it. The fact that your pillow was waiting just beyond your door made you twist the knob to your room, opening it without another thought. 

With one last look his way and a grinning yawn, you told him goodnight. But, he had one last question before you were able to enter your room. And even with the staggering temptation of your bed and dreamland, you still gave him your full (sleepy) attention. Your body called and responded to him all on its own. You really had no control over it at this point.

“How are you sleeping?” He asked, an eyebrow raised as he stood in front of his own opened door.

“Fine. . .?" your eyebrows furrowed with a little curious smile on your lips, another yawn escaping them. “Why?”

“Well, your hips. . . . Are they—um, keeping you up at all?” he wondered, genuine interest painting his own tired features. You nodded with a silent understanding at his concern. But, you still couldn’t believe he was thinking of that small little detail when it came to your comfort. 

“Oh. . .,” you started, pushing your door open a little further for Stevie as she brushed past your (now well-massaged) calves to enter your bedroom for bedtime. “Well. . .  Yes. But, I’ll be okay for the next few days. Waiting for a spare moment to actually order something. Meant to do it today, but it ended up being much busier than I anticipated.” You laughed with a gentle scratch to your head at the excessive responsibilities of your day. 

Opening your mouth elicited yet another yawn, at which he followed with his own. His cute little yawn made you wish to see the same thing on your baby’s face. “I have a couple of pillows on Amazon that I’m eyeing,” you continued your explanation. “Or, I can always go to a maternity store in the city or something once I do have ti—.”

“I’ll order something for you,” he offered, covering his mouth with a fist as another yawn left his pretty lips. “Just – find what you need and send it to me.”

“Jake,” you replied with a hand on your hip and a stern brow raised. “I can’t make you—.”

“You’re not making me do anything, y/n,” he insisted. “I want to help. Please. It’s my baby causing you the pain. It’s the least I can do to apologize on her behalf and mine for putting you in this position.”

He pushed his door open a bit more to lean in and turn his tall lamp on, which you knew stood directly next to the bedroom door. You definitely watched with lazy eyes as his self-cropped shirt raised enough to show you the bottom of his olive-skinned belly, all the way to his bellybutton. In your sleepy state, the sight of his tummy had your mouth watering. Damn — you needed sleep. . . Now. 

Your eyes made their way back up as you noticed his body repositioning to face you once more. You'd been very nearly caught staring due to your sleepiness, and he had a very good point, so you conceded. “Fine. I will send you something.”

“Thank you,” he responded, sounding mildly shocked. A victorious grin was plastered to his handsome face.  

“Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me, baby.”

Fuck. Baby? Yeah. . . . Smart decisions were not to be made with him calling you that. Your body lit up at the pet name. You were suddenly feeling very ready to do things you shouldn’t, your mind in the gutter with the way your brain swam in a drowsy haze. 

At the late hour, you were on the precipice of delirium. Better to wrap it up. You both needed sleep.

Yet, you still argued. A little flirtatious smirk dusted your lips as your cheeks heated, a brow raising as you tested him. “I’ll do what I want.”

“Oh, trust me, beautiful girl. I fucking know,” he said, his own eyes gleaming with a little mischief. “But. . . sometimes it’s for the best if you listen to me.”

God. His very pointed and authoritarian tone of voice had your chest heaving – your entire body reacted to it. Why was he being like this? But. . .at the same time, you questioned yourself. You had to be fair – was he being like anything? Or were you just imagining things? But, thankfully, another yawn came out of nowhere breaking your little moment and thought. A savior, this yawn.

So, with the teensy bit of common sense you had left in you, you gave him a tiny smile as your eyes went down to the floor in an act of protection over yourself and him. “Goodnight, Jake.”

“Goodnight, Beautiful.”

A FaceTime chat with Elsie was the ideal finish to a busy ass day at the Black and Gold. Just like every store at Christmastime, the B&G was notorious for having an onslaught of regulars and newbies come in to buy gifts for loved ones at the holidays.

Thankfully, Josh hadn’t completely phased out of the schedule yet and had been put on the schedule for most of the holiday rush. But usually, you had alternating shifts. You’d manage the second shift while he’d manage the first, and vice versa. And today, your shift had been evening. Making you very tired and ready for bed. 

But, Elsie first. You desperately missed your sister and there was no one else you wanted to vent to at the moment besides your best and longest friend. Who just so happened to be your big sister. 

Makeup and clothes off, your bra had just followed. A sigh of comfort left your lips as you massaged at your sore, heavy chest. No longer trapped. Could breathe. “Forgot to wear my maternity bra today,” you leaned side to side and twisted a bit to stretch your equally sore back muscles. “I got sidetracked by all things baby room on TikTok. And Pinterest. And Instagram. I lost track of time and didn’t have a bunch of time to get ready, sooo. . . I ultimately paid the price.”

“Well, at least your tits look good,” she commented from the phone leant against your vanity mirror, typing away at her laptop on the other end. “Are those giant knockers your favorite part of being pregnant?”

You laughed out loud at that. “My tits?!” You squawked. “Yes, Elsie. My boobs are my favorite part about being pregnant. Not the actual human life growing inside of me.”

She was cackling over the screen, continuing to type away from what you could hear. You’d turned from her to search for a shirt in your closet. “What I meant was your giant ass boobs must be a nice perk with all of the changes,” she clarified. “I know they would be for me.”

“They hurt my damn back like a bitch,” you reasoned, still laughing with the words. “But, yes, they are very nice to look at.”

You found the oversized t-shirt you wanted and slipped the soft, gray material over your head. When the cool cotton landed on your chest, you sighed once more as the comfortability of it set in. The shirt was big enough that you didn’t need to wear pants, but you still put some loose yoga pants on just in case Jake came home before you went to sleep. Modesty was key. 

“Oh, pants, I see,” she commented, chewing on something that sounded awfully similar to ice. And when you looked over to the phone to see her, she was doing just that. Chomping her fucking ice. Ice had always been a favorite snack of hers. Weirdo. “Jake’s home, I presume? Since you’re trying to be all proper and shit with your clothing? Because, goddammit, y/n, we’ve gotta make sure the goods are covered — even though it’s his damn kid inside of you.”

You rolled your eyes at her, tossing your hair up in a quick, loose messy bun on top of your head. Once you were satisfied with it, you grabbed her from your vanity and went to lay against the stack of pillows at your headboard instead. God only knew how badly your back needed it. 

“Elsie, shut the fuck up,” you quipped, giving her a momentary look through the screen. She wasn’t looking. Of course. The one time she’d decided to mind her business was when you called her on her shit. “And, no he’s not home. But he might be soon and I don’t want him to have to see my bare ass,” you said, trying to be cool about it. “I’m being respectful to him and his relationship.”

“Proud of your good samaritanism, sis,” she replied sarcastically. “I know you just love Maya so much and wouldn’t want to break her little heart if her boyfriend got a hard on at seeing his baby mama all nakey.”

If only you knew. . ., you thought, smug in spite of your efforts at modesty.

But you only rolled your eyes with a snort. “Didn’t say that at all,” you remarked, sitting your ass on your bed and stretching your legs as you nestled cozily into your pillows. Adjusting a little, you decided to lay against your pillows and lean on your side to talk to her, holding her in the hand that rested on the bed. “‘S more about Jake not having to be subjected to my fat ass when he doesn’t have to be.”

“I’m pretty sure that man would not care about seeing your ass,” she said smartly. “I think he would gladly volunteer to inspect and explore your ass for hours, sweet thang.”

You ignored that. But. . . it dawned on you that you hadn’t filled her in on the other night yet. 

For good reason, the snickering voice in your head reminded you. Don’t need her getting all up in it. Who knows what she’d say. 

Well. . . you had an idea what she might say. And that was precisely why you’d kept the entire evening to yourself. But you had to tell her about Maya being a bitch at the least. “I haven’t even told you,” you started, making sure she was looking at you. When she didn’t look at you, you cleared your throat. But still. She looked at her laptop instead of you, fingers flying across her keyboard. “I love how suddenly you can’t pay attention when I’m actually talking to you. Now that you can’t spy on my naked ass and make little comments about my titties.”

“Bitch, shut up and suck it up,” she shot back, pausing and looking at you with wide eyes for emphasis, earning a laugh from you. She giggled, too, before looking back at work. “I have to get this article written and sent in before midnight. And it’s almost midnight for me here. I’m almost done. Just talk. I’m listening.”

“It’s not my fault you love to procrastinate.”

“Pot and kettle, babe. Pot and fucking kettle.”

“Touché.”

“Okay, so. . . ‘you haven’t told me’,” she reminded you, sounding very intrigued. “I need to know.”

“Okay, okay,” you continued, looking to the side to think about how you’d tell her the bare minimum. “So, we had the guys over for games because–.”

“Sammy got his heart broken,” she finished. “Poor thing.”

She knew about—? Briefly, it dawned on you. . . Had Josh told her anything? Surely not. . . he was so good about minding his business. . . You were almost positive you didn’t need to worry about it. 

“Yeah, so anyway. The guys came over and Maya joined in on the fun, along with Theo — who I’ve kind of been seeing again,” you scoffed, as did she at the mention of him. She knew about his reappearance in your life and wasn’t a fan. . . So you definitely were not going to tell her about that incident in your bedroom either. Again, didn’t need her opinions. “But we were playing this card game and a card was played,” you cleared your throat, turning away from the phone momentarily when you felt your face heat at the memory. Fuck. You glanced at the screen for a second, noticing her still looking away. Thank God. Didn’t need her commenting on the pinkness in your cheeks. “And this card — it put Maya in a bitch ass mood.”

You couldn’t blame Maya, honestly. Considering what had happened right in front of her eyes. . . But. Still. You fucking could for what she’d said about your baby. Josh had validated that shit and everything.

“Which game was it?”

“You Laugh, You Drink,” you answered. 

“Hm. Okay. Which card?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” you looked away, avoiding her.

“Why?”

“It just doesn’t, Els. Drop it.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No.”

“But if Maya was so damn pressed over it—.”

“Elsie.”

The other end was suddenly eerily silent. Hm. Did she know something? She’d known about Sam’s heart getting broken. . . Had Josh said anything to her? You fucking swore if that fucker had–.

“Why are you being so quiet?” Elsie questioned from her side of the call, bringing you back to the moment. “Seems suspicious.”

You snapped your attention back to her. “I’m not being quiet. You are being hot and cold with responses, you fucking weasel.”

“Am not!” She responded, aghast at the accusation. “I’m working. Damn.”

Deciding to put any of that worry to the side, you went on with your story. “Anyway,” you shook your head, reaching to itch your right brow with your pointer. Nervous habit. You looked to see if Elsie had noticed. She was still honed in on her laptop. Thankfully. “She turned nasty about the baby after this card was played.”

Without a second thought, her eyes flicked to you. It made goosebumps rise on your skin. You loved how your baby girl had allies already. “What in the fuck?” She ground out, brows lifted to her hairline. “What did the little cunt say about my niece or nephew?”

I haven’t told her the gender yet, you paused on that thought. Granted, it had only been a few days. But, damn. You felt like you were keeping her out of the loop. How had you gotten so good at doing that? On a dime, you realized you had to tell her the gender immediately. So, you decided you’d nonchalantly drop it. She might end up hating you for the casual reveal, but she’d just have to get over it. 

Looking to the side at Stevie, who rested at your feet, you continued, “She referred to my baby girl with this tone that had me wanting to clock her stupid, fucking–.”

There were no more keys clicking on the other end whatsoever. “Hold. The fuck. Up.”

You grinned knowingly, slowly swiveling your eyes back to the camera. Elsie’s mouth hung open, eyes just as wide as her mouth. “Oh, did I say something?” You teased, looking side to side before finding her eyes once more.

She left the frame briefly and you didn’t have time to wonder where she went before you witnessed her doing a little happy dance behind her desk chair. You laughed along with her, as she ruthlessly giggled on the other end with several ‘I knew it’s’ flowing from her lips. After spending that time briefly skirting around her home office, she was back in front of you, patting down her curls that had gone slightly askew with her movements. 

Her cheeks were bright pink with cheer and her smile lit up every single feature on her face. “I fucking knew it!” She exclaimed before you could utter a word. “I told Josh — told him that I just had this feeling that the baby was a girl.”

“That’s funny,” you perked up, sitting up a little straighter to talk about the new information with her. “Jake just seemed to know, too. Kept referring to her as a her before we even knew.”

“No – now, that’s going to make me fucking tear up,” she said, literally sounded as if she was on the verge of tears on the other end. 

When you focused on her eyes again, you noticed the new wetness. “Elsie, there is no way in hell you’re actually crying right now,” you snorted at her, your own eyes watering in spite of yourself. Your sniffle betrayed you, making her follow your lead and look at you accusingly, brow raised and nostrils flared. “Okay, okay. . . I know. It’s– it’s exciting and emotional. I get it.”

“Yeah,” she emphasized the word with a sniffle, voice wet. “Give me a damn second to feel it all. And the fact that Jake just knew! God. That’s fucking priceless. Oh my god. I can’t.”

You nodded at her words, agreeing wholeheartedly. After giving her a bit of time to sit with the information, she gave you the signal to give her a minute and with a few more tap, tap, taps of her fingers against her keyboard, you heard a swooshing sound from the phone speaker. 

“Okay, work’s done. Article sent. Time to talk about my niece,” she said, each statement stringing from the last with excitement. “My mind is spinning, y/n. I’m quite actually spiraling over here, bitch.”

“I feel you,” you agreed once again, hearing the front door open and close right after you’d spoken. The familiar jingle of Jake’s keys in the bowl on the counter, along with the telling sound of his whistling alerted you to his presence. Your shoulders eased, stress releasing that you hadn’t realized yourself holding. What? You just really liked when he was home at the same time as you. “I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I found out.”

“Was Jake at the appointment?”

“Yes,” you replied, turning her down a few notches to keep your conversation quiet enough that he wouldn’t hear anything by some chance. “And he was very emotional, too.”

“Well of course he was,” she surmised. “Who wouldn’t be?”

You nodded along, not sure what else you wanted to say for a bit. Just wanted to sit in the newly divulged information with your sister. 

“Think of any names yet?” She inquired with a sniff.

Shit. You hadn’t. How had you—? Did this mean you were like—? Were you going to be the same as—? Queue you questioning everything. As always. Did it make you a bad mom that you hadn’t thought of a single name? Rather than sitting on it, you clued Elsie in to your thought process. Out with the negative, reach for the positive. Had to work on that. 

“I haven’t, actually,” you admitted, sniffling for a new reason altogether, gnawing at your lip. Your brows furrowed as you pondered your lack of thought at the name. “Does that make me a bad mom? My mind is the one tripping balls now. God. Elsie.” You felt like a little girl, all over again, crying out for Elsie amidst grueling night terrors. 

“Stop, babe,” she demanded from the other end, her tone sharp. “I know what you’re doing. Quit over analyzing. When did you find out she’s a girl? Just a few fucking days ago, right?”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t I have been thinking of names before we even went to the appoi–?”

“No,” she vehemently stopped you. “You shouldn’t have been doing anything that didn’t naturally come to you to do. Motherly instincts and all of that. You know your process. Every mom is different.”

God. Not right now. Not right now. Not. Right. Now. All you could see was your washed up mother laying on the couch. Her cheap, box-dyed yellow-blonde hair. Saw her leaving you and Elsie on the porch. You, screaming at her. Sobbing. Heard her saying obscenely terrible things to you, as if through a mocking tunnel from the past. No motherly instincts anywhere within that woman. Were moms so different if they shared DNA? 

“Quit it, y/n,” Elsie cut through the thoughts in a way only a sister could. Your eyes, full of tears and probably looking terrified, found hers. She wasn’t glaring at you, but she definitely wasn’t playing games. “You are not our mother. Get that shit out of your head. I know that’s what you’re fucking doing right now. Comparing yourself to her. Stop.”

“But, Els–,” you felt a tear leave your eye as you looked away from her. Goddammit. Why now? You were supposed to be happy with your sister right now. “I hadn’t even given a name a damn thought. How did I forg–?”

“You didn’t forget,” she challenged you, forcing your eyes back to hers. You let yourself focus on the familiar fire in her eyes. Let some reassurance sink into your soul from her irises. Something you’d done all your life. Deep breaths. “First of all, you’re only four months along. And second, you have been a fucking fantastic mother already. Hello — going to therapy to better yourself? For her? For your baby? Badass, dude,” she smiled fondly, holding up a fist to show the power in that. 

“You’ve had far more important things than a damn name to think about. And you’ve been thinking about those things. The life-altering, re-wiring of the brain shit. Focusing a hell of a lot of your energy into that. It’s intense stuff and you’re doing it. For her. Our mother would never,” she lectured with a bite in her words. “Never-fucking-ever. You are a kickass mom already, babe. And you are absolutely nothing like the woman who birthed us. Nothing. Like. Her.”

You let the words trickle in one by one. Held onto the words that you could. Desperately tried to cling to each and every one. But, as fate would have it, you lost a few that your mind couldn’t wrap around completely. But you’d found a chosen few to hold in your mental iron fist. They helped your mind slow down. Elsie had a good fucking point. She always had the right words. This was stuff Gia would tell your ass, too. ‘For her.’ You were doing things for her. More important than a name. For. Her. Those words made your breathing come the easiest and your eyes dry enough that you didn’t have to fight any more tracks down your cheeks with the tips of your fingers. 

“Thanks, Els,” you muttered, one more sniff had you clearing up to nearly normal again. “Your words always hit different. I needed them.”

“Well. You’re welcome,” she replied, full of ease. “I wish I could hug you, too. But you’re just going to have to hang on to those words for the time being. Hugs to drive the point home – coming soon.”

“It can’t come soon enough," you softly said, yawning with the word. Long ass day. 

“Agreed. Anyway, so. Names. Let’s brainstorm,” she offered. 

“Els, I really have no earthly clue. I haven’t thought about it,” you laughed, coming to terms with the fact that you weren’t completely terrible for not thinking of one yet. “Don’t even know where to start.”

“Has Jake brought any up yet? That might help to get your wheels turning.”

“Nope,” you shook your head, looking towards your cracked bedroom door to maybe catch a glimpse of him. The slit in the door didn’t offer you anything. Too small. Couldn’t try to get an idea of where he was if you tried. “I’m sure he’s waiting for me to say something about one.”

“Okay. So. . .Hm,” she pursed her lips before picking you up and carrying you in her hand to her kitchen. “I need brain food. Chips, of course.”

“Duh.” Chips were her favorite. Right next to her ice. “Saw the ice already. I knew chips were next.”

“At least I’m consistent,” she noted, finding the bag she wanted and carrying them with her to her couch. “Ah, my couch. My beloved.”

When you heard her bag of chips open, you simultaneously heard a record begin in your living room. You didn’t recognize it right off the bat, but you reveled in the feeling that he was playing something. It felt so wonderfully familiar. Like home.

“So. . . let’s start with you and Jake,” she began, crunching on one chip to start. 

“What about us?!” You quickly jumped to realign the conversation, your train of thought having derailed your sense of calm. “I thought we were talking about baby names.”

“Calm the hell down,” she laughed. “I just want to know if there’s anything special that you two share – besides her, obviously – that might lend to an idea. . .” Oh. Okay. You got it now. Wow. You really did need to calm the hell down. 

“Um,” you pondered briefly, racking your brain for anything that would make any sense at all. But, after your very long day at work and minor panic attack, you were coming up totally short. “I can’t think of anything right now, Els. My brain is shit after work today and my mini freak out just now.”

“That’s okay, babe. How about–.”

From a distance, you heard a loud clatter from the kitchen, making you look in the direction of the clash rather than Elsie. 

“What’s going on?” You heard her wonder aloud from the screen.

You sat up completely, but didn’t get out of bed yet. Just minded your business until you felt like you wouldn’t be a nuisance if you went to check on him. “I can’t tell,” you mumbled, bringing the speaker closer to your mouth with the lower level of your voice. 

Following the clatter, you heard a rather disappointed sound from your roommate. He was then groaning rather frustratedly with a long ‘fuuuuuck’. He was definitely upset over something, if his reaction implied anything. So, out of curiosity and an innate sense to help, you got up from your spot on the bed. Of course, you had to take Elsie with you, who was questioning your actions on the way to the kitchen. 

“Is everything okay?” She asked from the other end, her voice holding a tinge of worry. “At least tell me if Jake is home so I know you’re not alone if there’s a fucking intruder.”

“Yes, Jake is home,” you replied, sort of to her, sort of not. Your brow was furrowed, so you knew she’d be asking another question if you didn’t say something else. “He dropped something, I think. Going to see if I can help.”

“Awww,” she cooed from the other end, chomping a chip at the end of the sound for effect. “You’re a sweet little baby mama, sis.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed under your breath at her, glancing at her for a moment before you rounded the corner to the kitchen. Jake was standing over the sink, hand covering his eyes, his mouth in a tight line. Your brow wrinkled more before you sidled up next to him to observe what he stood above. And, there, once again, in the sink. 

The fucking lavender. No fucking way.

A quiet giggle bubbled at your lips, so you covered it quickly with a subtle hand at your mouth. Didn’t want Jake to think you were laughing at him. You weren’t. It was just pretty damn funny that in the span of a few days, you had both managed to knock the thing over and into a million pieces in the sink. “You have got to be kidding me,” you mused out loud, lilting on a giggle. Not able to stop it.

Jake slid the hand down his face at the same time he looked over at you with downcast eyes and raised brows. The hand covered his mouth momentarily before grasping his chin. Irritated, he muttered, eyes fanning your face to search for any hidden sadness. “I don’t even–,” he began, hand moving from his chin to tousle his hair. He was nervous. “I don’t know how – I literally just wanted to surprise you with a new pot for it and. . . well. I managed to break the new one as soon as I placed it on the ledge. I don’t even know. . .,” he repeated the words, shaking his head before he looked back down at the damage. “I try to do a good deed and it just bites me in the ass.”

You couldn’t help the gentle smile that floated to your lips. Still holding Elsie in your right hand, who’d gone completely silent (save for her chip crunching), you put her down on the counter, facing the ceiling, to use both of your hands to grasp his arms and turn him to face you. 

“Jake,” you began, forcing him to look at you with an intent gaze to communicate your seriousness. “It is fine, sweetie.” You chose to ignore the sweetie that slipped past your lips. It was fine. Whatever. “As long as the plant itself is salvageable, we can always go get a new pot,” you softly reassured. “Together. Again. Just like last time.” 

Absently, you reached a hand up to smooth your thumb under his left eye. Right on the crest of his cheek. He was still clenching his jaw, but with your hand on his cheek, he started loosening his features slowly. Bashfully, he looked to the side to survey the damage once more, closing his eyes resolutely before turning to fully face you. With his eyes opened and looking at you again, they were clearer of the upset. He looked more regretful than anything. 

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he muttered, his tone emitting his feeling in a way that made your heart crack for him. 

But you didn’t want him feeling bad for doing it at all, considering you’d just done the same thing. So, you smiled softly and grazed his cheek with your thumb once more. Your other hand, sliding down his arm to grasp his hand. 

“Jake, it’s okay, honey. For one, it’s just a pot. Like I said, we can get another new one,” you tried, your eyes bright and your smile lopsided to reassure him. “And, two, I just did it. We’re both just clumsy as hell, I guess. Shit happens.”

He just chuckled once with a little nod. “Yeah,” he shook his head, turning his face into your palm further. “The one I got tonight was pretty, though. Reminded me of your pretty face,” he gazed down at you fondly, running a thumb over the top of your forehead just once. “I really wanted you to see it. In one piece. Holding the plant.”

Your heart did a little flip in your chest at the comment about your face. And the thought of getting a new pot at all. It was all really fucking sweet and made your heart pound in your chest. From behind you, you absently heard Elsie still fucking crunching over FaceTime. She was spying, you were sure. But. . . you couldn’t blame her. 

Your hand and his stayed clasped together, your eyes sweeping over the other’s face. When your eyes connected, you grinned. “Well, tell me about the pot, then,” you urged, your finger reaching back a little, into the roots at the base of his head. He closed his eyes in satisfaction at the feeling. Opening his slightly tired eyes, he reached forward to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your own ear. Must’ve fallen from your bun.

“It was like the last one. Just a little different. It had the lavender on it, but it was painted with watercolor and it was just really fucking pretty,” he explained, huffing a laugh in spite of himself. The air from it brushed against your hand. “The fact that I’d found another with lavender on it – I mean, this little fuckin’ plant – this lavender is so special to us and you loved the first pot so much that I just wanted to surprise you with a new one.” 

Lavender. Lavender is so special to us. 

Okay, then. He’d answered Elsie’s question. Simply. You knew now. It was obvious. The baby’s name. Even after a long ass day, you fucking knew. It had been right in front of your face, what was special between you two; since that day in the record store so long ago when he’d brought the most special peace offering of all time. 

“Jake,” you began, taking hold of your thoughts and aiming every last piece of energy you had at the sudden topic at hand. The hand that had gone into his hair came down just a bit to rest on his chest as your nerves swirled a little. “What have you been thinking in regards to a baby name?”

“What have you been thinking?” Ugh. No, Jacob.

“You first.”

“No. Mom gets first say.”

“Jake.”

“Y/n.”

You grumbled, playfully squinting at him with a smile pulling at your lips. “Okay,” you began, a new idea in mind. “How about this: have you thought of more than one?” 

“Not really. Just one,” he shook his head with a lip pushed out. The pout turned into a little quirk of his lip. “What about you? One or more than one?”

“One.”

He hummed in reply. The idea was probably going to work. Well, hopefully.

“So. . . here’s a little game we can play,” you pitched, smirking. He returned the expression. “How about I count down from three. And, once my hand is a fist, we both say the name we’re thinking of. Seems pretty damn fair to me.” 

He pursed his lips, pondering, then nodded in resolution to the plan. “Alright.”

“Alright,” you breathed, smile wide. “I’m going to count on my fingers and when I reach a fist, that means you say it.”

“And you, too.”

“Of course.”

So, with that, you made the hand that was already against his chest into three fingers so he could feel your actions without having to look away from your gaze. You wanted his eyes on you for this. And, with each number counted down against his heart, you ticked a finger down. Your wish came true: your eyes stayed connected with his the entire time. You felt his heartbeat thumping under your hand. It was idyllic. Wonderful. Perfect in its symbolism.

“. . .Three,” press, thump. “. . .Two,” press, thump. “. . .One,” press, thump.

Then, there was a fist. And, in unison, you both said it. Lavender.

The tears that sprung to your eyes couldn’t be controlled and the way you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck to hug him wasn’t controllable either. Not at all, in fact. And your gesture was reciprocated without a second to spare, his arms so strong and sure around your body. You were still small (using the term lightly, mind you) enough that he could comfortably wrap both arms snugly around you. 

His hair brushed your forearms and you breathed in his cologne. The tickle of his hair against your skin and the warm, intoxicating smell of sandalwood and vanilla. . . It overtook you in a way that made every single nerve ending in your body alight with the brightest flame. The most sparkly feeling, from your head to your toes. All ten. 

When you separated after a rather long hug – minutes-long, you were sure –, you slowly slid your hands down his chest. Kept them flat. Didn’t grip his pecs like you wanted. You stayed mindful of the reality of the situation. But, contrary to your usual bitterness at reality, you focused on a happier real thing. A happier reality.

Just as real as he wasn’t yours, he was. In a sense. Truly. Just like Josh had said, you had a piece of him that Maya couldn’t ever have. Jake’s first child. You were the one lucky enough to carry his first child. To raise his first child. His. The baby was his. And yours. Together. That counted for something. More than any relationship, there was a baby that you held in your womb that you’d made together. And, oddly, the night you’d come together to make her. . . though it was hazy, you found yourself remembering a particular moment. 

The lovely scent of lavender had just begun whirling from the front of the apartment, straight to your room where you got ready for the evening that Jake had intended to ease your stress. Even with the door closed, you’d caught the relaxing smell.

“God, I love the smell of lavender,” your roommate had said from the kitchen where he made a favorite meal of yours, pure admiration in his tone. “Instant serenity.”

Then, another moment. It was Sam who spoke in your memory this time. Same night. “. . .So I chose lavender for its properties to heal and bring happiness. I was also considering its elements for peace, harmony. . . and love.”

And one more moment. An incredibly sentimental moment from that evening. Honestly, it was more tender than your mind could properly conjure. And it had been right before you’d made your way to the bedroom. 

You’d just rounded the corner to the kitchen. And what you’d found made your eyes water so quickly. The sight was so plain, so simple. . .but so incredibly wholesome.

Your whispered voice had broken the dark silence. “Why are you watering my lavender?”

He’d jumped a bit, the tiny, gilded watering pail you’d gotten for the plant, still mid-air when he’d blinked in your direction, his eyes had adjusted to the vast darkness that had flooded your shared home, no light save for the candles. “I was just putting dinner up and it looked a little wilty,” he’d said, sounding a little ‘wilty’ himself. “Have you not watered it recently?”

You remembered. While you’d been so ridiculously immersed in your unreasonable head for those several days, you’d ignored the plant. Foolish. “No,” you’d responded, not wanting to provide an explanation. 

“I understand,” he’d said, a small grin on his lips and honesty in his eyes, even darker in the shadowy lighting. A lone candle on the bar was the only way you’d been able to make him out. “School starting and all. I bet your stress has been high because of that.”

“Yeah,” you’d absentmindedly agreed. But his words rang again in your head, things clicking slower with the pot filtering through your system. “Also, stop telling people I’m stressed,” you’d unnecessarily griped, crossing your arms (partially to keep yourself balanced). “Or sad. You don’t know.”

You’d watched as he’d emptied the rest of the water into the soil, feeling it with his fingers before washing his hands. Then he’d turned to you, his face pinched with shock. He’d shaken his head a bit, his longer waves swaying at his collarbone. “It’s obvious you have been.”

You’d known then that you’d been transparent. As usual. It was something you’d always flourished at– wearing your heart on your sleeve. And that also meant you were shit at masking your emotions. (Now you knew he’d known for the simple fact that he could read you so incessantly well.) You’d wondered why he cared. But you’d known. Truly, you had. Just hadn’t let yourself understand why he cared. 

“Okay, say I have. Still not your business to share,” you’d ridiculously asserted, with a final nod of your head. 

He’d peacefully nodded, pushing his lip out. He’d lifted his hand to his chin to rub it a bit, a sign you’d learned to mean that he agreed. “That is fair. I’m sorry.”

You could still remember your head rocking a bit and you’d shut your eyes briefly to reset. The flow of the remaining green in your system had made you just a bit dizzy. And while you had been ‘with it’ still – totally aware of yourself and your surroundings –, you’d known that it was probably time to go to bed. It had also all become too much in that fuzzy moment in time – the whole ‘talking to Jake like normal’ thing. 

Things hadn’t been normal then. Not for you. And you’d made it so for him as well. It made your heart feel all blue. (Then and now.) As much as you’d missed him–just talking to him, you’d (wisely) decided to use sleep as the reason to excuse yourself. You’d felt the urge to tell him every tiny thing on your mind. You knew yourself too well– when weed entered the picture, there was no concealing a single thought that crossed your mind. 

“I’m going to bed,” you’d said, turning away from him and starting the walk to your bedroom, your heart still with him and the fucking lavender in the kitchen window.

But just as you’d made it to your door, opening it just a smidge, a warm hand had encompassed yours, which stayed twisted around the knob. You could have fallen into him. (Then and now.) It’d always felt so good to simply feel his touch. God, he really was so warm. So safe. So cozy. So Jake.

He doesn’t feel the same for you, that stupid fucking nagging voice had slyly said, the damned thing, having slipped through the thickness of the marijuana. You aren’t those things to him.

Go the fuck home, you’d said to the voice, pissed beyond belief that it had managed to enter your hazy realm of escapism.

“I am home,” he’d said, his voice low and hot on your neck. The feeling had goosebumps immediately, deliciously, prickling on your skin. 

You’d said it out loud. The thing about home. And he’d thought you were talking to him. 

“I was talking to myself,” you’d revealed honestly–crazily. You had angled your head so you could speak over your shoulder to him. And just as you’d done that, it became obvious just how close he was to you. His collar, level with your eyes. 

You’d looked up a bit to find him watching you. Carefully. Warily. But intensely all the same.

Just as he was doing at the present moment. A certain heat against your cheek, adding relief to your otherwise wired brain. And, out of nowhere, the other words that had been spoken that night. . .They were back. For the first time. They were completely, fully, totally back.

His velvet voice had just sent a flutter to your heart, reassuring you of something. . . – something having to do with. . . Maya? Yes. You’d heard the genuine truth behind it then, and the way his eyes had never once left yours. . . His eyes had always said so much more than his words ever did. 

“I don’t want her. I want you. At my shows. In my bed every night and every morning, waking me with your mouth or your sweet pussy. . .I just—goddammit. Fuck. I fucking love you, y/n. I love you. No one else.”

And your next words couldn’t have been stopped if you tried. “I love you too,” had fallen so smoothly from your lips, like the purest golden honey. The purest, truest words you’d ever spoken. 

But. This current moment in time. You didn’t have that with him — in his bed, every night and every morning. . . . Not anymore. A lot had changed. Too much. Too much to even begin to calculate at the moment. Now was not then. Things had been said. Other people had been chosen. And, again, so many things had been said. You talked too damn much. That was just it. 

And, ironically, no matter how sad it made you. . . It was all your fault. You’d changed it all. Because you were a fucking trauma victim who couldn’t even remember half of her trauma. Just knew enough to not allow yourself happiness in the form of the one man you’d ever loved. Because you loved him. It was all because of that. He was too good for you. 

You. Loved. Him.

A voice in your head soothed you. Think about it, y/n. Him. Your baby girl. Think about who is standing in front of you right now. He’s still here, y/n.

God. You shook your head just a bit. Just enough that you registered the warmth again, against your face. A hand on your cheek. Gentle. Delicate. As if managing the finest porcelain. He’d been holding you. That entire time you been lost in the memory, he’d been holding you. His hand, laced up and around the side of your face, fingers at your ear, under it, and in the straggling hairs falling out at the bottom of your updo. 

He was all around you. A piece of him, inside of you, too.

Your eyes grew misty at the complexity of the emotions in your heart. It was a lot. Too much. And in normal Jake fashion, he acted at the most ideal time. In one swift action, his lips touched your cheek. Just his lips. So soft, pressed against your cheek with purpose. Passion. Then, he was leaning away. His hand, falling from behind your head. His eyes were heavy with emotion. But, he still smiled. He looked a lot like you felt. But. That – your emotions – didn’t matter right now. One person mattered. A tiny one.

You placed a hand to the bottom of your belly, looking down at the bump that was hidden by the oversized T. Then, without taking another moment to think, you were swiveling in one take to grab your phone from the counter. When you looked down at your phone screen again, Elsie was a mess of tears. You couldn’t hear her worth shit, and when she let out one rather dramatic sob, you realized she’d muted herself. You snorted at her, shaking your head. 

“Is someone on the phone with you?” Jake asked from behind you. 

Oh, shit. If you told him, he’d know you told Elsie the gender. You’d been so blatant about it while talking to him. And her, right there, on the phone the entire time. She’d been privy to the entire conversation. Would he be hurt? Trust broken? Fuck. The train of thought made you quickly realize you hadn’t told him he could tell Josh the gender. Dammit. You’d meant to tell him that after getting home from Jungle Juice. 

You stopped in your tracks on the way to your room, turning to address him. “Just Elsie.”

“Oh,” he replied, his smile stretching to show his teeth. “Tell her I said hi.”

“I will.”

Even after that, you couldn’t pull your body away. Not with the way he studied you. Lips pursed and eyebrow raised, gaze sweeping over you. His dark eyes, melting into your skin, all the way down to your heart that beat so erratically in your chest. You felt it so heavily at every pulse point.

You loved him. So, so much.

“What are you worried about?” He plainly asked, crossing his ankles as he went to lean against the island, left hand slipping into his front pocket.

“I’m not,” you shook your head, working to just laugh it off. 

“Y/n.”

Ugh. Why was he like this? And why did you really love it so damn much? “I just feel bad.”

“Why in the world would you feel bad about anything right now?” He replied with a rasp of a laugh, rubbing the side of his face with his right hand before tucking it in a front pocket, too. 

Where the fuck do I begin? You sardonically thought, inwardly rolling your eyes at your ridiculousness. You settled on the thought that was easiest to address. “I just–she was on the phone. She knows the gender and I– I feel bad that I didn’t tell you that I was–.”

“Honey,” Jake cut you off. Brow raised, lips still curved into his handsome, close-lipped grin. “The baby—she’s inside of you. It’s your choice to tell who you want to tell and when.”

“But it’s not fai–.”

“It is fair,” he concluded, not letting you argue with him. “Promise.”

He was still watching you, light in his eyes. Ready for whatever you had to say. Blushing, all you could do was grin. “Whenever you want to, please tell Josh the gender. I’m excited for him to know.”

“Okay,” he grinned back at you, the loose smile made your tummy flip. “I’m ready for him to know, too,” he replied with a wink. 

Fuck. Don’t wink at me. Your body buzzed at the miniscule action. Damn emotions to hell. And damn these fucking hormones to the pits of it.

The next evening, Jake kept his promise from Sunday and took you on a little walk. It was a warmer-than-usual December evening, so you wore something almost identical to what you’d worn to yoga. Which, also, had been an uncharacteristically warm December morning. 

A light jacket over a tight top with a sports bra built in (the compression really helped the achiness of your growing breasts) and black leggings. You’d even worn your nice Nikes. Wanted to take the walking thing seriously. 

“But yeah, apparently walking is good practice for pregnant women their entire pregnancy,” he’d started his little topic of conversation a couple minutes ago, as you turned down the block towards the little Main Street situated a few streets away from your apartment complex. “But especially during the third trimester.”

“So you see this continuing, hm?” You quizzed him, rounding the corner to finally place your feet on the little mundane street. “Until the third trimester, at least?”

When you turned, you noticed how the quaint block was bustling. The tiny shops that sat in vintage storefronts, exchanging several holiday shoppers.

“If you’re up for it,” he replied, bringing you back.

You chanced a glance up at him, lips stretched in a wide grin. He was waiting for your eyes, and when he’d caught them he’d pushed his lips together in a cheery smirk. “I’m definitely up for that,” you informed him, tucking some hair behind your ear as you crossed your arms under your breasts. Looking up at him again, you noticed a little smile on his full lips. “Are you? Up to dealing with me that often — by choice, mind you — during the final trimester? I’m sure you know from your readings how taxing that time is on everyone involved. . . I’m probably going to be insufferable.”

He caught your eye momentarily before looking ahead again and you did the same. Probably needed to watch where you were going. “Y/n. I live with you,” he chuckled, a snort following the words. “By choice. And insufferable doesn’t bother me. Seriously— remember who I’m related to,” he laughed under his breath.

You wanted to laugh with him, but you were still stuck on his comment about living with you. Hadn’t really thought about that. He probably could afford his own place at this point — easily — but. . . He was still with you. Hm. You’d get back to that later. “Okay, okay,” you grinned, tucking your arms a little tighter around yourself with a certain breeze.

“Probably wasn’t my brightest idea to start this in the winter months, though,” he cut in, with the wind. “I’m sorry about that part.”

“To be fair,” you grasped your arms tighter to yourself. “Nearly the entire pregnancy takes up all of the fall and winter months. Your idea is great, execution is just impossible to make ideal.”

He hummed to your left, walking on the side closest to the street to keep you safe. “Excellent point.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m here all week,” you joked, doing the best bow you could considering your walking feet and round belly.

You couldn’t help but laugh at your self-made cringe fest. It just felt right to be goofy in front of him. He was safe. He chortled with you. And you realized that particular laugh reminded you of Josh’s. “That sounded just like Joshua,” you noted aloud, glancing over to see him smirking. 

"Yeah. . . I really can't believe I'm twins with that fucker."

“Oh, I definitely can,” you noted, thinking of their incredible similarities.

Right after you spoke, you were also trying to move out of the way for an oncoming group of men. Ironically, all of them, decked out in Pratt shit. Reminded you of a certain blonde boy who made you want to dry heave. They were too engaged in their phones and conversations to notice you. You moved over, but one of them almost shoulder checked you, still — if it hadn’t been for Jake. He’d wrapped his arm around your waist just in time, bringing you closer to him and out of the way. Your skin heated immediately. The entire interaction instantly made your head so fuzzy.

“Damn,” you breathed out, shaking your head at the almost-collision, your hair brushing Jake’s shoulder. His arm was still around you. “They seemed pretty preoccupied, huh?”

“Mhm,” he concurred, sounding frustrated. His arm tightened around your waist once more before moving down to one of your sore hips. His fingers fanned and gripped the muscle through your leggings briefly. Then he was releasing you completely. Fuck. That’d felt so nice. “How’s school been? Did your semester end well?”

You instantly missed his touch. But, you did your best to play it off, brushing at your front and grabbing your hip to try to relieve the pain as he had. And of course, it did nothing in comparison to his touch. 

“Yeah,” you answered, wrinkling your brow as you thought back on all of the normal stressors with school. There was one thing that had happened a while back that you hadn’t told him about. And his opinion was invaluable to you considering plenty of things — especially this subject. “But, um, about a month ago, my advisor told me something. I wanted to run it past you.”

“What’s up?” He asked, prompting you to look over at him from the corner of your eye. You were glad you did. Saw how closely he was watching you, how seriously he was taking it. Waiting to listen, purposefully walking in step with you to hear what you had to say. It made you feel so special.

He definitely does the same thing for Maya, y/n. Calm down.

Thankfully, that thought helped your mind to recenter. “Do you remember when you brought up the idea of me using my degree to be a lyricist?”

“Yes,” he grinned, his dimple showing for a brief moment. You really liked when his dimples occasionally showed. “I remember. . . everything from that morning.”

Jacob. You were internally berating him for making your insides twist at the memories from that fucking morning. The rain. The music. The sex that, quite frankly, had felt more like making love than anything. Why did it seem to haunt you? And why did he have to remember so damn much? 

“Well, I told my advisor about that. Wanted her input.”

“Mhm?” He questioned with a hum, brows furrowed as he watched his and your feet. His lips, pursed and a finger tracing them when you looked up and over at him.

“She very nearly laughed in my face,” you said, voice holding a self-deprecating laugh at the humiliating situation in her office and afterwards as you’d run to your car. “She told me that it’s ‘not impossible’. . .but, that there was a ‘slim chance’ a label would take me on as a fresh graduate. Which, in hindsight, makes sense. . . Doesn’t make it hurt any fucking less, though. Because I’d really started considering that. It’s perfect.”

“It is perfect for you,” he agreed, looking over at you, his eyes intent for you to understand and a sincere grin that showed his belief in you. “Did she say anything else?”

“She told me that it’s a career I have to ‘prove myself in’ and it takes experience I don’t have,” you emphasized the part about how you don’t have the experience. Just as she had that day; she’d really driven the point straight into your heart. “She’d immediately shaken her head when I said I wanted to do it, too. . . Before she said any of the other stuff. I should have known she’d react that way. I mean, honestly, she had a poi—.”

“I don’t agree,” Jake casually noted, before something caught his eye in a store on your side of the sidewalk. So, suddenly he was stopping at that place, moving out of traffic. You followed him, ready to hear what he had to say. Once he’d gotten a little look at what had drawn his eye, he was facing you again. He continued. “Does the lady know you at all?”

“I mean, to an extent. . . She’s been my advisor for the past four years of college,” you shrugged, scratching your brow. 

“So she’s known you for four years and still doesn’t see the seas of love and pain and introspectiveness in your eyes alone?”

You were caught off guard at his words. He saw all of that in your eyes? “You actually see all of that?” You blanched, not sure how to feel about your emotions being seen so clearly. “I know I’m not the best at hiding how I feel. . . But am I that transparent?”

“Not to everyone, I guess. . .,” he trailed off, rubbing his lip again. Your eyes tracked the action. Then, his hands gripped your shoulders and you had no choice but to gaze into his deep-set eyes. His amber-brown irises, full of wisdom and life. The dark circles under his eyes, an indicator of his hard work in multiple areas of his life — one of them being music. He was the professional in the field, not your advisor. “Y/n,” he continued, his eyes peering into yours, trapping you with his earnestness. “You are highly qualified to be a lyricist. Straight out of the gate. Hell, I believe you could start before you fucking graduate. I don’t have a college degree and I fucking do it. I have a damned label that is actively producing my lyrics.”

Instantly, you longed to hear every song he’d ever written lyrics to. . . You made a mental note to get back to that later. Right now, your heart was pounding in your chest at the idea that you could actually fulfill your dream. It wasn’t outlandish to him. You wished you’d gone to him weeks ago when she said it. 

“So you truly believe a label would be interested in me?”

“I don’t believe it, baby. I know it,” he very seriously began, weighing your reaction by staring so deep into your eyes. His eyes were full of sincere, heartfelt trust in you. “All one needs to write a well-crafted song is heart. And you, beautiful girl, have plenty of that,” he reached out, delicately grabbing your chin between his thumb and pointer finger with the words beautiful girl. Then he was letting go after the tip of his thumb gently grazed your bottom lip. “Just like I said the other night. . . If you want to fucking do something, you’ll do it. It’s just the way you operate. So even if you lacked heart, motivation, and drive — which you most definitely don’t — you’d still accomplish it. You are a badass,” he smirked, nodding. Raised his brow as he pursed his lips. 

Tears gathered in your eyes and a few trickled down your cheeks. He was reaching out and catching each and every one before they fell too far. You sniffled, skin heating at his gentle touch. Your eyes smiled as you observed the man in front of you. God, you loved him. And you loved being able to admit that to yourself. 

“Thank you, Jake,” was all you could muster, his hands simultaneously catching the last of your tears. “I mean it. I’m so grateful for you. Every second of every day.”

If that was too much to say, you didn’t care. Not anymore. Not when he did and said the shit that made your heart trip over itself with erratic beats. He deserved to hear how incredibly wonderful he was to you. 

“I can say the same for you, baby,” he replied, tucking his hands in his pockets. His lips hadn’t turned down once. He felt confident in everything he’d said. You could tell. And for that, your soul finally settled at the fact that you could actually pursue your dream. “Do you want me to talk to a few people? I can. I will — I want to. If you let me.”

Let him, y/n. Please.

“Yeah, sure,” you smiled, shaking your head a bit before reaching to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “You know, though, I’ve never written a solid lyric a day in my life. So. . .”

“Like I said, you’ve just gotta set your mind to it. For you, that’s all it takes,” he winked. And then his attention was taken again by the window over your shoulder. 

He walked further to the storefront to look inside the window of the little bookstore. You turned to observe him, watching in admiration of everything he was. Once he’d gotten a good look, he walked back over to you, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the window. “There’s something I want us to look at in there.” Us. You loved that word. 

With a little nod of your head, you followed his lead as he opened the door for you. Your body buzzed with relief at the warmth in the bookstore. It was the type of warmth that made you realize just how cold your fingers had gotten.

The evening had settled in and the sun was no longer high in the sky. Your fingers were numb as you rubbed them together and brought them to your mouth to blow hot air against them. Of course, Jake had turned to you at the ideal moment and noticed. Your cheeks flared with heat at the way his eyes zoned in on your actions. 

“Let me,” he offered, coming up to you and placing his hands out for yours. And, semi-hesitantly, you gave your sore, prickly fingers over to him. 

“It was way colder than I realized, I guess,” you laughed nervously to yourself, giddy at his touch. 

Talking had been an attempt to distract your mind from the feeling of Jake’s hands wrapping around yours. His hands were still heated (he’d always been a human heat source), immediately working to loosen your icy fingers in his tender hold. You shivered, more from how close he was — the feeling of his hands around yours so surely. Your lack of body heat had little to do with it. Your eyes went from watching his hands to his face when you saw him bring your hands gently to his mouth. The steady breath he blew slowly on your skin made every nerve ending in your body light on fire. The way his brows dipped in concentration at the action didn’t help matters. He was so intentional about everything. Even if it were just to blow hot air on your trembling fingers. 

Briefly, you thought how he rivaled Josh’s intentionality. . . And that was saying something. 

At the very last second, with one final warm breath against your hands, he looked into your eyes. And the thoughts that swam there were aplenty. You could tell there was so much swimming behind his eyes. . . But what you caught most was the same fire you felt in your chest at the way he was studying you, his lips barely grazing your fingers. Your nipples peaked under your tight shirt as you felt a familiar pulse between your thighs for him. You did your best to focus on your fingers, which were completely alive again. Honestly, you related to your once-numb hands. Jake, for all he was, had helped you come alive in so many fucking ways.

He’s your friend, y/n. That’s what good friends are for. . . Know your boundaries, you couldn’t tell if you were hearing your angel or devil. The internal words were reasonable, but they made your skin crawl. You’re the one who reminded him of them — don’t back down.

Whichever voice it was, you decided you’d better get your well-warmed hands away from him before your entire body set aflame in the little bookstore. When you pulled them away, he flinched for a moment, but fluttered his eyes a few times. And then, he seemed to remember his goal with the store. “Follow me,” he encouraged you with a look over his shoulder, already on his way. You did just as he said.

Once you took just a few more steps behind him, you saw what he’d seen from the street. A tiny little thing. How he’d been able to catch sight of it, you had no clue. But he had. And a very tender part of your heart blossomed for it. 

It was a simple, white oak frame, specifically made for the size of one sonogram picture. Underneath the place for a picture, a little slip of paper was inserted into a slot, meant for personalization. It was precious. So, so precious. A little sign sat next to it, too, indicating they could personalize it for you, if wanted.

He cleared his throat, your line of sight finding him. His eyes were locked on you, measuring your reaction. Your heart pinched as he spoke. “What if we framed the sonogram pictures? We’ll switch them out with each visit as she grows?” 

“I adore that idea,” you sniffed, swiping with one hand under your right eye as a lone teardrop fell. Your hands smoothed over your tummy before interlacing underneath the bump. “And what if. . .,” you began, eyes placed back on the frame as your hands switched to rubbing your belly in small circles. “We put it next to the lavender in the window. I think it would look really nice there, and considering her name. . .”

“Yeah,” he replied, with a sniffle beside you. You watched his hand reach out to grab it from the shelf with a question on his lips. “Would it be okay if I personalized it? For Christmas? A gift for her. Have to do something for her, even if she’s not here-here — yet.”

Oh my god. You were going to crumble. Into a million pieces. He was going to be the best daddy. You went to hold your belly again, catching his eye. To no surprise, he was already waiting, eyes searching your face for an answer. Why did he think he even had to ask? 

“I can’t think of anything better," you breathed with a quiet, serene smile.

December 22, 2022

Tonight was a night you fucking hated your changing body.

Sometimes the insecurities were simply worse. You felt huge and strange in a changing body every now and then and you couldn’t help it. No matter how beautiful Jake told you you were. . . it didn’t matter when you got in your head about yourself. 

Anything related to beautiful effectively faded in your psyche when your brain decided it wanted to shut down. Any other thing he said to make you feel desirable, too. All of it, gone. It was just plain sad. You weren’t always sure about your oversized body. And, right now, you just wanted to feel the sadness. You were emotional and hormonal and pregnant. Very pregnant. 

This week, your belly had definitely  . . .popped. It was suddenly bigger, and you felt like an over-aired balloon. You noticed every little change in your toes and fingers and your arms and your legs and—. Everything. You noticed everything. Though, for like five minutes an hour ago, you’d caught a glimpse of yourself naked in your mirror and felt good about yourself and the way you looked. 

So, when you’d gotten the genius (stupid) idea to try pleasuring yourself, you jumped on it. . . You wanted to take advantage of any self confidence you had that might help you feel sexy enough to find the release you constantly longed for these days. You didn’t often get the vibrator out. . . It honestly depressed you to use it when the one person you wanted more than anything (especially a vibrator) was in the room right next door — and unavailable to help fulfill that need. So. Due to that nauseating fact, the blessed vibrator was all you had.

But, before pressing the power on your buzzing friend, you’d gotten right down to business. An Everything Shower seems necessary on a night you had the apartment to yourself.

You’d gone about self-waxing your nether regions before your shower (yes, you fucking waxed. Even if no one was seeing it, you cared about it and you wanted to do that as well as you could while you still could). And, once under the spray of the shower, you’d shaven your armpits and your legs. And after that, you’d given yourself a stellar shampoo and conditioner scrub, scalp massage brush and all. The body wash you’d chosen had been a new Vanilla Bean Noel you’d just bought at Bath and Body that day, feeling in tune with the holiday season. . .

And finally, after your entire routine, you had excitedly started the buzzing tool. The initial goal in mind for the shower had to be completed. It was an ‘everything-everything shower’. Self-fucking-care.

And since Jake was also gone all night for a thing with Maya, you’d had zero fear of any noises you might’ve made being heard by him or his girlfriend. You really wanted to try and show him some respect in that regard. Wanted to be fair to your previous conversations. And, when you found release, you were not always the best at staying quiet. (And, due to feeling constantly on edge with your hormones, you knew you were bound to get loud tonight.)

Because, really, you hardly ever used the vibrator. So, you knew when you found that beautiful precipice tonight, you were going to be loud. Feeling a little sexy again had honestly come at the perfect time. Or so you thought. 

Because, due to your growing belly and having to balance your heavier, bigger assets, just as you’d nudged the underside of your clit with the humming instrument—You’d fucking ruined it. Right on the edge, you felt yourself begin to flip.

So, you, and your bigger, obtrusive body had tried to grasp for something – anything – to keep you vertical. . . but, you’d grabbed the wrong damn thing in your rush. Because, of course the flimsy shower wrack wasn’t going to hold you up. You knew better.

You’d even shaken it just enough for a few heavy soap bottles to fall with you. To your minor appeasement, the shower water had thankfully stayed warm as you sat and lamented over the failure. The steady flow of the warm water was the only mildly comforting thing in the situation — the only saving grace. It soothed your body. Your already-sore body. The coolness waving in every so often from the other side of the shower curtain had been a bit of a bother, but it wasn’t so bad with the shower water falling on you. And you wanted it cool anyway. The overheat, a constant pal.

With the apartment to yourself, you’d turned down the air to enjoy a slightly cooler apartment. The cool air and warm shower were your perfect combo. . .Well. . . they had been. 

Right now, though? You were fucking pissed that your plans had all gone to shit. Your confidence was gone and you were overstimulated to fucking hell from horniness to now, embarrassment. The anger over the emotions overtook you, making big, fat tears paint your cheeks. You were embarrassed in front of yourself — that was a new low. The extremely loud crashing noise as the soap bottles had come down had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. With everything compiled together. . .it had resulted in you giving in to the few ugly tears, becoming a mess of upset. Sobs wracked your drenched, shaking body. Physical pain was barely a culprit. You weren’t physically hurting too bad–you’d ended up sliding down the wall more than anything, melting to the floor with no motivation to stand back up. 

What you felt now was humiliation. You were lame as fuck — wanted to hide from yourself.

Your night had effectively been ruined. What were you going to do when you got out? Continue to pout and cry over this situation until you fall asleep? Probably. So, you quickly decided to stay in here. Nothing better to do than wash the disappointed, pitiful tears down the drain until you were tired enough to sleep. You figured staying in the shower to finish your cry fest would save some sort of dignity for the outside world. 

“Y/n?”

What?! No. Jake? 

When the fuck had he come in?! You sure as hell hadn’t heard him. Being lost in your thoughts and being surrounded by the noise from the pour of the shower. . . Apparently, you’d canceled out any other noise. Why the hell was he home in the first place?

“I just heard a really loud crash and . . . you were loudly crying. . .got worried about you,” he explained, close enough that you heard him over the noise of the streaming water. 

And, suddenly, you realized you were very much not alone in your pity party anymore. Not that you were ever truly alone anymore these days. A shaky smile lifted your features as your hand found your round tummy. Pissed as your new body made you, it wasn’t the baby’s fault that her mama was insecure as hell. 

“. . .I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Jake finished, his deep, velvety smooth voice making goosebumps rise on your skin.

Your tummy fluttered with butterflies at the sentiment—but it stopped when you got realistic. Your inner voice of humility was a friend tonight and it reminded you of his true concern.

You knew it wasn’t you he was truly worried about. . . The baby was his main concern and you wanted it that way. She mattered most. You didn’t need unnecessary attention. And, the baby was fine. She wasn’t hurt. Her mother was just a fucking clutz. 

“Baby’s fine, Jake,” you sniffed. 

“I didn’t ask about the baby,” he clarified, voice still light. It made your pulse thrum with clarity to his spoken motive when you heard how genuine he sounded. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s got some cushion. I asked about you.”

New wetness sprang to your eyes and your heart skipped a beat. “As long as she’s okay, I’m okay. I’ve got plenty of fucking cushion, too, these days.”

He needed to leave the room and go back to what he'd been out doing with his girlfriend. But the more you spoke, the more you were afraid he’d stay to comfort you out of pity. Your voice alone spoke for you—and you knew that he knew better than to believe you. There really wasn’t any point in trying to hide your emotions from him. 

“Y/n. Seriously.” His voice was getting closer. . . You knew he was making his way across the bathroom floor to you, that certain click of his black boots (you hated that you knew how they sounded when he walked) now noticeable over the stream of the shower. “I know you’re not telling me the truth,” he asserted. 

He was right. You were far from fine. Or okay. Or whatever bullshit you were trying to serve to him on a wobbly platter. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just tell him all of that—you didn’t want to tell him that. If you said too much, you were afraid of contradicting other things you’d claimed in recent days. But he obviously already knew enough to question you further. He could sense it through your bullshit facade. He knew you very well. 

“I told you, Jake. I’m just fine. I know there’s not a lot I can manage for myself right now, but I can fucking shower on my own,” you argued, your voice faltered through your ridiculous, unneeded sassiness. “I don’t know why you’re still here. I can handle this on my own.” Your words were harsh, but you meant them. Really, you did. Seriously.

(Except. . .not at all. You didn’t mean them and you did need him right now. Just wanted him to be near you. You were relieved he hadn’t left yet.)

“Why can’t you just tell me the truth?” He said, his voice tinged with a mix of irritation and legitimate concern. “Why is the fact that you are sad a daunting thing for you to admit?” 

“It’s not, Jake. I just. . .,” you paused, grumbling. “It’s nothing.”

The truth was, you couldn’t handle accepting his assistance. Vaguely, you wondered something. It was a horrendous thought, but you couldn’t help but contemplate if he was only helping this entire time (the walks, the decorating, the water spills, the brownies) because Maya had once told him to help you however he could. 

“Maya–um,” he’d shaken his head a few weeks ago, everyone asleep or close to it after Friendsgiving. His brows had furrowed as he’d messed with his bottom lip. “She told me that she wanted me to help however I possibly could. She wants me to be attentive and helpful in any way I can be.” 

Did she still want him doing that though? Helping however he could? After his slip up on game night, right in front of her? You weren’t so sure after how she’d spoken of your baby. . . Or how she’d spoken of you and Jake, even.

You didn’t know. You were pissed at life tonight. Blame it on the hormones. But any thought of her being involved in his efforts to help angered you to the point that you were tempted to outright refuse his attention just to not allow her the satisfaction that he listened to her. God. . . what the fuck was wrong with you? Your emotions were a pendulum swinging back and forth – constantly.

“You just what?” He insisted, bringing you back to the present. 

The ludicrous words spilled out without a second thought, exposing your tumultuous thought process. “I’m sure you’re only in here to check on me because of Maya, Jake. It's not me that you care about, it’s about appeasing your girlfriend and making sure to follow her rules.”

The words continued flying out of your mouth, as if you didn’t have control of what would come next.  “That’s all that matters to you; her and the baby. Not the person carrying the baby. But that’s okay. I shouldn’t matt–.”

“Oh my god,” he moaned the words, frustration evident in his tone. “We are not getting into that shit. You know how I feel about you — how important you are to me.”

“Yes, but we talked about how she should come firs–,” you tried to reason, but he cut you off.

“Who’s she? Maya or the baby?”

“Both,” you clipped, not even close to seeing eye to eye with yourself. “Both should come before me. Especially your girlfriend right now.”

“I don’t agree.”

You groaned, laying your forehead on your crossed arms, which sat on top of your scrunched knees. The skin of your thighs pressed directly to your nipples. And, with the motion of your forehead, you’d swept over them in a certain way that had you picturing Jake in ways you weren’t supposed to.

“Fine,” you gave him that. He wasn’t wrong, per se. The baby should come first. But. . . It was a dangerous line, considering where the baby was at this point. “But just because she’s inside of me right now doesn’t mean I need your help when I’m hurt.”

“You needed my help the other night when you tried carrying that damn Christmas tree up the stairs all by yourself.”

“I had that down,” you snapped back, your head coming up from your knees with the fibbing retort. “I didn’t need your help with that eith–.”

“Y/n. Are you kidding me?” he argued, one click of a boot heel indicating him coming closer. And it was confirmed when you heard his voice just a little clearer–nearer–than before. “You were not in the position to do that on your own. You could have easily fallen down the stairs, in turn hurting yourself. And thus, hurting our baby.” Alright. He had you there. He had a good point. A solid point.

“Okay,” you said once more, relenting. “I did need your help with that. But right now? I’m doing just fine. Just fell in the shower. So you don’t need to worry about me. We are nothing–.”

“No. Don’t start that shit. If all we are is nothing to you, it’s not like that for me. I know you said that shit the other night. But we’ve always been something and you are something enough to me that I do worry about you,” he paused, another click of a heel. “You matter to me, y/n. Whether you like it or not.”

Oh he was not going to throw those words in your face. Not when he’d said nearly the same thing, almost directly after you’d said it, no less. You’d tried really fucking hard to not think of those words, having enough to try to navigate in your own mind. Didn’t need those words infiltrating. But you couldn’t not think of the words in this case. He was being unfair.

The words “We were never anything. Still aren’t.” and “There’s nothing to be hung up on.”, being spoken in front of you and the entire room of people who mattered to you. Then, he’d broken out in that sudden fit of coughs. That had been alarming – you’d wanted to help him. But she’d been right there, patting his back. Doing her job as his girlfriend. 

And once she’d sated him enough to catch his breath, he’d landed the nail in the coffin with your personal favorite. . .“Y/n and I aren’t a thing. Never have been, never will be.” Yeah, those words–that phrase–in particular still stung like a bitch. You were quite glad you’d shut it out. Except now, it was back. And it was glaring in your face. 

“You are not going to pin those words on me, Jacob Thomas,” you sharply informed him. Dared him to test your argument in this case. “You said the damn same and worse about us to her and everyone the other night. Remember? We never have been a thing and never will be? You made your opinion perfectly clear with those extremely kind words. So, don’t bullshit me.”

It was silent for a few beats. You’d gotten him, you were sure of it. But. . . you didn’t want him to leave. This wasn’t over yet. You still needed more from him. An explanation of sorts if he was so set on you believing one thing and Maya believing another entirely. 

“Y/n,” he suddenly called you back to him, your head turning to look towards his voice. “I’m pretty sure I’ve said plenty of other things to prove to you that isn’t actually true. I just had to get her off my fuckin’ ass. And yours. Especially yours.”

“I’m sure you say the same shit to her,” you bit back, squinting at the curtain that hung between you two. “Say just enough to get her happy and her body loose and ready for you. You just keep opening your damn mouth and let whatever you think spew out of it.”

“Actions speak louder than words, baby. And you know for a goddamned fact the only reason I had to cover with those words was because my actions showed something I do not want Maya privy to,” he explained, making an incredibly decent rebuttal. It made sense. Hated to admit it. “It’s not her fucking business what we had or have and I don’t need her overstepping. So, I lied to her. I fucked up by letting her see all of that and I wish the damned bottle would have just landed on someone else.”

“Is that you saying you didn’t want to touch me?” Childish and pointless to ask, you knew. You were just being a brat at this point. 

“I wanted to lay you down on that couch,” he answered, his voice suddenly lower and raspier. It made your heart race. “Wanted to get you completely fucking naked and have my way with you in front of every single fucking person that could see.”

You were speechless.

“But I was too busy thinking that instead of how thoughtless I was being. As soon as I laid my hands on you, all other thoughts were out the window. I was determined to have you some way at that moment,” his words came smoothly and steadily. As if he’d been waiting to say all of this. “And now I’ve made it harder on you. And now I’m sure she is fucking suspicious of us and I don’t want her on your ass, y/n.”

Still, you sat in silence as you let his words wash over you. . . he wanted to fuck you that night. You weren’t surprised. You’d known how badly he wanted it–how badly you wanted it–but the fact that he’d just flat out taken that risk in front of everyone. . . . (Admittedly, it did still turn you the fuck on to think of it.) 

But it couldn’t happen. It was just getting harder by the second to resist him. Especially while you were already naked (body opening up again, thanks to him). Right next to him. You really didn’t know what to say to that, so instead, you pondered a bothersome thought lingering in the back of your mind. Sizzling on a burner, crackling and popping. 

“How do I know you’re not saying shit like this to her to reassure her?” You sounded all small and vulnerable. You hated it. But, it was unstoppable. You felt so weak for him and it was bound to send you into a sob fest at this point.

“I don’t waste my time on shit like that with her. Anytime I have the choice, I choose to reassure you,” he stated, finality laced in his voice. “You don’t want me to, but I do. It’s you whose heart I want to protect. I can’t help it, y/n. And I’m sorry for that. I know it’s not morally okay or whatever – but shit. It’s you and I can’t help myself at all when it comes to you.”

Before you could ask another question, he was continuing. “Like right now, she is not here with me and I don’t plan on going back to her,” he postulated, truly letting his feelings show. You were equal parts falling for his openness and drawing back at it.

So, you tried to avoid it. As usual. “Where is Maya?” You asked, not sure why you were still set on making conversation about her. You didn’t know why you felt the urge to bring her into the conversation. . . kind of felt an obligation to, feeling like the outlier party no matter his words. 

“She’s not here,” he plainly stated.

“Is she okay?”

“Yes, y/n,” he grumbled, sighing. “Could you just worry about yourself for a few minutes?”

“I don’t want to take you away from her.”

“You’re not.”

“But–.”

“How come you care so much about whether or not you’re nothing to me if I’m nothing to you, by the way?” He interrupted you, causing your breath to catch, calling you out just as you had him. “You said it first that night, kept on later about how we couldn’t be anything. You started the nothing train and I just hopped the fuck on. It seemed like a decent enough diversion; no matter how much it felt like a sword in my fucking chest to hear you say that.”

Dammit. Did you just admit the truth? Slightly? Yes? No? Fuck. You felt cornered by an obligation to be completely honest and you didn’t like that. You wanted to sit and be avoidant, didn’t want to be held accountable for your words. You were just what your mother always called you. Selfish. You couldn’t argue the harsh word at this moment. So, you did the best you could do to explain. Didn’t want to say too much for fear of opening a closet of skeletons. 

“You will never ever be nothing to me, Jake,” you lamented, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You looked at your toes, the water hitting the very tips of them. “The only reason I said what I did was to work around getting hurt, myself. I was afraid of what you’d say to her and I was deep in my emotions because she had been saying shi–.” Fuck. No. You didn’t want to tell him any of that yet. Was not your place. “I also wanted to protect you. Didn’t want you to lose that relationship with her because of a stupid round in a game with me.”

“You thought it was stupid?”

Dammit. There was no getting away from some admittance tonight, apparently. He’d caught you at a really bad time. He’d probably consider it good, your heart opening up to him. But it scared you. 

“No, Jake,” you shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you. “Nothing with you has ever been stupid to me. Because you are the farthest thing from nothing to me.” There. You said it. “Feeling your hands on me at all makes my entire world stop in an instant. It’s intense, incredible in a way that I can’t explain without–,” you got choked up on a sob that threatened to bubble up. God. Stop, y/n. “So. Please just accept that and move on,” you ended your mini admission with a sigh, a few tears trailing down your cheek. “Maya matters most, next to the baby. Period. And you need to be with her more than me at the moment–at most moments.”

He was silent for much longer than you would’ve liked. It made you feel a little bad that you’d accused him of not caring in the first place. You’d started the topic of conversation by calling him out, arguing with him when it wasn’t supposed to matter. 

“What do I need to do to convince you I feel differently?” He spoke, his voice more earnest than before. “I’ve tried, y/n. I’ve tried to tell you that I care about you, you just won’t listen. You refuse to believe it. I’m here because I want to be. That’s it. I’m not going back to her tonight. I’ve already made up my mind. Not while you’re in the shower crying.”

You heard him take a few more steps closer. You knew he stood just inches away from you, and the only barrier between him and your naked body were the thin shower curtains. A familiar sensation continued to blossom in the pit of your stomach, a swarm of butterflies that always seemed to flutter to life whenever your body had a certain urge to be with him. An unmistakable rush of desire, need — a craving for him that coursed through your veins. You didn’t know why you kept pushing him away when all you wanted was to be near him. . . so badly. The baby needed stability, yes. . . but she wasn’t here yet. And you didn’t particularly care for Maya enough to protect her heart. Stupid ass Theo was a non-factor. . . ick.

The biggest thing standing in your way, still, was a stupid trauma response. Your fucked up brain telling you that he didn’t care – couldn’t care – for you. Problem was, you didn’t know whether to believe it or not. Who did you believe? Your brain, your heart, or Jake? Who was in the right? You knew that you selfishly wanted him near, no matter if he cared as much as he said or not. . . And anytime you pushed him away, you hated yourself for it. The idea of him staying close comforted you, but also scared you with how unsure you felt about it all. You couldn’t understand it. 

“I can leave though, baby,” he offered, sounding apprehensive, but willing to do it. “If it is truly what you want, I’ll leave. I don’t want to pressure you into telling me anything else. I—I want to be here for you. But I also won’t force it on you. Do you want me to leave? Because I wi—.”

“No, Jake,” you said with a sudden surge of confidence, desperate to keep him with you. “I don’t want you to fucking leave. I’m just not sure what or who to believe. My brain is fucking with me right now and I’m vulnerable and naked as hell and I can’t—.”

“How can I make you believe me?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, squeezing your arms around your legs just a little tighter. Burying your face into your arms, you felt a betraying tear fall to mix with the water droplets. 

“Do you want to dry off and meet me in the living room to watch–?”

“Is Maya going to be upset if you don’t—?”

“I don’t care.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted. “Now, do you want to get out and watch a movie or someth—?”

You groaned, grumpy at everything. “I don’t want to get out yet,” you responded wetly. The sound of tears clogging your throat. 

“Why?”

“Because nothing tonight has gone my way, and all I want to do is just sit here and feel sad in the shower, Jake,” you argued. You knew how ridiculous you sounded, but didn’t care worth shit. The pregnant, hormonal part of you was barreling through, amidst all of the authentic, emotion-filled space. You sounded like an ass, you knew it. “Is that too much to ask?”

“What if I’m not okay with you sitting there and feeling sad?” His voice sounded closer. 

“Then, I don’t know what to tell you,” you stubbornly responded, slightly nervous at him being nearer to you in proximity.

It was quiet for a few solid moments.

“What happened tonight that didn’t go according to plan? Why’d you fall?”

Why all of the questions? What the fuck were you supposed to tell him? Did you tell him about your vibrator trouble? The body insecurities? Every detail? None of it? A piece of it? Fuck if you knew. Dammit. 

“My body changing has been pissing me off. Suddenly got bigger this week and I don’t know how to feel about it,” you started, sitting your chin on your arms, staring at the water falling in front of you, still only touching your toes. Your hair was steadily drying, making you feel chillier. With a shiver, you kept on down the path of honesty. “I fucking hate how fat I am right now. I do love my baby body most days. Other times, I just hate it. And this week, my bump just. . . Bumped. And, the extra pudge on my fingers, toes, feet, arms, legs—anything that’s not the belly itself—makes me feel gross,” you let another tear fall, landing on your thigh. “It sucks even more because I feel guilty — like I’m being hateful about the baby. But it’s not the baby that makes me feel gross, it’s me–.”

“Y/n,” he tried to interrupt in a stern tone. “Please don’t–.”

“I just don’t feel like me all of the time anymore,” you kept on, getting all kinds of buried thoughts out in the open air. “And tonight–.” You paused. To tell or not to tell. . .Fuck it. “And tonight I felt sexy. I felt sexy enough that I wanted to have a night to myself,” you started, scoffing at the idea and the terrible way of explanation. “I wanted to have a night of just being by myself and acting on the ‘feeling sexy’ thing. And you were gone, so I didn’t need to worry about being loud. It just felt–felt like the perfect night to take a shower and use my vibrator to try and–.” You paused, thinking of the most eloquent way to say what you were wanting to say. Ugh. Fuck eloquence. “I wanted to feel good, Jake. I just needed to get myself off while this feeling lasted.”

The stretch of silence that followed your words made you want to crawl inside of a hole. But, the words were officially out there, and you decided to be brave amd own them rather than crawling in a fucking metaphorical hole. So, you sat there, waiting to see what the fuck would happen after saying something so blatantly honest. 

You finally heard Jake clear his throat from the other side of the curtain. “So,” he started. “I’m assuming you didn’t succeed in that?”

“Nope,” you answered with a bit of indignance. “I sure didn’t.”

“Well,” his voice was suddenly closer than it had been prior to your confession. Your chest flamed. “What can I do to help?” 

“There’s nothing you can do, Jake,” you insisted. Because, truly, there was nothing he could do. That in and of itself was the depressing reality of it all. “You aren’t available to help how I need and that’s just fine–.”

“I am available. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

What was he getting at? “The help I need is not something you can—,” you groaned, frustrated. Why were you having to explain this to him? “You are in a relationship, Jake. Plain and simple. And as much as I do want you here with me, you should be with her right now anyway.” It sucked, but you meant it. The guilt was crawling up your chest for putting him in the position you just had. He didn’t need to know about your sexual ventures. You needed to hold true to what you’d encouraged a few nights ago. “I shouldn’t have even said any—.”

“I never said I wasn’t in a relationship,” he stated, short and testy. “But I’m here right now to–.”

“You’re here to help,” you finished. “Yes, Jake, I know. But there’s nothing you can fucking do. What is there for you to do? Just sit here and shoot the breeze about how I fell and killed the mood before I could find some fucking relief? Because I seriously doubt you’d actually want to do that. In fact, we could begin the wonderful conversation by talking about how hard my ass could have fallen but didn’t. But that doesn’t seem–.”

“How’s your ass feeling?”

“Numb.” 

You heard him snort a laugh and then sigh, long and deep, fully deflating his lungs. You secretly wondered how long it would take. How long it would take for him to just give up on trying to help and decide to leave and be with Maya. (You were difficult to deal with. You knew it, he knew it. And it pissed you the fuck off when he acted like you weren’t a complete pain in the ass.)

His laugh slowly turned into a groan of frustration from the other side of the curtain. You peeked from the tiny little sliver of curtain next to you, glancing only at his leather Chelsea boots, as he went to lean against the wall. He wasn’t going anywhere. But he was getting aggravated, you could feel it. You knew how to push his buttons and you were bad about shutting up. 

“I just feel like shit about myself right now,” you said, trying to lighten the air. “I’m having a massive fucking pity party.”

Silence. All you could hear for a few moments was the sound of the shower and your heart thumping in your ears.

“I can help you feel better.”

Then, out of nowhere, you were recollecting a night not too long ago where he was the one insisting on boundaries. That night, he’d stood there, telling you he wanted to help however he could. But he’d been very clear about what could happen and what couldn’t happen.

He was so close. His breath, having fanned over your face. You could still smell the clean mintiness of his toothpaste. “Obviously with limits,” his voice lowered a bit as his eyes peered down at you, referencing how Maya had instructed him to help.

“Obviously. . .,” you’d trailed off, unsure, and raising a brow out of complete confusion for the conversation’s direction. “I wouldn’t want you to cross any sort of boundary. You’re in a relationship with her. Not me.” 

But. . . There’d been so many times you hadn’t held true since then. A blatant, heady example being your mouth around his dick in his Jeep. Embarrassingly, you hadn’t been able to control yourself and he’d been nowhere near stopping you that night. You could still feel how rock hard and smooth he’d been against your tongue.

Your thoughts briefly spiraled, your thighs clenched. “How are you going to help me, Jacob?”

“You know how.”

“No. I don’t,” you snapped, insistent on avoiding the ache between your legs at the thought of his dick in your mouth.

“Yes, y/n. I know you fucking do.”

There were a million questions coming to you. You shook your head, your hair having grown stiffer as it steadily dried after being out of the spray for long enough. You felt totally unsure. You wanted him so damn bad. . . 

But—your train of thoughts were your worst enemy.

“Are you only asking to help me or make me feel better because you pity me or some shit?” You asked, completely confident in your question. Figured you might as well ask him. 

“No. It’s not pity at all— I just. . .,” he sighed, groaning at the end. “Ridiculous as it may sound to you, I’ve found that when you’re hurting, I hurt. I really fuckin’ hate when you’re sad.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” you mumbled, hopefully loud enough he could hear you. I feel the same way about you. “You’re telling the truth?”

“Of course I’m telling you the truth, honey.”

Well. You moaned, letting your head fall to lightly hit the wall behind you. “I wish things were easier sometimes,” you sniffled, continuing to pour raw feeling from your own heart, as your core thrummed for him. Simultaneously, a singular tear drifted down your face. “Easier for us — you and me,” you sniffed. 

“I know, baby,” he said, low and rasped but loud enough that you felt the pet name all the way down to your wet toes. “Fuck.” 

He groaned, exasperated. But. . . there was more behind it. Like he was frustrated for more reasons than one. And that one groan, that’d come from deep in his throat. . . it had your skin licking with heat. Your chest ignited – heart ramping up quickly. Your thoughts, his noises. . . They were coming to an amplified pulse in the pit of your tummy.

Josh’s voice at Jungle Juice rang through your head, like annoying fucking church bells chiming as someone pulled on them – hard. The harder the yank, the louder they rung. “I told him that if he’s going to do that shit, he needs to keep it out of Maya’s sight. Because, while I don’t condone cheating, I do condone my brother being happy. And hopefully, she’ll be out of the picture soon anyway, so the cheating won’t even have to be a factor. Keeping it out of her sight and all — won’t be an issue.”

And, it was at that moment, you realized. . . Jake could also, most definitely be remembering his brother’s words, too. . . You couldn’t help the rippling, burning desire in your stomach that melted into your core. . . The pathway of your brain that was getting harder and harder to ignore the longer he stayed so close to you while you were completely naked under the spray of the shower. You felt your sensitive nipples peak against your wet thighs. And suddenly, you wanted nothing more than to let him just fucking help. You wanted him to do it. You shouldn’t want it, no matter what Josh believed. . . But – Josh had always had very sage advice. . . what would make this time any different? 

Then, Elsie’s voice from months ago – before you’d ever even had sex with Jake that first time. Didn’t know where the fuck she was coming from, but there she was. Assertive as ever. “I think it would be good for you to live on the edge. Just once.”

You were so fucking conflicted. . . or. . . were you? Fuck. It was wrong to even think of it. But, damn. . . If you didn’t want it so bad. And the longer he stood there, the more you needed it. Ached for him – needed him. 

“I want to help you, y/n.” His tone of voice was bordering one you’d grown accustomed to for so long. It resembled how he’d sound when his need for you was nearing the point of no return. Or. . . were you just imagining things? Hormonal delusion? 

“You know. . .,” you heard him take in a deep breath. Once again, you peeked from the little sliver between the curtains and shower wall, to see him slide a hand through the front of his long hair as he leant against the same wall you were resting against. He wasn’t looking at you, thank God. His eyes didn’t leave the wall above the shower as he cleared his throat. He gave a small cough, implying he was about to say something heavy on his mind. You’d learned his little signs.

Time ticked by slower than molasses, but simultaneously moved at the speed of lightning with his next words. “I’ve read that orgasms are said to help pregnant women for a variety of reasons. I’m sure you know this, too. . . But, um. One I read about recently was actually concerning how they work in elevating self confidence. Remind you how desirable you still are.”

No. Fucking. Way. His back was then sliding down the wall, coming to sit next to you. So close to you, his head falling lightly to lean against the wall, just beyond the thin curtains. You averted your eyes, trained them on the shower’s stream of water ahead of you. 

“And I would be really fucking honored to be the one to help you with that. . . if you like that idea,” he finished, heavily breathing in and out. 

Well that had taken some courage to say, surely. . . It was helping you feel all the more courageous yourself, actually.

Figuring there was absolutely nothing to lose, you went ahead and asked him your nagging question. “Why were you reading about that? What made you care so much about pregnant women having orgasms?”

“Y/n.” 

“What?”

“Seriously.”

“What?” You blanched, a tiny laugh following the word. Honestly, you were just in shock and you weren’t sure what in the hell to say, so you were deflecting.

“You know I want to please you. I want to show you how much I care about you,” he huskily stated, no hesitancy whatsoever in his words. “Want to show you the same fucking way I’ve shown you so many times before. I want be the reason your body trembles. . . the reason you cry for more until I give it to you. I can help you find some sort of relief, baby.”

You felt yourself drip from your entrance, your body begging you to give in to him. “Why?” You breathed, the word hanging in the air for a few seconds, the air so still. Thankfully, the shower water disguised your labored breaths. 

“Because that’s one way I know I can help you,” he asserted, his stance unwavering. “I’ve done it before, I can do it aga—.”

“Jake. You’re in a relation—.”

“I know, y/n,” he cut you off, biting the response your way. “But right fuckin’ now, she’s the last damn thing on my mind.”

“Jake,” you said his name in a stern tone once more, scolding him. You hated yourself for it – why were you trying to speak sense into the situation? “It’s not worth jeopardizing anything just because you feel like you have to help a miserable pregnant wom–.”

“I’m not jeopardizing anything, y/n,” he argued. You heard his back slide up the wall. He was standing again, as you chanced another glance from behind the curtain. “I had this talk with Josh that has helped me feel damn assured in this, too. And, like you keep reminding us both, Maya even told me to help. She doesn’t have to know every way I do it.”

Hm. So he was thinking of Josh’s words. Goddammit, Joshua. And still, you argued. “So now it’s just because she wants you–.”

“Can you please cut the fucking shit? I can assure you she does not want me doing what I want to do to you right now. And you fucking know it, too.” He argued (making a very good point, by the way. . . yet again). “You know you want this—that I want this. Don’t act like you don’t know it,” he challenged you, voice leaving no room for argument. “All of these times we’ve been so close to going for it and we keep stopping ourselves.”

“Why don’t you just get it out of your system with Maya?” You clipped, being snippy for no reason whatsoever. Genuinely, you were in no place to argue when your body was literally begging you to let him have his way with you.

“She’s not you,” he simply stated, not taking the bait to start an argument. He sighed deeply. You could imagine he was shaking his head with the action. “Every time I’m with her, you’re there. In my mind, in her place. . . You and your beautiful fucking body that’s growing my damn baby.”

You felt your core flex and continue to release arousal at his words. Fuck it. You were not in the mood to be the one in the right anymore. You didn’t want to be smart about your choices. . . what you wanted was his mouth on you, his dick, inside of you. You wanted to let him do whatever he wanted between your legs. And, technically, it would be him helping to benefit the baby. . . the less stressed you were, the less stress she felt.

And God only knew how fucking stressed you were lately. And there was only one way–one person–you wanted to relieve that right now. Fuck morality. 

“Who’s to say you’ll want me when you actually see me like this?” You genuinely wondered. 

You couldn’t believe you were actually giving this idea any substance. There really was no way it could end well. But your thoughts just kept trailing to how it could end well. . . very well. . . With you moaning his name as you finished against his tongue or around his cock . . . And, dirty as it would be to her, technically Maya did tell him to help with whatever you needed, so it wasn’t entirely against her wishes. Although, you were one thousand percent sure this was not what she meant. . . . at all.

“Try me,” he challenged, voice so low with the two daring words.

Fuck. Your body could not deny his touch any longer.

So, with wobbly legs and weak knees, you stood up. Your ass tingled, hurting just a bit. You were trying so hard to not somehow slip on any water on the shower floor. You decided to lean against the long wall of the shower, facing the bathroom. Holding on to the plastic bar built into the middle of the longer wall, you adjusted to face the curtain. As you did this, it was clicking that he was about to see your naked body in a way he’d never seen it before. . . So, you needed to make sure you looked as good as you could. You leaned just the slightest bit to reach the water – let it wash off your face, rinse your hair. . . the best you could do to refresh.

It’d helped. You were feeling slightly more appealing. Felt water droplets sliding down your wanting body. Even though you wanted to cross your arms over your chest, you knew the pressure would hurt like a bitch if you did that. And you needed to keep your balance. So, the other option was tucking them behind your back to hold the plastic bar in the wall with both hands. With a push of your chest, your full, heavy breasts perked in waiting. Your body was pulling you to him. . . Needed him.

You bent one wet leg at the knee, your hip curving just right. It felt odd to prepare for his eyes, in a body that didn’t always feel like your own anymore. Thanks to his baby.

You couldn’t conceal the tiny whine that slipped from your lips when you crossed your thighs, pushing them together, adding a little bit of pressure where you needed it so badly. And your skin was so silky smooth. . . the fresh shave and wax was working wonders at helping you to feel a little more appealing. “Are you sure about this?” You asked, feeling a bit of worry accumulate in your belly.

“Yes. More than,” he said, no doubt in his tone at all. Though, after he said it, he paused, ready to await your words. “. . .Are you?”

Guilt was what you should’ve felt in this moment. But, right then and there, guilt was as far out of the window as it could’ve possibly been. This felt real. Natural. It only felt right. So fucking right. So, if he thought it was okay, so did you. 

“Fuck yes,” you breathed, whining on the words without warning, your legs rubbing together once more. Your swollen chest was heavy with each breath you took, waiting for him. 

“Let me see you,” he beckoned. 

Needing the curtains gone from between you, but scared to move for fear of falling, you huffed. Pregnancy and POTS were not a good combination for a clumsy-ass like yourself. 

“I’m afraid I’ll land on my ass if I move,” you explained, a little giggle following the words. “Um, c-can you–?”

And before you could even finish the request, the thin barrier between you suddenly vanished and. . . standing before your naked, wet body. . . was him. Your eyes didn’t instantly find his face, suddenly shy in front of the man who’d seen you naked so many times before.

So, you focused fully on his body. He was still fully clothed, but completely there, right in front of you. And, from what you could tell from the evident imprint in his dark jeans, he was definitely wanting you. He wanted to help in this special, intimate way. . . Your eyes trailed up to his chest, but you didn’t meet his eyes. 

“Oh my god,” he groaned, so low in his throat. You could feel his eyes, but you still hadn’t let yourself meet them. You couldn’t yet–too nervous under his burning gaze. “Everything. You are so–fuck. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on–.” 

Him stumbling over his damn words was causing your skin to flame with slight perturbation and anxiousness. Needed him to spit it out so you could avoid any more insecurities. You glanced up, hoping to get a better idea of what he was feeling by watching his facial expressions. 

What you found was him, rubbing his lip in thought before he held his chin with the same hand. His free hand was placed to properly adjust himself in his pants.

His eyes slowly trailed from your thighs, to your hips, and finally to your midsection. Ever-the-showing pregnant woman, your babygirl hadn't been a slow grower, ever. And after this week’s progression, your belly was already pretty round at 18 weeks. For what it was worth, you had a pretty cute pregnant tummy (and a smooth one, thanks to the stretch mark oils and creams). It was everything else about your rapidly changing body that went to your head.

In spite of all of the changes, though, his expression darkened even more; his stare, so hungry for what his eyes were feasting on. You felt extremely defenseless in his presence, under his gaze. He seemed in awe of what he saw. . . made your stomach burn with an animalistic need. A blush crept up your chest and neck, settling in your cheeks. You tingled with anticipation; all of you, completely at his mercy.

Restless for attention, your nipples peaked at his regard to the rest of your body. And, as if sensing it, his eyes swept upwards, in perfect time to watch your swollen breasts, rising and falling on choppy breaths. Truly, your breathing was inconsistent, only coming out in short huffs. You were not able to catch a full breath with the way your heart hammered in your chest. And it seemed his breathing matched yours, as you watched every. single. reaction to your body fan across his pretty features. . .Time was moving in slow motion. 

The way he bit his lip, as he finally locked his dark eyes with yours — it would forever be etched in your memory. “Holy fuck,” he breathed. “You are everything, y/n. The most exquisitely lovely and radiant woman I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Your heart was lodged in your throat, pounding and pulsing. Breath catching, your next words slipped easily past your lips. “Kiss me, Jake.”

a/n: oh, how I love this chapter (and we haven't even gotten to my favorite part yet)....... ;)

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

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I always try to tag everyone, but you all know how it goes! 🤦‍♀️ 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

[wpdarlingpan]

will you do a platonic yandere older brother coriolanis (I think that’s how u spell it lol) snow x a sibling! reader ? and he kidnapped them? also it can be fem or gn. have a good day/night!!

I love this idea! And thank you so much I also hope you have a good day/night.

I’m open to doing a part 2 since this is somewhat short if enough people like this storyline. I’m curious on where it could go.

His Little Snowflake ❄️

Platonic Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Younger Sister

Female Pronouns

Word count: 1.1 K

Warnings: Obsessive behavior, mentions of murder

Coriolanus wasn’t an only child, albeit he was the oldest. He had a little sister named Y/N. She wasn’t as known as he was, after all he was the heir to the snow name and ‘fortune’ so it wasn’t up to her to preserve the name.

When Corio found out he was going to have a little sibling, he was indigent. He knew he would keep all of the rights being the oldest but the idea of having to share with a sibling was torture in his mind.

That was until he saw them.

His mother died in childbirth after having the baby. When his father came home with her, he was prepared to loath the baby that took away his mother, even if she wasn’t the best one.

But one look into the baby’s eyes something shifted.

Corio was the one to look after his sister when his father passed away.

Tigres would always offer to help while Grand’mam claimed she was too old to care for her.

He didn’t care, this was His sibling. His responsibility. His little snowflake.

When the 10th annual hunger games began and he was forced to mentor, it took up some time. With having to write the proposal for the Doctor and being a mentor to Lucy Gray he barely had time for his little sister. He blamed everyone else for the situation. If a teacher kept him after class? That teacher would have something unfortunate happen to them.

He could just give up but he was obsessed with his little sister getting the life she deserved so he had to win the money by any means possible.

Everyday when he got home from all of his duties, he’d go to her room.

“Corio!” She squealed happily running into his open arms. She would jump as high as she could to try and wrap her arms around his neck but it would often end up with him having to bend over as she wrapped around him like a koala.

“Hello Snowflake, I miss you today.” Thats what he’d always say. That fact that he missed her was true but he would also say it to prompt her to say it back. After all didn’t she miss him just as much?

“I missed you too!” Then she’d ramble about her day to him. Not noticing as his scowl as she talked about her friends since the second she’d look up at him he’d change it to a soft smile.

All you needed was each other and he firmly believed that. Maybe Tigres on the occasion when absolutely necessary but she was a cousin. You are his little sister.

“You need to distance yourself from them, it sounds like they are bad influences”

“That doesn’t sound very nice of them, I think you should stop talking to them.”

“A boy? You’re too young. They’ll old hurt you. Do you want to be hurt? Don’t you trust me?”

Those are just a few things he’d say to try and turn the favor back to him through gaslighting and guilt tripping. Of course it always worked. Y/N loved her older brother, she couldn’t not trust him.

With all of the cheating Coriolanus did to make Lucy Gray win it wasn’t that much of a surprise he was caught, at least to everyone else but him. He was too focused on winning that the idea of getting caught was child’s play.

Now they wanted to take him away from you. He simply couldn’t allow that to happen. The idea of not seeing you every minute was distressing to him but for 10 years as he is sent away to the districts? He would kill everyone in his path back to the capital.

So in order to prevent that he did what he does best, manipulate.

First of all he had to get Y/N.

~*~

Bursting into her room he saw her where she usually was, sitting at her desk coloring.

“Y/N!” He spoke urgently as he ran around to pack some clothes “Get ready. We need to leave.”

Y/N saw the panicked look on his face he tried to hide, making her panic about what was happening. Or course she wasn’t told about his treachery, he would murder whoever painted him in anything other than a perfect light to his little sister.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later, we are going away for awhile.”

“What about Tigres? Grand’mam?”

“They are staying here.”

She was in shock, leaving her family? Her young mine couldn’t process the fact even if she would be with her older brother. It was natural to be scared of change.

And this would change everything.

“I can’t leave them!” Coriolanus was delusional and would hope they would accept to leaving but he planned for the rare possibility of them not.

“Please don’t make me do this the hard way. You want to be with your older brother right? It’s the two of us against the world remember?” She nodded with tears in her eyes as she hugged her little tiger stuffed animal “I have to leave, and I’m not leaving without you. I love you.”

“But-but” Y/N began to stutter out but Corio knew he was losing a lot of time. So he grabbed some sleeping powder he found in Dr. Volumnia’s office and lightly blew it into her face as he caught her as she began to sway on her feet.

“What’s happening-“

“You’ll be okay I swear, we will be okay. We just need to go away for awhile.”

~*~

He somehow convinced everyone he came across that he was allowed to bring her with him. Sure it took some convincing for some but the way he could talk circles around people make them give in pretty quickly.

Then he paid the transfer worker money to send him to district 12.

In no way did he trust Lucy Gray with his little sister, but he didn’t want you to see him killing people nor did he want her left alone for any of those district people to get ahold of and poison her little mind. But he didn’t have a choice so he had to go to the person who is his only option. After all her oh so kind heart wouldn’t allow her to get hurt. That is if Lucy Gray was still alive.

When Y/N woke up she was in the arms of her brother as he brought her into his individual room in the barracks due to his higher standing.

“Where are we?”

“Welcome to district 12 my little snowflake. Nothing can get between us now.”

And he meant it. Even if it meant getting a few people killed along the way and sending his best friend to the hanging tree after he suggested she return back to the capital.

[aticklishpercivalwriter]

Home (is wherever I’m with you) -fic

For Artists Who See Their Art on My Fics Link to Art (chosen by Perz): credits go to @buffkagome (anby ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚) on Twitter!) Sethos/Scaramouche

Summary (by Perz): Just them being lovey dovey, ticklish boyfriends :)

Perz: Another submission by @vaporized-dimsum! This time a fic! I want to express my gratitude and deep thanks to her for this gift and allowing me to post it here for all of you to enjoy! Couldn’t stop kicking and crying at how cute this was, so aah!

Word Count: 2609

Also on AO3!

—

The Temple of Silence, as one might expect, is a quiet place. Wanderer is quick to grow fond of it compared to the racket of The Akademiya. And of course, seeing Sethos in his home and amongst his friends and family was a pleasant sight too. Not that he would ever tell him that though.

The elders adored him and were always fussing over whether he was eating enough, and the kids never seemed to leave him alone. Since Wanderer was to remain in Sethos’ presence for the duration of his stay, that meant he was fussed over and never left alone either. It was… nice.

Playing with children was like a muscle he hadn’t stretched in a long time. Still, even after centuries it felt as though it was second nature.

Sethos’ heart swelled watching Wanderer interact with the little ones. Letting them play with his hat (no, he wasn’t jealous at all), bringing him things to levitate with his Anemo Vision, chasing him as he hovered away at a slow pace. The cherry on top was the sweet sweet smile on Wanderer’s face that he managed to hide pretty well until the very end. Sethos likened it to catching a shooting star for witnessing it himself.

“What’s that look for?” He muttered when the elders called the children to them.

Ah. He’d been caught staring again. Sethos chuckled. “You’re good with kids. It’s real cute.”

“Hmph. They’re simple creatures, easily entertained. It’s not difficult to manage them.”

Sethos opened his mouth to quip but a little one had called his name. He turned and got down on one knee as they approached him. Wanderer let himself stare now that his back was turned. The intricately styled braids in his curly hair. The gold accessories and freckles. Down past his broad shoulders to his spine where his clothes parted into a tasty back wind—

Oh?

Sethos patted the child on their head as he graciously accepted the golden Sumeru roses they had gifted him. One for him, and one for their guest. He was pretty sure this little one had developed quite a puppy crush on Wanderer too. Sethos grinned watching them go. He totally knew that feeling.

“Wow, Hat Guy. You’re popular wherever you g- IIEHEHE—!”

The squeal bounced off the four walls and left a deathly silence in its wake. Both green and indigo eyes were wide with surprise, but Wanderer’s were quick to narrow deviously.

“What was that all about?” He asked with the innocence of a kitten despite his curled fingers.

Sethos cleared his throat and stood up clumsily, “A-Ah, well one of the little ones entrusted me with gifting this to you. Pretty, isn’t it?”

He shows Wanderer the gold rose and to his relief, it actually does distract him. Temporarily anyway. Enough that Sethos, against his better judgement, comes closer to tuck it behind his ear.

“It looks good on you with your dark hair.”

Wanderer feels his face grow warm, “If you say so.”

Like magnets, they draw closer to each other until their lips nearly brush.

“Was that you I heard laughing, Sethos?” Said one of the adults in passing.

The two of them broke away swiftly, cheeks burning. “U-Uh, yeah! Just me!”

The woman in the doorway chuckled, “It’s been awhile, hearing you get all giggly like that. Your grandfather loved to tickle you and cuddle you when you were small. It was so cute!”

“Really?” Wanderer echoed.

Oh no.

“Tell me more. Sounds pretty interesting.”

Sethos waved his hands wildly, “H-Haha! Okay well that’s nice! You can go now, Aunty!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop embarrassing our great and glorious leader.” She bowed to them and as she walked away, she looked over her shoulder, “And to our kind guest, do be gentle with him. He really never outgrew how ticklish he is.”

Sethos gawked at the absolute betrayal by one of his own people. Desert aunties didn’t mess around. Sure she probably changed his diapers and bathed him but—

But he didn’t have much time to dwell on it with Wanderer’s eyes pinned to him. “Never outgrew it, huh?”

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Can’t we talk about something else? Or… finish what we started?”

Wanderer’s hands instinctively tug his shirt to pull Sethos closer for the kiss he didn’t get but he stops him halfway, “Not here. We can go to my room.”

“How scandalous.”

“Well if you don’t want me to kiss you, you’re welcome to not come with me.”

Wanderer rolls his eyes and follows after him. The living quarters are like a labyrinth of hallways but Sethos navigates them with no troubles. His room is full of leathery books, a few TCG decks, colorful handmade quilts, and a blooming mini succulent garden- courtesy of his friends, no doubt. It’s a bit messy, but full of life and an irresistible coziness. Wanderer feels right at home here despite this being his first time stepping foot in it.

Sethos now tugs on his wrists and sits him on his bed before diving in to kiss him silly. Wanderer can’t get a word out about how desperate and hot and bothered he’s acting but he doesn’t mind one bit. Being caged between his arms and eaten alive has never felt so wonderful.

Wanderer laces their bodies as close together as possible, and eventually, his fingers trail down his back to that sweet patch of exposed skin and—

Sethos all but squeals in his mouth. When he breaks away with wide crescent eyes, there’s a thin string of spit connecting them.

“Oh, I’m gonna devour you.” Wanderer growls playfully, licking his lips.

He doesn’t know how but Sethos quickly finds himself hoisted onto the bed and pinned under him. He hardly gets any protest in before that awful fluttery sensation runs all over his exposed lower back. And with Wanderer seated on his legs, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon no matter how badly it tickles.

And it’s bad.

“GYAHAAHAHAH- wait- wait! Not there! Not- baahahahah!”

He muffles his laughter in his pillows and blankets. Wanderer doesn’t know if he likes that or loves it. Sethos flails his limbs uselessly when he switches from fluttering to pinching and spreading the skin along the knobs of his spine. And when he scoots down to press into what’s practically his tail bone— that gets him howling.

“AHCK- oh SHIHIHIIHIHHIT! Hat- Hat GAHAHAAHAHAAHUY! I can’t!”

“Can’t what?”

“CAHAHAHAHAAHN’T TAHAHAKE IHIHIT! PLEHEHEEHHEHEASE, IT’S BAHAHAD!! IT’S SO BAAHAD!!!”

“Is it?”

“YEHEHEHES!”

“That’s a shame. I quite like this spot. You’ll just have to deal with it, little bee.”

“Nohohoho! Ihit’s really —KYAA!! WHAT IS THAHAAHAHAHAT?!”

“A dusk bird feather that I found in this book.”

“Jeheherk! I was using thahat as a bookm- MM! Mhmhmhmhm, stohohohop ihihihit! Lehemme tahahahalk! Honeehehey!!”

The soft plume licked and curled against his back, and his giggling was sickeningly sweet when it came to feathery tickles… Wanderer scoffed, “I’m barely even touching you.”

“Bahahaharely touchihihing is still touchihing!”

“Hah. That aunty of yours was right. What would your followers think if they heard their dignified leader giggling his pretty little head off, hmm?”

Sethos whined as he pressed his face further into his pillow and hugged it tightly, shaking his head in protest. The curves of his ears were burning up.

“No point in hiding it, little bee. I’m about to make you buzz nice and loud.”

He’d hardly processed what Wanderer said, let alone how it made him feel. Actually, that happened a lot faster. Because suddenly, his fingers were scribbling viciously into his armpits and Sethos screeched.

“NAHAAHAHAHAHAHHA! OH, MERCY!! HONEY!!! MERCEEHEEHEEY!!!!”

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a merciful guy.”

“ARCHOHONS! PLEHEHEASE!! I’LL BEG- IHI’LL BEHEHEG!!!”

“Oh? I do like the sound of that. Go on then. Beg me.”

He thrashed from side to side, pinning his arms down and trapping Wanderer’s hands in that tortuous spot. No matter where he went, the sensation followed. Unbearable and so so good, although he was pretty sure whatever words he did manage to get out weren’t in any intelligible language.

For all his bucking and twisting though, Wanderer decided to sit up just enough so Sethos flopped bonelessly onto his back before he locked him in place beneath him once more. He squeaked in protest as Wanderer stole the breath right out of his lungs. His tongue against his, his teeth tugging on his bottom lip, he felt like he truly was being devoured.

And he never wanted it to stop.

If he wasn’t human, would he be able to kiss Wanderer forever too? Without needing to breathe?

Sethos weakly clutched Wanderer’s wrists as his hands cupped his face, pulling with no strength whatsoever, “Hah- Hon’- please… air. Ngh— air. Can’t bre…hah…”

Wanderer pulled away and was convinced he could get off on just the sight of him. The dizzied and delirious look on his face. Warm brown skin and teary green eyes glittering like emeralds. That stupid stupid smile, shiny and red with spit and bites. His chest heaving.

What a sight to behold.

Sethos hiccuped, “Now w-who’s the one sta-aring?”

Wanderer caressed his face gently, thumbing over his cheekbone and puffy bottom lip until Sethos swiped his tongue against his skin playfully. Then hiccuped again. Cheeky brat.

“Looks like you’ve still got some fight in you.”

Even the buzz of his words against his lips tickles. Sethos licks the seam of Wanderer’s mouth, hiccups, and grins.

“I could do this all day, honey.”

“Figured you’d say that. Now let’s do something about those hiccups.”

Wanderer’s hands slide down his face and along the rise and fall of his chest. The hills and valleys of each rib under his coasting thumbs makes Sethos chortle desperately. And when Wanderer presses into the dimples of his hips, he all but melts.

“You like this spot, little bee?” Wanderer asks playfully with his spidery scribbly touch.

“Noho-HIC —I lohove ihih—HIC- it!”

Oh it’s awful. Sethos’ hips jitter and jump the more his hands draw inward towards his crotch. There’s a pulse point on an artery there. Humans, Wanderer knew, were chock full of weak spots.

And Sethos is endearingly human.

“Aww, thahahanks, honey. Tha—HIC—t’s real sweeheet.”

Wanderer blinked, he must’ve said that last part out loud. He stills his fingers and finally lets Sethos catch his breath.

Soon enough, Sethos crawls into his lap and plops his head on his thighs like a spoiled kitty cat. He sighs so contently, like Wanderer was the comfiest spot in the whole wide world. He nearly purrs when Wanderer runs his fingers through his hair.

“Mmm… that feels so good. Keep going please.”

“Pfft. This is how you treat your guests? Shouldn’t you be spoiling me?���

“Was obliterating me not enough? You’re the spoiled one.”

Wanderer rolls his eyes, continuing to massage his scalp and caress his face. He scoots back so they’re both more comfortable and now also blanketed. The boy in his lap might as well be a sentient pile of slime condensate.

“Honey’s skin’s so smooth…” Sethos coos, “And cool to the touch, too.”

He nuzzles Wanderer’s inner thigh with his cheek before humming a pleased sigh. In an instant, the sensation makes Wanderer clip his face between his legs, making them both yelp.

“I was so comfy…” He whines, “What’s wrong?”

Before Wanderer can even answer, to his dismay, Sethos puts the pieces together all too quickly. “Wait a minute-“

“No.”

“Are you?”

“I’m not.”

He’d responded too quickly both times, telling Sethos everything he already knew.

“You are, aren’t you! You lied! I knew you were lying!!”

Wanderer backs away to the foot end of the bed but it doesn’t put much distance between them before Sethos squishes him beneath his torso. Those green eyes are sparkling with a newfound discovery and revitalized mischief.

“You lied.” He states confidently.

“Like I’ve never done that before.” Mutters Wanderer, “Get. Off. Don’t you DAHARE—“

The weight he put in his elbows topples Wanderer the moment Sethos’ hands slide under his shorts and squeeze. The tingling ripples out from his thighs like his laughter in the room.

“FUHUCK! Sehethos!! Get ohoff! No- HYAH!”

He bonks his head against the footboard and then Sethos’ head too when he wedges his way into the crook of his neck. So close to the Electro mitsudono on his nape. The raspberry Sethos planted sparked his nerves into haywire.

“You keep your secrets close to your chest, huh?” Sethos grins. “Lucky for you, I’m great at keeping secrets!”

“Pihihiss ohohoff! Get your lips ohoff of mehehehe!!”

One raspberry twines into another all along his neck. And as it turns out, that weak spot on Sethos’ hips is just another thing they both share, his fingers climbing higher and higher into his shorts to scribble at it.

“Who’s got the most kittenish little meow meow laugh? Honey does! Honey does!” Sings Sethos, blowing gentle puffs against Wanderer’s ears.

“Shuhut uhup! Stuhupid little BEEHEEHEE!! NAHAAHAHAHAHA!”

“Huh, never realized your shorts have cutouts here.”

His hands felt so nice gripping his little waist, and yet all Wanderer could do was throw his head back laughing helplessly, “SETHOS! Dohohon’t! STOHOHOP IHIHIHIT!!”

“Don’t stop it? You know I’d never deny my honey anything.”

In addition to the warm glow of his cheeks, Sethos noticed certain patterns on Wanderer’s skin began to glow as well. Up his arms and legs, converging at his chest and even twining around his neck too.

“So pretty…!” He murmured enchantedly.

His fingertip traces along the patterns of light on his skin, following them everywhere they led. They seem to shine even brighter as he did so. And Wanderer’s giggles so adorably, Sethos almost stops.

Almost.

“Cuhuhut it ohout! Whehere do youhu thihink youhu’re touchihing?”

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any cuter!” Cooed Sethos, “Do you light up when you’re feeling something intensely?”

“Ihintehense annohoyahahance, maybeheehee!”

“Aww but you seem like you really love being touched like this. You get all giggly and kittenish.”

If Sethos didn’t know any better, he might’ve briefly thought Wanderer was glowing pink. It seemed that this was Wanderer’s fear because he was quick to wriggle just enough out of Sethos’ arms to flop onto his stomach. In his worming away though, Sethos spotted the source of all his enchantment. The mitsudono on his nape.

“Ohh, is this where all the light comes and goes from?” Ponders Sethos, “Can I touch you here?”

“Haven’t you touched me enough?” Wanderer grumbles.

He spots Sethos move his hands away from him and even begin to give him some space. So his shit eating grin makes him want to forcibly remove Sethos from his own bed when Wanderer drags his hand back to his shoulder.

His hair covers some of the mitsudono, and Wanderer shivers when Sethos gently brushes it to the side. He’d always been aware of how the mark branded him. Sometimes it even felt like hot iron pressing into his skin. So when Sethos gently pecks it, Wanderer can’t help but jolt.

“Did that hurt?” Asks Sethos worriedly.

Wanderer buries his head in Sethos’ blankets. The scent of him nearly drowns out his boyfriend’s voice. He shakes his head.

“No, it didn’t. It… felt nice.”

Sethos sighed with relief, “Oh good. I’m glad. In that case…”

Wanderer’s shoulders jump as Sethos spoons him and smushes his lips against his nape. “Mwah mwah mwah!”

He clearly has no intentions of letting him go with how tangled together their limbs are. “Quihihit it!” Wanderer scoffs, “Araharen’t youhu tired of thihis yet?”

Sethos hums happily against his skin, “Of you? Never.”

[soft4gguk]

to build a home | chapter thirteen

Pairing: Jungkook x reader. ceo!jk + dilf!jk x nanny!oc

Genre: strangers to lovers. angst. fluff. smut.

Word count: 9k

Warnings: angst. angst. angst. i’m so sorry. jealousy. self doubt. ira talks im sorry!!! but i felt like it was important. oblivious kookie :/ confused oc!! sad oc :( soori’s teething and it breaks my heart. oral (f receiving) 😈 

Author’s note:  hi besties!! another tbah sunday! i love being back soo much. this is an odd chapter, i feel. i sort of lost track of time and how much of it i actually had to finish so it’s a bit of a shorter one. it’s missing the final part, sort of. and it was making me anxious! because i wanted to post today. and then i remembered i make the rules so… chapter fourteen is coming no longer than wednesday!! it’s outlined and it’ll be what was missing in this chapter. we’re back to tbah sundays after that tho :)  i love u guys so much. do let me know what u think of this chappie, i love book clubbing with yall!! xoxo

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

Chapter Thirteen 

When you get home that night, you smell like him. It alters your senses, your body nothing but a phantom touch of where he’d been. You look at yourself in the mirror and laugh at how obvious his mark is. He doesn’t just show on your smudged mascara or your messy hair, no. He’s all over your eyes. You can’t tell if the glint in them is from the remnants of the pleasure he made you feel or from the tears that threaten to fall. And perhaps that’s just what you need. To cry. Not with feminine rage music playing in the background, or in a burst of anger, but just to cry. To let yourself feel whatever it is your heart needs to. You can feel it, the way it screams at you and begs you to just let it be. 

So you let it. You shower, letting your tears get lost in the water that falls down your body. You cry when you let yourself release the feeling and you cry when you wash him off your body, his smell going down the drain alongside your anger. Now you’re just sad. 

You cry your skincare off and give up on it tonight. You brush your hair until you can’t stare at yourself in the mirror anymore, because it just makes you cry more. For some reason the reflection that stares back at you convinces you that this is why he doesn’t love you. You look like a little child, hopeless and helpless. Eyes puffy, bared faced, in your old pajamas with the faded print that once said, born to be cute. You’ve had them since you were fifteen and all of a sudden, your nostalgic attachment feels dumb. You feel dumb. And pathetic. And sad. Your brain is cruel, letting you know exactly what it thinks. How could he want to be with someone like this? Like you? It’s almost ironic how your words of hatred all originate from words of love. From the words of love he didn’t reciprocate. 

You think of Ira, because the streak of cruelty couldn’t just end there. You think of her beauty, of her face. You wonder if she ever felt like this about herself. If she ever stared at the mirror and didn’t feel like the reflection staring back at her was enough. You don’t want to be unfair towards her, but you doubt it. You doubt someone like her could ever walk into a room with uncertain steps and words that faltered. All you can see when you look at her is confidence and beauty. Her and Jungkook made sense together. It almost felt like a perfect trick from the universe – a power move. 

You get under your covers, exhausted and with the hints of a headache that threatens to settle aggressively if you kept the tears running. You hug the teddy bear you’d grown emotionally attached to when you were six. It makes you feel pathetic yet again, but it also brings comfort and so you pull it closer to you. You wonder if you’ll ever fully grow up. The heart ache turns into something bigger, something downright existential and it won’t stop. Even if you tell yourself that it’s irrational, that things just look bad right now but won’t be like this forever. The self doubt roots inside of you, growing branches that grow through your body. Will you ever become something out of who you are right now? Will you write a book, buy a house, travel the world, start a family? The last one breaks you with a nature that’s so acute it brings back the tears. 

You grab your phone, an intense desire to type Ira Sommersmith into the search bar. You find it kind of funny – to be comparing yourself to someone that you can literally google. When did you ever stand a chance with him, really? When did it ever make sense that he’d choose you? When did it occur to you that you were enough?

Ira was from a small town in Europe you couldn’t pronounce. When she was younger she spent most of her time riding horses, they were her biggest passion. She even says it in an interview after they ask her what she thinks she’d be doing if she wasn’t a model, pondering on it for a second before replying, “I’d be in a farm, riding horses all day.” And even though her hair is perfectly styled and she’s wearing very pointy stilettos, you believe her. Her dreams sound completely valid to you because amidst her sharp features, she has a soft face. 

Another article tells you she’d been scouted when she was sixteen. She’d been on holiday in London with her parents – she was an only child – and she’d gotten stopped in the street. In another interview where she talks about this, she laughs timidly when they ask her, her gaze down when she says, “they told me I was beautiful in the way things in important places where. Like magazines and billboards,” she softens the flattery by saying, “if you consider those things to be important, of course.” And it’s during that interview that you realize you can’t hate her. Not because you don’t want to, but because she makes it really hard to. 

She’d been on her own ever since – traveling the world, walking the most important catwalks in the most important cities, grazing the covers of every magazine and billboards, she’d even made a couple of movie appearances. You wonder how you could’ve missed her. She seemed to be everywhere. She sits on a makeup chair, two people behind her doing her hair at the same time, while someone else works on her face. She talks about having had a 4 am call time, sleeping very little the night before, being jet lagged and hungry. But she laughs as she says this. You almost laugh, too. The camera man asks her how she keeps up with the hecticness and she doesn’t sit on her words for even a second before she says, “I have a really great support system. My family, my friends. Also, I always keep a snack on me.” The video shows pictures of her, in different settings, with said family and friends. You actually recognize some of the faces – actresses, models, influencers. You pause the video in the middle of a particular frame when you see a face you recognize better than the others. It’s Kenny. It’s probably the picture that dates back the furthest, they both look so young. You type their names into another Google search and their friendship is revealed to you in an almost too perfect of a timeline. They’d been friends since they were eighteen after meeting backstage at a Chanel show. Your eyes widen. A Chanel show. Holy fuck. Who were you acquainted with? Kenny almost looks like a different person behind the camera, her eyes fierce and face cold. 

You scroll and scroll until something catches your eye. It’s a paparazzi picture, taken in a big city you don’t recognize. Hobi has his arm around Kenny and Ira and Jungkook hold hands and look into each other’s eyes as they strut down a sidewalk. It looks straight out of a catalog, or something. They’re perfect. Then it’s his name alongside hers that you’re typing into the search bar. You’re surprised to find that their relationship had been quite private, not a lot of information about it on the web besides the basics. Forbes talks about Ira being a model, Vogue talks about Jungkook being the heir to The West End Collection. The anonymity their relationship holds brings some sort of frenzy, though, as you read a couple of tweets and posts that idolize their relationship. Strangers wishing them the best, looking up to them, wishing they could have a boyfriend just like him. Another perfect paparazzi shoot of them at the beach, Jungkook picking Ira up from behind, mid-spin. She’s radiant as she laughs, body clad in a white bikini thar reveals her perfect body. There’s over 300 comments under the picture. Someone says, “if my girl looked like that I’d be in a good mood for the rest of my life.”

And you get it. You get it because she’s beautiful, and talented and easygoing. She’s confident but humble and when she speaks, you can see the way she thinks about the words before they leave her, making her sound so very eloquent. She’s gentle and dainty and her voice is soft. The more you scroll, the more you form these thoughts inside your head and then you find the perfect word to describe her: gracious. Elegant is a close second. 

Your eyes feel heavy and it’s nearly two a.m.. Your phone screen illuminates your face as another video plays. She’s being asked 73 questions. 

“What’s something you can’t live without?”

“My boyfriend.”

“So, you’re in love.”

She nods, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“He’s the love of my life.”

~

Your body aches with exhaustion, courtesy of your late night perusing. Your gaze gets lost on the fruit you’re cutting at a lethargic pace and you don’t even react when you lose grip on the knife and it comes dangerously close to cutting through your skin. 

Mrs. Chae walks over to you, but you don’t notice her proximity until she’s placing a coffee cup in front of you, her movements gentle, like she understands. When you look up at her and smile, she smiles back, briefly caressing your arm before she’s back to busying herself with her morning responsibilities. Her kindness makes you want to cry. 

You hear Soori’s cries long before she enters your line of vision, and when she finally does, she’s pouting and squinting her eyes before letting out another long wail. 

“Oh, my sweet baby,” you walk over to them, running your hands down her cheeks, wiping her tears away. She turns around, nuzzling her face between Jungkook’s neck. 

“She’s been in pain since she woke up. I gave her a bottle and some Tylenol but nothing helps.” Jungkook rocks her from side to side, hand coming to cup her little head to try and comfort her, but her cries only get louder. 

“It’s okay, the medicine will kick in soon and I’ll keep her as comfortable as I possibly can,” you reassure him, but he still looks miserable, guilt settling in the closer he gets to having to leave.

“I hate to leave her like this.”

“You’re not leaving her. You’ll be back home soon. It’s okay, Jungkook, she’s going through a totally normal process. As painful as it is for her, she’ll be fine.”

He nods and she seems to calm down, too, turning around as if following the sound of your voice. She stares at you for a second and you smile and even though she doesn’t reciprocate it, she falls into your arms the way she does every morning. 

“Hi, baby,” you kiss her chubby cheeks. “You’ll be alright. Say, I’m gonna be okay daddy!” It’s sweet music to your ears as you get a little chuckle out of her when you raise her little arm. 

Jungkook stares at her, lovingly. He stares at you lovingly, too, only you’re too busy being sad to notice. You can barely look into his eyes. 

“I’ll probably be late today again, w-”

“We’ll be here. And I’ll be with her. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you, ___.”

And all you can do is smile at him, only allowing yourself to stare into his eyes for a brief second, because any longer could break you further and he’d have no other choice than to know. Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad thing – you’re smart enough to know that. But the side of you that can barely handle your feelings wonders how hard it’d be to share them, yet again, with him. Your heart, achey as ever reminds you that it was the shared feelings he couldn’t do anything about that land you right where you are now. 

You decide to be with your sadness, alone. 

~

Soori’s pain comes in waves. In the morning she’s fuzzy, then after breakfast she seems to be doing a little better. You two play in the garden and you let her get messy with watercolors. She’s distracted enough for all of two hours, which you deem a success in your book. She cries again as you put her down for her nap. She cries until she tires herself and you hold her through it all. When you try to put her down on her crib, she wakes up, tears threatening to leave her eyes again, and so you hold her and sit down on the rocking chair, letting her sleep on you. You let her sleep as much as she needs and when she wakes up, you have drool all over your shirt. You smile, knowing that’s a clear sign that it was a deep and successful nap.

She’s good during lunch time and then fuzzy again afterwards. She throws a block at you and you hate that you have to give her the gentle talk when she’s in such visible pain. But she’s good and she listens and when she nuzzles herself into your arms ten minutes later, you know it’s because she’s sorry. She’s so smart and it’s beginning to show in every aspect of her. 

You read her books, even as she cries halfway into the third, eventually falling asleep. You let her snooze in your arms once again, but try to keep the nap short so she can have a good night’s sleep. She’s a bit groggy and unhappy when you wake her up but she gets straight to playing afterwards. You make her a snack and it seems to be going well until she’s back to restless tears. It kind of reminds you of when you’d first met her, when you were certain about having obliterated your chances at getting to spend time with the “cute baby”. She cries and cries and yet all you can think of is how grateful you are that you got the job, by some odd chance and one hell of a lot of luck. 

You stare out into the garden as you rock her in your arms. Your exhaustion is starting to get the best of you and you’re relieved when she begins to calm down, her sobs turning into tiny sniffles and her head falling into your shoulder. You give her back soft, little pats as she relaxes in your hold. And right as you think she’s about to fall asleep, her head springs up and you hear her say,

“Dada!”

You turn around, surprised eyes on Jungkook as he makes his way inside the living room. He smiles at Soori, who jumps in your hold when he outstretches his arms in her direction as he greets her sweetly. 

“Hi, baby,” he takes her in his arms, lathering kisses all over her cheeks. She giggles and you smile in relief because it’s so good to see her so happy. “Daddy’s home! Did you miss me?” she claps her hands as if agreeing with him and he laughs, kissing all over her face.

“You’re home early,” you say, a small smile on your face as you take in the scene before you.

He takes a step forward, grabbing you by the waist and kissing you. It takes you by surprise but you let him. The kiss is deep but soft and it lasts longer than you’d expect. You feel his smile on your lips long before he pulls away. 

“We closed the deal,” he says. “It’s done. We did it.” 

You smile, hugging him to you. Your face to his chest and words muffled when you say, “congratulations.” 

Soori taps on your shoulder, whining as she gets smothered between the two of you, making you both laugh as you stare at her. She looks confused and pouty, can’t decide who she wants to entertain first. She smiles at you before she’s nuzzling her head against her father’s neck. Jungkook does a little jump and she shrieks in excitement, looking back at you and smiling again. 

“I want to celebrate,” he says.

“You should. I know how hard you’ve been working for this, it deserves a celebration.” 

“With you.” He pulls you closer once again. “And Soori. Us three. We can have dinner somewhere nice, what do you think?”

You ponder on his words, suddenly being hit with the exhaustion you’ve been carrying since the morning tenfold. You also think about the way your heart has been actively breaking since last night, and probably for the past two weeks. You look at his face, a big smile that makes him look young and carefree. In times like these you convince yourself that you see him like no one in the world can. 

“I don’t know, I-” you try, but the minute you see his smile drop, it’s impossible to keep up the cold front. “I don’t have anything fancy to wear.” you follow your lies with a smile. 

He kisses you again. “You don’t need to.”

“I’d have to go change though.”

“We can stop by your place,” he runs his hand through your hair. 

“Okay,” your voice is faint. Barely there.

“Great!” He turns to Soori, bouncing her in his arms. “I need to call Jin, run him through some final protocols. I’ll be twenty minutes tops and then we can go.” 

He says this in a hurry, making his way to his office already. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He looks at you, confused. “Huh,” and then it hits him as Soori chuckles. “Oh! Shit. Yeah.” He laughs, passing her over to you. “I’ll be right back.”

He kisses her forehead, then yours. When he turns around Soori looks at you. You stare back and shrug, making her laugh. 

“He’s funny, huh,” you say, and she laughs even louder. “Yeah, he is. You have a good daddy.”

And as much as your heart exhausts itself at your words, it knows that much is true. It just can’t help but wonder if it’s enough. 

~

You stand before your closet, hands on your hips as you attempt to find something that’s presentable enough for the very fancy and certainly very expensive restaurant Jungkook had chosen. French cuisine, classic interiors and a seasonal menu. You knew it was almost impossible to get a reservation because Lucy had studied their M.O. in class and often praised their chefs. In Jungkook’s case, the reservation was one call away and probably all but three minutes to finalize. He’d told you he frequented the place quite often and that they had, and you quote, a soft spot for him. 

You skim through your dresses, skirts, shirts, all a little frantically as you look at the time. You don’t have much of it, but luckily you’d done your makeup first thing, darkening your eyes a bit to distract from the fact that you wouldn’t be able to pull a dress that impressed. Your hair was in an updo that looked like it’d taken longer to perfect but in reality, you’d gotten lucky and got it just right the first time. 

You’re in nothing but your underwear, as if the power of your sight alone could make fancy little dresses magically appear. You don’t know what to do, and so you call Lucy. 

“Hello, you,” she greets sweetly.

“Lucy, I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I’ve been well! How have you been, ___? Oh! I miss you, too.”

You laugh, playfully rolling your eyes. “I miss you more than you miss me, I can guarantee that much.”

“Never,” she says, “what’s this fashion emergency about?”

“Well, we’re going to La Mélodie and-”

“Woah?”

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“Date night, huh?”

You think about it. “Mm, something like that, sure. But I don’t know what to wear. I have nothing to wear!”

She goes silent for a second and you can hear her gears getting into motion. Finally she says,

“You do. But you’re not gonna like it. But you’re gonna have to hear me out.”

“Okay…”

“Do you remember that Halloween, well into your hoe era, that you wore that skimpy black dress and painted whiskers on your face and said you were a rat?”

You gasp. “I was a mouse.”

“Potatoe, potato.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. I’m pretty sure I flashed like, three people that night. Involuntarily. Like, I actually had to apologize for it.”

“That’s to blame on tequila, not on the dress! It was a good dress. And I’m afraid it’s your only option so you better buddy up with it!”

“Great. I guess I’ll be the slutty nanny tonight.”

“That’s a great porn title, make good use of it!”

“Lucy. Soori will be joining us.”

“Why is the baby joining you? No offense to the baby. But why?”

“Long story. I’ll catch you up later. I love you. Thank you.”

She sends flying kisses to you before hanging up. It takes you a minute to commit to it, but you get the dress out, examining it top to bottom. Yep, still skimpy. But it’ll have to do. You throw it over your body and walk towards your mirror. The reflection that looks back at you looks nothing like the sad, puffy eyed girl from last night. No, you look hot. Yes, it’s a bit short, but Lucy was right, it’s nowhere near as bad as you remember. It hugs your ass perfectly, drawing over your curves and pushing your tits upwards the right amount. There’s not much to it, just a little black dress, but you certainly do bring it to life. You throw a pair of heels on, cursing them the moment you feel the way it arches your feet in an inhumane way, and brave yourself up for the night. 

When you leave your room, Jungkook’s jaw drops. It drops in such a visible manner that he has to collect himself and close his mouth before he makes a fool out of himself. It’s your face he fixates on first. He tries to wrap his brain around what it is that makes you look so different, yet still beautiful in the way he’s so very used to when it comes to you. It’s your eyes, he thinks. The dark eyeshadow you’ve smudged on them in such a subtle but notable way. It makes your eyes big and bright but they make your gaze fall a little bit, making him feel things in the pit of his stomach. Then his own eyes scan down, taking their time to take in your body. Your dress looks painted on and his breath hitches in his throat, letting him know it was gonna be a long night if this is what one minute of you in this dress was doing to him. But what resounds the loudest in his head is that, simply put, you looked beautiful, taking up the entire meaning of the word. 

“I’m ready,” you say, letting your arms awkwardly fall next to your body, giving him a tight lipped smile. 

Soori’s enthralled by an episode of Bluey that plays on your TV screen, and so Jungkook walks over to you, granting himself the luxury to simply perceive you and enjoy the view. He smiles, and though he doesn’t mean to, it’s seductive. It makes your tummy flutter, the ever so evident butterflies that never seem to leave. 

“Fuck dinner.” He stands in front of you, leaving you wide eyed and your mouth agape at his words.

“Language,” you say, looking over at Soori. 

“She doesn’t care about us right now, trust me,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you closer to him. “You,” his hand travels down your lower back, tempting to go lower but he stops himself, “look so beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” your words are soft as you smile at him, wrapping your hands around his neck, letting his attention warm you all over. 

One of his hands travels up, landing on your cheek, gently cupping the side of your face and you close your eyes, letting the weight of your head fall into it. His thumb brushes your skin and just as you’re about to wish for it, he puts his lips on yours. He hums against them, taking his time, tasting you, letting your smell hit his senses until all he can think about is you. His tongue parts your lips, deepening the kiss as he flushes his chest to yours. You can’t fight it. You can’t deny him, you can’t even remember why it is that you were trying to just a couple of seconds ago. In between kisses and touch, you submit to him. 

He pulls away, looking into your eyes before he says, “see? I don’t need dinner. That was a great entree.”

You laugh, playfully hitting his chest. “You do have a tongue on you, that’s for sure.”

Your words aren’t meant to come off the way they do. Your intentions are a play on words to let him know he was being witty to get his way, but alas, they have him raising his eyebrows at you, a smirk adorning his lips. 

“Oh,” is all he says. 

“No, I mean,” you stall on your words, mind already transfixed on the other truth to your statement. “Because that was clever. What you said,” you stutter, “you get me.”

“Sure,” he says, nodding his head and pouting his lips, making you laugh and roll your eyes. 

“Well, it should be a quick dinner,” he says, letting go of you. “I’m already half full.”

“See? That's what I meant with the- the tongue thing.”

He hums, taking one last look at you before walking over to Soori, her mouth open as she focuses on her show. “Don’t hate me, please,” he says, as he picks her up from the couch and turns the TV off. She cries and you laugh a little at the way he apologizes to her over and over again. 

“Aw, Soo Soo,” you coo at her, and when she sees you, she throws herself into your arms, hiding between your neck as soft whines leave her mouth in expert crocodile tears. 

Jungkook chuckles at the scene before him, but in a matter of seconds the image hits him like a ton of bricks. The way you hold her, beautiful as ever as you fix the skirt of her blue dress, fingers brushing through her hair, careful not to ruin the pigtails and bows you’d carefully perfected as you got her ready. 

It’s picture perfect, he thinks. A sight he could get used to. 

~

“Welcome back to La Mélodie, Mr Jeon,” a sweet voice trapped in a 6 foot, long legged, blonde haired body greets you at the entrance. Her voice is so sweet, in fact, that you see where the soft spot he was talking about comes from. 

“Hi, Lily,” he says. “Thank you for getting us in such short notice.”

Lily.

“It’s my pleasure, Jungkook.”

Jungkook?

She smiles at Soori, who looks at her with a blank stare before she’s nuzzling her face on her dad’s chest. She then smiles at you and it takes everything in you to return the gesture so politely. Inside, you’re rolling your eyes and probably pulling a face as you imitate the way she says Jungkook emphasis on the J. 

“This way,” she says, walking towards the center of the restaurant as she guides you to your table. You don’t miss the way she swings her hips as she walks, turning around ever so swiftly as she lets her long, blonde hair fall over her shoulder. 

You feel insane. No, really. Jealousy is such an odd feeling. A foreign one, too. You’d never been a jealous person before – to be quite honest, it wasn’t because you were overly confident or uninterested. It was simply because you didn’t notice. You didn’t notice if someone was a “threat” or had bad intentions. Or perhaps deep down, you never truly cared. Oftentimes, it was Lucy that had to alert you on these things, pointing out how it was right there, under your nose! But you failed to see it every time. Not anymore, though. It’s clear as day and it stands right in front of you wearing very dark red lipstick. 

You can feel Lily’s eyes on you as Jungkook opens the chair for you, and she disguises her vitriol with a smile as you sit down. He puts Soori in her high chair and finally sits down himself. He smiles at her, thanking her again and she winks at him. Yes, winks. Your mouth drops, quite literally. Her action is so bold it’s almost admirable in your eyes. You wonder if you could ever be such a go-getter, even if it made you vicious. 

He shifts uncomfortably on his seat, looking up at you and not missing the shock that laces your face. He wonders if he should say something, but before he can come up with anything of substance, the waiter is by the table. 

“Mr. Jeon,” he bows his head politely, “and Miss…” 

You stare at him in confusion, opting for giving him your name. 

“___.”

“Miss ___,” he says, and you smile. You don’t see this, but Jungkook smiles in endearment, hand in a fist over his mouth as he covers his chuckle with a cough. 

As the waiter recites the magic behind their seasonal menu, the main ingredients they’re using this month, and today’s specialties, Jungkook looks around him. He recognizes a couple of faces and doesn’t miss the way their eyes take in the scene, dancing from him to you, and then Soori, in confusion. It suddenly dawns on him that you don’t quite look like the nanny tonight. Not that he owes any of these people an explanation, or that he cares about what they think, or what they’ll say. He’s very much past that, and has never lingered too much on it, anyway. But the more their faces turn from shock to plain confusion, the more he realizes that it’s only been a couple of months – three, to be exact – since Ira left. He wishes he didn’t, but he understands the shocked expressions. He understands why they must be thinking what they must be thinking. 

His eyes land on you, fixating on the way you gently nod as you smile to the waiter, listening to him intently. The sight of you alone makes him think, to hell with what they think. The waiter says he’ll give you a minute to look over the menu, and Jungkook orders a bottle of his favorite white wine. He’d go for red on nights like these, but he knows you prefer light, sweet flavors and so he caters to you, without you even knowing. 

“Are you happy,” you ask, a smile on your face as your eyes meet his.

“Very much.”

“You know, I know I said it yesterday, before our little… altercation,” he smiles, remembering the acts that took place in his kitchen. “But it’s all quite unreal to me. And I truly am in awe of… you.”

“I’m in awe of you.” There’s no hesitation in his words.

You shy. “Stop.”

“Why?”

“This night is about you. To celebrate you.”

“Exactly,” he says, “so let me do as I please.”

“Okay,” is all you say, because his soft demeanor and flattery are going straight to your head, looking past your heart that still breaks. 

“On that topic,” he begins, crossing his hands over the table, “I want to head to our beach house this weekend.”

What is it with rich people and beach houses? Do they all have one?

“That sounds nice… you can rest and relax. Recover from the week and all.”

“Yeah. I want everyone to come,” he refers to his friends. “Jin and Seulgi already confirmed.”

 “That sounds wonderful, Kook.” You’re kind of grateful he’s going to be away this weekend, so you don’t have to make up excuses to avoid him and you can bed rot in peace. 

“Yeah. I’m excited. I wanna go sailing and we can grill every night,” he says.

“Hm,” you nod, smiling. You think of all the TV shows you’ve been wanting to start, pondering over the list to pick a winner. 

“We leave Saturday morning.” 

“Great!” You think of pizza and brownie fudge Ben & Jerry's.

“And don’t worry, we’re not taking the plane.”

You laugh. And then you get it. 

“Huh?”

He’s equally as confused. “What?”

“The plane?”

“Yeah. You were kinda scared the last time. Plus, it’s only two hours by car.”

“I’m going?”

“Uh- yeah? I mean- I know book club is on summer break for the next three weeks so I thought- but if you’re busy or something,” he doesn’t know what to say anymore so he just lets his last words linger. 

“Oh,” I mean, you are his nanny. Isn’t it expected for you to go to these things? Just like you did the last time. He’s about to say something else, but you interrupt him, “sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

He smiles as he nods at you, but it’s an uncertain smile. Like he doesn’t quite know what just happened. Soori calls you guys’ attention when she slams her plushie against the table, giggling as she plays, letting her imagination take over. Jungkook runs his hand over her head.

“I’m excited to spend time with her. I’ve missed her this week.”

“She missed you, too. It’s gonna be good for the two of you to spend time together.”

“I’m excited to spend time with-”

“Would you like to taste the wine, Mr Jeon?”

With you, is what Jungkook was going to say, before the waiter interrupted. Not that he’s to blame. If anything, Jungkook is. 

“Yes, thank you.”

The wine is good. Excellent, even. Like nothing you’ve tasted before. It’s sweet and fruity, but very light. You’re very much used to cheap liqueur and even cheaper wine, so getting to jump to the other side and try the other extremes is nice for a change. The whole night pans out like that – pleasant and delicious. The food, the wine, the dessert. You talk, swoon over Soori. At one point you ask something that makes Jungkook dive into a more elaborate explanation of what his job consists of. You let him speak, mostly because you’re interested, partly because you’re too exhausted to say anything of substance yourself. 

Lily brings over the bill, and you can hear the clinking of her heels from a mile away. She smiles as she walks over to the table, even before Jungkook acknowledges her. She’s ready to pounce. 

“How was everything?”

“Delicious as always, please do congratulate the chef for me.”

“I’m sure he’d love to hear it from you. Don’t you wanna stop by the kitchen before you head out?”

Gasp. She is so bold. God, does she fear nothing?

Jungkook laughs, awkwardly, as he signs the check. “I’m afraid we have to get going, this little one’s past bedtime.”

“Aw,” she says, and it’s not directed at Soori, no. It’s disappointment that’s so evident in her voice. “But it was so fun the last time.”

Last time, you almost say. Quite frankly, for a second you think the words have left you, because both their eyes are on you. Lily’s are laced with twisted pride, and Jungkook’s are apologetic. 

“Thank you, again, Lily,” is all he says. 

“My pleasure, Jungkook.” She bats her eyelashes at him, a saccharine smile she throws his way before she’s turning around and making her grand exit.

You stare at Jungkook, watching as he reaches for his glass of water, taking a big sip, gulping loudly. 

“What happened the last time that was so fun?”

“Nothing,” he says, bringing the glass back to the table a little sternly. “I know the chef. He’s helped me recruit a couple of chefs for The West End. That’s all.”

“Ah,” is all you say. 

“I don’t know what that was about. She wasn’t even- I mean, she was there, but it was mostly him and I speaking. She’s his niece.”

“I see.”

“Baby,” he says, nearly whines. 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m just tired. I’m probably just irritable because of that,” you mask your jealousy with a chuckle.

Jungkook reaches across the table, wrapping his hand around yours. You wince a little, looking around you, feeling slightly exposed. 

“Hey,” he says. “Look at me.”

“Yes.”

He laughs at your sudden nervousness. “Stay with me tonight?”

“But Mrs Chae-”

“I gave her the day off. I’m going late into the office tomorrow. We can sleep in a little bit. I want you to stay. Please?”

Your heart begs you to at least think about it for a second. A split second, even! But the efforts are unsuccessful, and you don’t hesitate when you say,

“Okay.”

~

Jungkook’s shower is your favorite place in the world. 

Well, perhaps that’s a bit dramatic. 

Or perhaps it’s completely understandable, all things considered. You remember when there was a time you didn’t believe in shower sex. Not because you didn’t think it was real, but because you couldn’t believe people actually enjoyed it. There was nothing to enjoy about it, in your humble opinion. And humble it was, because these four walls can testify about the way you became a woman of faith the moment you experienced what you liked to call premium shower sex. 

You let the water cascade from your head down your body, relaxing your muscles as the massage jets hit just where you need them the most. Jungkook was putting Soori to bed and he’d suggested you take a shower in the meantime. And so here you were, contemplating. You think of staying here, waiting until he’s back, letting him get in the shower with you. Letting him do whatever he wants to you, really. That’s the truth of it all. 

But you don’t. You don’t because you try to be reasonable. Sex won’t solve this, if last night is to tell. And boy, was it loud and clear. So you get out, enjoying a couple extra minutes running his warm, fluffy towels over your body, brushing your hair, doing your skincare with his fancy products and spending way too much time, yet again, picking a shirt to sleep in. You opt for a simple Calvin Klein tee, pleased at the softness. 

When he makes his way to the room, you’re already in bed, Sense and Sensibility in hand as you read. He stops, taking you in before you can see him. He thanks the universe for making his dreams from last weekend come true. You smile at him, eyes following his steps as he comes to your side of the bed, planting a kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m gonna shower, won’t be too long.”

“Enjoy,” you say. 

He turns around, about to make his way to the bathroom but before he can get far enough he’s turning back, walking towards you again. You look up, stars on your eyes is what Jungkook can swear he sees. 

“Thank you for staying. And for coming to dinner. That,” he pauses and you hear the hint of nervousness that takes on his tone of voice, “was good. I mean, that meant a lot to me, is what I’m trying to say.”

“Of course, Kook.”

He kisses you. It’s short and sweet, leaves you craving more as your lips feel his absence right away. 

The minute he’s out of sight, your heart sends a question shooting straight at your brain. It’s aggressive and angry. 

What are you doing?

Its simplicity holds deception. The simple answer would keep the whole thing contextual: he wants you to be here, he asked you to be here. You celebrated an important night with him and now you’re in his bed because isn’t that what you do? The last words get your heart going, beating faster with complexity. It says, no! It is not what you do. Or perhaps it’s what you do with your boyfriend, which he is not, by the way. Your own cruel words make you wince. Your heart opts for a softer approach, simply reminding you that you’re not doing yourself any favors. That playing house with the person that has made you question pretty much everything about both life and love in the past couple of weeks isn’t the best way to make sound decisions. That with every kiss you’re reminded of why you love him, and with every kiss he reminds you that perhaps to him, it’s just a kiss. A kiss that holds affection, sure. But not a kiss that holds love. Your incessant thinking makes you wonder if what you ask for isn’t too much. You wonder if it makes sense to want him to love you the way you did him. You couldn't ask that of him, at the end of the day. You couldn’t ask that of anyone. 

Sense and Sensibility is long forgotten, your brain too loud to make sense of the words you read. You turn to your side, cozying up against the pillows. You try to close your eyes but every time you do the images that play in your head are somewhat crazier than your thoughts. You toss and turn and simply opt for keeping a soft gaze towards the ceiling, focusing on your breath and trying to remember what Lucy’s meditation tapes you can sometimes hear in the mornings say. 

“You okay,” you hear Jungkook ask before you can see him. He chuckles at the sight of you. 

He walks closer to the bed, one towel wrapped very low around his hips as he runs another through his hair, drying it. Little droplets falling over his body, making it glisten. You let yourself stare at him because the sight alone leaves you slightly speechless. You’re not proud of it, but another part of your body pitches in on your heart’s debate and says, this is why. 

“Yeah,” you finally muster the words, “can’t sleep that’s all.”

”Mm, yeah. That happens to me when I’m really tired sometimes. Bit weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, makes no sense.”

“It’s okay, just try to relax, baby.” His knee hits the mattress, hair towel discarded to the side as he makes his way to you. 

“Y-yeah, I’m trying,” your eyes follow his every move as he gets closer. 

His hands rest at your knees before he says, “I like this on you, by the way,” eyes zeroing in on his shirt.

“It’s comfy,” you say, eyes closing at the feel of his fingers gently roaming down your legs. 

“Keep it, baby.”

“No, I like it on you more.”

He laughs. “It’s okay, I have plenty.”

He opens your legs, inching closer before he lets himself gently fall on top of you. Your fingers thread through his wet hair, pushing it back. 

“I’m having the best night ever,” he says, playful eyes on yours as you both laugh. 

“You must be easy to please,” you say.

“Depends on who’s doing the pleasing,” he watches the way your gaze flutters before your eyes close at the anticipation of his lips on yours. And when he finally kisses you, you both sigh, falling into it. It’s slow, just allowing your lips to lazily move against one another’s. You run your fingers through his hair, nails softly running down his scalp and it makes him groan in satisfaction. You push your body further down into the mattress, letting your legs fall open as Jungkook settles better between them. A moan escapes your lips as the motion has him pressing his cock into you. 

“Kook, I’m really tired, I don’t think I’ll handle it.”

He shakes his head, kissing you again. He doesn’t pull away as he says, “no. I want to make you feel good, baby. You don’t have to do anything.” He looks at you, eyes closing in pleasure when he pushes his hips against yours. “Please?”

You nod, a little caught in the feeling. “Okay.”

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

“Jungkook,” you say, turning your face away from him in a timidness that he finds so endearing. 

“Don’t ask me to stop saying it because I won’t,” he says, fingers finding your chin and turning your face to him again. He pecks your lips before he says, “fucking gorgeous.” You laugh, and he likes the sound of it and so he feathers kisses all over your face, down your neck where he knows it tickles, rejoicing on the way you giggle as you try to push him away. It’s hard for Jungkook to choose between the sweet sound of your laughter, or the way you moan when the last kiss he places against your neck ends with a tiny suckle. 

“Can I taste you, baby?” His voice is deep, right on your ear, sending goosebumps down your spine.

“Please,” and he loves the airiness the word has on your mouth. 

His kisses on your neck grow deeper, enticed by your moans and the way you pull at his hair, soft and hard. His mouth begins to travel down, letting his hands roam all over your body at a leisurely pace. He loves it when he can go slow, take his time, make pit stops on the parts of your body he loves the most. He loves your lips, and so he kisses them, snaking a hand down your shirt and cupping at your tits, drawing circles on your nipple with his thumb, making you squirm. You feel him smirk against your lips, always getting a little cocky at how well he can pull at your strings until pleasure is the only thing you can think of. 

He pushes the soft material of your shirt away, lips kissing down your chest until they’re closing around your nipple. A throaty moan leaves you and you circle your hips, making Jungkook hiss as his cock jumps from the contact alone. But he doesn’t want to focus on his immediate pleasure, no. He wants tonight to be about you. He wants to take his time with you – make you feel so good your body has no choice but to sleep the overwhelm off. 

His tongue plays with your nipple, in an ever so slow pace that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He lets his free hand touch all over your body, down your waist, squeezing your hips, nails scraping slightly at your thigh. He looks up at you, eyes meeting your hazy ones as he sucks on your nipple, biting gently when your fingers get tangled in his dark locks. He moves his hand closer to where you need him the most, tentative little touches that have you clenching in mere anticipation. 

“No teasing,” you warn.

“No fun,” he says, pouting before he’s biting your nipple again. 

But Jungkook just wants to make you feel good. He wants to give you what you want, he wants to hear you and feel you, and the thought of his tongue on your heat has him nearly salivating. And so he complies. You sigh when he presses his middle and ring finger against your clothed clit, tiny little circles that have you leaking in no time. He feels it, fingers dampening against the cotton of your underwear as his mouth kisses down your torso, leaving a wet trail on your tummy that makes you feel electric the moment he pulls away. His fingers hook inside the side of your panties, his touch soft. Too soft. 

“Take them off,” you say, no edge to your voice.

He does just that, pulling away for a second to roll the tiny fabric off your legs before he’s back on his tummy, between your legs, one of his own bent slightly as he gets comfortable. You find it so lewd – the way he enjoys this. The way he enjoys it when his eyes zero in on your cunt, glistening for him. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” and his eyes never leave, following his index finger as it parts your slit. A low, controlled moan leaves his lips when he sees how wet you make his finger, how you leak for him. The tip touches at your clit, making you gasp before you’re letting out a moan. “And so sensitive, baby.” 

You’re a bit delirious but you manage to look at him as you nod, your voice so shaky when you say, “I need you- it’s been a while since I’ve had your mouth.”

His thumb circles your clit. “You’ll get my mouth, baby. But I just wanna see you for a little longer, ‘kay?” You nod again. “Prettiest fucking pussy.”

You’re about to shy away from his words but he wastes no time, pushing a finger inside of you, making you groan as your head hits the pillow. He tests the water, feels how tight you get around him, thumb still working your clit as he pushes a second one in. He pays attention to your moans, the jerk of your hips, his eyes never leaving you as you roll your lips between your teeth, arm hovering over your head before you’re hiding underneath it. 

“Look at me, ___.”

You do, eyes threatening to close as he picks up his pace, hitting that spot inside of you continuously, expertly matching your breath with each push and pull. 

“Fuck, I’m so close already,” you whine, closing your eyes for a second.

“Want my tongue, baby?”

“Fuck, Jungkook, please,” you plead, gasping when his index and middle finger press on your g-spot, tiny little movements against it. “Please.”

“I will, baby. God, how can I not?” His lips close around your clit, making you moan in sweet satisfaction. “You ask so nicely- fuck, ___, you taste so good, baby.” 

Jungkook is growing delirious, too, struggling to keep his own pleasure at bay, hips rutting against the mattress as he places little rhythmic suckles against your clit. You look down at him, eyes meeting his and he smiles. It’s dirty, bordering on obscene, but you love it. You love how much he loves making you feel good. 

“Like that, Kook,” you whisper, “shit, don’t stop.”

His tongue parts your folds, teasing your hole before he’s lapping at your pussy, spitting on it before his ministrations are back on your clit, sucking, licking, circling. You’re so wet, and so close, you can’t quite make out his actions. All you know is the white, warm feeling that takes over your body, making you a little lightheaded. His fingers push inside of you once again, making you clench around them, mouth parting in shock and pleasure. 

Jungkook hums against your pussy, eyes closing at the feel of you. “You’re so close, baby. Want me to make you cum?”

And the question alone could do it for you – in fact, you have to take a second to concentrate on not letting go. There’s something so fucking divine about him knowing exactly where he’s got you at. You nod, one airy, “please,” and that’s all he needs to finish you off. His fingers don’t go faster, but they go harder. His tongue focuses on your clit, silky flesh lapping determinedly at your nub, sucking on it when your legs begin to shake. 

“Oh, fuck- Jungkook,” you cum with his name on your tongue, letting out a little cry when you feel him moan against your pussy at the sound of his name. It’s too much, the way your muscles contract and then release, but you can’t get enough of it. “Don’t stop, Kook, please.”

He doesn’t. He milks you with his fingers, feeling the way you leak down his wrists, making a mess out of his mouth as you pull at his hair, nails digging on his scalp. You cum on his tongue, and you come down on it, too, letting yourself fall into him so quickly that the over-sensitivity has you pushing his head away with shaky hands. 

“Oh my fucking God.” You drop your head to the pillow behind you, hands covering your eyes as you try to regain your breath. Jungkook just stares at you, head resting on your inner thigh, smiling and drunk on you. He feathers one single kiss on the soft skin of your leg, and your body jumps a little, making him let out a boyish chuckle that makes your heart beat steadfast. You laugh, too. 

You let a couple of minutes linger on, the two of you sharing the same pillow, just laying in bed. You take a while to come back to your body and when you finally do, the exhaustion takes over. 

“Come here,” you tell him, and he obliges, body flushed on top of yours once again. Your hand travels down, feeling how hard he is. He hisses, his own hand closing around yours before he’s shaking his head. “Why? You’re so hard.”

“You’re tired. I just wanted to make you feel good. I’m okay, baby. More than okay, actually.”

“But,” you say, confusion lacing your words.

“Tomorrow. You need rest. I think I’ve succeeded at making you sleepy,” he laughs.

“Fuck, you really did.”

He lays back next to you, a sigh passing his lips before his head turns, meeting your eyes. 

“You know, you were right,” he says.

“What about?”

His smirk gives him away before his words can.

“I do have quite a tongue on me.”

~

★taglist★

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[highinmiamiii]

UH OH, WE’RE IN TROUBLE 18+

sub prison!butcher x jersey wife reader

(A/N) hellooo fellow butcher’s bitches! This chapter is part of the prison!butcher x jersey wife au @sickforbillybutcher/ @foxiewrites and i came up with. if you haven’t checked out the rest of this au i highly suggest you do, i’ve reblogged all parts under the tag:

#prison!billy butcher so you should be able to find them if you search that on my blog. enjoy reading love u all so much thank you sm for all your support on the last kessler fic 🥹

(cw: slightly sub butcher, violence, mention of severe injury, prison/hospital setting, teasing, handjob, sneaky/risky sexual activities, pregnancy, i think that’s it)

Billy Butcher stood in the dim, cold corner of the prison yard, the relentless hum of the razor wire above adding to the tension. His knuckles tightened as he slipped a few crumpled bills into the waiting hand of a massive, tattooed inmate.

“Make it bloody,” Billy growled, his eyes hard as steel. “Like I got in over me head.”

The brute nodded, a cruel grin spreading across his face as he pocketed the cash. “Got it, Butcher.”

Billy turned, bracing himself for the pain that was about to come. He’d taken worse beatings, no doubt, but this one had a purpose—one that made every bruise and broken bone worth it. The thought of seeing Dollface, even if it meant being shackled to a hospital bed, made his heart pound in a way that surprised him.

He gritted his teeth as the first punch landed squarely on his jaw, the taste of blood filling his mouth instantly. The second and third punches came quick, his ribs cracking under the force. Billy staggered, but stayed upright, spitting blood onto the cold concrete.

He wasn’t thinking about the pain or the grunts of the other inmates watching the spectacle. His mind was on Dollface. On the way she’d looked the last time he saw her, all cheetah print and big hair, with that fiery Jersey attitude he couldn’t get enough of.

The thought of her carrying his child—a bloody nugget, of all things—was a mix of pride and terror that he couldn’t shake. He’d never imagined himself as a father, especially not in a place like this. His own father was a right bastard, and the idea that he could turn out the same kept him awake at night more than the guards’ shouts or the clanging of cell doors.

The final blow sent him to the ground, gasping for breath, his vision blurry. The brute stepped back, admiring his handiwork as the guards rushed in, yelling and pushing the crowd back.

Billy smirked through the pain, coughing up more blood as they cuffed him. “Bloody hell… ’bout time,” he muttered, just loud enough for the nearest guard to hear.

The hospital was a grim, sterile place, but it was better than the cell, he thought as they wheeled him into the small, dimly lit room.

Dollface’s hands shook as she clutched her phone, the guard’s gruff voice still echoing in her ears. “Your husband’s been hurt—he’s in the hospital.” The words sliced through her like a knife. The second she hung up, she was out the door, nearly knocking over a potted plant in her rush. Her heart pounded as she navigated the chaotic streets of Jersey, each red light and slow driver adding to her panic.

By the time she arrived at the hospital, her hands were sweating, and her throat was dry. She shoved past the automatic doors, her designer leather cheetah-print bag swinging wildly at her side as she made a beeline for the front desk.

“Billy Butcher, I’m his wife” she gasped, barely able to catch her breath. “Where the hell is he?”

The nurse looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of a frantic, visibly distressed woman, and quickly typed into her computer. “He’s in room 306. But ma’am, I have to—”

Dollface didn’t wait for the nurse to finish. She bolted down the hall, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the flickering fluorescent lights doing nothing to calm her nerves. She could feel her heart in her throat, pounding so hard she thought it might burst.

Finally, she reached his room. Her hands were trembling as she pushed the door open, her eyes immediately locking onto Billy, lying in the hospital bed, bruised and battered but somehow still managing to smirk at her like he hadn’t just scared her half to death.

“Jesus Christ, Billy,” she breathed, rushing to his side. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she hesitated for a moment before gently touching his bruised face. “What the hell happened to ya?”

Billy grunted, shifting slightly under the weight of the shackles that bound him to the bed. “Ah, you know, love. Got into a bit of a scrap, that’s all.”

“Scrap?” she echoed, her voice cracking as she took in the cuts and bruises marring his skin. “You look like you got run over by a fucking truck—“

He chuckled, wincing slightly as the movement sent a jolt of pain through his ribs. “Don’t worry ’bout me, Trouble. Just shattered me collarbone and fractured me clavicle, should be fine. Takes more than a few punches to put me down.”

Dollface shook her head, her worry deepening as she sat down beside him, her fingers curling around his hand. “FRACTU— are you kidding me?!? I swear to god if you don’t get yourself killed i’ll do it myself—“ She hics out a broken sob, covering her mouth and looking away trying to cool her temper. “T-this isn’t funny, Billy. I was so terrified when they called. Thought I was gonna lose ya.”

He squeezed her hand, his rough fingers brushing against her soft skin. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere, love. Not when I’ve got you and the little one waitin’ for me.”

At that, her eyes welled up with more tears, but she blinked them away, determined not to let him see her cry. She reached up, clutching the gold cross around her neck and kissing it softly before leaning down to press it to his forehead. “You better not. You’re stuck with us now.”

Billy’s gaze softened as he watched her, the fierce determination in her eyes reminding him why he was doing this—why he had put himself through this pain. He needed to see her, to touch her, to remind himself that there was something worth fighting for outside of those cold, grey walls.

For a few moments, they just sat there, her hand in his, the room filled with a quiet understanding between them. He could see the toll this was taking on her, the constant worry, the stress of being pregnant while her husband was locked up in a place like that.

He swallowed hard, the usual bravado slipping as he looked up at her. “I’m sorry, Dollface. For puttin’ ya through all this shite.”

She shook her head again, squeezing his hand even tighter. “Don’t apologize, Billy. Just… just promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t do this without ya.”

He nodded, his eyes locking onto hers. “I promise, love. I’ll be more careful. For you… and for” He takes a deep breath and glances down at her increasingly by the day pudgy, slightly round tummy. His eyes light up and he smirks before looking back up into her eyes.

Dollface’s lips quivered into a small smile, and she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “We’re gonna get through this, Billy. No matter what.”

He returned the kiss, lingering just a moment longer, as if trying to memorize the feel of her, the taste of her, before they had to part again. “Damn right we will.”

She rested her forehead against his, her free hand coming up to gently stroke his cheek. “I love ya, you stubborn bastard.”

“Love ya too, Dollface,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

They stayed like that for a while, her sitting by his side, caressing his hand and occasionally kissing his calloused, bruised, bloodying knuckles. She whispered reassurances to him, telling him about how Nonna couldn’t wait to meet her great-grandchild, how she’d already started knitting baby clothes even though they didn’t know the gender yet.

Billy listened, a small smile playing on his lips as he let her words wash over him, grounding him in a way that nothing else could. It didn’t matter that he was in chains or that the world outside this room was a mess. All that mattered was that she was here, with him, and that soon enough, they’d have a little shite of their own to look after.

And for now, that was enough.

The hospital room was bathed in the soft, eerie glow of the moonlight streaming through the small window, casting long shadows on the floor. It had been hours since the last nurse had come in, and the clock on the wall ticked quietly, marking the passage of time. Dollface had been biding her time, heart pounding as she listened for the telltale sounds of the guard’s footsteps echoing down the hall.

She’d crafted a plan—risky, sure, but worth it. When one of the officers had stepped out earlier in the evening, she’d quickly slipped into the small utility closet in Billy’s room, holding her breath as she crouched in the dark, hidden among the brooms and cleaning supplies. She waited, every creak of the floorboards outside sending her heart racing, but she stayed quiet, biding her time until the hospital settled into the stillness of night.

Now, as she cautiously cracked open the closet door, her eyes locked onto Billy’s figure, still lying in the bed, his chest rising and falling slowly. She moved silently, her heart in her throat, every nerve on edge as she slipped out of the closet and crossed the room. She knew there were at least two guards outside, but she was banking on the fact that they wouldn’t expect anyone to pull something like this.

Billy stirred slightly as she approached, his eyes fluttering open. The moment he saw her, a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. “What’re you up to now, Trouble?” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

She held a finger to her lips, silently telling him to be quiet as she reached his side. “Couldn’t leave ya all alone in this shithole, could I?” she whispered back, her voice barely above a breath. She slid her hand under the blanket, finding his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Billy’s eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something else, something that made Dollface’s pulse quicken. “Ya know there’s guards right outside, yeah?” he murmured, his voice hushed but tinged with that familiar teasing edge.

She smirked, her fingers brushing up along his arm, over the muscles that tensed beneath her touch. “That ever stopped me before?” she whispered, leaning in closer, her breath warm against his ear. “Thought ya knew me better than that, Billy.”

His breath hitched slightly as her hand trailed up, slipping under the blanket and higher up his thigh. He shifted slightly, the chains clinking softly, his body instinctively responding to her touch despite the circumstances. “Fuuuckin’ gonna be the death of me, Dollface,” he muttered, though the smirk on his lips told her he didn’t mind one bit.

Dollface chuckled softly, her hand continuing its slow, deliberate journey, teasing him just enough to drive him mad without giving him what he wanted. “Maybe,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his neck. “But at least you’ll go out with a smile on your face, yeah?”

Billy’s eyes closed for a moment, his breath coming in shallow as she continued to tease him, her fingers dancing along his skin, sending shivers down his spine. “Always playin’ so damn dangerous—” he warned, though his voice was rougher now, tinged with anticipation.

Dollface pulled back slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looked down at him. “You know I like to live dangerously,” she replied, her voice low and seductive. She leaned in, her lips barely brushing against his, teasing him further. “Why do you think I married you?”

He growled softly, his free hand coming up to cup the back of her neck, pulling her in closer. “Damn right ya do” he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from hers.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Dollface could feel the heat of his body through the thin hospital blanket, the anticipation coiling in her stomach like a spring ready to snap.

She licked her lips, her hand slipping further up his thigh, her touch light and teasing, drawing a low groan from Billy’s throat. “You just gonna lie there all night? Or are ya gonna let your wife make you feel good? What other chance do you have?” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath against his lips.

Billy’s eyes flashed with dark desire, his grip tightening on her as he pulled her in, his lips capturing hers in a fierce, hungry kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through her entire body. Dollface moaned softly into his mouth, her hand moving higher under the blanket, earning another low, rumbling growl from deep in his chest.

As they kissed, Dollface could feel the heat between them building, her body responding to him in ways that made her feel alive, reckless, and completely out of control. She broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “You sure you can handle this, Butchie? I swear to god- the officers are right outside, you don’t make a fucking sound, you hear me?” She whispers

Billy smirked against her lips, his voice rough with desire as he replied, “Oh, I’m bloody well countin’ on it, love.”

A smirk spreads across her face, she palms him over the papery fabric of the hospital gown before letting her hand under it, only lingering on his upper thick muscular thigh. His breath trembles, it’s been way too fucking long.

Way too fucking long since he’d felt her nimble, skilled, manicured fingers wrapped around his thick cock, working him up and down til he spurted rope after rope of his warm white seed onto his taught stomach, getting all over her hands.

He missed everything about this, about you. His big clumsy hands would never ever measure up to how your hands feel pumping him up and down. So as her hand made it’s way higher and higher up his thigh, she finally wrapped your fingers around him.

She lets out a chuckle as you feel how fucking hard he is. She’d barely just gotten her fist around it and it was already throbbing desperately, you swipe your thumb over the head of his tip wiping up the small little white bead of precum

She bite your lip, giggling “Someone’s already excited, hm?”

Butcher’s throat makes a tiny little high pitched whine, his breath catching at the teasing swipe of her thumb over his tip. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip, muffling himself from making any further noise “Fuuuckin’ christ onna stick, luv—“

He whispers. She chuckles, her other hand reaching up to clasp over his mouth.

She squeezes her fist around his cock tighter now, slowly beginning to flick her wrist up and down. Butcher huffs out a breath, head lolling to the side to look at you as he scrunches his eyes closed. your hand works quicker on his hard, wet cock, urging him closer and closer to his release. you watch as Butch opens his mouth slightly, eyebrows furrowing as he lets out a puff of air while trying to conceal his noises. he looked so pretty like that, sweat gathering on his forehead as he continues to let moans pour from his lips.

He never let it go like this before, he was always in control, something about having him get like this for you got you going.

“mmh, that feel good?” you ask, tilting your head as you stay seated next to him by the bed. he licks his lips, eyes hooded as they slowly open before fluttering back closed as you press your thumb harder against his tip. “come on, answer me, handsome.”

he groans, biting his lower lip so hard it starts to become sore, drawing a little bit of blood. he can taste it in his mouth, making him let out a soft whimper that travels through the air. and he hopes you didn’t hear it, but you definitely did judging by the smirk on your face as you work your hand faster, also basically slapping your palm over his mouth trying to get him to shut the fuck up. as much as you wanted to hear him whimper like that for you again, now was not the time or place. he slightly bucks his hips up, gasping when you flick your wrist and add wonderful pressure to his tip that causes him to become weak in your hands.

“i asked you a question,” you use your other hand that wasn’t on his cock to grip his chin, a stern expression on your face.

he gasps, “yes, fuck yes trouble— feels so .. s-so good.” his voice becomes deeper, trailing away from him the more he talks as his words fade into nothing but muffled moans underneath your palm. he looks so fucking pretty like that, too. his hair was becoming matted, sticking to his forehead as sweat covered him all over. he was glistening, beautiful under the soft moonlight showing through the window.

you tilt your head, your hand clasped over his mouth like that, looking at his lips as he licks them, “Missed my hands, Butchie?” he stutters at the nickname, groaning as he presses his heels into the mattress and thrashes beside you. the cocky look in your eyes makes him whine again. “so desperate for me,” you click your tongue at him.

Butcher swears he’s never felt so damn good before. he wasn’t used to you being so demanding and dominate. it was making him lose his mind, unable to stop the bucking of his hips as he uncontrollably starts basically fucking your hand.

you raise an eyebrow, “wanna fuck my hand, hm? come on, baby.” you kiss his neck, trailing your kisses there before leaving a bruise on his collarbone, smiling at your work. “fuck my hand, since ya can’t have my pussy, fuck it like it is my pussy” She bites her lip tightly, god how she wanted to say fuck all this and hop on top of him, ride him until the sun rose. but that was too complicated, too much of a liability.

he gasps, and his hands tug desperately at the sheets below him, “c-close.. fucking bollocks— I’m gonna blow Doll—” his voice becomes a little more high pitched, but it sends a rush down to your abdomen and makes you clench your thighs together. Butcher doesn’t see it, though. too focused on his needed high.

you tighten your grip on his cock, making him spiral and you watch as his knuckles turn white while he humps up into your grip, “gonna cum, baby? come on, you can cum, Butchie. make a mess all over your pretty tummy and my hand.”

“cumming, i’m.. fucking cumming,” he groans, a long drawn out moan of your name leaving his lips, even if it’s barely heard by the tight grip of your hand over his mouth as he releases all over himself, his hips stuttering and slowing down. you grip him tightly, watching as his cum flows over your hand too. you smile to yourself, seeing his head thrown back and his eyes shut closed. you bring your cum covered hand to your lips, running a finger across your plump red painted lips. he hums, opening his eyes as you take your fingers into your mouth and licking them dry. you lick your lips, leaning in for a kiss. he easily accepts you, one of his hands reaching for the back of your neck and deepening the kiss. you can taste his cum, slightly bitter, but you don’t mind. not for as long as it’s him. the kiss was messy, all over the place, but you loved it anyway.

when you pull away, he’s gasping for air and looking at you with hooded eyes, “i fuckin’ love you sweetheart”

you chuckle, “i love you, too, Butch”

[agaypanic]

can u write a chase davenport x baddie like everyone knows she’s fine asf and has no clue why she’s dating him and he’s just super lovey and fluffy

Chase Davenport Dating a Baddie Headcanons

Masterlist

Request Something!

A/N: a bit suggestive in one part but that’s it

***

Everyone’s surprised that he pulled someone, period

But seeing that he pulled you specifically?

They act like this is earth-shattering news

Lowkey thought that it was a prank or that he was paying you 

“So, Chase, when are we gonna meet this girlfriend of yours?” Leo asked as he and the bionic trio entered the school. To be honest, they half thought Chase was joking when he told them he was in a relationship, but wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Uh… Oh! Seems like right now.” Chase left his siblings to go to his locker, where you were waiting for him. He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you close to him.

“Oh my gosh, she’s gonna slap him,” Adam said as you raised a hand to Chase’s face. But to everyone’s surprise, you used the hand to pull his face to yours and kiss him.

Adam, Bree, and Leo slowly approached you and Chase, clearly shocked. When you pulled away, you noticed them and gave a wave.

“Hey.”

“This can’t be real.”

Chase is absolutely smitten with you

Follows you around like a puppy

He just wants to do anything that’ll make you happy

“Chase, you don’t have to carry my bags.” You tell him, but you still let him take the bag of things you just bought from your hand. Watching his muscles flex as he grips the multiple bags is definitely a plus.

“I want to.” He shrugs, jutting out his elbow to signal you to take it, which you happily do. 

The two of you go through the mall, occasionally popping into another store. Before getting to the food court, you stopped in front of Victoria’s Secret. Getting an idea, you bite your lip to stop from grinning and turn to look at Chase.

“You know Build-A-Bear?”

“Yeah.” Chase nodded, soon perking up. “Oh my gosh, we should go and make mini us’s.” You couldn’t help but smile at the idea and his excitement.

“I was thinking something similar to that.” You say, looking at the store, yourself, and then back to Chase. “More of a… real-life Build-A-Bear.”

Despite being a genius, it took Chase a minute to realize what you were insinuating. But when he did, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Really?” He asked. You nodded, and the next thing you knew, Chase was running into the store with the excitement of a child.

Before you left the mall, you did end up going to the real Build-A-Bear.

If you like getting your nails done, he insists on paying

When you let him pick the color, he gets all giggly

Almost always chooses blue tbh

When he chooses the color, you ask for his initial on one of your fingers to surprise him

“Hey!” Chase greeted you as he entered the salon. Whenever he dropped you off, he’d always pick something up for you after your appointment and would come back right when you were finished.

You met him at the counter, where he gave your nail tech his card before looking at the hand you were holding up for him. He held your hand, smiling as he looked at the nails.

“You got my initial.” He softly cooed, thumb brushing over the white ‘C’ on your ring finger. “So pretty.”

You blushed as he kissed your knuckles, taking his card back before leading you out of the salon by your now interlocked hands. Even though Chase had treated you like this since the beginning of your relationship, and you should’ve been used to it, he never failed to turn you into a giggly, bashful mess.

“I got your favorite,” Chase said when you got in the car, handing you the bag of food. You took a bite, moaning at how delicious it was.

“Ugh, I love you.” You said, grabbing his face with a freshly manicured hand and kissing him. He gently latched onto your wrist, thumb rubbing over the joint.

“I love you too.” He said, stealing another kiss before reaching over to steal some of your food.