#but then it feels like you yourself are doing a disservice to the story and the people that have put work into it

[good-beans]

I would love to hear what you think of the recent milgram update and what it means for the story

Waahh thanks for the excuse to chat pal!! I have so many thoughts :') First off, let it be known that I'm SAD. These deaths tore my heart out and it's going to be rough knowing the characters are gone next trial.

However, from a writer's perspective, if you'll allow me to gush a bit... 👀

So, I always believed that Es would have prisoners' deaths on their hands and be judged themself, but I assumed it'd be from finale executions. I was shocked so many were killed off early, but it actually does follow the setup Yamanaka established (no matter how many incidents, three were injured badly during the first hiatus, so raising the stakes, three would die the next.) And doing it a trial early gives us way more time to reflect on these feelings -- rather than hold executions and be done, we're now forced to see the hole these people leave behind, see the emotions and mourning that follow that, see how everybody's view of them becomes twisted in death and recollection.

And the method of these deaths adds so much to the reflection/themes the audience feels. Execution deaths would have carried the theme of the Milgram experiment (would you cause harm because an authority figure told you to?) but that's it. These bring us so very close with the prisoners' cases.

We see Haruka’s death and find ourselves experiencing Mahiru’s horror: "I knew about his intention to, but surely someone would have stopped him! I thought he was bluffing! If it was his choice, was it really my fault?" We hear Kazui’s voice: "it wasn't supposed to be a grand betrayal, I was just being honest. I didn't think my truth about someone else would make them to that..."

In Shidou’s death we find ourselves making the same justifications as Muu, John, Kotoko, and even kind of Shidou himself: "there was someone I was trying to protect. I wanted to save both, but it couldn't be helped. It was one or the other, that's what the world gave me and that's what I worked with. I protected the one I deemed weaker/more precious to me, is that so wrong?"

When we want to cry about Mahiru and say, "it's unfair, we didn't know the stakes would be raised when we made our vote in trial one! They didn't warn us until trial two!" we only sound like Fuuta: "it's unfair! I was just doing something normal online! Sure I knew it would cause emotional harm, but I had no idea she was going to die!"

And even people who disagreed with the current vote find themselves in the prisoners' shoes. People who wanted to prevent Kotoko/Amane’s actions with a guilty vote can feel (depending on your interpretation, Yuno,) Muu, Mikoto, and Kotoko's motivation for themselves: "I knew the situation. I knew what I was doing. Things would have gotten worse if I didn't intervene. It's important to intervene when you know how things will end up.

So on one hand, it makes us extremely sympathetic to the prisoners by feeling their same motivations and regret. On the other hand, if we've gotten too soft, this simultaneously reminds us of how horrible they are. It was easy to forgive when the victims were half-hidden, faceless, and nameless. But now, we're reminded that all 10 victims were cherished by others just as we cherished Haruka, Shidou, and Mahiru. Even Kotoko's victim must have been -- how can we write him off as a universally hated criminal when we're mourning three people who murdered very knowingly? It becomes both easier and harder to offer our forgiveness now going into final verdicts.

And lastly, we hear Yuno's voice (as well as the point of the whole project) as we approach final judgments: neither innocent nor guilty is a good vote. Judgment in another's business will never help anyone. Guilying one and forgiving another can get someone killed. Guiltying two people to prevent them from causing harm can get someone killed. Naming two innocent in the hope it heals them can get someone killed. Though the project does encourage us to forgive others, these deaths acknowledge that in the real world, being wholly accepting of everything still won't work -- people will still get hurt. Black-and-white systems hurt everyone involved, we need to seek out the gray area and choose kindness rather than just a kind judgment, since there's no such thing.

And one last thing in line with that -- the deaths drive home the running theme that no choice, no matter how well-intentioned, can be taken back. I believe the "route" title only refers to this version so that they can release a full cast version of the song (maybe on the milgram anniversary) that exists outside of the story. Injuries can heal. Even losing an eye can be recovered from. But giving us completely permanent consequences is important in a project reminding people to act carefully to all those they interact with.

Okay I've already talked a lot addghj so I won't go into too much detail, but it also highlights the themes about humans being social creatures and no situation is truly isolated. You can't examine any of the prisoner cases individually because they're so interconnected with people who were just recently strangers. Shidou got two inno votes -- in an isolated situation he should be doing great! But like the crimes themselves, we must pay attention to the relationships and emotions that drive a situation forward rather than just it's physical logistics.

---

I think my only issue with this choice is that it's going to really screw over the already screwed over women (Muu, Amane, and Kotoko are going to be slammed with hate and even less willingness to understand them as human beings) BUT that's not Yamanaka's fault -- it has and will always be the fans'.

[thelioncourts]

it's getting more and more difficult to engage in fandom as a large-scope community because the only thing that actually gains any kind of popularity is meme content created by people who 1) don't want to interact with the story as it's being presented 2) want to engage with dark content only when it fits the narrative they wish the entire story to have 3) truly have such a high level of media illiteracy that they view everything as a full-blown attack versus education/discussion. and it's frustrating because you'll see the most insanely inaccurate takes get regurgitated by the same 25 loud people who, in turn, influence the meme content that gets created (or the meme content is just being created by those same 25 loud people) and so the meme content is a direct reflection of the level of thought/analysis being put into said fandom and it makes the memes not even funny, just caricatures of what they could be. and everyone is so bent out of shape at the thought of being told they're incorrect, that they're wrong, that conversation is impossible because they're so determined to do anything to showcase their assumed superiority as opposed to learning and listening in any kind of capacity.

I'm not saying anything that hasn't been said by people much more eloquent than me, but it sucks so much watching stories that are truly complex and that have so much work put into them be reduced to twitter popularity controlled by people who don't know what they're talking about.

[nerdieforpedro]

💯

As I often do, I've seen a few posts going around lately lamenting the lack of interaction with fanfiction/fanart here on Tumblr as well as AO3, but after reading a particular comment last night I just need to say this:

If someone tells you that the lack of response to sharing their writing is making them feel so upset that they're thinking of quitting writing altogether, don't tell them that's not a good mindset to have and they should just have fun with it and write for themselves. (have you just tried not being sad? you'll feel so much better!)

Even if you're a writer who felt that way once upon a time but then you changed your mindset so that you don't rely on others' feedback for validation and now you're so much happier, that's not helpful. Because that's obviously not what the person who is feeling sad and defeated is able to do right now, and for most writers/creators that's never going to be possible.

And it shouldn't have to be.

Especially here. Especially fanfiction.

Fanfiction is something that's created because someone loves something and wants to share it with others who love the same thing. And this is specifically a fandom space, somewhere that is supposed to be a community where discussion and dialogue can and is encouraged to happen between the people who write and the people who read. So when there's radio silence when you share something in this kind of space, do you really not see how that would be discouraging?

Because of course I write for myself - I would never get anything down on the page if I didn't - but I share because ultimately I want someone else out there to read what I wrote, and with any luck, to get some joy out of it. But if no one tells me they did, how am I supposed to know? As far as I know I've just been yelling into the void. As far as I know, all that work wasn't worth it.

A metaphor I've seen as an example is that it would be like having someone invite you over and cooking an entire delicious, heartfelt meal, you eat it all without saying anything, and then just leave. Do you not see how that would be upsetting?

We put so much of ourselves into what we write, bits of our hearts and souls and the things that we love and are exploring and are interested in or confused about. It's such a vulnerable thing to share something you've created, so when you tell someone that they shouldn't care if someone else reads what they wrote or tells them that they liked it, you're dismissing a very real and valid experience for so many creators out there.

Because regardless of how slow or fast a writer is, or how big or small their fandom is, it's still hard and takes time and energy and dedication and love - all of it in between our day to day lives from the mundanities to the heartbreaks - to even get something to the point where we're comfortable sharing.

Now, I know that not everyone thinks that writers are silly or selfish or entitled when they ask for feedback. Before I started writing again after many, many years, the main reason I didn't really comment on fics very often wasn't because I didn't think that the authors deserved feedback, it was more that I didn't really think that it would matter. That my comments would just be noted - if read at all - and brushed aside and then they would continue on about their day.

I could not have possible been more wrong. You might think you're just one person and it's just one comment but it's amazing how it can turn a day (or week, or month) around. How it can encourage someone to finish a story, or make a connection they'd been struggling with, or even just manage to add 500 words to a WIP. It is truly incredible to hear that someone loved something I wrote, and if you've ever commented on or reblogged one of my fics, please know that it truly means the world to me.

I've gone through a rough time with all of this lately myself, but I'm doing a bit better now (for the moment), so I just wanted to say this, in part to remind myself when it inevitably gets hard again:

If you're reading this, whether you're a friend or you've never seen me on your dash and never will again: I'm sorry it hurts right now. I'm sorry you feel discouraged and lonely, that it doesn't feel like it's worth it anymore, that you're struggling to find a reason to continue.

But I desperately hope that you keep writing. I hope you keep sharing. You're worth it. I know it's hard, and if you don't want to and you're just tired of the cycle of giving so much of yourself and getting so little in return, I understand that, too. It's ok to be in your feelings about it, it's ok to feel drained by it, and even though knowing you're not alone in your experience doesn't change anything and it still sucks, it's normal and valid and there's nothing wrong with you feeling the way that you do.

But I hope that you are able to find the joy in it again, because you deserve it. ❤️

[wakeup01]

From Behind

(A horror themed butt growth story.)

Why do you keep doing this to yourself? It’s like you set yourself up for disaster. You are travelling home alone from a rather productive session at the gym. That is the good news, the bad news is you have just entered what is known as a run down area of town affectionately referred to as ‘The Crack’, everyone tends to avoid it if possible. There have been recent reports of missing people in the area too, but no one is very surprised, or seems to care. But today you were in a rush and despite your reservations, this was the quickest route back. At least, in theory.

Passing down a street of derelict warehouses you notice a side passage that appeared to lead down an alleyway. That was odd. You’ve been down here before, but had never noticed this back-alley before. Paths don’t tend to spring up out of thin air. You try and calculate where it should lead and come to the conclusion that it would let you save some time, maybe? Look, it’s extremely unlikely anything bad could happen within the minute it would take to make it through to the other side. Yes, that is what everyone says before things go horribly wrong but that was absolutely, definitely not going to happen here.

You step into a puddle that splashes an unidentifiable liquid up your bare leg. Mental note: never wear shorts in ‘The Crack’ again. Trash was piled up high on either side, it was obvious these buildings didn’t get a huge amount of use anymore. You always thought horror movies had done a real disservice to alleyways, but this one certainly wouldn’t be changing anyones mind. In the distance you see the silhouette of someone standing in the middle of the alley. From their stature it seems to be man, but something about them throws you off. You feel a pang of trepidation, a chill runs down your back. It’s only just occurred to you how deafly quiet the passage is, the sounds of the street feel like miles away. You turn around and the uneven pavement seems to impossibly stretch away from your feet. You hear a dull droning, fizzling just within your hearing range. Looking back and the man appears closer than before, you swear he hasn’t moved and yet…

“Uh hello?” You call out, to no response. Strange. But then, you see it. The most beautiful sight your eyes have been graced with. His butt.

Butt.

His grey joggers are having a hard time trying to contain what he’s packing, not that you’re complaining. It’s bigger than what you thought possible, it’s captivating. And now you’re just staring. Staring at another dudes gigantic butt in the middle of an alley, try not to overthink it. You see it jiggle just slightly and your eyes follow it’s repetitive movement hypnotically. What doesn’t occur to you is how your body is starting to….adjust. There’s a barely perceptible malicious force entering your form, you welcomed it in the second you laid eyes on the perfectly sculpted ass. Not a wholly bad trade off.

It wastes no time in making itself at home. Assessing the prey that wandered into it’s lair, before going to work on you.

The energy is gathering in your nethers, passing down your head and pulling through your torso. It seems to be taking something with it as your rear begins to heat up. You feel a light throb. It starts slow but soon increases in intensity. Your modest stature is being ‘enhanced’, your average ass cheeks piling on pounds as the rest of your body flattens out. Muscle and tissue is consumed, just food to bolster your hindquarters. All your body fat melts away until you have a tight slim chest. Your arms thinning out into effeminate twigs, hands slender. And through it all you continue to watch the rotund cheeks in front of you, not daring to take your eyes off them. Wouldn’t it be nice to have that too? Any sacrifice would be worth it, no? You want that, that -

Butt.

The thin polyester fabric of your shorts is pulled taut across your enlarging rear. Straining as it struggles to cage the hungry beast within it’s confines. Today was perhaps not the best day to decide on going without underwear. But lets be honest, underwear isn’t going to have much prominence in your future.

With your body adequately slimmed down, the insatiable parasitic-like force begins to target any identifying features you have left. It focuses on your head, a couple of twitches and it’s done. Nose itches, eyes water. It leaves your face with an uncanny quality, like it was unsettlingly sent though a algorithmic generator. It’s you, but an eerie idealised version of you. Plasticised perfection. Your skin is now unnaturally even, without a single speck or blemish. Anything that could distract from your main asset is smoothed clean. Absorbed by the mound of flesh expanding in your pants. There’s only one thing people should be paying attention to. That’s quickly becoming less of an issue. The inevitable missing poster they put up will only vaguely resemble you.

“Guh.” You hear yourself pant.

The low droning of the alleyway grows more prominent, pulsing rhythmically, akin to the low bass of a dance track. Your buttocks instinctually vibrate to the beat.

It’s increasingly hard to ignore the obvious changes happening to you. Your rotund behind is becoming so heavy. And while, yes, it is slightly concerning - can the issue wait just a little bit longer? You’ll deal with it later, after fully grasping the scope of this dude’s bountiful booty. For a second you wonder what the mans face looks like but then you think better of it. His face isn’t important, in the same way that yours isn’t.

You shift your feet apart, trying to balance out your rear heavy centre of gravity. The slight movement sends your round cheeks wobbling comically like a bowl of jelly. They bounce together, creating a wet slapping sound in your tight shorts. Your lower half is at risk of putting fuck toys out of business.

You’ve never had the word ‘butt’ enter your mind with such frequency in your entire life, it begins to loose all meaning. A collection of random letters.

Butt.

Are you perhaps forgetting something? That 4 letter word isn’t about to share a space with that bump between your legs. At some point you may have believed your cock was of some importance. All those times it had made you feel good, where for a second your concerns would fade from view. But things change. You are changing. Sometimes you have no choice but to embrace it. You start to feel a light tugging at your crotch. It’s slightly uncomfortable but there’s a pleasant tingle too. You reach down and feel it’s length diminish within your hand, sucked up like a vacuum by your ever thickening arse. It doesn’t stop until a mere nub protrudes from your groin. It dribbles the smallest amount of pre down your leg and spreads across the cracked concrete of the alley. No amount of stimulation is going to produce much down there. Your pleasure centre realigns a little further back. A deep itch that requires constant attention. A cock is something that other people have, you instead have an open socket for them to plug into.

Your shapely bum must almost rival that of the one your eyes are glued to. Not much further to go. Other people will stare at yours in the same way. You didn’t know you were so jealous of it but who wouldn’t want THAT?

You’re not sure how long you’ve been watching his rear end, or how long you plan to continue doing so. No better ideas come to mind right now. That might be because with your body and cock sucked dry, your brain is the next best source of fuel. So much useless power being used up there, where it can serve a much better purpose. It’s like a battery being drained, squeezed right into your juicy fat ass. Churned away just to add another inch of thickness.

You don’t think you really want this to happen, maybe you’re big enough back there? But what you want and what it wants are two very different things. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t appear to be up for debate.

If you round up all those little idiosyncrasies of your personality, you might even squeeze another few millimetres into your hips. There’s only one thing around here with much substance anymore, and it certainly isn’t your brain. You can admit it, not much of value has been lost. It’s not like you were getting around to solving world hunger. At least now you have the opportunity to solve a different kind of hunger.

Your thoughts provided a decent amount of sustenance as they were sucked out of your brain through a figurative straw. You feel the benefit push out. Your hips flaring out instantaneously while your globes inflate to the size of footballs. With your brain emptied out of anything complex, thoughts and instructions to your body start to arrive from the new master of the domain. Neurones rewired, your butt was now command central, your head was just the go between, mostly irrelevant. Simple instructions and desires like ‘bend’, ‘twerk’ and ‘facesit’ overwhelm you. But -butt- right now the main one was ‘stare’; you weren’t done yet after all.

Your cheeks moisten as they rub together, their new sensitivity firing bolts up your spine. Your shorts grow damp as the leaking fluid soaks into the polyester and clings tightly to your skin. It only helps to make your arse seem bigger, the fabric bunching up between your crack, creating a noticeable crease down the centre that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Once again you feel your ass throb and shudder, each jiggle pushing it just a little bit further from your body. Just when you think you couldn’t get any bigger back there, it keeps going, inflating to cartoonish proportions. Sticking out like a depraved shelf. Your waist thins out and your hips expand to accommodate your new form. Women would be jealous of what you’re packing, and men will be queuing up to test it’s suspension.

It’s okay to smile. Happy people smile. Aren’t you happy? You must be, everything else in your head was consumed. The entity did you a favour in that regard. Think of the words ‘bouncing booty’. Go on, give it a try.

Your lip quivers in a last ditch effort of restraint. Don’t let ‘it’ win. The defiance is vaguely amusing in a pitiful way but your face muscles start to give way. Your mouth stretches wide into a broad, earnest grin. The most sincere display of joy you’ve ever shown, who cares if it makes you look ‘dumb’? It doesn’t bother you at all that people can take one look at you and accurately guess, that not a single word of value will exit your mouth. Dumb people are happy. Why worry? You had different priorities now. You can feel safe knowing that your most prominent feature is taking the lead, that it knows what’s best for you. Give it the keys and good things are bound to happen.

See, and doesn’t smiling feel good? Doesn’t it feel right to smile as your hole is used like a cum receptacle? Or when your cheeks are surrounding a mans face? People don’t want to see their toy sad.

A lone giggle falls out between your pursed lips.

You reach back around and place your hands on your two buttocks, your palm is dwarfed in size. It no longer stretches across its surface. Like palming a basketball. You can feel it push against your fingers with immense pressure as it expands within your grasp. Just another centimetre, and another. It’s curvature widens, expanding out from your hips. You press your finger into the skin and rub. The surface is completely smooth and the texture has a slight friction to it, creating a light satisfying sqk. No one for a second will believe that it’s real, it’s obvious fake-ness is by design. Authenticity is so overrated, nothing real would bounce so tightly back to position, would shine so brightly in the light. Would be able to withstand so much pounding… People don’t actually want real, they want a fetish image come to life, they want no maintenance, no downsides. They want someone to just nod and agree while they fuck them without concern; they want a rubber butt like yours. You’re not about to question it, and neither will anyone else.

They won’t question it while they undress you, or while they find relief inside of you, or even when their own butt begins to expand. And still, when they are reduced to just another butt boy, they won’t question it.

Butt.

That’s right, you’re a carrier. You have been entrusted with a important task, to leave a string of giant asses in your wake. You need to spread it, like a computer virus. Once they ‘plug in’ there’s no going back. Whoever they were, they’ll all end up the same.

You are finished. Your glutes tighten into place. And your hole opens for frequent visitors. Stretching wide as if it had just been treated to a rigorous fuck machine session. You’re just a butt with a body attached. It’s how you view yourself, above all is tending to the needs of your ever hungry rear. The rest of your body is just a mode of transport, a means to an end. A rear end.

It feels like you’ve stood here for hours, but in reality it’s been no more than a minute. A minute was all it took for you to be repurposed as a literal butt boy. A mere sixty seconds for all your thoughts to be hollowed out; maybe you weren’t as smart as you thought, or maybe you secretly wanted this all along. Either way your head is now just a pretty picture to smile at before spinning you around.

The space in your head is about as empty as the hole between your pillowy cheeks, although only one has any hope of being filled up.

“Butt!” You hear yourself blurt out, like a child saying a naughty word. The sound echos down the dank alley.

Suddenly the butt opposite you turns away, his legs moving him towards you. A wordless instruction reaches your body to kneel and so you do, obediently. He turns back away, his beautiful ass only a few inches apart from your face. His joggers lower and his prize springs forth from it’s prison. He slowly backs his cheeks into your face until they eclipse your entire view. He continues until your head is pushed between his round globes with a blomf, encasing you, muffling the sound in your ears. There’s a mild tingle across your forehead/face.

You feel the pressure push against your sides. It makes sure your head is an appropriately vacuous vessel, squeezing out anything left. That little remnant that didn’t want to be butt brained drips away in no time, turned to drool and absorbed into the guys ass crack. This would be good for you; You needed to be made perfect, so you let the butt finish it’s work. A new set of instructions flow into you, into your ass. You feel your consciousness connect to the butt burying your face, assimilating and adding you as one of it’s own, making you part of something bigger. One of many.

The pressure on your head leaves your emptied mind subservient to the mass of tissue straining under you. It gives you a new identity.

I gave you a new identity.

BUTT BOY.

And you’re now ready for service. Butt. Boy. Ready to spread joy. To put it in the nicest way possible, you have a butt for a brain. It has been given full control, and it has one singular goal. You need to make more Butt Boys. It is that simple. It’s not a desire, it’s just something you have to do.

The cheeks spread open again and are unseated from your encased head, your broad smile still unflinching.

Something else is different though. A cold breeze brushes over your forehead. The hair on your head is nothing but a light dusting of what was there before, at most 1mm in length. It was one less thing to worry about, and one less thing to identify you with. It’s unsettling how much of your personality seemed to be stripped with it gone. The buzzed look certainly makes you appear more anonymous. Like a default custom character in a video game. Nothing made you stand out… well, aside from the obvious.

The ass in front of you is satisfied with your ‘adjustment’ and leads it’s body from the spot it once stood so patiently in. You continue to stare as the buttocks juggle erratically in the grey joggers as they leave the alleyway.

Your feet begin to move of their own volition. Movement is awkward, each step your balance is pulling you backward. You’re like a dumptruck trying to make a tight turn.

You are left in silence, aside from the clapping of your bouncy cheeks as you stumble forward to replace the previous occupant. You stand in the exact same spot, thighs pushed together, back straight. Now it is your turn to wait - like an animal for it’s prey, knowing that you cannot leave until you have passed on the gift to another man; ensuring that the cycle continues. The idea of causing someone else to go through the same process fills you with such pride.

It’s unclear how long you stand there, time in the alley doesn’t appear to operate within normal parameters. Like a crack in the world. You see your shadow projected onto a nearby wall, a straight line interrupted by an obscene vibrating speed bump. Doorframes could be your new biggest enemy.

You were desperate to see your reflection, from behind obviously. Most people take selfies of their face, the subject of your attention would be much further down.

You hear a voice echo from behind.

“Excuse me sir.”

One week later:

“Man, how much work did you have done on this, femboy? Unff. You make even my girlfriend look flat.” A towering voice booms down at you.

You’d picked up the jock in a club. He was relatively easy, it didn’t take much to end up back at his place. You stared at him with that horny, open mouthed duck face. But he wasn’t interested in what you had going on up there. It was remarkable how little men cared about how flagrantly airheaded you were once you flash your rear at them. It didn’t matter how ‘plastic’ or fake you so obviously were. The eye see’s what it wants.

He was clearly in the mood to let off steam, and one look of what you had on offer was all it took. You didn’t even need to say anything, which was good, as words were so hard to get right. For tonight, you were his; a light tap of your butt and he owned your body. A breathy ‘mhm’ confirming your obedience to him and his sizeable bulge. Your ass begins to moisten in preparation - it wanted him, in more ways than one.

He had told you his name, but you already forgot it; he soon would too. ‘Jocky’ was good enough for now.

Jocky was obnoxious in all the right ways, wearing his masculinity on his sleeve. That type made for the best, most severe adjustment.

“Love the buzzcut by the way femmy. Yeah…mhm. Very basic, it suits you.” He rubs a hand over the top of your head before running his fingers through his curly hair. It was a good thing he already liked the look.

*plap plap*

The strong man’s 7 inch cock thrusts in and out of your well used hole, pulling between your lubricated cheeks. Your buttocks squished against his member tightly, every bump rubbing across your hypersensitive skin. You were so hungry. He wasn’t the longest but he definitely had thickness on his side. You pant heavily as he has his way with you. Bent over his bed, facing away from him at a wall. He wasn’t as good at this as he thought, you would know, but it wouldn’t matter for long.

“Mmf. You’re a quiet one. Ah… I- I like that in a bottom. Makes a nice change from…hff. Always whining. Know your place. Fuck.” He continues to drunkenly rant into your ear. His deep, self-aggrandising voice quickly grating on you.

“Uuh. Take it all dumb slut.” You let him have his petty insults, it seemed to make him feel bigger, more in control. Evidently, he was obviously very self obsessed, dumb as you may be, even you could tell that much. The constant glances at his own muscles were enough of a giveaway. Eh. You’d seen better; the change will be a improvement.

He speeds up, sending shockwaves up your body and making your butt bounce enthusiastically.

“H…hey it’s real hot in here.” His voice shakes. “Umf. Maybe we should stop?” He puts his hand on your hip in an attempt to steady himself as he continues pumping you. You begin to push back into him, his dick pushing all the way in.

“Wh… what the fuck. My ass feels…mmm.” He groans loudly. You know how it feels. You can hear them rubbing together already.

His grip on your back weakens, the weight crashing into you softens. His body is like a deflating balloon, his diminishing height bringing him closer to the floor. The girth inside of you shrinks.

“Ahh. So heavy…damn. My-“

“Butt.” You tell him. A slight hint of boredom in your tone.

“Oh god, why does my head… so hard to think.” Right on cue, his smarts were being cleared out, in preparation for his ass to take over thinking duties. This part was your favourite; it wasn’t fair he had all that stuff while you felt so…blank. “Feels so good. Unnf.” It was too late for him to stop it, he’d soon be very happy. Happy, eager and ready to comply. “Shouldn’t though…” You take the lead, rocking back and forth along what’s left of his dwindling shaft. Your buttocks slap against his tightened chest.

*plap plap*

“Bouncy…hehe.” He laughs dimly. You can’t help but echo his giggle, it WAS a funny word. One of your favourites - top 5 at least, right after ‘jiggle’.

“Don’t wanna…fuck…b…but I can’t…but…but.” He stutters, like a scratched record.

“B…bu…Butt. Buuuutt.” His voice moans in realisation, mumbling the word over and over to himself. He shudders, squirting inside of you. It’s okay. It’s never enough to satisfy you.

His tiny cock slips out of your hole, dragging a small string of cum across your sensitive rear. That familiar feeling of emptiness sets back in. You get out from under him and assess your work. Turning to face him, you’re greeted by his broad smile and blank, lust-filled stare. His jockish face and body now heavily twinkified; those boorish muscles, gone. His cocky attitude, subdued. The bed creaks. You check on his oversized ass splayed beneath him, a rather drastic change from his previously flat posterior. Looking even more ridiculous with his shortened stature. The slight rubbery sheen was the cherry on top. Those plastic beach balls were made to twerk and put on a show. A vast improvement, he seems pleased by it too. His left hand is loosely fondling his new selling point.

“O…ohh.” A surprised squeak slips out from his mouth. It’s always a shock when they see where everything has gone.

You’re pretty sure he didn’t have much experience back there, if any at all. He’ll soon get the hang of it.

You know what comes next, what’s required of you - it’s instinctual at this point. You push him onto the bed and position yourself on top of him. You gradually begin to lower your huge rear over his head. You sit snugly down on his blushing face, shifting your weight a bit to get into a comfortable position. His gelled hair tickles against your skin, until it doesn’t…

He’ll make a cute Butt Boy.

[grimeclown]

My hot take is that I think it's doing a disservice to the story to reimagine chilchuck (as he is in the story) as having body hair and chin stubble so you can feel better about being horny about him. It feels like a refusal to engage with the themes. He doesn't look like that just for comic relief or to titilate for fanservice he looks like that because him being infantilized by the people around him is a major aspect of the racialized prejudice he faces on a daily basis and the source material BEGS you to consider what that feels like. To look like a child to most of the people you meet, even with as much life experience as you've had, even as a parent yourself. To have that experience disregarded because someone else arbitrarily decided you weren't really an adult until you hit a specific benchmark that they would finally respect you at. I think that if you look at chilchuck and want to be horny about him but are uncomfortable about it by default that is. A valuable thing to think about before just deciding he really does look like a supet short but fully grown human man if you look really close

[sh00kspeared]

“Johnny loves female V way more than he loves male V”

“Johnny isn’t bi; he had flings with men but truly can only fall in love with women”

“Johnny and V’s dynamic is less interesting with two men”

“Johnny and V are based off of [X classic literature dynamic], and that’s a story about a man and a woman. It could never work with two men.”

“Johnny is the poster child for a tough male archetype; it wouldn’t make sense for him to have a boyfriend.”

I don’t think people who say these things realize what they’re really doing (all of the comments above are things that I have seen more than one person say, by the way, so this isn’t a passive aggressive callout post for a one or two select people or anything).

As someone with a beloved male V x Johnny ship that I’ve spent hours pouring my heart and soul into— writing lore, doing VP, making art— imagine, guys, how it feels for me to read these comments. For others with the same ship dynamic as me to read these comments. Imagine how it would feel if I went to YOUR fem V X Johnny ship and went ‘ackchully, that could never be canon! Johnny loves men more!” Not good, right?

There are times in the past where people have written literal ESSAYS in comments sections about why my ship is bad. And I’m not gonna sugarcoat it: if you say these things to people who are just trying to share art and headcanons, I’m sorry, but you’ve got some issues to work out with yourself. If you have the time to be so worked up about Johnny holding hands with someone who has a dick that you write a long paragraph about how much better fem V is, then I’m not the problem.

And, by the way, I don’t think I’ve mentioned it till this point, but Johnny is canonically bisexual; I’m not just headcanoning here. He’s made comments about wanting to fuck men, more than once have certain devs + the official Cyberpunk Twitter account liked and reposted images of him with male V, his character was based off of David Bowie (a bisexual person), and the official game guide says that Johnny slept with Kerry and Henry. I am not criticizing people who don’t know this information, think Johnny is straight, and are politely concerned about people disrespecting his sexuality— I’ve met plenty of people who don’t know Johnny’s sexuality and nicely go, “oh, I didn’t know that!” when I tell them. No, I’m referring to the people who know this information and choose to ignore it because they don’t like the idea of Johnny being bisexual, or to the people who don’t know Johnny’s sexuality and instantly lash out at male V x Johnny ships because they assume he’s straight.

It also does a disservice to bi people in general to make so many assumptions about Johnny’s sexuality. I’ve seen people assume that Johnny is too ‘manly’ or doesn’t have enough gay mannerisms to be into men, which is very much stereotyping. It also assumes that him preferring women but still liking men means he’s still straight because he talked about sleeping with women more than sleeping with men (ever heard of the Kinsey scale)? Him having two canon girlfriends does not mean he couldn’t have had a boyfriend in the past or that he wouldn’t fall in love with a man (remember him saying he wished he’d fucked Kerry?).

If you’re uncomfortable with the idea of your female V being with a man who finds men attractive, then I’d recommend finding a different character to ship your V with.

Now, to conclude, I’m not denying that Johnny is likely female leaning, and I’m not saying you can’t think your specific female character is the most compatible match for Johnny. I am simply asking that the ship that I and many others have poured hours of our lives into be respected and treated with dignity, and that Johnny’s sexuality be treated with dignity.

[dreamgrlarchive]

Dear dream girl, I really want to be my dream girl but I don’t know where to start. I feel unmotivated most of the time and I only get a burst of motivation at like 3 am. I just what to glow and radiate good energy for myself and find/do what I like

Oh, So You Wanna Be a Dream Girl? 🎀

starting your dream girl journey

Congrats on choosing yourself and your tiara; I am so proud. Prepare to not be liked, to be judged, and to stand out. It’s lonely at the top.

*this guide is for starting the process, not reaching the end result because my version of my own dream girl is inevitably different than yours. bare in mind i’m not holding your hand. i’m nudging you in a good direction.

what is a dream girl?

a dream girl is a girl that has finally fallen in love with who she sees in the mirror. she’s the girl that she can depend on. she has her desired look and she’s on the path to self actualization actively. she’s aware of her branding. she holds herself to the standards she holds other to; and they are HIGH. her self worth isn’t contingent upon a love interest, amount of money, or social status. she’s simply that girl.

do some healing.

yes, i said it. healing. like i’ve said before, you cannot put glitter on literal garbage. that’s not even the slightest bit appealing. you’re gonna journal about your childhood, your biggest influences in life, your biggest fears and how you feel life has treated you. this calls for shadow work. shadow working really helped me figure out some of my toxic traits and how some of the things that were considered normal to me as a child have affected me in the long run. you’re also gonna write hypothetical letters to your loved (and not-so-loved) ones, including yourself. let it all out. say everything you want that person to know. around you or not, dead or alive. prepare to clam up, cry, get angry, feel anxious. good. you should. you feel clammy, hot and sometimes pain when your body is fighting off and healing from a physical sickness. now you’re dealing with the developmental, mental, and emotional parts. you’re doing yourself a disservice choosing to stay the same toxic, nasty, mean, or victimized person you’ve always been.

what do you want?

before you can start to even do the smallest improvements, you have to have a clear goal. or else you’ll just be running around in circles (heh) over grandiose blurry wishful thinking. ultimately resulting in you giving up and choosing to be basic bc it’s easier. what do you want out of life? how do you want to be treated? what do you want to do? what makes you happy? and most importantly, how do you want to feel? see, it’s more than just the frills and glitter. you have to know what you’re trying to get to, internally and externally.

grab a diary, adorn it with pretty little details and commit to it. pair it with your fav writing utensil. outline all of your goals. every single last one of them. you can categorize them, scale them from short to long term, easy to hard. it doesn’t matter. do absolutely what you want to do to make a concrete record of your goals that’s digestible for you.

what are you going to do?

*fabulosity by kimora lee simmons*

compare your dream reality to the one you’re currently experiencing. what is she doing that you aren’t? that’s it. do that. anyone can read blogs about the process and other people success stories but those posts aren’t gonna change your life unless you get up and go for what you want. i don’t know what exactly you desire out of life. you do. so you have the instructions for this journey. the first part was easy, this is simple but not nearly as effortless. it’s up to you and not anyone else. you teach others how to treat you. improvements you can make include better: hygiene, self talk/treatment, outward energy, work ethic, discipline, health, consumed content, relationships, looks, habits.

the work

it’s time to apply yourself. get up everyday and actively work towards your goal. be kind to yourself. take yourself to the doctors. get active. eat right. find your passion. DO THE HEALING.

everyone’s journey is SO different so i’m just going to do a quick rundown of the importance of each of the ten facets of your dream girl journey (that build upon each other. ie; looks do not benefit you when your hygiene is insufficient):

*these facets are loosely based on maslow’s hierarchy of needs

health - are you taking care of yourself? please treat yourself how you would your loved ones. you’ll be surprised how physical issues manifest mentally, and vice versa. get adequate sleep. take baby steps if need be. some of these adjustments may be huge to you. be gracious with your journey.

consumed content - everything you engage in is your diet. the company you keep, food you eat, music you enjoy. you get the idea. do you feel light and ready to take on the day? or do you feel drained and sick more often than not. make some adjustments wherever you see necessary.

hygiene - extremely important. stick to a routine for your hygienic needs. you should have rituals you engage in everyday. don’t forget that your health and hygiene go hand in hand. oral and feminine hygiene is so crazily important. please don’t neglect yourself. i talk about my routines in detail here.

habits - daily habits are so crucial to your lifestyle. adjust these and consciously break your bad habits by supplementing your life with equal and opposite habits.

self talk/treatment - simple. be kind to yourself. hold yourself accountable for flaws and mistakes while loving yourself enough to be patient with the journey of improving.

outward energy - be very aware of the vibes you’re permeating. again this is so a huge determination of how you will be treated and how you will live your life.

work ethic/discipline - it’s gonna take serious accountability to escape the desire to stay comfortable. you have to tell yourself that you deserve *your desired end result* so you will *make specific change/adjustment.* it’s that simple (again simple doesn’t mean easy).

relationships - if you don’t like the way you’re treated by those in your life, those relationships need to be reevaluated. you can make some trims on your circle, have some honest conversations, or adjust your behaviors (because sometimes, YOU are the problem).

passion and career - in order to feel fulfilled in life, we all need a purpose. discover yours. incorporate your passion into your daily life.

looks - develop your signature and hone in on it. looks are very important to your perception (self and public). check out this guide to help with this part. however you wanna feel is how you should display yourself.

be a dream girl!

you’ve discovered all the facets of creating your dream self and reality. now it’s time to apply what you’ve learned. start showing up in life in the fashion you want to be seen in.

that’s it! the rest is up to you!

- xoxo, dreamgrlarchive 🎀

[makabray]

okay so i know that this is something that at least a few other people have already talked about, but if i may put my own two cents in: i feel like mouthwashing as a game is a lot less narratively impactful if you treat curly as an enabler and nothing more. he is not blameless, that is for sure, but to act like he was a willing (or even enthusiastic) accomplice to jimmy's crimes is doing a disservice to both his character and the overall message the plot is trying to convey.

curly's role in the plot isn't to point out that some men will disregard the feelings of women to prioritize their male peers (though that is something that happens, don't get me wrong) as much as it is to highlight that even the best of intentions can lead to absolute ruin. curly cared about anya, he cared about the entire crew, and yet it was this same compassion that he had for jimmy in particular which inevitably lead to their downfall. i really do believe that he thought he was doing the right thing, but because of his personal attachment to jimmy and the larger forces at work (those being late-stage capitalism and rape culture), he couldn't see him for what he really is until it was too late.

it's this kind of "good-intentioned enabling" as i saw someone else put it which makes his role as one of the two player characters so significant. like everything else in the game, the choice to set part of the story from his point of view is entirely deliberate, but i think the reason for this is to encourage the player to reflect on their own place in perpetuating the things that allow this kind of shit to happen. much like curly, you too probably want to believe that kindness and good intentions are enough, but that just isn't always true. sometimes, it's those good intentions that make things so much worse before you can even realize it.

mouthwashing isn't about if curly or anyone else on that ship is a good or bad person, and it's not about if curly or even jimmy deserved their fates, it's about responsibility. it's about the difficulty of knowing what to do and when to do it, and it's about whether or not you, the player, would be able make things right.

after all, if you were told that your best friend had done something terrible, what would you have done about it? would you take responsibility? it's easy to say yes, of course, that you'd do anything. but would you really, before it's too late? and if you couldn't, would you be able to admit that to yourself? to others?

that is what mouthwashing is about.

[gatheredfates]

How To Win Friends and Influence People: Dawntrail Edition ☀️

I swear the title is a joke.

Listen, we all know I'm one to furiously and viscously encourage people to venture outside their box and meet people, and today is no different! With the launch of Dawntrail, we're likely to see a lot of cool new people in the community, so these are a couple of affirmations I employ to myself when reaching out. Feel free to use them to your benefit!

That little voice telling you the person will think you're annoying is probably a liar. In all the time I have reached out to people in this community, I have never once heard a complaint about being annoying, overbearing or too much. As long as you're not inappropriate, respect boundaries and go in with pure intentions, it is likely to be reciprocated.

If people don't want to interact with you, that is their loss. Rejection sucks, but you cannot let the fear of it rule your intentions. Don't hyper-fixate on the loss; simply block (if needed) and move on. Not only will you foster healthy relationships with people who reciprocate your efforts, you will avoid drama by respecting and enacting your own boundaries. Trust me when I say this will improve your whole experience.

You don't need to message people right away! Start by leaving nice tags on their gposes, writing, etc.; make conversation and comment on their posts. Work up to a message first if you're shy.

I don't know what kind of comment to leave, you say? Easy! Find one thing about what they've done that you like. For example, I'm often like 'wow the x colouring in this is amazing! i love how it makes the character pop'! It shows engagement with their work beyond the superficial. Trust me, when i get these kinds of tags, it makes my day.

Remember you get out of a community what you put into it. If you have a cool idea for a space/event/roleplay concept, promote it! If you think your character's story would bolster another persons', offer to write with them! Reach out to other places with similar or adjacent concepts and see if you can work together. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, so they say.

If it's within your blog's scope, reblogging other people's outreach posts/commissions/gposes/etc is a great way to engage with the community in a low-stakes way. If you need to make a sideblog for promotional stuff, do it! I prefer tags, personally, but you do you. The more approachable you look, the more people are going to contact you first.

Befriend people because you earnestly want to get to know them. "Popularity" is a farce. There are amazingly talented people who have a small group of friends because they're shy.

Eat food, drink water and take your medication before you do any of the aforementioned. Actually, just cover all those basis before you do anything. If you start dooming and glooming your efforts, have a nap (trust me, it worked for me last night!).

A couple of things to keep in mind on the other side:

You are not obligated to reciprocate someone's efforts.

"No." Is a full sentence. It's always preferable to be kind, but know your worth.

If that shit don't stick, hit da bricks!! You can leave!!

Always try to assume the best intentions of people.

Tools of moderation are not drama-mongering or nasty; they simply tailor your experience to what you want to see/experience. You don't need to justify your reasonings, you don't need to explain yourself to anyone; block and move on!! You don't need to make a big deal about it.

If anyone has anything else they want to add, please do! But this how I operate and it's never done me a disservice. ✨

[thesmutsideblog]

Never Ever? - Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After a you and your long term ex breakup, some truths about your sex life come to light at the BAU and the idea that you've never had an orgasm, does not fly with Spencer Reid.

Reader is AFAB, and the story is using she/her pronouns, mostly because this one is really self indulgent and loosely based on me being pissed off about my ex.

Content warnings: dumbification of Spencer Reid, simp Spencer, shitty ex boyfriend, self indulgent writing, no beta or proof reading, cursing, smut, sexual worship, porn with plot I guess.

I have never written in second person before so I can only apologise for the shit quality of this, I havent written smut since 2018 and it's unedited, there is going to be spelling issues it's the dyslexia I'm sorry xx

GIF by comeandjointhebigboys

Spencer is doing everything in his power to look like he is minding his business, mostly because he really is trying to not eavesdrop. He came over to make a cup of coffee because he got barely any sleep last night and he wants to keep focused. But with no case directly at hand, there was something else the team were paying attention to and it was impossible for Spencer to completely ignore it.

"So he just, broke up with you?" Emily asks, dumbfounded.

"Over the phone," you say tilting your mug towards yourself, choosing to stare down at the small remainder of your coffee rather than to make eye contact with your team members.

"What an asshole," JJ says, lacing her arms together, until she looks like a disapproving mother. "Did he say why?"

"He said, we were going different places, and it would be a disservice to the time we spent together to pretend to be happy and keep lying to eachother," you say, sighing and putting the mug down, choosing to accept this caring interrogation about your breakup as your fate for the next twenty minutes.

"He used those words?" Emily asks, still trying to grapple the concept that your boyfriend, who she had met on a few occasions and had some thoughts she kept to herself about, had broken up with you.

"He used those words but what he really meant was 'I want to start sleeping with my twenty year old coworker and you spend too much time at work, so I'm ending things,' but he won't have the decency to admit that, despite the fact he was sleeping with her before the week was out," you roll your eyes as Emily and JJ continue to voice their disgust, loudly across the bullpen. You catch Spencer's eye for a moment and give him a small sad smile across the room, he nods and then looks away.

The guilt is eating Spencer alive. It's not like he actually had anything to do with the end of your relationship, he actively kept himself far away from it and even discussing it with you as possible. But the facts still remained the same, he likes you. He has liked you since your first day at the BAU and his feelings have never faltered. But you have always been in that relationship since long before he met you, and he knew that he didn't stand a chance, and he wouldn't want to mess around with that anyway. But he was unable to disagree with Prentiss, his own feelings for you aside, the simple fact of the matter was you have always been well out of your exes league. You are beautiful, and intelligent and charismatic, and your ex thought he was those things but more often than not fell short.

It's not like he even wished that your relationship would end and could blame it on the unlikely event of magical intervention. But the sheer fact that he was undeniably happier that you were no longer dating a man you were once very much in love with, that was enough to have him feeling guilty. Which is one of the many reasons he is really trying to not get involved in this conversation. One of the many reasons he is trying to keep a distance.

"How long were you two together again, like three years?" JJ asks. You shake your head.

"High school sweethearts," you correct her, "it's been a lot longer than three years."

"And he broke up with you over the phone, for a co-worker?" Emily emphasis each word in the sentence as she slowly sounds them out.

"He denies the last part but, yes," you nod.

"What are you beautiful ladies being so loud about?" Derek asks, approaching the three of you with some files in hand.

"The fact that men never fail to both disappoint and astound me," Emily states looking up at Derek from her seat, "no offence."

"None taken, but a little context wouldn't go a miss," he says looking at each of you in turn.

"My ex is a pig," you explain as nonchalantly as you can manage. You're trying really hard to be very collected about this. You've had a few days to process the breakup and you knew it was coming, even if you won't admit that to yourself. But being broken up with hurts, whether you see it coming or not. He was the only person you ever really dated, and having spent so much of your life with him this was a big adjustment. But deep down you weren't exactly mad about the situation, as much as it made you feel a lot better to complain about it. Things had not been right between the two of you for quite some time, and you find yourself almost relieved that it's over. But that still gave him no right to be as much of an asshole about it all as he has been.

"So he is the only guy you've ever really dated then, huh?" Emily asks. You give her a look as the thought crosses through her mind. "Wait, does that mean?"

"We started dating when we were barely more than kids Emily," you defend.

"So it's just been that guy, that guy?" Emily is struggling to be even the smallest part composed. "What is wrong with men?"

"You need some strange," Derek says casually.

"Morgan," JJ scolds him but Emily is slowly nodding her head. "Emily..."

"Best way to get over someone," Emily points out.

"Wow, I am not getting under anyone," you state, holding up your hands.

"Look, I understand the appeal of someone you've been with for a long time, they know you, they know what you like," Derek leans back on the table, "so new is risky, and some people really don't have a clue what they're doing I'll admit," he chuckles, "but trust me the longer you leave it-" Derek knows he isn't crossing a boundary, you and him have had plenty of conversations, but as soon as you give him the look to stop talking, he stops.

"I appreciate your concern but sex, is really not at the top of my priority list," you say.

"Please don't let a guy like that ruin it for you," Emily is staring up at the ceiling all types of distressed at the idea of your ex and his general existence.

"I don't think you need to worry about him ruining anything for me, more like just wasting my time," you say before realising that may be revealing too much. All three of them look at you instantly. "Do not read into that."

"Disinterest," Emily states looking you up and down. "And no immediate desire to release that usually comes with a breakup."

"We're not really doing this, are we?" JJ asks looking between the two profilers concerned.

"She's been distant the last few months, talking less and less about him, so the breakup wasn't unexpected, which means the sexlife probably wasn't up to scratch at the time," Derek adds.

"Oh you guys are doing this," JJ gives you an apologetic look as they start rattling off assumptions.

You try your best to ignore them until Derek says something which does tiptoe over the line- by a mile. "Pretty boy, what are the statistics on post breakup sex?" He is half joking but it pulls Spencer directly into a conversation he had been trying to avoid.

Spencer knows the answer, and that's obvious, but answering will only encourage them to get him involved in the conversation. But not answering is suspicious and could cause worse problems. He pushes his thumb into the centre of his palm as he speaks. "27% of adults report having sex with an ex within a two-year period," Spencer states knowing that's not what Derek meant but hoping he could get away with it.

"No, I mean rebound sex," Derek corrects.

"Studies show that thirty-five percent of those who are broken up with have sex to get over their ex, and twenty-five percent as a form of revenge," Spencer says giving in and stepping closer to the group.

"Look sixty five percent of rebound relationships fail within six months," you say. That's a safe thing to say you believe, as you know the team would likely assign that research as an attempt to make an educated guess how long the fling with the coworker would last. But Spencer knows better. He cannot help but wonder if that's what has been making you act differently the last few months. If you saw the end in sight and wondered what that means for you when it's over.

"You're not looking for a relationship though, you're just looking for some fun," JJ points out.

"You do remember how to have fun, don't you beautiful," Derek asks giving you a wink.

"Yeah," you say brushing him off.

"Do you?" Derek asks, unconvinced.

"I told you, I'm not interested in going out and getting laid, it's not worth the energy," you say.

"When was the last time you had an orgasm?" Emily asks. Spencer chokes on his coffee.

"Emily!" JJ chastises her.

"Someone had to ask," Emily says.

"No one had to," you tell her.

"Come on, six months?" Emily asks. "A year?"

"Emily," JJ warns.

"Shit..." Derek whispers and you feel his gaze on you intensifying. He has you all figured out.

"What?" Spencer asks, not meaning to.

Derek is keeping his eyes on you and you cannot meet his eye. "Tell me I'm wrong pretty girl," Derek says, wanting himself to be wrong.

"I... I don't know... You're a profiler, how am I supposed to lie to you?" You huff.

"Are you kidding me?" Derek asks.

"Derek you're not helping," you state.

"Sorry," he says, "I just don't understand how that can be the case."

"You said it yourself, some people really don't have a clue what they're doing," you say.

"So you've never?" Emily asks cottoning on.

"Can we please stop talking about this," you say.

Spencer's brain is ticking over trying to read between the lines and when it clicks he is struck with a similar dumbfounding as Morgan. How? How?

He cannot help but have one clear thought scrambling around his brain at a million miles per hour. If he had ever had the chance, he wouldn't have wanted anything more than to make sure you felt good. To know he had made you feel good.

How inconsiderate could your ex be? How little attention must he have been playing to not even notice that you were not getting what he was out of it? How had he never cared to make that better?

And why did you not feel cheated by that fact?

"I'm not eavesdropping," Garcia defends bringing Spencer out of his head and back into the room.

"Okay why don't we just fax everyone the stats on my sex life," you groan, resting your head in your hands.

"I'm just saying," Garcia tries.

"I appreciate all of the unnecessary concern," you say, "but my sex life isn't a BAU case." Emily smiles as she goes to speak but you catch her thought right before she opens her mouth. "And it's no ones problem to solve either."

"It's a little tragic," JJ confesses.

"JJ," you're surprised, JJ is normally the one you can count on to get the others back on track but she just shrugs.

"Let's leave it be, Garcia do we have a case," Spencer is talking with his hands even more than normal and you cannot help but notice. He is trying to come to your rescue and you appreciate that. You appreciate everything Spencer does.

"Maybe," Garcia explains, waving her tablet at the group. "Hotch wants us in the conference room, five minutes ago."

You're quick to get out of your seat and away from the grilling you are receiving from the team and everyone else is quick behind you. Hotch and Rossi are at the desk when you all enter.

Hotch frowns. "You took a while," he notes.

"Discussing the breakup?" Rossi asks, looking you up and down.

"I dont even want to know what has given that away," you admit taking a seat. Hotch nods a half apology which you silently shrug off in return.

You were trying your best to pay attention, giving Hotch the respect he deserves, but the case he was talking about didnt feel like it required the BAU's involvement and Emily is quick to voice that opinion. You managed to register a few words about consulting and favours, but nothing is really sinking in, not when you can feel Spencer's gaze on you as hot as a fever.

You raise your eyes to meet his and they dart away. You think back, and it occurs to you that maybe conversations about your sex life or anyone of the teams sex lives for that matter wasnt exactly what Spencer signed up for. You feel a little guilty, knowing you kind of indulged the others and let him get pulled into the conversation even if that wasnt your intention.

You catch him looking at you again but he doesnt see you looking back, it's like he is trapped in a thought, and in this moment you've never seen Spencer look so without a clue.

"Reid?" Hotch asks, repeating the question.

Spencer looks to Hotch, and he buffers. You know he knows the answer to the question, you know he always knows, but his brain seems to have frozen up on him. "I... sorry what?"

"This is statistics kid," Derek says, "are you sick or something?"

Emily gently pokes Spencers shoulder. "Maybe he is getting a software update," she jokes.

You lean forward and give Hotch the answer he is looking for, remembering from a conversation you and Spencer had a few weeks back about Ohio. Hotch gives a side eye to Rossi before continuing.

You look back at Spencer and he is watching you again, you offer him a small smile and he returns it. You've always been better at reading Spencer than most members of the team but you don't recognize this behaviour at all.

"Are you okay?" You ask him as you both make your way down the steps of the BAU.

"Of course, why do you ask?"

"You blanked back there, Spence, pretty hard," you say as gently as you can, "I havent seen you like that since..."

"Since when?" Spencer looks curious, and softer somehow.

"Since we worked that case in Illinois, with the models, you took one look at that girl Annie Grant was it, and your IQ dropped like a hundred points," you laugh gently.

"She was pretty," Spencer confesses.

"I think Morgan got her number," you recall.

"He did," Spencer agrees.

"So, what is it? Because it's not a pretty girl in lounge wear," you say.

"You dont know that for sure," you can tell he is trying to joke around the subject, and normally youd find that cute. Cute in the kind of way you havent been able to admit to yourself before. Because having a crush on a coworker is not convenient at the best of times.

"Okay, Dr Reid, keep your secrets," you give him gentle shove and his smile is disarming, soft and so happy to just be involved. "Got any fun evening plans?"

"There's this new study into cognitive dissonance in specific trauma patterns I have been meaning to read," he offers. You bite back a chuckle.

"You've got a date with science," you nod to yourself, "of course you do."

He looks around, thinking for a moment. "Are you going to walk?" He asks.

"I usually do," you admit, "it's only a few blocks after all."

"Can I," he pauses, "can I walk you?"

"You want to walk me home?" You ask, a little suprised at the offer.

"If that's okay, the study can wait," he says. There is a look in his eyes you can't quite pinpoint, somewhere between pleading and hopeful. You nod.

"I'd love that Spence."

The distance to your apartment door had never felt so short, and you hadn't realised until now quite how much you enjoyed the moments when you were with Spencer, and no one else was watching. Maybe because he paid less attention to making sure no one noticed him watching you, and he just keeps watching.

Spencer looks at his feet as you fumble with your keys, he has no idea what he is doing. He didn't think any of this through, he just kept thinking about you, and what you deserved and what you should've always been given and now he is stood at the doorstep of your place with no plan, no idea of what compelled him to think any of this was a good idea and no idea of what to do next.

You smile at him, and bite your lower lip just a small bit, the look is so demure that Spencer wonders if he imagined the entire conversation in the bullpen, wondering if maybe he was really so wrapped up in these months of conflicted feelings for you that he managed to lapse from reality so badly that he got himself here.

"Do you want to come in for coffee?" You offer and his heart damn near stops in his chest.

"Coffee is never coffee kid," Derek's voice rings in his head. "It's an invitation."

"Got decaf?" Spencer asks, and you laugh.

"Like anyone who works at the BAU knows what decaf is," you open the door wide and walk through. "You coming?"

He doesn't answer but follows you, closing the door behind him. Your apartment isn't a mess but it's clear things have been moved around since your breakup, there is clear empty spaces where things once collected dust, like so many things once filled a place and vanished. You weren't dwelling on the relationship, because there wasn't a point. You had loved and you had lost, and you knew it went like that sometimes.

"You better not be profiling me Dr Reid," you quip as you catch him looking around.

"I wouldn't dare," he says.

"So, are you going to explain why you're being so sheepish?" You ask, reaching for a mug, to actually make coffee.

"I'm being sheepish?" he asks. He had hoped he was hiding it better.

"Nervous at the very least," you say putting the kettle on. He says nothing and you sigh. "Did we make you uncomfortable earlier?"

"What?" Spencer asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Talking about my ex," you offer up. "I know that sort of gossip isn't exactly for everyone-,"

"No," he is quick to defend, "that's not what's bothering me."

You smirk and he sees the trap you laid for him that he walked right into. "So something is bothering you pretty boy," Morgan's nickname for him falls from your lips and it sounds so different. It burns every nerve ending, each fibre of his being and he forgets how to speak for a moment too long. "Spence?"

"I," he brings himself back.

"I don't mean to pry, you don't have to tell me anything," you explain quickly.

"How was your ex such an idiot?" he asks outright. You laugh, it's short and shallow because you're not expecting anything close to that from Spencer.

"What?" It's your turn to feel dumb now as you spiral trying to process what Spencer is suggesting. That the conversation had gotten to him, but not in the way you'd thought. His problem hadn't been with the topic but the content, the confession. The kettle brings itself to a boil but you're interest is elsewhere now.

"I don't mean to speak out of place here, but if I were him there are so many things I would've done differently," he fidgets with his tie but doesn't stop. This confession is coming out now or not at all and he wants it finished. He needs it finished. He does not want blurred lines. Not between the two of you. "Not even touching the subject of how your relationship ended. I wouldn't have left you in the rain last October, I wouldn't have held all the things I knew about you when we met as reasons to run years after I agreed to love you regardless. I wouldn't have let you go to work angry all those times. I wouldn't have lied about plans. I wouldn't have let you go to sleep sad or angry, and be gone in the morning. I wouldn't have left you wanting, for anything. Because if I was him I would understand what a beautiful rarity it is to find someone who does what you do, with your compassion and determination and dedication and is still kind, still hopeful, even when things are dark. There are not a lot of things I don't know much about, and maybe relationships, and romance and sex are in that limited list, and maybe he would argue that hypotheticals hold no ground when your experience is as limited as mine, but I frankly don't care what his opinion would be. Because he didn't see you for what you are and that means his thoughts are of no value to me. I don't tell you this because I am expecting you to say anything, it's just burning me up that you weren't treated, hell worshiped, in the way you deserved and I had to tell you that I can't think of anything more wrong." He steps back and you're still catching your breath. "I, I am sorry I shouldn't have... I will see you at work."

He turns and strides to the door, and your breath heaves in and out of your chest and you wonder if you can find your voice before his hand finds purchase on your doors lock. "Spencer," you breathe out. He pauses, hand hovering over the door handle.

"Yes?" his voice is so quiet, and he doesn't turn to look at you.

"Please don't leave," the request falls from your lips and Spencer has never felt more of a need to do something than to do anything you ask of him in this moment. But his doubt still hangs gently in the space between the two of you.

"What?" he asks again, searching in the word to find something to hold onto, looking for some guidance or instructions he missed. He didn't have a plan, and he doesn't know what to do with this.

"Please," you say again, voice sturdier now as you start to close the distance between the two of you, "Spence," his breath hitches as you place a hand gently on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn back to you, and he does, "don't leave."

His eyes stare into yours and you swear you feel all the months of unsaid things, of quiet wanting, of stolen thoughts in weak moments, bursting at the seams. You had told yourself in another world, another life time, had you met Spencer Reid and the timing had been different, if you had been different, he would've been everything. You told yourself from that first day that those brown eyes may plead into you with every moment you meet them but it was never going to be the right time.

His eyes stare into yours and he feels the weight of all the things he long tired to bury, crawling their way up from the depths and pushing against his skin, desperate to get out. Desperate to be known. Desperate to correct the wrongs and do right by you. Desperate.

His hand hovers touch's length away, scared to close the distance, scared to make the move, to change everything. You both know in this moment, that all it takes is one touch and you're going over the cliff.

This is a road you do not turn back from.

You whisper one last time, like a prayer, "Spence," and in a blink gravity turns back on, and everything blooms in bright technicolour.

It unfolds in a rush, his hand to your waist, pulling you that much closer, both of your hands gripping to the fabric of his shirt as he pulls you up to him, other hand moving gently under your chin to guide the tilt of your head. His lips crash onto yours and there's a hunger you've never seen in him, and a hunger you've never known inside yourself.

There's a gentleness, a caution in his desperation, in his need, one that you don't have in your own. He keeps kissing you and you back up, footing not very careful as you tighten your grip on his shirt. Your back finds support against the edge of your counter and you find yourself letting on of the hands slip from the fabric of his button down to tug at his tie, to keep him closer at first, and then in an attempt to remove it entirely.

He pulls back for a moment, not to catch breath as either of you would be happy to drown in this moment, but his eyes are scanning you, like he is looking for something else, something missing.

You pause, slowly tugging the tie from his collar and letting it fall to your floor. "Spencer?" you ask.

He looks lost as he breathes in. "I don't know what I am doing," he says.

"You're doing great is what you're doing," you say, not looking away.

"Is this okay?" he finally asks. Your heart starts running away from you as you try to remember to breathe.

"This is more than okay," you assure him, "please Spencer, don't stop kissing me."

That's all he needs to hear and his lips are back on yours and the kisses are feverish and starved and he presses his hands into your hips and the gentle moan that leaves your lips sends Spencer's mind spinning.

He pulls his lips from yours and starts kissing a trail down to your neck, you lean more into the support of the counter top and let a hand find it's way into a tangle of his brown hair.

His tongue against your skin, the gentle brush of teeth on that spot that makes the sound from before seem like a draft of a masterpiece. Spencer knows that now he has heard you, voice like honey, moan trembling from your lips, nails dug into his scalp gently tugging on his hair, barely able to keep your eyes open yet again your breathing steady, no sound will ever compare.

In the the times he had let himself think about you, imagine all the things, let his fantasies and dreams run away with him, he had never come close to this moment. How your fingers shake as you start to unbutton his shirt, needing to do something, needing something.

Needing him.

And you can feel his need in return, in the way he holds onto you, on the way he is listening to your body, hearing every response, feeling every movement, determined to do this right.

He feels the way you press your tights together, tight against the counter, the need for something more radiating off of you, and you don't give time for the doubt to creep in. "We should," you breathe out as you feel the blood rushing through you, knowing that there will be marks from where he is kissing you that you won't be able to hide tomorrow, not that you want to, "move this to the bedroom."

"Is now a bad time to point out that I have mostly just a conceptual understanding of what we are about to do?" Spencer asks between kisses.

"I think you're worrying too much, because if you're basing this on theory," you take his hand leading him towards your room, "so far you're giving nothing but hard evidence."

You let your own innuendo slide as you both fall back onto your bed, he looks down as he leans over you, and there's a softness, a patience in this moment, as he needs to soak it all in.

You reach up and continue to undo the buttons on his shirt until they are completely undone, and he watches you as you do, you give the fabric a gentle tug and he catches on, slipping the rest of the shirt and the jacket off and letting it fall back somewhere out of mind. You trace a hand gently up his arm and he leans down to kiss you again, your lips, your jaw, your neck.

He runs a thumb over the deep red mark he has left and you feel the fever rising again. You need out of these clothes, you need more.

You start to undo your own shirt buttons and as each button comes undone Spencer follows the trail of exposed skin and leaves hot kisses on each new place.

You can feel the hard outline of his cock against your thigh as you reach to unzip the side of your skirt. The nervousness is still fluttering in Spencer's face as he helps you slip out of it. His fingertips brushing over exposed skin, his hand creeping up the inside of your thigh and you buck up gently at the touch.

His lips trace kisses up your torso to your chest and like this, each kiss so intoxicating, each touch so electrifying, his hand inching further and further up your thigh, as his lips dance over the skin around the fabric of your bra there is nothing he could ask of you that you would not do.

Sex may never have been perfect before, but you'd always thought it was at least decent, passing, respectable. But this build up with Spencer, his hands on your skin, his lips leaving evidence on your body that he has been here, this was more than you'd ever felt. And he hadn't even really touched you yet.

You reach to undo his trousers, eager to get him in less clothing but he pulls back, out of your reach. "Not yet," he whispers against your skin, "you start doing that and this will be over way too soon." He brings his lips to yours again, stealing a deep kiss as he unclasps your bra. "And this is about you, all about you," he is mumbling again, almost incoherent against you. He is determined, his mind is focused on you and your pleasure and what you deserve.

You don't think you've ever wanted anything as much as you want this.

His thumb brushes against the your clothed skin, and sparks shoot through your body, nails digging into his shoulder as you gasp at the contact.

He nudges closer, his forehead pressed to yours, and you look at him. Spencer, your colleague, your friend. Spencer who never forgets your coffee order. Spencer who stayed all night to help with paperwork because you lost a bet. Spencer who has accompanied you to every movie you've ever asked him to. Spencer who bought an extra ticket to every convention just in case you would want to come.

"Please," you plead, like you need to, as if it was possible that he wouldn't do anything for you in this moment. As if you even needed to ask.

He kisses you, pulling you up and towards him, breathing you in as his hand finds its way between the elastic of your underwear and your skin.

Your nerves are as quick to respond to his touch as fire to a accelerant. Every movement makes you wonder if Spencer was given some map of your body that you didn't know existed, a guide to movement and pressure and timing that couldn't be more perfect.

You are nodding at his movements, keening at every increase of pace, every finger curl, every swipe of his thumb. Your body shuddering in anticipation and a pleasure you never knew courses through you.

Spencer is leaving compliments with every kiss across your body, so eager to please, so desperate to worship. When he hits the spot, your body gives you away at alarming speed, you buck, moving your arms to prop yourself up on elbows, leaning into him, into the movements, rutting against him. "Fuck," you manage in the haze.

Spencer responds to this approval with dedication and vigour and then you feel it, that hot white coil of pleasure pulling at you, like a tight chord. "Shit," you start breathing heavier, faster, "shit, shit."

"You're so incredibly beautiful," you hear Spencer whisper. You can't keep your eyes open as your knees begin to shake.

"Spencer," you whimper, not for any reason but to say his name. The need to say his name over and over, and over as the chord pulls tight and finally snaps.

The pleasure explodes through you, every nerve tingling, like fireworks cascading through you. You shake, riding the high through and fall back onto the bed, slumped with a laboured breath.

Spencer moves back up to be level with you, gently brushes some stray hairs from your face and he smiles down at you. "That is what it's supposed to feel like?" You ask.

If this was all he could have for the rest of his life, Spencer would be a happy man. He plants a kiss on your forehead, and that look of devotion has not left his eyes.

But he has been filled with a new sense of purpose, like he was made for this. For you.

He doesn't have time to debate internally if your ex was purely just that poor at what he did or if it feeling so easy, coming so naturally to him was something else entirely. He didn't really care which it was, maybe both. Right now all he cared about was making up for lost time, lost opportunities, all your disappointment.

He kisses you again and the force of it is more knowing, more sure, it's hot and messy and every moment it feels like you need to be closer, deeper, more entwined. The whole time he keeps his hand in your underwear, thumb running in soft, intensely accurate circles as his fingers do most of the work.

It crosses your mind that maybe it should be almost embarrassing that he is making it so easy. It should be embarrassing that Spencer barely needed any time to bring that second orgasm to precipice. It should be embarrassing that you're convinced this man could make you come by the way he kisses you alone, but you're not embarrassed. Not because you've never felt the pleasure like this before, not because you think pleasure it never something to be embarrassed about and not because after everything you deserve this. But because it's Spencer Reid, and everything with him has always felt like it is exactly as it should be, and him making you feel this way, is no exception.

He holds you in the kiss as your second orgasm pulses through you, just as intense as the first one, he feels you shake as it floods you. A moan escaping into the kiss, from your mouth to his and he groans against your lips.

He is so focused on you that he isn't paying any attention to how this is effecting him, how hard he is against you. How desperate he is for you. His need for your pleasure overtaking any need of his own.

You know if left to his own devices Spencer would stay as the two of you are, skin pressed to skin, lips on yours, trying to write years worth of wrongs in one night. But you do not want to give into exhaustion before you have let him ruin your expectations in all the ways you know.

He moves from your lips to your neck and before you can process much of his plans you feel the kisses trailing your hipbone, and with the third orgasm approaching you can see where his mind has wondered to. You lean forward, gasping in pleasure, but determined to get his attention, you place a hand on the side of his face, tilting up his chin to meet your eyes. "Wait," is all you manage to moan out before the pleasure tears into you, your head falls back and you grab a fistful of sheet, trying to keep yourself up through the pleasure.

Spencer does as you ask and waits until you manage to gather your words, eyes on you. "Please," you try. He runs his eyes over your body trying to understand your request.

You reach down, pulling once again at the edge of his trousers, fumbling to undo them, to get him out of them. You've never known Spencer to be so slow to catch on, but he is practically drunk on you.

"Oh," he manages. "Oh."

Before he can start to explain all the reasons he doesn't think that's important right now you look up at him with those eyes so pleading. "Please," you whisper again.

And he is putty in your hand, happy to do anything you ask of him, he nods and you finish undoing his trousers and push them down, he finishes discarding them.

Now it's your fingertips against his skin and he holds his breath as you move for his boxers. "Is this okay?" you ask quietly.

"You're everything I have ever wanted," the honey leaves his lips and you kiss him, his lips focused on you as you help him out of his boxers and pull him down and close.

"I need you," you whisper. "Right now, I need you."

"I am yours," he responds.

You keep your fingers threaded in his hair, and you tug a little harder as you become overwhelmed with him. "Fuck," Spencer's voice shudders in pleasure and you understand his desperation to please you instantly, because you want nothing more than to give him everything.

Everything becomes a mixture of moans and names, lips pressed to skin, and fabric scrunched with every thrust. You kiss Spencer's neck, finding his sweet spot with a similar precision to which he found yours. Leaving a collection of marks on his neck before her buries his face into yours, repeating your name over and over, becoming more and more wanting. His neediness matching your own and as he digs his fingers into your hips that now familiar feeling starts to rush you.

"Spencer, I am going to cum again," you whisper. Spencer cannot form words, he just keeps kissing, sucking, digging at your skin, even now he isn't close enough to you. "Fuck!" You scream out and the pleasure of your orgasm is almost too much for Spencer.

"Fuck, I," Spencer's brain is doing flips trying to figure out what to do, what he is supposed to do. "I am going to."

"Please," you beg in his ear.

"I should, I haven't," he is trying to piece the words together but they're not coming. You know what is trying to say, what is cannot find the words to ask.

"Please stay with me," you say, nudging his nose with your own, "please."

Your gentle request is his breaking point and he crashes his lips back onto yours as his own orgasm comes to fruition.

He collapses down next to you, both catching your breath. "Fuck," you repeat, for what might be the millionth time, as you long lost count.

You cannot help it, you let out a little laugh and Spencer glances at you, a smile breaking out on his face. "For the record, I hadn't planned that," he says.

"For the record, I really planned on drinking my coffee."

"I can make you a coffee," Spencer offers, turning to his side.

"We should, get cleaned up first," you smile.

"Then coffee?"

"Then coffee."

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 12 (Pt 2 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 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; anger; crying + feelings of sadness; self deprecation; body changes as a result of pregnancy; talks of baby + pregnancy; jealous!reader; jealous!jake (my fav); wet jake in the shower (!!); lotssss of nakedness (!!!); oral sex f!receiving; fingering; almost p in v (like..so close...i am v sorry); pregnancy hormones of multiple variety; reader is always emotional and stubborn (love u, sweet girl); INFIDELITY; talks of cheating/wanting to cheat on (obnoxious) partner; important issues addressed over texting; joshy + elsie continue to come in clutch fr (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter 12 (Part 2) Word Count: 32.8k+ (i will just continue saying to plz blame the characters. they have a mind of their own + I simply can't control them... however, my evil mind does like to give in to their evil ways...)

a/n: i would have been doing this chapter a total disservice if i hadn't included everything i've had outlined for it... and if i didn't give in to the evil voices when they told me to keep going with my evil thoughts... hence why this chapter is now t h r e e (punch me) parts instead of two. (i need to be taken away lmao)

god, i love this chapter...... and it just gets even ~~~better~~~ in pt 3... ;) hehe

aka: methinks the teasing should come to an end for now, hm? ;) (my outline that began two years ago is helping me to stick to this rather than being mean and dragging it out any longer lol -- slowburn is my krypto)

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. <3 <3 <3 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 - you know I'd be lost w/out you :')

Also, to my friend @gretavangroupie, consider this my belated birthday gift to you, lovely <3

Please enjoy the playlist as you read (there's officially a new cover for the latter part of the story!) 🖤 (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

"[The] desire of having is the sin of covetousness."

William Shakespeare

Without any hesitation, he was stepping over the ledge of the bathtub, still fully clothed, until his boots were sloshing in the shallow puddle of water that swooshed to the drain. 

His hands found your body soon, igniting a fire under your already-heated skin. He guided you back a bit – until you were pressed against the wall furthest from the shower stream. He was getting drenched, but he’d made sure to get you out of it. He held your waist the best he could with the new addition of the baby bump, but still managed to hold you in such a way that showed you he was in charge. 

The way he held you reminded you that you were nothing more than putty in his strong hands.

Then, he was going to grant your request.

The words "Kiss me, Jake" were ringing on a loop in your head.

Leaning in to you, his grip on you, so firm, steady, sure. . . . You could see every intricate detail of his plush, pink lips as he came closer. Your heart fluttered in your chest. You were ready to feel his lips on yours. 

He was near enough for you to see the stubble coming in above his lip. By the day, he seemed to become less and less concerned about staying completely clean shaven. . . . and you were rejoicing for it.

Though, before you could study any other detail, his hands dropped from around your waist. You studied him in a panic. What was he-? His eyebrows were dipping in with doubt as he pulled away. Fuck. No no no no no please –.

“I–I can’t–,” he shook his head, now drenched from the spray of the shower. You followed his lead, pulling into yourself and away from him - the best you could - to protect yourself. And, even though you wanted to cover yourself, you couldn’t for fear of slipping. You looked away from his face, instead scanning his body as he stood before you, tense and unmoving. 

You noticed, though, that he wasn’t getting out of the shower. He’d only distanced himself. But if he was already regretting this, why wasn’t he moving? Goddammit. Your heart started to split in your chest. . . You were so confused and so vulnerable. He’d just encouraged you to open up completely for him. . . only for him to decide against this – against you.

“Do you not want me?” You asked, voice messy with unshed tears. Your line of sight landed on your own feet, refusing to look at him as your temperature spiked with aggravation. “Because, shit, Jake – I told you! I fucking told you we shouldn’t – but now you have me fucking shaking. And — goddammit! It’s not fair for you to get me to admit those things and then bail as soon as you–!”

“Y/n,” he growled your name, commanding your eyes to land on his. His stare was intense, just as it had been before he’d moved away. There was irritation flaring in his irises, though. Towards you or himself, you couldn’t tell. All that mattered to you was that he stepped closer once more, boot heel clicking. Your heart hammered in your chest. “I’m not going to fucking bail. I told you I wanted to please you and I plan on keeping my damn promise. I want to taste you, feel you so fucking badly. . . I just–,” he shook his head with a growl, messing with his wet hair a bit, pushing it from his forehead.

Your heart was pounding in your ears, your chest hot and your core clenching at nothing watching him pushing his wet hair away from his forehead. . . Drops of water, dripping down his chin. You didn’t know how to respond. In your life, you weren’t sure you’d ever felt this sexually stimulated. It had to be the baby hormones. The way you were feeling at the present moment had you wanting to crawl out of your skin and into his. Your body was on fire, a collection of electric sparks under your skin, begging to light up. You knew pregnancy hormones could make a woman feel crazy, but you hadn’t truly understood. Not until now, completely naked and ready in front of the only man you wanted. 

You were starting to feel as though you would stop at nothing to have him inside of you. Like, murder might even happen to have him, quite frankly. Anyone who might stand in your way was not safe as you continued to buzz with anticipation that wouldn’t dissipate in the dense, humid air of the shower. Doing the only thing you could do, you chose to admire what was in front of you.  His shirt was opened to the middle of his abdomen on what you knew to be a chilly December evening, daring him to catch a damn cold. 

But. . . the sight made you anything but cold–no, seeing his perfectly toned chest heaving and soaking wet. . . it made your entire body flame. You felt red-fucking-hot as you watched each and every breath – inhale, exhale. . . . in and out. . . in and out. . . His shirt was light blue, the water soaking through the material to make it nearly transparent. It gave you a glimpse at everything beneath his shirt. . . You honed in on his pecs, firm muscle underneath waiting to be gripped. You needed to put your hands on him again. You needed to feel the smooth skin of his chest–with your hands, tongue. . . anything. Needed to feel him. So, you did what your body told you to do at that moment. 

Taking one wary (and brave) step forward, you reached your hand out timidly, giving him space to stop you if he needed to. But, he didn’t stop you. When you glanced up at his face to read his reaction, he was watching your hand move, mouth agape at the action. You could finally feel his warm breath on your cheek again as you took one more step towards him. Without any more thought, you placed your delicate hand on the exposed part of his tanned chest. And, daring to feel more, you slipped your palm underneath his button-down shirt to feel the taut muscle on one side of his chest.

His breath caught at the motion. It felt like sweet relief to be touching him like this again. His chest flexed under your hand with the sharp intake of breath. Your breaths were uneven, too, not daring to breathe too harshly to scare him away. This moment felt so eerily similar to a moment so long ago – that first game night. The moment you’d been dared by the stupid ass card game to touch him. But this time–this time felt worlds different than that night at the beginning of summer. There was history now. A baby you’d made together, for God’s sake. So much more between these two people in this moment of time. And this meant you knew how to read his body. . . He wanted this. You knew he did. You knew him.

So, it was no surprise to you when he took a steady step forward, very nearly meeting the front of your body with his. You knew it was going to happen before it did; you knew that his hand would reach up to touch your chest as well. You watched his hand as he followed through on your prediction. Though, he didn’t touch your breast like you expected. No, he balanced his hand above your heart, where it beat furiously for him. Your nipples were impossibly hard, straining at how close he was. They were so tight it almost hurt. The kind of pain that could only be soothed by him.

“Jake,” you begged, his name saying everything you couldn’t say. Your thighs rubbed together of their own accord, desperate. “Please.”

And there it was. His hand immediately went to hold your swollen, sore breast. It seemed the only relief your chest could find was from his touch. You gripped his chest tighter, having to hold on to something. Your other hand, reaching forward to pull at the soaked linen of his shirt at his waist. Every movement he made on you, you traced with your eyes. Memorized every touch. Your legs continued to work at creating friction with every movement of his gentle massage on your breast. His other hand came up to hold your hip, gripping you with a sure hold. Chest heaving, your nipple, so sensitive and taut beneath his palm, your body – pleading for more. Still. You needed more. As his hand moved away from the front of your breast, he went to hold the underside of it. He held it so securely in his grip. 

You noticed how much bigger your tits looked in his hands than before the baby.  They filled his hand completely now, some of your chest even spilled out from the side of his splayed palm. Your chest was officially too big to fully fit in his strong hand. But that didn’t deter him for a second. As his fingers on your hip flexed around your smooth skin, he brought you closer to him by the sensitive flesh of your breast. A whine sprung from your chest at the added pressure to the left side and the severely tight nipple of your other tit connecting with his wet chest. He brought you closer to him, skillfully kneading your flesh in his hand like you’d needed so desperately. Relief. Sweet fucking relief. And suddenly, you were so close to him. Just close enough to feel his dick straining against your hip, in his pants. . . Fucking shit. You almost lost your balance. 

“Jake,” you were whining, outright. It was pitiful as hell. But – you couldn’t give two flying fucks. 

“I–I can’t kiss your lips,” he breathed, voice gravelly and low above you, floating directly to your ear. You finally looked up from watching his hand, waiting for him to continue. There was more he wanted to say, it was obvious. “That’s–I have to keep something that is unique and sacred to my relationship. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” It did. It made complete sense and you admired his feeble attempt at saving one thing for her. . . but, you couldn’t help that it cracked your heart the slightest bit that you weren’t able to feel his lips against yours. Fuck Maya for that one specifically, honestly. 

The tears were welling in your eyes all on their own–couldn’t stop them if you tried. Although, you couldn’t tell if they were from baby hormones or an honest result of the new crease left in your heart at him so obviously not being yours. He belonged to her – not to you. And the lack of kissing was a painful, blatant reminder of that. Kissing him had been something so normal and familiar only a few months ago, you could have kissed him any time you wanted (well, almost any time. . . but still). And . . . you’d given that up. Given him up. Desperate to feel anything from him, anything he could give you, there was only one question that lingered in your mind, weighing heavily like bricks on your tense shoulders.

“What can you do?” Your voice broke with the wetness in your throat, a tear stupidly trickled down your face. 

His grip on your breast stayed firm, his hand going to cover the expanse of it. You moaned, your eyes fluttering closed a bit at the feeling. The hand from your hip reached to wipe your cheek of a few more stray tears. “Shhh,” he hushed gently. 

Playing it off the best you could, you offered him a half-assed response. “Don’t ask me why the tears are happening –it’s–it’s the baby hormones,” you sniffed again, willing the tears to go away. 

And, thankfully, they did. Once they’d subsided, his fingers carefully trailed to the other breast, your hand still on his chest, nearly clawing at his skin with each measured press of his hands at your aching breasts. Your hand trailed up to hold his neck, around his arms on you. Your thumb smoothed at the flesh behind his ear. God, you’d missed holding him and you really loved that spot behind his ear. . . couldn’t explain it. You sniffled. Despite your sadness, your body sparking, growing goosebumps rapidly at the way he was stimulating you so deliciously. Your thighs worked hard to ease the throb between your legs. 

“How does it feel?”

“So fucking good,” you grit out, your hand gripping gently at the roots of his long hair, darkened and soaking wet from the water flowing from the showerhead. “How do you know how to–? They hurt when anyone else holds them. . . but not with you– how?”

“I was determined to find out how to make you feel good,” he replied with a hoarse chuckle before he cleared his throat. “I have been doing research,” he smirked, his eyes connecting with yours. You felt your cheeks warm. His hands began a new pattern lazily and intentionally adding pressure to the areas that needed it most. He was trying his best to give equal treatment to both of them, you could tell. 

And dammit if he wasn’t doing the most impeccable fucking job at it. You gasped at the additional pressure on both sides as he pressed up, around, and over. . . covered every inch of your chest with his skilled hands. His dark eyes found yours as soon as you’d gasped, a small, secret smile on his face. The grin you gave him in response was bashful, cheeks flaring a deep pink in the soft moment.

He continued his words as he worked his hands so intentionally against your swollen, aching chest. “I’ve been reading on how to pleasure pregnant women– what to do to make them feel better. . . since your body’s changing and shit, I know it’s gonna be a little different than before,” he explained. You observed how he seemed to study your chest intently. He was invested in the task, manipulating the supple flesh in his practiced hands. “And you told me that your tits have been sore, so I’ve been reading how to help that specifically. I didn’t think I’d actually get to try it out on you – but, here we are,” he smirked, his eyes connecting with yours once more as he raised a brow. 

Didn’t think he’d ‘get to try it out on you’. 

You blushed, continuing to watch him in awe, the way his brows furrowed, his eyes going back to his hands. You decided to follow his eyes with your own. God bless America. Truly, watching his hands at work was just as bad as surveying his features. Your nerves were on fire and you felt your muscles tighten at your center, needing his touch in a million places at once.

“And, when pregnant women have sore tits, it apparently helps to massage them and apply pressure,” he continued, informing you of his research while doing just as he said. “So, I thought I’d try that.”

He kneaded and pressed against your heavy chest. As he continued with those motions, his thumbs reached to stroke the nipples. All of it, all at once. Every single nerve ending on your body was warm and tingling. Your eyes closed in sweet ecstasy, your head unwittingly going to lay against the shower wall with one particular motion, your back arching into his hands. Your hand dropped from behind his head instead gripping the shower wall. Now you were holding on on both sides. Literally bracing yourself. Shit. It was embarrassing as fuck how pliant your body was to him and his skill. You were completely gone for this man. With another mewl, you bucked your hips in his direction. 

Goddammit. Words, y/n. Words. He’s conversing. “W-what else did you find in your research?” You gasped, opening your eyes to observe his hands move just so, his thumbs tracing the buds of your nipples as he cradled the underside of your tits. He was doing the most incredible job at keeping the heavy feeling off of you. He was literally taking the weight off of you and handling it himself. It was heaven.

You looked up to catch his eyes and saw he was still concentrating on his actions. “For sore tits or overall pleasure?” He pondered, eyebrow raising again as he glanced at you and caught your line of sight. 

“Pleasure,” you breathed, feeling his hands come to a devastating halt on your chest, smoothing over your sides before he dropped them completely. Goddammit, Jake. Don’t stop. “All of it.”

“I know that some pregnant women really like being touched and have a pretty high libido,” he paused, bringing his hands up to push his soaking wet hair back. “But I also found that other pregnant women experience the exact opposite – have an aversion to sex.” He eyed you, squinting with a knowing smirk. “I could probably guess which type you are by how much you loved that just now, but . . . I want you to tell me. High libido or low?”

“Well,” you paused, your legs suddenly feeling like Jell-o. So, not wanting to fall or some shit, when he’d successfully pushed his hair back, you reached both hands up to wrap around the base of his head, your fingers working at their own massage against his scalp. The hum that sounded from his chest, along with the searing hot look he gave you as he gazed down at you, inspired you to work more intentionally. His eyebrows raised at one point, eyes closing briefly at one particular run of your fingernails against his scalp. 

You kept on, his eyes lazily finding yours when you began speaking; he sleepily blinked his heavy lids open. “I–I haven’t really felt a high libido for anyone but you. . . I don’t think I’d want it from anyone else right now. . . So, I don’t know what that makes me. High, maybe?” You pondered aloud, wanting his opinion of your predicament. “. . .Does it count if I only truly want you?”

“Fuck. Are you serious?” You watched one hand reach between you to rub against the strain at his zipper. The other hand came to your hip, pulling you into him further, then moving down to your ass to pay attention to the muscle you’d told him was sore earlier. Your sighs filled the air, your senses overwhelmed by him. He rasped his next question, voice so low between the two of you. “You only want me?”

“Only you,” you confirmed, the honest words brushing against his face as you leaned just a bit closer with your quiet, sighed response. 

Then his face was stern, one brow raised skeptically at you as his jaw set. The muscle in his cheek flexed as his eyes burned holes through you. “What about the noises you were making with Theo?” He implored, not angry, per se. Just serious. He was genuinely wondering. “Seemed pretty into it with him, too.”

“It was fake,” you confessed, looking away from him briefly, your hands halting their movements. Suddenly embarrassed and nervous at the memory. You didn’t want to be thinking of that nimrod. Your hands fell from around his neck as you curled in on yourself in slight shame, instead interlacing to cradle the bottom of your belly. “I took too long for him. He didn’t try at all to get me there. He was shit at everything he tried.” Then, you gained just enough confidence to look back to Jake with your next words. Needed him to understand and believe you. “And he’s not you. I don’t think any other man will ever make me fall apart the way you do.”

Jake seemed to relax at that, another, tiny step towards you, sure of himself all over again. He’d just needed the reassurance, because now he was eyeing you like he fucking owned you. And you weren’t sure if he did or didn’t at this point. You were ashamed to admit that he most likely did in fact own your body. It was his. All his. Honestly, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to you and you would say thank you every damn time. His boots, still on and clicked against the tub. His confidence made your legs shake. Your fingers, wrapped at the bottom of your belly, loosening with your body. Opened up for him with ease as he got closer to you. Your eyes flicked to where you saw movement at his waist and you saw his hand find his dick again, gripping it to relieve himself however he could. Fuckfuckfuck.

“So, if I were to get on my knees right now and fuck you with my tongue. . . you’d say you have a high libido?” 

“So fucking high,” you sighed, desperate. Ready. Aching for it.

“Thank fucking God,” he growled. And with one more push of his hand against himself, he moaned under his breath, and snaked a hand around your waist to reach for your ass. Your body leaned towards him, welcoming the touch. And with one sure grip to your ass, he grasped both of your hips, holding you to him tightly, his dick pressed snugly to the juncture between your hip and belly. Your arms found his neck, wrapping around it to bring him closer. “Well, I’ve found there are countless positions to try, but I think the one I’m going to try is going to feel–.”

“The one? Don’t tell me you’re going to cut it off at all of the other shit, too,” you said, backing away from him, pushing him away a bit. Yes, you were pouting. His hands dropped from you as you let go of his neck. Your arms went to cross under your breasts. “No kissing, so what’s next? What can’t you do? You never answered that.”

He started unbuttoning his sopping wet shirt. And when it was finally completely off, he reached up to drape it across the bar of the shower head before turning a bit to angle the shower head more towards the wall than him. Your eyes tracked every. single. movement. The way his bicep rippled slightly with the stretch, the way his abdomen flexed. . . every muscle, so beautiful in its prominence beneath his soft skin. When he was back from his task and looking at you again, shirtless, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander the tan skin (how was it fair for him to be so damn tan in the winter time?). He cleared his throat, bringing your attention to his face once more. The smirk on his lips and the way his eyebrow was arched pissed you the fuck off. Was this amusing to him?

“You think it’s funny? How turned on I am and you can barely do a damned thing about it? Even though you led me to believe you could?”

“Who the fuck said I couldn’t?”

“You just said you can’t–.”

“You didn’t let me finish, y/n,” he reasoned. “I was going to say I can’t do that right now. I literally just told you I was going to tongue fuck you, babe. I want to focus on you before we get to sex.”

Before we get to sex. . . so he was planning on . . . more? Deciding to ignore that dangerous train of thought for the time being, you huffed, your arms still crossed at the top of your rounded abdomen. “Well, I’m just confused.”

“The only thing I told you I can’t do is kiss your lips,” he reminded you, his thumb coming up to briefly touch your full lips. His eyes followed his action, your lips still pursed in annoyance as you challenged him with your expression and stance. But you were wavering – quickly. Especially any time your eyes followed a drop of water from his shoulder, all the way to the waistband of his dark jeans. And every time you caught sight of the raging imprint in his jeans. . . “Y/n.”

Embarrassed and flushed, you flicked your eyes back to his face. You covered it up with indignance and frustration, your arms tightening in their position. “What, Jake?”

“I will do anything else you need,” he affirmed, taking a tentative step towards you, boots clicking against the floor of the tub. He got close once more, coming near enough that you pressed yourself against the back wall of the shower again. Your body betrayed you, your nipples once again peaking at his proximity. “And right now, I intend on doing what I’ve told you I’m going to do,” his eyes trailed to where your thighs were still pressed to relieve the persistent pulse below your belly. 

“Goddammit, Jacob,” you breathed with a roll of your eyes, arching yourself off of the wall towards him, just in time for him to meet you halfway. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly to him, your belly between you not letting you get quite as close as you used to. “Then fucking do it–please.”

He leaned forward and for a moment you thought he was going to betray his ‘one rule’. But instead, he kissed behind your ear, right where you liked to kiss him. Then, he trailed his mouth down the column of your throat. He alternated pecks and open mouthed kisses, all the way to your shoulders, collarbones. . . You sighed, completely at his mercy. When he found your left breast, he gave it the most attention. 

He licked around the sensitive nipple of your left breast, mirroring it with the right. At which, he elicited a moan that quickly progressed into a very whiny wail from you. “Fuck! Fuck, yes!” You cried, grasping his wet hair, not sure how to stop yourself if you fell – your shaking knees were bound to betray you, you could feel it. “This is so fucking wrong.”

“I. Don’t. Care,” he growled against the wet, supple skin of your breast. Every word, emphasized with a lick around your tender, hardened flesh.

Your train of thought was halted – lost all thought in your brain at him full-on kissing your nipples. He’d begun giving them kisses just like he would your mouth. Soft lips and wet tongue enveloping the entirety of the bud, tilting his head to the side to get the best angle possible. His nose nudged against your swollen breast as he continued lapping at you. He went back and forth, offering the same to both of your tits, several times over. A shaky hand reached out to tangle in his drenched hair as you tried to properly breathe. You were going to finish from this alone if it kept on much longer. You watched him in pure astonishment, his eyebrows knit in concentration. Then, as if things could get any worse (better?) he moaned – the action vibrating against your skin.

Your hips jolted up enough that they collided with his, just barely. But enough that both of you groaned in unison at the contact, his hard dick enticing you as you felt it, only a thin barrier of clothing between you. . . You felt your pussy flex at nothing, your thighs feeling the wet result of your arousal. But–you hadn’t finished yet. . . Not yet. Though, you knew you were so damn close. . .

“Don’t cum yet,” he commanded, mumbling around your nipple. Your nipples, usually so fucking sore, but feeling like they were made of sparklers, electric under his soft mouth. “‘M not done yet.”

“But– I can’t– a-ah-ah!,” you moaned, your body beginning to lose its fight to stand up straight, near to giving out. “I can’t hold on for much longer, Jake. Please. I promise I’ll cum again for you,” you swore, your fingers lacing even tighter into his long, chestnut locks. “Please, baby.”

“Not fucking yet,” he bit out, his dark eyes meeting yours from their place at your full breasts. Then, he winked, making you throb from that gesture alone. Fuck. You weren’t sure you could do as he said. 

He went back to giving your body kisses, this time trailing back up to your face, little pecks covering every expanse of skin on your flushed face. Then, with one gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, he reached a hand up to hold your cheek. His eyes held yours, open and vulnerable under his stare. So soft, he spoke to you with fervor in his tone. “I promise it’ll be better if you just wait, baby.”

Pinching your eyes shut, you laid your head against the wall in frustration. “Fine,” you griped, hands tightening in his hair. 

His mouth worked its way back down your body. He started by giving sloppy kisses to your collarbones, but ended up lowering to his knees as he continued, all the way to your hips – covering each one. Once there, his hands replaced his mouth and started kneading at the flesh at your hips. “Y/n, honey.” 

You heard the smooth velvet of his tone and couldn’t deny him your attention. Blinking your eyes open took a little more effort than you would have liked, but you couldn’t help it with how delirious you felt.

“Mm?” You hummed, your eyes fluttering a little, vision blurry until you looked down and saw his handsome face, loosely grinning, right next to the spot you wanted him most. It made butterflies fly erratically in your tummy. For all intents and purposes, it was a very tranquil, tender moment. Seeing him next to you like that again. 

His eyes said a thousand words, but you got an inside look at his mind when he spoke next. “I have been dreaming of this happening again for a long time,” he softly spoke, almost inaudible with the water behind him if your ears weren’t completely alert and opened for him. 

“Your body has always been the most exquisitely breathtaking sight. . . But it’s infinitely more beautiful now. You rival any other woman that has ever walked this planet, carrying my baby or not – but goddamn,” he sucked in a breath before leaning forward and kissing the bottom of your belly so gently, lovingly. His eyes were still tied up in yours, never leaving as he bared his heart. “If you being this goddess – this picturesque image of pregnancy isn’t haunting my every waking thought. And it’s just going to be even worse now that I’ve seen you naked like this.” One hand slid from your left hip to your ass, gripping the flesh surely in his palm, leaning forward to place one more kiss to your belly, a little wetter than the last. “Deliciously fuller – in every way that might make your body even more perfect to me.”

Before you could say anything in response to that, his mouth kept moving downward. Your eyes were watering at his words and you had to reach a hand to wipe at your eyes with a sniffle. You didn’t think you’d ever heard something so ideally timed in your life. He was fucking perfect – remedying every insecurity a pregnant woman might have. His hands did a stellar job at holding you against the wall to prevent a fall, both of his hands firmly placed, once more, on your hips where his thumbs kneaded circles into the muscle. His hold on you was strong and intent. It was fucking heaven. His thumbs moved and pressed with purpose, working the tired joints. 

“My hips– Jake, god. . . thank you,” you sighed, your eyes closing at the way your body felt weightless under his hands and mouth. 

Suddenly, his mouth was on your thighs, going back and forth between each leg until he reached your knees, stopping there. He was obviously intent on holding you upright as he knelt before you. You opened your eyes, suddenly desiring to see him again, and you watched as he gave your thighs unrelenting attention. You watched in wonder as he very slowly started to work his way to where you needed him most. And once he got there, he gave you a dark look that made your knees nearly buckle. Then, he began on you, wasting absolutely zero time. There was no warning for his mouth meeting your searing hot, wet heat. 

“Oh-oh-oh, J-Jake, f-fuck, yes!” You were nearly incoherent, but who would expect any different when you had Jake Kiszka making out with your wet and waiting pussy. You’d been aching and waiting to have this again for so fucking long. . . The slew of curse words and moans that escaped your lips were useless, as they all came out as jumbled non-words. Utterly unintelligible.

His tongue was inching closer and closer to your opening, not even daring to edge towards your clit yet. You clenched your jaw, a low mewl coming from your lips, unable to do anything but watch him. Your eyes couldn’t dare to leave the sight in front of you. He was taking his time to lap at your folds, soaked and fluttering for him. Your hips jerked forward, not able to stop the way his lips and tongue were setting you on fire near the point of retaliation. You were trembling, your body not working on its own at all to hold you up. You were dependent on his death grip, now back on your hips, steadying you. He was pressing you so hard to the wall – you just fucking hoped that he left bruises in the wake of his fingertips. Wanted—no, needed— to remember this.

He kept on with his work for a bit longer before you felt a few chillier drops of water spring from the shower head, onto your skin. Fuck no. And, of course, as if on cue, Jake backed away, wiping the corners of his mouth with the pad of his right thumb, his left hand still holding you to the wall. 

“I swear to god, Jacob Thomas, if you fucking stop because of some cold wa– oh!” 

And he was back, licking up every bit of early release at your heat. You couldn’t catch a breath to finish what you were saying as he added his fingers to the mix, twirling his pointer and middle fingers through your soaking folds, as his tongue tapped at your over sensitive bundle of nerves. And as his tongue flattened on you, his fingers simultaneously met your entrance. 

But, he stopped there. And you knew why. 

His attention was set and stuck on your comfort first and foremost. And you knew he could tell you were getting cold with the addition of the less-than tepid water. You were shivering, only in the slightest, in spite of your determination to continue — more from the cool temperature of the water (and the apartment), than his mouth and hands. But it could’ve been because of his touch. . . You willed him to not catch on and to just keep going. 

But you knew it wouldn’t work out like that. You already accepted the fact that he knew it wasn’t wholly because of his mouth that you were trembling. Your skin hadn't even grown goosebumps yet from the chill, and still his eyes caught yours in a steady trance. He raised a brow at the openly petulant look painted on your features at his pause. He cracked a smile; he could read you so damn well. You wanted to simply blame it on the connection you had to him by carrying his baby. But, his instincts of your impending reactions had always come incredibly quickly. Before the baby he’d always seen right through you, just the same. 

“Jake, please. Don’t stop,” you ridiculously whined, in spite of your chitter-chattering teeth. 

“You’re cold, y/n,” he clarified, as if you didn’t know. “Literally shaking.”

His observant tone, in true fashion, worked to piss you off. But, you were still hazy from his ongoing touch, so you closed your eyes to center yourself. 

Because, he might’ve moved his mouth, but he’d kept his fingers at your core. His fiery touch worked to warm your body the best it could. His fingers were lodged deep enough that when he went to bend them, the knuckles in the palm of his hand grazed your clit. And, the pads at the base of his two fingers nudged inside of you, just under the skin that housed the nerves. He was nestled so deep, continuing to elicit electric stimulation at your core. And the calluses of his fingertips were the perfect addition of friction to your swollen heat. He wrapped his hand against you, staying situated where he was. His other hand stayed firm on your hip, not letting go for anything. Wanted to keep you balanced.

You bit your lip, your head laying against the shower wall. You could barely concentrate on the fact that he’d spoken at all.  When you leaned off of the wall the best you could, you opened your eyes. Instantly, it felt like you were going to slip with the movement. But, just when your foot dared to lose balance, his hold on your hip tightened further. His fingers began to twirl within you, his palm ghosted over your clit with every purposeful jerk of his fingers. Your walls fluttered at the way he kept you going with one hand, while steadying your body in unison with the other.

He wasn’t saying anything further. Just kept going. Your hope grew that he hadn’t stopped. And the ball in the pit of your belly threatened to unravel with a figure eight movement he’d begun where his palm kept fitting to your tight, tingling nub as his fingers swirled. 

You quickly came to find out how focused he’d still been on your chilliness though. Turning around without you realizing it, fingers still distracting you, tucked between your folds, he switched the shower off. 

“Jake!” You complained for no reason whatsoever. Well. . . you knew why you were complaining. You were worried — didn’t want to lose this. You’d been so close. “Do not let this be the fucking en–.”

“Y/n. You’ve gotta trust me. I’ve kept my fingers where they are to show you — I’m not done,” he responded, tone lacking tolerance for your quip. “Can you just be fucking patient?” “You’re not being patient!” 

“How in the hell am I not being patient?!” 

“Your voice tells me so,” you argued, hearing the way it sounded ridiculous as soon as you said it. You shook your head, body shaking from the cool nip of the bathroom air and your soaking wet body. He was also trembling, his body just as wet as yours. The sight made your heart falter in your chest at the idea of him being cold, too. You’d been too busy worrying about yourself to think of him.

So, when he removed his fingers, yes, it aggravated you. . . but you’d started considering his chilliness enough that you weren’t going to chew him out. And, you couldn’t stay mad for long anyways. Seconds later, he was once again eliciting a dazed moan from you. As soon as he’d removed his fingers from you, he was bringing them up to his mouth, placing them on his waiting tongue before locking his lips around them to suck your arousal off. He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow and groaning in the process, his opinion of the way you tasted apparent. Holy fucking hell. 

“Taste good?” You asked, trying to sound snarky, but failing from the way your breath had escaped your lungs. 

When his fingers left his mouth, he slowly started to stand, eyes connecting to and never leaving yours. His grip on your hip not giving up a single bit in the process. Once he was standing at full height again, he slid the shower curtain open, eyes staying hooked on yours. He grabbed the towel hanging on the wall rack, momentarily leaving your gaze. But, as soon as he had the towel in his hands, his eyes snapped back to your waiting stare. 

“Fucking delicious. You taste better than anything – always have. . . No other woman compares. But. . . it’s–it’s even more-so now,” he paused, releasing your hip and motioning for you to come towards his arms with the fluffy, waiting towel. You turned your back to him, holding your arms out a little so he could wrap the towel at your back and handed you the rest to finish wrapping yourself. 

He kept talking as you cinched the white towel around yourself, your breasts not appreciating the way you tucked the material tight around your chest. You groaned at the feeling, pissed with the fact that your body was so sore.

Jake’s eyebrows knitted together in worry. “You okay?”

You nodded grumpily, carefully turning to face him. “Yes,” you grumbled. “It’s my boobs. They just ache all of the time. . . milk has officially started coming in, according to my readings. And I believe it with the way they're hurting right now. My tits have been a lovely focal point of change this entire time, but right now. . ."

"Yeah, I can't imagine how much they must hurt with how they've grown." There was no missing the way he bit his lip, eyes darkening. He licked his lips, smoothing his pointer finger over the bottom one before he responded. “But. . .I’ll help them feel better, baby. Don’t worry.”

The buzzing in your veins was impossible to ignore, and you didn’t trust yourself to give a valid response with how lightheaded he was making you. All you could do was nod, eyes hopefully communicating your excitement. 

“I read about the taste of a woman’s release, too. . . when women are pregnant, they have a tendency to taste sweeter than usual. And I can safely assure you, it’s the motherfucking truth,” his voice was hoarse with the last sentence. He kept on, locking his Amber-brown irises with yours. “And it’s fuckin’ erotic that you taste like the sweetest thing while you’re growing my baby. . . I can’t even explain it, y/n.”

You were positively vibrating with need for him, your body threatening to unravel at any given moment. Now warm from the towel, you knew most of your shivering was still from him. 

“You don’t have to,” you assured, your mouth dry from it hanging open at his words. Swallowing purposefully, you shook your head before stepping out of the shower. And, once you’d towel-dried your body enough, you bent to tie the towel around your hair, turning away from him. As you made your way to the mirror, leaving him. Once you checked yourself, you were in horror as you realized just how red your face was. “Ah! God, Jake, I look like fuckin’ Elmo.”

He belly laughed at that, the sound making your tummy ignite in a swarm of happy butterflies. “No you don’t. Trust me,” he said, still giggling at what you’d said. “. . . ‘look like Elmo’. You’re fucking hilarious,” he paused as you heard his belt clink away from him, along with the pull of his zipper. You tried damn hard not to think about it, just focused on fanning your face. “And what’s with all of the Elmo lately? Josh creeped me the fuck out with that shit.”

Not able to help the laughter bubbling in your chest at the thought of Josh’s horrifying Tickle-Me Elmo, you turned to face him to enjoy the moment together. You first saw all of his soaked clothes, in a neat pile ready for the laundry, next to him. His boots, sitting as a pair beside the clothes. His belt, rolled tight on the toilet seat. 

And, Jake, completely naked. 

Your body reacted immediately, suddenly ready for the most. Your tone was way too eager when an inward ponder was spoken aloud. “Are we going to have sex?” Dear God, y/n.

He smirked, shaking his head as he took a step and leaned past your naked body to get in the cabinet under the sink for the spare towel you kept underneath. His fingers brushed the side of your ass in the process and you didn’t want to discuss how quickly his touch heated your skin. You turned away from him once more, leaning towards the mirror to check out the two pesky spots on your chin that threatened a pimple under the skin. Thankfully not big enough to notice to someone else, but still. 

For some reason, the size of your ass was now all you could think about. How your body had gotten bigger in a few unfortunate areas. . . You couldn’t help feeling insecure. “Was that on purpose?” You shot the other question his way, followed by a statement of your own. “It has increased in size, just like the rest of me, so . . . wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t on purpose and just because it’s huge.”

“It was on purpose. Too nice not to touch — want to grab it or slap it any time I see it. Nice fuckin’ thing,” he replied, causing you to drop your hands and lean back so you could give him your full attention. The response made your cheeks blush crimson red, slightly visible through your slowly lightening skin. When you swiveled his way, you found him towel drying his hair, his dick still fully erect and tempting the fucking hell out of you. You bit your lip, and he continued on, eyes closed as he focused on drying his hair. God, he was so handsome. And the constant scruff above his top lip was just not good for your sanity.  “And I don’t know what you mean by the rest of you increasing in size or being huge. One, you aren’t huge by any standard. And two, all I’ve noticed increase in size are the three things I enjoy watching as they get bigger.”

You flushed, turning away once more to work on towel drying your own hair before you left the steamy room. You’d want the towel to wrap up in the hallway. Suddenly intrigued by the fact that you were talking so openly with him, you kept going. “Do those things happen to be the Three B’s? Boobs, belly, butt?”

Jake was laughing again at that, his little snort unmistakable, even as you were bent the best you could at the waist to towel dry your own hair. “Yes,” he chuckled, lighthearted. “That is correct. Did you make that up?”

Damn, I missed this, your mind absently trailed. “I don’t know,” you smiled, raising from the towel dry to do it standing. Your body was buzzing with all things him. “You didn’t answer my sex question.”

“No sex,” he promptly replied. Your heart fell, but obviously being oblivious to it, he kept on. “I’ve got a job to finish tonight that doesn’t include my dick.”

“What if I want it to include your dick? Aren’t you doing this to please me?”

How had the conversation just picked up like you’d never stopped being the two of you? The awkward air that had persisted, on and off since the wretched day in the kitchen in August, was seeming to float away day by day with his knowledge of the baby in your belly. But, before that line of thought could derail, he was responding to you. 

“Are you saying you weren’t pleased with what I started in there just now?”

“Of course I fucking was, Jake,” you rolled your eyes. “But, still–.”

“You just answered the question yourself.”

“How?”

“Would you just finish drying your fucking hair so I can continue eating you out?”

The way your body temperature rose inexplicably at his words was not something you wanted to admit to, so you went with a simple response to keep you on level ground with him, rather than a quivering mess. 

“Aye aye, captain.”

Another snort, followed by a chuckle. “Shut the fuck up.”

Once you’d gotten yourself completely dry, he was following you to your bedroom, closely. So close that you felt his warmth radiating from behind you, only working to increase your already heated need for everything that was him.  

“Get on the bed and get on your knees for me,” he insisted, lips grazing your ear with the words, once you crossed the threshold of your room. Those words, for me, had you feeling reminiscent of walking on a cloud. This was actually happening. “And spread your legs apart, baby. Need that pretty pussy open for me.”

God. You did not want to give him any argument. Your body was shaking with need from the entire evening. Your heart was beating harshly, rapidly — felt it knocking against your heaving chest. . . 

He undoubtedly knew the effects he was having on you. And planned to lean into them as long as you could. 

“You should know better than to tell me what to do, Jacob,” you jested, walking towards the bed. Clearly your words didn’t mean much since you said them while doing exactly as he told you. In your best attempt at being sexy, you got on the bed. And once you were on the soft comforter, you crawled on your hands and knees to the front of your bed, slowly. You made a show of sticking your ass in the air.  

You then heard that familiar chuckle as you did so, and decided you were slightly offended over the fact. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Relax, baby. I just think you’re cute. That’s all,” he replied as you heard him close your bedroom door. You paused briefly and looked over your shoulder, to see where he stood by the door. “How can one be so equally cute and sexy? I’ve never known someone who does it as flawlessly as you.”

You blushed at his words, giving him a flirty grin with a wrinkle of your nose. But you quickly realized now was not the time for joking. Not for much longer, at least. Not with the way his eyes were set on your body, drinking in the sight before him. You knew he enjoyed his view, his eyes trained solely on your body rather than your face. So much so, he didn’t catch you watching him. He licked his lips before running one finger over them in silent admiration.

The vision of you, naked and wanting for him, pregnant with his baby. . .you knew, most likely, it was unrivaled to anything else he’d ever seen. Even in the dim light of your singular lamp, you could see that look in his dark eyes, one hand going to brush through his hair while the other tightened the towel at waist. His bottom lip, gripped by his teeth. His thick cock, still very erect, tenting the towel hung at his hips. 

“You are beautiful in every way,” he remarked, tone low and throaty as his eyes finally locked on yours. You felt your thighs tremble with need as your body continued to prepare itself for him.

Still on your hands and knees, you looked towards the head of the bed again to get to your pillows. Once there, you turned your body around to fully face him. You tilted your head to the side with a grin that you hoped conveyed at least half of what you felt. Over one shoulder, hair cascaded down your back, and over the other shoulder, your hair laid against a supple breast. 

You then began to shift your weight back slowly, lowering your hips toward your heels, resting the backs of your thighs against them with your knees spread just enough. Your belly and breasts, the main focal point. The palms of your hands found the mattress behind you as you were beginning to lean back against the pillows. Needed the pressure on your  back. But, he stopped you before you leaned too far. 

“Wait,” he said, your eyes silently questioning him as you watched him make his way towards your side of the bed. “Let me help you, baby.”

You watched in adoration as he grabbed the two pillows on the other side of the bed with one hand, situating them behind you, along with the two that always rested there. “I know how your hips and back have been hurting. . . I should’ve done this before you ever got on the bed.”

“It’s okay, Jake,” you smiled, watching as he worked to place them just right to support your sore muscles. “Really.”

“Just wanna take care of you,” he replied, tapping your hip with two fingers. “Now you should have that support behind you, baby. Lean back. Just a bit.”

You did as he said and. . .oh. It felt so nice. When your back formed to the pillow, you could have sung a thousand praises. It was instant appeasement for your aching body. Continuing to make yourself comfortable, you watched him push his hair back as he stood beside you, watching you with intense care.

“Are those pillows enough? I can go get a couple more from my–.”

“It’s perfect,” you truthfully claimed. Yet, even if it wasn’t perfect, you were not about to let him leave your side.

Your mouth watered as his eyes darkened, taking in every inch of your body he could see. You saw his zone in on every movement of your hips, eyes, and heavily swaying tits as you finally, fully situated. Then, with nimble, impatient fingers, your hand reached out to the towel at his hips, and with a singular flick of your wrist, his towel was falling. And your eyes instantly flew to his thick cock that seemed strained to the point of uncomfortability. His tongue met his lips, his dark irises, trained on your face as he lifted one hand to your lips. You knew exactly what he wanted. So, you did just as he silently requested and spit in his palm. 

Hand now wet with your help, he went to languidly stroke his length. His eyes never once leaving yours as you felt your mouth fill with more saliva, might he need it. All you wanted was to help him. 

That wasn’t deemed necessary, though, because he was soon letting his cock go to sit on the edge of the bed, beside your bent knees. His fingers grazed up your thigh, the skin automatically igniting at his touch. Your center fluttered, needy for more attention from his hands. 

It was like he sensed the call of your body, finally scooting back to lay down on the bed. He was moving with intentionality, going to the exact space he’d instructed you to create between your legs. . . for him. 

Finally, he was on his back, head nestling snugly between your thighs. His face was in the direct line of your pussy and ass. And his entire tanned, solid, stunning body was extended in front of you. You watched his stomach flex with each inhale and exhale — as he took in deep, deliberate breaths. And his beautiful dick, in perfect view for you to admire if you wanted. Was he doing this shit on purpose? Was he taunting you with it? Even though he refused to let you have it? 

You were about to get snarky with him about it, but you didn’t have time before your body was sent into euphoria as his hands located your ever-aching breasts, giving them each a firm knead. Each got attention of their own for a bit, his hands placed fairly over their own full breast. 

Before you could get too used to that, he pushed them together. It should’ve hurt, but it felt so impeccable. Your chest was tender, but the soreness of one offset the achiness of the other. You let out a relieved sigh with the work he was doing, pushing them to move against each other in the middle as he paid attention to the swollen sides with a firm massage. You bit your lip to conceal a moan at the sensation. But when you felt a gentle slap against the side of your left breast you couldn’t contain the noise as it slipped easily past your lips. 

“I want to hear you, y/n,” he sternly commanded, your core close enough to his face at this point that you felt every breath with the words. Your thighs shook with each breath he took. “Let me hear you.”

Then, without leaving time for you to bicker, he was back to his previous motions. You respected his work always, but you were learning to really appreciate his new, adjusted focus to parts of your body. Specifically your boobs. Even though they couldn’t fit in the palm of his hand like they once (perfectly) could, he still made sure to cover the expanse of them with intentionality from his long, skilled fingers. 

You threw your head back as the calloused tips of his fingers skimmed over your sensitive nipples. And when he came back, he purposefully rolled them with practiced circles from his thumbs. You were shaking when he finished his work with a final, intentional pinch to both nipples. You shivered as your back arched, body searching for more. 

His arms then went to wrap around your front, palms immediately situating on your belly. He placed one hand at the bottom of your belly to affectionately hold the curve of it. As you leaned into the touch of his hand there, he gave a gentle caress to the front of the bump when you heard a few words slip from his mouth. 

“Thank you, y/n. You will never understand how it feels to watch you grow my baby—our baby,” he breathed, each word’s breath brushing against your vulnerable center. 

You hummed an acknowledgement, not able to fully process his words with the way his breath continued to make your entire body tingle with needy electricity. 

Then the tender moment was abruptly cut off when his focus zeroed in on holding your ass instead. He squeezed a round cheek in each palm. You moaned, your legs spreading even more to grant him additional access to the place you needed him most. Your hands wrapped around the front of your thighs, irritatingly squeezing the supple flesh as you buzzed with need. You wanted to hang onto him, but you didn’t want to spook him. 

Before you could get too used to the new angle and the feeling of his grip on your behind, he was smoothly landing a harsh slap to your right cheek. The action had your head falling back with a sigh, your pussy fluttering. His hands then traveled to your hips and held safely to them, splayed perfectly to grip the muscle there entirely. The pressure was euphoric.

“Jake, please. I need more—.”

Without any warning whatsoever, he brought you down just the slightest bit further to meet his mouth in a tender kiss. Then, his tongue began where he’d left off in the shower. 

Your toes curled deliciously with a loud groan at the feeling of him making home between your thighs with his skilled mouth. You couldn’t help it — you had to touch him. His abdomen was in perfect distance for you to grip, so you did just that. Your legs widened further with your new hand placement, allowing your core to meet his mouth’s ministrations even better than before. 

Your fingers flexed against his belly as you let your tummy rest comfortably on his chest. You smiled softly to yourself at the connection, not planning to move anytime soon. You watched his cock tremble briefly with another brush of your tummy to his chest as your body jolted with a particular flick from his tongue against your aching, throbbing clit. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your body tingled, almost all of your senses being wonderfully assaulted.

For a few moments, he paid special attention to your center with long, purposeful licks of his tongue. Then, you felt one hand drift over your ass to your most intimate spot, two fingers spreading you even further. And, keeping them there to spread you, with practiced precision, he began giving several long, open mouthed kisses to the sensitive flesh. You pulsed with each deliberate slide of his tongue and lips.

The sounds you made were humiliating, at best. Though, it seemed Jake really did like it. He’d even started rewarding you for them. At every noise, he’d intensify his actions – making out with your pussy fervently, his tongue dipping deeper and deeper with every squeak, moan, or sigh. He continued teasing you until he replaced his tongue with two strong fingers. He slipped in, spreading the long, skilled digits inside of you — deliciously stretching you. 

“You are so fucking tight, baby,” he raspily groaned as he intermittently spun and stretched the two fingers inside of you to prepare you. He licked one stripe through your opened folds before you felt a smile against you. “Has it been difficult being a celibate pregnant woman?”

“Only when it comes to you,” you moaned as he pushed the two fingers just deep enough to brush your sensitive cervix. “I’ve needed you so fucking badl— ah!”

You couldn’t finish your thought as his entire tongue, rolled just right to fit snugly in you, thrusted up, finally making home inside of you. Stars erupted behind your eyes — his name, a pathetic whimper on your lips. 

He used his grip on your ass to pull you back just enough that his bottom lip was able to nudge against your clit with each thrust of his tongue inside of you. Your body shook at the new sensation, your hips rocking of their own accord to meet every movement of his mouth. After a few more intentional laps of his tongue within you and his plush lip grazing just right against your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you felt yourself nearing the end. Your entire body was alight and trembling. And the intoxicating, mind-numbing realization that you were about to finish on his tongue for the first time in who even knew how long was what tempted to finally push you over the edge. 

But before you could reach that peak, he was pulling his mouth away and using his firm grip on your ass to lift your tension-filled body off of his face. Fuck. No. You did not attempt to contain the angry grumble of his name, the frustration was ridiculously palpable in your tone. He needed to know your aggravation at his rude teasing behavior. You were actually on the verge of frustrated tears at not being able to finish like you so badly needed. 

“Jacob, if I can’t fucking cum–.”

“Stop it, y/n – I just needed you to know that I want you to let completely fucking loose,” he interrupted you, not letting you get started on a tangent before he was correcting your assumption. He wasn’t stopping – just wanted to talk. Wanted to give you permission. “I need you to show me with your body how badly you’ve needed this. Don’t you dare control it. Let fucking loose. If you move your hands, though, I’ll fucking stop. Make you wait. So you better keep those hands on me. Don’t move and let me work. Do you understand me?”

You felt the stress ease from your body, your body relaxing once more, going once more to rest against his strong hands and the pillows. You could do all of that. Just needed him to keep going. “Yes, Jake,” you sighed, your pussy clenching needily at his warm breaths, the only barrier between you and his mouth. “I promise.”

“Let me take care of you, baby.”

You sighed with an agreement as you let your hands relax on him enough to smooth over to his sides, holding onto his sturdy obliques for better support. 

Then he was back at it. No warning as he went back to exactly what he was doing before. Except this time, he alternated between patterns. He started with the one angle of his lip against you and his tongue inside of you. But after a few skilled uses of that one, he was back to making out with your folds, tongue first every time, then lips meeting to seal the deal with an intimate kiss. God, it made you wish even more that he could kiss your mouth. . . but you’d just have to suck it up.

Your body was shaking against him, still holding on to enjoy the feeling for as long as you could. But you could only hold on for so long – you needed the tight ball of tension in your belly to be unfurled. So, with the rotation of his tongue in you, lip intentionally prodding your clit, to the long lap of his tongue before he’d give a lasting, lazy open mouthed kiss to your cunt. . . You barely registered it approaching, the ball tightening to near obliteration, one precise suck from his mouth making your body tense, desperate for moremoremore. Your hips faltered, almost stilling completely, as your eyes hazily rolled into the back of your head. And with one final, purposeful stroke of his tongue from top to bottom of your oversensitive flesh, you were gone. His name tore from your chest, no mind at all for anyone else besides JakeJakeJake as your fingers sealed to his sides, never daring to leave his skin. Needed all of him around you, in you, on your, with you — forever.

Fuck. You loved him so goddamn much. And as your body hung loosely in the clouds from the work of his tongue, you felt wholly validated that there was nothing on the planet that compared to the way he made you feel. Whether it be in your bed or in your heart, Jake Kiszka was it. Always would be, you were afraid. 

As you tried to come down and recover from the high, you soon realized he wasn’t going to give you time to gain strength. No, he just kept going. His mouth worked like he was devouring his favorite dish. Too desperate for every last bit of you to bother stopping, it seemed. And the next time he went to put his tongue inside of you, his lip had barely brushed against your clit before you were going entirely motionless. Your mind blanked entirely. 

You sobbed his name on a drawn out, strangled whine that turned hastily to a growling moan. Every filthy sound that escaped your lips was loud as fuck. And, really, you would’ve felt incredibly bad for your neighbors – had you given a single fuck about anything. Your hips stuttered in their rhythm, keeping in time with the melody your mind kept producing. akeJakeJakeJakeJake. . . .  Everything worked in time with the long-since-practiced song of his name.

“Fuck, baby,” you whined, eyebrows furrowed as you felt consciousness come back little by little, only faintly, but still. Your fingers let up just a little on his sides, letting his flesh breathe from your vice-like hold. 

The way you let your body settle to accommodate the motions of his tongue was nice. He did all of the work as you relaxed against him, your quivering pussy gave him everything he — and you — needed. Your eyes slid closed in ecstasy before a hum from his lips jolted you, your fingers slipping past his waist line just a bit as you stretched further down his body to give him better access.

Slowly, before you could process anything else, your hips started moving again with some assistance from his persistent hold on your hips. He went to fully grip your ass, assisting you in grinding down, hard against his strong, flattened, and fucking wet tongue. He hadn’t stopped once the entire time. His fucking stamina was otherworldly. And, even though you’d just (kind of) come back to, you were already falling apart again. It hit you suddenly, when you felt his hums switch to a low growl against your labia, right before going back in for a sloppy kiss. You were instantly back in the throes of all things Jake; your body went utterly numb as you sunk as far as you could onto his face. The growls and groans continued from his mouth – you felt every single one against your center as he worked to tilt your body just so, his nose nudging against your aching core briefly. Your toes curled tighter at the contact, amidst the harsh ride of your orgasm on his lips. He wanted you to feel every bit of work he was putting in. Every movement of his mouth was crucial to your enjoyment of the moment and he was making damn sure you knew that.

You made the mistake of looking down as you groggily returned from your second orgasm, to the present time. Because, when you looked down, you were offered the opposite of reprieve. With a slow glance just past your round tummy, you caught sight of the very bottom of his chin and the strong column of his neck below you. And what you beheld was intoxicatingly beautiful.

He was—his tanned skin. . . He was fucking soaked. Had you squir–? The flood of heat that enveloped your belly, washing over your entire body in a rush of glorious overstimulation, was the only sign you’d had of a fourth orgasm. 

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

How did he expect sex to not happen tonight? You needed it. Needed him — all of him. So, so, so desperately.

You felt even more tears touch your cheeks at the heavenly thought. Yes, you were definitely being pushed past your limits. But, with Jake, did you truly have any limits? Your poor pussy was straining, begging for a break. But, all you wanted to think about was Jake. Jake, inside of you. Needed to keep going until you got what you needed most of all. 

You could hardly begin to wrap your mind around how he just kept going through all of it. Though before you could topple into another one at the mere thought of his dick in you, your weak, spent body was being repositioned by strong arms.

Through barely opened eyes, you sort of registered that he’d moved both of you completely from your previous positions. You were definitely still out of it as he balanced your ass on his thighs, one arm around your waist to hold you. And he was the one on his knees now, facing the headboard, your back still facing the pillows he’d set up. 

You wrapped your legs around him, which made your leaking center draw even closer to his tip, throbbing and angrily blushed — all for you. 

Even through blurred vision, you noticed how he seemed to have gotten impossibly harder – at the sole act of devouring you. The precum that glistened at his head distracted you, your mouth watering at the sight with a tiny whine at the intimacy of it all. From your front row seat, you admired how his cock jerked with need as he worked to pull one pillow down to situate behind you. Before you could get used to the sight of his dick for any longer, he was once again repositioning your body. Gently, he used the arm at your back to guide you directly onto a pillow, placed perfectly to cradle your hips. Your head, blissfully meeting the other fluffy pillows at your headboard. 

You could’ve fallen asleep right then and there, exhaustion threatening to take over. But you knew better. Fuck that. You did not want to go to sleep yet. The night was young and you still hadn’t gotten what you truly, initially wanted. And you were determined to convince him. Simply put, you were far from ready to be done with this night. 

His voice was hoarse with want as he leaned over you, giving a wet kiss to your dampened neck before his warm breath brushed against it. “When the pillow supports your back there, it works to elevate your hips,” his fingers gripped your hips, his thumbs melting into the muscle there to release tension. Your head rolled back into your pillows, your eyes slipping closed with an intense, relieved sigh. “And. . . ,” he continued, lips grazing your neck before he delicately kissed the crook underneath your ear. He moved to speak into it, so low. “I get the best angle to make sure you feel satisfied. All I fucking want is for you to feel so good, baby.” 

You used him being closer to your face to your advantage and laced your hands through his hair before bringing him down a bit further, just enough to touch his naked chest to yours. His face tucked even further into your neck to give you a plethora of messy kisses, licking the skin he could reach. 

Your nipples were so tight, still aching for attention. And, you found at that moment, simply pressing your breasts to his chest, skin to skin, gave you some much needed reprieve. Gave you a sensation that felt like sparkles, all the way down to your toes.

Pushing your chest against his once more, he let you use his body as he balanced on his elbows around your head, keeping his chest close enough to graze your tender breasts. With the action, he brought his face up to examine your blushing, pleased features with a smirk. “Your nipples sore, baby?”

“Always,” you sighed with an absentminded giggle. “It’s all your fault.”

“Mine or hers?” He asked with a grin, his hand going down to cup the side of your belly. 

You felt butterflies flutter at the gesture – loved when he touched your tummy. “I feel like blaming you right now,” you grinned, cupping his cheek, running your thumb over his beauty mark. 

“Guilty as charged. I’ll work on those later, hm?”

“Okay,” you sighed, pushing yourself up against him one more time before he was moving, yet again.

As he went to lay on his belly, you laced your fingers through his hair, mostly dry, just a little damp. And, his tongue, once again, met your heated core, only brushing the sensitive place with one measured, precise lick through your overindulged folds. 

A guttural moan formed at the back of your throat, your hands leaving his locks to grip the comforter. Your back, arching from the bed and pillow, body yearning for moremoremore. 

He began languidly kissing your center again, this time focusing his tongue on your clit before each tender press of his lips to the bundle of nerves. When another jolt of electricity shot through every inch of you, you went back to knotting your hands in his hair. And with one gentle kiss to your clit, he worked his way back up your body. 

He tucked his face into your neck, giving listless, hungry kisses to the skin there. With every brush of his tongue, you felt yourself melt into the sheets around you. Heat pooled under your skin at his lips on your supple flesh. You felt it go from your lower back, all the way to the pit of your tummy, simmering at your core. A pleased hum slipped from you at the sensation, your eyes closing at the familiar, precious feeling of pure and unadulterated safety and comfort under his touch. 

You’d missed this.

Fatigued as your body was from the repeated climaxes, you instantly perked with a surprised, needy whine when you felt two fingers deftly swipe — up and down — through your folds to collect any remaining release. You shivered while he collected enough for his liking. As you continued to tremble beneath him, he took the time to swiftly push the same two digits inside of you. He stretched you so exquisitely — all the way to the last knuckle. Your hips bucked into his open palm, needing every bit of support his hand could offer your aching center at the familiar, yet (now) slightly foreign feeling inside of you. 

You’d needed this. Him, inside of you. Somehow, some way. Right there, you decided, if he wouldn’t let you have his cock tonight, you would gratefully accept his fingers as a runner up.

These fingers. They knew your body just like they knew the strings on a guitar. The callouses, from his craft, deliciously traced circles, slow and sure, against your most secret spot, inside. And not too long after, his thumb claimed its rightful spot on your clit, drawing the same circles there as the fingers did on the inside. The two tender places on your body, receiving equal, gentle, deliberate care. 

With a final lazy kiss behind your ear, he let his lips trail from your neck, down your chest. He took special care to wrap his mouth around each of your nipples. You savored the feeling of his tongue flicking expertly at your puckered skin as his fingers worked at your pussy. You writhed under him at the sensual relief for your aching body — your sensitive nipples — fuck. Your chest arched into his mouth as he paid each breast special attention. 

His dark eyes instantly shot to yours as he leisurely released his plush lips from your breast, measuring your reaction at the loss of contact. You only whined a little as you watched him with rapt attention, awaiting his next move. 

He rose to his knees, fingers leaving you at the movement. You whimpered pitifully as he shifted back down towards the foot of the bed. He went slowly — the raging, rock hard problem at his groin, offering an incredible sight. Once he’d made it as far back as he believed reasonable, he was carefully lowering himself onto his belly once again. As he did this, he held his cock in one hand, positioning it so he’d be as comfortable as possible. 

God, you wished to be the one holding it. Whether it be with your hand, your mouth, or your pussy. . . You’d accept anything he granted you at this point.

Once on his stomach and with his dick tucked away and out of your sight, you felt more desperation gather in your chest. You had to tell him. Ask him one more time. 

“Jake,” you started, waiting for his eyes to find you. With the obtrusion of your round tummy, you had to lean up on your forearms to see him better. After a couple beats, he gave you what he wanted. His pretty brown eyes located yours in one fell swoop. Your breath caught shakily in your chest at how he was gazing at you. “Please, let me have you tonight. All of you. Please.” You begged, not giving two flying fucks for how stupidly pathetic you sounded. 

Your eyes gauged his response. Would he say something? For a few moments, he continued to hold you in an intense stare, eyes scanning your face, something akin to awe evident on his face as he observed you. 

Then, the slowest, most heartfelt smile blossomed on his lips, eyes earnest for you to understand. “Tonight is your night, baby.”

“Okay, so – it’s what I want,” you insisted. “Please.” 

Yet, all you got in return was a smirk, followed by a wink before he was settling his face between your thighs. You sighed in resignation, but lifted your hips up to his mouth, greedily as you rested on your back once more. Your head rested against the stack of pillows behind you, giving you little glimpses of him as he worked. After a few careful licks, he let his eyes hone in on yours as he made out with your pussy – just like he would your mouth. His eyes never left yours as he continued. And, the feeling that began to unfurl in your tummy was an old friend at this point in the night. 

You watched as he went down so far — catching every bit of your release. So, momentarily, his face was hidden, blocked by your growing belly. But before you could be too sad, his head came up, and those Amber-brown eyes met your own. They were filled with lust, hooded in your direction with an intense yearning. 

“Jake,” you sighed, smoothing your hands down your belly before you situated a little better on the pillow under your hips and lower back, leaning up on your own elbows to get a better view of him. 

His long hair was fanned across your legs, sweeping against the flesh of your thighs as he leaned forward to kiss your round, taut stomach, so delicately. 

“In every way, you are perfect, y/n,” he affirmed, saying it in a way that left no room for disagreement. 

You flushed a little smile his way, but your core throbbed for more. You needed it. Needed all of him. 

“Jake, please,” you moaned, communicating all you could with the two words. This moment felt more familiar than you could put words to. . . It made your heart thump so hard in your chest, all the way up to your ears. 

And then, he was rising more and more, his tongue peeking out from between his lips, licking them with a sort of cruel intention – never taking his eyes off of you. 

Your eyes tracked every single movement of his mouth and then his body. Because of that, you hastily became aware of him situating himself to balance above you, right where you wanted him. His handsome face, once more hovering above yours as his elbows were, again, placed on either side of your head. There was a sparkle in his eye as your breath caught in your chest at the possibility of what was about to happen. 

As he fully settled, you became very aware of his dick – hot and heavy against your throbbing center. 

“You feel that?” He said with a smirk, eyes soft with his words. “That’s what you do to me. What you’ve always done to me. But. . . damn it, y/n. It’s so much worse now. . . because now when I look at your beautiful body, I see it changing to properly house my baby. . . and that sight of you – god. You instantaneously become so much more alluring and enchanting than one could fucking imagine.”

God. He was everything. You would carry his baby forever if you could. The feminist in you screamed at you to take a second, but you couldn’t hear her through the steady pounding in your chest. Your heart yearned for him. And you found it an honor to do this for the heaven-sent man who continued to cast a sweet, secret grin your way. One you’d seen many times before, but this time it held more than before. . . 

You were sure no one would ever understand the immense, wondrous impact the man had had on your life. He’d helped you in ways that were incomprehensible at the moment. 

And, he was so . . . consistent. For example: those first words he’d just spoken to you. . . they were the same as they’d been all of those months ago; on your bed, heatedly touching each other and matching kisses like your life damn well depended on it. He was safe. So, so safe. Never changing. Steadfast. And you knew that — you weren’t stupid. But you could only sink into that knowledge when the nagging little voice that haunted you stayed fucking silent. 

He continued to measure you with a long gaze, all of his attention on you as he bent to nudge your cheek with his nose. When he planted a little kiss to the apple of your cheek, you felt the tear fall from your eye to meet his lips. At this, he kissed it away. He was quite actually taking your pain away. 

In response, all you could say was, “Jake,” on a breath, your eyes continuing to water at the rush of memories as well as the present moment. Your arms went to lock loosely around his neck, holding him and wishing he never had to go. 

“I can’t look at you without wanting to worship the ground you walk on forever. There is no one that—. I’ve never felt—. You are— you— I – fuck,” his eyes quickly averted to your chest, head bowing the slightest bit to face the supple skin. His words turned to heavy breaths against your soft skin. 

You combed your hands through his hair to ease his mind. He gently closed his eyes at the feeling, sighing with relief at your touch. But after a few seconds, he went back to that pensive look as he eyed your chest. His gaze never faltered from it, scanning every inch of your body that he could from his position before he went to nestle his forehead at the top of your breasts. You felt his nose, tucked in between them. 

Then you felt them. Just a couple, but definitely there as his shoulders shook the slightest bit to accompany them. Tears. You paused your ministrations through his hair, suddenly alarmed at the emotion. It mirrored yours, yes, but you worried, nonetheless. . . Fuck.

Your thoughts trailed off, beginning to wind down a dangerous path. Was he regretting this? It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t. Because, if he was regretting it, you couldn’t be surprised or hurt. This was something you’d willingly decided on with him. And it was so wrong – you knew it. If he regretted it and wanted to stop in an instant, it would be understandable, acceptable. Hell, by most standards, it would be opportune. And you hated that. 

You hated it, but — he had a girlfriend. You weren’t anything to him. Not like her. Your heart cracked at the feeling of wetness on your chest, a couple more hot tears falling to meet your sensitive flesh. Your tender breasts were tingling at the sensation of him between them, your nipples so tight at his nearness. Even as you convinced yourself that he was regretting this, your ready and willing body — it pulled you to him. 

Fuck—had to move. You had to move. Be the first one to escape so he couldn’t hurt you. Removing your hands from his locks, you sniffled once as you felt your own tears gather at the corners of your eyes. Dammit. 

Yet, right as you went to take one scooch up, you felt his strong hands present at your waist. He held the sides of your belly snugly in his steady hands. Four fingers gripping your back, and his thumbs, positioned perfectly on either side of your tummy to hold you in place. Why was he stopping you?

When his eyes finally floated up to yours, your breath hitched at the sight. 

God, his eyes. They revealed his soul so exquisitely. 

And, what you saw in them right now was not regret. Not at all. At least. . . not regret for being with you. No, instead, you saw. . . Longing. Desperation. Fondness. Devotion. . . . . For you. And . . . you felt it wrong to name the final emotion you were witnessing. Besides, you were sure that your eyes were deceiving you. 

“I don’t want to stop, y/n. Stop thinking that,” he rasped, clearing his throat as his eyes searched yours. His eyebrows dipped in, nerves seeming to kick in for him as well. “D-do you?”

“Of course I don’t want to stop, Jake,” you insisted, your eyes boring into his, needing him to feel what you were thinking. “That is the last damn thing I want to do. But you were fucking crying, so I felt it was best to–.”

“Y/n—you were just crying, too,” he responded, a whisper of a laugh on his lips before he shook his head, eyes averting briefly before finding you again. “I—. Y/n—. God. There is so much that I want to tell you and I just can’t and it—. . .” 

He cut himself off with one swoop, pulling you back to where you’d moved from. And when his face was above yours again, you felt the head of his dick nudging at you. It made your vision momentarily blurry as his fingers tucked a bit of hair behind your ear. His pointer and middle finger lingered on your cheek as his eyes searched yours for kinship. And you could only hope he found it because you definitely understood him — especially not being able to say what you wanted. 

On a shaky breath, he leveled you with a dark stare. “I just got caught up in my thoughts while I was looking at you and the emotions took over. It normally happens in my head when I see you, but I was saying it out loud and you were right here and—,” he huffed slightly, shaking his head at himself. “I guess you could say the words came out as tears. I don’t know — kind of stupid, but—.”

“Not stupid,” you reassured, getting on your elbows once more to press your body closer to his and leaned up to kiss his cheek delicately. His lids fluttered closed at the contact. You kept your hand on his cheek and held his gaze once he opened his eyes. Feeling like the moment warranted complete honesty (or as much as you could offer), you explained. “I get the whole ‘not being able to say everything you want to’ thing. I’m right there with you. Our situation is just. . . The way it is. And, as much as I wish it were different, it isn’t and it can’t be,” your voice cracked on the last few words. 

He let his face rest against the palm of your hand, his hair brushing your arm. “I know. And it’s just so fucking difficult.”

You furrowed your brows, letting your hand fall from his face to rest on the part of your belly that wasn’t pressed to his. As much as you didn’t want to say it again, you wanted to give him one more chance. Based on the word difficult and the apprehension to express his emotions. . . The situation itself helped you feel morally sound in speaking the pondering thought into the hot air one more time. (Which, in retrospect, was hilarious since none of what you’d engaged in tonight was morally sound by any means). 

“We really don’t have to do this if it is too difficult for you to do this to he— while you’re in a rela— since you’re with someone el—,” you huffed, closing your eyes to recenter, your throat suddenly tight with tears. You really didn’t want to talk about her.

“That’s not what I meant when I said that.”

Your eyes slowly opened to process his expression with the words. His face was open and vulnerable, but hardened all the same. He was letting you in and you loved it. The situation just made it all more tense than it had to be. And you hated that part.

“I meant that it’s difficult since we are limited — due to outside factors,” he expressed, pressing his lips together before continuing. “You aren’t the one making it difficult, baby. I feel completely resolved and peaceful at the idea of this,” he looked down between your bodies. Your eyes followed, witnessing as he lazily rocked his hips against yours once before you felt the pressure of him resting at your entrance. Your heart was thumping furiously in your chest, cheeks hot as his gaze locked on yours again. “And what makes it difficult is I know I shouldn’t feel like that with everything and with the other people involved. . . But— fuck if I can’t help it. It’s always felt natural and right with you, y/n. Even if we can’t be together, I know that it will always feel like this with us and that is what makes it so damn difficult.”

Your eyes watered. Everything he said rang true to your heart as well. So, you said all you found necessary to let him know you were on the same page where that thought was concerned. 

“I know, baby,” you sighed, at a loss for anything else to say that could fix it. 

“The problem is. . .I don’t care about any outside factor right now,” he rasped, breath fanning over your face as he leaned down to press his lips to your cheek. Then your neck. Then your collarbone. And finally, your forehead before his fiery gaze was back on yours, burning down to the pit of your tummy. “I only care about what I’ve wanted to fucking do with you again for so damn long. Watching you and not being able to have you — my baby in you or not. . . It is torture not being able to be inside of you. And I want to stop feeling so fucking tortured all of the time. I need to feel you around me again, y/n.”

Goddammit, Jake. What did one do with all of that? You didn’t know. All you knew was the way he was looking at you had you questioning why in the fuck you were still talking when his dick was quite literally waiting at your entrance. You ‘needed’ this shit, too. Bad.

“Then let me help you with that,” you encouraged, unwavering in your stare. “Please. I need it, too, baby.” You rolled your hips forward once. Just the slightest bit, teasing him and yourself as you felt him begin to slip in. 

His breath caught at the same time as yours, your hips naturally falling back to where you laid, losing the new contact with him. “You’re sure this is what you want, y/n?”

Well. That felt like a loaded question. At the moment, your mind was too fuzzy to articulate what all that question could imply. But you did know for a fact that whatever you wanted. . . It always included him, one way or another. Whether it hurt you or hurt him, you wanted him. It was selfish, but it was true. 

So, you answered without another thought. 

“Yes. So, so badly,” you replied, not able to help the whine as you watched his hand move to hold the length of his cock. He gave it a few leisurely pumps of his fist, before running the tip through the wetness gathered at your center. 

The way your body threatened to unfurl at that action alone told you all you needed to know.  You wrapped your arms at his shoulders, fingers grazing his warm neck before going to spin through his long hair. It was past time to have him—.

Tinklytinklytinklytinklyting! Tinklytinklytinklytinklyting!

Of course. It was zero surprise to you when the ridiculously harsh shrill of the Blues ringtone cut you off mid thought. Your eyes turned stony at the very unwelcome interruption of your iPhone. Jake’s expression looked the same as yours, his jaw clenching for a millisecond. He stayed above you, pausing his motions. But he didn’t budge; only moved his head to get a better look at the interfering device.

Even as he peered over to the phone, plugged in on the bedside table, you kept your arms laced around his neck. You watched his expression change from one of irritation to care and concern for the caller. 

“It’s Elsie,” he said, looking back at you with a brow raised. 

You rolled your eyes. Shocker. You truly weren’t surprised that she was the one calling you at the exact moment you were about to get laid. Annoying ass sister shit, one might say (because, yes, even if she was your favorite person ever, she would always be your aggravating older sister). 

“She’s fine,” you reassured him, gently running your manicured nails over his back. Goosebumps rose in their wake, a loose grin forming on his features at the feeling before he was settling above you again. “I’ll call her later.”

“You sure?”

“More than sure,” you emphasized before getting an idea. “Can you just go ahead and switch it to vibrate?”

He immediately granted your request, shifting just enough that his chest glided smoothly over the tender skin of your nipples. You gave the slightest moan at the feeling and you felt his dick twitch against your thigh. 

You watched his handsome face as he momentarily concentrated to turn the ringer off from the angle at which he laid. His lips were so pretty and pink, begging to be kissed. But before you could get too sad over it, he was done and adjusting above you once more.

And with that, the moment was back. Determination washed over you both. No more phone. Only Jake. And his beautiful face — freckles that usually stayed hidden on his cheeks, suddenly so noticeable as he leaned down even further. His soft, tempting lips, ghosting over your cheek before they traveled to your ear, teeth grazing your lobe before gently biting down on the flesh. 

You sighed, body melting into his as your back arched off of the bed. Forming together perfectly, you felt him line up with your entrance. 

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he hushed above you, breath dusting your heated cheek. 

“Me too,” you sighed, your hips lifting impatiently to meet his. “Please, Jake. I—.”

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

And again. The blessed phone. You swore if it was Elsie again. . . 

You groaned, put out at the calls and horny as hell. Why was it always like this for you two? God forbid you get what you fucking want. As you groaned, his face fell into your neck with the same sound from his lips before raising up to check your screen again.  

“Oh,” he said, tone steady and serious; his body went rigid at the name on the screen. It caused enough alarm that you sat up on your forearms, elbows balancing your trembling body. 

“What?” You asked, eyebrows bent to show your worry. 

“It’s your Grandma,” he said, eyes glancing to find yours to gauge your reaction. 

“What?” You faltered, dropping your hands from his shoulders. With a shake of your head, you maneuvered your body the best you could to grab your phone. 

“I’ll unplug it,” Jake insisted, nodding his head at you once to lay back. “You just try to take deep breaths, babe.”

Admittedly, you were glad he volunteered because your back was not having it and your breathing had become short at the possibility of something wrong. You’d been laying on your back for a touch too long, it seemed. And, as the Jake-induced haze cleared, you realized your belly was really not getting along with your spine. It was going to take a bit to situate. You could already tell.

When he stretched to grab it, he continued talking, voice low to calm you down. “Relax, baby. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“But she never calls this late,” you explained, body in pain, your mind running in frantic circles. You placed both hands over your face to shut out the mental and physical discomfort. “Jake, if she’s not okay— if Grandpa isn’t okay—.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. That’s dangerous and you know it,” he encouraged with a grunt, the position making it tricky to grab the phone. But then he was sighing with relief as you heard the charger being pulled from the socket. “Got it.”

When he was back, he gave you the phone. But he seemed to notice the stiffness in your body. You knew your expression was not hiding how you felt, your lower back twinging. “Come on, baby. Let’s sit up,” he encouraged as he maneuvered his body to be in a sitting position. Sitting right next to you, now, he held a hand out as an offering to you. He gave a gentle nod in his own direction as a silent direction to you to lean up.

Your heart fell in your chest, gripping your phone tight in your hand as it plummeted, elbows digging into the fabric of your bed covers with a blazing hot, furious intent to not let him go. You’d just gotten him again. . . If you stopped now, when would you get this again? 

“But I—I also don’t want to stop—.”

“It’s okay. We’ll keep going. You just need to talk to your Grandma first,” he reminded with an air of reason that you desperately needed at the moment.  “And this position isn’t working anyhow; you’re in pain. I can tell.”

You eyed him skeptically, hoping he was right and that you would be able to keep going. “Fine,” you conceded, taking his hand as he did the hard work with one steady hand in yours as the other pressed against your back, firmly pushing you up and forward. 

With the aiding gesture, you felt it easier to think for a moment. So, you took the opportunity to answer the phone call as he arranged your pillows behind your back. 

“Hello? Grandma? Are you okay?” You rushed the words out in one breath, fingers edging towards your mouth to chew at your nails. (A very bad habit from your childhood that hardly surfaced anymore.)

After he’d fluffed them to an extent that he seemed pleased with, you settled cozily against the pillows as your brain went haywire. 

“So you can answer for our damn Grandma, but not for me?” Elsie quipped from the other end, a giggle hanging off the end of her words. 

But you were not in the mood for giggling. With a contented sigh at it being Elsie and not your Grandmother in trouble, you breathed a little easier. The upright position helped — no longer feeling gravity working against your body and belly. The sitting position was nice. . . And as long as he didn’t leave your side, things would be okay. You just had to get rid of your sister and things would be fine. 

You looked up at Jake with a roll of your eyes, placing your hand over the bottom speaker. “Elsie,” you mouthed towards him, rolling your eyes once more to emphasize your annoyance. 

All he responded with was a breathy laugh, shaking his head at her antics before he began to carefully study your body with blatant admiration. His eyes feasted on your exposed skin. It made you realize how much you hadn’t cared once that you were casually sitting buck-ass naked, as you talked on the phone. And, well. . . It was still not a concern to you. It felt natural to do so with him.

You rather appreciated the domesticity of the moment, even if your sister was totally cramping your groove. 

“Elsie. What the fuck, dude? You almost put me in full panic attack mode,” you griped, looking down at your nails to avoid the rather inappropriate thoughts that swirled at Jake’s dark gaze covering your skin. “What could have been so important that you use our Grandma’s phone to get me to answer at a moment’s notice?”

“I got to town early!” She excitedly chirped. 

The possibility that she’d been calling previously to tell you the same thing hadn’t even dawned on you before. You felt momentarily guilty for not realizing that sooner before snapping at her. It was great news—one of your favorite things was when she would come to town. But. . . it had just come at the wrong time, this time. 

“Well, for one, obviously, Els. You are using Grandma’s phone,” you snorted at her, crossing your legs the best you could with achy hips and a bigger belly. “And secondly, while I am so overjoyed that you’re finally in town —and moving back, no less — I am very busy right now.”

“What could be more important than me?” She snarked before tacking on one more thing. “Oh. . . I know what it is. I bet it’s Jake related, huh?” 

“Fuck, Elsie!” You gasped. For some reason, you were embarrassed by her saying that. . . Even though you’d literally just had the man’s face buried in your pussy. Whatever. 

When you heard another little laugh from Jake’s direction, you warily glanced up. With a fake glare, your cheeks heated as you quickly turned the sound down. 

“Why do you insist on keeping it so loud?” He whispered, his cheeks still pink with a little laugh. 

You stuck your tongue out at him, flashing a middle finger his way. The action only caused him to chuckle more, and you couldn’t help but smile along. 

“Was that it?” You tried at Elsie, looking down at your toes as they wiggled anxiously. Seriously — you were just hoping she’d say yes and let you hang up. 

“So it is Jake!” She giggled evilly from the other end, something shuffling behind her. “Told you so.”

“Who are you with?” You skeptically asked, knowing already. 

“Joshua Michael, of course,” she chirped, at which you heard him scream ‘helloooo, mama!’ in the background of the call. “We just wanted to tell you that we have three movie tickets for the Whitney Houston movie that just came out and you, my lovely sister, are the lucky recipient of one of them!” 

In spite of yourself, you grinned at their antics. “I would totally say yes, but—.”

Though, just as you began to turn your sister down, there was a tell-tale knock at the front door. Oh, hell no. 

You knew there was only one woman who used that particular knock. You’d heard it enough times that it was permanently seared in your brain. 

Maya. Of-fucking-course.

When she knocked again, your eyes snapped up to his. Your fury wasn’t easy to hide, try as you  might. His eyes took you in as they darkened, jaw tightening. Both of you sat there for a couple of moments, Elsie talking on the other end as another knock sounded at the door. 

But you couldn’t be bothered. You were lost in his irises, and it seemed he was lost in yours, too — gazing at you in a way that caused your brain waves to stutter. 

While he wasn’t rushing to get up and get the door, you knew — he felt the moment ending, too. It was evident in his downcast expression — the way his smile had instantly drooped to a frown at her arrival. This was not what you two had wanted. The night wasn’t supposed to end this way. 

Would you get this back? Now that you’d been dealt the glorious cellular and visitor disturbance? Or was all of this going to jinx the possibility of it arising again? Was seeing her again going to make him second guess it all? 

With a sure hand, he reached forward to drift his fingertips down your cheek. Your lids threatened to close at the caress, but his Amber-brown eyes weren’t letting you. He grasped your chin between his pointer and thumb, keeping you right where he wanted you. You were trapped in the way he studied you. No, not trapped. . .  Captivated. He left you utterly captivated. And, you could tell by looking at him, by this stare you were exchanging, that he was just as aware as you that this night was over. 

Elsie and Josh carried on with their own conversation in your ear, they were easy to ignore when you brought the phone away from your ear and into your lap, a defeated look etched on your features.

“I’ll, um— I’m gonna get the door,” he offered in a whisper, dropping your chin. His eyes offered zero reprieve or reassurance as he looked just as downtrodden as you felt. “I’ll have to get dressed, so.”

“Obviously, Jake,” you whispered, palm covering the speaker once more. You sounded snippier than you intended. But you couldn’t help how upset you were in the moment. This night — it had begun to make all of your dreams come true. . . only to sputter out in a blaze of glory. “Just fucking go to her.”

“Don’t do that,” he hushed back, eyebrows turned in to show his own irritability. “It’s not like I called her and asked her to fucking show up. I don’t even know why she’s—.” As if on cue, he was interrupted by yet another knock. His features stern and stony, he waited for her to be done to continue. “Elsie and Josh want to hang out anyway. Why are you pissed at me when we both—?”

“Because it’s always her, Jake!” You whispered, just a touch too loud for the callers. So, at that, you decided it was time to end the call. Bringing it up to your ear and keeping your eyes firmly on Jake’s, you spoke. “Elsie, Josh. I’ll be ready in thirty.”

“Make it twenty, Mama!” Josh yelled from the other end. 

“In other words: the movie starts soon and Josh was already running late, so he’s now rushing everyone else,” Elsie added, sounding equal parts exasperated and in love with Josh. Must be fucking nice. 

As Josh started on a rant about Julie Andrews’ line about being late in The Princess Diaries, Elsie kept talking. “Okay, Josh. Yes. But you aren’t the Queen of Genovia, sweetie,” she snorted a laugh on the other end. You couldn’t even crack a smile as you stayed lost in Jake’s deep brown eyes. “We’ll be there in like twenty minutes, sis. Plugging in Grandma’s phone as we speak. . . And I want coffee, so try to make it even snappier.”

Before you could respond, she was saying a quick ‘I love you’ and hanging up.

You didn’t bother to delay getting ready, knowing full well what your evening had become. As you slipped off the bed, Jake reached out a hand to help you. You didn’t take it. 

“Y/n.”

Being the emotionally charged pregnant woman in the situation, you had zero problem turning your nose up at it. You were allowed to be pissed and pouty. And you wanted him to know how upset you were. (Like he wasn’t feeling his own frustration. . . You knew he was. But still.)

“Baby,” he tried again. You heard his own feet hit the floor and saw him pick up his towel in your peripheral before wrapping it around his waist. Just lovely.

Still refusing to acknowledge him, you went about the stages of getting dressed. Your sports bra came first and you pulled it on in a way that was a little too rough for your sore chest. Not allowing the pain to show, though, you opened your closet door with a powerful yank. Quickly, you located an oversized black sweater and tugged it on in one go. 

And, just as you heard him shuffling towards the door, you were finally hitching your thong up your legs. 

“Please talk to me,” he tried once more to gain your attention. 

You knew he wasn’t going to leave without you giving him something and if he did leave without you acknowledging him, there was a chance you could lose all of the progress you’d made tonight. He’d think that you’d given up. And even if you felt remorseful over how the evening had played out, you weren’t ready to give up. Not even close. 

At that, you decided to turn to face him. You blatantly checked him out once you did, that being easier than his eyes at the moment. The towel was back to being hung around his hips. 

Gotta love it, you continued to inwardly snark.

“What?” You challenged, flicking your eyes to meet his stare. 

Your breath caught in your throat at how he persisted in appearing just as you felt. Though, you’d be willing to bet at this point, your features weren’t hiding your distaste at all. 

“Don’t pull this shit. Not after tonight,” he begged and ordered you all at once. “Please.”

“I’m just upset,” was all you could mutter, crossing your arms at your chest like a child. You felt slightly silly with your outward display of emotion, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care too much. “I wish the night would’ve ended differently.”

“Me too, y/n. I need you to know that,” he pleaded, eyes searching yours. 

For all of the ‘upset’ you were feeling encompass you, you did believe him. After everything he’d said tonight. The way he’d treated you all night long. . . You knew he wanted you back. That much was clear. 

“I do know,” you relented, shoulders easing as your shoulders sagged the slightest bit at the admittance. Because saying it out loud made you realize how straight up depressing this ‘love story’ had become. If you could even call it that. “I’m just tired.”

“Me too,” he loosely grinned, but the way it hung on his lips showed he wasn’t happy. He was empathetic — right there with you, sitting in the sadness that was y/n and Jake. 

The final knock was quicker—sharper. The way she’d rapped made it seem that she was either nervous for Jake’s safety or angry at him for possibly ignoring her (which he was most definitely doing). 

With a nod towards the door, you began to encourage him to leave you. “You better go—.”

At the same time, he’d thrown a thumb towards the front of the house. “I’ve gotta—.”

The interaction had you two sharing one last smile before he was twisting the doorknob and slipping out the door. 

You could not be judged for the tears that accompanied you as you finished getting ready for the movie.

And you definitely weren’t going to own up to the way you hid your face under your massive hoodie on your way out. There was no way in hell you were going to look at the beauty who you heard, still, in Jake’s room. 

It wasn’t because you felt guilty — no. Not at all. It was for the simple fact that she had him and you didn’t. 

There was absolutely no fucking use in denying you were jealous. Fire was in your chest, steam still coming from your ears, and your teeth continued to clench uncomfortably as you hopped in the backseat of your Grandparents’ car. 

Thank god it wasn’t Josh’s clunker. You couldn’t handle throwing up from exhaust fumes on top of everything else tonight. 

December 23, 2022

The next day, you woke up feeling frustrated. . . various types of frustration. 

You started the day by just laying in bed, staring at the spinning fan on your ceiling. You tried to allow the fan to ease you, but you couldn’t stop thinking about your night with Jake — from start to finish. Many circles were drawn across your chest in contemplation until you realized you needed to get up and start the day and get some shit done. You had a late afternoon shift at the Black and Gold. So, when you glimpsed your phone and saw it was already later than 8:30, you figured it was past time to get the day started.

You checked your reflection in the mirror, brushing through your hair once before throwing it up in a ponytail. Your reflection was not your friend, but. . . It was what it was. 

After the way you’d left things last night, you figured you’d make talking to Jake your first stop after you brushed your teeth. He was leaving for his trip today and you didn’t want to leave things on an awkward note before he left. And. . . you just wanted to see him before he was gone for the next couple of days. You missed him already and he wasn’t even gone yet. 

You hadn’t heard him making breakfast yet, so you assumed he was still sleeping. When you opened the door to your room and peeked down the hallway to see his room closed, your theory was essentially confirmed. His door had been shut when you’d made it home from the movie, too. 

So, you went about your morning routine – hastily as you could. Went pee. Washed your face. Brushed your teeth. Checked your hemoglobin. Fed Stevie. 

After fifteen long minutes of daily tasks, you finally went to knock on his door. But, when you knocked once, it made his door swing open at the touch. . . It hadn’t been closed all of the way? 

And. . . When you opened his door, your heart sank. No.

All you found was his bed. . . empty and made. The only whisper of Jake was an empty, unused duffel bag on the bed. Was he. . . already gone? Had he left? Why hadn’t he told you? 

That last thought hurt most of all. You checked your phone in your hand to double check your texts – maybe he’d texted you and you’d missed it. But, on sight, no unread texts appeared in front of you in your thread with him.

You did your best to push past it before lamenting in it. You had work and shit to get done today on top of focusing on being a joyful home for your baby. What you felt, she sensed and felt in her own little way. And, you’d had enough stress at the end of the night last night for you to cause her any more this morning. 

So, going against all of your normal instincts, you decided to not think much of it. It felt like old times when you’d shove things down, but it was also drastically different. Because this time, you weren’t doing it to be avoidant. You were doing it out of a pure and unadulterated love – aimed solely at your baby. 

The kitchen was your first stop – where you placed your phone on the counter, face down to avoid checking. You then went to make yourself a pomegranate smoothie. After downing that drink like nothing (out of stress, unfortunately), you’d washed your smoothie glass and the BlendJet. But your mind still raced with thoughts of Jake and his whereabouts (again, unfortunately). You thought of how he hadn’t thought to tell you anything before leaving. Well. . . That was if he had left-left,. . . You still weren’t sure.

If that were the case and Jake had left town with Maya, had everything last night meant so little to him that he hadn’t even thought to tell you he was leaving early? It appeared as such since he’d just let you wake up to an empty apartment. He hadn’t worried if you felt alone. All that had mattered to him, as soon as she’d walked through the front door, was Maya. 

You knew you were overthinking the entire scenario. But you couldn’t stop. You’d always been like this — always overthought things. It was a habit. Mentally squeezing the toxins from your worries into nearly every brain cell while forcing yourself to digest the negative. And, eventually, you’d never fail to convince yourself of the worst. 

Most definitely a trauma response, you knew that. But that truth couldn’t magically stop you from doing it. 

Gia’s advice echoed in your brain. . . Out with the negative, reach for the positive.

For Lavender at the very least. It was what you needed to do. 

Find ways to be less stressed, y/n, you encouraged yourself, physically shaking your head to rid yourself of the onslaught of emotions. 

So, that was just what you did. The idea that came to mind was honestly ideal for Christmas Eve-Eve, too. 

The first thing you did was indulge yourself — preheated the oven to make some cookies. They were the cheap, circular, break-apart ones with the little Christmas trees from Walmart. (You’d definitely been lacking impulse control when you’d decided on buying them, as they were more than unhealthy — but you were glad you had now.) 

As the oven did its thing, you decided it was time to execute the next part of the plan. This morning, you’d actually felt cold rather than overheated (for the first time in a hot damn minute), thanks to a sudden temperature drop outside. So, after turning on the heat (by a notch), you went to your room and bundled up in your coziest sweats and a sweatshirt, fuzzy socks completing the attire. 

Your favorite, fluffiest blanket came next, right off the foot of your bed. You threw it over your shoulder with glee, actually looking forward to this impromptu self-care time you’d decided on. When your blanket was officially tossed to wait on the couch – along with your phone (which you still hadn’t checked) – you went to put the cookies on a sheet and in the oven on a timer. 

And, you even got a wild hair while in the kitchen — deciding to make a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Might as well go all out.

Once you had the beverage started, you went to the living room and flipped through streaming services until you found the exact Christmas movie you wanted. As if the Christmas gods were smiling down on you, Love Actually was actually streaming on Netflix. 

Right as you clicked play, the cookie timer went off. You got those out and put a few warm cookies on a Santa plate (that you’d rediscovered a few days ago at the back of your cabinet), then grabbed the hot cocoa and finally snuggled down on the couch. It didn’t take long for Stevie to happily join in on the cozy morning, tucking herself into the crook of your bent knee.  

With your phone close by once again, you decided there was no time like the present to text Elsie and let her know that you wanted to do something with her tonight. Having her in town again was going to be the best damn thing in the world. 

(You were also sort of looking for an excuse to check your phone.) 

At the same time Billy Mack finally got the lyrics right, you pulled out your phone to text her with a smile on your lips at Bill Nighy’s problematic character.

But the smile turned to a face of shock at what greeted you on your screen. The name made your tummy flip. 

Jake. Two texts awaiting you, both delivered about twenty minutes ago. 

Jake, 9:32 a.m.: hey. You were gone when we left and my phone died on the flight, so I didn’t tell you

Jake, 9:32 a.m.: but we had to leave town early for Maya’s dad’s Christmas. Flight got rearranged and shit. Should be home late tomorrow night. I’ll keep you updated :)

You stared at the gray bubble. Your mind was racing and your throat was tight with emotion. Yes, last night had happened — you’d done that shit to yourself. . . You just couldn’t help yourself.  It had been something you’d waited for. . . . Longer for it more than anything. But it’d still been a poor decision – you had to remember this. It was a poor decision that made your head spin. 

No, the head spinning was not on behalf of Maya. Fuck that bitch. This was about you; all it had done was hurt you. But, last night, as soon as he wasn’t with you anymore, all you’d had were your thoughts to sit with. Including this morning, you’d had plenty of time to face the hard truth of the matter. 

You weren’t important like Maya. Yes, he’d been fine forgetting about her for a moment last night. But he’d simply been a victim to temptation and lust. She was the one he chose to be in love with – stay with. Whatever emotions you thought you’d interpreted from him last night were invalid when you broke it all down. A lot of shit could be said in a moment of weakness and passion. . . And who the fuck knew if you could trust it. 

Your trauma advised you not to trust his words from the night prior. People couldn’t be trusted with everything they said. Not even Jake, you were afraid. The ones you were fondest of were the ones who could hurt you the worst. Your past never failed to confirm this for you.

The texts just reinforced all of your overthought. He was out of town already. With his girlfriend. He was not your boyfriend. He wasn’t leaving town to see your family. And he didn’t even care to text until this morning to tell you. Left you to worry about him. And surely his phone hadn’t died right off the bat – he could have said something. Also. . . There was no way they hadn’t landed hours ago. Phone chargers were also a thing one couldn’t forget, and he’d definitely had access to one before 9:30 a.m.. 

Easy, made up excuses stared at you from your phone screen. 

You didn’t matter to him. 

So you’d respond as such. (Even when you loved him so much. . . You had to put up a front to protect yourself.)

You, 9:58 a.m.: No worries. I didn’t even think twice about it. Figured you were with her. You two have fun!

In astonishment, you got chills as you realized what you’d just sent. You were proud of yourself. Even though you were internally keeling over with love and hurt for the man, you were playing it very cool. Things would be okay if you forced them to be. Fake it till you make it. Right? 

Besides, at the end of the day, you only had to ‘force’ the ‘cool’ in a few areas. Your past, your future, Jake. . . You only had to pretend so much. 

There were plenty of other areas of your life that were naturally ‘okay’ and happy and joyful. The sonogram picture filling your screen as you locked your phone was enough to remind you of this. The photo worked magic and calmed your nerves on sight. 

Your baby girl. Your little Lavender — your tiny saving grace. She was a gift — already. 

Another cookie had just popped into our mouth as you snuggled down to distract yourself with more of Kiera Knightley’s storyline. . . . when you felt your phone buzz – not once but twice. You tried to play it off and ignore the way your tummy flipped. Tried not to think about how your text hadn’t warranted a response (on purpose). And still. . . you’d received two.

Then there was a third buzz. The vibrating sensation against your thigh pulled your thoughts to Jake. You thought of how he’d been the one to put your phone on vibrate in the first place. You dreamily recalled just how naked he’d been when he’d done it. . . Fuck. The way you bit your lip was a secret told between you, the TV, and Stevie only.

Your eyes stayed glued to the screen as you tried to downplay images from your escapade the night before; the distraction of Rick Grimes in a romantic comedy only worked so well.

The waiting period lasted roughly ten minutes. By the end of it, you were left with zero self control. You unlocked the phone faster than you would ever like to admit. 

Why were you waiting to read and respond like it was a game? Was that the right way to ‘play it cool’? You didn’t know. You were new to this.

Jake, 10:10 a.m.: how are you this morning?

Jake, 10:11 a.m.: I should have texted you last night. 

Jake, 10:12 a.m.: I had to pack my shit at the last minute and our plane was literally about to depart when we got to the airport. A clusterfuck of sorts, one might say 

The little gray bubble with ellipses kept popping up, just as soon going away. He was trying to think of what to say or something. . . Though, you didn’t have to wonder what he was typing for long. The message showed up as soon as the ellipses disappeared for the fourth time. 

Jake, 10:13 a.m.: oh and we’re in Charleston. South Carolina. 

Jake, 10:13 a.m.: A bit of a ways away… her dad lives here. But if you need me, I’m just a text away. For anything you need

Another glimpsing ellipses. . . .

Jake, 10:16 a.m.: I also wanted to apologize for last night

Jake, 10:16 a.m.: I wish it wouldn’t have turned out that way

At his words, your heart broke into a thousand pieces in your chest. What did he mean by that? Was he apologizing for it happening at all? Did he mean to imply that he was wishing it wouldn’t have ended with the interruptions? Or was it that he wished he hadn’t ended up in your bed?

You sat in contemplation, skeptically eyeing the phone screen. To be safe, you chose to respond vaguely. For one, you didn’t know what he meant, so how could you respond to something that could mean two things? And for two, you didn’t want to reveal too much of your heart. . . might it break more at a less-than desired response from his end.

You, 10:20 a.m.: It ended the way it did for a reason. I ended up having a great time with Josh and Elsie. And, I’m sure you’ve had a wonderful time with your girlfriend. :)

You wrinkled your nose in pure disgust at the smiley face. Texting that shit did not make you feel smiley. The flashing ellipses appeared momentarily from him, but nothing came for a bit. There was a slight lull that made your heart sink. Even if you were trying to be guarded, you did not want to stop talking to him. What you’d pondered earlier was true. You already missed him. 

You were a few scenes ahead in the movie twenty-some minutes later. . . Still waiting. Until you weren’t. His name popping up on the screen barely registered before you were unlocking to see what he’d said.

Jake, 10:45 a.m.: Elsie and Josh always bring a good time with them

Jake, 10:45 a.m.: As do you

Fuck. And what did that mean? Your pulse thrummed under your thumbs as they hovered over the keyboard. What would you say to that? Was there anything more laced in those three words?

Once you’d given that a good two minute stare, you went for a simple, kind response. 

You, 10:48 a.m.: Thanks, Jake. :)

For the first time that morning, you felt completely satisfied with what you’d texted. Two words and a smiley face. A win was a win. 

He didn’t waste time. Even though his read receipts weren’t on, the ellipses gave him away every time. Though, you weren’t sure if he cared too much that you noticed. . .

Jake, 10:50 a.m.: I really mean it, y/n. Last night was fucking incredible

While his words should have made you leap for joy, you weren’t sure how to feel about them. They made you feel sort of. . . Cheap. The way you immediately interpreted it was that he only thought you brought a good time when it came to your body. 

And while, yes, that was a turn on. . . It only made your heart feel halfway full. You loved how he’d viewed your body and treated it, but. . . Last night, for you, had been more about the long stares. The secret smiles. The heartfelt words exchanged (that he might have meant and might not have meant). Yes, his naked body was right at the front of your brain (how could it not be? Look at him). But, he was what mattered most to you. 

Not his appearance. Or his dick. Or his mouth. Or his fingers. (But, god, yes. Of course those really mattered, too).

In fact, in spite of yourself, you were squirming on your couch thinking of those things as you saw another gray ellipses pop up on the screen.

Jake, 10:52 a.m.: I thought about you the entire flight, baby

Jake, 10:52 a.m.: you are so fucking special to me. Your heart is the most beautiful thing about you

Jake, 10:53 a.m.: I have to tell you though. All night, I kept beating myself up over how close I was to finally fucking you again. Haven’t stopped thinking about it, actually 

Okay, then. 

The warm flush in your face traveled all the way down to the pit of your tummy. Your mouth fell open before you were closing it to bite your lip. Your heart thumped in your chest at the words taunting you from your screen. 

What does one say to that? If you were squirming before, you were fucking trembling now. Your movie was a faint noise in the background and what was left of your hot chocolate was bound to turn cold. You stared at that message long enough that the words started morphing together. 

Last night had been both a blessing and a curse. A tease of what you’d been wanting. And you could have gotten it. Had it not been for his stupid ass girlfriend. Elsie had been an issue, too, yes. But, you could’ve easily gotten rid of her. But Maya? Damn that woman. And damn her family for taking him away from you — so. far. away.

When you finally thought of something to say, you weren’t sure if it was truly the best thing to say. For the sake of exposing too much of your heart for eventual brokenness, you chewed on it. But eventually, you decided that you didn’t care. 

You, 11:06 a.m.: It was the worst way the evening could’ve ended. I was pretty fucking angry when she showed up because I knew you’d end up going to her. As always.

So much for not exposing your heart and playing it cool. That text screamed at you that it had all been for nothing. . . because at the end of the day, Jake Kiszka was your biggest weakness. And that was even without being pregnant. So, the hormones did nothing to assist you in the issue. 

Even though your response had taken a while, he didn’t let that get the best of him. His responses were speedy as hell. Maybe he really had been thinking about it. . .

Jake, 11:09 a.m.: I had no choice. I’d made that commitment to her

The words caused crimson red to flash in front of your eyes and your brain didn’t process time as you responded. 

You wanted to pop the fuck off on him. So, you did. 

You, 11:10 a.m.: What about the commitment I’ve made to carry your child? Am I nothing for that? Can’t even tell her to wait? Maybe make some time for me? Just for a quick fuck? I’d hope I’m worth at least that, Jake. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have said it. . . But you also didn’t fully regret saying it. You made a solid point (kind of). (. . .Except for the glaring fact that it hadn’t been his choice for you to make that bodily commitment. . . When it had been his choice to be and stay with her.) Honestly, the part you loved most about the fact was the spitefulness inflicted behind your words. It might have made you a bitch, but you were tired of acting like your feelings were one way when you knew for a damned well fact that they weren’t. 

You knew how much you cared. Hell, you’d made the move to admit to yourself (and him, apparently — way back when) that you loved the man, for crying out loud. The least you could do was show yourself some grace in being fucking honest in your anger. You really were hurt from last night. To hell with sounding petulant and unreasonable and ridiculous. . . You could always blame it on the hormones (which could very well be seriously to blame).

Your palms felt damp as you held your phone in slightly shaky hands. Your vision was still fuzzy and too clear all at once as you awaited his response. This one took a little longer than the others. 

Over your time waiting for him to say something, you tried to decide between two things. First, you weren’t sure if you were totally okay with what you’d said. (You were very angry, but that didn’t necessarily validate a person for snapping like you had.) And secondly, you contemplated if what you said was completely within reason and you were more angry with him for taking so damn long to answer.

Trying to get out of your head, you chose to engage in the movie the best you could. You only made it about twenty minutes before his name was on your screen again. 

Jake, 11:22 a.m.: what happened to you being the one who wanted me to go be with her all the damn time? You’ve been pretty insistent that I keep my sights set on her. What changed?

Your eyes narrowed at that. Yes, he had a point. . . But you didn’t give a fuck. So did you.

You, 11:23 a.m.: What changed???

You, 11:23 a.m.: Well, for one. YOU were pretty damn insistent on me being the center of your attention last night. YOU were fine with forgetting about her until all of that went out the window with one knock.

And, for a bit, it continued like that. Just the two of you, bickering. You, blowing smoke out of your ass and him, testing you right back.

Jake, 11:24 a.m.: I can’t forget about her if she’s literally at the front fucking door

You, 11:24 a.m.: And whose fault was that?

Jake, 11:25 a.m.: um. Not mine?? Why are you acting like I was in charge of the flight getting rescheduled last minute? 

You, 11:25 a.m.: Maybe if you would have kept your phone on you, you would have known that she was on her way. We wouldn’t have had to talk so damn much before. We could’ve gotten right fucking to it. 

Jake, 11:25 a.m.: my phone was the last thing I was thinking about when we left that bathroom

Jake, 11:26 a.m.: also, I have to ask. Is that all you wanted it to be? Just a quick fuck?

You, 11:28 a.m.: No. But I wouldn’t be surprised if YOU were fine with it just being a ‘quick fuck.’ 

Jake, 11: 29 a.m.: why me? Why is it always me who wouldn't want that?

You, 11:29 a.m.: It’s always been like that. Right?

Jake, 11:30 a.m.: you have got to be fucking joking. You know for a fact that’s not true.

You, 11:31 a.m.: Do I?

Jake, 11:32 a.m.: you damn well should know it. I don’t eat pussy like that for girls who are just a quick fuck

Oh. Well, then. You were left with no time to consider those words — or the way they were affecting you — before he was texting right after with his own rebuttal. 

Jake, 11:33 a.m.: is that you telling me that it’s always been like that for you though? I’ve only ever been a quick fuck?

You, 11:35 a.m.: Of course not.

Jake, 11:35 a.m.: okay then. So quit accusing me of it.

You, 11:36 a.m.: When have I ever been the one to sleep with multiple people at once? Wouldn’t you worry about being a quick fuck if roles were reversed?

That one must’ve left him stumped because you waited a few minutes for him to come back. Or, much to your dislike, you knew he could also be busy with Maya. Too busy to text you back. At that thought, a gentle hand drew to your tummy for comfort as your eyes welled with tears that you couldn’t avoid.

Jake, 11:39 a.m.: I don’t know why you are so convinced that I’m some sexual lunatic who has slept with all of these women. There were a few when I moved here, yes

Jake, 11:40 a.m.: but that only lasted for a bit and then it was just you and Maya. I’m not some man whore, y/n. My head was just fucked for a while and I didn’t know what else to fucking do with my emotions. Sex was easy so I used it to cope

You, 11:41 a.m.: It’s always me AND Maya. Isn’t it, Jake? Has it always been both of us? The whole summer, was it both of us? And you picked her, so.

Jake, 11:43 a.m.: we’ve talked about this, y/n

Vaguely, you remembered it. But it was hazy and wrapped around a lot of weed and a night that resulted in a baby. You could only remember things in bits from that night and they came back when they wanted. The details of his Maya explanation (because you knew there had been one — you remembered that much) were fuzzy and jumbled at best.

You, 11:44 a.m.: You know I don’t remember everything from that night, Jake. Definitely don’t remember enough to feel solid in claiming I remember EXACTLY what you told me.

Jake, 11:48 a.m.: well. I told you that I saw her for like a month from the middle of June to the middle of July. You asked if I kept seeing her after the night at baby’s all right and I told you that I had because I didn’t think you wanted me. At the time she was a woman who wanted to have regular sex with me and she was just there for me during a really hard time

Jake, 11:49 a.m.: but when you and I started fucking, I cut her off right away. Barely said a word to her to explain why I was done. Kind of ghosted her, actually. All that mattered to me at that point was that you wanted me. Because all I had wanted since the day I first saw you was you. But you only wanted me to a certain extent and then that day in the kitchen, I found out you didn’t want me at all. At least that was what you told me. 

Jake, 11:50 a.m.: you didn’t give me much of a choice that day, if you remember. I had served my purpose and you didn’t want me anymore

Jake, 11:50 a.m.: so I ran back to someone who was familiar and there she was. Point of the matter is you didn’t want me and it broke me, y/n. She wanted me, so we became more. It just happened like that

Jake, 11:50 a.m.: right now is the first time it’s honestly been both of you at the same time. And I’m not sure what the fuck I’m doing to be honest with you. I just know I want you so fucking badly it hurts me every single day. And she is someone I care about enough that I don’t want to break her heart. It’s just really fucking complicated

You sat in shock as you read the four messages. In all of your time knowing him, you had never seen the man type such long texts. . . and all back to back. He’d been waiting a while to say a lot of this. You were grateful he was being honest with you, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t fucking suck to read all of it. It made you want to shrink into yourself and succumb to all of the tears you could muster. Which, at this moment, were sure to be a hell of a lot if you gave in to the pressure pushing at your tear ducts. The pressure in your chest made the tears seem like nothing, though. You felt a weight fall so fucking heavy at your breastbone, you were positive your heart had become a fifty pound weight.

He had definitely put you on the spot with all of that just now. You were at a loss for words. But you had to say something. But your fight or flight was combatting with your raging hormones and your rambling emotions. So, even if you weren’t totally sure of it, you went ahead and typed out what you felt best in your fucked up head.

You, 11:53 a.m.: It’s really unfair of you to put all of the back and forth over the summer on me. You could have had me sooner had you not been such an asshole to me. I wanted you, too. Even if I shouldn’t have wanted you, I did. I had no fucking clue what to think half of the time, Jake. 

Your thumbs flew across the keyboard on your screen before he had time to respond. You had your own shit to say, and the more you typed, the more you didn’t have to think about it. There was some long overdue shit that you needed to express, too.

You, 11:54 a.m.: I was dealing with my own conflicted emotions when it came to how to approach shit with you because I didn’t want to betray Josh’s trust in our friendship by going against his wishes and seeing you. He didn’t want you seeing people. I knew that and I still saw you. So, I felt like shit over that. 

You, 11:55 a.m.: But since finding out about the baby, he and I have talked about all of that and I wish I would have just fessed up to him because I think it would have helped me be more open to everything. At the same time though, I’ve never wanted another woman to get in the way of you pursuing your dream. I didn’t want to be the reason you put yourself on the backburner again. 

You, 11:57 a.m.: I have cared about you for so long, Jake. Even when you were a prick, I cared about you. Josh once said we are more alike than we think and he is right. In a lot of ways, we are alike. One way we are not alike, though, is I have a really fucked up past that I don’t want you to have to deal with. Period. And I’m not fucking budging on that.

You, 11:58 a.m.: But I do want you, too. I hate it because I don’t want anything between us to ever get in the way of what could make you happiest. I’ve always felt this pull to you that I wish I didn’t because it’s unfair to you. And now that I have this baby inside of me… it is near impossible for me to deny the pull. I don’t WANT to deny it. But, at the same time, you are with someone else and that makes me feel even shittier about myself for possibly destroying it for you. And I’m just not sure what the fuck to do. 

He must have been reading them as they came in because his responses were coming back quickly.

Jake, 12:01 p.m.: don’t let any of what we engaged in last night or before make you feel like shit. That is the last fucking thing I want. Our past is complicated and maybe we will never figure it out. We definitely don’t need to be sorting it all out over text 

Jake, 12:02 p.m.: but I do know that if I don’t give in to this pull that we are both feeling right now, I’m going to regret it forever. No matter who else is involved, I need to have you again. And because of our situation, sex seems to be the only thing we are going to be able to have. It sucks, but it’s what we’ve done to ourselves

There was no way you could disagree with him when it came to regretting it. You would regret it forever, too. You had to have him. But. . . the worst part about all of it was that you knew it couldn’t last. Both of you were destined to be in a constant battle of never being able to fully have each other and that was fucking gut wrenching at best. 

And even if he didn’t want you to feel shitty, you did. Because the fact that it ever ended was your fault. Your fucked up brain from your fucked up childhood that you couldn’t even fully remember. It was the most repulsive and hilarious shit. Hilarious in the sense that it wasn’t funny. At all.

At that moment, you didn’t know what to do. So, you did what you did best and denied what you could to push past the hard emotions. You didn’t want to spend Christmas Eve Eve being down on yourself. As a gift to yourself, you wanted to grant yourself that reprieve. In the way you knew best. Avoidance. 

You, 12:03 p.m.: I know that at the end of the day, Maya is who you’d want anyway. I’m too much, Jake. You haven’t put up with me long enough to understand it. 

You, 12:03 p.m.: I am very thankful that you found Gia for me. So, really. Thank you again, because therapy is how I’m going to get better for Lavender. But SHE is my only goal right now. The baby. 

You, 12:04 p.m.: So I think it’s for the best that we’ve done this to ourselves. Truly. Sex is what we are best at anyway. It’s all we should be doing. When emotions get involved, we fuck it up. And when it’s just sex, it’s easier to cut off.

Jake, 12:05 p.m.: it’s funny. You said the same exact shit last time, but it didn’t make anything any easier for me in the end

You, 12:06 p.m.: So now it’s all about you?

Jake, 12:06 p.m.: jesus, y/n. Cut the shit. It wasn’t easy for you either

You, 12:07 p.m.: Well, I wish it would have been. 

Jake, 12:08 p.m.: I wish it would have been too. But we can’t always get what we fucking want, can we?

In order to avoid an argument, you took that as an opportunity to drop a joke. Again, you were trying to give yourself a gift. And an argument over half-lies with the man you loved was not a gift.

You, 12:09 p.m.: We sure can’t, Mick Jagger. 

After about ten minutes of staring at your screen with no response, you started losing faith in any sort of arrangement working out with Jake. And again, you’d only have yourself to blame for screwing up any progress that you two were making with the emotional explosion, from both of you, over fucking text messages. 

Your screen was becoming your worst enemy. You didn’t want to look at your rejected bright blue text any longer. But you were stuck in a staring contest with it, no matter how hard you didn’t want to be.

The laser focus concentration had you fucking jumping when the phone in your hand started buzzing with a call. But as soon as you calmed down and focused on Elsie’s name, your breath rushed back into your lungs at the fact that it was her. You needed her. 

Sweet relief. Thank you, Els, you thought gratefully as you clicked the green button, carefully sliding out of your texts before putting Elsie on speaker. 

You did not want to accidentally send a voice memo or a weird ass text by staying in your texts with Jake, as a phone got pressed to your heated cheek. 

“Hey El—.”

“Hey bitch, I’m pulling into the parking lot,” Elsie’s energetic voice cut you off. She’d most definitely been up for several hours already, being much more of a morning person than you’d ever been. “If you aren’t ready when I come knock on the door, I’m disowning you.”

“Give me a damn minute!” You grumbled, albeit happily, at her intrusion. You turned off the TV as soon as you could, though. Had to escape the confines of your living room. “You just called me.” After throwing the blanket off of you, you rushed around to throw away your cookies and dumped your cocoa down the sink. After washing all of the dishes you’d used, you went to find some decent clothing for an outing. Comfort was still key today, so some leggings and a sweatshirt were your goal. 

The conversation with her carried on into your bedroom, while you found clothes to wear. She was doing most of the talking as you figured out what to wear. A bigger black sweatshirt, black leggings, and black fuzzy socks. And a maternity bra today. The sports bras were decent, but the maternity bras felt much better, if you were given the choice. 

You took a minute to relieve your ear from Elsie’s rambling. When you pulled the phone away, she was still going on and on about something slightly crotchety your grandmother had said offhandedly that morning.

And when you took a break from her talking, your head cleared enough that you decided to put on a little bit of makeup. 

So, rather than continuing to be rude and ignore her spiel, you ended up telling her to just ‘be patient and wait for a few minutes’  in the car. You made sure to tack on a promise that you’d be down soon.

After she hung up with one last ‘hurry up!,’ you finished your mascara with a final comb over your left lashes. You brushed through your hair a couple of times in front of your full body mirror. And when you were observing your chosen outfit, your eyebrows drew in when you looked better at the dark material of the sweatshirt in the mirror. Bavarian Inn? This didn’t belong to you. . . You didn’t recognize it and it fit slightly bigger than your other sweaters. 

The closer you looked, the more you noticed it gave a specific location for the Inn. . . Frankenmuth, Michigan — the guys’ hometown. Right below the name of the hotel. Did this belong to Jake. . .? It could’ve been Josh’s, Sam’s, or Danny’s. . . . You knew it belonged to one of them, thanks to the Michigan reference. You were almost sure of it. 

But, still, an idea struck in your head.

You snapped a few quick selfies in the bigger sweatshirt. You made sure to angle the camera in a way that helped you feel confident and cute, while also showing the sweater. Your toes wiggled nervously in your white, fuzzy socks. 

You noticed your hair flowed over your shoulder beautifully. It helped you feel a little more confident in your idea.

After taking a few seconds to critique the photos, you chose the best one and sent it to Jake. 

Deep breath in. Why were you even anxious? His face had literally been between your thighs twelve hours ago.  

You, 12:23 p.m.: Yours? 

You, 12:23 p.m.: Or Theo’s? 🤔

For a second, you questioned if it was a good idea to send it. . . You were clearly just starting shit. But, glancing back at your bed, you remembered what had happened on it just a little more than twelve hours ago and how it was cut short by Jake and his girlfriend’s commitment. And, any sort of anxiety over sending it dissipated. 

And the idea that his girlfriend might see your text was fucking thrilling.

You clicked the phone closed, not wanting to watch and wait for a response. As you walked to the living room, you rubbed a hand over your belly before you stopped to give Stevie a few rubbies. She had hopped up on the back of the couch to bid you farewell. With one more twirl to her tail, you gave her back a gentle scratch before telling her you’d see her later.

Then, in no time, your belt bag was slung over your shoulder—almost good to go. As you laced up your trusty white, high-top Chucks, you felt your phone buzz in your belt bag. And simultaneously, you heard Elsie in the back of your head telling you to get your ass to the car. 

So, after slipping on your thicker coat to combat the cooler temperatures, you quickly made your way out of the apartment. 

It felt like old times to, once again, sit in the passenger seat of your Grandma’s old BMW. It was on its way to becoming a family heirloom, at this point. The car, having been new when you and Elsie had been kids. 

“Broke out this old clunker, hm?” You asked with a lilt in your tone. Even though you’d been in the car for a few minutes already, the shivering was nonstop with the shocking drop in temperature outside. Leaning forward a bit, belly tucked in the crook of your thighs, you placed your hands in front of the heat. After a couple beats, you were already feeling slightly better. 

And warm, warm, warm.

Man. While it was undoubtedly the coldest day so far for December of ‘22, the older car’s intense heat worked wonders. And it was quickly making you regret the coat. 

Without another thought, you were throwing off the offensive, heavy coat and throwing it in the pristinely kept backseat. Though, you knew, if Elsie took ownership of this car when she moved back, it wouldn’t stay like that for much longer. She was terrible at keeping a car clean. Unfortunately. Because, in all honesty, the car had been kept in great condition for its age. You’d expect no less from your Grandma, who kept everything sparkly clean. It was hardly a ‘clunker’. But it was still much older than your Jetta. 

“Did you hear nothing I said on the phone?” Elsie accused, but her voice indicated she wasn’t angry. She snorted a laugh before she spoke again. “I swear if Jake was up there with his whore of a girlf—.”

“Elsie!”

“Shut the fuck up,” she responded, rolling out of the lot in the vintage silver car. “You know you don’t like her.”

Rather than agreeing, you gave a bullshit response to save face. “Els, I’m trying to be better about respecting–.”

“Stop. She’s heinous and we don’t like her. It’s okay to say that, babe,” Elsie insisted, driving smoothly through a red light when she definitely shouldn’t have. “You, of all people, hold the right to bitch about the bitch.”

“Okay, Red Light Fuckin’ Special,” you poked at her, pulling down the mirror to swipe your lips with chapstick. “Jesus.”

“Red Light Special. . .,” She hummed, clicking her nails against the stereo as she turned up the Ariana Grande song. “That’s what Josh calls me when I go down at a red li—.”

“Okay, no,” you gagged, pretending to vomit at the thought. “Not this early in the day.”

“It is not early. It’s past noon. Damn, sleepy pants. ‘S like you’re carrying another life or something,” Elsie jested, looking over at you just as you did her, offering you a wink. “And that was no red light special, sis. No, no. California Roll is what I like to call that little move,” she jokingly boasted, tossing her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. 

After the move, she did a little jig with her shoulders to a key change in the song, belting the lyrics from the top of her lungs. 

You couldn’t help but momentarily join in, letting “Santa Baby” by Ariana and Liz flow past your lips, fresh with Baby Lips chapstick. 

After sharing a giggle, you glanced at her from the corner of your eye after checking your very janky nails. “Can we get a manicure today?”

“Oh yes please,” she begged, sniffing a bit as she turned into the nearest Waffle House. Your favorite, trusted location. Just a few blocks from your apartment. “Christmas nails?”

“Ohhhh yes,” you agreed, placing your Baby Lips back in your belt bag. “But let’s do something subtle since it’s almost Christmas,” you laughed, zipping up your bag. The pocket with your phone buzzed again, reminding you of its earlier notification as you’d tied your Chucks.

Oh, yeah. . .Jake. You’d actually kind of forgotten about him.

You took Elsie’s momentary distraction with her lipstick in her mirror to check your phone. 

When you saw you had five texts from him, your tummy flipped and a sly grin pulled at your lips. You loved the way his name looked on your screen. You really did. And you were really hoping you’d gotten to him with your text. . . if even just a little bit.

Jake, 12:25 p.m.: what the fuck?? 

Jake, 12:25 p.m.: yes, y/n. It’s mine. I’m from Frankenmuth. Why the fuck would he have been to a tiny ass town like my hometown?

Jake, 12:30 p.m.: did you invite that fucker over last night or something? After hanging out with Elsie and Josh? Is that why you’re wondering if it’s his?

Jake, 12:31 p.m.: actually. Never mind that question. It’s not my place to care

Jake, 12:33 p.m.: I just hope the sweatshirt is keeping you warm enough

You couldn’t wipe the silly grin off your face or shoo away the butterflies going erratic in your tummy at his several texts in a row. Unbeknownst to you, though, Elsie had caught you, apparently. 

“What did Jake say?” 

What? How did she–? Your phone wasn’t even in her line of sight.

Y/n, the voice in your head said, sounding like Elsie as well. Be so for real. . . She knows you better than anyone.

But still, after opening and closing your mouth like a fish for a solid thirty seconds or more, you asked her. 

“How do you know it’s Jake?”

Fuck! Why didn’t you deny it?

Because there’s no point and you know it, the voice seemed to laugh at you. No point in lying to someone who will catch you in it.

 She didn’t answer you right off the bat, just curled her lips in a knowing grin as she raised a brow at you. You continued looking over at her, feeling stupid and not knowing what else to do. You shrugged, bugging your eyes with a shake of your head as if to say ‘what?!’. She looked like she was about to explode with laughter, with the way her lips shook and her eyes brightened mischievously. 

“How do I know it’s–?” She squeaked, a giggle finally escaping her lips. “Y/n– babe. Sis. Please. Don’t even act like I don’t know you’ve been imagining him in your bed every night since you found out in October. Probably even before you found out, too!” She exclaimed, sneaking a glance over at you as she turned the volume down. “You know I fucking know. It’s me!”

Obviously, you knew she was right. But you weren’t going to just let her get off that easily.

“Did Josh tell you anything?” You asked, suspicious that the activities from your game night had been exposed to your older sister.

“Maybe he spilled some information after your sad ass got out of the car last night. . .,” she smirked, eyebrows scrunched together in faked thought. 

“My ‘sad ass’? I was totally fine last nigh–.”

“Stop lying to me!” She rolled her eyes with a laugh in disbelief, the pitch in her voice raising with exasperation. “I heard Jake during our phone call and Josh put two and two together when we picked you up.”

“What did he–? How did he know anyth–?”

“He saw Maya’s car when we got there, I guess. Didn’t say anything about his little clue until the night was over though. After I brought up how depressed you’d acted all night long.”

“I didn’t act depressed, Elsie. God,” you corrected her, knowing she was most definitely the correct one. 

You knew you’d acted beaten down. Stupid – should’ve used last night to have fun rather than playing your turn of events over and over again in your head. Last night should have been a night of celebration that your sister was finally home (for good). 

You should have enjoyed the movie about Whitney fucking Houston while indulging in delicious food at Nitehawk during the movie. 

The stress eating had been unavoidable – especially when the menu had come out and your favorite dish had practically screamed your name. The root beer float and Charlie Bucket after your meal had been a pure act of self care for your broken heart. But. . . you’d still wound up sobbing during the final scene of the movie over much more than the obviously heartbreaking death of Whitney. Because, as she’d sung those songs, all that had appeared in your head was a reel of you and Jake. 

So, as Elsie and Josh had sung the movie soundtrack from the top of their lungs on the way home, you’d continued to silently sulk in the backseat as you finished the gummies in your Charlie Bucket. Your hood had been up and over your head to conceal your emotions. Said head, having laid dramatically against the car window as they’d had the time of their lives in the front seat. 

Okay. . . . Maybe you had been transparent in your emotions. 

“Yeah. . . You’re remembering, huh? Little Miss Depressed McMopey,” she smirked, although the smile didn’t reach her eyes as she seemed to be feeling your reminiscent melancholy with you. Not ever one to let you sit in your sadness for too long, she was squeezing your arm to bring you back to the moment. Your eyes snapped up to hers, the light in her blue irises brightened your spirits once more. “There she is. . .,” she paused, rubbing your arm until you were giving her the best smile you could manage. It wasn’t hard to put one on — not with Els; she made you feel at peace just by existing. “Now. . . back to Jake’s hands being all up in your no-no square during game night.”

At your open mouthed squeak, reminiscent to Lizzie-fucking-McGuire, she bursted out with a laugh. 

“Ohhh yeah, y/n,” she chuckled knowingly, blinking a few times for emphasis. “Oh. Yeah.”

Your mouth continued to gape, questions spilling past your lips in choppy sentences and barely intelligible words. To be fair, you were in shock at the sudden change in topic — the fact that she knew. 

“Josh told me everything. Well. . . everything he knows at least,” she cut into your sounds, your mouth momentarily clamping shut. “The rest I can piece together because you, sis, are my favorite puzzle to try and solve – always have been, always will be. It’s because you’re a fun puzzle for me. . . I put every piece together every damn time.”

You stared her down. Brows furrowed in contemplation and simmering annoyance. The fire that licked your veins was at Joshua for exposing you to her before you’d gotten the guts to say anything. “What is ‘everything’? What all did he divulge?” You were finally able to spit something out, your tone begging her to give more information. There was no hiding anything from her. No point in hiding anything in the first place – she was always going to figure you out — one way or another. 

She was right. She did solve your puzzle ‘every damn time’. 

She stayed quiet, smirking like a little rat. And curiosity getting the best of you as you squirmed under her knowing look. Like a petulant child, you crossed your arms over your chest, twitching your nose. “And what in the hell happened to my sweet best friend, Josh, who’s never liked exposing other peoples’ shit? He’s just decided that he’s done keeping my business, my business? Now he’s making it his to share–?”

“Oh, babe,” she interrupted you. “You two made it everyone’s business the other night, from what I heard. . . So, no. Josh still keeps shit to himself that isn’t his to share, but. . . he recalled his memory to me. My ears had to hear all of the details that you two exposed everyone to. It is not his fault that he had to witness pornography–.”

“He has got to stop with the porn shit,” you argued back, grasping for something to keep up your end of the conflict. “And it wasn’t ‘us two’. It was Jacob who started shit like that in front of everyone. I was an innocent party – a casualty at the hands of his attack.”

“Oh, yes. Little Miss Innocent. Mhm,” she snorted, turning the volume completely off before pinning you with a stare. “You definitely weren’t spreading your legs for your baby daddy. Right next to his damn girlfriend and everything.”

“Fuck,” you sighed, wimpily facepalming with one hand at her recollection. You didn’t know why you were fighting her on this. She was completely right and you knew it. Josh wouldn’t lie and Elsie wouldn’t bullshit you. The story she was telling sounded like the absolute truth and there was no getting around what she knew.

Besides, you could really use Elsie’s expertise on the situation. 

“He started it,” you moaned, placing both hands on your face to cover yourself a bit more. Even if it was Elsie, your sister who knew you best of all, you’d been caught red handed. And you were embarrassed.  You still couldn’t believe it had happened — in front of everyone. 

But, it had. And you had to own up to it once more. So, you released your face to look her in the eyes. Get it over with. “I couldn’t fucking resist. Because, yes, Elsie. Big ‘ol fucking shocker. You are right and I haven’t stopped wanting Jake in my bed. Not once,” you rambled, eyes widening to emphasize your point as you explained. “Practically since the moment I met him – even when he was acting like a prick. Since the beginning, I’ve wanted him. Yes. And the whole ‘being pregnant with his baby’ thing just makes matters worse, so give me. a fucking. break.”

There you go. You said it and there was no taking it back now. 

Would you look at that? Admitting things to yourself at the same time you were admitting them to your sister. Was it considered growth? Gia would probably say so. 

“Caught ya. But I knew all of that already,” she snickered, turning up the seat warmer on her side, showing her intrigue. “So, what did he say that no one heard? I need the tiny details. I know everything else. Did you two end up fuckin’ or what?”

Well. Not quite. So, you’d deny. As long as you could.

“No! He has a girlfriend, Elsie.” 

Didn’t stop you last night. Come on, y/n. . . 

You shook your head at the inner voice taunting you. “Even if I do want him, I shouldn’t want him,” you mumbled, knowing that was the truth. No matter what had happened, you were wrong for wanting him. “Whether his baby is inside of me or not, I shouldn’t. Morality is a thing, you know.”

Yeah. Morality means so much after last night. You are so right, y/n. Morality Queen. In the flesh. 

Memories and moments from the night prior were bouncing around in your head, playing a game of torture and mockery as you said one thing while re-living another. Your moans as he’d devoured you, everywhere. His naked body, under your hands. Your tits, held so well in his hands. The emotional exchanging of words. His dick, just about to enter you. . . Had it not been for–.

“Mhm,” she replied, lips pursed as she narrowed her eyes at you. “But you do want him. So. . . Fucking take him. I am sure you two have already fucked again anyway. So, the morality bullshit means virtually nothing at this point.”

“We haven’t had sex again, Elsie,” you grumbled, brushing a hand through your hair as your phone buzzed again in your hands. At the feeling against your thigh, you suddenly got terrified that you’d accidentally recorded and sent this entire conversation. Fuck. You hurriedly picked up your phone in shaky hands to check for any accidental recordings. 

When you glanced at your screen, you saw a new text from Jake. But you barely cared until you opened your text thread with him to find out if you’d accidentally sent anything. . .

But, you found no accidental messages when you checked your thread. Thank god. You hadn’t sent anything. All that greeted you were his (now six) texts sitting and awaiting a response. The five from earlier, still glaring at you. 

His most recent one yanked your heart from your chest and shoved it into your throat, though. Your eyes slid down the screen, taking in every word.

Jake, 12:47 p.m.: I’m really sorry for being an ass. I know I shouldn’t ask you about him. But just like you hate thinking about Maya and me, I hate thinking about you and him. But I know I shouldn’t ask you shit. Just know I miss you and I really do hope the sweatshirt has kept you and our baby girl warm in the fuckin frigid weather. I checked Brooklyn’s forecast today and it’s cold for you guys. So please stay warm. You don’t need to be getting sick

You couldn’t read that and not respond to him – especially when you’d been the one to stir shit during a morning already wrought with tense text messages. . . after a night like last night. 

So, even as Elsie cleared her throat in anticipation, you gave her a sideways glance. “Just give me a sec, Els,” you insisted, already typing out your response to him.

“Is it Jake?”

“Fuck, Elsie!” You whined, blinking once at your screen before your eyes flew to glare at her. “Yes, Elsie Mabel. It is Jake,” you sneered, irritable and hungry. And, due to being very much pregnant, those two things were enhanced tenfold, making your blood heat. And, quite frankly, your head was swimming with lovesickness for the man on the other side of the phone – who was way too far away for your fucking liking, thanks to his bitch of a girlfriend. 

“And, if you must know, while we haven’t had sex, it is not for lack of fucking trying. Last night, my dear, dear sister, his face was most definitely between my thighs,” you stated, watching her jaw drop. Both of her dainty hands went to her mouth to cover a giant, shit-eating grin. “Yes, Elsie. You are right. It is exciting. I’d love to smile and celebrate with you,” you feigned glee, sarcasm dripping from your tone when a sneer met your lips with your next words. “However, it can’t be completely exciting. Because, that blissful act had almost turned into sex. His dick was right there—waiting for fucking entry and everything.” You took a moment to consider if you’d said too much. But you didn’t care enough to contemplate it much more than that. “But, Elsie, your interrupting phone calls and Maya’s quite unexpected arrival made that shit impossible for us. His dick, taken away from me and wrapped, yet again, behind a fucking towel.” pausing, you reeled in your dramatics (again, you were pregnant. Emotions were high. . . And, admittedly, you were still very wound up from last night). 

You gave her a moment to let the shock fade however it could before you were looking back at your phone screen. “Now, please, let me finish this fucking text.”

You, 12:54 p.m.: Jake. Stop. I am the one who started it with my texts. So, please, don’t apologize for getting upset. I wanted to make you upset and THAT was wrong of ME. I was the one being an ass. For no reason whatsoever. And I am the one sorry for THAT. It was stupid. Seriously. 

You, 12:55 p.m.: Also, I am staying warm. Your sweatshirt is very comfy and I am wearing my big coat and thick socks. 

And while you really didn’t want to send the next text, you still did. It was what was right. 

You, 12:56 p.m.: Now, please. Spend time with Maya and don’t worry about me. I don’t want to take any more of your time away from her. Put your phone down and focus on her. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine and I will see you when you get back. 

Not wanting to do it at all, you couldn’t deny the validity in the idea that instantly sprung to your mind to keep him away. It was a good idea.

You, 12:56 p.m.: In fact, I’ll put my phone on Do Not Disturb to remind you to not reach out. I would like for you to enjoy your time with her without being bothered by me and my antics.

Doing just what you said you would, you took a moment to switch your phone onto Do Not Disturb and locked your phone before angrily shoving it in your belt bag. You really fucking hated saying all of that shit about Maya. You hated the entire situation. All of it. Every side of your predicament sucked ass. The only thing that didn’t make you want to punch a wall was Lavender. 

You felt tears well in your eyes at the thought of her and let yourself wallow for a minute as you tried to take steady breaths. Your eyes focused on the offensive bright yellow color of the Waffle House in front of you as your mind swirled with thoughts of your future. Your baby.

She was a prize that you continuously didn’t deserve. And, selfishly, you were so ready to just hold her and feel like your pain through all of this was worth something. Because, no matter what, even if your heart broke for Jake every day, this baby was the best thing that could’ve come from what the two of you had always seemed to have. The thing between you and Jake that had never been for his best interest. A ridiculous mess you’d created. . . The night you made her, the one validating part of your selfish ideas that had come to fruition. 

Nothing else had ever worked in favor of you two, most likely due to the fact that you two weren’t supposed to work. And, you were absolutely the sole cause for that. Fuck you and fuck everything that made you so damn screwed up and unworthy of a pure love.

No, y/n. Stop it. Don’t do this, the voice in your head that mimicked Gia insisted. Out with the negative, reach for the positive. 

You put a hand to your tummy, taking a deep breath in and out as you wiped your cheeks. A few stray tears littered the skin. As you came back to, you realized Elsie’s delicate hand on your thigh, giving intermittent squeezes in time with your breathing. You imagined she’d been doing it the entire time you’d sulked. You looked up and to your left, leveling your sister with a look.

She was, surprisingly, patiently waiting. Wasn’t pushing you to say anything. Her own eyes were shining with emotion at your internal battle that you knew she knew all too well.  

Rather than saying anything to continue your conversation, though, you eyed the time on the stereo. And, upon checking it, you realized how you’d wasted your morning. It was gone and afternoon was here and you had to work soon. Fuck it all.

With a defeated sigh and slouch against your seat, you grumbled at your sister with a sideways glance. “I have to be at work in an hour and a half. And I still want to get nails done. Can we just get breakfast at Starbucks or something?”

Without a word, Elsie gave your leg one final grip before she flipped back to the front and put the car in drive. “Absolutely, babe.”

“I’m sorry,” you moaned. “I’m ruining our day together.”

“Get out of your damn head and don’t say sorry. You haven’t ruined anything,” she quipped, coming to her first stoplight before reaching over to hold your hand. With a lone tear in your eye, you looked over to listen as she continued. “We will get Starbs, get our nails done, I’ll take you to work. . . and then, tonight, we can go get something to eat and rot on the couch while we watch a Christmas movie.”

The plan sounded wonderful, actually, so you said as much and thanked her for loving you. She’d waved you off, but you did have a thought that made your heart feel a little fuller as she turned into Starbucks. So, you voiced the thought with a request. “Can Josh join tonight?”

“Do you want him to?”

“Yes please,” you answered with a barely there smile, pulling yourself up from your slumped position the best you could with the added weight at your waist. The task proved a little more difficult than you would have liked, but Elsie was distracted as she was already calling  Josh to ask him. 

You glumly realized as they spoke that if Jake were here, he would have helped you into a sitting position. He would have made sure you were comfortable before doing anything else. He would have then placed his hand over your own, which still laid contentedly on your bump. 

And. . . the tears were tempting your tear ducts once more as Elsie hung up with Josh and moved forward the slightest bit in the long ass line.

You tried your best to conceal your sniffles, but she’d caught onto one and reached to hold your hand once more. At her touch, your skin felt a little warmer and you held tight to her sure hand. Your other palm never left your baby, not letting up on that feeling for a second, either. 

“Josh said you pick where we eat and you pick the movie and that none of us are a fan of Jake being gone so close to the holidays.”

“I never said–.”

“Babe, you don’t have to say it,” Elsie snickered, pulling up behind the car that was ordering at the speaker. “What do you want?”

You were about to answer by telling her to get your usual, but you knew you probably shouldn’t be drinking that much caffeine, so you settled on yet another hot chocolate. You’d never been the biggest fan of hot cocoa. At least, not so much to drink it multiple times in a week like you had this week. But, apparently the baby liked it, as you were suddenly craving it like no other as you eyeballed it on the menu. 

When you told her what you wanted, she raised a brow. She was thinking the same exact thing as you – knew that you only drank the beverage on special occasions, never one to seek it out.

“The baby must like it,” you responded, a shaky smile coming to rest on your lips. 

Even if your eyes were still watering, the thought of Lavender someday asking for hot chocolate at a Starbucks drive thru made your heart happy. 

You cleared your throat and shook your head, starting to feel a lot better already. “I think it’s like the third time I’ve had it this week or something.”

Elsie raised a brow at you as she pulled up to the speaker and gave her order. You gazed out the windshield, watching in awe as the hoards of cars pulled out onto the busy streets. A lot of people were late to Christmas shopping, it seemed. . . 

“So, are you thinking you’re going to end up fucking him again?”

Even though the words were a stark contrast to your thoughts, they didn’t make you jolt a bit. Now that it was out in the open, you were glad to discuss it with her. You’d kind of been waiting to talk to her about it. The thought hadn’t stopped lurking in the back of your mind since last night. It persisted in a way that it felt natural for her to ask, coinciding with your revolving door of Jake-centered thoughts. 

“I don’t know,” you breathed in deeply through your nose, letting it out slowly through your mouth. Your eyes caught sight of a little girl across the way. She couldn’t have been more than three, with long brown hair and a sweet face. Her round little baby face, bright with a grin. In spite of yourself, you grinned at the sight as she walked with her mother. “I hope I get to have that with him again. Just one more time, at the very least. But. . . I know I shouldn’t hope so.”

“Why?” 

“He–.”

“And don’t say it’s because he’s taken,” she cut you off, pointing a finger towards you, inching up in line bit by bit. 

“But that’s the harsh truth, Els.”

“Well, it’s not the only ‘harsh truth’,” she clarified, making you raise a brow. “The other truth is that you are entitled to want the man. I mean, considering you are providing a bodily home for his baby everyday. . . Come on,” she shook her head as if to imply that her point was obvious. 

“Also, his cunt of a girlfriend needs to grow the fuck up. Needs to get it through her damn head that she needs to take a step back. And the next time she says any shit about my niece. . .,” She moved forward in line, huffing a quick breath from her mouth, as if working to relax any oncoming anger. “She doesn’t want to try. Not in front of me, at least. Because, not only is she insulting Lav, she’s insulting you and you are doing something she should fucking respect.”

At her words, you shook your head. . . you agreed — to an extent. But. . . she definitely had the right to not want you to fu—.

“And, what Josh told me. . . He said you and Jake, during that game – when you did each other in front of our friends, that bitch, and the entirety of Brooklyn, New York,” she began. You snorted at her with a roll of your eyes as she kept on. “He said she looked about ready to snap. So, surely that’s why she bit your head off, right? Said that ugly shit the baby?” 

“I’m sure.”

“Did Jake hear her? Josh didn’t tell me.”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell Jake? That she said that?”

“No.”

“And why not?” She asked, sort of accusing and critically. “It’s his prerogative to know that she’s talking like that about his baby.”

“I just don’t think it’s the time to bring it up. . . It wasn’t something so alarming that I feel the need to tell him, either,” you explained, feeling as though you were making excuses for Maya’s actions. Why did you care to defend Maya, of all people? Because you felt guilty? Probably. Goddamn. Your emotions were so back and forth. “She’ll slip up again, surely.”

“So now we just wait?”

“Yep,” you shrugged, not knowing what else to tell her. “I guess.”

“And, even if it meant you’d get to fuck him tomorrow if you told him today, you still wouldn’t?”

“I just don’t think it’s my place, Els,” you reluctantly answered, knowing she had a point. But, still. You had to err on the side of what was right. And it felt right to keep your mouth shut. Didn’t want to tell him she’d been hateful just so you could get him in bed (even though you knew it would be for more than that). “If he’s meant to hear something, he will.”

“You are a better woman than me, sis,” she replied, pulling up to the window with a cheerful greeting before paying and intercepting the drinks with a ‘thank you!’. 

As she pulled out a touch too quickly, you lurched forward in your seat, almost spilling your drink. “Okay, could we maybe take things a little slower, Elsie?”

“Don’t wanna spill on Jake’s sweatshirt?”

“Fuck off. How do you know it’s—?”

“It says Frankenmuth on the front, dumbass. Josh doesn’t own shit like that and I don’t know why Sammy or Danny’s clothes would be at your place.” 

You glared at her, at which she flicked her eyes over to you. When she looked, you said your piece. “Thank you so much for calling me a dumbass.”

“That’s all you heard from that?” 

“Yes. Your stupid ass correcting tone pissed me off, so I stopped listening after that.”

She blew out a breath as she made all of the correct turns to get to your favorite nail salon. “You really need to get some because you’re in desperate need of an attitude adjustment.”

“All because I told you to drive carefully and don’t like being called a dumbass?”

“Well, I just think you should let yourself have him.”

You groaned, exasperated that she was using anything to bring it up. 

Your warm drink was held in between your cupped hands, making you delightfully shiver for more reasons than one. You nestled the cup in your lap, letting the heat radiate all the way up your arms. “It’s not that simple.”

“Well, I happen to think it is,” she encouraged, pulling into the parking lot of the salon. “And you’ve always respected my advice, so. . . consider just giving in to what you want.”

Not able to believe you were yet again giving the idea any sort of weight, you unbuckled your seatbelt as Elsie did hers as well. “Even if people could get hurt?”

“Who the hell is going to get hurt besides Maya, the Massive Cunt?”

“Um,” you wrinkled your brow with a tilt of your head before bringing your drink up to your lips for a tiny sip. “Maybe Jake? Who didn’t ask for any of this and just got it thrown on him? After he went to her? After he chose her over me because I was the bitch who broke his heart? He could ultimately miss out on true happiness because of me giving in to a selfish need — yet again.”

“I’m going to ignore most of that because you know it’s bullshit and that he wants you, too,” Elsie argued, finally taking a drink of her White Chocolate Peppermint Mocha. She hummed in satisfaction at the taste, her eyes closing momentarily. “If you give Jake your coochie-pop, do you really think he’s going to be hurt?”

“Coochie-pop?”

“Your wishing well, honey pot, poontang, dripping delta, whisker box–.”

You couldn’t help but squawk, the hilarious names for a vagina killing you. “Whisker box?!” 

“. . .Because it’s your pussy?. . .” She asked, as if you were completely unaware of what she was implying. “Get it?”

“No, I know exactly what you meant,” you corrected her train of thought, shaking your head before combing a hand through your hair. Blowing out another breath, you couldn’t help the giggle that followed it. 

“Well. Whatever you want to call it, you know I’m right,” she concluded, giving you a satisfied grin before opening her door. “Now, let’s go get our nails done and we can compare how each twin refers to our pus–.”

“Nope!” You answered enthusiastically, awkwardly angling yourself to grab your coat from the backseat. Out of breath at the simple task, you knew you’d still obtained it the best you could with the obtrusion of a belly. And while you loved the baby, — so much — it was still frustrating getting used to the extra addition at your front. In a rush, you put it on before getting out. 

She was already at the shop door when you closed the passenger side, waiting for you. When you met her there, you finished your thought. “That conversation, my dearest sister, is not one I’d like to partake in.”

“Seriously?” 

Your eyes bulged out of your sockets at her, your hands tucking deep into your pockets to warm up from the crisp chill of the wind as it bitterly whipped against your face. Reaching a bit further in your pockets, you tried to grasp for Elsie’s missing sanity. “Yes, Elsie! Seriously!”

“I just want you to know,” she began, walking into the warm shop after you. Both of you shook off the chill from the winter day once you were safe inside. “That whenever you finally give in and do the dirty with him again, I will be selfless and listen to you if you wish to discuss it with anyone.”

You shushed her, looking around at the other occupants of the salon. They were oblivious to her, thankfully, as the shop played Christmas classics to drown out obnoxious people like your sister. 

“Whatever, Elsie. You’re just nosy as hell,” you rolled your eyes with a grin before turning your attention to the cute little lady at the front counter, who you knew to own the studio. 

The tiny woman with inky black locks, tied in a clip at the back of her head, nodded with a smile as she wrote you into the schedule for your nail requests. She told you it would be about ten minutes to get you with a tech, so you decided to take one of the chairs that sat in a row against the windows at the front of the store. Your feet were not in the mood for you to be standing any longer than necessary – especially since you still had to work today.

Elsie grabbed some colors for the two of you to look at on her way to sit beside you. She handed you a Christmas color swatch that you instantly began perusing as she looked through the other palette of winter colors. “Sparkly?” She questioned from your left. 

You pursed your lips in contemplation as you studied the non-sparkly DND colors in your hands. The plainness of the dark Aurora Green and Cherry Mocha appealed to you more than the colors she held, as you glanced over to give the sparkly polishes a chance.

“I think I wanna go with no sparkles,” you decided, bringing your swatch up to show her before pointing to the Aurora Green. “I’m really leaning towards this dark green.”

“Ooh, I love,” she encouraged, leaning over you to toss her colors in the basket next to you. “What’s the number?”

“747,” you recited as she typed it into her phone, before crossing her legs and tucking the device back into the crease she’d made between her thighs. Copying her previous action, you deposited your nail colors into the wicker basket. 

You tucked your hands under your belly and leaned back against the window. All of the women around you, either chatting it up or engrossed in their phones. The sight made a thought come to you. Looking over at your sister, the back of your head still balanced against the cool window, you voiced your realization to gauge her opinion. “Els—I just thought. . . I haven’t posted a picture on any of my socials of my belly or said a damn thing anywhere about being pregnant.”

“Well, do you want to?” She wondered aloud, chewing the inside of her lip (something you both did). 

“You know, now that I’ve thought about it, I feel like I’m not going to stop thinking about it until I do it,” you responded, leaning up from your position to get your phone out of your belt bag that was still slung across your chest. When you saw zero notifications, you remembered your Do Not Disturb idea and quickly checked your call log to see if you’d missed anyone important. 

No one. Wow. You were so damn popular. You left that app to go to Pinterest to look at some pose ideas. And, hard as it was, you avoided going to your texts. Because, you figured if it was important enough, you’d have gotten a call from anyone who might’ve texted you. 

You simply did not want to face the reality of Jake adhering to your ridiculous request. 

When you looked over at Elsie from the corner of your eye, she was already looking at her own Pinterest app. And while you had simply typed ‘maternity announcement poses’, your scheming sister had typed ‘sexy boudoir maternity poses.’

“Elsie Mabel!” You reprimanded her with a laugh, bumping her shoulder with your own. “Why the sexy? And definitely no boudoir. Are you kidding?”

“What?!” She said, giving you a wink. At which, you just shook your head and mouthed a final ‘no’. Growling, you watched as she deleted the ‘boudoir’, but noticed how she kept the ‘sexy’. “And — before you get onto me for keeping the sexy, I will let you know: you get better results if you throw in a word like that.”

You really weren’t so offended by that idea. The boudoir was just too much. Honestly, playing around with some sexy pictures, with the bonus of Elsie’s time and help. . . It might even aid in boosting your mood. And, you had to say. . . your body confidence was definitely better since last night, you could say that much. 

Jake had done a wondrous job at making you feel very appealing and truly attractive. Fuck, you wished you could go back in time and change the night’s turn of events. Ridiculous ass luck.

Squeezing your legs tighter together, you did as she said and typed the same into your search bar. You even tacked on ‘black and white’ because you liked the idea of that, too. . . 

And damn were you happy with the results. 

“Oookay, Els. . . You might be onto something,” you said appreciatively, nudging her shoulder once more as you found one to show her. 

Right off the bat, there was one pose in particular you knew you had to use. When you pointed to it to show her, she stuck her bottom lip out to show respect for the idea. “His shirt, too?” She asked with a sly brow. 

All you did was wink at her before pinning the scandalous picture to your brand new board.  

a/n: i love you all an inexplicable amount. you have no idea. covet is my baby + i think it's time i thank you all, once again, for loving her w me :') i wouldn't be where i am today without your support, my loves :''')

also..... after being asked several times, i gave in to the temptation... i finally took some time today to update the Covet Visualizer i made when covet was just an infant :') lol. you may view it if you'd like. however, you don't NEED TO. i simply am a very visual person, sooo i made it for my fellow visual learners/lovers. (IF YOU DO CHOOSE TO USE IT, PLEASE VIEW IT IN PRINT LAYOUT!! — esp if you’re using the docs app/are on your phone!!)

Taglist (continued in reblog):

@joshym, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlover, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend

@aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf

@torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule, @texas-bbq-pringles, @jennyraye20

I always try to tag everyone, but you all know how it goes! ughhh (taglist will be cont. in reblog !!) Please make sure you’re filling out my Google Form if you would like to be tagged and aren’t already on the taglist! <3

[spicybylerpolls]

It's a shame how guarded the fandom is regarding sex. First and foremost because sex, and specifically shame around sex, is heavily, heavily tied to Mike and Will's story.

If Lucas can have a 69 sign above his head while he's sleeping, why is it so hard to believe Mike and Will are having sexual dreams about each other? Especially if you ship them and acknowledge the 69 sign was obviously signaling a sexual dream?

If Lucas can have a reference to dirty magazines under his bed, why is it so hard to believe Mike and Will also have dirty magazines hidden around their bedroom?

If Dustin can have a reference to masturbation, why is it so hard to believe Mike and Will are also interested in masturbation as well?

They specifically put these references in the other, ORIGINAL, party members, who are the same age as Mike and Will, while also including references for them too (that people just can't accept), signaling all these boys are starting to think about sex. The difference is, Lucas and Dustin don't have any shame surrounding who they're attracted to.

I don't know about you (however I imagine this is a common experience for many queer people) but before I accepted that I was attracted to the same sex, I'd constantly find myself watching the women in porn and consciously trying to focus on the man. I'd tell myself things like "oh - you're just interested in how your body will look when you're older" or "oh - it's normal when you watch porn" etc - basically anything to reaffirm that I wasn't gay. And this is all between ages 13-16.

This is exactly how I see Mike, specifically. Starting to notice his attraction to men but consciously repressing it, telling himself he's normal and it doesn't mean anything. And I think people forget (or maybe just feel uncomfortable talking about) this part - that the sexual attraction, the shame in the sexual attraction, is a huge, huge part of realizing you're queer and coming-of-age as a queer person.

And that's why Mike doesn't want to hug Will at the airport (or a big part of it). It feels awkward, even if he doesn't know why. It feels awkward because he feels ashamed for liking Will. I mean the first shot we get of Mike setting eyes on Will in Season 4 is of him looking at Will's chest and then quickly averting his eyes. This tells us everything we need to know - Mike is attracted to Will, feels ashamed about it and doesn't want anyone to know (or likely doesn't even fully understand it himself, but at the very least, knows it's not "right").

Point being, his shame surrounding specifically his sexual attraction to men is one of his biggest issues and failing to talk about it is a HUGE DISSERVICE to his character!

It also does a huge disservice to Will's character, too. The repercussions of this shame, a lot of the time, is Will's situation - not having your first kiss, all of your friends growing up before you, hating yourself because you have a crush on your best friend. All because he's romantically AND sexually attracted to men. This is what Will's thinking. If he wasn't such a freak, if he didn't want to kiss boys, if he wasn't starting to feel sexually attracted to men, then everything would be so much easier. He wouldn't feel like such a mistake.

This is why I think they'll absolutely have a sex scene in S5 and also why I think it will be explicit. I previously thought it'd likely be implied and that that'd be enough but I don't see it the same anymore. Now, I don't think this means it has to be racy, obviously, but just that the audience would see some of it. Quite frankly, doing an implied sex scene, while I wouldn't be dissatisfied, is a disservice to the story.

See, with Jancy, the implied sex scene works. The tension between these two characters has been building for a season and a half and we know they want to have sex. We don't have to see it, we just need to know that they do.

But with Mike and Will? That's not the case at all.

First of all, the tension has been building for 5 seasons, which is the entire series. An implied sex scene would ultimately be a tame ending to this storyline.

Second, Mike and Will specifically feel shame about this act, Jonathan and Nancy don't. We don't need to see their reaction but we need to see Mike and Will's reactions because it completes their characters. Because they have felt shame about this specific thing, not showing them feeling comfortable doing this, with each other, would be incomplete.

Third, think about Steve and Nancy's sex scene - we're shown it specifically because Nancy feels uncomfortable.

Ultimately, there's no need to show Jonathan and Nancy having sex because there's nothing left unresolved. That's what the Duffers actually get right - only showing a sex scene when it's important for the narrative and for the characters. Even Hopper and Joyce point to this, despite them being the oldest characters and the most suitable to have an explicit sex scene, opposed to Steve and Nancy. That's because there's nothing else to tell us about Joyce and Hopper through this sex scene - we know they love each other. I don't see why the Duffers would break this pattern now.

And well, even if you don't want the scene, I don't see how you could argue that the moment Mike and Will decide to have sex isn't extremely important for their characters and would tell us A LOT about how they both feel, especially Mike seeing as we don't get his perspective.

You could argue the kiss would suffice but... does it? A kiss isn't really... sexual. And Romantic, sure. But this wouldn't address the shame they specifically feel about sex. Mike starting to cry while having sex with Will tells us so much more about his character than him crying while kissing Will.

Kissing is also a thing children do. Ending a 5 season, 9 year long coming-of-age project, with two characters who have fought inter-dimensional monsters that quite literally represent their shame, simply kissing? Something we've already seen one of these characters do, multiple, multiple times?

Okay, I guess.

Anyway, I know a lot of these points have already been made, and that this was really long, but I just wanted to say them again because it upsets me so much, especially during rewatch when I see all the themes right in front of me. And I know it upsets other people, other young adults, too. Seeing this experience represented so accurately - one that you might even still feel shame about, one that you went through not too long ago - and not even being able to discuss it openly in the fandom, is sad. Being called a freak or a pedophile for simply suggesting that sex is important here and the Duffers are telling us so. Sex... the thing that literally created us all. And that almost everyone starts thinking about between the ages of 13-14.

Sigh. At least we have this blog. Thank you for that. 🫶🏼

[musashi]

Hiiii, so this is a call for some help with a video I have in the works right now.

I am looking for a Latinx volunteer to... I guess sensitivity read and/or help me fine-tune a very specific part of a youtube video script. Preferably someone in the Ace Attorney fandom, but you do not need to be by any means--if there are any plot details you need me to explain to you to make my points clearer, my autistic ass will jump at the opportunity.

It's a misconception debunking video with a little 'character assassination' bit at the end where I plan on talking about unfortunate boxes, flanderizations, and stereotypes that some of the characters in my favourite visual novel often get lumped into. One of these characters is Diego Armando, a Latino (dark skinned Japanese in the original) man who is constantly held to higher scrutiny by the fandom than his lightskinned peers. He is frequently demonized, painted as a misogynistic scumbag, held in much worse faith than other culprits for his very understandable and sympathetic wrongdoing, and overall just treated incredibly harsh for things that other comparable characters get away with on account of them 'looking' white and having more anglicized names.

Since I am white myself I do not plan on speaking excessively about the experience when it is not my own but I think it is a huge fucking disservice to not focus on the fact that this fandom treatment all just stems from racism. It's the one part of my video where I don't plan on even entertaining "the other side" or explaining where the misinterpretation "comes from" I want to just. Make the point. That it's racism, with no rhyme or reason.

But I obviously don't feel qualified to just do that on my own so this is just me putting out feelers to ask if anyone would like to read over this part of my script for me, offer concrit (scalding concrit if you must, please, I want it to be as tight as possible) and basically just make sure my own white privilege doesn't gloss over, misrepresent, or miss anything. Basically just asking for help not fucking it up.

Again you do not have to be into AA to help me with this, I can tell you all about the character and what he does and doesn't do, his place in the story, and the things I hear about him in fandom and how they don't hold up on other comparable characters. Just know I will have to spoil the whole final game for you if you ever plan on getting into it haha. And, once again, please only volunteer if you are Latinx yourself.

I will, of course, give you full credit and thanks in my video and in the description, and link my viewers to any and all platforms if you'd like. Since I make no money off youtube and am horrendously broke myself, if you have any donation links posted anywhere I will boost the hell out of those too. That's about all I can offer for compensation OTL

Please contact me via ask if this is something you're interested in. You can also reply on this post and I can open DMs for you or get in touch with you via email or discord. I really, really, really want to include this in the video but I want to do it right.

Even if you're not someone who qualifies, if you are an AA blog or have lots of AA blogs following you, I'd appreciate a reblog to boost this! Thank you :3

[ashbeneviento]

Hey so ✨rant time✨ about the village fandom (again, sorry y’all)

This post will contain dark themes so TW:R*pe, Dubious consent, kinks such as somno under the ***

*****************************************************

It’s totally fine to not be into CNC, or related kinks such as somno or DC. It’s totally fine to not want to read about them either! HOWEVER

What is not fine is to pretend that properly tagged fics are out there to get you. You see the tag, you move on. You aren’t exposed to it unless you CLICK. TO. READ. THEM. It’s not fine to proclaim that we are doing a disservice to the characters by writing them in such ways. It’s also not a disservice to actual victims to enjoy, or even write about said themes. Most of the people who write these fics, if not all, are victims themselves. Most of the people who enjoy reading these fics are also victims. I am one of those people! It is not only a healthy outlet for me, it’s also just.. normal? To have these kinks. (Also sometimes the story includes it purely for plot purposes and isn’t always the main theme for the story)

Keep in mind that these are villains who torture and canonically murder innocent people. They are mutants, creatures, monsters..that alone is “taboo” if you find them attractive. They aren’t sunshine and rainbows, y’all. They are going to do dark, villainous things because they are dark and villainous. I enjoy the soft, fluffy and sweet HC’s too. And when I want to read those I purposely search for those tags. You have tools to work around your triggers. Tag blocking, muted words, filtered searches that will take you to your destination. If you happen to see tags that you don’t vibe with, it is your responsibility to scroll. What we aren’t going to do is try and dictate what “safe media” is because that leads down a very slippery slope of censorship.

And I get it! I used to feel the same way. This isn’t me being like “the real world doesn’t have trigger warnings” because it absolutely does. What matters is what you do with them, though. You cannot prepare yourself for them happening out of your control, no…and it sucks when media doesn’t properly inform you of its content, but it’s your responsibility to practice online safety as well. Tags are a great example of putting it into practice.

It’s just kinda off to be surprised that a fandom for a horror game that includes really evil characters.. writes them as evil? We all experience our traumas differently and there’s no right or wrong way unless you are purposefully hurting others. Hopefully this doesn’t come across as mean but I genuinely hope my message gets through.

Thank you and good time zone to you all

[dippedinmelancholy]

I honestly saw someone post that you can’t critique or look too deep at the actual books SJM has written, but you have to take the vibes she’s spoken about in interviews as the “canon”, because SJM has retconned so much, so of course it doesn’t make sense. To be fair to the canon, you have to just watch her interviews and ignore the actual words she wrote . . .

That is until, obviously, you want to use the words to back up whatever IC loving and Rhysand worshipping take you’re trying to churn out.

Regardless of the absurdly toxic ACOTAR fandom, this is like . . . Idk, not to be super offense, but a very stupid take, and one I’ve never heard in another fandom.

What do you mean you shouldn’t read the words and take them seriously???? That only her interview vibes are what matters???? What is the point of reading the book? Why not just have her verbally tell you the story ???

Honestly, the “fast fashion” vibe of booktok is rotting people’s brains. Books are meant to be read, enjoyed, critiqued. The beauty of writing IS what you can hide and weave into the prose. The subtle messaging, the themes. It’s meant to be taken exactly as it’s written, not some interview that absolutely no one needs to, or should even feel urged to, watch. Sorry, you don’t deserve my money if your writing is so trash and retconned to hell and back that it makes absolutely no sense less I listen to you explain the “vibe” you were going for.

You pay a fucking editor, SJM. Use them.

Don’t try to tell me these stories have deep lore and interconnecting worlds that are on the same level of great high fantasy, and then tell me I can’t take any of the written words seriously, that I should just mindlessly enjoy the Shadow Daddy who is a creep and weird and an obvious liar.

I love mindless smut as much as the next person. It’s enjoyable, it has a place. Bodice rippers have been some of my favorite pieces of fiction. But they still are held to the bare minimum of having to make sense to the reader. Critiquing literature IS part of being a reader. Please retake freshman literature, remember why your teacher asked you over and over again “what do you think the author could have meant by this?”

It doesn’t matter if the curtains are just blue. At bare minimum, the author’s words mean exactly WHAT THEY WROTE, but the core question is what does it make you feel? What thoughts does it provoke? Please stop doing yourself the disservice of numbing your own mind.

[astrronomemes]

THE SECRET HISTORY: STARTERS

a collection of quotes, phrases, and sayings from the 1992 novel The Secret History by Donna Tartt. change & alter as needed.

"I suppose, at one time in my life, I might have had any number of stories, but now there is no other. This is the only story I will ever be able to tell."

"If there's one thing I'm good at, it's lying on my feet. It's a sort of gift I have."

"I am nothing in my soul if not obsessive."

"He can't be all that elitist if he accepted me."

"Well, if he doesn't know, I'm not going to tell him."

"No person, no matter how beloved, can ever truly understand us."

"Bloody, terrible things are sometimes the most beautiful."

"Let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones... then spit us out, reborn."

"I mean to say, [name] is a handsome fellow and a sterling character, but I wouldn't want to marry him, would I?"

"You had better watch out. I've heard some weird shit about those people."

"You're always saying that, [name], but I just don't think it's true."

"[Name], put me down. I'm bleeding all over you."

"You shouldn't push your friends away like that. The best friends you'll ever have are the ones you're making right now."

"I told you, I don't have any friends here."

"I think it's good to change the place where one sleeps from time to time. It gives one more interesting dreams."

"I mean, he's not what you think. Or what [name] thinks, or anybody else. For a while there, he had me fooled but good."

"The appeal to stop being yourself, even for a little while, is very great."

"You're being so nice about this. I feel awfully embarrassed by the whole thing."

"Well, you may or may not know this, but [name] is a little jealous of you."

"Jesus, [name], you know everything. You make me sick."

"They say the same about arsenic, but I wouldn't like to try it."

"Anything I do will be dangerous, you know."

"What do you and [name] need a secret code for?"

"A person can do an awful lot of talking in twelve hours."

"If we keep it as casual as possible, no one will give us a second glance. People don't pay attention to ninety percent of what they see."

"Really, there's nothing to worry about. It seems risky, but if you look at it logically, it couldn't be safer."

"Who do you think [name] would be more apt to believe?"

"Forgive me for being blunt, but if you think you have any influence over [name], you're sadly mistaken. He's not particularly fond of you, and if I may speak plainly, he never has been."

"There were some things you had to know, I suppose, but I feel I've done you a disservice by involving you this far."

"What is unthinkable is undoable."

"Anyway, you want to come to this party?"

"You idiot. Did you know your shirt is on inside out?"

"I had a dream tonight. You were in it."

"I need more than coffee."

"I'm embarrassed that people will think we went to see such bad movies."

"He knows we're lying. He just doesn't know what we're lying about."

"I prefer to think of it as a redistribution of matter."

"These guys will chop you up and put you in a garbage bag for twenty bucks."

"You know, we've done a terrible thing."

"You know, I'm really not attracted to you."

"Anything is grand if it's done on a large enough scale."

"You look as if you were in a barroom brawl."

"People get upset, all of a sudden they want to listen to old hippie garbage they would never listen to if they were in their right mind. When my cat died, I had to go out and borrow all these Simon & Garfunkel records."

"By the way, I've been meaning to ask, what did you do to your eye?"

"Murder is pollution. The murderer defiles everyone he comes into contact with. And the only way to purify blood is through blood."

"You amaze me. You think nothing exists if you can't see it."

"He loved you, too. He would have wanted you to know that. You know that, don't you, dear?"

"Do you think I should go to the hospital?"

"I didn't take anything. You know very well I didn't."

"I would've told them anything if I thought they'd send me home."

"I mean, I've been drinking a bit more than I should. I'm the first to admit that."

"I never brought your name up, man. I hardly fucking know you. But they got it from somewhere. And it wasn't from me."

"Look at [name]. Don't you just love him? If he called me up and asked me to marry him, I would do it in, like, one second."

"Is death really so terrible a thing? It seems terrible to you, because you are young, but who is to say he is not better off now than you are? Or — if death is a journey to another place — that you will not see him again?"

"I'm not taking sides. I just think whatever you're doing, you picked a bad time to do it."

"[Name], it's none of my business, but I hope for God's sake you know what you're doing."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you have to make things so hard for everybody?!"

"You don't feel a great deal of emotion for other people, do you?"

"My life, for the most part, has been very stale and colorless. Dead, I mean. The world has always been an empty place to me."

"I know I said earlier that he was perfect, but he wasn't perfect. Far from it — he could be silly and vain and remote and often cruel, and still, we loved him, in spite of, because."

"Flesh and blood are frail and weak, and there comes a time when we have to transcend our teachers."

"I loved him more than my own father. I loved him more than anyone in the world."

"I don't care what happens to him. I don't care if he dies. I wish he was dead."

"[Name] can't hurt you. You're perfectly safe out here."

"Kidnap is not the word that I would use."

"So, you've come to kill me?"

"If you want to shoot me, [name], go ahead and do it. It'll be the stupidest thing you ever did in your life."

"The stupidest thing I ever did in my life was listening to you."

"I managed to get out of taking my French exams next week, due to the very excellent excuse of having a gunshot wound to the stomach."

"Forgive me, for all the things I did, but mostly for the ones I did not."

"You know, everybody is saying that you're dead."

"Are you happy here?"