#i might release her playlist soon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jakeyt · 10 months ago

Text

Covet: Chapter 9 (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great.

Was.

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home.

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in.

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; fainting; regurgitating profusely; nausea; extreme feelings of stress and anxiety; extreme feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; allusions to a dark, forgotten childhood; therapy; mentions of EMDR therapy; prenatal visits; arguing/raising of voices; heart issues addressed (POTs); use of heart monitors; hemoglobin kits mentioned; emergency room visit and all that might entail (e.r. visit is a longer one, so strap in); revisited, vivid memories of sex; jealousy; body changes as a result of pregnancy; negative self-talk; looooots of baby talk; pregnancy hormones (and this is nothing compared to what's to come - that's all i'll say); reader still being sad while she checks Jake out; oh! and Joshua Michael Kiszka being the perfect angel he is <3 (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 32.6k+ (what the actual-?)

a/n: hi my lovely readers <333 i am deeply apologetic for the time you waited to receive this chapter, but i hope the length (holy fucking shit, btw) will make up for it. i really will try my damndest to not take almost a month next time.....

BUT, as you guys have learned, my chapters are very rarely "short" in length, so you can rest assured i'm quite literally busting ass trying to write the chapters in the near-month span of time between updates. lol <3 (while also doing real-time life w a job and family to tend to every single day)

this story is my baby that has been outlined for months in a google doc and i refuse to release chapters until they're completed with everything i deem necessary to include. i promise it's all for the good of the story and for the ultimate enjoyment of the readers (you!). <3 i'm never purposefully leaving you hangin', babes <3 ily all more than i'll ever be able to properly express. 🫶🏻

special shout out to my sis for being my go-to beta, ear, advice-giver, helper, AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN when it comes to all of the silly little stories i write. @joshym. you are my favorite. you know that. and i love you. so fucking much. forever the daniel to my samuel :)

and another shoutout to my wonderful pal @welightthefire - GOD, i love you. y'all, this lady has been my main source for all things baby related and i'd be hurting without her help on alllll things baby and pregnancy. <3 babe, you are the bomb and you better KNOW IT.

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

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

“The covetous person is full of fear; and he or she will who lives in fear will ever be a slave.”

-Horace

-🌼🌼🌼-

Your stomach dipped all the way to the heels of your feet, your body feeling a rush of equal parts cold and hot.

There were no words spoken for several moments, and almost as soon as you’d said it, Josh had turned to face the front. Jaw clenched tighter than you’d ever seen it, he put the car in drive as his hands wrapped tightly around the wheel – 10 and 2. His back was ramrod straight and his jaw didn’t stop flexing as you swiveled to sit to look out the windshield alongside him.

Your stomach was churning— for multiple reasons. On top of the anxiety in the moment, you also hadn’t been eating much as of late. Your appetite was almost nothing — save for pickles and Cosmic-fucking-Brownies.

It had blossomed seemingly out of nowhere.

After your night of Mac and Cheese with Jake, you had started borderline craving it afterwards—alongside the brownies and pickles. But, when you’d made some for yourself, you came to realize, with the first bite to your mouth. . . That Mac and Cheese was no longer your friend.

Although, it had made very close friends with the toilet, as you’d bent over it hurling until every last bit of the yellow food deposited in front of your sweaty face.

Surprisingly, you’d still been hungry after puking. . . but unfortunately, everything else you’d tried to eat either ended up in the toilet or in the trash from the smell alone.

And, to your utter demise, Cosmic Brownies had been ruined that day, too. Their contents eventually met the toilet when you’d tried to snack on one that same evening to fill your empty stomach.

Suffice to say, the nausea had started to kick your ass and this particularly tense situation was doing you no favors.

All you could do was steal glances at him, awkwardly, for the thirty or so minutes it took to get to the women’s clinic. He wasn’t talking at all which was so unlike Josh. You’d never gone this long being in the same space as him where he wasn’t talking. The man loved to talk. And you loved to listen and engage.

But that was not the energy that was transpiring between you two.

You would have normally put on music to fill the hollow, painfully silent space. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to move, much less put on music that would just add to the discomfort that you’d created with your confession. And, honestly, it felt like you were already making too much noise every time you took a deep breath.

Besides stealing the occasional peek at him, you watched the multiple semis that passed you, and the forests that lined the highway, full of leaves with changing colors.

And Josh just drove. Just fucking drove. And, even worse, he drove normally. Better than normal, actually. Unlike ever before, he was following the highway’s speed limit, all while not getting emotional anytime someone pulled an asshole move on the road.

He seemed to be putting every bit of his energy into three things: focusing on the road, keeping his jaw clenched tight, and not moving his hands from 10 and 2 unless he had to look over his shoulder to switch lanes.

Once you pulled up to parallel park on a busier street in SoHo, you’d made up your mind to tell Josh to just drive back and that you could hitch a ride with an Uber.

You didn’t want to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he apparently already felt.

For one, he didn’t need to be here if he didn’t want to be. And secondly, you couldn’t fucking handle any more right now. The whole point of him being with you was because you were already fucking stressed before you’d ever even told him. And at this point, it seemed you’d been correct in your assumption of him being angry.

But right now, his reaction didn’t fucking matter. This appointment mattered. Your baby mattered. You needed to be in some sort of decent mind space before you stepped foot into the place. And whether or not that included him was relative to his response when you informed him of this.

You breathed in and out heavily, shutting your eyes as you did so. Once you opened them, you pressed the unlock button on your door, signaling to him that you were ready to get the show on the road. You didn’t have time to fucking sit here and let him sulk.

Releasing a deep breath once more, you finally turned to look at him once you’d unbuckled. Then, once facing him, you mustered the firmest tone possible at that moment. “Josh,” you started, sharply. He blinked slowly and flexed the muscle in his jaw once more before he turned to make eye contact with you.

Fuck. His eyes. . . Was he angry? Sad? Indifferent? You couldn’t fucking tell. You’d never seen him so guarded. God, you shouldn’t have invited him to this. You really had started to hope that he would react more like Elsie and Gia thought he would.

But he hadn’t, and you were faced with whatever the fuck this attitude was that he had chosen to wear.

Once it was obvious he was going to look at you as you spoke, you continued. “You don’t have to go in there with me,” you began, firm yet empathetic. “I won’t make you. I will go in on my own. I have to. For my own reasons, I have to keep this appointment today. But you don’t have to come in if you would rather not,” you stated, steady and sure. He was free to fucking leave if he wanted. “You can fucking leave. I will not make you go in if you’re angry or upset or uncomfortable. I’ll get a damn Uber and you can drive back to the complex to get your car.”

He seemed to come back to the present, blinking several times and shaking his head. He rubbed one hand down his face, just as Jake did when he would get stressed.

The similar reaction made your tummy feel fuzzy and desperate for the security you needed at the moment. You needed someone right now. Even if you were willing to do this on your own (which you were), you could really use his support at the moment.

You unlocked the doors once more, making sure they were ready to go before you reached for the handle.

Resolutely, you looked over your shoulder before you addressed him once more. “I’m sorry that I made you angr—.”

“I’m not angry,” he finally said softly. After clearing his throat to talk properly again after not talking for so long, he continued. “I’m shocked and— I’m just feeling a lot of things,” he iterated, his eyes begging you to understand. And, you did. “But I am honored that you wanted me to come with you today,” he said, his face transforming to once again show you your Josh. He was back. Grabbing your hand, he finished his thought. “And I would love to go to this appointment with you.”

The tears that filled your eyes and trailed down your cheeks one by one couldn’t be helped.

“I couldn’t have done this today without you,” you said, voice cracking with emotion. You popped the glovebox to get a napkin to wipe your face, not looking at him as you kept on. “I’ve been so scared for this, and the only person— besides Elsie— that I wanted here with me, was you.”

He reached over to hold your hand, and you tucked the napkin into your lap for backup when you caught his eye again. Before he spoke again, one tear escaped his eye. With one hand lightly squeezing yours, the other dashed up to wipe at the new wetness under his eye.

Then, after shaking his head, he raised a curious eyebrow to address you. “Wait,” he said wetly before clearing his throat. “Is this your first appointment?”

“Yes,” you blinked, a blush skirting over your cheeks. “I’ve been in denial of it all until super recently.” You sniffed, feeling a couple more tears escape your eye at the topic of conversation and finally talking to Josh about it. It was, admittedly, a lot. “It took me a hot fucking second to come to terms with all of it, so I’m just now at the first appointment.”

He nodded, brows still furrowed as he looked down briefly before finding your eyes again. “How far along are you?”

“I think I’m technically like eleven-ish weeks,” you replied, doing quick math in your head. “I would need to look at my app to give you an exact number. Normally I have it right at the front of my brain, but my nerves are fucking wracked right now,” you bashfully swept your eyes over your hands, interlocked on the armrest. “For obvious reasons.”

You heard him hum and took that as your sign to look at him again. He was watching you carefully, quizzically. His eyes squinted as you, yet again, flushed under his stare.

“What?!” You hastily spit out, nervous.

“Does he. . .?”

Knowing exactly what he was asking, you quickly shut down his train of thought. “Jake doesn’t know,” you informed him, tucking your chin as you quietly repeated yourself. “He doesn’t know.”

“Alright,” he responded, not questioning you in the slightest. Your eyes flashed up to meet his: the color of cocoa and sparkling. “Does Elsie?”

Without any words, you gave him a look that answered his pondering thoughts.

He chuckled, and you joined him by huffing a little laugh, just under your breath. You felt your cheeks loosen with an easy smile. Your shoulders were relaxing more and more by the second. The familiar, natural sense of joviality with him was settling your frazzled nerves.

You eyed the clock on the dashboard and suddenly realized that you were cutting it very close to your appointment time, with no more than a few minutes to spare before you would be running late.

Sensing your sudden shift in mood, he took the keys out of the ignition just as you unlocked the doors once again, and opened yours.

“Let’s go inside,” he encouraged, mimicking your action as he opened his own door behind your turned back.

When you were out of the car, and waiting (sort of) patiently on the sidewalk for him, you physically shook out some of the anxiety that had made home in your bones for the last several months.

He officially knew that you’d had sex with Jake. He knew that now. And he knew that it had resulted in a baby. He knew enough for now.

And it actually seemed like things were going to be okay. Maybe Elsie had been right all along (though you’d never tell her that).

Your thoughts were affirmed when he came up beside you, pulling you into a hug as soon as he was at your side. A full-on Josh hug: arms wrapped securely around your shoulders. You did your best to hold back tears, so as not to soil his stark white sweatshirt.

Pulling away before you could let any inevitable tears take over, you looked up at him to see his dimple, present in his cheek. You couldn’t help the single tear that trickled down your cheek at the overwhelming feeling of normality. He was warm. He was real. He was Josh.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, bringing you to him once more before taking your hand in his and wrapping it up tightly.

Peeking up at him through wet lashes, you saw his face was still turned up in his signature grin, his eyes, slightly playful as he gave you a knowing look he’d given you a thousand times before.

“You’ve got this, mama,” he reassured with a wink, opening the door to the clinic for you.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The place was fucking amazing. The pictures you’d seen on its website hadn’t done it justice at all. The environment was trendy and relaxing and comfortable. Soft music, similar to that of a lullaby played in the open space, only illuminated by the natural light of the day. No overbearing fluorescent bulbs.

Thank God.

As you made your way to the front desk, you decided to let go of Josh’s hand.

For some reason, it just felt right to do this on your own. Felt right to make this stride on your own. You could handle the front desk.

“You go sit down,” you offered, motioning to the couches that filtered the chic waiting room. “I think I can do this part.”

“You sure?” He asked, brows dipping to show his genuine concern. “I’m with you every step of the way. I mean it.”

Your eyes drew wet at the words, but you sniffled and cleared the emotion from your throat when you went to grab his arm through the soft white material of his sweatshirt. “I love you so much for that. I can’t even tell you, Josh,” you told him, a tear escaping despite your efforts. “But I’ve gotta take this step on my own.”

He nodded, needing no further explanation. “I’m over here if you need me,” he threw a thumb at the couches behind him.

You watched as he walked to the couch nearest to the front desk, sitting comfortably on the blush pink velvet that covered it. You tipped your head at him once, showing him and yourself that you were starting your trek to the counter.

Once there, you were greeted by the kind smile of a woman most likely in her fifties or sixties, her thick black-framed glasses taking up more than half of her face. Her tanned complexion was flawless and her lips were full with red lipstick as she stretched them over perfectly white teeth. Her jet-black hair was half-up, half-down, haphazardly thrown up with a claw clip, but looking flawless nonetheless.

She matched the modish aesthetic of the clinic to a T.

“Hi, babe,” she cheerily greeted you with an out-of-place Southern accent in SoHo, her voice still low to keep the room quiet. “You have an appointment today?”

You froze. The reality of it all suddenly came barreling towards you.

Fuck. Shit. Yes. I do have an appointment today. I’m pregnant. I’m standing here, waiting for an appointment because I’m fucking pregnant.

Dammit. What the fuck? I’m. . .?

You standing here suddenly seemed completely astronomical and unreal– was this truly what life was for you now? While thinking about it nonstop, you’d also not been thinking about it to the extent that it would’ve taken for all of this change to click. This was real. Real life.

You were carrying a human child.

And you were at your first appointment for it.

Goddamn.

Blinking several times, you tried to keep your grounding firm as your eyes traced her features a thousand times– searching your suddenly static-filled brain for the most simple word in the English language.

“Y-y-y–,” you shut your eyes tightly to reset. Come on, y/n. You’ve got this. It’s just one word.

But you suddenly weren’t sure if you ‘had this’. Your hands began to shake uncontrollably at your sides; you wiped them repeatedly on your leggings.

But before you could moisten the fabric covering your thighs completely, you went to place them on the counter, touching your current surroundings to center yourself. To hold on to what was real.

Gia would be so proud.

But then your brain raced right back to the true reality of it all. The reason you were freaking out in the first place was because of the real you couldn’t escape–not that you wanted to, by any means. . .right?! You wanted this. You wanted this.

You DO want this, y/n. Deep breaths.

The voice sounded so eerily similar to your therapist’s that it helped you to grasp onto a flicker of stabilization.

This reality was not new. You’d known it was real. You had known there was (probably—hopefully) a kid in you for the past few weeks. And being in this place didn’t make that anymore different than before— minutes before when you’d stepped through the door of the clinic.

Then you’d walked up to the counter and had one simple question asked of you.

You shook your head once more before blinking open your suddenly-wet eyes.

But you couldn’t look up from the floor. From your high-top, white Chuck Taylors, now off-white and stained from years of wear.

And swirling before your eyes in ways they shouldn’t be from the amount of nerves encapsulating your brain. . . Your stomach was rolling.

All of a sudden, you felt a familiar arm wrap around your trembling shoulders, strongly holding you to his chest to keep you stable. The cologne that came from the person, along with the overwhelming rush of relief that came with his presence was a dead giveaway for your new company.

Everything settled.

“Yes,” Josh stated, clearly, for you. “Yes, it’s her first appointment. Y/n? Y/l/n?”

A couple of beats and a few clicks from a mouse followed his words. Then you heard a clipboard clack lightly against the counter and a pen getting clicked open before she sat it on top of the board.

“Whenever she’s ready,” her voice assuredly spoke, so soft and warm. “I’ll get y’all back there when the time feels right.”

You’d effectively curled tighter into Josh before you looked back up at the sweet lady, meeting her eyes with embarrassment laced through every feature on your face. The muscles in your jaw relaxed when you met her eyes, finally speaking.

“Thank you,” you muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

She tilted her head at you, sending an understanding wink your way. “No need to apologize, sweet pea,” she calmly hushed, her voice sounding reminiscent of any old Southern woman you’d ever seen in a movie. “It’s a whole lot to deal with. We get it.”

Your lips quivered up into a small smile, eyes watery. “That means a lot,” you sputtered, fresh tears making their way to your jaw.

Dear fucking God. The tears had to stop at some point. You’d always been a crier, but these motherfucking hormones were just bringing out the absolute most. Pulling out all of the stops. Your emotions, pre-pregnancy, were already shaky, at best. . . and they were apparently just getting progressively worse with the damned baby hormones.

The anxiety was understandable. But the crying? It was almost nonstop. And it was getting old already.

Though, you knew–you knew–that it wasn’t even fucking close to being over. If everything today went accordingly and you officially found out there was a whole ass baby growing inside of you, you knew that this spike in emotions was only the beginning.

Sharing one more smile with the lady behind the desk, you walked with Josh back to the waiting room couch he’d been occupying prior to your blessed meltdown.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Unashamedly, you let Josh fill out all of the paperwork. You were still tense and uneasy, but the way you’d handled answering the questions, with him right by your side helped more than you’d intended it to. The process had just been an easy ebb and flow, answering basic questions about yourself.

And questions about Jake—but Josh answered those with zero problems. Basic Father-Of-The-Child shit that Josh could ramble off in his sleep. You couldn’t help peering over his shoulder as he answered those. You couldn’t explain the intrigue— you just thought it funny seeing him answer questions about his twin. . . Like it was nothing.

Then came questions about your menstrual cycle. Which were not your favorite to have Josh write the answers to— but you didn’t want to put pen to paper, so you continued to let him write even those, too.

The rest of the process went easily. He’d rattle off a question, and you’d answer it. That was how it’d gone for roughly thirty minutes.

He’d clicked his tongue, drawing a line down the section about past pregnancies. And then he’d come to a question that made him give you a look. He had one eyebrow raised as soon as he’d read through the last question.

The last question. The last question that had been slightly unwelcome and less than wonderful to have him fill in for you.

You didn’t know why you hadn’t thought of it being on the sheet. Your mind had been too focused on other things for the past several days. Like hopelessly depressing scenarios involving your baby’s wellbeing and telling people and eating fucking pickles. . . you just hadn’t really given much weight to possible questions on this initial patient questionnaire.

You pulled your body back slightly, your own face morphing to one that mirrored his. “What?”

“The last question— they want to know if you’re sexually—,” he cleared his throat, shaking his head once before before continuing. “If you’re sexually active.”

You blushed deep crimson—your cheeks, flaming hot. You knew exactly where his mind went because it was where yours went with the question.

Are you still having sex with Jake?

You coughed briefly, clearing the awkward air before you responded. “No,” you divulged, your eyes flitting up to his: big, wondering and deep chocolate. “No. We’re not— fuck. I’m not. I’m not having sex. I don’t know if he is,” you rambled, bringing a hand up to slap your forehead. Your heart rate even accelerated the slightest bit, hurting your chest. What in the fuck? That's unnecessary. It’s one question, y/n. Quit being nervous—there’s no need. “But—I’m not having sex. Not sexually active, no.”

Josh brought your hand away from your head, which was suddenly breaking out in a cold sweat. You found his eyes: open and willing to listen and understand. Your heart rate slowed considerably at his expression. “It’s okay, y/n. Either way, I don’t care. It’s your life.”

You blinked away more tears—god, fuck. Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply nodded in response. The response was what you’d needed to hear from the beginning. Would things be different if you’d heard those words from him at the beginning of all of this?

It was no use to imagine. You hadn’t heard his affirmation before now, and at this point, it was officially too late. You’d hurt Jake. Jake had moved on and proved to you that you really weren’t that important to him.

And, the sad truth: even if Josh was okay with it, you had plenty more reasons to keep your title with Jake strictly roommate—friend at most.

Also, officially, the mother of his child.

Clasping your hands over your tummy, you watched as he checked the “no” box. Then, you watched his eyes scan the sheet quickly to check for any missed questions, clicking his tongue against his teeth all the while.

Thankfully, it seemed you’d successfully answered all of them when he got up to walk the sheet back to the counter for you, where a nurse now occupied the seat, you’d observed. Scrubs, making that apparent.

You had been too busy spacing out on the many questions Josh had asked of you, per the sheets. You hadn’t the mind to pay attention to where the receptionist had gone.

Josh came back over to you shortly to get your driver’s license from you, along with your insurance card.

“They’ll need these on file,” he said, flashing both at you once you’d given them to him. He brought them back after they’d scanned them into the system, but went up to the counter to answer any questions they may've had as you waited on the couch.

He was seriously the best. You, proving to be completely useless, didn’t hinder him from being the most incredible friend whilst you sat, doing nothing.

Before too long, once (you assumed) the general information from the sheet had been entered in the system, you heard your name called from the door to the side of the desk, and you were steadily ushered to the back by a nurse. (With Josh in tow, of course. He wasn’t going anywhere.)

“Nice day outside?” The young nurse, blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, asked politely, as you stepped off the scale she’d weighed you on.

“Yeah,” you responded, glancing over your shoulder at Josh. “Nice fall day. But a little warmer than we like it, huh, Josh?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes,” he responded. “Definitely not enjoying my choice of clothing today. . . Not the day for a sweater, I’ll say.”

The nurse hummed, taking in the information as she grabbed a cup from the counter with your first initial and last name on it. “How long have you guys been together?” She addressed you once with a smile, looking between the two of you with a twinkle in her eye.

You didn’t mean to squawk with a laugh.

But thankfully you didn’t have to worry about it because Josh did, too.

The laugh was, once again, exactly what you needed to calm you down. Your shoulders, still releasing their tension from earlier, became more and more relaxed with each giggle you released. Josh was holding his mouth and shaking his head, his smiling eyes closed while you answered the question.

“We’re not together,” you explained, the laughter dying down as you caught the nurse’s wide eyes sympathetically. “He’s my best friend. Dating my sister, actually.”

“Oh,” she grinned shakily, eyes jumping back and forth between the two of you. “You both just–he’s here with you today—and you two just seem to fit so well together.”

You smirked, throwing a sideways glance at Josh who was watching the woman with the same sympathetic gaze as you. He must’ve sensed your staring, though, because he quickly threw a look your way.

He winked at you before adding in his two cents. “I mean, you weren’t wrong. We do mesh incredibly well, but her sister’s had my heart for a helluva a long time. However, I am the uncle,” he informed her, pointing to himself before throwing the same pointer at your tummy.

It made your heart flutter a thousand beats per minute at hearing him say, for the first time, that he’s the uncle. Josh being bound by blood to the little bean growing within you is another reason you feel assured in your decision to keep it. It’s part of Jake, and part of your closest confidant (aside from Elsie) for years. You’ve obviously thought about it plenty of times before now, but finally hearing Josh acknowledge it was something your heart desperately needed.

“My brother is the father. I’m just her best friend–don’t know what he is to her, though," he finished.

Your eyes widened as you were still getting used to hearing Jake being referred to as the father out loud. . .

Better get fucking used to it, though–nothing you could do about it.

You also weren’t sure what to make of Josh’s last statement–was he still upset with you that he didn’t know anything about Jake’s role in your life? The inflection in his tone sounded a bit more sneering than you would have liked.

Whenever she spoke next, you were able to snap out of it, recovering quickly.

“Whoa,” she said, blowing out a breath. “That’s. . . wow.” Shaking her head, she looked at the cup in her hand, handing it over to you before she continued. She seemed to be done with the conversation, and ready to get back to the task at hand. “Every woman that comes in for her first appointment gets her blood drawn and urinates in a cup,” she motions to the plastic container she’d handed over to you, then taps at her arm as she watches you carefully for her next spiel. “We draw the blood so we can use it to identify your blood type and to look for other conditions we may have to monitor or treat during your pregnancy.”

Damn. That was a hell ton of information. What do I even make of all of that?

It was your turn to just stare blankly at her and offer a simple okay before she was pointing to the room with the open door, across the hallway, for Josh.

“You can wait in that room for her,” she stretched a little half smile over her delicate features. “She will be there shortly.”

He gave you two thumbs up and a reassuring grin before going in the direction she’d told him. Then she was leading you to the nearest bathroom so you could pee in your fucking cup. After giving you a few instructions, along with a sterile wipe, and informing you on how to get an uncontaminated urine sample, she was letting you in to the single-person restroom.

It definitely matched the trendy environment of the rest of the clinic and was cleaner than probably any other public restroom you’d ever been inside. You did exactly as she’d instructed and made your business quick before handing off the sample to the same nurse from before. She sat it in a window where someone behind immediately grabbed it.

“Going off to the lab,” she half-smiled, but quickly tipped her finger to signal you to follow her further down the hallway. “Now I’m going to draw some blood real fast, and then you’ll be free to go wait for the doctor in your room.”

Sitting in a chair in a room towards the back, a couple of other nurses went about their business as your nurse cleaned your arm, using a cotton ball with her now-gloved hands.

“Does getting your blood drawn freak you out?” She apprehensively questioned before she went to insert the needle. “Or these?” She wiggled the needle in the air to emphasize.

You shook your head, pursing your lips. “For some reason, those are two things I’m totally fine with,” you spoke, your voice tilting up at the end. “I don’t know why they don’t freak me out—everything else fucking does.”

God, shut the fuck up, y/n. Let her do her job.

The blonde gave you an odd look, as if you’d spoken too much for her taste.

And that pissed you off. You no longer felt bad for talking too much.

You fucking asked me, bitch.

Thankfully, you were able to get rid of her in minutes-time. As soon as she’d bandaged your arm over a cotton ball, she pointed you to the room she’d sent Josh.

“Thanks,” you mumbled with a small, semi-annoyed smile before making your way to the room where Josh waited.

His eyes were huge when you made your way into the small exam room.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’ve got it cut the fuck out for you, huh?”

You gave him a look that said Seriously? and rolled your eyes. “Duh, Josh,” you replied, taking in the small room with pretty pictures of babies all over the walls. “I kind of already knew that. Since I am the one carrying the fuckin’ baby and all.”

God, that was harsh, y/n. He doesn’t deserve your anger like that.

Both of his hands went up to guard him as he crossed one leg over the other. “Jesus, y/n,” he sighed, eyes huge. “Give me a damn break. I didn’t even know until today that you were pregnant. Didn't fully know any of it. It’s a lot for a guy, I guess.”

“Damn, I’m so sorry that it’s so much for you as a man, Josh,” you scowled, your voice not hiding any of your irritation with him for his last comment.

Seriously, y/n?

To be fair, as amazing as Josh truly was, he was still a man— and half of the time men didn’t know their heads from their assholes. Didn’t ever know the proper times to say stupid shit. (Or, to not say it at all.)

You had to put it in perspective, though . . .because you kind of sucked at saying ridiculous shit, too. So you could only get so angry with him.

“That was a stupid thing to say,” he admitted. “Sorry.”

You tried to laugh it off. You didn’t want there to be unnecessary tension right now—it was the very last thing you needed. “It’s fine,” you encouraged.

You propped yourself to sit the best you could on the edge of the beige-matted table. The thin paper that covered it crinkled underneath you– made you feel like you were making way too much noise for the tiny room.

“I’m sorry for being short. I need you. For multiple reasons. But right now. . .I just need you to be with me when I find out if this bean actually exists in my loins. . . If I’ve been imagining it the whole fucking time, or if I’ve lost it. . .,” you swallowed. You had to blink back the tears gathering in your eyes as you trailed off at the dreaded possibility. “I just need you to see with me if there’s anything sad to be seen,” you added, voice suddenly wet.

“Hey,” Josh spoke, softly. “Look at me.”

You swiveled to do as he said. The attempt to not cry was useless. The tears were drenching your cheeks. The fear that had settled so deeply in your bones since the day you’d heard that podcast was coming to light, as you’d just uttered the worries aloud for the first time.

Barely seeing Josh through the wetness that clouded your vision, you replied the best you could, albeit extremely pathetically. “Yeah?”

“Why are you worried about those things?” He asked, so quietly, eyes gleaming to bring light. Grabbing your hands, his eyes became suspicious slits when he addressed his next question. “Y/n. . . Have you given yourself any time to feel excited about this appointment? Or have you just focused on the anxiety you’ve built up, surrounding today?”

You bowed your head out of embarrassment. “I’ve been excited, Josh. . .,” you muttered, completely aware of the lie.

“Mmm,” he responded, rubbing his chin with one hand as the other still grasped both of yours, sure and comforting. “I suspect that’s untrue. . . I know you, my love.”

Gasping on a sob, you closed your eyes to stop crying, covering your face with your hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, squeezing your hands, down and away from your face. He held them still with one of his own, the other helping to slide his chair closer to you. “Don’t you dare be sorry, mama— there’s no reason. This is just the beginning; you’ve got plenty more opportunities to be excited. . . I’m sure plenty of women get worried before this first appointment. There’s a lot up in the air before the first time you see the little thing on the screen.”

You opened your eyes to look at him. And though they were still wet, nothing else was coming from your ducts— thank god. “Yeah?” You asked, desperate to know he actually might understand, tone begging him to tell you you’re not crazy. “You think?”

He nodded with his lips pursed, his new mustache squiggly with the action; his brows, tied together, and eyes, serious. “Oh, yes. I know it. You are not alone, love,” he reassured you, helping your heart rate slow to normal for the millionth time that day. “But that’s why I hope every single one of those women has a person who is there for them on days like today.” He paused, setting his eyes firmly on you before continuing. “Because, today, we are going to discover and conquer whatever we find out from that screen—,” he tilted his forehead toward the monitor screen, “Together.”

Your eyes welled, lip sticking out with a pout. God, you loved him. You truly couldn’t have done today without him. “I really need a hug from you.”

Without question, he was up and out of his seat, wrapping his arms snugly around you. You tucked your nose into his neck, breathing in his cologne— the familiar smell of his patchouli exactly what you needed to feel secure in the moment.

You were busy focusing on his breathing, in and out, in and out, when the door received a knock and creaked open behind his back. He must’ve heard, too, and moved away from hugging you and back to his seat as you both watched for the doctor to walk through the door.

But the only person you saw was. . . the receptionist? What was she doing in—?

“I’m Dr. Rose,” the beautiful lady—who was a doctor apparently, not a receptionist—greeted you with that same, thick Southern accent. “It’s nice to see you doin’ better since I last saw ya, babygirl.”

You blinked several times, feeling immediately at ease with the familiar face. “You’re a doctor? Not a receptionist?”

God, stupid, y/n. Duh. She just said that, you moron.

She chuckled. “Yes ma’am,” she replied, as she clicked on every button on the monitor needed to complete the appointment. Afterwards, as things whirred to life, she went to open the laptop she’d carried in with her, sitting atop the counter. “I’m your doctor, sweet cakes,” she twanged in her western tone. “I’ll be with y’all until the very end of this wonderful journey we call pregnancy.”

You grinned, appreciative of the fact that you were already familiar with her—even if it was from the tiniest interaction earlier. But you couldn’t hold onto that feeling for too long before you got nervous of the impression you’d made earlier with your anxiety attack (or whatever the hell that’d been).

With concerned brows, you cleared your throat before offering up some words of your own. “I’m so sorry that the first time you met me I was acting like a basket case,” you apologized, extremely self conscious. Crossing your legs tighter, you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. When that still hadn’t been enough to contain the nervous energy, you let your hands rest on your belly.

Tapping away at the small bump, skin tight under your sweater, you waited for her response.

She gave you a look that immediately eased you. Her brow, raised, and beautiful red lips quirked up in a small grin. “Now, little missy, I told you earlier that we get it and I meant it.” Dr. Rose sat on her rolling stool, wheeling over to the table. And once there, extended it to be higher so she could talk better with you closer to eye level. “You are not the first one to get all nervous at your first prenatal appointment—or any OB appointment at all— and you’re certainly not the last—far, far from it,” she smiled wide, close-lipped and completely empathetic. Her deep set, big, brown eyes— lashes so long and curled to perfection— showed you how much she cared, behind her big black frames. “Now, how about we get to the good stuff?”

There were obviously a couple tears dripping down your cheek, and you pushed them away as you nodded. Your tummy did all of the flips and tosses and turns—your skin was practically buzzing with nerves.

You were so close to seeing the truth.

Facing this head on.

“Go ahead and lay back for me,” she instructed. You did as you were told, bending an arm behind your head, trying to get comfortable in skin that felt restrictive. As she stood up, clicking a few buttons to get the monitor screen situated, she asked some questions. “Now can you give me a small debrief on your health history? Anything you can think of? Don’t worry about digging too, too deep right now. We have your blood samples and urine sample that will also aid in indicating any abnormalities.”

The word abnormalities wasn’t your favorite thing to hear, but you didn’t let it sit tight in your brain as you pondered anything she might need to know.

“Um,” you dipped into the more current issues you’d faced. “I guess. . . anxiety? Depression? Do those count?”

Dr. Rose hummed in approval and gave a small grin as she went to get a few materials from the cabinet.

“I think the anxiety is worse than the depression, but they’re both persistently just. . . there,” you contemplated what else. . . nothing much was coming to your mind. “I also got my tonsils taken out when I was like 12 years old. . .?”

“You say that as a question,” she commented, a lilt in her voice and a smile on her face, showing that she found it funny.

“I did have them taken out,” you huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself as you pushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen out from behind your ear. “I’m just kind of. . .blanking. I know there’s more, but I’m just–just fucking nervous.”

“That’s understandable, sweetie pie,” she assured, her thick Southern accent making your heart rate settle just a bit.

“I know I’m probably missing a few things. Like, there are parts of my childhood that are hazy at best, so there might be things buried back there that I can’t tell you today,” you informed carefully, hoping she understood. When she nodded, you took that as your sign to continue. “I’m seeing a therapist right now who is actually helping me dig up some of it, so I might have a few more answers for you next visit.”

There was a moment of silence as Dr. Rose continued to prepare the sonogram machine, the obnoxious clacking of keys and buttons covering the dull electrical hum that surrounded you. However, that singular moment of time seemed to carry on and on as the nerves in your body seemed to twist your gut to the point that your organs felt close to pushing out of your belly button.

It was as if simply mentioning your mental health – and whispering of your past – was enough to send you into a mini spiral. The muted lull of the clinic didn’t help anything. . . the almost soundless environment, wrapping you up in its emptiness and choking you.

Tap, tap . . . Tap, tap . . . Tap, tap . . .

You tried to focus on the thrum of your fingertips along the tender skin of your swollen abdomen, hoping and praying it would keep your thoughts at bay.

She was taking a long fucking time–which you were sure was normal and warranted.

But, God. The room just started feeling smaller and smaller as the thoughts got bigger and bigger. You were in the room that was about to tell you the truth of the matter and you still seemed so far away from finding out. . . You weren’t sure what to think.

Were you even ready to see what the ultrasound was about to show you?

Josh must have noticed the nervous energy you were exuding as the stoppers on the legs of the chair made a sharp scraping noise against the sterile linoleum tile, making you cringe the tiniest bit. He moved his chair closer to the side of the table next to you, opposite of where Dr. Rose sat on the other side. His dark eyes made contact with yours and his brow raised as if to say, ‘are you okay?’.

All you could manage to do was nod in response, brows knitted.

“Alrighty, I’m going to put some of this gel on your belly and then you’ll feel a bit of pressure once we start.”

You were half expecting a chill to make you jolt with the application of the thick gel, much like you'd seen in movies - you know, where it’s freezing cold and uncomfortable - but as it fell against your skin, you were surprised to be met with a warm temperature that relaxed you. The clean scent of the gel overpowered your nostrils, but not in a bad way. It gave you something else to focus on as a slight pressure from the head of the wand, came to push lightly against your belly, just above your pelvic bone.

The black and white image appeared on the screen and. . . showed you nothing.

Nothing.

Emptiness. Empty stomach.

Amidst the gray static on the screen, there was nothing but a big black spot that resembled a the shape of a bean. You had to force yourself to look away, an all-too familiar stinging feeling in the corner of your eyes, showing up again.

All this time, the acceptance of your pregnancy and the effort and hard work you’d put in to create a better life for yourself (and this part of him inside you). . . had shown to be completely pointless. The feeling of hope that you'd begun to welcome into your life was on the brink of shattering and it didn’t help that Dr. Rose wasn’t saying anything. . . wasn’t doing anything aside from sliding the wand against your empty stomach.

God fucking dammit. All of your worst fears were coming to fruition and every moment you stared at the bleak screen you felt the emptiness on the screen envelop your heart until—.

Thump thump.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as Josh gently grabbed onto your arm, reassuring, and pointed at the screen above you. On the screen, displayed clear as day right in front of you, was the outline of a baby’s delicate profile.

The soft curve of its forehead, the splotchy spikes of a tell-tale spine, a little belly, the slightest movement of four tiny limbs protruding from the sides and bottom. . . and the tiniest flicker in the center of it all.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away as Dr. Rose started to press more buttons and a bunch of small dotted yellow lines showed over the image of your baby, measuring from point A to point B. She was speaking, but you couldn’t be bothered to listen to the words she was saying. All you cared about was the miniscule movements on the screen as a leg kicked up or an arm pushed out.

It was beautiful, striking, amazing, wonderful, unbelievable, and real. . . so very real.

What you had found yourself questioning for weeks wasn’t just a thought, but now cemented reality. The concerns you had and the voice in your head doubting you were silenced to nothing - because the life growing inside you, the product of you and Jake, was right in front of you.

The product of the best night of your life was finally proven to be the best part of you and it was real.

Thump thump.

The steady sound of a little racing heartbeat drew you back to the present and to the words your doctor was saying to you.

“Profile looks darn good, placenta is anterior, there’s the umbilical cord. . .,” She spoke as she pointed with her finger to each shape of white that was mixed into the static. “Heartbeat is 160, there’s the bladder and the kidneys, oh!” Dr. Rose exclaimed with a chuckle as she seemed to record a movement. Upon playing it back in front of you, she explained the movement as a little hand with five fingers moved up towards a space by the baby’s nose. “The little angel is wavin' at you, mama,” she looked down at you with a knowing smile.

Your heart swelled more than you’d ever felt in your entire life. This was . . . otherworldly. Absolutely earth-shattering. There were not any words you could string together that would do this moment justice.

“Wow,” you muttered, voice officially clogged with the tears that relentlessly poured down your cheeks. You sniffled. “It’s. . . moving?”

“Sure is,” she winked. “Has been for a while. You have an especially active little one – already. Prepare for some monster kicks here in a couple months, mama.”

“Wow,” you repeated.

“Gets it from their uncle,”Josh said, sniffling behind you.

You smiled over at him. You felt the joy he did. All around. More. This was your baby. Yours and Jake’s. God.

“Exciting, huh, babe?” She asked knowingly.

All you could do was nod. You weren’t sure you could stop smiling. . . it was hurting your cheeks, but you welcomed it. This was. . . this was everything. Everything you could have ever wished for.

“I know it, honey bun,” she agreed, her red lips perked with joy for you. “Also, according to the size of the baby and the start date of your last menstrual cycle, I would say you are at right about 12 weeks, little missy.”

Once she’d confirmed the gestational age, you saw her scoot the cart back a bit and wipe the wand she’d used with a sterile wipe, putting it back in its slot. Then, she cleaned your belly of any leftover jelly. You just watched from where you were still leaned back, head resting on one arm behind it. She stripped her gloves and tossed them in the nearest waste bin.

“Twelve weeks. Yep,” you breathed, pulling your shirt down. Your cheeks lifted even more at officially knowing (relatively) how old your little bean was. “Based on my last period.”

“Yes. Because, oddly enough, that is technically when the pregnancy started,” she explained. “On the first date of your last menstrual cycle.”

Dr. Rose went to grab a packet, a pamphlet, and a few free-flying papers, all paper-clipped together, from the counter. You sat up as she clicked her way back to you on her stilettos. She kept talking as she handed them to you. “I don’t wanna clog up our time today with all of the technicalities – unless that’s what ya want?” She offered.

You shook your head no. Today, all you’d come in wanting to know was that your baby was alive. And you knew that now. And fuck, it felt nice. Better than.

Except . . .

“Is the baby healthy?” You asked worriedly, needing to hear her tell you.

“Positively. One hundred percent, mama,” she confirmed, her teeth sparkling behind her red lips. “From what I could see on the scan, you’ve got a perfectly healthy baby squirmin’ around in there.”

You internally and externally let out a sigh of relief that had needed released for a fat second. The baby was okay. Healthy. Moving. Alive.

Everything was going to be alright.

You looked down at Josh, his face glowing, cheeks glistening with tears. “I’m so proud of you,” he choked.

Another tear slipped down his cheek as you felt one well in your eye. You didn’t know why he was proud of you, but the words made your emotions spike. You were proud of the little life inside of you. . . already doing its best to live its best life.

“Back to what I was sayin’ before,” Dr. Rose went on. Your eyes found her, clicking off the machine. “In that paperwork you’ll find all of the technicalities and logistics about the pregnancy. Which vitamins you should take. Prenatals our clinic suggests. Recommended foods to eat. The baby’s size week by week. When I say everything, sweetie, I mean ev-er-ything,” she emphasized in her twang. “You can find the same information on our clinic’s website. There is a help tab on there for our mothers-to-be, but I always provide physical copies for my girls. I also recommend downloading at least one pregnancy tracker app to get notified with updates – it’s just convenient and fun.”

“I downloaded one recently, actually. It’s been amazing. Thank you for everything,” you weakly offered. You also had to know. . . “Will you be the one delivering the baby?”

“Sure thing,” she affirmed. “With ya till ya want rid of me. Speaking of that day, our partnering hospital is Cedars-Sinai, so that is where you’ll end up having the baby,” she paused, bringing her eyes to you. “Since you indicated on the form that you would prefer a planned hospital birth over a planned home birth.”

“Correct. Hospital birth for me,” you affirmed.

“Now, we are going to schedule your next appointment for four weeks from now,” she continued, opening her tablet and typing out the information for her calendar, presumably. “How does December 8th sound, honey bun?”

You didn’t check your calendar, because you would make that day okay. Anything you needed to do to make it happen. “Sounds perfect,” you replied, practically jittering with excitement for the next one. “When will I find out the gender?”

“I always have my girls wait until week 18,” she responded, turning buttons off on the machine before scooting it back where it had started. “So, when you come in for your next appointment, we will actually have ya schedule an extra lil appointment in there to see what our little buddy is in there.”

“Got it,” you told her.

“Your sonogram pictures will be waitin’ at the front desk for ya,” she said, washing her hands. Then, after she dried them, she grabbed her laptop. “And finally, your due date is–at this point, according to what we know–May 23rd.”

The date was suddenly the most important you’d ever heard.

It was the day you now felt you’d been waiting for your entire life.

Without ever knowing it.

This baby was already changing your heart for the better and everyday, it seemed like all the little (alive and moving) bundle of hope did was bring you unadulterated joy.

The most precious gift that you’d made with someone so precious to you.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Once you’d finished the appointment, Josh had asked if you had any plans. And when you’d said no, he ended up driving you both to a cute little cafe he'd heard about in SoHo. A place that, even from the outside, oozed with a charming aesthetic.

The two of you sat there, pointing out every single detail of the sonogram pictures, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the tiny feet, tiny hands, and the itty bitty, adorable body that belonged to your baby. . . You had never seen something so beautiful. You were sure of it.

And after that, you’d taken some time to catch up. You’d talked about him and Elsie, Elsie and her travels, and the fact that you’d started going to therapy. (Next to the baby, he was most excited about this.)

All you’d ordered was a Sprite since you weren’t feeling the most hungry as of late. Josh had followed in your lead and only ordered drinks as well. Honey tea and a glass of water. He’d made sure to tell the waitress to grab you a water, too.

And after a quick trip to the bathroom to relieve your ever-aching bladder, you were back at the table.

Back at a table where Josh was giving you a look. His eyes were narrowed, a mischievous grin turning his lips up to show a dimple in his cheek.

Just as you’d sat down, the waitress was bringing Josh a new, piping hot tea, since he'd (apparently) already finished the first.

And then, as soon as she was gone, he was talking.

“I sort of had a weird inkling of something going on. . .,” Josh noted as he stirred, then took a long swig of his tea, steam still emitting from the top. “Goddammit!” He gasped, a pained expression painting his features, as he coughed over the warm temperature of the beverage. “Hot hot hot hot,” he repeated to himself, finding his ice water and taking an even longer swig.

You couldn’t help the burst of laughter that bloomed in your chest, flying past your lips as he continued to down the water. All you got in response was him flipping you off with one long digit, and a wrinkle, knitting his brow.

The sinking feeling in your stomach couldn’t be ignored, though. . . you’d heard what he initially said. How had he known? God. . . how long? Your mind was a frenzy as you forced yourself to stop laughing to focus on the serious subject matter at hand.

“How?”

“Well, y/n,” he replied smartly, motioning to the cup. “It just came from the pot, I’m sure. Don’t you see the damned thing is steaming? Why did I even take a–?”

“No,” you stopped his rambling to clarify your question. “How did you . . .? Did you seriously know?” As you were still air-quoting the last few words, he was already nodding his head to answer you. “How? Why? What did we do wrong? I-I mean- God. Do Sam and Danny know, too?”

“Now, I didn’t say I knew,” he corrected you, feeling at the sides of the mug to test the temperature. And, yet again, he was met with the scorching temperature, thus hissing and placing his hands around the plastic of the water cup. “In essence, I said I had an idea. And you didn’t do anything wrong. I just– he’s my fucking twin, y/n,” he set you with a stare that said ‘Remember?! Can’t fool me!’, before he continued. “And where you’re concerned. . . I know you very well. You’ve been my best friend for several years. . ." he reminded you. "Oh, and I’m also a fucking empath. Which you, my dear, were the first one to ever point out my empathic tendencies. . .,” he winked at you with a grin on his full lips. “You should’ve known you couldn’t keep that shit from me. Not without me getting suspicious as hell.”

“Are you mad?”

He stuck his lip out, looking down at the tea, running his finger tip along the rim of the mug before he wrapped his hands around it again. Apparently not at a burning temperature anymore, he decided to bring the cup up to his lips, pinky up as he gripped the handle. This time, he closed his eyes in relief at the taste of the honeyed tea on his tongue. When he placed it back down, he continued watching it, lips still pushed out in a pout as he shook his head, brow wrinkled.

“Nah,” was all he supplied, his eyes hyper focused on the white ceramic mug.

Of course, you were not convinced. “Josh. Look at me.”

When his eyes slowly slid up to find yours, you found at least one reason he hadn’t been looking at you. There were wet pools accumulating in the ducts of his deep brown eyes. He breathed in deeply, his chest expanding with the giant breath before he blew it out, a lone tear making its way down his cheek.

“I–,” he started, shaking his head and messing with the front of his curly mop of hair. He dropped his hand to tap against the table. “It’s not that I’m mad. It’s really hard to make me mad. I’m more mad at Jake. He makes me mad very easily when he wants. Because I know he can do better. . . Like starting this with you and not having the balls to see it through and leaving you with a baby in your belly.” It was as if the steam had been transferred from his cup to his ears, his nostrils were flaring as he shook his head and squinted his eyes shut.

Damn, he and Jake look very similar when they get angry, you suddenly discovered.

“And now, he’s just been fucking Maya while you’ve had to deal with–.”

The tears came instantly. Your vision was blurry before you were even able to process that the tears were there.

“Oh my god, y/n. I’m so– fuck. I’m sorry,” Josh tried, his tone willing you to hear him out.

You blinked furiously, covering your eyes with one hand. But, finding it useless to try to hide the tears, you just let them fall freely as you now took deep breaths, your eyes piercing through the window of the cafe. “Can we please not–?”

“Y-yeah, Goddammit,” he nervously fluffed the front of his hair. “Y/n, please look at me.”

Forcing your eyes away from the clear autumn sky, you found his eyes, earnestly begging for you to listen to him. “He wasn’t– he hasn’t– I don’t–,” he growled under his breath, reaching forward for your hand. Which you only stared at until he spoke next. “Please, just take my hand.”

So, you did as he asked and looked at him with desperately sad eyes.

He watched you carefully for a few minutes, letting the tears leave as he reassured you and apologized a couple more times.

He cleared his throat, blinking his eyes a few times before apparently deciding on a new conversation. “When did you guys begin. . .?”

You knew he was asking when you’d started fucking his brother. But he obviously wasn’t going to say it.

Nice turn in conversation, Josh.

“It’s complicated,” you offered wetly, not in the mood to talk.

He hummed, before raising a brow with searching eyes. He was trying to get through to you. “Was it that night at Baby’s All Right?”

How the fuck did he know that–?

But, like you said, it was more complicated–because, no, it really didn’t start at Baby’s.

“Technically," you sniffled, swiping a finger, then a thumb under both of your eyes. "It started before and after that night. It was a long, drawn out thing that shouldn’t have ever started.”

Instantly, you felt guilty.

The words felt wrong to say. . .the first thing coming to your mind – the baby.

If it hadn’t started, you wouldn’t have the baby. The sweet little bean in your belly with a beautiful, beating heart. You placed a steady hand against your tummy to make up for the harsh words.

And the second thing. . . you couldn’t begin to imagine never getting to be that close to Jake. . . you were grateful it had started. . . But you also hated yourself for ever letting yourself get so tied up in Jake Kiszka.

Figuratively and literally. God. Stupid.

“Yes, it should have,” he affirmed, your eyes flickering to him. “For my niece or nephew alone.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, eyes filling with more tears at the conversation and the spiraling thoughts in your mind. “But, I guess, if we are getting technical. . .," you sniffed. "It started that night he left the venue so pissed and you were equally as pissed with him.”

He seemed to think on that for a second or two, trying to go back to the night to which you were referring. Once he finally found it, his eyes lit up with a twitch on his lips.

“He was mad that night,” he remembered, his hand squeezing yours. You decided to pull yours away from his as you felt it beginning to perspire. Wiped them on your pants, waiting for him to continue. “And now I know why. You weren’t there.”

“Essentially, yes,” you confirmed with a tilt of your head. You couldn't help but snicker with the next part. “It started when I got home.”

Josh’s lips stretched to the point that his eyes bulged and his cheeks puffed out. He blew out a breath while his eyes stayed huge. “And that is all I need to know about that night.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his expression and his words, to which he lightened with you, falling into a soft moment of laughter alongside you.

When the humor died down, he took the initiative to speak. And you let him. You really weren’t feeling like talking. The smells of the cafe, for one, were starting to make your stomach turn. “I could’ve guessed that it started around that time,” he began. You quirked a brow, asking him to explain further. “He . . . he changed around that time.” You didn’t speak, which told him to continue. “You see, when he first got to New York, he was so fucking surly and rude. He wasn’t just like that with you, mama. He was short as hell with me, too. And the other guys got his bad side – especially Sammy. His heart was broken and he didn’t know how to handle his shit. He started coming back into himself around that time, though. . .Middle of summer. He sort of peaked around the middle of summer. And if I am doing the math right. . . that is when it was happening?”

You nodded an affirmation, impressed by the quick math.

“Yeah, he was Jake again,” he expressed, eyes tearing up again. “He was joyful for the first time in years. I hadn’t seen him act so freely and fun since before he and Amelia started dating. There was always something stopping him when he was with her – she was stopping him. But you. . . you must’ve encouraged him to be himself. You didn’t turn down the challenge. You took a chance on my brother.”

After considering the words, the lightbulb appeared above your head. That conversation the day in the record shop. The same day you’d played over and over again to convince yourself out of being with Jake. You’d focused on the other words so much that you’d forgotten all about the positive things–the possibilities that had been discussed that day.

You remembered it now. You'd been talking about high school. And how Jake had sort of decided to fuck all when Josh hadn't. . . and it had turned into you bringing up your love of a challenge.

Josh had nodded, lips turned down, his eyes still holding a little glint. “Yup. Get my point now?”

“Yeah, but like I just said, I’m not one to turn down a challenge. Just like you, Josh. And your brother. . .I’ve learned he is nothing if not a challenge.”

He had nodded, knowing you were right. And he’d known you long enough to know that you did indeed enjoy overcoming any problem life may hand you.

God, what had happened to you? Where had the desire to accomplish challenges gone?

Why had you given up? Had you given him up? Or had you simply been done with that challenge? Had Jake just been ready to fly? Had you done what was best?

But, you sidelined those thoughts and decided there were more important matters at hand. Like Josh telling you more about how he was feeling.

“So. . . you’re not hurt?” You asked, your voice hoarse from not talking. You cleared it, and tried again. “You’re not hurt?”

“A little, I guess,” he nodded, eyes studying you.

“That’s fair,” you encouraged – glad he was sharing his heart. “I’m sorry for not telling you. But I just kept hearing your voice in my head–that same day we talked about challenges– that same day you’d told me something and it repeated itself over and over to the point that I tried to resist things happening with Jake. Mostly for you, Josh. I didn’t want to betray you. Didn't want him to betray his dreams. But then it just became something bigger that I couldn’t control. It was . . . different than anything else I’ve ever experienced. I couldn’t stop it from happening.”

“Did you want to stop it?”

“I tried to convince myself that I wanted to . . . but I never did. Not really. I wanted him the whole time, but I felt wrong for it. I was totally disregarding what you’d said to me. . . Going against your wishes for him.”

His eyes got big as he took another sip of his tea, that at this point, was probably lukewarm. But if it was, his face didn’t show it. He licked at his lips and peered at you pensively, curiously. “God, y/n. I’m sorry. What did I even say? I don’t remember,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I hate that my words have been just fuckin’ tormenting you, mama. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” you said, pointing your finger at him, your eyes serious to communicate your point. “You don’t be sorry. I’m the one who was in the wrong. Not even Jake, necessarily,” you included the last part, just on Jake’s behalf. “I was the one who did it even after you’d confided in me that you were happy Jake was getting to live life for himself for the first time – without having to worry about being hung up on a girl. And, then I just let myself be that girl you didn’t want for him – I was the girl to get in his way while he should’ve been living for himself.”

“In the spirit of fairness, though, I told him that he needed to take a break from women. He didn’t listen to me either. Well, sort of. . . he actually did follow my advice, I guess,” he encouraged, his eyes searching yours. “Because I also told him that I wanted him to think of what he wanted first.” His tone lifted as he winked at you.

Your brow wrinkled . . . what was he trying to say?

He continued, “Which, I guess, my dear, after the dream . . . was you.”

Feeling suddenly lightheaded and loopy with Josh’s words, you let them settle for a minute or two before saying anything more.

And, the waitress had perfect timing. She filled the open air by asking if you needed anything. First time she’d been back in a hot damn second. Josh asked for a new tea, and you asked for another glass of Sprite.

All that you could think in that moment was that you really had been the opposite of the right thing for Jake. So, you decided to speak your mind.

“But. . . no,” you declined his words, shaking your head. “No, Josh. He didn’t put himself first – he had a woman – me – that he was focused on instead of learning himself.”

He took a bit to consider your words, his eyes squinted at you as he pursed his lips. The waitress came back to the table as the conversation lulled for his response.

As soon as she left, though, the two of you were back to it.

“Y/n,” he began, his lips growing into a sure smile. His hands came to clasp in front of him, his hair bouncing with each disbelieving shake of his head. “He did. He moved here. He started pursuing the dream. He got a job he loved by teaching lessons.” Thus meeting Maya, you snarkily thought. “He did put himself first. Did all of that, and then he pursued you.”

. . . you hadn’t really thought of it that way. Not once had you considered that.

God. What if you’d told Josh a long time ago? Chances were, he would’ve eased your fears and worries. . . but instead, you’d assumed he’d think the worst and let your thoughts derail.

Would you even be in the predicament you were today?

You knew the answer. The answer was most likely no. You wouldn’t have the baby because there would’ve never been a night - the night - to relieve your Jake-induced stress. Because you would have already taken the time to talk to Josh. . . He would have reassured you before you even had time to ever get to that depressive point.

Would he have convinced you to be with Jake?

You didn’t know. . . but. . . it was too late now.

You were where you were now and there was nothing you could do about it.

And none of this ever worked in how Maya had already been in the picture – maybe she had been part of the reason he became happier in the middle of summer.

In the end, she could be the one to thank for this– it could most definitely not be you. The sad truth of the matter was, she had probably been filling his cup all along. . .while he was filling yours.

While you were letting yourself get tangled in him, he was feeling the same emotions. . . but for her. Because, in the end, she was easier than you.

You couldn't find it in good conscience to be with him anyway.

Because, well, you still wouldn’t have wanted to distract him from his dream with a relationship. His dream was too valuable to possibly table for you. You were too much of a mess that he could get distracted by, rather than taking the time to fulfill his dream.

She freed up his time with her carefree nature. And you only infiltrated his time with your darkness. She was sunshine, brightening up his paths.

You had to figure you out before you could ever make someone as happy as Maya made Jake.

Before you had this baby.

However the tables turned, they had already turned. And it was too late to go back and change anything now. You weren’t even sure what you would change–or what you would think if you could turn back time. There was too much filling up your brain–your life– to make the wisest decision.

It didn’t matter anyway.

So, you told Josh all you could think to say. The same words you’d thrown nastily in Jake’s face, you threw harshly in your own.

“Well, I guess I served my purpose.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

When Josh pulled your car into your space, Jake’s was nowhere to be found. As always, you couldn't help but wonder where he was. He hadn't worked today so he was probably with-.

“I really am most mad at my brother.”

“Try not to be,” you encouraged lamely. You really didn’t care too much about him being angry at anyone right now. . . all you really cared about was getting upstairs to your bed to take a nice, long nap. It had been a day.

“I’m going to be for a whi–.”

Tap tap tap.

Both of your eyes turned to Josh’s window. Outside of the driver’s side was Jake. You could see all the way down his loose shirt. It was open and tempting his tanned skin and firm chest, while his necklaces hung loosely in front of him, as he was bent over to peek into the car.

But. . . you could see the heated glare from his eyes, even through the tint of his Ray-Bans. His nostrils were flared and his lips had curled into a faux smirk.

When Josh rolled his window down, you heard Jake's breathy chuckles that had no indication of anything truly humorous behind them. They sounded more bitter than anything else.

“What have you two been up to?” he questioned, the inflection on the word ‘you’ paired with his snide tone told you he was probably less than thrilled to see you and Josh together. Alone, at that.

But why? Why the fuck would he care?

You were struck completely motionless and silent, feeling nauseous again, desperately trying to swallow down that all too familiar sensation. But this time, it wasn’t due to the hormones wreaking havoc in your tummy, it was Jake’s presence at this incredibly horrid time that had your belly flipping in slow motion somersaults.

Josh huffed a laugh that nearly replicated Jake’s. Mimicking his twin to further his irritation, no doubt. You knew Josh was in no mood to put up with Jake’s piss-poor attitude, especially given everything he had discovered. You were tightly holding your breath at whatever the hell could possibly come from Josh's mouth, hoping that he would say as little as possible.

“Funny that you should ask, Jacob,” Josh retorted. He turned his head to the left to make eye contact with his twin, his fingers were still gripped to the steering wheel with a force that turned his knuckles stark white.

What was he about to say? Shit. He knew better. . . right?

“Because," Josh began. "I don’t exactly believe it’s any of your business what we're doing. In fact, I know it’s none of your business.”

Ironic. . . because it most definitely was his business. He just didn’t know it. Not yet.

He flashed Jake his classic Josh grin, extra wide with eyes squinted, an extra, added dramatic flair of his fluttering eyelashes to seal his condescending statement.

You let out the breath you had been holding, thankful that Josh kept from saying too much. This was not how you wanted Jake to find out. Although, you still had no idea when or how you would approach that.

All you knew for sure, was that this wasn’t the right time.

Jake had stood firm the entire time, a brow raised with an obviously fake grin that held his lips in a tight line. His first response was a snicker through his nose and a patronizing simper, just shy of a full on scowl.

“‘Kay, got it,” he sneered. Then, he was patting the side of the driver's door with his opened palm before swiftly turning on his heel to walk away. He forcibly shoved his hands in the front pockets of his black jeans as he sauntered off, and you couldn’t help but notice how it stretched the fabric even tighter against his perfectly, rounded ass. A sight you still fawned over, admittedly.

How could you not?

But you broke your gaze quickly once Josh turned to face you once again. Even though he finally knew about the special addition that you shared with his brother, you’d still feel awkward (and a little guilty) as fuck if he watched you gawk over him so openly. Especially on a day so sensitive as today.

Josh had let out an exasperated sigh deep from his lungs, his jaw clenched and hard when he finally shut the humming engine off. “I have so much that I want to say to him,” he muttered, mostly to himself as his tone was hushed.

Yeah. Me fucking too, you thought to yourself. Don’t you think I get it?

Without the engine running, the car had become dead silent. The type of silence that allowed you to hear the rapid beating of your own heart clearly in your ears. (You even thought for a moment that you could hear Josh’s, too. That kind of quiet. Like earlier. Right after you'd told him.)

It gave you time to ponder. . . Despite his incredible response to all of this today, you still worried. Because, for the first time in the literal years of having Josh as your safe haven, you feared that things could have changed far too much for him to ever look at you the same again.

But then, your never ending train of overthinking was put to a halt when he placed a loving hand on your knee. When his warm eyes connected with yours, they reassured you that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. At least not anytime soon.

“You ready to go inside, mama?”

His sweet smile that you had loved for years lit up his once hard features. Seeing the signature grin lifted some weight off your heavy shoulders.

You nodded your head and unbuckled your seatbelt as he did the same. But as you lifted the latch on the passenger door, another thought began clouding your mind, a question that you felt you needed to ask someone. That you needed to ask Josh.

“Hey. . .,” you started as he already had one foot out the door.

He stalled his movements and promptly turned his head to face you.

“Yeah?” he answered, the same smile still cocked in the corner of his mouth.

“When should I tell him?”

He situated himself back inside, resting his back against the dark leather. His eyes were cast on yours, soft and kind as you’d always known them to be, yet a seriousness found within them.

“That’s up to you, mama. You have to decide when the time feels right.” His gentle hand reached to grab your shoulder in a reassuring gesture, effectively pulling you away from your burdening thoughts.

Once you’d finally made your way out of the car, you heard him clear his throat and looked to see what else he had to say. He was squinting at you through the autumn day’s rays when he finished the line of thought he’d started in the car.

“But. . . knowing my twin, he’d want to know sooner rather than later. Don’t wait too long, love. He’s got a good heart, you know that. Give him the chance to step up like I know he will.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Friday, November 11, 2022

You’d missed the show completely. As you knew you would.

Josh had known you were going to show up later than usual since your school work was (quite actually) burying you. Specifically, it was thanks to a 20-page paper that was due tonight.

Thankfully, you’d been able to finish it in time to at least meet the boys at the bar (smoke free, Josh had clarified on the phone) they’d decided to hang out at after the show. You hadn’t hung out with them after a show in forever. Hadn’t even been to a show in. . .well, you didn’t even know how long.

The reason could be mostly chalked up to your intense homework load this semester, but part of you knew you’d also been trying to avoid them due to the addition of Maya.

It just didn’t feel the same anymore. And you knew you couldn’t force yourself to pretend. So, the extra school work turned out to be a pretty good excuse. At least you weren’t fabricating anything when you’d told them you couldn’t make it. (Although you would prefer if you didn’t have so much fucking homework.)

But you did miss watching Jake perform. You missed the faces he’d make while playing his guitar, the ones that so closely resembled the one’s he’d make with you. The way he’d thrust himself into his beloved instrument, or pull it close to his body with a force that left your head reeling and your body in dire need for him.

As much as you missed all of that, something you missed even more was witnessing how his passion exuded through his entire body while he played. How his love for his art was so wonderfully evident as he put so much of himself into every song he played.

And with the way your body kept betraying you – literally pulsing with desire for him anytime he was simply near you . . . to the point of needing to relieve yourself with your hands or a toy. . . You were weak as fuck. You figured it probably wasn’t the best idea to watch him perform like that with your hormones going ballistic.

Too many factors worked together to make you feel rather uncomfortable about being near him in that capacity. But. . . here you were. Waiting at the bar for them to arrive.

Putting yourself in a situation where he’d inevitably be near – sitting at the same booth as you, most likely. Admittedly, it wasn’t your most incredible idea. But Josh telling you the other guys had been missing you made you realize how badly you’d missed them.

So. Here you were. Scrolling on pregnant influencers’ Instagram pages for helpful tips and testimonials (and occasionally Jake’s page, just to torture yourself) as you waited for them.

Just as you’d thought to send Josh a text letting him know you were at the bar and sitting at a booth near the back, you felt the urge to pee like no other. Your belly had sort of popped in the few days that had transpired since your first ultrasound. You were learning that twelve weeks on your body was the. . . rounder version of twelve weeks. . . Which was not working in your favor to hide your changing body.

Thankfully, the rest of your body looked mostly the same as normal – save for your boobs which were still about as big as they were in your Shining twin costume (not growing too much more yet, but continuing to be sore as hell). They weren’t giant, per se, but they definitely looked noticeably bigger and felt fucking heavy.

So, you were officially having to wear looser-fitting clothing to avoid anyone looking at you differently. To be fair, to most eyes, it probably would've looked like some weight gain around your midsection if you wore normal clothing. But to you, it literally just looked like you were pregnant.

You were definitely getting used to waking up every morning to a body that looked just a little different than the day before. Noticed every little change—but they didn’t feel little to you. . . Anything that changed felt massive to you.

. . .Hence why you were being overly cautious with the giant sweaters. . . Because, to you, it looked so obviously different that you didn’t want to risk people thinking anything or asking any questions.

And, thanks to your newly expanding uterus and a spike in your progesterone (according to your Ovia app), you were beginning to actually wiggle in your seat from the urge to pee. It was all rather unkind on your poor bladder. . . You had to fucking relieve yourself soon or you would be peeing your leggings. It would be embarrassing as hell to pee yourself and smell like it for the entire evening.

Though, you realized, as people started filtering in, that you couldn’t get up to pee. . . It was too much of a risk that you’d lose the one big booth to this hastily growing Friday night crowd.

Just as you’d started contemplating your lack of options, a particular laugh you’d gotten (unfortunately) used to, made its way through the crowded bar. Your eyes zoomed to the dark haired, caramel-skinned beauty who’d taken up residence in Jake’s life.

Maya.

Her laugh was just as beautiful as she was. . . Directing every eye in the front of the establishment to her as they joined in on whatever she was laughing about. She was a force to be reckoned with and it was obvious anytime you saw her. You were pretty sure you could see her chocolate eyes actually sparkling, all the way from across the bar.

Then, here you were in a giant ass Pratt hoodie with plain black, ratty leggings and your white Chucks. Feeling bloated and gross. . . And still needing to really fucking pee. So you had to put your insecurities to the side and get up from the spot you’d effectively heated up for the last twenty minutes because your one and only solution had just walked in.

You didn’t want to walk away and lose your spot, so you did the only thing you could think to do.

“Maya!” You called in her direction, tucking your phone into your hoodie pocket with one hand while the other waved at her. An incredibly forced smile was plastered to your face.

Is this the first time I’ve ever spoken to her? You wondered briefly.

Even though you knew the answer.

Yes, definitely the first time I’ve ever talked to her. Weird. And funny fucking cause for it, too, you giggled to yourself, just behind your close-mouthed grin.

It was as if she’d already seen you, because she looked at you with a knowing look. She sent you a (stupid) wink and a (stupid, yet admittedly kind) wave, along with a wide smile—bright white teeth complimented by her full lips.

Standing up had caused your bladder to go into emergency mode—a sensation similar to nearly bursting was the only way you could describe it. And, strangely, you suddenly felt sort of dizzy from the overwhelming pressure.

That’s odd, you thought absently, brows wrinkling ever so slightly with the feeling. Ignoring it, you kept waving. And, the smile slipped from your face as you urgently motioned her over. Getting the hint, she said goodbye to the few patrons she’d been talking with and made her way to you.

Long, wavy hair, inky as the night sky, flowed in waves around her shoulders as she sweetly pushed through people on the way to the booth.

Every man she passed had to do a double take, watching her as she passed by them. . . You didn’t blame them. She was a fucking dream. (And you hated it.)

Body positively snatched and voluptuous in her all-black outfit. Her large breasts, exposed just right in her extremely low-cut black shirt. The shirt dipped all the way to the middle of her rib cage, exposing a lot of her perfect, perky breasts and tight abdomen. The tiny waist just below the dip was intimidating at best and had you feeling extremely self conscious of your nearly non-existent waist (thanks to the tiny friend living inside of you). You were glad you couldn’t see her ass, because you knew the exquisitely round part of her would have you heading for the door rather than the restroom.

God, why did she have to look like a damn model? It was the worst possible thing for you. You were sure of it.

Once she was finally at the table, you didn’t want to stand there and stare at her. She had you feeling ready to jump out of your unfamiliar, changing body. Made you feel like nothing, just by standing there.

And, most importantly, you were nearing the risk of peeing with a singular movement at this point. You really weren’t sure how you’d make it to the restroom, but you had to try.

You were already toeing around the table, out of the booth, when you spoke to her, averting your eyes and finding the restroom sign instead. “I’ve gotta pee really fucking bad,” you hastily said, taking the final step from the back of the booth. “Can you save this table for me so we have a place to sit?”

“We?” She questioned. “Y/n, I would definitely normally save it for you and your friends, but I have to work on finding my own place since I’m waiting here for Jake and the—.”

“Jake and the guys, I know.” You snapped, eyes flashing as you finished for her, not focusing on your facial expression. You were almost positive you rolled your eyes at her comment.

Does she not know? Why? Did no one tell her?

Bouncing on the heels of your feet, back and forth, you quickly continued. Matter at hand. “I’m here to hang with you guys, too, but I’ve gotta—.”

“Pee!” She finished, a giggle that was probably supposed to be cute left her lips. “Go! I’ll save it. Go, go, go!”

You were already walking away with her last sentence, hearing her from behind your back as you focused on not wetting your pants on the way to the ladies room.

-🌼🌼🌼-

When you got back out, you were instantly met with the sight of all of the guys at the back booth you’d saved.

Your eyes, sadly, found Jake and Maya first – sitting practically on top of each other in the back corner of the booth. She was wrapped up in Jake, while engaging in a conversation with Sam. And, even though she seemed to only be halfway listening, Sammy kept on talking like she was interested in only him.

But with the way Jake’s hand toyed with the hair over her shoulder and eventually traveled to squeeze (and hold) her waist. . . you knew why she wasn’t fully listening. Sammy would not be getting her full attention any time soon, and you knew that from personal experience. If it were you Jake was playing with like that, you would have tuned Sam completely out.

Pushing any emotion down that threatened to boil up to the surface, you kept on walking to the booth.

And when you got close enough, all of the attention was suddenly on you. The first one to notice you was Danny, who got up from his end seat on the booth to greet you with a giant hug. You sank into him, feeling all of the love that he was emitting sink into your sore body.

Then, Sam was loudly exclaiming your presence, telling you that he was waiting for his own hug.

You went around the three brothers who wanted to give you a squeeze.

Sam hugged you especially hard, making your boobs ache like no other when he pressed hard against you. Gratefully, Josh had been paying attention when you caught his eye with a pained expression and had loudly determined that it was his turn.

After Josh had grasped you from Sam and given a loose hug, you stood awkwardly. Waiting. But for what?

But. . .you knew what. . .knew why.

It was Jake’s turn.

Though, all you got was a little close-lipped smile and a half-wave with a head nod from his spot next to his supermodel girlfriend.

You reciprocated with essentially the same response, your stomach falling to your feet as you did so. It was ludicrous to think he’d get up for a hug, too. Especially with Maya sitting next to him with her perfectly-fucking-manicured hand clutching the inside of his thigh.

God, you needed to feel him close to you, though. You needed your hand on his inner thigh, dangerously close to a place on his body that’d been so accustomed to yours. You couldn’t help the way you yearned for him to be inside of you again. . . It was fucking embarrassing as hell.

And, then there was an incredibly intrusive thought.

It told you that, for some (strange) reason, the idea of his pecs pressing into your sore breasts. . .sounded extremely appealing. (And the thought of his hands or his warm, wet mouth on them? Fuck.)

But— you knew at this point, there was a fat chance of that ever happening.

He didn’t want you near him like that. And definitely not his hands or mouth on you. So you were sure he did not want a measly hug either.

And right now? In this bar? At this exact time? Obviously-fucking-not. Why would he move away from perfection? For you? In your frumpy-ass outfit? As you glanced down self-consciously, you even noticed one white sock peeking way higher than the other from your high-tops.

Small details. Small details that showed how much of a fucking mess you were in comparison to her.

When you heard his laugh cut through the wave of emotion you were feeling, you looked back up at him. Only to see that he was engaged with Maya and Sam in some (apparently) hilarious conversation.

He didn’t give two shits about you that way anymore. Why would he?

The terrible things you’d said to him in the kitchen were the first reason that came to your mind. Haunted you everyday, reminding you that you didn’t deserve his attention.

You bet she, in her utter perfection and 'sunshiney' ways, would never tell him the things you had. He was probably relishing in the mental break she provided him. A break from the emotional thunderstorm that was you.

But what the two lovebirds didn’t know was that you were carrying a part of him within you that she couldn’t do a thing about. No matter what she was to him, she didn’t have what you did.

Though, the depressing truth of the matter was even if you were carrying his baby, Maya was still the one falling asleep next to him more nights than not. You had a piece of him, yes, but she had all of him.

Fuck. That felt selfish. Without even thinking about it, you brought your hands up to your stomach as an effort to apologize to the little lemon-sized baby in your tummy.

You are enough for me, you desperately thought, looking down, hoping to translate the words somehow to your unborn bundle of hope. You give me plenty of joy.

“Y/n,” Josh spoke, breaking you from your reverie.

“Mmm?” You hummed.

Then he was leaning over, whispering so quietly in your ear. “You’re about to give particular notice to your stomach.”

Shit. You instantly dropped your hand, looking around to make sure no one had noticed.

Thankfully, no one had.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to your best friend, and scooted into the space he and Daniel had left for you, between them, on their side.

Sitting again helped to balance you, as the dizziness from earlier kept coming back in tiny spurts. You didn’t know what it was all about, but you knew it was probably something attributed to pregnancy. It was probably something normal that you didn’t need to be worried about.

But, you figured having someone to lean on would help to keep you steady. So, you found Josh’s shoulder, pressing against him. It was more than necessary, so you let your shoulder lazily lay against his arm. The closeness to a safe person felt overwhelmingly comforting in the otherwise emotionally-wrought headspace you were experiencing.

-🌼🌼🌼-

About an hour later, you found yourself humming along to the music that had gotten progressively louder over the time you’d been sitting with the guys. Getting lost in the melodies felt nice. And you’d noticed, walking in that night, that it was soul music night, according to the sign on the front door of the bar.

Your favorite.

After sitting with them for only a few minutes, making small talk with Sam and Danny to catch up, you’d essentially let yourself become an observer. You’d just listened to them talk about all of these new, sudden opportunities that were coming around for them.

So much was changing.

They were essentially done with the smaller gigs. Their label’s management had put their foot down that they were done with those. They wanted them going to more popular, reputable places to get their name out there. The label had taken it upon themselves to work with their manager to put them in bigger venues. They’d even begun advertising the boys with promotional pictures and posters all over active streets in Brooklyn.

“We’ve had photoshoots, y/n,” Sam had boasted in wonder at one point, making sure to involve you in the conversation. “Photoshoots! Like, real rockstar things.”

“‘S fucking nuts,” Daniel agreed, nodding beside you, sending you a small smile. “People working on wardrobe for us and all that shit.”

“Well, you are rockstars,” you told Sammy genuinely, letting your eyes skate to each of the boys (save for one). But, when you finished your statement, you let your eyes find him. And his eyes literally melted into yours. Like he’d been waiting for you to acknowledge him. “You’ve been ready for this for a long time. I’m just glad you are finally getting to live it.”

But you tore your gaze away before it could become too much. Though, the snicker you heard from Maya made your eyes cut to her. You forced yourself to hold your tongue. Didn’t trust yourself with what might come out of your mouth. What had her feeling all bitter and shit? She didn’t get the fucking half of it.

That particular thought had your hands falling to clasp tightly against your tummy, thankfully hidden by the table.

They’d also begun working on their first album (which you knew about), but its release date had officially been set in stone for May. It was daunting for you and felt huge to you, so you couldn’t imagine how it felt for them.

It was all moving so fast. . . Which, if you were being honest, terrified you for what was to come in the near future. The little bean that was set to arrive around the time of the album’s release. Because of all of your recent . . .changes, it just felt like a terrible time for things to feel so unsure and abnormal.

You knew it was selfish to feel that way. You did. It was just impossible to not feel worried and anxious.

The stress inevitably started climbing up into your upper back, creating tension. And, Josh, being Josh, must’ve sensed a change in your demeanor. He’d wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you started feeling all bunched up and jittery. You’d leaned into it, needing the incredible amount of comfort in his embrace and presence.

The music was setting your mind at ease from the tension you felt in your body. It also helped to alleviate the awkward air you felt with the proximity of Jake’s guest. Who sat there looking so beautiful all night. Jake’s arm hadn’t left her shoulders all night, twirling her long waves between his long fingers. You had to look away at several points. It didn’t take long for the sight to become too much. Your ever-present nausea only increased by watching them.

So you didn’t watch. Didn’t allow yourself to look at him.

You breathed in the music. The music saved you. You just listened to the music. The world was a blur.

But, when they all joined in on mutual excitement, all smiles and voices getting louder, you tuned back in just slightly.

And when you did, they were talking about one particular thing they were all looking forward to: a special event of sorts that was coming up.

Apparently it was a huge thing for this event to take place. One final step before embracing the stardom. It would happen in a few months’ time — once the label execs heard a few songs, and released them as singles. Then, they would get to preview them to the public.

It would be an intimate type of event, more like old times, but for a few semi-important people who worked for the tour management team and whoever else wanted to come. It would be a listening party where the boys would play their new music. And according to the boys, it was the label’s attempt to get an idea of touring being a possibility.

A lot of it was pinned on if the turnout was good. On how the guys interacted with the crowd. How the performed. . . It would be a sort of audition for the tour management team.

“I have faith that they’ll love us,” Sammy said, buzzing with excitement. “I’m speaking that shit into existence.”

The rest of the guys agreed.

Your eyes inadvertently snapped to Jake when he spoke next. “And once we start touring. . .,” he said, grin huge and his eyes shining at the other guys. “That’s when it all becomes fucking real. And it’ll be here before we even know it.”

Your stomach fell.

Josh squeezed your knee after he’d said it, knowing exactly what you were thinking.

Your thoughts were fucking spiraling. Looking down, you closed your eyes to will the tears away— tried your best to be subtle with your bundled up emotions.

You felt so excited for him. You wanted it for them—for him. All along, you’d wanted him to live his dream. The one he’d had for so long. But the idea of him going off and away. . . All of them being so far away, all of the time, right at the time your life would be inevitably changing for the rest of forever. . . It was a lot to wrap your mind around.

It had your stomach tied in fucking knots—the idea of Jake being a dad, but not getting to be one. Leaving you. Leaving the baby. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, per se, but it was going to hurt like hell.

You swore, right then and there, that you would not let him give it up for anything. Not a baby, definitely not you (not that he’d want to abandon it for you) — it was the last thing you wanted. The last thing that would happen.

He would live the dream. Even if you had to force him to do so.

No matter how badly you already knew you’d want him around during that massively transformative time. . . You were capable of doing it on your own. And Elsie would help. She would most definitely be around, you already knew.

But. . . Jake.

You shoved the thoughts down to the tresses of hell, literally planting your feet flat on the floor to center yourself to present time. Shifting a bit, you laid your head on Josh’s shoulder, letting your eyes drift closed after a while. Didn’t sleep, no, but you felt like you could have. Your body felt loose and weak from the night’s stress slowly leaving your body as you focused on Josh’s steady breathing and the music.

As the night wore on, the volume had ended up getting so loud that everyone practically had to yell at one another to have a conversation, even within the close confines of the booth.

So, you had to blink your eyes open at that point. It was too much. The over-stimulation was soon approaching. You could feel it. You felt. . . heavier than normal. Like, you were being pulled down to the earth with exhaustion. Which was new, but probably just over-stimulation.

Even with your eyes open, they were hooded. You were so tired, you felt as though you couldn’t open them much more. And the dizziness from earlier was back with force.

So you focused on swaying your body a little to the rhythm of each song, tapping out the beat of each on the table. Josh had instinctively begun humming along with you while still managing to keep conversation with everyone else. He’d sneak the occasional smile to give a sign of him remaining loyal to your company as well as the others’.

The melodious harmonies of Stevie Wonder’s "Please Don't Go" had been a surprise, as it was a more unpopular hit of his. It was a welcome distraction to listen to a song you knew well over the speakers, for all ears to hear. Nothing beat hearing songs you loved, playing in public spaces.

Oh, Stevie. His songs had historically been known to bring you peace. Always had. Always would. Stevie's music never failed to meet you where you were emotionally. This song, not being an exception, and hitting extremely close to home for the present time. . . But still, the tension you’d felt all night began to dissipate, sizzling out almost completely with the beautiful ending of the track.

Just as the heavy weight of your anxieties you’d carried all night had lifted, the next song started to ring throughout the building.

Only this time, the feeling it gave you was a far cry from the previous.

You knew it instantly. You’d be able to hear this song even if it weren’t blaring throughout the building.

As soon as the first note sounded, it sent a vibration straight to your heart and a swarm of butterflies (that actually felt more like bees) to your tummy.

You hadn’t looked at him yet, but you felt Jake’s eyes piercing through you.

You didn’t want to look at him. Not yet.

Your hormones had been far too out of whack for that. You knew you’d cry instantly upon seeing his face while this song played at a volume that you now wish was much, much lower.

Aretha’s powerhouse voice repeated it over and over again.

You’re all I need to get by, you’re all I need to get by, you’re all I need. . .

No, you weren’t looking at Jake. But he was still the only vision clouding your mind’s eye.

You were back on your living room floor. . . his eyebrows bunched together with each heavy thrust into you, the sweat that accumulated between them, the perspiration and exertion that could only come from real intimacy. . .passion.

And it was plain to see that you were my destiny. . .

His coffee colored eyes that bore into you as his body connected with yours in the most intimate way that it could’ve.

And when I lose my will, you’ll be there to push me up that hill. . .

How he filled you so completely, stretching you the only way you ever wanted. . . How, in that moment, it felt like he was made to fit you. Your body, your heart, your life.

I don’t know what’s in store, but together we can open any door. . .

Without even meaning to, your eyes met his.

And while Maya was going on about whatever she felt the need to talk about, he was watching you. His eyes were extremely thoughtful. . . So much being communicated behind them.

If you were delusional, you’d even go so far as to say he was admiring you. . . The way his eyes flashed a bit as you watched him, too.

But you weren’t delusional.

Though, you just knew that he was thinking the same thing as you. . . He knew. He knew this song was special.

And as much as you attempted to not wear your emotions, with your condition, it was impossible.

You felt your eyes prick with tears as the song came to an end, and you quickly put your head down for what you knew was coming. And when the small drop hit your cheek, as soon as it appeared, you wiped it away.

You looked back up, sniffing once and shaking your head.

Why did I have to fucking look?

“God, I wish they’d play music from this century here for once. Or at least something halfway decent,” Maya snickered, her attention on Jake, pulling his gaze away from you with her ignorant remark. “This song could put me straight to sleep. Music like this is meant to be left in the past where it belongs.”

What the hell? What was even the point?

What she said had your blood boiling with red hot rage. Of course she had to pick this song to insert her disgusting opinion.

And how was Jake, of all people, in a relationship with someone who thought so little of older music? How did he put up with that shit? It would be really fucking hard to hear things like that all the time if you were in his shoes.

A look of pure disgust washed over Josh’s face, and you knew he wouldn’t take her shit laying down. Not when it came to good, classic soul music. Not to mention, Aretha was one of his biggest vocal inspirations. “How can you not appreciate the Queen of Soul? She paved the way for singers of every genre, her voice is timeless and immaculate. To criticize her is to criticize all music.”

His defensive tone had everyone silent for an almost uncomfortable amount of time.

You wanted to chime in and let her know that you agreed with everything he said. But you felt it best to keep your mouth shut given the real reason you were so pissed. Didn’t trust your emotions to stay steady enough to get your point across.

This was personal.

To your shock, it was Jake that ended up breaking the awkward silence at the table. “You know, babe, some of us have some pretty significant memories tied back to music like this,” he asserted, sharply, pulling away from her, dropping his arm from her shoulders to look at her better. “This song specifically. . . At least for me.”

Your heart leapt into your throat at what he was implying. Significant? He couldn’t mean. . .? But then he flashed his eyes to you. And you knew.

Fuck, Jake. The butterflies let completely loose in your tummy at the implication. At the look.

He continued, his voice growing softer, while staying assertive. “And it could very possibly be hurtful to others when you say surface level shit like that.”

Maya scoffed, rolling her eyes. This was the first time you’d ever witnessed the woman be something other than a dream. “So I can’t have opinions, hm?”

“I never said—,” Jake tried, getting interrupted by her continuing.

She was piercing him with a glare, tone biting. “Did you ever stop to think about how it hurt my feelings when you refused to see 21 Savage with me? And after I got us the tickets, no less?”

You didn’t mean to snort a small laugh at her words.

But. . . 21 Savage?!

Thankfully, you weren’t alone in finding amusement in the words as everyone else had a similar response. Sammy spit out the drink he’d just taken, some of it even coming out of his nose. Daniel had clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged it down his face, closing his eyes in the process.

And Josh turned to you as soon as you turned your sights to him. He made eyes at you, raising his brows with a grin threatening to turn into a laugh. If he could’ve spoken, you assumed he’d say something along the lines of ‘oh, shit.’

Sam was the next to speak, barely able to catch a breath as he wiped the leftover drink from around his mouth with a napkin. “Maya, my dear,” he giggled, the words distorted a little by the wipe of the napkin. “You surely can’t have an emotional connection with his music?”

“Maybe I do,” she retorted, scooting away from Jake a little. Crossing her arms over her cleavage, she eyed Sammy, judgmentally. “Maybe it saw me through some really hard times.”

“Did it?” Danny tried, his face seeming earnest in pursuit to find sense in her music taste.

“Well,” her eyes found Danny’s, but darted around a bit, still. “Not necessarily. . . But I do enjoy his music. . . Which is my prerogative.”

Josh’s brow was quirked. He stared her down, his face a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Maya,” he cleared his throat. Her eyes found him, hard and defensive. But it was obvious she was losing some steam. “There is a difference between enjoying music and having it change the entire trajectory of your entire life.”

Before she could sputter out a response, the waiter was back at the head of the table with the two pizzas the guys had ordered.

“One pepperoni pizza,” she said, placing one giant tray of pizza on the table.

Your nose immediately picked up on the overwhelming scent of cheese and pepperoni. You had never smelt something so greasy. This was even worse than the greasy smell at Waffle House on the morning you’d gone with Elsie. And where there, you could find some sort of nostalgic comfort in the smell of it. . . there was nothing that could make this pizza’s smell appealing. Fuck.

“And. . .,” Sammy’s excited tone broke through your nauseous reverie.

You didn’t look up, only watched in near agony as the second pizza, filled with every vegetable in the book, was sat right in front of you. Every fucking vegetable had it’s own special, rancid smell that you hadn’t ever noticed until now.

Goddamn. And it just got worse as you let your eyes follow a slice that Sam took off the tray, cheese so disgustingly stringy, to his waiting mouth. The way his teeth sunk into the pizza and the oil slipped down his chin. . . You felt the bile rise in the back of your throat at the sight. The dizziness set in again. Then there was the cheese that came to the corner of his mouth as he chewed his first bite with an open mouth.

Closing your eyes, you tried your best to will it away.

But you couldn’t. It was too late. Behind your closed eyes, all you could see was the sight again, but this time, in slow motion. . . more and more repulsive with every flash of the image.

You found Josh’s leg, hitting it repeatedly to indicate that you needed out of the booth. Your other hand, held tightly over your mouth, which felt as though it could explode with projectile vomit at any moment.

That would be real cute. A really effective way to make Jake look at you. . . but not for the reasons you’d want.

At. All.

Thankfully, Josh got the hint and quickly scooted out of the booth to allow you out.

And as soon as your feet hit the concrete floor, you were speeding to the bathroom once more. This time, immediately landing on your knees over the toilet with a hand clutching your hair, as you retched the (very little) contents of your stomach into the toilet.

It was alarming, to say the least, as you saw only clear saliva goo floating around in the bowl. . . no food accompanying the sickness you’d just produced.

I haven’t eaten today, you thought suddenly, wiping your brow of the sweat that had accumulated. Nothing to puke out because everything sounded vile.

And then the dizziness was setting in again as you rose from your place on the ground.

You really hadn’t been eating much at all. And pickles, being the only thing you could stand to eat, did not give you proper nutrients. You knew that.

Have to figure something out, you decided as you washed your hands. Disturbingly, you saw four hands instead of two and it was daunting at best. Need to go home and do some research so I can figure out how to fucking eat something.

By the time you got back to the booth, you already had your keys out of your belt bag.

Josh gave you a sympathetic grin. He mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ and you just shook your head, reassuring him with a mimicked ‘It’s fine’ in response.

When you snapped your head up from Josh to say bye to the others, you realized that Jake was watching you closely. Pensively. Unsurely.

You gulped, setting your eyes on him. If only you knew, Jake. . . But, suddenly, anger was flaring in the place of any butterflies. Lack of food and pregnancy could do that to a person. But you don’t know. So quit looking at me.

“You feelin’ sick, Baby Dragon?” Sam said, breaking you out of your staring contest with Jake.

“Yeah, noticed you weren’t drinking tonight. . . you okay?” Danny interjected.

“O–Oh, yeah. No, yeah,” you shook your head, which only caused your head to throb. Shit. “Just tired. Exhausted from school.” And from carrying a human life in my uterus. “I wanna get home and rest.”

“I forced her to come tonight,” Josh added. He looked at you before exchanging looks with the other guys, emphasizing his point to help you out. “She has had her nose to the fucking grindstone. I insisted she needed a night out.”

“Forced her?” Jake scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “God, y/n. If you don’t want to come, then don’t come.”

You fumed at his words. What the fuck? Just minutes ago he was jumping to defend your song. “He didn’t force me,” you growled back at him. Don’t test a pregnant woman carrying your goddamn baby, Jacob. “What he meant was that he encouraged me to come since I haven’t been around for a while.”

“And why’s that?” Jake pushed, continuing to jest at you. Is this a game to you, asshole?

“Jake,” Josh snapped, tone sharp and heated.

“School,” you asserted (with a partial lie), shutting your eyes when you started seeing two of him. When you opened them to stare back at him, you focused hard as you continued to see four brown eyes instead of two. “But that’s not really any of your business is it, Jake?”

He was silent, his jaw clenching. Then he looked back to Maya, starting a conversation with her, effectively shutting you out.

You weren’t sure how long you could put up with the hot and cold act from him. You knew that he was hurt, but you preferred the moments in recent times where he’d shown the soft side of his heart. The Jake side of his heart.

The one flashing through your mind at this moment was on the night of the Halloween party. When he’d picked up the dropped brownies for you and then offered to help you carry stuff to your room. . . albeit he had been drunk. It’d still been him. You knew it. It was something he’d do. . . you knew him.

And you knew him well enough to know when he was acting like an ass, it meant he was hurt. You weren’t oblivious to the recent hurt you’d inflicted on him. . . but why was he suddenly reacting like this again? Why now?

When another wave of dizziness took you over, you had to once again shut your eyes to keep your balance, and you held tight to the strap of your bag. Your head was also, once again, pulsing.

You opened your eyes and tried to stay steady, as you didn’t want to worry the three who cared. Pulling your phone from the pocket of your oversized hoodie, you shook your keys at the guys who still watched with concerned eyes.

“Be safe,” Danny offered sympathetically, reaching a hand out. You grasped it, rubbing your thumb over the back.

As soon as he let go, Sam was up and pulling you into a hug. Once he’d succeeded in killing your boobs again, he held onto your shoulders. “We miss you,” he said, breath thick with alcohol that was making your stomach turn. You held your breath and tapped at his hand politely before scooting back from him. “Love you, y/n.”

You repeated the phrase back to him before Josh got up, presumably to walk you to the door. “I promise I’ll start coming around more often again,” you told them. “I miss you, too.”

And just before you stepped to head toward the exit, you found Jake’s eyes again.

They were softer now, showing concern he couldn’t hide at your current state. But there was still that fire behind them that you’d learned was purely Jake. And it made your heart thump a little harder in your chest.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The tiredness was unreal. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were so fucking exhausted. Everything that had been happening recently–the therapy, telling Josh that you were pregnant with his twin’s baby, being pregnant with said baby (and worrying that you weren’t), taking sixteen-fucking-hours of classes. . . it had been a lot. That much was obvious as hell.

And tonight had been emotionally taxing for sure. . . and knowing you, you knew it was more than extremely possible that the emotions alone had been what’d finally done you in. Drained you for all you were worth.

Well, that, and the lack of food in your system. And the persistent barfing.

You'd been poring over the resources that Dr. Rose had given you access to. And, one of the links on their site had informed you that it was extremely possible for the fatigue to peak around this point of the pregnancy–ten to twelve weeks.

And considering you were right about at 12 or so, it was on the mark.

But when you’d read that, you hadn’t been expecting the feeling to be similar to that of being weighed down to the Earth by heavy-ass lead. You were dying to fall into bed and sleep off the exhaustion–right after taking a measly Tylenol for the pounding headache that’d been burgeoning for the past several minutes.

All you could do at this specific moment, though, was focus on driving–and pulling into the apartment complex with as much precision as possible. The pain in your head was beginning to make your vision blurry and the things around you waved in ways you knew they weren’t supposed to. Goddamn.

You finally made it to your parking space–by the grace of some higher entity. But, as soon as you tried to move to get out, everything around you began to spin at an accelerated speed. Moaning, you brought two shaking hands up to your eyes as you closed them. You started to count to ten, trying your best to take deep breaths–but even that was getting hard to do. Fuck.

Finding your motherfucking bearings was proving to be a task and a half.

And your head was just fucking throbbing relentlessly.

“Dammit,” you groaned again, the words slurring just a bit.

Somehow, though, you were able to make the trek from your car to the complex’s staircase–so close, yet so far, from your place. But you could feel the way your heart was thrumming quickly in your chest—just pounding against your ribcage from the basic action of walking.

Everything began waving around you again. You felt like you were floating and your head was becoming lighter and lighter by the second; the only reminder that it housed a brain was the raging, convulsing feeling in your skull.

Your vision was incredibly blurry at best, as you looked from the base of the stairs, all the way up to the top. The top of the stairs was hardly visible.

Shit. How the fuck am I going to climb these steps like this?

But, you weren’t able to contemplate it for much longer before everything started fading more and more, until you felt yourself falling and all you saw was a black abyss.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The hand you felt holding yours was the only thing that weighed you down to the white room. The other things that you immediately noticed: the sound of steady beeping (which was incessant) and the smell of antiseptic and bleach wafting from the bedding.

The bed itself felt reminiscent of high quality cardboard, but the sheets were warmer than you would’ve expected.

Letting your body relax back into the warm, polycotton sheets, you began to drift back to wherever you’d been. But you felt something hold you to the present. It was the someone with the hand who was helping to keep you conscious. The thumb that swept purposefully across the back of your hand tied you to the real world before you could escape to the one behind your eyelids.

Then you felt the hand holding yours squeeze the slightest bit tighter. Your lids were heavy when you squinted them open–immediately hating the way the fluorescent lighting assaulted your irises. You didn’t know if it was possible, but you were damned sure you could feel your pupils adjusting to the overbearing beams from the bulbs.

Moaning, you reached your free hand up to cover your eyes. And when you did, you noticed the influx of tubes, taped to and sticking out of your hand. Specifically, the needle connected directly to your vein. What the fuck was going on?

Amidst your confusion, you finally processed who the hand was connected to as you heard his voice.

“Yes, yes,” Josh said in response to something. You noticed that he was seeming to squeeze your hand in little pulsing intervals. When you squeezed back to indicate you were awake, his eyes were immediately on you, abandoning his conversation. “Y/n? Oh, fuck,” his voice was thick with emotion. His gaze became wet as he checked your face over. “I was so worried about you.”

You didn’t know what to say, since you weren’t really sure why you were here or what had happened to get you here. . . All you could remember was being tired and dizzy with a pounding in your head.

You tried to speak, but it was in vain, as your throat was dry as fuck. All that came from your lips was a measly croak. But, thankfully, Josh was immediately coming to your rescue with one of the hospital’s giant plastic cups, filled to the brim with water. He held the straw to your lips and you sat up a little to have better leverage to take a drink. To your surprise, the pounding in your head was gone, and there was no dizziness accompanying your movements.

And no nausea – best part of all.

As soon as the water slipped past your lips, you shut your eyes in utter relief. Water had never tasted so good. You weren’t sure if water even had a taste, but at that moment, you swore it did and that it tasted like liquid gold would.

Once you’d had enough for the moment, almost draining the large cup, you backed away and leaned into the pillows that awaited behind you.

Sighing in relief, you tried to say words again. And this time, it worked. “What’s going on?” You slowly spoke, your head still feeling slightly airy. You let your eyes trail to Josh’s, questioning him. “Why am I here?”

Then, you started panicking. You shot up from where you’d settled against the pillows, clutching your stomach. The IV’s connected to your hand pulled at your skin, stinging. You ignored the pain though, and felt your tummy. It was still round, but obviously that didn’t mean– oh no. Your deepest fears came to life in your head, piece by terrifying piece. The baby.

“Oh, fuck, Josh,” you said, your eyes were wild and immediately drew wetness, which ran steadily down your cheeks. No no no no no. “The baby? Is the baby–? Oh–.”

“Yes, yes,” Josh shushed you, running his free hand over the top of your head. “The baby is fine. Already checked and looks the same as it did a few days ago,” his eyes shone with reassurance. “Nothing is wrong with the baby.”

“Heartbeat?”

“Steady as can be.”

You felt your lungs fill with air again. “Okay,” you breathed out, leaning back into the pillows once more. “Okay.”

“But you on the other hand,” he started, his brow raising and eyes burning into yours. “You need to be giving yourself proper attention, mama.”

“I—?” You shook your head. You knew you weren’t the most attentive to yourself, but you’d tried very hard to be more self-serving recently in some regards. Longer showers, Friends, Cosmic Brownies (RIP) and pickles, therapy (if that counted). . . “I’ve been trying. . .”

But the vomiting is proving some of that to be impossible, Joshua, you thought silently, snidely.

“What your friend is trying to tell you,” the doctor began. Your eyes shifted to her, an older woman with delicate features whose gray hair was pushed back by a pair of readers. Then her brows wrinkled. “Well—friend? Father of the baby?”

You both spoke at the same time.

“Oh, no—.”

“Not me,” Josh corrected with a laugh, his smile bright and humored underneath his new mustache. “That’s my brother’s baby in there.”

Ridiculously, you began to blush at hearing Josh say it out loud. You were learning that any time it came from his lips, it made your breath catch in your chest just a little.

Jake’s baby.

“Oh, my apologies,” she smiled, her crows feet wrinkling, voice wise with years of experience. “I just wanted to proceed using the correct title to address you. Speaking of which, I am Dr. Stevens. It’s nice to meet you, Miss y/n.”

“Same to you,” you answered with a tiny, unsure smile and nod. “Thank you.”

Dr. Stevens hummed, then came to sit on the end of the bed, same side as Josh. You eyed her curiously as her expression turned a touch more serious. “Miss y/n,” she said, sounding like you’d imagine a caring mother would. “You are here because your iron was frighteningly low,” she said, concerned and checking your chart. “If it had gone untreated one more night, you would have been incredibly ill and unable to function properly at all come morning.”

“What?” You asked, shocked. Anemia wasn’t a new thing to you, you’d always had it. How had it intensified so quickly? “I mean, sure, I’ve always had mild anemia. Just kind of a thing that’s been there . . .haven’t thought about it in years, actually,” (because of some damn triggering, buried memories attached to it). “But I’ve never had – it’s never been as. . . Intense as this,” you held up your hand that was covered in tape and inserted tubes.

“Well, honey, you’re carrying a baby now who also needs those vital nutrients to help it develop,” she counseled. “And proper hydration,” she reminded. You nodded, eyes zoned in on your hands, full with pieces of plastic and tape, and not her face. When Dr. Stevens spoke next, her voice was the most stern it’d been so far. “And prenatal vitamins– those are essential for you and the baby.”

Your eyes flicked up to hers. The way she pierced you with her stare made you lean back like a scolded puppy. Your tail would have been between your legs if you had one.

Why hadn’t you bought any damned prenatals yet? Fuck all.

“Yes ma’am. I don’t know why I haven’t been taking–,” you tried, huffing. You were ashamed of yourself. “God, I feel bad,” you placed two hands on your tummy and looked down at it through the hospital gown you’d been changed into. “How has all of it not harmed the baby?”

“Well, again, tomorrow would have been a completely different story had you not been rushed in tonight,” she reminded, talking you through it slowly. “But we’ve got fluids pumping through you to get you back to normal.” She motioned to Josh, you looked at him with a small smile that he reciprocated. “And your friend has promised to take you for a prenatal run tomorrow morning. To find the ones that you feel might suit you best.” Dr. Stevens smiled, looking over at your bedside table. Your eyes followed, seeing the small medicine bottle sitting there, waiting for you. “For now, I have a couple ready to send home with you,” she assured.

“I’ve never been the best at prioritizing my health,” you mumbled, messing with a loose thread on the hospital gown. Josh held the hand that was anxiously picking at the material, making you stop. You looked over to see his kind, encouraging eyes. “I have ingrained my brain with several unhealthy, learned habits,” you admitted, finally looking at Dr. Stevens again. “So I guess this was a reality check of sorts. That it’s not just me anymore. I can’t just ignore what I need to acknowledge.”

You didn’t know what was inspiring the constant flow of transparently deep emotions to all of these unknown people in your life, but you weren’t totally opposed to it anymore.

Dr. Stevens’ face contorted to show that she had sympathy. You were relieved. But when she spoke next, her voice was firm. “You’re right. This baby is forcing you to take care of yourself so he or she can survive and come out healthy and happy. I believe this baby is teaching you some proper life skills. But you need to be eating well to help this child have a good, healthy time in the womb. . .help him or her thrive at this vital stage in its life.”

God. She was right. You had seen the words Failure to Thrive on multiple sources you’d checked out about pregnancy. . . .always just skimmed past them, as it didn’t seem to pertain to you. But, of course it did. The vomiting. Not taking prenatals (seriously, what the fuck, y/n?). The lack of eating anything (save for the baby pickles). . .

You’d been so in your head about the present state of your health that you hadn’t taken nearly enough time to consider the baby.

“I’ve just never been bad about eating. This is new,” you confided. “And it’s just gotten worse this past week or so. . . I haven’t been able to eat. Everything has made me want to vomit.” Then you decided to add, “Well, everything besides pickles. They’ve been my only source of any nutrients – which I know is pathetic, by the way – I just–just can’t even be in the same room as most food, much less eat it.”

“You’re experiencing a severe case of hyperemesis gravidarum, which is just a fancy way of saying that you’re excessively vomiting during your pregnancy. It’s due to a drastic change in hormones. Your HCG levels are through the roof, where they’re usually not. Most women just have to suffer through it,” she said in response, handing you sheet with the fancy medical term at the top. “That is an information sheet. Keeps you informed on the ins and outs of why you might be experiencing it.” She sighed before going on. “It will pass, honey. Give it a few more weeks and you should be over the worst of it – if not before. But being anemic makes it that much worse,” she explained, flipping her readers over her eyes and looking through the papers on her fancy clipboard. “You’ve just gotta stay on top of those preexisting conditions.”

“And not taking the prenatals. . .,” she scolded, making you look up from scanning the sheet. She gave you a look. “Is what has you in this condition. You should also be taking an additional iron supplement. I’m. . . sure you didn’t tell your OB about your previous anemia?” She wondered aloud.

“No,” you murmured. “I really haven’t seen it present itself since I was really young. And it wasn’t really severe. . . at least I don’t think,” you rubbed your forehead, suddenly experiencing several sad moments in time. From a long time ago. So, once again, you bared your heart and explained. “There are things from my childhood that I’ve forgotten. And even though I do actually know I experienced bouts of it during that time, I haven’t ever really acknowledged it because I just kind of forced myself to forget about it.”

Really, for some godforsaken reason, thinking about your anemia only brought back very unwelcome flashes of your mother’s house. . . and other dirty places you didn’t want to think about. Hence why you’d blocked it out.

Josh squeezed your hand– tried to bring you back.

Thankfully, Dr. Stevens continued before the thoughts could take over. “I am sorry, honey,” she said, empathetic. But, she continued on professionally. “The hard truth is that some of the things that have always sort of laid dormant can come back with a raging force during pregnancy. . . simply considering that the pregnancy is essentially a revamp on your body,” she paused when you chuckled at the word ‘revamp’. Yeah, right. She smirked at it, too. “I know, funny word choice. Doesn’t always feel like you’re revamping,” she flipped to the next page in her chart. “What I mean is, things can come back up and be bigger–stronger–than before. One more thing that is changing and increasing in your body. Medical conditions from the past may come back and get more ‘intense’,” she winked at you, using your word from earlier. “But, it’s important: now that the anemia has shown itself again – so aggressively – at a time that your body is already very vulnerable. . .” She sighed, flipping her readers back into her dark gray hair before unclipping a paper from the chart and handing it to you. “It’s time we get a handle on all of it before it possibly shows its ugly face again.”

The sheet she handed you included several foods that you could eat to remedy the morning sickness. Some of which had made you feel like puking – or actually puke. But, there were a few things you didn’t have at home. Boring, bland foods. Things you just never bought. A few fruits and vegetables. . .

And a shit ton of vitamins.

“A lot of plain Jane stuff on there, I know. And vitamins, vitamins, vitamins,” she acknowledged. “But those supplements and bland diet are what will see you through the dark ages of this morning sickness. We need to treat that first. And then, you should be able to ease yourself into other foods and get your iron levels healthy again for you and your baby. Please focus on following that guide of foods and vitamins and just call my extension – which I attached to the top of that sheet – if you have any issues.”

She then passed one more sheet over to you and added one more piece of information. “This sheet will include the Hemoglobin Kit I’ve ordered for you and it will be sent to the address your friend provided for us within the next few days. Please be using it to check your hemoglobin levels. Hemoglobin is the main component of red blood cells–a protein– that we need to see at normal levels. I’ve included where your levels should be on that sheet. They should never be too low or too high. Please read the information on the sheet and in the kit to answer any additional questions you may have. This will help you to track of how your levels are doing and if your anemia is spiking again,” she said, her voice seeming to drone on and on in your ears. “And again, call if you have any questions or concerns.”

As you continued reading through the paper, she unclipped another and handed it over to you.

You really were thankful for the documents, really, but dear god there were a lot of them. Virtually and physically. From your OB visit and tonight. It was overwhelming . . . made your skin feel tight and overheated.

It was also a lot of information for you to over-fucking-think.

I’ll have to take them to Gia. She’ll help me sort through them, you reassured yourself, taking a deep breath in and out to calm the nerves.

“And the morning sickness should. . . pass sooner rather than later?” Josh’s question broke through your reverie. Your eyes shut to refocus on the present moment and not the papers.

“It should, yes. For most women, it does,” the graying doctor confirmed. “You’re. . .how far along? I’d estimate about eleven, maybe twelve weeks?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “Twelve weeks according to my OB.”

“Yep. You should only have a few weeks – or less – left. Just try the foods on that sheet. The vitamins. Stay hydrated. There are several recommended supplements the sheet provides. You can find most all of them on Amazon.”

You handed the sheets over to Josh, needing them away from you for the time being. You needed to be in the now. Needed to focus on anything else the aging, wise doctor may need to say.

To put it plainly, tonight’s event landing you in the hospital had you scared shitless. And learning as much as possible from her would hopefully wind up putting your mind at ease. . . though, at this moment, it just had your heart rate increasing rather quickly.

She eyed the monitor next to your bed, moving closer to it as she observed something. “There goes that heart rate again,” she squinted at the vitals once more before pushing her glasses into her hair. She looked down at her chart, her lips pursing and readers going back on as she checked it over. “That’s another thing I want to address,” she hummed, sitting next to your legs, facing you and Josh from her seat. “Have you been under a lot of stress lately? A major change? Besides the baby? Mentally, perhaps? Emotionally?” She questioned. “Because while your iron levels were scarily low, your heart rate was also dramatically high. Which, yes, is related to the iron levels. . . but, I thought I’d go ahead and check as more often than not, it can pertain to an extreme amount of stress your heart is under from other sources.”

You stuttered out a response that involved you beginning therapy for the first time in years. You tried to touch on how you were experiencing a lot of emotions around what you would eventually be talking about in therapy. . . how you’d already bared your heart to Gia and opened up every single gate possible to effectively begin therapy.

“I wanted to do it. Still do," you explained, needing Dr. Stevens to know that. “I would do it all over again right now if I needed to. She’s already helped me so much – after only one session, just with me basically projectile vomiting my past and emotions all over the room.” You took a breath, before finishing. “It doesn’t make it any less difficult though. It hurts. Physically, it hurts to talk about it all. I know it will all come together in the end. I trust the process–I trust my therapist. But it was extremely taxing – on top of everything else I’m feeling right now.” You glanced over at Josh before adding, “The baby’s father is. . . he’s just. . .”

“A lot,” Josh finished with a half-chuckle. “He’s a very good guy. He’s just a lot.”

“I have a lot of feelings about everything happening in my life right now, I’ll just say that,” you ventured to tell her. “And I had somewhat of a handle on my anxiety and depression before I got pregnant, but it’s also been something to resurface in a brand new way with the pregnancy hormones. Without me even knowing it sometimes. And before I know it, my heart is actually hurting my chest from the amount of pressure I’m putting myself under.”

Josh scooted his chair over closer to you and wrapped one of your hands in two of his, holding on tightly.

“It hasn’t all really clicked until now. . . that all of it might be related to my. . . issues,” you confirmed aloud, peeking over at Josh just briefly before looking back to Dr. Stevens. You’d just spilled your entire heart and it was making you feel extremely uneasy. God, she hadn’t asked to hear all of that. “I’m so sorry about spilling all of whatever that was,” you waved your hands around before combing them through your hair, trying to breathe deep breaths. You found her eyes, which you now realized were green. “I really–god, fuck. I’m– that was a lot for you to hear and you didn’t ask for the whole–.”

“I needed to hear it all,” she consoled you, tapping a comforting hand on the top bed sheet, rather than your leg. “It helps me assess the situation. . . and from what I’ve heard, it sounds like the most probable cause of you fainting tonight was due to the iron deficiency and your heart.” She assessed the numbers on the blinking monitor yet again. “It just hasn’t slowed much since you’ve been here, sweetie. Even with the medications we’ve given you to temporarily alleviate it, it’s still been sitting at around 120 beats per minute. And since you’ve been awake, it’s spiked enough to cause some concern to this doctor.”

As she expressed her concern again for your thrumming heart, (which you had noticed an increase in it’s pounding as of late) it began beating a little harder once again, causing an unpleasant tightness within your sternum. You winced.

Josh noted the change almost as quickly as you did. His hands that held onto yours began squeezing even tighter, the skin of his palms now wet and clammy. He brought your hand, wrapped in his, up to his chin. The hair on his chin was unfamiliar to the last time you’d touched his face (who even knew when you last did that), but it still felt familiar enough against your knuckles to calm some of your nerves.

You couldn’t help but look at him with wide, fearful eyes. His eyes were steady on you, his attention only breaking from you to look at Dr. Stevens with a nonverbal note of worry for you.

She stood from the bed and came to stand beside you, inserting the buds to the stethoscope around her neck, and held the circular part to your back. “Cough for me, sweetie,” she told you, her calm demeanor forcing you to come back from your momentary freak out. “Make it a big one.”

You found it to be an odd request, but you weren’t in any place to question this doctor who had shown you nothing but kindness. And offered help when you, apparently, so desperately needed it.

You did as she said, and forced the best cough you could muster. It instantly relieved the tension in your chest, even lowered your heart rate a bit as you watched the blinking numbers begin to drop on the screen.

“Wh-what was that? Am I having a heart attack?” You felt silly asking her that. . .but you didn’t know any better, it may as well have been your body plummeting straight into a cardiac arrest.

This was all a lot, and now you were very hyper aware of every little change in your heart that you felt, saw, or heard from the screen.

She chuckled softly, taking the stethoscope away from her ears, hanging once again around her neck. She watched your vitals intently as the blood pressure cuff attached to your left arm (that you hadn’t noticed yet) began squeezing you rather uncomfortably.

“You’re not having a heart attack, my dear. Not even close,” she reassured. Although, you still felt the worry present in the pit of your tummy that you were unknowingly clutching again. “I am no stranger to the intense effects of anxiety. I’ve seen it time and time again. I think that was a big part of the palpitation episode you experienced a few minutes ago and the persistent increase in your heart rate I've seen so far tonight. However, I would like to conduct a little further testing. Just want to be sure your heart is nice and strong – for you and for the baby.”

You felt the air from Josh’s lungs release against your knuckles as he let out the breath he must’ve been holding, squeezing your hand just as tight as before. As terrified as you were, his presence provided the safety net your spirit needed to not be thrown back in a massive panic attack.

She sat down on the bed next to you once again, her kind eyes offering little comfort right now as you start to feel overwhelmed with the sudden discovery of so many things that were apparently wrong with your body.

“If you can remember, have you ever been rather sensitive to the heat? Maybe suffered from heat strokes during your youth?”

Her question had your mind yet again returning to your past that had been kept securely behind a locked door with no key. A place you didn’t venture often.

But it did bring forth some hazy recollections of your days as a child, playing outside in the thick, dry summer heat. How you couldn’t stand to be out in it for very long without feeling. . . faint. And dizzy. So fucking dizzy.

A long since forgotten trait of yours that you never thought to pay any mind to.

“Um– yeah, actually. Now that I think about it, Summers were always a challenge. I couldn’t stand being outside for much longer than a few minutes some days without feeling like I could pass out or throw up,” you huffed a humorless laugh at the memories playing back in your head. Miserable times. “It was. . .fucking awful.”

You’d suddenly started to remember all the times you felt faint as a child. But it wasn’t always from the rise in temperature. Sometimes, it was from the stresses your mom tossed your way, the fights, the troubles that brewed in your home. It became more and more clear that fainting was most definitely not new to you. You just couldn’t remember.

“Okay,” Dr. Stevens continued, her hand now patting your shin as she seemed to pick up on the unease of remembering your past. “What about when you go to stand up after a period of being seated or lying down, does your vision become a bit obscured at times? Like you’re seeing stars? Tunneled vision, maybe?”

“I mean, y-yeah,” you stuttered. “Sometimes. But it doesn't last for very long. Doesn’t everybody experience that, though?”

You had no clue where she was going with all of these questions— questions that she seemingly already knew the answers to. Of what it all meant, you weren’t sure. But you knew you needed her to cut to the chase soon before you began plummeting even further down the anxious path you’d started paving.

“What does it mean? Is this something I should be worried about?” You asked through newly developed tears you had no control over.

Your mind was running rampant with only one singular thought: the baby. What does this mean for the baby?

“You don’t need to worry, sweetie. This is actually a lot more common than you think.”

She stood up from the bed, unclipping one more piece of paper from the board she’d been holding prior to sitting down. She handed it over to you, the paper weighing your hand down with what you were to find on it.

But before you could begin to worry about what was on it, she was explaining it to you.

“That sheet is going to inform you on the ins and outs of Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, most commonly referred to as POTs,” she seriously informed, her eyebrows dipping to show concern for your worries that you knew were painted all over your face.

“That’s a funny name,” Josh giggled, the breath from the laugh he’d let out fanned against your knuckles. “Like pots and pans. . . you know?”

You wanted to slap him because, shut the fuck up, Josh, now is not the time, but. . . try as you might, it actually calmed you down a bit. You couldn’t help the tiny ghost of a grin that floated over your lips.

Dr. Stevens glared at him, causing him to stop his little joke, before she continued on. “POTs,” she enunciated the name while flashing her eyes to Josh, “is nothing to be concerned with, but it is a valid heart condition that does require a bit more testing to confirm if it’s present or not. Just to be safe.”

You peered down at the sheet in front of you and the bolded print that you tried so fucking hard to not be too overwhelmed by. It wasn’t the worst possible condition, but it was still a fucking heart condition that you could possibly have. And with everything else that’d happened tonight and your current life predicament. . . it was causing your head to spin.

Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS) is a condition that causes a number of symptoms when you transition from lying down to standing up, such as a fast heart rate, dizziness and fatigue. While there’s no cure, several treatments and lifestyle changes can help manage the symptoms of POTS.

As you read the small print across the page, she told you exactly what it was she suspected you had. “To put it plainly, your heart can’t pump blood quickly enough to your body, resulting in a higher heart rate and a lower blood pressure that can sometimes cause you to faint.” She came close to your bedside again, “If you don’t mind, I am going to need to listen to your heart again.”

It took you a bit to come to, but when you did, you finally nodded in response. She placed the cold end of the stethoscope against your chest while securing the buds in her ears to listen to you.

“This, combined with your lack of eating that caused the extremely low iron levels could have developed from your pregnancy. Although, I’m willing to bet they’ve been present your entire life. Certain instances can trigger them. Stress, severe anxiety, or pregnancy. In your case, dear, I’d say it’s all of the above. A bit of a trifecta, you could say. The ingredients for the perfect, terrifying storm.”

“Jesus, mama," Josh breathed, his lips faintly brushed over your knuckles as he continued to hold your hand close to his face. “You have got to start taking care of yourself. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

You knew that. God, you knew that. It had always been easier said than done. But it was no longer all about you anymore; the moment the life began growing within you, it gave you a newfound motivation to take care of yourself for the little life you were now responsible for.

“What other testing needs to be done?” You asked. You were hesitant of what her answer would be, but if it provided a step in the right direction towards becoming the healthiest version of yourself that you could possibly be, you were all ears.

“There’s a specific test, a tilt table test, that must be done to provide us with a little more insight to the specifics of your case. However, it’s not safe to perform it while you're pregnant,” she explained. “So for now, I’m just going to send in for a heart monitor that will be delivered to your house in the next week or so. You’ll wear it for four weeks and that'll give us plenty of information in the meantime. I’m also going to refer you to one of the best cardiologists we have on staff here.”

A heart monitor? That sounded utterly terrifying to you.

“I am also going to insist that you keep track of your hemoglobin levels daily,” she continued. “You can also buy your own blood pressure cuff to partner with the hemoglobin kit we have set to deliver at your doorstep. You should be able to apply your insurance to the purchase of the blood pressure cuff, if you decide to include that step as well,” Stevens took a deep breath before going on. “Keep a daily journal to log your numbers. Just a notebook to track your blood pressure and hemoglobin levels. It’s vital that you do these things, y/n. Fainting like this can not be a normal occurrence. It’s not good for you or the baby.” When she spoke next, you felt your heart leap into your throat. “The lasting effects on you or the fetus could be life threatening if you’re not careful. . . could be terribly detrimental to the baby’s development—specifically his or her little body or brain development.”

Life threatening. Detrimental. Baby’s development. Little body or brain development.

You heard your heart rate go up on the monitor, but you weren’t about to freak yourself out any further by looking at the changing numbers. You literally felt your pulse quicken and your breath become shallow in your throat as you struggled to take full breaths.

Focus on the now. Focus on what is real. What is right now. Baby is not in trouble yet.

You have time.

You brought a thumb and middle finger up to your temple, rubbing away furiously to relieve the oncoming headache that had been simmering at the surface for the past several minutes. Your other hand found its home on your swollen belly.

It was all so overwhelming–staggering, really, and you weren’t prepared for any of it in the slightest.

But, then again, how would someone prepare? You felt as if you were living in a brand new body, much different from the one you’d lived your whole life in up to this point. There was so fucking much out of your control and unknown. It was all pushing down, heavily, on your already-tense shoulders.

“Relax, mama,” Josh sensed your tension, and knowing you as well as he did, he knew it was time to start helping you articulate the right questions. He brushed his thumb across the back of your hand as he calmly asked, “What do we need to do if her numbers aren’t. . . normal? What are some measures we can take to get them to where they need to be?”

The fact that he was willing to stand alongside you during this whole thing, that he wanted to, it was such a comforting thing to know at this moment. Not that you had any doubt in your mind, but hearing him say something as simple as ‘we’. . . it just warmed your heart completely.

“Lots of fluids,” she answered through a sincere smile. “And an increase in your salt intake to help your body maintain those fluids.” She handed you yet another sheet and sat back down next to you, looking you in the eye with a stern, motherly expression. “That should help you out with foods to eat and fluids to drink, in addition to the sheet from earlier. But, honey, you need to change your diet. It’s essential that you incorporate healthy eating habits at this point in your pregnancy. After you’ve gotten your body accustomed to the bland foods on the other list I’ve supplied you, you need to start adding lots of iron heavy foods to your meals. Meats, leafy greens, rice. . . things of that nature.” She searched your eyes, hers kind and knowledgeable from years in the field. “Alright?”

You nodded your head in confirmation, wondering how the hell you were going to make that happen with the way normal food left you utterly disgusted at the present time.

“We’ll make sure of that, doc,” Josh responded in your place, throwing a wink at you as he knew damn well how horrible your food aversions had been.

“M-my therapy,” you found your voice. “It’s going to be intense. It will cause my body stress.” Dr. Stevens looked at you quizzically before you went on, “It’s called EMDR therapy. Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing; although, I’m sure you’ve heard of it in your profession. I don’t know all of the logistics yet, but I know it’s not a conventional form of therapy. What do I do if I wish to continue that? Should I continue it?”

“It should be safe, as long as you make sure to have a thorough discussion with your therapist after each session. That is dire in helping your body and your mind process it all in a healthy manner. In order to have a healthy body, you must also take care of your mind, especially in those circumstances. I do want you to consult with your therapist over how much stress you’ll be able to handle at any given time. Don’t let your mind go too far. If you have a good therapist, they’ll know the signs if you’ve had enough, though, don’t be afraid to tell them.”

If there was one thing you did know about all this uncertainty, it was that you could trust Gia to not lead you astray, or towards anything that would be detrimental to your mental health.

Dr. Stevens smiled, her clipboard once again tight in her grip before she stepped further to the curtained room you were shielded by. “Do you have any more questions?”

Josh glanced at you, waiting for you to say anything or waiting for you to communicate something for him to say on your behalf. You were sure you had questions, but you were just fucking flooded with stress to the point that all you wanted to do was sleep. . . just ready to get home.

Also, seeing as it was an emergency room, the idea was to get patients in and out. Wasn’t supposed to be the length of a standard visit.

You’d taken up too much of her time.

So, you shook your head at Josh and then looked to Dr. Stevens to tell her no thank you.

And when you did, you glanced down at the name on her coat and the name of the hospital stitched into the white fabric. You hadn’t even noticed. . . . Cedars-Sinai.

Same hospital I’ll have the baby at, if all goes according to plan, you suddenly realized, the thought bringing you a weird sense of peace. And it will go according to plan.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Josh went about gathering up all of the documents that had been handed to you and the prenatal pills provided as a nurse came in to disconnect all of your tubes and shit. He'd waited outside the curtain. and asked the nurse a few more questions as you'd changed back into your clothes.

And on the ride home, he’d put on peaceful music over the speaker of the car. He was used to doing it when you rode in his car as you hated riding in it. But tonight? Tonight you found comfort in the hunk of creaking metal.

Because it meant you were going home.

When you got home, Josh helped you up to the apartment and went about opening the front door and setting up your bed for you. All while you brushed your teeth, pulled up your hair that smelled like hospital, and changed into your comfiest PJs.

Just as he’d tucked you in and was about to leave, you pulled on his hand and begged for him to stay. You really didn’t want to be alone for the night, mumbling as much to him.

So, like the perfect friend he was, he set up a pallet on the floor as you tossed him a pillow from your bed.

And to your solace, sleep found you as soon as your head hit the satin of your pillowcase.

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 14, 2022

Every Monday being your therapy day was honestly the perfect way to start your week. You’d decided that on the way to the counseling practice on the chilly November afternoon of your second appointment.

You already knew it would be like it had been before. Before, (on your first and only other visit before today’s) it had just felt like a breath of fresh air to talk to a licensed professional like Gia. She was just fucking amazing. And you knew every week would be like before: a fresh start with a confidant who could give you killer fucking advice. A little date of sorts with a licensed professional who was positively eager to help you get through your week (life, generally) the best you possibly could.

Well, at least your therapist was eager to do that.

Even as you sat on her trendy, camel-colored leather couch for your second appointment, you felt completely comfortable and at ease with Gia. She had already become one of your favorite people.

You’d spent the first thirty minutes or so filling her in on telling Josh, your first prenatal exam (also showed her the sonogram pictures, which she’d loved), and the emergency visit. No details had been spared and you made sure she had time to give you any advice or words of wisdom she deemed necessary. But she’d really just let you have the floor and talk.

Once you wrapped up your scary details from the night of the E.R., handed over all of the documents you wanted to sort through with her, and talked through them until you felt more ease about all of the anemia and heart shit, she’d looked at you seriously.

Pinned you with a stare, her eyes sparkling like emeralds as she thoughtfully assessed you.

She sat down her tea, and then wheeled herself over to you. Her oversized sweater was a turtle neck that matched the color of her couch, and the too-long sleeves of it touched your hands as she grasped them loosely in her hands. “Y/n,” she began, peering at you openly through her circular, wire framed-lenses, “We do not have to do EMDR. I want to remind you, it is entirely up to you if you choose to go that route. If you are fearful of it causing too much stress, I understand wanting to venture down another therapeutic route.”

“No,” you shook your head, a small smile curled the corner of your lips to reassure her. “I want to do it. I believe it’s what will work best to get to the heart of things. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she agreed, brow knitted. “I just don’t want you to feel any unnecessary stress during this vulnerable time in your life.”

“As long as you promise to help me wrap it all up with a good talk at the end of each appointment,” you suggested with hope evident in your tone. “To wrap it up as much as we can for me to make it through the week.”

She grinned. “I can do that,” she affirmed with one certain nod, her loose bun, full of her soft blonde hair bounced with the action. “Did the doctor recommend continuing it?”

“Yep. Said it shouldn’t be an issue if we manage to discuss it all at the end of each session,” you offered. “Doesn’t want me carrying around anything unresolved that could make my stress levels increase.”

“Well, that’s definitely doable,” she confirmed with a wide grin. Scooting back, she grabbed her tea from the repurposed desk in the corner of her office before propping her ankle on top of her bent knee. “So, if you do wish to continue with EMDR, I’ll go ahead and explain it a little better than I have yet.”

“I do,” you said as a final agreement. “What should I know before we start?”

So, Gia proposed EMDR and all of the benefits that could come from the specific form of therapy. You listened to every detail readily. Were you scared? Yes. Were you anxious to begin? Also yes. It was intriguing and a little exciting to be so close to finally diving deep into the curves and corners of your mind and memories.

Once she’d finished with that, she was rolling her chair back over to you and placing her elbows on the ends of her thighs as she bent to talk intimately with you. When she spoke, the smell of spearmint on her breath was oddly calming. “There’s something I feel I should mention before we begin. A bit of a warning that you should heed. Some clients experience this, some don’t. But something to be aware of, nonetheless.”

Your eyes widened at her use of the word ‘warning,’ and her sudden change in tone made you believe this was something a little more serious. You knew there were risks involved with this somewhat unconventional form of therapy, but you hadn’t let yourself delve into all of them just yet. You had tried your best to leave the ball in Gia’s court to explain it all to you.

And you knew that anything deemed risky, Gia would let you know of them before you agreed. Any online research wouldn't be nearly as viable as it would be coming straight from Gia’s mouth.

Still yet, your heart beat just a little faster in preparation for whatever she had to tell you.

Deep breaths, y/n.

“Tell me,” you asserted. In search of some extra comfort, you placed a hand on your belly, the pulse vibrating in your palm also immediately triggered the fear in you that your heart was possibly over exerting itself.

Deep. Breaths. Gia’s got this. She won’t let you do anything too risky to your health. She wouldn’t let you.

“Some people report experiencing rather intense flashbacks that can come unannounced. And when I say intense, I truly mean just that, y/n. If they come, they can be debilitating.”

This was the first you had seen her eyes downturned, a picture of worry painted within her emerald green irises. “There have also been accounts of severe nightmares—well, more along the lines of night terrors. The kind that can wake you up in a panic. I just want you to be aware of these possibilities before we begin. I need you to promise me right now, that if these things do happen, you’ll call me. I don’t care if it’s in the middle of the night or the middle of the day, you have to call me, and I will answer.”

Middle of the day? They could come then, too? Shit.

“Is it. . . really that serious?” You took a moment to ponder your question, not entirely sure what to make of it all just yet. (And you couldn’t help but wonder if Jake found out about these little occurrences during his research before bringing the idea up to you.)

“It can be,” she noted with a stern tone that sent yet another wave of anxiety through your tense muscles. “That’s why I need you to make me that promise. That isn’t something you should ever experience alone. As I said, it can be debilitating.”

Your mind began turning furiously with the thought of having to experience flashbacks. Would they be flashbacks to things you already remembered? Or worse. . . things you didn’t? Both?

If you were being honest with yourself, you knew the answer and it was honestly terrifying to you.

For a split second, you started to doubt whether or not this was the right solution for you. But, you couldn’t deny any longer that you did need the help. You had to be better. For you and for the life that was growing inside of you. The baby needed a healed mother.

And you knew Gia was the perfect person to guide you through it. You trusted her, and that was something that has never come easily for you.

“I’ll admit,” you began, still holding tight to your belly, reminding yourself of the growing reason why you needed to do this. “I’m nervous. But I still want to do it. I promise I’ll call you when— if— that happens. . . but, what if you’re not available?”

“Don’t be nervous. You’ve got this.” She flashed you her sparkling white teeth in a smile that put your spirit right back at ease. “And I do my best to answer. It’s my job as your therapist to see you through this. Some don’t take it as seriously as I do, but I know that you’ll need me in your corner and I’m happy to be there. I signed up for this, just like you did,” she grinned, once again using her feet to scoot her back to her desk, in her plush, light pink chair. “But, on the off chance I’m not able to answer, I would immediately contact someone you trust to see you through it. Hold you. Talk to you. Just be there with you. Whatever you need. Someone who would be willing to do that.” She opened her laptop before turning to you, an idea seeming to spark in her mind. “As a matter of fact, before our next session, why don’t you make it your assignment to think of the person you’ll go to in situations like that? Just one person for now and if you think of more, then double whammy.”

She winked, and you just sent a barely-there grin back to her in response. As she went about clicking open tabs on her computer, you knew you didn’t need until next session to think of your person.

Because as soon as she started talking about that person, you were back in the hallway of your grandparents’ home – right outside your bedroom. And the person next to you right then and there. . . he was the one you wanted with you if the terrors hit.

Not Josh. Not even Elsie.

But Jake.

Would he be okay with that though? Would it be worth asking him?

Gia was once again speaking as she clicked through a few buttons on her laptop. “Y/n? You okay, love?”

You looked up, finding her eyes waiting for yours. “Oh–oh, yeah,” you stretched your lips to make the best smile you could. “Just being an overachiever and already brainstorming my person to contact.”

She hummed, giving you a sneaky smirk. “Does it happen to be a certain roommate of yours?”

Eyes bugging, you were shocked that she’d guessed. But were you really? She sorta kinda (definitely) knew the depths of your heart. She'd probably known who you’d want to pick as soon as you'd known it.

Nodding sheepishly, you decided to ask, “Is that a bad idea?”

“I don’t believe so,” she assured. “From what you’ve told me about him, he seems like a pretty good guy and I think he’d be more than willing to help you if you needed him.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s also super convenient because he lives with you,” she insisted with a final wink before she said, “Anything I might’ve forgotten will be in the PowerPoint I’m about to send to your email. But, I’ve gotta say, I’ve done it enough times with enough clients, I think I’ve covered every base for today.” A few beats of silence passed before she triumphantly pressed a button. “Aaand, sent!”

Then, wheeling back over to you, her pristinely white Nikes made the smallest squeak on the stained concrete floor of her office. “Okay, so today,” she began. “How are we feeling?”

“Really good,” you confidently responded, wiping your palms against your leggings before a true smile fit to your features. “When will we start?”

“I think next session we will find your safe place,” she said with a raise of her brow. “I will explain what I mean by ‘safe place’ next time, and directly after, we will send you there. Try not to worry about it until then, okay?” She requested, eyes searching yours for an answer. To which, you nodded. She continued with a grin. “For today, I want to call it quits with the EMDR talk. . . Let you rest. Unless. . . you have any questions, of course. . . .”

You wracked your brain, and when you couldn’t think of anything immediately, you told her you didn’t have any questions.

“Come with some next time if you think of any. And, my email is always open in between visits if needed–even if it’s just a minor inquiry you have,” she reminded. “Oh! And I’m not sure if I mentioned this yet. . . but, if we need to ever schedule an emergency visit over Zoom or in the office. . . that is also always, always on the table. I know that these things get heavy, and I want to be here for you through all of it, y/n.”

“Got it.”

Although, something did come to your mind as you were both standing to leave the session. You hadn’t given the question much thought in your own mind (shockingly). It had entered your wave of thought the day of your first prenatal appointment. When you’d asked Josh.

But since then, your mind had been too preoccupied with everything else that had recently happened that this thought had been put on the backburner.

But, you were curious what her opinion was on the matter, now that it had resurfaced.

Right before she opened the door, delicate hand on the handle, you grew sweaty. But you needed to ask the question, because if you didn’t do it now, it would be tormenting you until next Monday.

So, you asked her the same question you’d asked Josh.

“When should I tell Jake about the baby?”

She turned her shoulder, her eyes stern when she responded. “Soon. . . sooner rather than later. Just focus on what is real.”

Sooner rather than later. . . same exact words Josh had said.

-🌼🌼🌼-

It had been a long day of classes and the short shift at the Black and Gold after your classes had completely wiped you out.

When you got home, all you’d wanted to do was take a nap to sleep off the exhaustion from the short day. Before pregnancy, you wouldn’t be hitting a wall so early in the day, but now that you were, you could hardly function after going nonstop for more than a few hours.

Your body was functioning in overdrive, trying to produce enough energy to sustain two lives. . . and you were still getting used to it. Honestly, you weren’t sure you would ever get used to it.

But before your nap. . . you wanted to take some time to release some of the soreness in your changing body with a warm shower. You were sure to grab a towel from the dryer because, even though you knew Jake wasn’t supposed to be home for a few hours, you still didn’t want to risk him seeing you. The idea of him seeing any slight changes on your body made you cringe. You weren’t sure if you felt comfortable in your body yet, so you definitely didn’t want him seeing it.

There was also the enormous, glaring factor of him seeing the changes and realizing what was going on. You really still just looked bloated (albeit very, very bloated). . . but you had a feeling that he would catch on. He’d gotten very used to what your body looked like for the better part of the summer, so you could see him noticing your stomach protruding more than it ever did before.

He’d know. . . you just had a feeling.

After a day of trying to wear regular jeans, you’d decided it was a bad idea to wear your normal sized jeans anymore. The tight waistband had cut into your abdomen all day and squeezed you like a motherfucker. Thankfully, there’d been a lull in customers before the end of your shift, and the oversized sweater you’d worn had provided enough coverage for you to unbutton the jeans when you were alone in the store.

But when you finally got to take them off, you breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the confines of the stiff clothing. And the big, fluffy sweater had gotten to be too warm by the end of your shift, so taking that off had also been extremely relieving as well.

After you’d tied your hair back and heated the shower a little cooler than your usually steaming hot showers, you had to get used to the temperature as you stood and lathered up your belly, giving yourself your daily time to just observe how it was growing. Ever since your visit to the E.R., you’d become more conscientious of how it was growing.

You were new to this pregnancy thing. You didn’t know if it meant your baby was okay or not if your belly wasn’t growing at a certain rate.

To your utter relief, over the past few days, you had finally been able to eat more–following the lists of food Dr. Stevens had given you. You occasionally got nauseous, but the puking had limited significantly with the suggested bland, healthier foods and constant Ginger Ale (which you’d actually found much more delicious and helpful to your twisty stomach than Sprite).

Then there were the Preggie Pops and the heaven-sent PregEase: both of which had been fucking life savers. (Both stayed safely locked away in your room, on a shelf in your closet, right next to where you’d pinned the sonogram pictures.)

Once you’d let the quick shower relax your muscles exactly like you’d needed, you took your time drying off. And once you’d washed your face and changed into bike shorts and a giant t-shirt, you weren’t so tired as before. So, you’d settled into the couch with your phone, a book, a fluffy blanket, and a delicious bowl of sweet red peppers and pretzels.

It had become a go-to snack as of late.

You were looking forward to finishing the steamy romance that had popped up on your BookTok a few weeks back, but you wanted to look into BookTok reviews for the second book in the series before you finished the first. Just to prepare yourself.

Though, when you opened your TikTok app, you didn’t look into the book. No, instead, you found your fingers searching ‘13 weeks pregnant’. You wanted to see how other women looked at this point in the game. You couldn’t help wanting to compare your progression to other women. It wasn’t a healthy course of action – you knew that. You just had to see. . . get an idea.

You saw a lot of videos of them talking about entering their second trimester. Which, like your Ovia app had already informed you today, you knew you had officially passed the first trimester. . . which was a massive thing to you. Passing the first trimester meant several exciting things. A few being: the chances of your baby surviving the pregnancy increased tenfold; the morning sickness started screeching to a halt (thank god); and you’d be able to find out the gender of your baby in a few short weeks.

Though, the other glaring thing at the front of your brain was how you needed to tell Jake. Because of the fact that you were already in your second trimester.

The main thing you were concerned about was staying healthy, though. . . you were really hoping you were doing okay at keeping yourself healthy; you needed your baby to be healthy. All of your numbers seemed to be getting back on the right track as you’d been tracking your hemoglobin for the past few days. It was all very comforting–-you felt better.

Just as you clicked on a video about symptoms at week 13, the front door opened to show Jake coming through. You quickly shut the app off and locked your phone, pretended to be reading as sweat accumulated in your arm and knee pits. (Lovely.)

Though, you couldn’t help but turn your body to peek at him in his peacoat, with a scarf wrapped around his neck, and a beanie covering his ears. Much like he’d looked on the night of the macaroni and cheese and therapy talk.

He had a little chill in his bones, it seemed, as he shook them out when taking off his coat and scarf. His hat was next, leaving his long hair staticky in its wake. He smoothed it back with one more chill before he was off to the counter, dropping off the mail and his keys. But he didn’t immediately go to his room. He went about opening a drawer, finding a pair of scissors and heading to the mail on the counter.

You did notice a package now that you looked closer. And he was hurriedly going about cutting through the yellow protective packaging.

Out of nowhere, you decided to speak. No idea where it came from. Curiosity killed the cat was all you could come up with.

“Whatcha got there?” Whatcha got there? Okay, first of all, what the fuck?

He peered over at you, raising a brow before lifting the now-open package to display it to you. “New guitar part I ordered.”

“Oh,” you blinked, not sure what else you’d been expecting from him. Of course he wasn’t about to make pleasant conversation. Not when something had apparently climbed up his ass where you were concerned for the past several days.

Once again, you were right back at square one at the most inopportune time. It made you question your idea to make him your go-to person for your expected night terrors. . . but you didn’t want to let go of the possibility yet. Not yet.

“Have fun with that,” you offered, turning back around to the book you most definitely didn’t want to read at the present time. Instead, you took a nervous bite of a pepper.

“Um, y/n,” he said your name with a question in his tone. “What the fuck is this?”

Your heart tripped over itself in your chest. What had he found? Without looking at him, you decided to just go ahead and get your ass off the couch to survey the situation.

He was holding the box containing your heart monitor in his hands.

Fuck. You really didn’t want him to be privy to that part of your life. For whatever ridiculous reason, you were embarrassed by it.

Deciding honesty was the best policy, you decided to just flat out tell him. “I went to the Emergency Room the other night,” you started. “And the doctor just wanted –.”

“The Emergency Room?!” His voice raised a decibel, obviously alarmed at the new information. “Wait . . . is that why Josh had to leave the bar–? The same night you were gone all night.”

“Wait. . .how do you know I was gone all night?”

“I live with you, y/n,” he scoffed, talking to you like you were an idiot.

You felt your blood pressure rise, your heart beating in your ears. “Yes, Jake, I know this,” you matched his tone, the hormones working in your favor this time–making you angry rather than sad. “But why the fuck were you awake?”

“I was waiting for–,” he stopped, clearing his throat before starting over. He looked down, a crinkle in his brow. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He was waiting for. . . who? Waiting for. . . what? Your curiosity peaked, but you ignored it for the time being.

“Well, not that you need to know, but yes. I was at the E.R. that night,” you explained. “Something happened that landed me there and it resulted in them wanting to track my heart activity. Nothing huge.”

And for once, you didn’t feel bad for lying to him. Your nerves were lit on fire with irritation towards him.

He doesn’t need to know.

“You got a heart monitor in the mail,” he stated, not dropping the possible severity of the situation. "And you're saying it's nothing huge?"

Without a second thought, you were yanking the package from his hands.

“It’s. not. your. business, Jacob,” you squeezed the package until the plastic wrap squeaked from the tight grip of your fingertips. Then, something else clicked. “Why the fuck were you not looking at the name on the package? Remember, like you said, you live with me. You know that not all of the shit that comes in the mail is yours.”

“I just wasn’t thinking–.”

“Kind of fucking invasive, Jake,” you interrupted hotly. “Don’t you think?”

“Well, it helped me to know something was wrong with your heart. You wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t opened the package,” he argued back.

“You didn’t need to know!” You said, your voice raising at the same speed as your blood pressure. “Still don’t!”

“But Josh sure as hell does, right?” He demanded, swinging his finger towards the door, his jaw clenching. “He needed to be your knight in shining fucking armor, huh?”

“Why the hell do you care?!” You fumed, the question exploding from your chest with the same emotion that had tears gathering in your eyes at the question. Angry tears. Confused tears.

“I don’t!” He snapped, his beautiful, brown eyes, hard. His jaw, set and tight.

His words sat in the air for a few minutes. Your stares were intertwined; swimming with tangled emotions. The air felt hot and heavy as it surrounded you. It was taut with newly spoken (and still unspoken) surmounting feelings and disequilibrium. Nostrils were flaring. Both of your chests heaved, the sound of his breathing mixed with yours in a way that made you want to slap and kiss his pursed lips.

You didn’t let yourself stand there much longer – needed to get away from him. Without speaking to him, you tore your eyes from his, gathered up your stuff from the couch, and tried to walk with as much dignity as you could to your room.

Somehow, you were able to get the door open with your hands inexplicably full, and after you’d entered and before you could shut it behind you, you shot a glare his way. He was still watching you.

“Fuck you, Jake.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 17, 2022

The next night saw your ass in the shower again.

Except this time, you were sitting in the tub, legs drawn to your chest as close as possible with your rounder tummy, and chin on your knees as you let the warm water soak you through.

You’d already shaved and washed everything. So, now, you were just letting yourself be.

Your thoughts had been spinning since last night. So, in an effort to help your heart, you’d invited Josh over for a movie when Jake left to give lessons for the day. And, of course, he’d said yes without question.

You’d spent the day drowning yourself in popcorn and Canada Dry (Josh surprised you with a new 12-pack when he’d arrived) as you’d watched all three Bridget Jones movies. Back to back to back. They weren’t Josh’s favorites, but he humored you by trying to indulge in the trilogy – even managing to laugh at the funny parts.

Between movies, he’d let you cry on his shoulder. Or, intermittently, during the movies. . . By the time he’d left, your tears had positively stained the white long sleeve tee he was wearing.

He didn’t ever ask what it was about – who it was about. And you never told him. But you knew he wasn’t oblivious to who caused your emotional episode.

Now he was gone. Had been for about an hour. And Jake wasn’t home yet. Not that you fucking cared.

You’d meant it when you told him what you did. Fuck him.

Though, the devastating matter was that you couldn’t decide if you were more mad at yourself or him. Everyday was a replay of the day in the kitchen. And you were sure he replayed it everyday, too. . . and he was definitely allowed to feel hurt after the horrendous shit you’d thrown at him.

But what was with the back and forth? Hot and cold? How he’d been okay the night with the mac and cheese? How he’d spent his time researching therapy for you to try? How he’d been quick to defend your song to his girlfriend?

And, just as quickly, he was snapping at you. Getting upset out of nowhere. Instantly angry with you when you’d come out of the bathroom at the bar. Getting pissed for no reason at you and Josh for sitting in the car. Telling you last night that he didn’t care about you.

Was that true? Did he not? It fucking killed you if it was true. But you couldn’t blame him if he didn’t care. Why would he?

You took the moment to stretch your legs out in the shower, watching as the water painted your skin with droplet after droplet. Then, you looked down at your tummy, extra round after a day of pigging out.

Placing a pruned hand on it, you looked down at the part of your body that housed your human. Surprisingly (not), tears clouded your voice as you spoke to it, rubbing the skin reassuringly. “I’m so sorry that your mommy and daddy are so fucked up.”

After letting a few tears fall to meet the tight, rounded skin of your tummy, you forced your legs to stand up. The feat was proven a little difficult as they’d fallen asleep, but you still managed. Regretfully, you’d turned the water off. You didn’t want to leave the shower but you were officially prune-y as hell.

And, as you gathered a towel to wrap up in, you realized you were also very fucking tired.

You carefully attached the heart monitor’s adhesive to your chest like the instruction manual (and multiple videos you’d watched) told you to, and followed it with the monitor itself. You then checked to make sure the phone you’d been given with the kit was ready to track what it needed.

Finding your phone on the counter after you’d washed your face and brushed your teeth, you decided Josh deserved a thank you after putting up with you the last several days.

Especially after you’d just rocked his motherfucking world . . . and he’d been so cool about it.

God, you just loved him.

You, 10:17 p.m.: I’m so glad I have you. I mean it from the bottom of my heart that I wouldn’t make it through this pregnancy without you. And your love and amazing fucking support. I’d be lost without you.

And after you sent it, you began towel drying your hair, then brushed through any tangles the best you could.

When you heard a ding! sound from the living room, you spent a few minutes thinking it was your imagination. But when you heard it a second time, you realized it was most likely not in your head, and that Jake was home.

So, checking your appearance once more, you wrapped the towel as tight as you could around your body before shutting the light off and opening the door.

You glanced up to see if he was in fact home, and the sight that met you had you stop in your tracks.

Josh’s white phone case with the little triangle symbol he’d drawn on it one day at the B&G.

In Jake’s hands.

Jake’s face, looking at the screen of said phone, mouth open in shock.

And as soon as you closed the door to the bathroom, the smallest sound of it shutting, made his eyes slowly slide up from the phone to your face.

He held the phone up, showing you just what he’d seen. Fuck.

“You’re pregnant?”

You took a careful step forward, the blood in your veins frazzled and vibrating. Deny deny deny. As long as you can, y/n. “What gives you the right to be in Josh’s phone? Your invasiveness really knows no fucking bounds these days,” you clipped, voice shaking in spite of yourself.

He blinked a couple of times, a smile forming on his mouth. A wide, sarcastic one, which turned into an astounded scoff. “Really? That’s what we’re going to focus on right no–?” He shook his head, clicking the phone shut before taking a few cautious steps towards you. “His face I.D.; it opens to me. I’m his fucking identical twin.”

“Prove it,” you challenged.

“Was already planning on it,” he snipped. And right in your line of sight, he opened the phone, putting his face in front of it. Then, it was turned to show you. The same tantalizing screen as before. “Proven.”

“Well. . .,” you faltered, scrambling. “Why did you have it?”

“It was laying on the counter. I went to grab it and my keys,” he jingled the keys in his other hand. “I was going to take it to him,” he explained, sounding exasperated and patient all at once. An anomaly. “But when I picked it up, I looked down, and it opened.”

He took two steps back, once again, holding the phone up to show you the text screen. The gray bubble had never looked so horrifying as it did in that moment. The sweat accumulating on your forehead proved your entire skin care routine pointless. You were shaking. Your skin felt like it was going to fall off from the vibrations taking over underneath it.

“Now,” he started slowly. “Will you answer my question, please?”

His voice broke on the last word and it triggered a single tear to trickle down your cheek.

“Yes, I am.”

“Whose?”

“Really, Jake?” You questioned, the question making your heart break. How could he–?

His eyes went soft momentarily, pleading with you. “I just need to hear you say it, y/n.”

“It’s yours, Jake. The baby is yours. Who the fuck else?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: this monstrous chapter was a fucking doozy and you already know i wanna talk about it!! come to my asks and we shall chat <333

oh, but i'm just wondering........ what do you think reader's safe place will be? ;) a place? a person? both? hmmm....

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts! love youuuu <3

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Taglist: @joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssoloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @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, @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98

(and, due to t*mblr’s shitass guidelines, i will be adding the other tags in a reblog of the story!)

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake fic #jake kiszka #covet #my fics

176 notes · View notes

nolita-fairytale · 2 years ago

Text

call sign: tennessee whiskey | rooster x fem!reader & hangman x phoenix | chapter five

summary: to celebrate a job well done, the dagger squads skips the hard deck for the night and goes dancing.

warnings: fluff, enemies to lovers, swearing, mentions of death, military & aircraft carrier inaccuracies, second person pov

wc: 4.9k

listen to: un ratito - bad bunny | la bachata - manuel turizo |the playlist

a/n: this chapter was inspired by a night out i once spent salsa dancing in san diego, monica barbaro in 'at midnight', and that video of monica barbaro & greg tarzan davis dancing in the space cowboy suits that seems to now be deleted lol. if you're not familiar with bachata, 10/10 recommend checking this video out to get an idea of just how sensual of a dance it is. rooster x reader smut coming next!! who's ready to find out how she got her callsign?

chapter four | masterlist | chapter six

The USS Theodore Roosevelt docks mid morning, and everyone aboard is eager to sleep in a proper bed tonight. You’d take the XL Twin sized beds over sleeping on an aircraft carrier any day, especially if there’s a Rooster Bradshaw in one with you. You’ve been so preoccupied with Rooster post-mission, having stayed the entire night with him. You’d fallen asleep with him in the hospital bed and, despite protocol, the medics onboard didn’t have the heart to ask you to leave.

It’s not until you return to your sleeping quarters to pack up your things while everyone else is at breakfast that you come up for air. You’ve been totally wrapped up in your own world post-mission, that it’s almost time to offboard. After packing up your things, you meet Rooster, recently released from the carrier’s infirmary.

“You ready?” he asks, a smile on his face as soon as he sees you.

“I’m ready,” you agree, taking his hand in yours.

As the two of you walk down the ramp, the familiar faces and bright shine of the San Diego sun make you realize that you really have been in your own world with Rooster – one where only you and he exist. You spot Coyote walking down the ramp with Halo, but what you see next catches you off guard. It’s Hangman and Phoenix walking together in stride. You tug on Rooster’s arm, since you’re not too far behind them, signaling to him that you want to get closer.

They’re not arguing… they’re not killing each other.

They’re… civil. Nice, almost.

And was that a smile? Did Phoenix just… smile at something the blonde had said?!

“Oh my god!” you blurt out. The gasp escaping your lips causes both Hangman and Phoenix to turn around to look at you. The rest of the crew that are also in process of offboard walk around the four of you, shooting disgruntled looks as you block the walkway.

“Sorry,” Rooster mutters to a passerby, before motioning for the four of you to at least step to the side.

You look from Hangman to Phoenix, and suddenly, you can’t stop laughing.

An innocent bystander would have no idea, but you know the both of them like the back of your hand.

And it’s written all over their faces.

“Oh my god!” you repeat yourself, your voice higher pitched as your jaw practically drops onto the ramp. “You guys totally did it!”

Rooster snorts, thinking that this must be a joke. But when you continue laughing, when neither Hangman nor Phoenix fire back with some snarky remark or exclamation of denial, Rooster thinks you might be right.

“Wait, what?!” he exclaims, looking from you, then to Jake and Natasha. “Seriously?!”

“Whiskey,” Jake groans, shaking his head. He exchanges glances with Phoenix before continuing with, “I swear to God, she's like a truffle pig but for hookups.”

His smartass comment only confirms your suspicions, and Nat is turning bright red, unable to make eye contact with you right now. Rooster’s jaw practically drops as you squeal with delight, ready to brag about your special skill.

“It’s a talent,” you shrug, proudly. “That's how I knew all through the Naval Academy that Jake was a wh-.”

“Hoooooookay. You’re done Whiskey,” Jake cuts you off, practically dragging you away from Rooster’s grasp along with him so that he can give you a talkin’ to about what’s appropriate to say when.

Rooster laughs again, watching as you and Jake bicker like siblings, before turning his attention over to Phoenix.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks, doubtful that she’ll say yes.

“Nope,” she answers, popping the ‘p’ sound at the end of the word.

“Fair enough,” Rooster accepts with a nod.

“What I do want to talk about…. is you two,” Nat redirects, nodding her head towards where you and Jake have moved to. “Don’t think I didn’t notice she never came back to her bunk last night.”

The way that Rooster smiles is all she needs to know, and she considers this a huge win, exchanging a look with her best friend.

“That good, huh?” she smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“No! We haven’t even-, you know,” Bradley blushes, suddenly shy.

“Damn. You really are ready to settle down, huh?” Nat responds, as she reads his expression.

Rooster nods, returning his attention back to you again. He watches you playfully punch Jake in the chest, causing him to double over.

“She’s great, Nat. She’s… I don’t know. She’s really fucking great,” he sighs, completely and totally infatuated with you.

By the time Rooster and Phoenix catch up with you and Jake, you and Jake have finished your conversation – one where you mostly congratulated him and told him that she was the best he’d ever get so he better not fuck up.

“Breakfast, anyone?” Nat asks, her eyes moving from you to Rooster.

“Not you,” she adds, by the time her eyes make it to Jake.

He rolls his eyes at her comment, but inside, he loves the fire she has within her.

“Uh… yeah. Give me a second?” you request, shooting Rooster a look.

“Yeah, we’ll give you guys a second,” Nat says, practically tugging Jake along with her.

You watch as they go, a few strides ahead of you and Rooster so you can talk.

“So… that’s kind of wild,” Rooster mentions, in reference to Nat and Jake.

“Yes and also sort of… not surprising?” you suggest, earning a quizzical look from Rooster.

Instead of continuing the conversation about Nat and Jake, you’d much rather talk about what could happen when you get back to the barracks. You take a beat, ready to shift the conversation.

“You wanna get out here? I could… tell Nat no. Skip breakfast…. We could catch up to Hangman and Phoenix… considering they beat us to the punch?” you propose, raising an eyebrow.

Normally, you’d never cancel on a friend for a guy, but after two weeks and a near-deadly mission, the sexual tension between the two of you is palpable.

“As tempting as that offer sounds, I gotta go to the medical center on base for a second check up. Make sure I get a clean bill of health on land too,” Rooster replies, unable to hide how disappointed he is that he has to do this first.

“Ugh, leave it to me to get cockblocked by the US Navy… again,” you groan, eliciting a laugh from Rooster. “You want me to go with you?

“No it’s okay. Go to breakfast with Nat,” he says, nodding his head towards her and Jake.

You smirk, “You just want the hot gossip don’t you, Badshaw?”

“Fuck yeah. And you better send me live updates,” he begs, earning a laugh from you too.

You reach out, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, before Rooster’s wrapping an arm around your shoulders and you’re heading back to the barracks. Nat’s already got a place picked out that she texts you with a message suggesting you invite Halo too. After changing into your civvies, you and Nat decide to head out together to the beachside diner only a few blocks from the Hard Deck.

Hangman: So I make you cum twice and still don’t get invited to breakfast? What’s a guy gotta do?

Phoenix: Try for three next time and I might consider extending the invitation.

Hangman: So you're saying there’s a next time? ;)

Natasha rolls her eyes at the last text, putting her phone away as the waitress approaches your table with the drip coffees you’ve just ordered. You both mutter a quick, polite thank you before taking them, fixing your coffee just the way you like it.

“Halo didn’t want to come?” Nat asks, curiously.

“Said she’s FaceTiming with her girlfriend but will join us in a little bit when she’s done,” you answer. “But it’s good because it gives us time to catch up! You can’t keep me waiting like this and don’t even think you’re getting away with not telling me everything.”

“Everything?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe not… everything,” you reply with a chuckle. “But enough is enough! Spill, bitch. What the hell happened between you and Hangman on that carrier?!”

She sighs, “I-, I have no fucking idea.” Taking a drink from her coffee mug, she leans back, cradling the hot cup of coffee in her hands as she racks her brain for any kind of explanation. “Maybe it was the high of the mission… or something… but we were both looking for you… and then we ran into each other. And… I don’t know. I was going to take a shower and he wouldn’t move out of my way… and then one thing led to another and suddenly we’re fucking in on the bathroom sink!”

“Oh my god!” you squeal, covering your mouth with your hand as you do.

“I mean… it’s Hangman. I-, I think it was just a heat of the moment thing. Nothing serious,” she says, brushing it off as if there’s no possible way it could be anything more than that.

“So… just a one time thing?” you ask, eyeing her curiously. You’re trying your best to get a read on her, but you’re not sure if she even knows how she feels about it.

“Well. Technically a two time thing if you count the shower after,” she smirks, taking another sip of her coffee.

“Natasha!” you gasp, a devilish smile on her face.

“So… do you think it’s going to happen again? Do you want it to happen again?” you gush, excitedly.

“I-,” she starts, before letting out a big sigh. “I don’t know.” You watch as she places her coffee mug down on the table, her eyes fixed to the ceramic mug. “Does that make sense?”

“Definitely,” you empathize with her, considering you’d probably find yourself confused in that situation too. “It’s Jake. I-. Definitely.”

“Let’s go dancing tonight,” she changes the subject, not wanting to talk more about Hagman. “What was that place we went to last time we’re in San Diego? Tango Del Rey? I know Rooster’s dying to see how you move.”

“Oh my god,” you groan with a playful eye roll.

“But yes!” you agree. “Dancing sounds great. See if the rest of the Dagger Squad want to come with. Maybe end the night at the Hard Deck?”

“Yeah,” Natasha replies.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late,” Callie interrupts, as soon as she enters the diner in search of both you and Nat. “Unlike the two of you, I have a civilian partner that doesn’t understand half of what we do, and just needs to hear that I’m okay at the end of every mission.

“The two of us?” Nat asks, thrown by what Halo has said.

“Yeah, because you and Hangman are together, right?” she asks Phoenix, and you almost spit out your coffee.

There’s such a genuine innocence in how she asks the question that you know she’s not trying to fuck with either of you.

Nat’s face blushes a few shades darker while you try your best to get your coffee down without any of it coming out of your nose. You wait for your fit of laughter to pass before swallowing, giving you the freedom to now laugh out loud.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” Halo asks looking from you to Nat, then back to you again.

“No, Halo. No, you said everything right,” you manage to get out, as your laughter continues to grow.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. I just thought you guys were together. I mean… he stayed with you overnight in the hospital after the bird strike and he’s so clearly into you,” she apologizes, explaining why she had come to the conclusion in the first place.

Nat is glaring at you as you continue to laugh, like she hates the fact that you’re not the only one who sees this thing between the two of them.

“Callie, you have nothing to apologize for,” you reassure her. You shoot Nat a glance, knowing that you’re stirring the pot as you continue with, “And you’d only have been wrong if you’d said something twenty four hours ago.”

“Whiskey!” Phoenix exclaims, shooting daggers at you for airing her dirty laundry.

You snicker, on a power trip from the sweet, sweet feeling of being right.

Natasha shakes her head, eager to change the subject. She stops paying attention to you, putting all of her attention on Halo as she says:

“Hey, Callie. What do you think about going dancing tonight? Think the Dagger Squad would be up for it?” she proposes, signifying that she’s done with this conversation about her and Jake.

“I love dancing! Sounds like a great way to celebrate,” Callie agrees, eagerly.

As the waitress comes back around, the three of you order stacks of pancakes and plates of eggs, potatoes, and bacon, decompressing in the beachside diner. It’s nice to take a breath, now that the mission is over – now that you have a whole week off, due to the mission being moved up. It’s not till the end of breakfast that you realize your heart and your belly are both now full.

Your phone buzzes, signaling that you have a new text, unable to hide the smile on your face as you realize it’s from Rooster.

“Uh oh. I know that look,” Nat teases, instantly knowing who it’s from. Halo’s eyes light up, catching on as well.

“Ask him if he wants to go dancing!” Halo encourages, as you open up your phone to read the texts.

Rooster: Looks like we got the greenlight.

You: For all activities? ;)

Bradley: Yes ma’am. Anything in particular you have in mind?

You: How does dancing sound?

Bradley: … Dancing?

And that’s how Rooster Bradshaw ends up here, spinning someone’s abuela in a circle as the salsa band plays on. While most of the other aviators have found a dance partner in each other, or another attendee at the club, Bradley has, of course, found himself taken under the wings a group of older ladies made up of abuelas and tias who are teaching him how to salsa properly.

You giggle, unable to take your eyes off of him, even though you’re technically dancing with Jake. You find it incredibly endearing that he’s managed to find himself adopted by the regulars – all of which continue to make comments like que guapo about him, his mustache and his printed shirts.

Rooster’s eyes meet yours from across the room, practically beaming in your direction as the ladies cheer him on for mastering the three step dance. You smile back, grinning ear to ear.

You cannot wait to get him alone tonight, but salsa is a social dance, so the stolen glances, the smiles from across the room, and all the sexy build up will have to do for now.

Jake picks up on the fact that your attention is elsewhere, and he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t have something smart to say about it.

“You’re not even paying attention to me,” Jake complains, twirling you around the dance floor as best as he can.

“Awwww… who knew you were such a softie, Hangman?” you tease him, followed by a loud “ow!” when Jake steps on your feet… again.

“Well, that’s what you get, kid,” he fires back, grumpily.

“I’m trying to help you here, Seresin! But you’re not letting me,” you point out, an annoyed tone in your voice as you try to teach him the steps. “If you’d learn to follow for once, damn it!”

“I’m just saying… think these guys need to come down to Texas… we can show ‘em how it’s really done,” Jake grumbles, as you try to coach him into being better at this.

“Hate to break it to you, bud, but two steppin’ isn’t nearly as sexy as salsa,” you point out. “And you can’t always just do things you’re good at, y’know?”

“Who says?” Jake asks, playfully.

“Oh my god,” you groan, rolling your eyes at your best friend’s comment.

Jake steals a glance in Nat’s direction. He knows you’re only trying to help – only trying to give him a little bit of a head start considering Natasha seems to be a pro at this. You know enough to get by, but Nat grew up competitive ballroom dancing, and she’s practically dancing circles around every single person in the dancehall. Turns out, Coyote is an incredible salsa dancer as well, the two of them taking the dance floor by storm like they’re a part of the competition team. They glide, spin, and shake their hips to the music in ways that you can’t even imagine, captivating anyone and everyone that watches.

At the end of each song, Coyote and Phoenix have switched partners, sometimes dancing together for a few more songs, and other times sharing their gifts with other people here on the dance floor. It’s usually how it goes at these kinds of things.

The song ends and Jake releases you. You can see that the band has finished their set, switching over to a DJ. Of course, in a place like this, the transitions are smooth, going right from the band to the stereo system seamlessly. You’re practically shoving Jake in Nat’s direction, partnering up with Fanboy before Jake can chicken out. He stands behind her, watching her thank her last dance partner, a man who seems to be on the competition team here at Tango Del Rey.

Natasha Trace wears a white floral dress, with a long slit up the front, exposing her long legs – the ones he had his mouth on just yesterday. Her hair, softly curled, falls just above her shoulders, and her hair is parted, pinned back on only one side makes her look like an old Hollywood movie star.

“Phoenix. What do you say we have that dance now?” Jake drawls, his voice causing her to turn around.

“I should warn you,” she parrots, mimicking his language on the carrier as she takes a few steps forward in her heels. “I'm an incredible dancer.”

“I’ve noticed,” he replies, the corner of his lips curling into a crooked smile.

“You think you’re ready for me, Bagman?” she challenges, holding her hand out to him.

“Only one way to find out,” he smirks, grabbing her hand and pulling her in close.

As the song begins, the DJ set starting off strong with a Bad Bunny hit, Nat finds herself surprised that Jake does pretty well for himself, leading her in the three step salsa. The way his hands feel against her feel like they’re burning her skin in the most delicious of ways. She feels him lift their conjoined hands so that he can spin her around, smiling as he does. She knows this one – listens to the lyrics as they move together, taking note of how appropriate the feel:

“It's just for a little while / Mami, don't get used to it / Because love can be so beautiful / But there's always somеthing that interrupts it.”

Because what the hell were they doing anyways? And how could Hangman of all people make her feel this way? And there was no possible way that this wasn’t just temporary. Was she even willing to take the risk on him?

Instead of saying something, overthinking it, fucking this up before it could even begin, Nat decides that tonight, she’ll just dance with him.

Across the room, as the song ends, you thank Fanboy (also an incredible dancer), before going to find Bradley. You can’t hide the grin on your face as you see him thanking the ladies that seem to have taken him under their wing.

“Ladies, I hope you don’t mind,” you begin, nodding towards Bradley.

“Are you the girlfriend? La novia? He’s been talking about you all night,” one of the women exclaims, gleefully.

“Not yet, Daniela. But I’m working on it,” Bradley replies, following his words up with a playful, ‘shhh!’

You giggle, “You wanna dance, Bradshaw?”

You offer out your hand, and he takes it, earning cheers and smiles from Bradley’s new friends. You can’t take your eyes off of his chocolate brown ones as you lead him across the dance floor. You feel one of Bradley’s hands slide against your low back, pulling you in closer to him as you begin to move to the music.

“Looks like you made some new friends,” you say, batting your eyes at him.

“And you’re gonna thank me later because I learned a lot,” he replies, earning a flirtatious giggle from you.

“This your thing? You make new friends everywhere you go?” you continue to banter with him.

“Guilty,” he admits, a light blush running across his cheeks. “The supermarket. The gas station…”

“Oh God, I bet you were popular in high school too,” you groan, jokingly.

As he spins you around, taking you into his arms, you’re all smiles. You move your hips in perfect time with his. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest with every step – and it’s not the few beers you’ve already had. You’ve been waiting for this moment all night – not that dancing with the rest of the aviators hasn’t been fun – but you have to admit that Bradley Bradshaw makes your heart flutter.

After a few songs spent in Bradley’s arms, he slows you down, leaning close, his lips just grazing the top of your ear lobe. You can feel both of his large hands on the small of your back, pulling you into him a little closer.

“I know we just got started here but… what do you say we get out of here?” he whispers in your ear, the raspiness of his voice sending chills down your spine.

“What’d you have in mind?” you ask, unable to find the smile that spreads across your lips.

“Maybe… one more drink at the Hard Deck… then how about we go back to my room?”

“Please,” you practically beg him, nodding along as encouragement. .

And in that moment, you don’t care that everyone is watching, that you and Bradley have yet to begin, you kiss him right then and there in the middle of the dance floor. Your passionate lip lock earns a few looks from other dancers, and you can hear a few of the other aviators point it out with a few whoops, hollers, and catcalls in response. As you pull away from the kiss, his face still cradled in your hands, you ask him:

“Cool if I go find Jake and Nat? Say goodbye?”

“Totally. But I’d be careful if I were you. They were practically fucking on the dance floor a minute ago,” he replies with a groan.

“Gross,” you scoff, even though you could care less.

But you don’t find Jake with Nat, spotting her on the dance floor doing all kinds of tricks with Coyote again. You wonder where Jake went, pushing through a crowd of people before you spot him upstairs. You hurry up the flight of stairs that leads to the balcony, finding him perched there, leaning up against the railing and nursing a Lonestar.

“Hey! Rooster said you and Nat were practically fucking on the dance floor. Anything I should know?” you comment, as you approach the blonde.

He smirks, taking another drink of his tallboy.

“So you and Rooster, huh?” Jake asks back so that he doesn’t have to answer your question.

And because, of course his best friend would fall for fuckin’ Bradshaw.

“Yeah, me and Rooster,” you answer, truthfully, sliding into the space next to him. “We’re actually going to head out. That’s why I was looking for you. Didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.”

Jake searches your face. There’s nothing but genuine admiration and honesty, and it’s given you a glow. He can see how happy you are, and he’s not going to rain on your parade just because he and the guy have some kind of unspoken rivalry. Playfully, he bumps his shoulder against you, earning a giggle from you. You return the shoulder bump before returning to your previous question.

You watch Jake, following his gaze out over the dancehall. Nat’s finally taken a break, crowded around the bar as Bob tells some wild story to her, Fanboy, and Payback. It’s so freaking obvious that it’s painful: he can’t take his eyes off of Natasha Trace.

“You should tell her how you feel,” you chime in, bumping his shoulder with yours again

Jake shoots you a glance from the side – the kind that says, ‘what the hell are you talking about?’

“You forget that I’ve known you since you were twenty, Seresin. And I've spent the last two weeks watching you pine after her,” you point out.

“I do not pine!” he protests.

“Yes you do!” you push back.

He waits a few beats, thinking it over, weighing his options.

“What if… she’s not into it?” he finally asks, dragging out each word like they’re heavy on his lips.

“Why don’t you go find out?” you encourage. You give his shoulder a friendly squeeze before turning to go.

“Be safe, kid!” Jake calls after you.

“Thanks, Dad,” you scowl, your feet hitting the top of the stairs as you do.

Jake enjoys the view and his beer on the balcony for a little longer, taking a few moments to himself. The DJ set is about halfway through, and he notices that the aviators, previously crowded around the bar, seem to have returned to the dance floor.

It’s now or never, Seresin, he thinks to himself.

He’s practically working himself up as his feet carry himself down the stairs and back onto the dance floor. He’s surprised to find Phoenix without a partner, just moving to the music as the song playing ends. He watches as her face changes, her lips curling into a smile as the new song begins. She throws her head back with a laugh, her eyes settling on Jake as he stands there in front of her.

“This one’s not a salsa. Think you can keep up, Bagman?” she asks, holding her hand out, beckoning for him to join her.

“Can’t be that difficult,” he says, looking around the room.

“It won’t be. As long as you let me lead,” she fires back.

“Ha!” he lets out an arrogant laugh, as he takes her hand.

“You let me lead, and I’ll make you look really good,” she replies, almost as if it’s a challenge.

“Deal,” Jake agrees.

“So it’s kinda like salsa: three steps left, then three right,” she coaches him, lowering her voice so that she’s practically purring in his ear. Nat wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him close into her. The edges of their faces are pressed together, and Jake mimicks her, sliding an arm around her waist too.

“Only bachata…” she says, beginning to walk in a circle. She steps forward, so that they’re practically chest to chest, keeping the rhythm with her feet as she adjusts their positioning. “... is danced from here.”

Jake gulps, realizing that she’s practically straddling one of his legs, her forehead now pressed against his. He lets her lead, watching as she moves around him from this fucking close: a sway of her hips in perfect time, a circle with her shoulders till she’s body rolling against the front of him, and then they’re taking three steps right, and three steps left.

“Jeez, Tash…” he groans, earning a wicked smile from her.

He’s not sure where that came from. He’s never called her that before. But then again, they’d never let the tension between them go this far.

There’s no way this is actually the dance. She’s totally fucking with me. Testing my patience, right? Jake thinks to himself, feeling his pants becoming a little bit tighter as she moves against him.

But Jake looks around the room, shocked to see everyone on the dance floor moving this sensually too. Hell, she’s practically riding his thigh in front of everyone and he’s just letting her.

“The hell’d you learn how to dance like this?” he asks, biting back a moan.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she smirks cockily.

She holds up an arm for him to spin, creating distance so they both can. When she returns to Jake, this time, she presses her back against him, swaying her hips against his in perfect time.

It’s pure fucking torture.

“I-, I would,” he mumbles into her ear, ever sarcastic bone in his body giving way to the growing erection he’s got in his pants.

She chuckles, spinning herself out, then back into his arms in their original position.

“That’s not the question you should be asking, Bagman,” she says, glancing down at his zipper.

He’s trying his best to focus on the steps – and not stepping on her feet – but his concentration is getting incredibly blurry with how she’s moving against him. With how close she is. With how fucking hot he finds this. As they move, three steps right, three steps left, his hands begin traveling lower, pressing her against him from her low back, from the top of her ass, and Natasha Trace knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Fuck,” Jake groans, feeling as she rolls against him, the song beginning to end. He’s frozen in a moment in time and he can’t let go of her – not yet.

“Can I take you home?” he finally asks.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she replies, dragging her arm across his chest as she begins to walk in a circle behind him. Once she reaches his back, she pulls him in close, leaning in to whisper:

“Meet me in the car in five.”

read: chapter six

a/n: someone has to say it. halo is the hero of this chapter with her line: you and hangman are together right? now who's ready for some rooster smut!?

taglist: @not-two-shrimp @wishfulwithwine @hangmanscoming @thefourrealms@hlkwrites @dlea203 @translatemunson @starlightstories @genius2050

#call sign tennessee whiskey #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #hangman x phoenix #hannix #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #natasha phoenix trace #phoenix top gun #jake hangman seresin #rooster x reader #hangman top gun #jake seresin #top gun maverick smut

152 notes · View notes

chickenfics · 2 years ago

Text

the way I love the ocean

Relationship: Robin Buckley x Female!Reader

Summary: It was the summer of ‘87. Nothing in your life had prepared you for Robin, but somehow everything had begun falling into place. It all started with a movie and a pair of ocean-blue eyes, and suddenly you were dancing to a Jukebox in a long-closed diner, or racing down the length of a pier, swimming in the moon-dipped lake and walking her home down yellow-lit streets, talking about the way The Smiths sound like indigo and the best time of the summer is when the fireflies start to come out.

It was the summer of ‘87, and you were falling in love.

Word Count: 7k

Content warning: brief discussions of homophobia, shitty parenting

A/N: She/her pronouns used for reader, and she is described as being able to ride a bike but no other descriptions are given. Y/N used sparingly.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future chapters!

Fic Playlist! Also on Ao3

Next Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 1: Tango in the Night

"Hi, I'm looking for… uhm…" you took a shallow breath, eyes wandering across rosy skin dusted with freckles and the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

You'd been searching for a movie for the past ten minutes, aware of every sound you made, every little shuffle of clothes or breath you took -- the need to cough for no reason at all suddenly squeezing at your throat. You had planned on asking the nearest employee if the store even had it to save yourself the struggle of scouring the shelves, but when you walked into Family Video a mere fifteen minutes before their closing time, you were greeted with… a girl.

Not that you hadn’t expected a girl to work at a video store, it was just… she was a really pretty girl. Really pretty, and she'd smiled this gorgeous big smile as soon as you'd walked inside, and just like that your head had gone empty. Why couldn’t you just be normal? Why couldn’t you act like a regular person? It shouldn’t have been that hard.

But, after ten minutes of searching -- and with the store now closing in five -- you found yourself standing in front of said pretty girl and trying to form words.

“I’m looking for ‘Innerspace.’ It, uh, just came out on tape a few weeks ago so you might not have it yet, I just figured I’d check.”

Your mouth fell closed like a tomb and you blinked at the girl across the counter. ‘Robin,’ your eyes flickered down to her nametag -- just her name tag, you tried to remind yourself. She was wearing a plaid button-up, the colors of leaves and moss and dirt, and she had a brown tie tucked beneath her collar. Oh god--

“Oh, right. Yeah,” she nodded, eyes wide as she stared back at you. Her voice was raspy and low and had you digging your nails into your palms. “Yeah, um, new releases usually go straight to the back for filing, but, uhm, we might have gotten it. I can’t remember off the top of my head, so let me just… you said it’s called ‘Innerspace’?”

“Yeah,” you felt your face heating and wrung your slightly clammy fingers together beneath the counter, mercifully hidden from view.

“Ok, let me just--”

“I can go look,” a voice cut through the store, and both of you turned towards a man in a matching green vest who was leaning against the far counter with his arms crossed. You hadn’t even realized he was there.

“You keep, uh, entertaining our customer, yeah, Robs?” he added, pushing off to head for a doorway at the back of the room.

“Uh, y-yeah. Sure,” the girl -- Robin -- replied, staring after him for a second before turning back around. It was hard to think under all her shades of rosy pink and blue and brown. Her hair reminded you of a mouse. You tried not to wonder if it was as soft as it looked.

God, it looked soft.

Just like her cheeks, or the skin of her nose as she wrinkled it in a small wince before smiling at you.

“Uhmm, we sell tapes,” she gestured to a small display of cassettes. “Some of these are new, too. I mean, I know you’re looking for a movie, but,” she made another desperate little flourish that had you grinning like a fool.

“No, no, it’s good,” you quickly assured. Then, somehow, “Uh… do you have any recommendations?”

She opened her mouth, eyes searching yours for a moment before jumping into motion. Leaning over the counter, she dragged the display sideways so she could rifle through the tapes. You found yourself leaning closer.

“Y-Yeah, I mean… okay, this one just came out a few months ago. Have you heard of Fleetwood Mac? I mean -- I mean, of course you have,” her brow furrowed, a line indenting the skin between her eyebrows. “They’re Fleetwood Mac, obviously, but… h-have you?”

With the question, the wrinkle smoothed out again as she raised her brow to look at you. You nodded, and you knew there was a smile on your face by the one that spread across hers. She was encouraged enough to keep going.

“I, uh, don’t really know if you like their stuff, but they just released this new album, Tango in the Night,” Robin groaned softly, her smile growing. “It's so good. And I mean, Stevie Nicks is, like, so…” she faltered a little, hesitantly glancing up at you before her smile grew a bit smaller, a bit softer.

“Sorry, I’m rambling aren't I? I do that sometimes. It’s probably, like, a condition or something--”

You laughed brightly, clapping a hand over your mouth when you realized you’d interrupted her, but she was watching you through her eyelashes and grinning.

“No, it’s… it’s good. I like it,” you added, not sure if you were referencing the tape or her rambling. “I like Fleetwood Mac. And Stevie Nicks is--” super hot “--Great. She’s great.”

“Oh,” Robin said, released in a little breath, almost a sigh. “Okay, well--”

“Hey,” the other worker popped his head out of the back room, offering Robin, and then you, a vaguely apologetic look coupled with a shrug. “Yeah, we don’t have it yet. Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay. Really,” you waved. “Thanks for checking.”

“Hey, sure thing. That's what I’m here for,” he smiled, grabbing the front of his vest. “But it’s, uh, no problem, about the movie. We can just take your number and call you when it comes in. Right, Robin?”

“R… Right!” she jumped up a little, head whipping around to look at him before turning back to you. “I mean, if you want to, that is. You totally don’t, if it’s something you’re, like, not comfortable with, or… I mean, we’re, like, an official establishment, so we won’t sell your information to the government, or anything, haha…” she finished with a laugh that conveyed how quickly she was losing confidence.

“Sure,” you offered, trying to give her as encouraging of a smile as you could without rocking your own confidence. In the end, you had to glance at your feet under the beaming grin she gave in reply.

“Great! Cool-e-o. Um, let me just,” ducking down, she rifled beneath the counter before reappearing with a flourish. Your smile felt like it was at risk of tearing your face as you took in the way her tie had gone crooked and her hair all feathery.

Slapping a notepad onto the countertop, she gave you an eager grin before pulling a pen out of the breast pocket of her vest. You paused, momentarily forgetting your phone number in the most panic-filled two seconds of your life before giving it to her, hoping your voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt. You watched Robin jot down your number with nimble fingers and endearingly bubbly penmanship.

“I like your rings,” you shyly stated, nodding to the silver jewelry that decorated her pale fingers. A simple silver band on her pointer, a wider piece on her middle, and a band with a pale blue gemstone on her ring.

“Th… Thanks,” she whispered, glancing up at you, her mouth slightly ajar as she seemed to hold her breath. Then she jotted down the last two digits of your phone number and sat the pen down.

“Oh, and, uh… I’ll take this, too, if that’s okay,” you slid the cassette across the counter. Robin’s eyes widened.

It would take you nearly five minutes outside the now-closed Family Video to catch your breath. With your back pressed against the hard brick of the building, you felt a laugh bubble up your throat, rippling out into the evening air. With a small bag containing ‘Tango in the Night,’ you stepped onto your bike and thought about how sometimes not being normal paid off.

________________________________________________________________

“Holy shit, holy shit -- holy shit, Steve.”

“Quit freaking out on me, Buckley,” Steve warned, worried that the girl was actually going to pass out with how fast she was pacing through the rom-com aisle, her hands held out on either side of her, gesturing with every “holy shit” she uttered.

“Okay, okay,” Robin shook her head, pressing her voice into something that vaguely resembled composure. “That wasn’t, like, anything, right? It was just a totally normal customer-employee exchange.”

“Robin,” Steve deadpanned. “That girl was full-on flirting with you.”

“Shut up,” Robin rasped, voice squeaking at a frequency that probably would have had the neighborhood dogs howling. “She was not, she was… Oh my god, she was. She definitely was…”

“Uh, yup,” Steve confirmed, brow lowered even though he was trying not to freak out himself. Robin didn’t have the best luck with dating, and Steve had just witnessed the biggest win she’d had in… ever. She’d even gotten the girl’s number.

“Okay, but,” she continued, and Steve bit back a groan. “What if she was actually into you and was just flirting with me to get to you?”

“What-- that is literally not a thing people do, you dumbass. She was flirting with you.”

“Ahh! I don’t--” Robin groaned, hands reaching up to grab at her hair.

“I mean, seriously, Rob. She bought the tape you were gushing about. She gave you her goodman number, for Christ’s sake--”

“Yeah, because she wants fucking ‘Innerspace’ when it comes in. That’s all.”

“Look, I love you, but you’re being an actual idiot right now. She was totally checking you out. I saw it with my own two eyes,” he made a peace sign and waved it at his face. “And trust me, I know what it looks like when a girl is checking someone out.”

“Gross,” Robin winced, face screwing up miserably as she tried not to have a full-on crisis. “But still, even if she was, there’s no way I stand a chance. Like, there’s actually no way…”

“Well,” Steve began, the corner of his mouth bunching into a knowing smirk. “I guess we’ll find out once you call her to let her know that we’ve got, uh…” he turned away, looking out into the store as he reached around his back and pulled ‘Innerspace’ from the waistband of his jeans.

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” Robin shoved him. “What the hell is wrong with you, dingus?”

“Hey, don’t yell at me, I’m just being a good wingman! A pretty damn good one, too, considering you wouldn't have even gotten her number without me jumpstarting your brain."

Robin pushed her tongue into her cheek before running it over her teeth. She rolled her eyes, then smiled begrudgingly.

“Do you actually think she was flirting with me?”

“Yes!” he said it before she’d even gotten the full question out.

Robin took a breath, and then she brought the front of her vest up to cover her face and squealed softly into the fabric -- half excited, half panicked -- before throwing the material back down. Her hair was a frizzy curtain in front of her face and she was definitely a bit red.

“Feel better?”

“No.”

“Well that’s too bad,” Steve tossed a rag at her. “Because we’ve got a store to close and I still have to drive your flustered ass home.”

He turned around, and Robin stared after him with her brow furrowed in contemplative annoyance.

“I’m not flustered--”

“Are you shitting me?”

________________________________________________________________

You listened to the album as soon as you got home. Leaning your bike against the baby blue siding of your parent’s house, you raced into the kitchen to make a quick dinner before taking it to your room, the little plastic Family Video bag looped around your wrist.

Your tape player was old. It had belonged to your mom before she passed it down to you, all worn and well-loved, decorated with a few band stickers that had long since faded to a pale, washed-up color. Even so, when you popped the deck and carefully put the cassette inside, that old, faded player turned colorful with life as the first few beats of ‘Big Love’ started playing.

The echoey vocals of Linsday Buckingham hummed through the speakers as he sang “looking out for love," and your lips curled into a smile, sitting cross-legged on your bed as your mind filled with images of blue eyes and tawny freckles. How could you not think of her when she was the one who had recommended the tape? You tried to convince yourself that was the only reason. You knew it was the biggest lie you’d ever told.

Leaning back against the headboard, you ate your dinner through a smile. When the next song whirred on, you reached over to your nightstand to grab the case, flipping it around to scan down the list of songs. You set your dish aside and laid back as Stevie Nicks’s voice filled your room with ‘Seven Wonders’.

“So it’s hard to find

Someone with that kind of intensity

You touched my hand, I played it cool…”

Bringing your hands up to your forehead, you let them rest there, the coolness of your fingers not doing much to quell the heat that had started swimming in your head. You tried to consider the possibility that maybe the girl -- Robin, you tried her name out in your thoughts -- had been as nervous as you had for the same reason. You remembered the way she’d blushed when your hands had touched, or the way she'd laughed nervously as her eyes, so fucking blue, had scanned your face. Had she looked at your lips? Did it mean anything if she had?

“So long ago

It’s a certain time, it’s a certain place

You touched my hand and you smiled

All the way back you held out your hand

But I hope, and if I pray

Ooh, it might work out someday…”

Groaning softly, you dragged a pillow over your face, deciding that if your cold hands wouldn’t put you out, you’d just have to smother yourself.

There was no way… was there? Like, no actual way that Robin liked… well -- would ever like you. Right? Most girls were overly friendly with one another; you’d figured that out a long time ago, after mixing up so many signals that you’d realized the way you liked girls was different from the way they liked you. That the way you felt about girls was… abnormal. At least, it had seemed that way, when you looked around.

But… you couldn’t be the only one. You knew you weren’t the only one. You’d grown up, since then, and you'd heard about people like you on the news and in school. You’d seen what happened to the boys that acted differently than the rest of their classmates -- you'd heard what they were called. You’d seen other girls being called “dykes,” had seen girls ostracized from their friend groups out of the fear she’d spread herself around like some kind of disease.

And sure, you’d seen how bad it could be, but that also meant that there were others out there who understood. That had to mean that there were happy endings for people like you -- it was just… happy endings felt so far away from the things that actually happened. It felt like something out of a storybook rather than something that could happen right here in Hawkins. Right here, where a pretty girl had watched you through her eyelashes and blushed when you complimented her…

Was there a chance that Robin hadn’t just seen you as a friendly customer?

“No. No way,” you said it aloud, your words breaking through Stevie Nicks’ vocals.

She was probably dating her co-worker. He was hot, right? He seemed charming, he’d called her “Robs” so they were obviously close. The sudden thought of Robin being with the man in the store made your chest tighten. You groaned again, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face into your sheets, trying to cover yourself up, trying to be swallowed whole because it had to be easier than thinking about Robin’s lips against his when you wanted them against yours.

The tape whirred and clicked, and the next song started like it'd been sent to mock you.

“Come on, baby

We better make a start

You better make it soon before you break my heart”

Well, at least she had a good taste in music. Yet another thing about her that was already driving you crazy, and you’d barely spoken to her for five minutes. You didn’t even know her last name -- and you only even knew her first because she’d been wearing a fucking name tag.

Suddenly you sat up, pillow flying off of your head as you realized that--

“Holy shit. She’s going to call me…”

She had your number. She was going to call you when the movie came in. You’d have an excuse to talk to her again. Hell, she’d have an excuse to talk to you again, if she wanted it. If not, she could always get her co-worker slash potential boyfriend to do it instead. Either way, she had your number, and that meant there was a chance. A slim one, but a chance.

“Holy fucking shit,” you said it again, breathless as you grinned so hard your face ached, and fell back into your pillows.

Maybe a happy ending wasn't such a reach after all.

________________________________________________________________

Over the next week, you listened to ‘Tango in the Night’ at least five more times. It was a good album, and you would have enjoyed it even without the added connection to the pretty girl who worked in the video store that you definitely weren't crushing on, no way. And every day, you waited for a call from her. Whenever you weren’t home, you found yourself worrying that you’d miss it -- hoping and praying that she’d call when you weren’t on one of your shifts.

You worked at a diner that sat just along the edge of downtown Hawkins called Tiffany’s Kitchen. The owner, Tiffany -- who was also your boss -- was a sweet, tiny lady, thrice divorced, who had only recently opened the diner after Benny’s Burgers shut down in ‘83. She was new to the business, but everyone loved her -- employees included, of which there weren’t many. You, two of her children, both in their thirties, and another kid your age, both of you fresh out of high school with no college plans in sight.

After graduating last year, your parents had encouraged you to apply to colleges around the state, but you hadn’t gotten into any of them. You didn’t really mind. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to leave Hawkins -- every kid your age wanted to leave Hawkins -- you just… weren’t sure what you wanted to do with your life. You didn’t know who you were yet, and college was something that you had no clue where to even start with.

Anyway, you were more than content working at Tiffany’s, making enough money that your parents weren’t completely horrified by your decision to stay in Hawkins -- and at home. You could contribute to the bills, and for right now that was the most important thing to them. For now. But rather than try and figure out what to do with your future as your parents so frequently encouraged, instead you were thinking about the girl from Family Video who you’d talked to a whole one time and who probably didn’t even remember that you existed. It was easier than thinking about college or a career, and it was infinitely more pleasant than thinking about the future. So you passed your days with daydreams of blue eyes and a pretty smile, and a Fleetwood Mac song behind every moment of bussing tables and taking orders.

It wasn’t until the following Friday that anything happened.

You were sitting in your room after your shift, trying to pass the post-dinner time without falling asleep too early, when you heard your father's voice calling over the sound of your tape player.

“Hey, Doc! Someone’s on the phone for you!”

You just managed to crank the volume down before flying off of your bed, smiling at both his nickname for you -- which had come about thanks to the many Saturday mornings you'd spent watching Bugs Bunny with him when you were little, laying out on the carpet in your pajamas -- as well as the jolt of excitement that had just shot through you like lightning. And panic. Excitement and panic.

“Yeah,” you yelled, coming to a sliding stop by the phone as your socks struggled to grip the hardwood floor. You grabbed onto the wall for support, then looked over at your dad.

“Someone from some video place? Said you left your number…”

“Yep! Thanks, dad,” you grinned through his confusion, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions. He didn’t, wordlessly passing you the receiver, and suddenly you wondered if you might pass out.

“Hi,” your voice was breathless, both hands coming up to hold the yellow phone as you watched your dad round the corner to the living room, out of sight.

“Uh, h-hi. This is Robin -- from Family Video,” she quickly added. Her voice sounded even raspier through the crackle of the receiver. You were definitely about to fall over. “Uhm, y-you asked us to call when we got ‘Innerspace’-- or, I mean, we said we’d call you when we got it. Kind of the same thing, but, you know… anyway, it just came in.”

“Awesome,” you smiled even though you knew she couldn’t see it. “Thank you again. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, pshhh, of course. Yeah, of course. No big deal. I mean, that's what we're here for, right? Haha… uhm…”

You wanted to say something, anything to get her to not hang up, but the silence that followed her voice was heavy with an almost anticipative breath, like Robin was working something out.

“Um,” she started again, her voice growing soft. “I, uh, didn’t get your name…”

“Oh my god, you didn’t -- sorry about that. I'm Y/N.”

She repeated your name slowly, as if making sure that it would stick in her memory. You felt a shiver run down your back, your stomach fluttering.

“Nice to meet you,” she softly replied.

“Nice to meet you, too.” You turned sideways, leaning up against the wall and hugging an arm to your chest, cheek pressing against the receiver as you smiled.

“Um, okay -- look, I know this is probably, like, completely weird and strange, and, I don’t know, maybe even kind of creepy -- and you totally don’t have to say yes, or say anything, for that matter, but… Steve and I are going to see a movie tomorrow. The drive-in just opened back up again and it’s been forever since we’ve, like, actually watched a movie. Which is crazy because we work in a place that sells them, haha….”

You could practically hear her wince of pain, but you didn’t want to interrupt considering she hadn’t even asked you a question yet.

“Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to come? Like I said, no pressure! But, uh… we’d love -- I’d… it’d be cool, you know, if you wanted to.”

At that very moment, you were doomed. Your brain had disappeared somewhere through the ceiling and out into the evening Hawkins sky.

“I’d love to,” you were saying before you even had the chance to think about what that meant.

You’d met her once -- what if this was some sort of ploy to murder you and dump your body in Lover's Lake or something? What if once she actually hung out with you she thought you were weird? What if she was expecting this to be some sort of double date?

None of it mattered, though; not a single concern your brain could come up with. Literally nothing in the world would have convinced you to say no.

“Great,” Robin breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, cool. Uhm… so, we could, like, pick you up at your house -- or you could meet us at FV and we could take you from there. We’ll be working all day so we’re gonna head out from here, anyway.”

“I can meet you there, no problem,” you replied. You heard her exhale a breath that was unsteady enough to be a laugh but hadn't quite managed to go all the way. “Uhm… who’s Steve? -- if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh, no, not at all. Steve’s just my co-worker--” you heard a distant shout. “Okay, okay, he’s also my very best friend in the world -- happy?” she ducked away to call the last part. You gathered that Steve must have been listening.

“Sorry,” you could hear her smile. “He’s the dingus that checked for your tape the other week. Stupid hair, even stupider smile. Dresses like a middle-aged dad who wants to divorce his wife but doesn’t have the balls to actually go through with it…”

You burst out laughing, quickly ducking your head down and throwing a hand over your mouth to muffle your giggles. You could hear Robin laughing, too, even as she yelled at someone on her side of the line.

“I can’t drive, so he’s my chauffeur.”

“Cool,” you smiled. “Sounds like fun. Is… is there a time I should meet you, or…”

“Oh! Yes, uh… Steve?!”

You heard a distant “Seven-thirty” before Robin turned back to the phone and said, “Does seven-thirty work?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” your chest felt tight all of the sudden. “I guess I’ll see you then?”

“Yes. Yep. Uh… see you then,” Robin’s slightly spastic voice replied, chipper and adorable, and that feeling in your chest grew to an almost painful degree.

“O-Okay. Bye.”

“Bye,” she replied, her voice timid, followed by the click of the receiver. A busy single blared in your ears as you stared across the kitchen.

“Hey honey,” your mom began, peering her head around the wall that separated you from the living room. “Who was that?”

“Just a, um… friend,” you replied. “Friends, actually. They invited me to go see a movie with them tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she smiled, big and a bit forced. “Kids from school?”

“Yeah,” you lied. Well, half a lie. Steve and Robin had to have gone to the same school as you, considering Hawkins only had one, but that wasn’t exactly how you knew them. Your mom didn’t need to know that, though.

“Uh…” you set the phone back on the hook and slowly started backing towards the stairs. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Yell if you need anything.”

“O… kay,” your mom called as you bounded up the stairs, taking two steps at a time and nearly wiping out as you whipped around the railing and down the hall.

By the time you reached your room, you were out of breath, but it only took you about three seconds before you burst into giggles, making the softest noises of excitement you could manage as you threw your hands over your face and shook your head.

“Holy shit. Holy shit!” you whispered, grinning wide enough to make your cheeks hurt.

You felt like your body was exploding in the best way possible -- like all your cells were vibrating at a frequency that made your head spin. You felt like you could have run for miles and still kept going

It was practically impossible to get to sleep that night. You lay awake, staring at your ceiling as your brain ran through every scenario that could possibly happen, both good and bad.

Little did you know, across town Robin was staring up at her ceiling, too.

________________________________________________________________

“So I’ve been thinking--”

“Jesus Christ, Robin, it’s literally eight-thirty in the morning.”

“Yeah, and? That means I only have eleven hours to make sure I don’t make a complete fool of myself.”

“Off to a great start,” Steve sarcastically replied. “Look, can your relationship crisis at least wait until we get to work,” he gestured to the car they were sitting in.

“But that’s the whole point, Steve. We’re not even in a relationship yet, so I need to make sure everything goes perfectly otherwise she’ll think I’m a total loser or something and she’ll never speak to me again, and then I’ll have blown my latest and most promising chance at a happy relationship since that time I accidentally got gum in Sadie Elenburger’s hair in fifth grade.”

“Alright, slow down,” Steve interrupted, raising his eyebrows. “First of all, that’s kind of sad. Second, just… you know, be yourself--” Robin groaned “--And as long as you don’t chew gum, you’ll be golden.”

“Steve. This is not a joke.”

“No, I know,” he seriously replied, wondering how she was already so tense this early in the morning. “This shit’s gotta be bad for your blood pressure.”

“It is,” she affirmed, pulling down the sun visor and flicking open the mirror. She’d put a little extra makeup on today -- which for Robin just meant eyeliner and some faint glitter in the corners -- and rubbed anxiously at the skin beneath her eyes. “Ugh! I look like a fucking raccoon.”

“You look fine,” he tried to reassure her. “Nice! You look nice.”

She groaned again, sliding her hands down her face before slamming the visor back up.

“Oh! And another thing I thought of--” Steve sighed “--You’re taking us, right, and then there’s her and me, so… how are we all going to sit inside your car without making it super awkward?”

“What?” he squeezed his eyes shut as long as he could safely manage before looking back at the road, wishing they would suddenly get abducted by aliens or encounter Bigfoot so this conversation could be over. Probably would have been less stressful for Robin, actually.

Robin, who turned sideways in her seat to shoot him a frantically annoyed look because apparently he should have been reading her mind.

“You’re driving, so if we both sit in the back it’ll be, like, mega weird -- like we’re being fucking chaperoned, or something--”

“Isn’t that what’s happening?”

“But if I sit in the front, that’s, like, rude, right? Because then she’s back there all by herself. But if I let her sit in the front, she’ll probably feel uncomfortable because it’ll just be you and her up there, and then I won’t be able to talk to her anyway, and then she’ll fall in love with you instead of me.”

“Woah woah, hey,” Steve hunched his shoulders defensively. “Why would she feel uncomfortable with me? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing, Steve,” she impatiently replied. “It’s just, you know, most girls don’t like being thrown into a tiny little death box with some random dude they've literally only spoken to once.”

“And now you’re insulting my car.”

“Focus, Steve! This isn’t about you, this is about me and the very real possibility that I am going to absolutely blow this date and die alone.”

Steve froze, turning slowly to stare at her.

“D…Date. You just called it a date…”

Robin stared back at him blankly before smacking herself on the forehead. Which didn’t stop Steve from grinning.

“Look, just relax, okay,” he offered, voice softening. “We’ll just… I don’t know, we’ll think of someone to invite last minute. That way they can sit up with me and you can sit back with your girlfriend.”

“Seriously, don’t even joke about that,” Robin said, but there was a reluctant, albeit pained, smile working its way onto her face. “I think I’d actually explode if that ever really happened.”

“Well,” Steve smiled at her. “Let’s just get you through this date, yeah? And you can’t fucking do that if you give yourself a stroke by ten in the morning and I have to rush you to the hospital to be revived.”

Robin snorted, one side of her mouth curling into that smirk that she used whenever she was still trying to act annoyed with him.

“At least wait until the movie so she can be the one giving you mouth-to-mouth instead of me.”

“Ew, gross,” her face screwed up, but they were both laughing now. However, by the time they arrived at Family Video, Robin was back on her panicked mission to invite another one of their friends along.

Throughout the duration of the morning, Steve insisted that Dustin was absolutely not coming. They considered inviting Max before Steve remembered that she and her mom were visiting family this weekend. Lucas was a brief option before Steve shut that one down, too making a new rule that they had to think of someone over seventeen to come along.

That left…

“Eddie,” they both said, much to the confusion of the woman they had been in the process of checking out.

“No. No way,” Steve insisted while Robin rang the lady up and gave her a smile and a clipped “have a nice day” before turning back around.

“Please, Steve,” she begged. “You wanted someone over seventeen… he’s definitely over sevent--”

“I know, I know, I just… he’s Eddie.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And?... are you sure you want to risk him scaring your new girlfriend away.”

Robin groaned at the title, raking her hands over her forehead and back through her hair.

“Well, it’s better than you awkwardly third-wheeling. Please,” she drew the word out, and Steve couldn’t stand more than a few seconds of her puppy eyes.

“Oh fuck me -- fine,” he surrendered, throwing a hand up. “But you owe me one.”

“Right, yes. I owe you one. Hell, I owe you a million. Thank you thank you thank you!” she was practically bursting with a wired mix of nerves and excitement.

Little did she know, across town, you were having the same problem…

________________________________________________________________

You’d woken early and spent the better half of the morning cleaning your room. If you didn’t do something, you’d just sit there; and if you just sat there, you’d come up with a million different reasons why this was a bad idea. So you blasted Fleetwood Mac and busied yourself with rearranging. You changed your sheets and tried not to dwell on your personal flaws that Robin could potentially find annoying. You vacuumed your floor and wondered if she’d ask you about the tape.

You had just considered going through and rearranging your closet when you realized that you’d have to figure out what you were wearing tonight, and then you’d promptly flopped yourself onto your freshly made bed and tried not to scream. You’d be lucky if you made it to seven-thirty. Then, if you managed that, you’d be lucky if you made it to see the sun rise on a new day.

It hadn’t crossed your mind that maybe you were being dramatic.

When you emerged from your room for the first time that day, it was already lunchtime.

“Well, look who finally decided to get up,” your dad said from his spot at the kitchen table, eyes never leaving his paper. A half-empty cup of coffee left a stain on the wood.

“Been up for a while, actually,” you murmured. “Just cleaning my room.”

“Cleaning?” he asked, disbelieving. “D’you hear that, mom? She’s cleaning.”

“Mmm,” your mom hummed, turning around from the stove to glance at you.

“Should get her to do the spare room, next. You’ve got all that extra junk in there.”

“Yeah, sure,” you dryly replied, your tone pinched but even enough to not get yourself into trouble. “Yeah, I’ll get to it at some point.”

You pulled some leftovers out of the fridge, heating them as quickly as possible before turning to head back up to your room.

“See you later, I guess,” your dad called after your retreat, and you stilled for long enough to convince yourself that the whole situation wasn’t worth the guilt he had you feeling before booking it up the stairs.

It would be easier to be around them if they didn’t criticize you all the time. Or complain about you to your face. It would be easier to spend time with them if they actually made you want to. You found your thoughts drifting back to Robin and her soft eyes, her eager smile -- that genuine way she had about her. Even though she seemed nervous, she wasn’t afraid to be herself. You liked that.

And suddenly you didn’t feel so nervous anymore. Excitement at getting out, getting away from your life with someone like Robin, replaced your previous apprehensions about whether or not she would like you or the possibility that you’d make a fool of yourself. Because really, your parents were living lives that they would have said they were happy or content with, but they were really just as miserable as everyone. You didn’t want your life to pass you by so quickly that you woke up one day with a husband and a kid you didn’t even know you were pushing away, and a cookie-cutter life. You wanted to feel things.

Robin had already made you feel things and you barely knew her.

So whatever happened tonight, you were ready for it. The notion of it was exciting.

You hastily ate your food and then stood in front of your closet like it was an amphitheater. Raking through rows of shirts and sweaters and pants and skirts, you tried to put the jigsaw pieces into something that resembled a respectable outfit. It took you nearly an hour of trying things on and immediately ripping them off before you circled back to something that resembled what you’d been wearing that day you’d gone into Family Video; they were clothes you wore often enough to be comfortable in, but also nice enough to give you a necessary boost of confidence.

Now that you were dressed, you checked your wristwatch. A disappointing ‘two-thirty’ greeted you, meaning that you still had a little over four hours before you could even think about leaving. You flopped down onto your bed and began flipping through a book, trying to ignore the way your eyelids felt heavy and your head seemed to sink right into the pillow.

A few hours later, you realized you’d fallen asleep when you were jolted awake at the sound of your mother calling you for dinner. Flying up out of bed, you quickly looked at your watch. It was only five-fifteen -- you had plenty of time. Descending the stairs, you greeted your parents with a tired smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

“Well,” your dad insisted. “Where are you going, all dressed up?”

Immediately feeling self-conscious -- and fighting that emotion with everything in you -- you glanced down and then back up at him with a dismissive shrug. You liked the way you looked; an off-hand comment from your dad wouldn’t change that. Or, so you tried to tell yourself.

“She’s going to the movies with some friends, remember,” your mom told him, offering you a plate and a smile. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” you managed, taking your plate to sit down at the table.

“You could borrow some of my makeup if you wanted,” she sat down next to you.

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

“You’re not meeting a boy, are you?” your dad asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a sip from his cup.

“No,” you replied, shoving a spoonful of food into your mouth, wishing that this conversation wasn’t happening.

“Good. No boys, remember.”

He thought he was being funny. Jesus. You hid your grimace behind your cup and nodded.

“Yeah, ‘course, dad. No boys.”

If your father knew what you were really doing, he’d likely beg for you to spend more time with boys. Because, as often as your parents -- and other adults in general -- made jokes about how you should stay away from boys as long as you could, no one actually expected you to. It was all some grand inside joke that adults seemed to have; just because they were so unhappy with their own relationships, they thought it gave them the right to comment on what they believed your future one would be like.

Because, in their eyes, you would marry a man by the time you were twenty-five and settle down, have a few kids, complain about your husband to all of your girl friends, and then retire. End of story. So, when they told you to “stay away from boys” as if it were the funniest joke in the world, they really didn’t mean a word of it. Why they said it, you couldn’t figure out. All you knew was that it made your stomach hurt.

Because tonight, you hadn’t gotten all dressed up to see a boy.

“I should finish getting ready,” you said after you helped your mother clear the dishes away. “I’ll need to leave in an hour or so.”

Bounding back up the stairs, you took a few deep breaths and tried not to completely freak out. You felt like you’d been slightly panicking for the past several hours, but now that seven-thirty was getting closer and closer, you could feel your anxiety cranking up to a ten. In the bathroom, you brushed your teeth, then used some mouthwash for good measure.

You grabbed at your face, smoothing over your eyebrows and adjusting your shirt across your shoulders, momentarily wondering if it revealed too much skin around your collar before reminding yourself that it wasn’t like you were in nothing but your underwear, and Robin wouldn’t freak out because you were wearing a slightly low-cut shirt. It wasn’t even low-cut.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you said to the mirror, dragging your hands down your face, trying not to nit-pick the imperfections you were finding there.

“Shut up,” you said to your brain. “Adds character. Yeah, sure.”

With a shake of your head, you spent another minute or so of nervous grooming before you locked eyes with your own reflection and tried to give yourself a final, desperate boost of confidence.

“Don’t fuck this up,” is what you settled on, and then you were waving goodbye to your parents with the promise of being home by midnight.

________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @alonezz (you’re a saint for waiting so long, I hope you enjoy it <3)

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x female reader #robin x reader #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley fanfic #robin buckley #st #stranger things #ST fanfic #steve harrington #steve and robin #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction

214 notes · View notes