#if you have anything you want me to expand on just lmk
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twistedlovelines · 4 months ago
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who in the twst cast lets you put a ribbon on it. (Octavinelle, Scarabia)
NSFW, MDNI, gn! reader <3
(Heartslabyul, Savannaclaw Vers.) (Pomefiore, Ignihyde Vers.)(Diasomnia, Rollo, Crewel)
Octavinelle
Azul Ashengrotto
Somehow, having only a ribbon tied around his cock makes him feel even more bare than if he had gone without it. It’s so soft and slippery that he can’t help but whine as he bucks his hips up, the fabric serving as nothing more than another cruel tease… 
He’ll pout over how the fabric is messy post-orgasm haze, but immediately sets his sights on buying new ones. Surely just one singular ribbon cannot be enough to explore the full scope of this experience? ~~It doesn’t escape you that most of the fabrics he chooses are silk.~~
Jade Leech
Oh? He’s not surprised that you brought this up given how adventurous you’ve been in the past, but he finds it funny that you bought a ribbon that would match the streak in his hair. Enjoys the added texture, but he suggests that you expand this idea of yours- wouldn’t tying him up offer a more…invigorating sensation? 
Will definitely send him into a rabbithole of ropes, ribbons, and other types of restraints after you bring this up to him. He wants to explore all you have to offer <3 
Floyd Leech
He’s more confused on why such a small, simple scrap of fabric would turn you on, but you manage to convince him into it. It doesn’t really do much for him, but seeing how affected you are is a plus. Not super fond of silk or satin, but enjoys if you use fabrics with rougher textures- it feels good when he fucks into it <3
He generally won’t want to do anything with ribbons much, but. If he’s bored he will ask you to tie a bow around it after he’s put googly eyes on the head. You will bear witness to him treating his cock like a puppet. My condolences. 
Scarabia
Kalim Al-Asim
Oh he’s all for it the second you mention it. What fabrics do you think will be best? Ooh, this color might complement the color of his cock better- maybe he can even have some jewels sewn in to make it really sparkle! The most supportive of this particular endeavor, and will happily peruse through different swatches so you can make the perfect bow! 
Thinks silk has a nice cooling effect when you tie it around his cock, and generally enjoys the texture! He’s pretty content to let you tie up his cock however you wish, so don’t hold back <3
Jamil Viper
Raises a brow at the fact you want to tie up only his cock at first, but doesn’t really question it after you explain your reasoning. He Will be picky about what type of ribbon you use around him, though…he’s fussy when it comes to things like this! Allows you to tie a ribbon around his cock so long as you let him repay the favor later <3
The visual doesn’t do much for him, but he’s pleasantly surprised once it’s tied around him and it stimulates him a bit with every movement. Discover he gets even more heated if you tug on the bow while jerking him off, but won’t say as much unless you ask him to
a/n: will be doing the other dorms, but lmk if you want me to elaborate! Reblogs and comments appreciated <33
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luvrxbunny · 1 year ago
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mural
Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader
Prompt: Marking
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, some grinding, piv, unprotected sex (lmk if I forgot anything)
WC: 3.3k
A/N: possibly all over the place and the last one! *relieved(?) sobbing* (not proofread)
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It’s the first time in a very long time that Miguel is looking in the mirror and doesn’t like what he sees. It’s not about his body really, more about what you left on him… what’s now fading.
You mark him up to your heart's content every time you’re together since he’s never in anything but his suit, all his parts are covered, including your favorite spot; his neck. He tells you they’re a bit of a nuisance. Sure, he never takes off his suit but now he has to worry about it. He’s said this to you more times than he can count but you never listen, and thank god you don’t because he secretly loves them.
Yet for some reason, you seem to have listened to him the last time he told you. You haven’t marked him up in weeks. All his love bites are now fading and he never realized how empty his skin is. He’s in the bathroom and you’re sitting on the bed, he closed the door to inspect his body, secretly admiring the art you leave on his skin but a frown rose to his face, and has stayed there since he realized that almost all of them were gone. His fingertips run over the faint red splotch on his neck and a shiver runs through him.
He needs more. He needs you to mark him up again. He walks out of the bathroom and just watches you on your phone. You don’t look up at him, “You took a while in there! Is it safe for me to go in?” You laugh at your own joke and finally look up when he doesn’t laugh with you. “Are you okay?” You put your phone down and sit up, giving him your full attention and his heart warms at the action.
He weighs his options for a bit. He could come right out and admit that he was lying all those times he told you not to mark him up, that he doesn’t like it… or he could seduce you into giving him more… He chooses the ladder. He takes a deep breath, letting his chest expand and rolling his shoulders back, something that always gets your heart racing. He cracks his neck and lets his eyes roll back with the action before looking back at you with a smile. “I want you, sweetheart.”
He’s laying it on thick, giving you the best ‘fuck me’ eyes he has, and using one of your favorite nicknames. It’s working. He watches your thighs press together for a moment as a wide smile splits your face. “Yeah?” You ask, already crawling to the edge of the bed, where he stands. You let your legs hang over the edge, beside his as you rest your hands on the band of his sweatpants, still smiling up at him. Just the look in your eyes has him hardening in his sweats. Your eyelids flutter once his bulge starts to push the fabric outward, almost touching your face as it grows.
He’s still just watching you, your eyes are on his, giving him an evil look of promise, that you’re going to completely ruin him. Once he’s fully hard his clothed dick is pressing into your cheek and you have to actively avoid rubbing your face into it. You’re not crazy it’s just- you love it so much. Your head tilts into his crotch subconsciously and he takes a sharp breath, it trembles as he exhales. Your eyes are still on his, growing increasingly hazy and your legs start trying to press into each other. He makes a move.
His hands press onto your shoulders, pushing you onto your back, lying in the middle of the mattress. His hands then cup the back of your thighs, lift your spread legs onto the bed, and push you up to the backboard. You’re clawing at him frantically, panting and trying to pull him up so you can connect your lips with his. You’re whining into his mouth in a way that’d have him thinking you’ve been needing him silently for hours. His hands rest beside your head, cradling it as he shoves his lips against yours, a deep groan building in his chest at how soft your life feels against him. His hips drop to yours, earning a soft moan from both of you when his dick presses into your pussy.
One hand leaves your head to hold your hips in place as he grinds against you, angling his bulge so it’s bumping your clit with every thrust. You have to detach from his lips to let out a gut-wrenching moan that he responds to with a low, breathy whine. “Fuck.” He grits out through his teeth, he needed you more than he realized. His hand comes to your underwear, pulling them down with one hand as you wiggle your hips and pull his sweatpants down, over his ass and he takes them the rest of the way with his hand as you wiggle your panties off your legs.
He’s about to climb back up your body but instead sits back on his legs and yanks his shirt over his head. You’re about to do the same but instead, he just grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, instantly letting go once his lips are on yours again. He pulls away for a moment to breathe and mutters “No time. Need you.” against your lips before diving in again. His need for you has only doubled every minute he’s with you, overtaking all his thoughts aside from getting his dick inside your addictive pussy.
His hand is lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in without a second thought. You gasp painfully at the stretch and your hands dig into his biceps. “Miguel—!” Your words cut off with a shaky moan, half in pleasure and half in pain. He whines and ducks into your neck, “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, amor. I- wasn’t thinking. I’m-” He’s panting shakily into your neck and his muscles are tense, almost shaking in your hands. You’re able to peek at where his face is resting at the base of your neck and you can see his brows pulled as tight as his shut eyes.
You fight the smile that spreads over your face but it breaks through and he can somehow feel it. “Stop laughing at me.” He grunts into your neck and you giggle, hurting the both of you as your pussy squeezes on his cock. It doesn’t burn as much, growing wetter with how Miguel’s trying to hold back his whimpers against your neck. Your hips tilt up to him, sucking in the last bit of his cock and getting a tortured moan from Miguel. “Please don't.” His words are shaky as they fall from his lips.
You smile and a hand comes to the back of his head, he leans into it like a cat. “I’m ready, baby.” You use the most alluring voice you can muster and feel his body twitch over yours before he starts thrusting into you slowly. It’s incredible, his dick stretching you so wide your entire pussy is a livewire, no matter where he’s touching you it sends a shock through your entire body. You feel like you can feel the veins of his cock sliding against your walls as he thrusts into you at a shockingly slow pace. He’s holding back for you, a bit traumatized by hurting you while lost in his desperation.
You’re soaking him, coating him in your slick, and creating a lewd sound when his cock sinks into you. “M-miguel.” Your whine pulls his head out of your neck and his eyes are frantically searching your face, worried that he hurt you again. You give him a soft knowing look before biting your lip shyly. “You can go f-faster.” You pulse around him uncontrollably as you speak, your entire body desperate for him. His hips stutter against you, like his body is jumping at the opportunity but his mind is still unsure. You can see it in his eyes, he gives you a gentle, ‘Are you sure’ kind of questioning look. You kiss his lips so softly he’s not sure if he imagined your lips touching his or not, before nodding at him as you pull away.
He breathes out something like a sigh of relief before plunging into you, thrusting so hard and deep that his hips create a slapping sound against yours and you can feel his cock bump into your cervix. Your legs raise to his hips, wrapping around him to hold him deep in place. You’re letting shocked moans spill from your lips as he begins to fuck into you, short, strong thrusts that force painful whimpers out of your chest.
Your eyes are shut tight, trying to handle the arousal of his pace before exposing yourself to the arousal of seeing the look on his face. You take the best deep breaths you can in your condition and open your eyes only to be met with his adam’s apple. His head is directly above yours but instead of looking at you, he seems to be focused on the bedframe. You assume it’s a stalling or distraction tactic and say nothing. You’re pretty content with the sight; his neck flexing and adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to hold his moans in.
You’re tempted to suck pretty marks into his skin, leaving him red, purple, and sore. You want to see him pull at his collar the next morning because his neck is too sensitive for the fabric rubbing against his skin. You want to make him so sensitive that you can just run your fingers over his neck and he’s fattening inside his pants. You want it so bad… but he doesn’t so you calm yourself. You whimper as you lean up into his neck. He gasps, shocked when your lips press into the hot skin of his neck, and lets out a broken whimper when all you do is press a slow kiss to it. “Can you— please.” You assume he was going to tell you to stop because he thought you were going to suck. So you keep going.
His whimpers grow more frequent and frustrated the longer you press kisses onto his neck until he finally pulls back. He cups your jaw with one hand, pulls you away from his neck, and looks down at you. “Why aren’t you-” His hips grind into you slower than before, relishing the way he feels when he’s deep inside you before pulling back out. “You’re not—?” He breathes out a shaky and frustrated sigh. “You don’t want to?” He sounds pained, and offended now. Your hips stop flexing into his although his hips keep grinding into yours. His eyes are penetrating deep into yours like he’s searching for an answer but you don't even know the question. You rest a hand on his hips, attempting to slow them but he lets out a soft noise of protest instead.
“What is it, Miggy?” His thrusts stutter and he almost collapses on you. “I like it.” His eyes close and his hips slow further, and this slower pace is somehow worse. He’s dragging against your walls, teasing every nerve he touches. “I like this too, baby? Are you okay?” He groans and blankets you in his weight, dropping his body to yours. You can feel his heart racing in his chest, beating hard into his ribcage and his head is buried in your neck, shaking from side to side. “No.” You don’t like his vagueness, it’s worrying. You push at his shoulder gently. “Flip us over, Miguel.”
He does so without question but regrets it once you pull off his cock. He’s gasping and reaching for you the moment he feels the cold air on his dick but you’re already out of reach. “I’m gonna get back on, don’t worry. I want you to sit up for me, sweetheart.” His heart skips a beat from having your favorite nickname directed to him and complies. He sits up, his cock glistening and bobbing between his legs, red, and painfully hard for you.
You climb into his lap and love the way his entire body leans into you for a kiss as you sink onto him. You comb your fingers through his hair, hoping to soothe him as you kiss him slowly. Your current theory is that he’s a bit too worked up, too desperate to voice what he wants properly so you’re trying to fix it. You pull back and smile at his hooded eyes. “Can you talk to me, handsome?” His hips twitch up into you with a gasp at the petname before a low whine of frustration.
It’s his ego that’s getting in the way, that and a bit of embarrassment. He doesn’t want to outright admit that he’s been bluffing about the kisses, that he actually craves them day in and day out. He wants you to catch on but you’re just not. “I want more.” Upon meeting your blank stare Miguel hesitantly tilts his head to the ceiling, baring his neck for you, showing what he wants. “I want you to- They’ve all faded.” His voice breaks down to a whine, cracking on the last word and it’d break your heart if what he’s saying wasn't so erotic.
He knows you finally understand because you gush and twitch around him. He grunts at the added slick and grips your hips again while he grinds up into you. You watch his adam’s apple drop in a sigh of relief as he slides into the depths of you. Your mouth is on him before you can process how badly you want to bite into his skin. He moans and his hand is behind your head in an instant, holding you in place and gripping into your hair. His fingers tighten their hold once your tongue peaks out from your lips and licks over his skin so gently it almost tickles, then you suck, harshly and as hard as you can.
His eyes roll back and pleasure explodes in his stomach, stemming from your lips throughout his entire body. His hand on your hip tightens with the one in your air as he shakily thrusts upward, trying to fuck you while you mark him up, but you pull away. Your eyes are hazy and fixed on his next with shuddering breaths falling from your lips. “Is that okay? Don't- Don’t wanna cover you.” He can tell that's a lie by the way your eyelids and pussy flutter at the thought. He stays silent, waiting for you to look at him, to see how badly he wants this.
Your eyes meet his and you squeeze on his involuntarily, you’ve seen this look once before, in your own eyes when Miguel fucked you in front of a mirror. “You want more?” You ask, low and timid in case you’re misreading his desperation. Your worries are assuaged by the insistent, and guttural moan he lets out while nodding frantically at you. You don’t question him further, you just dive in.
You grip the back of his neck and pull him to you, latching your lips to his pulse point instantly. You let your soft lips part over his skin and suck. You can feel the vibrations under your lips as he moans out praises to you, his hips grinding into you languidly. His dick is currently an afterthought to the way your lips feel on his neck. You release him with a soft pop and kiss over the area a few times before moving to your next target. You’re hitting all his most sensitive spots, you have them memorized, stored in the back of your head for moments like this.
His mouth is open in a perpetual moan, going silent when you suck especially hard on a certain spot. You’re destroying him. He hasn’t realized how sensitive he’d gotten in all your neglect but every kiss feels like a lightning bolt through his soul. You’re affecting him in a way he never knew was possible. You’re like a madwoman on him, moaning and groaning into each lovebite, kissing over some while licking over others. He can feel that distinct pit of pleasure growing in his stomach but he ignores it, anything to keep you on him, kissing and biting him like this.
He thinks he’ll be able to hold on, to keep his orgasm at bay with the stimulation you’re giving him but you can already feel his muscles pulling in, tensing, and jumping as he tries to avoid the action. You lick a stripe up his marked-up neck before pulling away to bounce on him, giving his cock some stimulation for when he cums but he stops you. “You’re- Is that—?” His eyes are hazy and begging. “Can I have more?” You kiss him a bit roughly, biting and licking at his lips like you’re still giving hickeys. It’s making his head spin, he doesn’t know when the dynamic switched like this. Now he’s the one begging you, pleading with you to touch him in the way he likes. You’ve got him under your thumb, you control him and you never even asked for it. He just gave himself to you.
He’s right on the edge now. You’re bouncing in his lap gently, probably subconsciously, chasing your own pleasure with his body. You collapse onto his chest, your face on his collarbones and you bite. Not a hickey or a lovebite. You just straight up bite into him. And it has him cumming in seconds.
His shut tight, his lids pressed painfully shut as his hands press your body into his as best he can. He plants his feet into the mattress and fucks into you at a brutal pace. It’s out of order and shak, his hips stuttering with his orgasms and his entire body folding in with his heavy, impassioned moans. It’s enough to push you over.
You moan raggedly into his chest, hugging your arms around his neck as you whine against his skin. Your hips grind into him on their own accord, only adding more layers to the pleasure that’s surrounding your body. Miguel moans your name at the way you’re choking his cock and enticing his load to drown your pussy. He’s covering your insides with his seed as you lick over his bite, it’s half an apology but more because you know how it’ll affect him. His thighs tense and begin to shake before his legs give out, collapsing back to the bed and forcing him to succumb to your pace, a slow grind as you come down from your high.
He’s panting beneath and with you, trying to catch his breath from the assault of pleasure you just bombed him with. You’re feeling the same way, a bit bad for how his neck looks and you run a fingertip over a trail you left from the base of his throat to his adams apple. He shivers against you and kisses the top of your head before lifting your hips and letting his cock and cum slide out. He watches you drip into the bedsheets, and how you shiver with goosebumps as you leak.
He kisses you again, on the lips, and softly this time before getting up and heading to the bathroom.
He had planned to get a towel for you, to clean you up all nice a sensually but he catches his reflection in the mirror. You’ve wreaked havoc on his neck, he’s covered in so many bruises he almost looks like he’s got a blackout tattoo. It looks like you’ve painted a mural on his neck, just for him. His heart warms further at your bite mark. His favorite thing about it isn’t that it’ll last longer than the lovebites, no. He loves that he can tell it’s your teeth that we’re stuck into him. He loves that he’s been marked by you.
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thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!
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lizzy019 · 6 months ago
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𝑀𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒? 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝐿𝒾𝓆𝓊𝑜𝓇.
Darrel Curtis x Fem!Reader [Reader is a bit nerdy :)]
cw -> fingering, oral (female receiving), car $ex, squ¡rt¡ng, lmk if i missed anything!
Word Count -> 1.4K
Gotta make one of every Outsiders character 😫😫
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Staring up at the stars in the night sky was always amiable, especially more now that you were sharing this little time spending activity you did when you were stressed with Darry.
He’d told you he was stressed because of how many bills had come in, some fines he’d received from Dally’s poor choices since his father didn’t wanna pay them off, even just struggling to make time for himself.
The recent bags under his eyes showed that.
Designers too, like Gucci bags.
Hand in hand under the stars, you were happily chit chatting away about random things that weren't relevant to anything, but soothed his stress.
“Did you know Mars has two moons? Phobos and Deimos.. and they both aren’t perfect circles. Jupiter has 92, and Saturn has over 100.” You explained with the softest smile, gazing up at the waxing moon before your eyes.
“It must be bright during the night on Saturn, huh? With all that moonshine, it’d be as bright as day during the night.” Darry murmured in response.
You wanted to burst out cackling, but held back and simply kissed his forehead before saying, “Moonshine? That’s liquor, Darry. Moons don’t make light.”
Darry’s expression turned confused, now that didn’t make sense! How on Earth- well, how on moons could moons not make light? How did they glow?
“Do you know why they glow then?” He asked in a matter-of-factly type of way, which had you giving him the most playful sarcastic look you could before gently squeezing his hand once more.
“It reflects light off of the Sun, Dare.” You answered simply, smiling wide when he hummed in understanding.
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Soon after the stargazing, you two had made your way back to his van to drive home. The silent walk was peaceful, hand in hand and steps taken in synchronized motion so no one was left behind.
Darry was explaining to you about what college he wanted to get into and why, all about his education level and how he would’ve loved to expand his knowledge for the sake of his own future, but he mentioned how he much rather cared for Ponyboy’s comfort and success, and Sodapop’s happiness.
Getting into the car, you two had a soft moment where you simply placed reassuring kisses to his face, smiling the whole way.
“You know you deserve to be happy too, right? You don’t have to work yourself to the bone, I’m here to help pay your bills when things get too tough.” You murmured, a hand on his cheek to keep his face facing you.
Darry’s whole expression softened just a bit, the tension in his eyebrows lessening and his eyes closing a bit in shame.
This wasn’t uncommon, especially for Darry.
“I know sweetie, I just.. You need money too, I don’t want you to stress either.” He whispered.
How sweet of him! Regardless, you gave a pout and gently pulled him closer for a soft kiss, an innocent one to start. Hopefully to shoo his mindset to the side.
“But Darry, it’s not good to put everyone before yourself and try to carry the weight of everything alone. I mean- sure, you have muscle! Don’t get me wrong! But.. you’re gonna end up hurting your mental health.” You tried to coax him to let you help, hand lightly trailing up his bicep.
He was still stunned by the kiss, almost too infatuated with you to even care what you were saying and he instantly pulled you close to kiss him more passionately.
You were honestly a bit shocked, but you melted into the kiss, hands tangling in his hair and keeping him there. Only for him to pull away with a huff and let his eyes darken into something more.. lewd.
“Back of the car, now.” He commanded, unlocking the car doors.
You both hurried from the front seats to the back seats, where the kisses had continued to get more ferocious and strong. Hands groping each other everywhere possible.
“Darry..” You moaned through kisses and gasps. Hands flailing to his back and creating soft scratches on his tee’s fabric.
He took this as a sign to take it off, so he pulled away and hustled to take the cumbersome fabric off, gesturing for you to do the same. Sure enough, you both had gone from simply shirts off to bare naked in the car.
“Isn’t this unsanitary?” You asked with a nervous chuckle.
“Don’t ruin the moment, sweetie.” He laughed in response, kissing your cheek before his hand came to your pussy’s lips.
A cry escaped you as his warm tongue licked up your slick without hesitation. Even if you didn’t shave, he acted as if it was nothing. It was.. nice.
“Oh- Darrel! Oh fuck, yes! Ah!” You writhed in his meticulous movements, the pleasure was congenial.
Hands grabbing as his hair to keep his head between your thighs, you began to shake and shiver, your body seizing up from the ecstasy. You were gonna cum, but you didn’t wanna do it on his face.
“Darry, Darry! Stop.. gonna cum! Don’t wanna- don’t wanna do it!” You mewled out, hands trying to push him away suddenly to avoid the inevitable climax.
Darry was strong, it was like trying to push a brick wall and make it move. Your efforts were pointless, he’d make you cum on his tongue and he’d enjoy it wholeheartedly.
The cord in your lower stomach continued to tighten until you couldn't take it, your pussy walls pulsating with glee as an orgasm whooshed you to cloud nine.
A loud cry was paired with your climax, the juices of your arousal was shot into his mouth and chin as you came down from your high of pure elation.
Darry’s face rose from between your thighs, an expression of delight contorted onto his facial features. Eyebrows a bit raised, eyes bright, and a smile that spoke wonders about what was on his mind.
“Oh baby, that looked like a good one. But we ain’t done yet, not even close.” He smirked almost teasingly, presenting his hardened length to you before positioning himself to your core.
A second or two of rubbing it against your folds, he finally slipped it in and gave a whimper of his own. Slow thrusts were offered at first, in which you accepted wholly.
Soon his thrusts picked up pace, the slapping of skin an almost sinful sound as his body collapsed into a half plank over you. His breath was now audible, and the hefty gasps he was exhaling was now a prominent part of the moment.
“Oh sweetie, you feel so good.. come on, you gonna give me another one? Cum again, on my cock this time.” Darry pleaded.
You nodded, breathlessly giving an “uh-huh!” before your hands were scratching and clawing red streaks across his back. How lewd this was.
His thrusts were met with your hips grinding into his, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix so pleasurably. This alone had you writhing, back arching up away from the seat of the car.
“Darry, Darry! Baby, I’m so close, slow down!” You whined, head burying into his shoulder.
He didn’t slow down, he only heard you say that you were close and that encouraged him to speed up. Hips hitting yours faster was enough to alert you that his climax was approaching too.
Darry’s own moans heightened as his climax neared, he couldn't even hold his half plank and plopped on top of you to thrust into you like a helpless pup in heat. And that’s when your climax hit. Pussy walls spasming had him whimpering.
And after three more heavy, deep thrusts, his seed was spewed into your fertile womb. Even if you were on pregnancy pills, it still felt great knowing his children were swimming to your egg.
Sighs and gasps and huffs were the only noises left for a few moments as you both recuperated.
“Round two?” He asked with a smirk.
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Arriving back home, you happily greeted the tired Ponyboy with a gentle hug before looking in worry at the food Soda made. To put it nicely, it looked.. poisonous.
“Ah, thanks Pepsi-Cola.” Darry sighed contentedly, kissing your cheek before sitting down at the table. You waved goodbye to them all and hustled out.
Once gone, the brothers of Darry looked at him skeptically and whispered to one another.
“Ya think they shagged?” Ponyboy whispered.
“Never seen him so calm, think they did.” Sodapop whispered back before eating away.
Darry was smiling for no reason, just thinking of you for the rest of the day.
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jayke0 · 10 months ago
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Nicotine Lust
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Pairing: Jake Lockley x afab reader
Summary: Your attempts to keep your smoking kink under wraps become futile once you're reassured that your boyfriends’ lungs aren't at stake.
A/N: I couldn't stop thinking about @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction 's smoking Steven, so i wanted to do smth from Jake's perspective ❤️.
Also if you know which tiktok lady Jake’s talking about then bonus points to you!
Rating: nsfw, smut
Warnings/Content: smoking, g/n nicknames, I've never smoked so forgive me if literally all of it is wrong, blowjob, face fucking, ‘fucktoy’ nickname, ‘slut’ nickname, Dom!Jake, Sub!Reader, p in v, unmentioned protection, riding, doggy style, creampie, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).
Word count: 4,020 (yeah… I'm pretty sure this is my longest fic yet.😅)
Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily. And Fen ofc ofc.
…………………………………......................………….
You hate to admit it, but when Jake smokes, it's like an automatic switch is clicked in your brain; like you're literally being turned on.
It's wrong, so so wrong. You don't want to be getting turned on by something that is ultimately ruining your boyfriend's lungs, all three of your boyfriends’ lungs.
It's only when you mention it to him one day that he settles your worries.
“The suit heals ‘em.”
“What?? For real?”
“ ‘Course! That's the whole point of it.”
You raise a brow. “It's not for you to heal your black lung.”
“Well no, but it's for healin’, ain't it?” He pulls out his packet of tobacco and places it on the windowsill, along with his papers. His fingers work meticulously as he lays out the paper and lines up the tobacco, sprinkling it onto the paper like he's decorating fucking cupcakes with chocolate sprinkles.
“I thought ya liked it anyway.”
You have to drag your eyes away from the man's hands as he rolls the cylinder between his fingers. “What? No... that's weird.”
Your boyfriend cocks an eyebrow at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Really? So that look that ya give me, or the way ya watch my hands ain't got nothin’ to do with ya gettin’ all hot and bothered?” He brings it to his lips, running his tongue along the edge of the paper in a way that makes your cheeks heat up and your arms fold over your chest defensively.
Jake is easily the best at reading you and your body, especially when it comes to your not-so-subtle arousal.
Your eyes move back to his hand, watching him push the filter into the end with his middle finger before rolling the other end shut.
“No, I just find it interesting. It's good for me to know how to roll a cig… I guess.” Your words trail off as you realize how dumb that sounds; there's no way in hell that Jake lockley is going to believe that lie.
“For who? Ya side piece?” He jokes, the smirk turning into a full-grown grin while he brings the now formed cigarette to his lips. It's only when he flips open his lighter and the flame lights up the end that you come to the conclusion there's no point in hiding it… not now that you know they're safe.
“Alright!... I like it, is that what you wanted?”
“Show me.” His lips are pressed together tightly to keep the cigarette in place, but he's learnt how to talk out of the gap in his lips.
“Excuse me?”
“Show me how much ya like it.” The man's voice is deeper now as he pulls the cigarette from his lips and exhales a cloud of smoke, considerately not blowing it in your direction; and fuck if it doesn't make you squirm.
You want to sink to your knees right there, rip his black jeans from his thick thighs and suck him dry, but your stubbornness stops you. “I'm not some kinda fuck toy, Jake!”
“Ya weren't sayin’ that last night, were ya?” The cigarette meets his lips again and his chest expands as he takes in a long drag, not being as considerate with where he blows it this time.
You irritatedly waft the smoke away from your face, but his gaze, oh lord the way his eyes glare at you, a dark stare that pushes you to your knees anyway as if he has the fucking force. Resting your hands on his knees, you part them slowly, keeping your eyes transfixed on his as you slide your hands up his bulky thighs and over his crotch, all while he takes another drag.
“Good fucktoy.” He says with a playful tone as he pets your head condescendingly, the name and gesture ultimately turning you on more while you toy with his belt buckle to pry his jeans open. “Eager, ain't we? I love it when you're this eager, mi vida.”
The smell of the smoke is starting to sting your nostrils, but all worries of second-hand smoke fade when you pull his boxers down his thighs and reveal his half hard cock. “I'm not the only eager one," you raise a brow at him, taking his hardening length in your hand to hear a soft groan from him.
“Oh c'mon, what guy doesn't love gettin’ his dick sucked? Especially from a slut as pretty as you, cariño.” His thumb runs over your cheek, and then your bottom lip. “Now, open up for me, okay?”
His hand replaces yours as you obediently open your mouth and lean forward, wanting to feel him grow hard in the heat of your mouth. His length is heavy on your tongue, the familiar tang of his skin and pre-cum making you hum softly to send vibrations through his cock, resulting in a pleasured grunt from the man.
“Mmm that's good… good angel…”
The calmness in his voice and the way his shoulders drop indicate that even his trusty old cigarettes can't relax him like you can. You always know exactly what makes him tick, what buttons to press to get him coming down your throat in minutes, but despite that, he continues to take drags from his damn deathstick.
Your eyes are fixated on his lips as he brings it to his mouth again, holding it loosely between his two fingers before inhaling the nicotine. He meets your gaze, a shallow thrust from his impatient hips making you pull back with an annoyed squeal; you're not willing to admit how turned on you also get when they're impatient with you, though you're like 90% sure that Jake has caught on anyway, as usual. A string of drool falls from your lips and lands on his head, spreading down the thick, tanned length before your lips follow.
“Thaaat’s it, just like that, darlin’.” He groans, feeling your lips stretch and the warmth of your mouth envelop him. His fingers caress your hair before his large hand eventually comes to rest on the back of your head; an exciting threat that he could push you down on his girth at any point.
Of course, though, he doesn't. He's more patient and collected than the other two, even when you manage to relax your throat and sink all the way down on him.
“Oooh cariño, that's new. Ya been practicin’?” Jake's back arches off of the window, his cigarette back between his lips so his hand can join the other on the back of your head. You pull off with a pant, nodding proudly, “Steven loved letting me practice on him, did you know he's into throat training?”
Your words warrant a growl from your boyfriend as he tightens his grip on your scalp. “C’mooon, stop teasin’ me,” his lip is cocked up in a scowl as he take another drag from his cig and blows it out.
You don't spend any more time fucking around, your own thighs pressing together just from the situation and sight in front of you. You lower your head on him, but don't take him fully, wrapping your hand around what you can't fit in your mouth so you can start bobbing your head. Your tongue glides over his slit each time you almost pull off, with just your lips wrapped around the blunt tip before you dive back down.
“Fuuuck, that's so good. Shit you're so good at that, mi vida.” His praises go straight to your core, making you speed up your actions.
The man tilts his head back and takes the cig out of his mouth, the end now getting dangerously close to his fingers, but he couldn't care less, all he cares about is the wet heat of your mouth already pushing him closer and closer to his orgasm. He takes one last drag and puts out the butt as it reaches his fingers, taking in a sharp inhale when you deepthroat him again just as it burns his finger tips. “Such a good fucktoy, goddamn angel…”
His groans get louder, your head now bobbing up and down on him rhythmically as you twist your fist around his throbbing length in just the right way.
Hand joining the other, he pushes you down once, then twice. “Just a little more darlin’, ya can do it, I know ya can—,” his pants are heavy, low moans cut off by gasps. “Gonna come down that pretty throat, just a little further, sweetheart.” You feel his hips lift off the window sill and towards your face, the gesture making you choke a bit before you take him fully again, fingernails digging into his plump thighs enough to leave marks as your face scrunches up.
It's only a few more seconds and he's coming down your throat, just as he said he would. You can barely taste the saltiness as he moans loudly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat with his back arched enough to feel his tummy on your forehead. You pull off after a few moments with gasps, your chest rising and falling quickly as you take in the air you'd briefly missed out on.
“Ay cariño… ‘m sorry, are ya ok?” Jake's gaze is still lidded and dopey, though a lot softer now, and you feel his thumb run over your cheek.
“Yes,” you say hoarsely, giggling afterwards at the sound of your voice while you wipe the spit from your chin. “It was hot. I liked it, honey, don't worry.”
He sighs, a smile replacing the worried frown his had on his face just seconds before. “Ah, good, angel,” he leans down and kisses you, not caring about the taste of himself on your lips. “You owe me an orgasm though.” You mumble on his lips, feeling the low chuckle rumble in his chest as he joins you on the floor without even pulling away from your plump lips.
”I can do that, cariño.”
+.。゚:;。+゚+。::゚。:.゚。+。+.。゚:;。+゚+。::゚。:.゚。
Jake hasn't been out since that morning, and now it's getting to 3 days, and you're worried.
Did your odd little kink freak him out? Maybe the thought that his lover gets off on him damaging his lungs made him uncomfortable.— No, that's not the sexy part, because that WOULD be weird. It's watching him carefully, masterfully, assemble the tobacco. Watching the way he rolls it between his thick digits and runs his tongue over the edge before lighting it. You'd noticed how his eyes close in satisfaction with that first drag, and how his eyelids lower to a more relaxed manner, giving him that deadly lidded gaze that is sure to be the death of you.
The presence creeping up behind you breaks your train of thought, and you sigh contentedly as you feel large, warm hands run over your shoulders tenderly. You drag your eyes away from the tv screen to tilt your head back and look at one of your boyfriends, whichever one it is.
Jake always insisted on growing his facial hair out, but Marc and Steven are so strongly against it that you'd think they have some kind of personal vendetta against it. That being said, it's hard to tell them apart sometimes, especially when you're looking at them upside down.
“Hello, handsome.”
“Hello, angel.”
Blood instantly rushes to your face, and you know Jake notices it, given the way his lips quirk into a grin.
“Took you long enough…” You mumble softly, lifting your head to avoid his burning gaze.
“Ay, I know I know. I ain't really got an excuse.” He gives your shoulder one last pat before moving around to the couch and placing himself down next to you, arm promptly resting on the couch behind your head. “Did ya miss me, though?” His fingers toy with your ear, a gesture that he'd quickly and delightedly learnt annoys you.
Your silence is met by a dark chuckle from the man. “Did ya miss these?” The sound of cardboard rustling grabs your attention, your head slowly turning towards him before your eyes focus on the box of cigarettes in front of you.
“I thought you didn't like ‘pre-rolled bullshit'.” You quote his words with a scoff to hide the excitement already bubbling up inside you.
“I don't, but they come in handy, don't they? ‘Specially if I'm tryna rile ya up again.”
His left leg is crossed over the other in a casual sitting position, body angled towards you invitingly with his arms spread wide enough to make his t-shirt stretch across his toned chest.
“So… you didn't find it weird then?” Voice tentative, you shuffle over to him, having missed his tight bear hugs and calming tone of voice… even if his cockiness does get on your nerves sometimes.
A small frown replaces the grin that almost constantly adorned his face. “No, mi vida, ‘course not.” His hand reaches towards your face, calloused thumb running under your eyes softly. “I'm just as into it as you are, hell, I thought that was obvious.” His low chuckle makes your chest warm and a smile break the pouty look you had plastered across your face, especially when he leans in to kiss your forehead.
“Thank fucking god.”
A deep laugh from your boyfriend only makes your face and body grow warmer, the smile widening before you lean into his lips to place a kiss on them.
“Ya could've spoken to the other two.” He says, hands resting on your waist to pull you closer for a cuddle.
“Didn't wanna worry them.” It's almost remarkable how quickly you melt into their arms, quicker than you have with any other person… ever, really.
Jake's fingers trace your face gently, eyes roaming all over your features and drinking them in as if he hasn't seen you in years. “Ay cariño, you're too kind for ya own good.” He chuckles softly, pressing another, slightly longer kiss on your lips.
That slightly longer turns into much longer, which then turns into you panting into eachothers's mouth, craving one another as if it's integral to your survival.
“Please do it again, honey, wanna see you do it again.”
The friction from your bodies grinding relentlessly together has him dazed, his brain taking a few seconds to compute.
“Oh, angel, so impatient,” he teases as he grabs the box of cigs from the table and pulls one out. He runs it under his nose and takes a big whiff, letting out a loud, pleasured groan afterwards to make you giggle at his silliness, which you do.
You bite your lip, and he puts the stick between his rosy lips, looking up at you hungrily. “This what ya wanted, darlin’? ‘S this what you've been waitin’ for?” His tone is almost condescending, but his words roll off of his tongue in such a smooth way that you're quick to forgive him.
Your hips automatically grind down on him as you nod, biting your lip hard, before you feel his hands land on your waist again, traveling underneath your shirt and over your warm skin until you feel his fingers just brush over your left nipple. The hem of your shirt moves past your face before you can even think about it, your eyes still glued to his pretty mouth as you roll your hips on him to pull those soft grunts from his throat.
“Look at ya, I've barely touched ya and you're all worked up.” He grins as he brings his hand down to the waistband of your sweats to slide them lovingly down your thighs. It's a little mortifying how you don't even question him, how you don't even need anymore working up thanks to a heated make-out session and the sight of the cig hanging from his lips loosely. You lift your ass to help him pull them down, your underwear following suit.
That's when you realize he hasn't even taken his grey t-shirt off, and you're stark naked in his lap.
“This has got to have a name...” You rest your hands on his chest, the feeling of your bare cunt grinding against his jeans making you tilt your head back.
“Hmm?” He asks, undoing his belt buckle and fly.
“Your thing for having me completely naked while you can't even be bothered to take your shirt off.”
He laughs at that. “Maybe, ya should look it up later. See if it's on that woman's TikTok page.” He pulls his twitching cock out of the confines of his boxers, running his thumb over the ruddy tip. The gesture makes you take in a soft inhale, inching your hips closer to him so you can let his cock slide between your folds and through your arousal.
You both groan at the movement, and you watch Jake shuffle in his pocket for his lighter moments later, bringing the small flame to the end of the cig to light it. His chest expands, and then deflates as he blows the smoke away.
“You're so gorgeous, mi vida.” He says softly, two fingers holding the cigarette tightly as he runs them across your flesh to make goosebumps prickle across your arms and your cheeks heat up.
“And you're so handsome, Jakey.” You moan softly as he brings his mouth close to your chest and places kisses all over the expanse of skin, guiding your hand down between your bodies to help him slide inside you.
He pulls away and places the stick between his lips again to take in another drag and admire the picture in front of him. “Such a pretty angel,” he reiterates, feeling your warmth envelop his aching length as you sink down on him.
Your thighs shudder just a little, a pant escaping your lips as your hole stretches around him with ease, used to their girth by now.
“Love the dumb little look on ya face when ya take it, cariño. Ya like havin’ me stretch ya open like this?” Jake's words travel straight to your core, fueling the fire in your tummy as you lift your hips just to sink back down on him.
“Yes, baby, I love the way you stretch me open.”
The moan that comes from his lips is wonderful, and it's followed by another billow of smoke, the cig back in the corner of his mouth so he can guide your hips. You can see him already gritting his teeth around it, taking in sharp inhales as you start a deep rhythm on him.
“Oh baby…” You moan. You desperately want to close your eyes to enjoy the feeling, but the sight of him fucking you with that deathstick between his teeth is too glorious, penance for the time you spent worrying. “Shit, you look so hot, Jake. So fucking sexy…” You groan as he grasps your ass, gripping the flesh and dragging you down on his cock with growls.
“Ya look even better takin’ it, darlin’, ya take it so well; my pretty slut.”
You grip his shoulders, cursing him for being able to push your buttons and make you whine at the most humiliating of names. Your body always tells him different, though, especially as you start bouncing faster on his cock, feeling it hit that fucking sweet spot each time you come down on him.
Jake is panting too now, and he has to hold the cig between his fingers again to stop it from dropping on you. “Ya feel so good squeezin’ me like that, cariño… Fuck this cunt is magical–.” He still has a grip on your hip, and uses it as leverage so that he can start bucking his hips into your wet heat.
Needless to say, you aren't going to last much longer.
“J-ake! Honey… Fuck I'm so close–agh!-.” Your walls clench around him while your hand slips between your legs to circle your clit, eyes opening briefly to get a glimpse at the sight you'd been waiting to see for what felt like weeks.
That's it, that's all you needed as you sink down on him and grind your cunt against your hand, panting and moaning with your head thrown back. Waves of pleasure rush over you and soak through your bones entirely, your toes clenching like your walls.
You release the grip you had on his shoulders, not that he seemed to mind, that is, before leaning forward to kiss him. You don't care about the smokey taste on his tongue because all you want is him, his taste.
“Mmnnn… We ain't done yet, darlin’,” Jake pulls from the kiss and gestures to the half burnt cigarette as he places it back between his lips.
He gropes your waist and pulls you off of his cock with a soft yelp from you, instead pressing you down into the couch, face turned outwards so he can lean down and look at your face. This position always makes you whine, always makes your legs shake as you try to keep yourself up, and Jake never goes easy on you. He likes seeing the way your ass and thighs bounce as he brings you back on him, and loves hearing the filthy noises that are produced in the process.
The feeling of him splitting you open again has you biting on the cushion, your thoughts from before being true as he ruthlessly fucks into you, loud growls and grunts rumbling in his chest and ringing in your ears.
It's hard to ignore how good it makes you feel when he uses you like this. Sure you love the soft and tender moments you get with the three of them, but once you'd felt what they can really do to you, there was no going back.
You're surprised you haven't ripped the cushion cover from how hard you're gripping it, dumb, cock drunk whines and whimpers falling from your lips as the man fucks you closer and closer to another orgasm.
He leans over you, cigarette barely staying between his lips as he watches your eyes screw shut and random gibberish fall from your mouth.
“Ay, my pretty little fucktoy. Ya love it when I'm rough with ya, don't ya?” He pants and strokes his hand down your chest, running all the way down your tummy till he reaches your swollen clit. “Love it when I… when I use ya.”
His strong and composed facade is faltering, just as it usually does when he's getting close, sitting up again to throw his head back and take puffs of his almost completely gone cigarette.
You can see colours dancing behind your eyelids with how tightly they're screwed shut, the way his fingers are rubbing your clit being almost unbearable as you let out cries and pleas to come again.
“Yeah cariño, that's it, cum all over my cock, lemme feel ya twitch.”
An even stronger wave than before crashes over you and wracks your whole body. Your moans get stuck in your throat as you milk Jake of all he has, his own orgasm having hit him after you'd shrieked his name.
Thankfully, he's quick to remove his fingers from your throbbing clit, knowing it gets a little too sensitive after two mind-blowing orgasms.
”AH FUCK-”
Your post-nut bliss is interrupted by a pained yelp from the man, making you crane your neck to look back at him frantically pulling the cigarette butt from his lips and putting it out in the ashtray.
You laugh, albeit sleepily, and watch his dopey gaze drift to yours as he chuckles lowly. “Fuckin’ cigarettes… maybe next time I should get some of those fake ones.” He jokes as he pulls out of you and touches his sore lips.
You giggle and sit up wobbly, turning to wrap your arms around his neck. “I did think when we started that it was a little dangerous.”
“Ay, ya live and ya learn.”
You both laugh and Jake presses his face into your neck, placing soft kisses as he falls back against the couch with a thump, taking you with him.
...........................................................................
Tags 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @ominoose @mynamesstevenwithav @rinverse
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snowsonlylove · 10 months ago
Note
hii!! i commented about making a fic of coryo w or about the song haunted by beyonce, i was thinking maybe something smut if ur comfortable! if not its okay but the fic could be academy!coriolanus x academy!reader and theyre school rivals both working hard to beat each other and theyre obsessed with each other but they hide it with the fact they wanna win but they j wanna fuck (or get together) maybe theyre both possessive and jealous or coryo is the one thats really extra with it,, the story could go rlly slow too and then theres just a part where the facade and tension goes away and theyre needing each other so badly at that moment rushing everything, just like how the song goes idk if i made any sense :o im so excited to see the result!! this song just gives me coriolanus vibes
You Must Be Haunting Me..
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a/n note: hii!! yes, i loved your idea and i mostly stayed with your vision, only changing some minor things so the situation makes sense and dw i managed to deliver 🫡 hopefully you like it!! tysm for your idea and i look forward to seeing if there are some things you want to expand on (maybe with little blurbs on this dynamic bc i absolutely LOVE this trope!) & i'm totally comfortable with smut so dw about sending me kinky asks or requests. i totally accept them!!
Pairing: Academy!Coriolanus Snow x AcademyRival!Reader
Summary: Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow have been academic rivals ever since the beginning of their journey in the Academy. It’s no secret that both Y/N and Coriolanus are the two top students of the Academy, both of them only being able to beat each other, the rest are just no competition for them. However, they genuinely have no idea why they're doing this constant battle against each other. Little did they know, both of them always think about each other behind closed doors and are obsessed with each other, each equally impressed at the other at how intelligent they are. One day, things just boil over with how Coriolanus constantly riles Y/N up and they explode in a huge fight which results in a turmoil of deep, rough and passionate sex. 
Fic Type: Smut (NSFW) 18+, Enemies to Lovers trope, dramatic behaviour from both of them, a wee bit of angst (mostly derived from the name-calling but in my head this is more funny than it is angsty 😭😭😭)
Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t do this guys, use a condom. reader is on birth control), rough pushing, harsh words used from both Y/N and Coriolanus, degradation (use of whore), cunnilingus (female receiving), squirting, lmk if i missed anything else
Word Count: 2k
I do not own Coriolanus Snow or Y/N Y/L/N (cuz it’s you, boo). All credits go to Suzanne Collins and her team. Song credits also go to Beyonce and her team. 
I do not allow my works to be republished or translated under any circumstances. Any instances of this happening and YOU WILL BE BLOCKEDDD. 
Also, ageless and empty blogs will be BLOCKED as this is a 18+ fic. Report my fics and you’re blocked cuz if u don’t like it, LEAVEEEE.
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Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow began this disastrous journey from the age of 11-12. Both students entered the Academy with an air of poise and elitism about them as they knew what it took to defeat the competition in the Academy, most students not even being a possible candidate to them. It was all fine and well, until one year, Y/N and Coriolanus were put in the same class for the year, and the rivalry then started..
The first assignment of that year was an individual project on what each student thought the Capitol looked like during its earliest times. Each student was tasked with coming up with a drawing with their thoughts on said topic. This was their chance to go up against each other. Both Y/N and Coriolanus would stay up in the library after school and collect piles of books and do their research and by the time the task was due, Y/N and Coriolanus obviously submitted the best sketches.
After acknowledging this, the professor asked the class to vote for who’s sketch was the best. Small pieces of paper were given out to write either Y/N’s and Coriolanus’s names and as the professor then collected the papers, making both students anxious. As the professor counted the votes, Y/N’s heart was beating out of her chest, Coriolanus’s as well. It was then announced that Y/N won, which made Coriolanus furious as he spewed a full speech on how much he hated her. “You’d never be as good as what they say you are. You’re just dirt under my feet. God! You’re such a bitch!” He screamed as the professor and the class started at him in astonishment as they’ve never seen him lash out before.
Y/N was heartbroken when she heard this as sometimes when Coriolanus wasn’t looking, Y/N would sneak glances towards him and she started to be enamoured by him. Their time together after hours in the library would usually end up in them having conversations about their day and this time together helped them bond better. With this in mind, Y/N truly thought Coriolanus was at least civil enough to be respectful towards her. Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes as she ran out of the classroom, the professor telling her to wait.
Coriolanus, still blind with rage, kept on screaming and yelling obscenities about Y/N as he stormed off to his seat, his face red and his whole demeanour fueling with rage. Unfortunately, this fateful day was what started the vicious rivalry between Y/N and Coriolanus as the two would fight over who got the better grades, which teacher favoured which student more, the differences in their scores in each assignment every single day.
As of current, both Y/N and Coriolanus are 18 and in the midst of graduating. One of their last assignments was unfortunately a pair assignment. Dr Gaul once scoped out the Academy and witnessed one of the fights between Y/N and Coriolanus and she noticed how by getting them near each other, she could make them into the power couple of Panem and have them continue the Hunger Games, which inspired her to whisper in the ear of Dean Highbottom to get them to be in the same class and for them to share a table together until they graduated. Both Y/N and Coriolanus were very unhappy about this, both choosing to ignore each other while they were in their seats. 
With both of them getting older, both Y/N and Coriolanus started noticing certain things about them. Coriolanus noticed how Y/N’s facial features were more prominent, how her ass got bigger, her breasts more plump, making him unable to control a certain urge at times which led him to mastrubate thinking about her sometimes. Y/N also noticed a few things about Coriolanus. How he started to grow muscles, how they cling to his academy uniform whenever he took off his academy jacket, how his jaw was sharper, how his nose was becoming more emphasised, how he lost his baby fat. She can honestly go forever and forever about how attractive he is.
That being said, there was one particular day where everything just blew over the water. Y/N and Coriolanus were taking notes during Dean Highbottom’s lecture when Y/N felt Coriolanus’s elbow dig into her arms whenever they got to writing. This obviously made Y/N frustrated as she harshly whispered to Coriolanus to stop a few times, which led to a hushed debate between the two before it grew louder and louder until they were screaming at each other, making the whole class look at them and Dean Highbottom staring at them in shock before yelling for them to stop and stay after class for detention.
Both Y/N and Coriolanus felt embarrassed as they were lectured by Dean Highbottom after class before an assistant of Dean Highbottom requested him to join Dr Gaul for a meeting about the Hunger Games. Dean Highbottom sighed as he looked at the two young teenagers, “Look.. I feel that you two are now old enough to know what is acceptable behaviour in class. I’ll be back soon, do not kill each other while I’m gone.” As Highbottom left the classroom, the tense atmosphere began to build as the door closed behind him.
Almost immediately after he left, Y/N and Coriolanus stared at each other with the most hateful expression ever. Y/N menacingly glared at him while saying with gritted teeth, “See, Coriolanus! If you’re long ass elbow didn’t fucking dig in my arm every single time, that old fart wouldn’t lecture us for one fucking hour! My god, you’re truly dumb!” Coriolanus glared at her before stating, “It’s not my fucking fault that happened with you were taking over the whole goddamn table with your arms everywhere! Geez, Y/N! I thought you’d be more modest!”
Y/N looked at him, shocked, “ME?!! You’re blaming ME for something YOU did! That is so fucking misogynistic coming from you, a man! I swear to god, this is discrimination towards women at its core! Grow the fuck up, Coriolanus! We’re not children anymore! God! I’d be spending my time with Sejanus right now if it weren’t for your stubborn ass!” Y/N huffed while rolling her eyes. Coriolanus stared at her, his face full of jealousy before gritting out, “Sejanus? What the fuck are you doing with Sejanus?! You’re such a fucking whore! Ugh, you’re such a bitch!” Y/N looked at him, offended, “Bitch, weren’t you just fucking Clemensia a few weeks ago? Yeah, I heard about that! Everyone was practically talking about it! Don’t pretend to be so innocent, Coriolanus!”
Coriolanus looked at her, his expression turned dark as he stalked towards her, her taking a step back until her back had hit the wall. Coriolanus leaned towards her, lifting one of his arms to go above her, bringing the other hand towards her chin and lifting it. At this point, the height difference became very apparent as her head was tipped far back, her still glaring at him. “Are you baiting me, Y/N? You talk so much for someone who just fucked Felix Ravinstill of all people a few days ago..” Y/N continued to glare up at him, “At least I had the decency to keep it in my pants longer than you! God, I hate you!” Coriolanus looked taken aback as he muttered while leaning in to cup her cheeks, her face wiggling to be let out of his grip, “Well, I hate you too, sweetheart…” 
Coriolanus leaned in as he captured Y/N’s lips with his, their mouths fighting for dominance as they kissed each other as if they needed each other to breathe. The previous tension broke into a more sensual type of tension as Coriolanus wrapped his hands around her hair ravenously while Y/N’s hand made friends with the back of his neck. One of Coriolanus’s hands found its way to Y/N’s waist as he dragged her away from the wall, pushing her towards a nearby desk before propping her up on the desk and spreading her legs, allowing him to be closer to her, not once breaking their kiss. Y/N broke their kiss as she moved her lips to Coriolanus’s neck and trailed them down his Adam’s apple while taking off his blazer and unbuttoning his shirt, Coriolanus doing the same to her.
As they undressed each other, they continued to slide their tongues against each other, the sound echoing around the classroom. They managed to undress each other down to them both only wearing underwear before Coriolanus kneeled down so that he was face to face with the apex of her thighs. Coriolanus leaned in and captured his teeth to her underwear as he slowly pulled it down, revealing her aching, dripping pussy. Coriolanus licked his lips as he roughly shoved two fingers in her cavern as he curled his fingers in and out her folds, creating a beautiful sensation as he found her G-spot with no difficulty.
Y/N moaned as she threw her head back and slid her hands down to Coriolanus’s hair and tugged on it while pulling him closer to her heat. “Oh my gosh.. Coryo, it feels so good…” As he kept pumping his fingers in and out of her, he suddenly attached his lips onto her clit as he sucked on her clit and pumped his fingers harder, each movement feeling more and more intense for Y/N. He kept on going as he curled his fingers one final time, which made Y/N yell out as she squirted and covered his fingers with her wetness.
Y/N sighed in satisfaction as she helped Coriolanus up and gave him a deep, passionate kiss while tugging down his underwear and hooking her legs on the bottom of his back, Coriolanus leaned in closer as he aligned his erection with her heat, tapping his dick on her clit a few times before pushing his hardness in her heat. He only pushed in half of it when Y/N suddenly exclaimed, “Coryo, it’s too much! I can’t take all of it!” 
Coriolanus leaned down so his forehead was laying against hers before whispering in a comforting tone, “It will fit, Y/N. Trust me, trust me..” He closed his eyes as he leaned in to capture her lips with his as he pushed in slower this time, now being able to fill her pussy with his cock to the point where their hips were against each other. Coriolanus groaned as he slowly pulled out before thrusting in again, “Fuck, Y/N… You’re so good. Such a good girl..” 
Y/N moaned at hearing him praise her as he started to thrust his dick in faster, each time harder and rougher than the last. The room started to echo with the sound of her moaning, his groaning and the sound of skin slapping. Y/N closed her eyes as she moaned, her mouth forming an “O” shape as she threw her head back once more and arched her back, needing to feel closer to him. Coriolanus wrapped his arms around her waist as he pulled her in closer and kissed his way all around her neck, leaving furious red hickeys which would soon turn purple.
The pace in which he was fucking her got rougher each time he would thrust his aching hard dick into her dripping pussy, the slapping sound really turning them on and his balls slapped to her ass, their moans becoming louder and louder each time. The furious force in which he was fucking her started to reach a boiling point as Coriolanus moaned, “Ugh.. I’m fucking cumming, Y/N. Oh.. You’re such a good girl. Such a tight and wet pussy..” 
“Ohh.. Coriolanus… So good, so deep… I’m gonna come, gonna come.. OH MY GODD!!” Y/N screamed as she came. Coriolanus groaned as he came inside her, sighing as he tried to bask in the afterglow of his orgasm, holding Y/N tight against his chest in the process. Y/N left kisses and hickeys around his neck as she looked up at him with a dazed but satisfied expression and kissed his lips however, this time the kiss shared between them wasn’t one full of hate, it was one full of love.
As they pulled away from each other and started to get dressed, Coriolanus faced Y/N and said, “You know, if you wanted to fuck me, you could’ve said so.” He said with a smirk. Y/N turned to look at him, acting shocked as she huffed in feign frustration, “Oh shut up, Coriolanus!” She smacked his chest as both of them gave each other a silly grin before hurling in laughter.
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risottofan7 · 2 years ago
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skizzisms list bc i felt like making a list (still adding on regularly so make sure to check og post if youre using this as a reference or something)
boat -> butt
okay? -> mmguh
flak -> static
DNR -> dinner roll
super dupe pooper scoop
get out of here you piece of JUNK!!!!!
[movie/song/tv show reference] whats that from 😏☺️
singing randomly
ooohuhuhu….ooo…
wuoh
nooch!
nooch. snoogins.
hup + bop (note that bop is mostly an impulseism but skizz has picked it up too)
you can bop if you so choose
saying single words/short sentences in a very abrupt way sometimes
jerk!
nicknames! eg: dipple dop, (tango) top, etc
mister doctor professor [name]
yeah babyy!
(high pitched voice effect) kevin bubbles malone refrigerator jimmy madeye dugan mug
messing with his poker chips while he talks
you’re amazing!
hungy dungy wungy chunky monkey
not an -ism but definitely a skizz thing: skompass (skizzleman compass) aka single blocks with torches on them that act like a breadcrumb trail
do/say x with my/your face
alriiight!
come on cletus
that’s what i’m talking about or that’s what i’m talking aboot
that’s for true
ah poopy :(
stop messing around (after messing around himself)
not really as common i think but sometimes he’ll put something in basic terms, and then say some variation of “but let me explain”/“what I mean by that is”/etc. (e.g. “Tango…you are such a perfectionist, but let me expand on this:…” in this stream)
there’s your thumbnail!
do you Need to take a Poopy. (phasmo)
(to the tune of “when the moon hits your eye…”) THAT’s moroiii (phasmo)
prreow. brrow (meowing. kind of.)
CRIT!!!!!!
makinabaaaabyyy
hi. how you doin'.
calling wardens "warden g"
you're amazing!
what's up!!
Ghoulie ghosty come out to play
(mimicking grian using the spirit box) are you heeyah
___ for a tick
you're not watching
im gonna leave that/leave it! (when he holds back on the opportunity to make a dirty joke)
___ is top shelf
combining two sentences into one longer sentence by just removing the pause for a period and continuing in the same cadence
sometimes will interject "oh" in a fully different tone at the end of a sentence. i have yet to figure out the pattern for it if there is one
Additions from notes:
random sounds while thinking (ex: lethr lethr lethr lethr)
What’s that gonna do?
great question newman!
in addition to “what’s that from”, Name it!
homie buddeh
“The Skizz”
HUYEAYUH/making faces along with that and other stream sfx
thats the first time in human history anyone has said that
in addition to you can bop if you so choose, singing the actual you can bop if you want to safety dance parody
mmmbye
(fns) you’re legit/are you legit?
(fns) come on knock on our doooor we’ll be waitin’ for youuu (in vc to bug the imposter) (part of the random singing point)
(fns) ope! crewmate again!
(fns) make-sure-to-eat-fruit (doing simon says)
DANGIIIIIT
what im gonnna dooo….
num-a-nums
well i Did/Am.
show me [item] salad!
the face he makes where his eyes go really wide and he tucks his chin in and stares
calling people he finds cool "cats"
referring to his face as his handsome mug
will sometimes not actually make his point yet before adding "you know what i mean?" as if there was a meaning to be had
claims he would never do something to someone that they did to him, despite the fact that he had or would do exactly that
lmk if i missed anything and i can add it Smile emoji
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shellswritesstuff · 1 year ago
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hi, hear me out. johnny with a s/o he meets at wu shi? like they are also a part of the earthrealm gang. THANK YOU!
(YES. OKAY OKAY I SEE THE VISION. I loooove the idea of reader being part of the main group, if you want more lmk,, id love to expand on this.)
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Johnny Cage/Reader - Wu Shi Romance (HCS!) (SFW.)
𖦹 When you first arrived at the Wu Shi Academy, you felt at peace. A bit hopeful for the fights to come. You were eager to meet your teammates, those who would take on such a task to defend Earthrealm must be great people.
𖦹 You were right! For the most part...
Kung Lao, Kenshi, and Raiden were all here on their own volition. Their own personal missions and reasons for being here were noble, and you respected them. A friendship would soon blossom.
𖦹 And then there was Johnny Cage. Movie star, model, self-proclaimed 'sexy pants.' Being from Earthrealm, you knew exactly who he was. You've heard quite a bit too.. some things worse than others. 𖦹 You were a fan! Johnny's movies were some of your favorites, and now you get to meet the guy. You were excited to train in the same place as him, maybe even learn a thing or two!
𖦹 All of this was true... until he opened his mouth.
"Well hello there, pretty lady." Johnny waltzed up to you with what was either confidence or stupidity. (You'd soon come to know it was a mix of both.) "I know you're new here and all.." He raised his left arm, flexing for you.
"So, if you're ever in need of a sparring partner.." A mental note to kick his ass was taken. "...I'd be a luckiest man in the academy to get my hands on you."
This guy cant be for real right? The only way this could get any worse is if he... WINK! There it is. 𖦹 For next few months, you'd be training under Liu Kang. Spending just about all of your time with the team. (If you want more about their relationship developing lmk! I'm planning on making a drabble or maybe a slow burn!)
At first, Johnny's flirting was non-stop. Jabs between training sessions, compliments via passed notes during the monk's lectures, you name it - he's tried it. Though, his antics never failed to make you smile. It was harmless, and on days where you couldn't bare even your own company.. he was surpisingly... docile. (As well as he could be.)
𖦹 "I'm not feeling it today, Cage." You let out a huge sigh, adjusting your wrist wraps. "I'd give anything to have slept in. It's not my day, as I bet you can see." That morning, Liu Kang had you all run around Wu Shi, only stopping to do various fights. You'd felt sick from the moment you woke up, if you can call little sleep you've had rest.
Johnny had caught up to your speed, running beside you. He had said some pun about how we're 'running' out of time before the tournament. You'd at least cringe and maybe even laugh, but he only got a huff in reply. You thought he'd poke you some more, add to the impending migraine coming your way. Much to your surprise, he just ran faster.
"OH!" He collapsed to the ground, catching the attention of a few passing monks. "OH THE HUMANITY! I THINK I MAY HAVE.." Johnny winked at you before grasping his side. "PULLED A HAMMY! THIS.. THIS IS IT FOR ME.. OH IF ONLY SOMEONE WOULD HELP ME." He reached out his hand for dramatic effect as people surrounded him.
The training drill was swiftly cancelled for the day.
After dinner that night, you found yourself at 'injured' Johnny's door.
"Knock knock." You made your presence known as you slid open the sliding door. "Feeling better after pulling that hammy?" Johnny sat up with ease, meeting your gaze as you leaned against the partition. "Learned that in Hollywood?"
"Who said I can't act, huh?" He grinned, pretending to shove dust off his sleeves. "More importantly, are you feeling better?"
𖦹 From that day on, you two would gradually grow closer. Sitting next to each other for breakfast and dinner, and even partnering up for sparring. He'd still insist on going easy on you, but after a few ass kicking later, Johnny would learn not to underestimate you.
(I have SOOO much to say, so I'll make this a two parter! Thank you soooo much for reading and my ask box is open!!)
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namyejuns · 7 months ago
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Can I request a Noah x Fem!Reader where she’s a member of PLAVE (the typical only girl in boy group scenario ;) ) and she’s getting shipped with Bamby, and he sees all those comments about her and Bamby and gets jealous of their interactions? Reader reassures him and it can be fluff or smut (you choose) 👁️ —🩷 anon.
hey!! thank u so much for my first ever plave request, i was so so excited to write this!!! i'll keep this fluff for now but i wouldn't mind expanding on it later with some smut........ just lmk if you'd be interested hehehe.. i kinda struggled with characterization so pls be kind!! // divider by @/adornedwithlight // requests open!!
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"Noah, sweetheart, please calm down," you pout, following him to the breakroom of your studio. Despite trying his best to keep it together, tears are tugging at his eyes - he's always been more of the melodramatic type.
Shutting the door behind the both of you, you lock it so no one else can barge in - they can think whatever they want to think is going on. The blonde refuses to face you, instead plops down in a chair with his back to you as he sips from his water bottle. Practice had been vigorous today, followed by another two hour broadcast, and it had definitely worn everyone out - likely why tensions and stress were a little higher than normal.
"Han Noah," you repeat, using his surname to convey that you're serious. This needs to be discussed.
"Go talk to Bonggu about it instead," he finally replies, crossing his arms and legs with a hmph.
"Excuse me?" you raise a brow.
"The whole world thinks you two belong together, right?" he scoffs. "Just go be with him already."
You sigh and roll your eyes. Drama queen, as always.
"Every comment on the lives is about how perfect the two of you are together," he sniffles. "Maybe it's true."
Coming up behind him, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and plant a kiss on his cheek.
"It's true that I love Bonggu very much," you start, etching a deeper frown into the blonde's face. "But not the way I love you, Noah. I don't dream about Bonggu every night, I don't count down the seconds until practice and lives are over so I can get my hand on Bonggu. Not the way I do with you, baby."
He grumbles but still stays silent, though you know you've already won him over again.
"You know the world doesn't know about us, Noah, and we have to live with that. We have to live with the fact that fans might fabricate things between me and Bamby, and with any other member they see fit that day. But I will never love them like I love you, okay?"
At this point, you think Noah is just smugly enjoying you waxing poetic about how much you love and adore him, but if it makes him happy, you'll do it. You'll do anything.
"Fine," your boyfriend finally gives in, and you sigh with a smile.
"Good," you giggle, making your way around his chair to plop in his lap and throw your arms around his neck, his hands settling on your hips. "My beautiful fairy princess." He guffaws and rolls his eyes.
"Your beautiful fairy princess who loves you very, very much," he replies, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "Thank you. And... sorry. That I got jealous."
"It's okay, sweetheart," you assure with a shake of your head. "I'm here for you, to reassure you, always. I'll never get tired of telling my adorable Noah how in love with him I am."
With that, you hear a loud banging on the door, and the groans of multiple tired men.
A voice that sounds remarkably like a man with gray and black hair pipes up. "You lovebirds done in there?"
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buckyispunk · 1 year ago
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Better Man
Alcoholic!Joel Miller x Reader
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masterlist
Summary: Falling in love with Joel Miller is heaven. It's leaving him and forcing yourself to move on that's hard. Inspired by Taylor Swift's "Better Man."
A/N: Very angsty, please don't read if you're not a fan of heartbreak! Huge shoutout to one of my fav authors, @macfrog, for the beta!
Warnings: alcoholism, smoking (cigarettes), Joel yelling and throwing things (he never hurts reader tho), Joel being mean, littering (just for the sake of the fic, please don’t in real life), idrk what else lmk if I'm missing anything please
Word Count: 2.2k
All lyric credit goes to T-Swift!!
Rain beats down against your car window. You watch water droplets roll down the glass. You’ve got the radio on, waiting for the storm to let up so you don’t get soaked on the walk into your apartment. A glint of red from the passenger side floor catches your eye. A carton of Marlboro cigarettes - Joel’s cigarettes. How long had they been there?
You’re walking into the bar with your friends when you see him for the first time, cigarette hanging between his lips. He’s leaning up against the brick wall, clad in faded jeans and a worn flannel. His grey hair is curling at the ends. He takes the cigarette between two fingers and pulls it from his mouth. His broad chest expands as he inhales deeply before blowing a cloud of smoke past his pink lips. Grey wisps linger in the humid Texas air as he calls out to you. 
“Hey darlin,’” he drops the cigarette and stomps it under a work boot, leaving a black, ashy stain on the concrete beneath. “‘S a nice outfit,” he nods his chin in gesture, “Can I buy you a drink?”
You had spent the rest of that night curled into his arm in a sticky booth seat, discussing childhood crushes, family trauma, and everything in between. The rest, as they say, had been history. Joel had picked you up the next weekend, flowers in hand and nervous sweat on his brow. His southern charm had you falling for him dangerously quickly. Luckily, he was just as head over heels for you - you could tell by the fascination in his eyes as he hung on to your every word whenever you offered up new information about yourself, like he was a starved man and your words were his sustenance.
I waited on every careless word Hoping they might turn sweet again like it was in the beginning
The day Joel asked you to move in with him was one of the best of your life.
You open the door to his house to find him standing in the entryway, bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. His other hand is clutching something small, concealing it. 
“Hey, hon,” he shifts from foot to foot, “How was work?”
“Fine, babe,” you gesture to the flowers, “What’s all this?”
“I-um,” he scrunches his brows and hesitates for a moment, “so, you’re almost always over here already anyway. I want to spend as much time as possible with you. Want you cuddled up with me in our bed every night. Want to come home to you after a hard day at work. Want to be here to take care of you when you have bad days, too. I love you and I guess what I’m askin’, darlin’, is if you’d move in with me?”
He unfurls his other hand, presenting a key. You quirk a brow in surprise. 
“Oh my gosh, Joel,” you stare at him in disbelief as his expression turns into one of nerves and anticipation. 
“Yes!” you practically screech, excitement flooding your body. 
You run over to Joel and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face into his strong chest. Joel sets the flowers down on the nearest surface and embraces you with one arm. His other hand lowers to slip the house key into your pants’ pocket. 
After that, he had carried you upstairs and made love to you. You fell asleep in Joel’s doting embrace as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. Living with Joel had been everything he’d promised. Until it wasn’t. It had been when he and his crew were working on a particularly rough job that things started to change. 
He transitioned from drinking on special occasions or when out with friends to having a beer or two every night with dinner. You didn’t think too much of it at first. It was only when he started downing several glasses of whiskey a night that you got concerned. You asked him about it, wondering why the sudden change. I just need it to help me relax after work, hon. He’d promised you that it wasn’t an issue, this is just a really hard job. He brushed you off every time you’d tried to talk to him about it.
His drinking started to come between the two of you. He would opt to have a beer and watch football rather than spend time or share conversation with you. On nights when there wasn’t a game on, he’d go out to the bar - sometimes with buddies from work, sometimes alone. 
He was too tired to take you out, too stressed to do anything more than press a chaste kiss to your lips once in a while. He began to get irritated easily - the two of you found yourself arguing over meaningless things often. It seemed the only time he wasn’t complaining was when he had a drink in his hand. He’d passed out in his recliner watching TV nearly every night during that project. You’d lie in bed and fall asleep waiting for his side of the mattress to dip with his weight, only to wake up the next morning and find him gone for work.
When the project ended and he had some time off, you expected him to lighten up on the drinking. With all the extra time he had, things only got worse. You’d leave for work and he would still be asleep. You would come home every night to find him with a beer bottle in hand and empty ones at his feet.
Talking down to me like I’d always be around Push my love away like it was some kind of loaded gun
One night, you’d tried, for what seemed like the hundredth time, to talk to him about it. 
You come home after a long day of work to find Joel snoring in his recliner. He’s wearing boxers and a t-shirt - he hardly ever gets dressed anymore. It’s times like these when you could almost pretend everything is normal. That he’ll hear you and wake up. That he’ll jump up and give you a hug, make you dinner, ask you about work. Instead, you watch a string of drool run down his chin.
You make your way over to him and gently remove the bottle from his hand, setting it on the table. You run a hand through his hair and shake his shoulder, rousing him. 
“Oh, hey,” he hiccups. 
You can smell the alcohol on his breath. You hear his stomach rumble and wonder whether he’d even bothered to eat anything today. 
“Hey, babe,” you muster the most sincere smile you can, foolishly hoping that you might get one in return. 
He looks past you and grabs the bottle from the table. 
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink today, baby? How about I make us some dinner, we can sit and eat together like we used to,” you offer. 
You reach to take the sweating bottle from him, but he raises a hand to stop you.
“I jus’ wanted to finish watching the game, babe. How ‘bout t’morrow?” he slurs. 
“Joel I really think you should see someone about the drinking. It’s not healthy for you. I love you and I miss you. I want to help you, baby.”
He stands from the chair, grip tightening on his bottle.
“I know my own fuckin’ limits, thank ya very much,”  his sharp tone makes you flinch. 
“Can you at least eat something? This isn’t good for you.” 
“Jesus, will you just leave me alone?” his lips wrap around the opening of the bottle and he turns the bottle up, letting the rest of the alcohol pour down his throat. He turns to walk away from you and you reach a hand out to grab his forearm.
“I’ll make you your favorite dinner, Joel. It’s been months, baby. You said you’d lay off the drinking after the one job, but it’s just gotten worse. You haven’t been working and it’s not healthy for you to stay in the house and drink all day,” you try to reason. “I’ll make dinner for us and we can go to bed together.”
You look into his eyes, searching for a sliver of the man you love. You remember the way he used to look at you as if he would gladly let his heart break into a million little pieces, as long as you were the one shattering it. As if he would do everything in his power, and then some, just to put a smile on your face. As if he would face his demise head on if you were the sight burned into the back of his eyelids as he faded.
Your search is futile. The only thing you find in his dark, bloodshot eyes is something you’re too afraid to call contempt. He lets out an exasperated sigh and mutters your name, “I just want some time to myself. You’re always nagging me about the drinking. It’s not a big deal. I’m just stressed all the time and you’re really not helping. Could you just quit being annoying for once?” He runs a hand through the scruff on his chin.
You drop your hand from his arm as if his skin had scorched you. His words settle like a heavy weight on your chest, keeping you from drawing a full breath. It’s as if his heart holds nothing but distaste for you. You look up at him with watery eyes and try to remember the last time he had even told you he loved you.
“I can’t keep doing this, Joel. I’m going to leave if you don’t get help. Neither of us are happy anymore. Can you please just talk to someone so we can go back to the way things used to be? You can be happy without the alcohol,” you plead with him, trying desperately to reach the Joel that you know is in there somewhere. The Joel you hope is in there, anyway. 
“Will you stop it?” his voice is violently angry, “I don’t need fuckin’ help, I just need to be left the fuck alone!” his southern drawl booms throughout the room.
You startle at his sudden outburst, flinching away from him. You feel your eyes overflow, salty tears leaving wet trails down your cheeks. 
“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters before turning to the wall. He raises his empty bottle and tightens his fist around it. He pulls his arm back and launches the bottle at the wall. It shatters and sends glass flying everywhere. You stand, watching in shock. 
“Joel,” your mouth drops and you step away from him. 
Joel has never hit you. Hell, before tonight, he’d never even yelled at you. But the coldness in his eyes and the way he clenches his fist scares you. You turn and make for the door, wanting to leave before things escalate any more. Tears are streaming down your face as you twist the doorknob. You look back at him as you step out of the house. You see him shake his head as he grabs a bottle of whiskey off the shelf and you close the door behind you without another thought. 
You stayed at your friend’s house that night, sobbing as she told you to leave him. The next morning, you had stood on your front porch, bones heavy with dread, unsure of what you’d find when you opened the door. When you finally worked up the courage to push the door open, you’d been met with the sight of Joel sprawled face-down on the couch, snoring. 
He hadn’t woken as you quietly stepped inside and closed the door behind you. He hadn’t woken as you packed all your belongings into suitcases. He hadn’t woken as you left your house key, along with a tear-stained goodbye note, sitting on the table. He hadn’t woken as you rolled your suitcases outside, packed them into your car, and blocked his number on your cell phone before driving away from Joel. Away from home.  
I know why we had to say goodbye like the back of my hand But I just miss you and I just wish you were a better man
You let out a shaky exhale as you pick the pack of cigarettes up off of the floor. You squeeze your eyes shut and wish, for a moment, that things had never changed - that his hand is still splayed out across your thigh and he’s pouting in the passenger seat beside you, I should be the one driving. You’re supposed to be my passenger princess.
After fidgeting with the cardboard box for a minute, you decide that you’re sick of waiting for the storm to let up. You open the car door and step out into the rain. You release the carton and let it fall to the wet ground. Bringing a shoe down on top of the box, you crush it underneath your foot, as if trying to stomp out a flame - as if trying to stomp out the memories the cigarettes had ignited - and watch raindrops roll off of it. Without looking back, you turn and walk inside.
We might still be in love if you were a better man You would’ve been the one if you were a better man.
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dreamonseems · 2 years ago
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hello, i want to request but i don't know if you write imagines where reader is pregnant or dad! erling. so please lmk🤍
Good Strong Viking Name
Erling Haaland X Female Reader
Summary: Reader and Erling have their first baby.
Ok, I love this. I love dad, Erling. I myself want to have like 6 kids, so I love family fics, so I had such a fun time writing this.
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During the last trimester of her pregnancy, Y/N found herself eagerly awaiting the arrival of her little bundle of joy. She had reached a point where her body was thoroughly exhausted and constantly in pain, making every day a struggle. Her swollen feet and hands resembled balloons, causing her great discomfort.
To make matters worse, her once petite frame had expanded to a size that made her appear as if she were carrying twins - an idea that had been ruled out during her prenatal checkups.
Y/N couldn't help but wonder if the reason for her increased size was due to the baby's size, especially given that Erling, the father, was incredibly tall. Despite the discomfort and challenges she was facing, Y/N tried to stay positive and look forward to the day she would finally get to hold her little one in her arms.
Y/N was relishing in a relaxing bubble bath when she heard the front door open. She smiled to herself, knowing that her husband, Erling, had just arrived home from his training session. Suddenly, she saw him standing at the bathroom door, gazing at her in awe.
His eyes were filled with admiration for the little family they had created together, and he was brimming with excitement to meet their little one. Erling was proud of his beautiful wife for being so strong throughout the pregnancy, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to handle it if he was in her position.
When Y/N opened her eyes and saw Erling, she greeted him with a smile. "Hey, you're home," she said. Erling beamed in response, "I am. I just love watching you like this."
Y/N laughed and jokingly responded, "Let me give birth to this baby first before you put another one in me."
Erling approached the bathtub to help Y/N out, grabbing a towel to wrap around her.
"I definitely will put as many babies in you as you will let me. I want a whole football team," he teased, leaning down to give her a kiss.
He then lifted her up and walked them to their bedroom, where he gently laid her down on the bed and helped her dress.
After helping her dress up, "Can you go downstairs and grab my phone? It's in the kitchen," Y/N asked him.
"Of course, my love," Erling replied, eager to help.
As he made his way downstairs, Y/N felt something streaming down her legs. When she looked down, she noticed that her water had broken. Fear took over, and she began to panic, screaming for Erling to come quickly.
Erling raced up the stairs, his heart pounding with fear that something bad had happened. "My water broke," Y/N cried out, Erling himself started to panic, but he quickly stopped himself, knowing he needed to stay calm for both of them.
He quickly pulled out his phone, "I'll call the midwives."
"We are still a few weeks away from the due date," Y/N said, her voice shaking with fear.
Erling stopped and took her face in his hands, looking deep into her eyes. "Baby, calm down. Let's take a deep breath. I love you, and you're going to do great. You're strong, and you were born to do this. I'm here with you," he said, hoping to calm her down.
Y/N took a deep breath and felt her panic dissipate after hearing Erling's words. She knew that with his love and support, she could handle anything.
Y/N and Erling were excited and nervous for the home birth of their little one. They wanted to do things as naturally as possible and have all their loved ones there to support them in this vulnerable situation. They called their midwives and family members to join them in their living room, where the birthing pool was set up, and a safe and comfortable space was made for Y/N.
As Y/N's contractions became more intense and frequent, she got into the birthing pool and Erling held her close while the midwives encouraged her to push. She tried with all her might but exhaustion had taken over her, tears streaming down her face. "I can't do this," she cried out.
Erling held her tighter and kissed her forehead, "You can do this, my love. You're so close, just a few more pushes." His words gave her the strength to continue, and with a few more pushes, their baby was born. They heard the cries of their little one, and Y/N released the breath she had been holding. She had done it!
The midwife asked Erling if he wanted to cut the umbilical cord, and he eagerly did, tears streaming down his face as he held his son for the first time. They laid the baby on Y/N's chest, and the room erupted in cheers. "It's a boy! Congratulations!" exclaimed the midwives.
"He's so big, and he looks like you, Erling," Y/N said as she opened her eyes to look at their baby. Everyone in the room laughed, and Erling was overcome with emotion. This was undoubtedly the best day of his life.
One week after the birth of their son, Erling had a match for Manchester City, which they won. However, his mind was completely occupied with the thought of getting back home to his beloved wife, Y/N, and their adorable little bundle of joy.
After the game, he was interviewed by a reporter. The reporter asked him about the match, but before the interview was over, the reporter suddenly brought up the news of his son's birth.
Erling's face lit up with a smile, his heart overflowing with joy as he talked about Y/N and their newborn son. "Yes, she did an amazing job, and I'm so happy and excited to get back home to them," he said, his eyes shining with pride and love.
The reporter then asked the big question, "What did the great Erling Haaland name his son?"
Erling's smile grew even wider as he replied with enthusiasm, "Ragnar Alfie Haaland, a strong Viking name for our little warrior." The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and his eyes sparkled with love and admiration as he spoke of his son.
The reporter nodded, clearly impressed, and wrapped up the interview. Erling couldn't wait to get back home to Y/N and their little Ragnar, who he knew was already destined for greatness, just like his namesake.
504 notes · View notes
jakeyt · 10 months ago
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Covet: Chapter 10 (Part 1 of 2)
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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; extreme feelings of stress and anxiety; feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; allusions to a dark, forgotten childhood; therapy; EMDR therapy; arguing/raising of voices; heart issues (POTs); use of heart monitors; hemoglobin kits mentioned; jealousy; body changes as a result of pregnancy; negative self-talk; baby talk galore; pregnancy hormones (. . .but just wait for part 2 lol); reader continues being sad while she checks Jake out... but now we see jake being sad while he checks reader out lol; mild description of oral sex (m! receiving) (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)
Chapter Word Count: 27.4k+
a/n: hi, loves :) i am sorry for the wait! won't go into detail, but life is a mf beast rn, and i'm rolling w it the best i can. this is a hobby. and while it does take up the majority of my free time, it is also not my main job! so, please be patient as life isn’t easy!
without further ado, here is chapter 10, pt 1... you will get pt 2 tomorrow - it is all set and ready to upload, but i must let the anticipation rise after pt 1. ;)
part 1 includes a hell-ton of stuff that i've been waiting to write - and been waiting for you to read! eek! this chapter is the beginning of a ~new chapter~ in everyone's lives... so, strap in <3 things are about to get real interesting......
as usual, thank you to my lovely sister @joshym for being my encourager and for aiding in expanding on ideas when i feel stuck as hell lol i love you more than words can properly articulate <3
Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤 (i listen to it nonstop while i write this story.... all of the songs are pertinent to the plot and assist in telling it - either already or eventually.)
Covet Masterlist
-🌼🌼🌼-
"Conscience and covetousness are never to be reconciled; like fire and water they always destroy each other, according to the predominancy of the element."
-Jeremy Collier
-🌼🌼🌼-
November 17, 2022
After several moments of standing there, you started to feel very naked under Jake’s stare. 
The realization that you were still butt-fucking-naked under your towel had you wanting to escape the entire situation. It added one more reason why you wanted to hide in your room for all of eternity.
You didn’t know how to process what had just happened. . . All you knew was that any idea of a nice talk where you revealed the truth to him. . . Was gone. 
He knew now. And you were freaking the fuck out. 
-🌼🌼🌼-
Jake’s POV
There was no doubting her. Not for a single second. The baby was mine and I’d known it in my heart before I asked. 
I really just wanted to hear her say it. 
During our time together, just like she’d been it for me, I knew in my heart that I’d been it for her. I’d known her, backwards and forwards. And, within that time that I knew her so well, we’d become close. So close that, without meaning to make it—us— more, we’d made it more. 
I gave her a better look, not able to put into words what the fuck I was feeling. Let my eyes trail down her body, covered only by a towel. 
She adjusted her towel, tighter around her body. Was she self conscious? She shouldn’t have been. She was always beautiful. And I was afraid pregnancy was only going to enhance her beauty. . . I noticed as she tightened her towel, the action made her full breasts spill even more from the top of the towel. I averted my eyes, willing my dick to not react. Instead, I trained my eyes below, on her belly. 
And now that I knew, I could see. Even through the fluffiness of the towel, I could see a certain roundness to her belly that had never been there before. A full-blown bump. Still small by some standards, but big enough that I should have fucking noticed. 
Not able to help it, my eyes scanned her heaving chest, the tops of her tits fully exposed above the towel. It made so much sense why I’d noticed them looking bigger. . . Because they were bigger. Growing. Every day. To nourish our baby. 
Our baby.
I looked away from her. . . I couldn’t look at her right now. Not when she— when I. . . God.
How had I been so oblivious?! I lived with her for Christ’s sake. Was it my fault that I hadn’t allowed myself to be more present in her life? Was it because I was seeing Maya now? God. No. It wasn’t on me to watch for things like that anymore. Not since she’d told me that I’d served my purpose. That I was just convenient. . . And all of the other hateful shit she’d spit in my face that day in the kitchen. 
The day my heart fucking broke after pounding in my chest. . . Pleading with her to help me understand all of it. But she hadn't fucking stopped . . . Just kept going. Breaking me. Saying things I never, in a million years, ever wanted to hear from her. 
I’d let her become more in my life. I thought it was meant to last. Thought that she had become my someone. More than relationship. More than friends. She had just . . . Been there. She’d nestled into a place made just for her in my heart. Like she was supposed to have been there all along. 
I’d never wanted her to leave. But she’d wanted to. She’d put her foot down, not leaving any goddamn room for argument. 
And my heart. . . Fucking broken after beating the hardest it ever had in my chest. . . Shattered into an infinite number of tiny shards at my feet. I’d spent days picking up the shreds, my hands getting cut every time I tried to fix in me what she’d torn apart. There was a part of me that knew exactly why she’d done it. I fucking knew. Knew that she didn’t think she deserved happiness or some shit. But there was no use in entertaining what I knew when she refused to acknowledge the truth. 
The night we’d smoked and I’d told her that I— and then she’d told me that she— Jesus. The moment had been so real, so solid. . . The words had fallen from my lips without any hint of question. Even being under the influence, I felt the connection we’d made in that moment. I thought about the words everyday for weeks after I’d left the kitchen on that hellish day. 
Then there was the transcendental sex we’d had when we made it into her room that night. She’d been so wet, waiting for me. . . Fuck it all. Wait— not— no. The night we’d smoked. . . We hadn’t used protection. Was that when—?
The inside of my brain was just going fucking insane and I couldn’t— goddammit!
I ran a hand through my hair a couple of times, the other one still holding my keys. I  needed to do something with both of my hands. Besides balling them into fists and creating divets in one palm with my fingertips and the other with my keys.
I was tired of just standing there, in front of this woman I’d fallen for at a time when I thought I’d never wanted to love again. . . The same woman who’d shattered me. And, now, the very same woman who was carrying my child. . . 
There was no use in trying to organize any thoughts. Pacing seemed to be the only option. So, back and forth, back and forth, I walked in about a foot of space. Just waded in these uncharted fucking waters. All I knew at this moment was she was pregnant. And she’d lied to me about it. 
How long had she—? How far along was—?
And why in the hell had Josh known before me?! Of all fucking people . . . Fuck! 
“Jake,” her voice tore through the catastrophic mess of shit in my head. 
I didn’t look at her. How could I? When she’d left me in the dark. Once again, prioritized Josh over me. Even when it came to my child. Absolutely fucking incredible.
“Jake, please,” she muttered, voice cracking on the word please. My heart couldn’t handle the sound. “I can’t— I’m not in the right state of mind to just stand here and—.” I stopped pacing and peered up at her finally, my hair surely a mess around my hot face when I let my eyes pierce hers. 
But as soon as I made eye contact with her, I softened. I hated to see her cry. Hated it. And the sobs suddenly wracking her were unexpected. It hurt my heart to stand there and watch her like that. 
But— she’d brought this on herself. Right?! Fuck. 
As much as I wanted to walk to her and hug her, I didn’t. I stayed where I was, offering a half-assed look of pity. It wasn’t her turn to hurt over this. I was the one just finding out. Not her.
“Y/n,” I tried, weakly. But god it sucked to say her name right now. “Just— god. There are so many—.”
“Questions, I know,” she finished, walking a couple hesitant steps toward me. But I took two back, away from her. 
The way her body slacked at my action made me want to take it back. There were a lot of things I wanted to do. Some understandable, some not so much. I wanted to cry. Kiss her. Hug her. Feel her. Help her. Scream at her. 
But, she was right. I did have so many fucking questions. 
“How long?” I asked, breath shallow, never letting my eyes leave hers. 
She kept up, not looking away from me. “How long have I known? Or how long have I been—?”
“Both.”
“I—,” she stuttered, closing her eyes tight, her beautiful face contorted in what I could only assume was emotional turmoil. 
I watched as she balled her fists, clenching them a few times. Then, as she released them, she seemed to plant her feet firmly on the floor— her body, rigid and straight. 
When she opened her eyes and found mine again, I could clearly see the tears that had accumulated on her lashes. And her eyes, that would forever take my breath away, were daring to shed more of them.
“Don’t cry,” I couldn’t help but calmly reassure her, my voice soft as I went to stand closer to her again. Not close. Just— closer. “Just. . . keep going. Talk me through it. Talk us through it.” 
She breathed deeply, in and out, once. I strained to not let my eyes fall to her chest— to admire the way her fuller breasts would rise and fall. . . I resisted, focusing on her eyes. Her face, rivaling all gods of beauty. . . 
After taking one more calming breath, she began. “I’m three months along,” she paused momentarily, as if thinking of something. “Three months today, actually.”
Three months.
“And how long have you known?”
“I’ve known for about a month,” she responded, bringing her shoulders higher and sniffling once. She blinked once, tightening her fists once more. “That’s not to say I told anyone right away. I kept it to myself. I was scared. I didn’t know what the fuck to do.”
I let her words sit in the air for a few minutes, thought them through at least five times before I couldn’t keep the next question to myself any longer. 
“When did Josh find out?” 
Her jaw flexed as her fists bunched up; eyebrows, drawn together as she glanced down briefly, her eyes snapping back to mine. “Why the fuck is that important right now?”
Oh, she wanted to get angry? Okay.
“Seriously?” I said, my tone sharp as I pointed a finger at her. “You telling my brother about my baby before me is pretty fucking disheartening. Especially when I — fuck. You know why it’s important.”
“I’m sorry. . . I’m stuck on something you said. . . When you called it your baby,” she leveled, stepping toward me once. I didn’t move, only stood taller and sighed deeply, nostrils flared. “Please, tell me more. About how you’re the one who had to find out all by herself. And if you’re the one who had to find out all by herself, you’re probably also the one who’s going to have to stretch her body out to carry this baby for the next six months,” her voice rose with every word she spoke. She sighed, a smile shaking on her lips, yet lacking any positive emotion. “I must’ve fucking forgotten.”
All I could do was stare at her; because, in spite of all of that truth, I was still angry with her. She’d twisted my words. She knew what I fucking meant. 
She just wanted an opportunity to pin something on me in her moment of insecurity. 
It was definitely something she would do in a state of upset. Hell, it was something I would do. Without a thought. I was known for it. Could I be upset with her for doing the same thing? Dammit. I just felt conflicted as hell — didn’t know how to feel about it all. 
I was happy. Really. Truly. Completely over the moon ecstatic at getting to be a father. I just— I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea of it. All of the information, the reality of my life. . . It wasn’t sinking in worth shit. Though, at the same time, it felt so incredibly real. 
On the same hand, I also felt completely betrayed to not know a damned thing until this moment. It was fine that she waited to tell me. No question about that. But telling Josh before me still pissed me the fuck off. . . And it would until she understood why it made me so angry. 
She’d confided in him about the baby I helped her make. When she hadn’t even told me. Probably hadn’t even been planning on telling me anytime fucking soon. Because of her determination to keep me out of the loop when it came to our child, I’d had to find out on my own. By accident. 
All because I was a motherfucking identical twin. What were the chances of that shit?
I didn’t get to have a moment of joy at the thought of being a father because I was too busy reading how grateful she was for Josh amidst this pregnancy. All I could think about was how she hadn’t been grateful for me. Hadn’t been grateful enough to keep me in her life. 
She’d pushed me out. But not Josh. Definitely not Josh. She would never say to Josh what she said to me in the kitchen.
I couldn’t take it.
Unable to control my actions, I started acting before thinking. . . Not even looking at her, I focused only on the keys in my hand, still waiting for me to go somewhere. I had to go somewhere. Had to get the fuck out of the apartment that had brought me both my greatest days and my most heartbreaking. 
And this day was officially both.
Pulling the door open without even thinking about it, seeing through blurred tunnel vision, I heard her say my name, once again choking on sobs behind me. Even after I closed the door, she continued to wail my name. 
My heart was longing to stay back with her. Begging me to stay where I knew I needed to. The guilt was heavy. Baby or not, my heart yearned for the woman. Even when I shouldn’t want her, I did. And I really shouldn’t after what she’d said in the kitchen.
I knew it was a dick move to leave. I knew it. But I had to. Couldn’t explain it. So, with blurred vision and hearing her repeat my name and begging me not to leave, I continued down the cemented, outdoor hallway and to the stairs. 
End of Jake’s POV
-🌼🌼🌼-
Gone. Found out about it and then he was just. . . gone. 
You stood there long enough to let him walk back through the door. Until he might’ve come back, ready to make things right.
You waited too long. But when you started getting a chill from standing there in your towel, you were suddenly ready to put some clothes on. Ready to hide. Maybe Jake had the right idea to run away.
In the case he didn’t come back tonight, you didn’t want to be waiting for him all night, getting your hopes up. . . only to have them crushed.
Your heart was already burning in your chest, all the way down to the pit of your stomach, at the worry of him not returning.
-🌼🌼🌼-
You firmly decided on leaving for a bit. Follow his lead. You went about your business to get your ass out of your home before it swallowed you whole in your fears and worries of Jake.
But. . . driving sounded stupid as hell. You wouldn’t have been able to see past the clouds of tears in your eyes to safely arrive at your destination. And, as sad as you were, you weren’t sad enough to want to wreck your car. The baby’s life was the first you considered. But–then. . . you realized you had a burning desire to keep going for you, too. . . despite Jake leaving, you wanted to keep going. The sadness hadn’t completely overtaken you.
So, you’d wisely decided to schedule an Uber. And while you waited, you hastily pulled your cute gray sweatsuit (thank you, TikTok shop) onto your body as quickly as you could, making sure to put on a sports bra underneath to hold your boobs in place. They continued to hurt like hell. You really needed to get a maternity bra.
And then, after you’d fed Stevie, you waited for the Uber and prayed that it would show up before Jake got back home. 
Well. . .if he came back home tonight. It was very bold of you to just assume he would. Why would he want to return? Your own mother left you because you weren’t worth anything. And tonight, Jake had made it perfectly clear he felt the same way your mom had.
The Uber showed up in no time. . .sooner than you’d scheduled for it to arrive. 
As the black Toyota Solara finally came into view, you wiped your tears for the millionth time since Jake had left. The sobs that wracked your chest hadn’t stopped painting your cheeks since he’d walked out the door. Because, well, he had left you. The one person you wanted with you for this had left when you needed him most.
-🌼🌼🌼-
Applebee’s. The sign to the restaurant had you feeling the urge to do happy dance, even amidst your raging emotions. But you concealed it for the sake of your Uber driver.
For the past few days, you’d been craving their alfredo specifically. The fear of ruining it like you’d ruined so many other foods, had kept you from DoorDashing it. 
But tonight? Tonight you’d decided to treat yourself, and instead of being scared that you’d throw it all up, you took the chance. Thus, scheduling the Uber to drive you to fucking Applebee’s. Of all places.
You’d been sitting for probably five minutes at a booth (comfortably, but definitely lonely), when the rain started pouring down outside your booth’s window. 
And at approximately the same time, you noticed the large group of men around your age at the bar, backwards baseball caps and muscles presumably only huge from steroids. They were screaming at the top of their lungs as a football game droned on on the TV in front of them.
The rain, the jocks. . . made you long for your bed immediately. . . Made you wish you would have just stayed home to wallow for the sole opportunity of letting the thunder lull you to a (much needed) restful sleep. Though, based on the night’s events, you weren’t sure how peaceful that slumber would actually be. Or how quickly it would come.
Thankfully, the prospect of going home came as soon as you started longing for it. The young waitress came by to ask for your drink order, but you went ahead and ordered the alfredo you’d been craving – along with the soft pretzels and cheese which automatically stood out to you when you’d opened the menu. 
Now all you were hoping was that you wouldn’t end up vomiting your guts up over your toilet later. Or worse, all over an Uber driver. You were taking a chance. This was the first time you’d eaten out since starting your new journey of eating and nausea meds. 
Speaking of, you promptly popped a PregEase in your mouth, directly from the stash in your belt bag slung across your chest.
You were thankful for the meds, but at the moment, you were actually totally fine with risking it. The one reason being: food was working as a pretty fantastic distraction from your problems for the time being. So. . . you were letting it do its job.
When the waitress brought your water out to you, your phone started buzzing and ringing in your belt bag, succeeding in interrupting you thanking her. The reverberations felt so good against your boobs (don’t fucking judge); at this point, you were convinced your chest was bound to feel like two heavy bags of tiny nails, for the rest of your life. Nothing brought them relief, and the phone felt surprisingly nice.
She kindly smiled, bringing your attention back to her from your boobs, saying she'd be back soon with your appetizer. You responded with a similar smile to hers and went about balancing all of the shit in your belt bag to get your phone out. 
You figured it was probably Elsie. She was the one most likely to be calling you at this time of night. She was known for using the late hour to openly vent to you about her day. Though, since Josh, the calls had become fewer and fewer. 
Finally getting the phone out and peeking at the screen, you were suddenly wishing it was Elsie. Because, the name staring back at you was making your tummy feel like swirling electricity. 
The process of getting your phone out had taken long enough, though, that you’d missed the call completely. You weren’t sure if it was a bullet dodged or a missed opportunity you were instantaneously longing to happen again.
You didn’t have to contemplate it for too long before his name was lighting up your screen again. And it was admittedly weird seeing his name with your current lockscreen wallpaper. . . A couple days ago, you’d impulsively taken a picture of the sonogram picture from your first appointment and made it your wallpaper. 
What if you’d accidentally left your phone where he could find it? Damn. Were you wanting him to find out on his own? Was that going to be your pussy ass way of telling him? Or were you just being impulsive and dumb?
Once again, the call went to voicemail. Except, there wasn’t time for him to leave one with how quickly he was calling you back.
Goddamn, y/n. Answer, your inner encourager forced you impatiently.
Swallowing thickly, you went to slide your finger over to answer. Your body was swimming with an increasing amount of anxiety. But, you answered it.
“Hello?” You spoke faintly, your belly flip flopping. 
He’s probably calling to say he’s packing his shit and moving out.
“Where are you?!” He asked, his voice ragged and worried. Uneven with what could only be fear. “I got home and you weren’t here and I’m freaking the fuck out. Are you okay? Are you safe? Are you with someone?”
Wait. What? Why was he scared?
For some reason, you wanted to be obtuse and not answer his questions. Apparently you were just feeling like an asshole tonight. You didn’t know. You were just tired as hell and didn’t know how to approach him. You wanted to tell him. But, you didn’t.
“I’m fine. I’m just not home.”
“Y/n. Fucking duh. I just told you I’m here,” he replied, impatient but still concerned. “Where are you?”
“What if I don’t want to tell you?” Lie.
He sighed. You could imagine him running a hand across his forehead. His eyes were most likely closed, out of patience. Damn. You’d gotten real used to stressing him out if you could guess the motions.
“Then don’t, I guess,” he relented, voice tense and irritated. “Can you just let me know you’re safe?”
As if on cue, the guys at the bar went ballistic. It made you tense up and roll your eyes at the disruption they were causing to the entire restaurant. But, specifically how they were shouting in the middle of you talking to Jake.  
“Are you at a party?” He gaped, sounding utterly shocked.
Yet again, the men started screaming at the top of their lungs, proceeding to yell a variation of the words Yes! and go-go-go-go!, plus a bunch of other shit you couldn’t understand.
You couldn’t help the growl that came from your mouth, your eyes slowly closing in annoyance. “No, Jacob. Do you really think I’d be at a party?”
“Jesus, sorry,” he apologized. He let out a deep sigh, causing the speaker to rattle a little into your ear. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m worried about you.”
Worried about–? What?
Lay off of him, y/n. You were crying buckets before you left home because you wanted him so badly. Come on. You know he is not the cause of the football fuckers going ham. Don’t take it out on him.
You let out a giant sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Tried to tune out the men to your left. Because Jake. Jake was on the phone. And it didn’t take rocket science to know that you really wanted to see him. Quite frankly, you felt the need to see him. 
But. . .did he want to see you? Or was he just being kind? Only worried about you because he was a decent human being? With no underlying, deeper meaning other than you being pregnant and alone? Did it make you weak if you told him where you were? 
Who cares? Just tell him.
“I’m at Applebee’s,” you sighed, rubbing your forehead before placing the same hand over your round belly to trace shapes against it. 
“Are you with someone?” He asked, tone smooth with a slight edge behind it.
“No, Jake,” you grumbled. Why did he care?
“Do you want me there?” He questioned apprehensively, sounding like it was what he wanted.
But why? He’d left you.
“Do you want to be here?”
“Yes–well,” he paused. “Only if you want me there.”
“Do you think I want you here?”
Why the game of 20 Questions, y/n? His night has already been hard enough.
You knew why. You were avoiding the impending confrontation of seeing him again. Just as much as you did want to see him, you were putting it off because you were nervous. There was no telling what would be said. Would he leave again? Would he say he didn’t want to be in the child’s life? Did it even matter?
“Yes,” he softly responded, waiting for you to confirm or deny.
He was right. And he’d unintentionally answered both of your questions. Yes, it mattered and yes, you wanted him here.
So, after telling him which Applebee’s you were at, he told you he’d be there soon and to stay put before he hung up. The sloppy jocks suddenly started cheering again, clapping each other’s backs. Though, in spite of them, you couldn’t help the quiet smile that swept over your lips.
He was coming for you.
-🌼🌼🌼-
There were about ten minutes between your apartment and Applebee’s, so you waited. 
Just ten minutes. But time crawled.
You were equal parts excited and terrified to see him. The only plausible solution to ease you while you waited, was to watch the door. Your brain was tripping over questions and curiosities all based around him, but just like you’d tried to do all night, you ignored them. Just watched. the. door. 
In reality, you really didn’t have much time to think about a whole lot before Jake was walking through the doors.  Not wearing a rain jacket (or a jacket of any sort) to cover him from the rain. . . which meant he was soaking. wet.
And oh no no no no. . . seeing him like that was not good for your baby hormones. Fuck. Why hadn’t he grabbed one before he left the apartment?!
He was going to catch a cold.
To be totally truthful, you were quite happy he hadn’t put one on. . . Reason being, you could see every single droplet that dripped from his hair. . .that touched his skin. You watched each one fall from the long strands of his wavy locks. Some dripped one-by-one, down the thick column of his neck. And others, directly to the tanned skin of his chest. . . Some even trailing to a hidden place underneath his shirt. . .
He was wearing a light blue button down, the material completely stained from the heavy, unrelenting downpour. You wanted to just peel it off of him–take care of him. You wanted to remove each piece of clothing, carefully dry every part of his body. . .
Not even meaning to, you caught yourself biting your lower lip before soothing it with a lick of your lips. . . 
Okay, y/n. Biting and licking your lips? Seriously?! Stop.
You turned around, pinching your eyes shut. Honestly, ogling over him in this very public space was not ideal. Shouldn’t have been ogling him at all. He wasn’t yours. But dammit your body couldn’t help but heat in his presence. 
Though, the atmosphere of the restaurant did not match your mood at all. In addition to the hoard of men with their beer, the place had become busier – bustling with groups of women and men alike. 
The football guys were still the worst part. You were getting sick of them–on your last nerve.
The continuous hooting and hollering that emitted from the men was obnoxious at best. Stereotypical men. In their natural habitat. They hadn’t stopped acting like heathens during the game and whooped loudly at every Republican ad that played during the commercial breaks. . . Beer bottles repeatedly clanged against each other. You were coming to realize there was zero chance of them quieting down. 
And suddenly it dawned on you that the idea of having to talk to Jake in an Applebee’s, during a (presumably important) football game, sounded dreadful. Having white college men as background noise was the last thing you wanted.
You looked back over towards the door, anxious to set eyes on a real man. Only to find he was finally making his way to you. His shoulders, broad, but shaking and shivering. He kept his arms tightly at his sides, hands in pockets and arms flexing with the shivers, beneath the thin material of his button down. 
You didn’t look too long, though. . . Turned back around — didn’t want to stare long enough for him to catch you. You shook your thoughts away. And for the first time since you’d sat down, the young, drunken men were slightly welcomed as they helped to keep you nailed down to the present with their ludicrous screams. 
Before you knew it, his body came into your view, walking down the small aisle to your table. God, he was handsome. Even with flushed cheeks and wet hair sticking to his face, he was beautiful. 
When Jake finally slid into the booth, he was still shaking off his chill. He cupped his hands around his mouth and breathed harshly into them before clapping and rubbing them together under the table. You knew you were in a daze watching him and you’d stay that way if you didn’t try to speak soon.
“Are you trying to catch a fucking cold?” You hastily questioned him, raising your eyebrow for emphasis. 
He stilled momentarily, setting a steady glare your way. “I rushed here. I didn’t think about grabbing one before just focusing on getting here.”
“Why the rush? You knew I was safe.”
“I was anxious to see you.”
Your heart leapt into your throat. So anxious to not grab a cover for this rainstorm? Why? 
“But you’re the one who left me,” you responded hesitantly after taking a minute to consider his words.
Suddenly, he stopped shaking. He cast his eyes down, sweeping over the table as he chewed at the inside of his cheek. 
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he muttered before glancing up at you with eyes that read regret. “It was not the right decision. I know that and I’m so sorry. But I was just feeling a shit ton of emotions and I— I didn’t know what else—.”
“To do. I know,” you finished for him, nodding along to remind him he’d already mentioned that. “That’s not a valid excuse.”
He looked about ready to agree, but then his brows wrinkled and he tilted his head. He looked unsure. “I’m not sure if it’s valid or not, but it’s definitely not an excuse. I quite honestly didn’t know how the fuck to react, so that’s how I chose to feel it. Just needed to leave and refresh by—.”
“By fucking Maya?” You bit back.
What–?
Shit. Where the hell did those words come from? You hadn’t even. . . fuckfuckfuck. Nothing like fully exposing feelings you harbored.
“Excuse me?” He clipped back, voice alternating to a deeper tone. Aggravated. 
You stuttered out a reply the best you could. “I–I was– I didn’t mean to–,” you bowed your head, ashamed of yourself. “I don’t know where that came from. I’m sorry.”
Really, you were very sorry. It was uncalled for. 
His response was unexpected. “Don’t be sorry,” he softly said, sighing. Your eyes drew up, waiting to hear what else he had to say. You were not expecting him to reassure you. If you were in his shoes, you’d be appalled. He was rubbing his forehead when he tiredly responded, “Emotions are high right now.”
“Yeah, I guess. Except. . . I don’t really have a reason to be a bitch because I’ve already dealt with this,” you explained, motioning to your belly at the word this. “I’ve accepted it and I need to just. . . calm down.”
He snorted a laugh, brushing the tip of his nose with his pointer finger. The black hair-tie wrapped around his middle finger flashed into view. “Y/n, honey,” he started. But–you were slightly incoherent. Honey? What the fu–? “You’ve always been emotional. In all situations. No matter what,” he blew out a breath, a shiver running up his spine. He was drying off, slowly but surely. “I, of all people, would know.”
That last bit distracted you momentarily from him calling you a pet name. A sweet one at that. But. . . you weren’t focused on that. Rather, you were reeling at the fact that he’d just essentially made mention of the fact that he was the victim of you exposing your raw emotional state.
All you could think about— as you saw a glimpse of hurt flash over his brown eyes, him no doubt thinking of the same thing—was the kitchen. That blessed day in the kitchen where you’d gone full blast on him.
Avert avert avert.
You coughed, trying your best to clear the air. “I know it was probably necessary for you to go—leave. . . To think somewhere else, but . . . it did just suck for you to leave,” you admitted shyly. “It wasn’t an ideal time to be alone. Although. . .,” you sighed, watching his face as he concentrated on you. “I guess I brought it on myself. I should have told you sooner.”
“I am curious. . . Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was afraid of that happening,” you truly stated, waving your hand towards him. “I was afraid of you . . . leaving or something that would hurt like hell. . .”
He nodded, pursing his lips as he considered it. “I understand that,” he caught your eyes, his own, soft. Then, suddenly vulnerable. “But. . . wouldn’t it have been easier to tell me first? And wasn’t it maybe more daunting to tell Josh? I mean you had to tell him about–,” he motioned between you two. You couldn’t help the blush that painted your cheeks. Then, he looked curious, brow quirked. “Wait. . . does he even know that it’s mine?”
“Yes, he does,” you confirmed with a barely-there grin. 
He looked like he wanted to ask you something else, but ended up shaking his head and looking down at his lap, his hands moving to twiddle beneath the table before he did. 
“You’re partially right. It would have made more sense to tell you first,” you agreed partially with his earlier statement, watching him. “But I’m not sure it would have been easier. . . there are factors in the way–between us. . . people that don’t deserve to have their lives changed.”
When he looked up from where he’d been watching his hands move, his eyes met yours. You shared a look, and you knew he understood why it would have been difficult. He knew the people–the person–you were referring to. 
“I see your point. But. . .,” he cleared his throat. “It’s just me. No matter what’s changed between us. . . I’m still me. And this particular situation only concerns you, me, and the baby. No one else,” he clarified. “So, just because she’s in the picture now. . . it doesn’t mean you need to keep things from me.”
She's in the picture now. . . Stupidly, those words broke your heart.
The waitress was suddenly at the table with your food. All of it. Pretzel sticks, cheese, and your main course. She set your order on the table, but you knew you didn’t want to be here much longer. Not when you heard the hollering begin again towards the bar. You were also growing increasingly more tired by the second. 
“Can I get the alfredo to go?” You asked hopefully. 
“Sure! You want me to bring boxes for the rest, too?” Her large gray eyes were wide and bright with her seemingly innocent youth. “Just in case.”
“Yeah,” you grinned, leaning your arms on the table. “Sounds good. Thanks.”
She had nodded and was beginning to walk off when she noticed Jake sitting with you. When she saw him, her eyes bugged out and she stopped in her tracks before continuing any further.
“Wait–,” she started, her brow lifting. “Are you. . . in a band?”
His eyes darted to yours and then back to hers before he answered with a wide grin. “Yeah, actually,” he replied. “I am. It’s called–.”
“I know what it’s called!” She shrieked, her face lighting up instantaneously. “My friends and I love you guys. We’ve been to a few of your shows. We even saw you at the festival and got your demo CD! We went just for you guys,” she gushed, not pausing for more than a second. “I was so excited when I started to see your posters all over,” she rushed out, squealing a little. “We’re so excited for your shows coming up!”
His grin loosened, his cheeks flushing along with hers. “Well, thanks for coming to see us when we play,” he softly responded. “We have some other music being released soon. With a label,” he winked, glancing your way. You blushed, too, for whatever reason. What was happening in front of you? “Be on the lookout.”
The waitress’s smile took up her entire face. “Oh, we will!” She nodded enthusiastically, watching him closely for a few seconds longer than necessary. “I have to tell you. . . you’re so much hotter up close. I mean, from far away, hell yes. But right here? Oh my god.”
You decided you were definitely ready to leave. 
The guys at the bar began exploding at the football game just then, the rain was still pattering against the window, tempting you. . . and then there was the apparent fangirl who did not want to leave. . . your eyes flickered to Jake’s. He’d been watching you, waiting for a sign.
“Do you mind grabbing those boxes?” He asked politely, his smile a bit more forced now. 
And he didn’t even have to ask twice before she was nodding excitedly and racing off to get him what he wanted. 
-🌼🌼🌼-
Thanks to Jake intervening and then quickly getting your food in the boxes for you, you were in his car within fifteen minutes. He’d effectively taken over the bill and paid for you, and had run to grab his car while he made you wait at the door. 
“You don’t need to be getting sick,” he’d explained, right before he covered the front of his face, beeping his car unlocked, and running to pull it up.
Your heart fluttered in your chest at the way he was tending to you. 
But before you could feel too giddy about it, you felt weird about it. You didn’t want him to suddenly like you again just because you were carrying his baby. He didn’t need to go above and beyond—you didn’t want him to feel obligated to do anything. So, as soon as he’d pulled his Jeep up (and helped you up and inside of it, effectively getting himself soaked again), you got in and waited for him to get in.
As you sat, it encouraged you even more because he’d even gone the extra mile and turned on the seat heaters. He was doing too much when he didn’t need to.
He’d started driving as soon you got in, and you tried damn hard not to watch him drive. Because, you’d just learned, that for some asinine reason, your fucking baby hormones went into overdrive when you’d tried watching a soaking wet Jake behind the wheel of his car. The way he leaned back, relaxed, one arm resting on the console between you two. . .
So, in order to distract yourself, you brought up your winding trail of thought. 
“Please don’t start caring about me again just because I’m carrying your baby.”
You heard him scoff under his breath, the sound alone making your heartbeat quicken as you waited for his response. 
“Start caring about you again? What does that even—?” 
Crossing your arms under your (always sore) boobs, you sat up straighter in your seat to keep some sort of dignity as you further explained. “Jake, you’ve been distancing yourself from me for months now—and for good reason, mind you—I just don’t want you to start doing nice things just because of this situation,” you sighed, deciding to instead lace your hands across your stomach. Training your eyes on your thumbs that tapped your sweatshirt, you continued. “I don’t need you overextending yourself on my behalf.”
He didn’t say anything for a while, and next time you looked up, you were already at the second to last light to the complex. Biting your lip, you contemplated what to say to break the heavy air in the car. . . you always hated when you felt like you’d said something wrong. And you knew you were very good at saying the wrong thing. 
So, you decided on an apology. “I’m sorry if something I said was wrong,” you offered, pitifully. It had been a long night. There was no way you wanted to end it with him mad at you. “Really. I just—.”
“You’re overthinking, y/n,” he promptly cut you off, making a turn to the last light. “I never stopped— I didn’t stop caring about you when we stopped—,” he blew out a breath, stopping at the red light. 
“I’m sorry I said tha—.”
“No. Don’t be sorry. You’re right; I have been distant. And, again, you were right when you said it's for good reason. It’s been for damn good fucking reason,” he clipped, letting the words sit in the air for a minute. “But just because I’m not talking to you or falling asleep next to you—.” He coughed. You could imagine he was shaking his head. “It doesn’t mean I don’t still want what’s best for you. Hence why I’m the one who initiated the therapy conversation. I kept my end of the deal and researched for you because I care.”
Your insides had officially turned to mush and you weren’t sure how to process that he still cared so deeply. But, he was right. . . Him bringing up the therapy showed his heart. . . You knew his heart. Knew how deeply he felt things. . . What you would continue to wonder was why you were something he hadn’t stopped caring about. When you’d been such a massive bitch. You weren’t worth it.
Heart beating quickly in your chest, you cleared your throat as he once again passed through a green light. The last one. You were almost home. 
Gotta wrap it up quickly.
“I’m sorry again,” you muttered. “For not telling you sooner.”
“Don’t be. It was your call to tell who you wanted first,” he sighed, turning on his right blinker to turn into the complex. “I just need to get out of my head about it—need to not let it piss me off.”
You looked out the windshield, the rain had let up. It was only sprinkling now. Taking a deep breath, you admitted to him what you knew to be true. “I really should have told you before Josh. I know that.”
Glimpsing for a millisecond from the corner of your eye, you saw his lip quirk before he looked your way at the perfect moment. Your eyes met briefly before you turned back to observe the parking lot through your window.
“Really?” He questioned warily. “Do you mean that or are you just saying it to make me feel better? Because you don’t have to do that just because I’m being a pussy abou–.”
The snort-laugh that came from you was unintentional, but you couldn’t contain it. “Jake. You aren’t being a pussy.” You turned your head to get a better look at his face now that he’d parked. His eyes waited for yours, highlighted by the fluorescent light he’d parked underneath. Right next to your Jetta. Smiling, you surely stated, “And, yes, I mean it. Truly. I know it would’ve been the right thing for me to tell you first.” 
Considering the car was still running and in park. . .it seemed he wasn’t anxious to get inside. He was content like this. . . at least that’s what you gathered from the way he’d swiveled his body to face you better from his seat. So, you continued on with honesty, while you felt brave. “I was just really scared. Scared to tell you and learn how you’d react. . . I didn’t want to disappoint you with something you really do not need to be responsible for . . .”
Then, the unthinkable happened and he was reaching over to hold your hand over the console. It was a feeling unlike any other–the feeling of his skin against yours. The comfort of his hand, the warmth, the callouses that scratched your flesh the slightest bit as he rubbed the top of your hand with his thumb. How long had it been since he’d touched you?
His voice and the squeeze he gave your hand brought you out of your daze. “Y/n. . . look at me.” You did as he said, following his soft, gravelly tone, finding his eyes with your own. “I am the furthest thing from disappointed.”
“But–,” you shook your head, your brow wrinkled as you searched his eyes. “But the way you left. How angry you were because I hadn’t told you yet–or–or before Josh. . .”
“There’s a difference between feeling plain old upsetedness and full on disappointment,” he clarified, his eyes swimming in yours. His strong hand lightly held yours, squeezing once more. “I assure you, I was never once disappointed tonight that you are having my baby.”
. . .having my baby. The words bounced around in your head. . . hearing him say those words just. . . did something to your heart.
“I’m excited about all of it. Honestly.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners with how his eyes lit up at the sentiment. “I mean, it was a lot to wrap my mind around and I still haven’t totally grasped the reality yet, but. . . I’m happy. Very happy,” he squeezed once more, still not moving his hand from wrapping the top of yours. “And I really hope you let me take responsibility as the father of the baby, because I really want to know this child. . . already matters so much to me.”
Your heart clenched at his words. . . He meant them and you knew it. Jake’s heart was arguably the most genuine, honest, exquisite you’d ever come across. So, it really didn’t take a second thought to utter your next words. “You can absolutely have the responsibilities of a father. . . if that’s what you want,” you raised your eyebrow with the word if. And at that, he’d nodded with an I do spoken quietly against the lull of the A/C. 
Though, there was one thing that he needed to know. The protective mama in you — that part of you needed to say this for your baby’s sake. He or she would not hurt like you had your whole life. 
“However,” your tone got serious, unwavering. “You can’t pull the shit with leaving like you did tonight with the baby. If you want the responsibility, you’ve gotta be sure.”
“I am,” he said, not missing a beat. “I won’t do that again.”
“I mean, you can do it to me. I can handle it. I’ve learned that that happens. . . but the baby. . . I just–.”
“I’m not leaving either of you alone in this,” he assured, leaning closer to you. Your heart skipped a beat. Due to still drying from the rain, he smelled like the Earth– fresh, sweet, real. Solid. True. “I know you won’t be alone because you have Josh and Elsie and so many other people, but. . . I want to be in this with you and the baby.”
“What about Maya?” You lightly asked, slightly confused. 
“She’s not going anywhere anytime soon,” he responded quickly. Too quickly. It made your chest tight and a giant rock hit the pit of your stomach. “But she will understand that I have to be there for you.”
Not trusting yourself to talk with the tears gathering in your throat, you just nodded before bowing your head to look at your little tummy. Reassurance in the sweetest, most innocent form. 
He took a deep breath, the rush of his breath, fresh from a mint he’d sucked on on the way back. “I really shouldn’t have left you tonight,” he firmly stated.
You looked up from your belly, blinking a few times to register that he was speaking so closely to you, close enough for his breath, now brushed your cheek. Not super close, but close enough. Much closer than he’d been for a while. 
He continued, “And you shouldn’t have to feel guilty for telling me on your own time. You are the one who was in charge of all of those decisions. It’s your body. Your body that’s growing the baby. . . So, it’s your right to decide things like that,” he enunciated, his intent to reassure, clear in his tone. “It just sucks a little bit for me that it was Josh, but that’s on me. . . not you. But even with all of that, I really should not have left. That gave you the opposite idea of what I wanted to give you. . . It was just a-fuckin’-lot to process all at once.”
“Yes, and you are completely entitled to believing that it was a lot–that it is a lot,” you reassured him, regretting a few of your words from earlier. “Even if you’re not the one carrying the baby, it’s going to be intense for you as the father. Maybe even more so–.”
He made a little noise of disagreement, but you just gave a quiet grin, holding up a hand.
“. . .in some senses. Especially since you can only experience it from the outside. I’m the one who is experiencing all of the changes, all of the time. I’m reminded every time I look down or touch my belly, but you don’t have that luxury every moment of the day.”
“Yeah, but it’s still more for you,” he argued.
“It’s okay, Jake,” you smiled. “I still agree. Trust me. I just wanted you to know that I understand how it might end up feeling for you. I was just afraid I made you feel like you weren’t validated in feeling overwhelmed. Leaving made sense. It’s just the worst feeling for a girl with abandonment issues,” you chanced a look down at your tummy, feeling awkward approaching so many personal feelings. It felt weird that it still felt so natural. He just brought it out in you. You quickly covered, not wanting to seem overbearing. “W-which, I can handle it–it is not on you to–”
“No, it is on me,” he seriously professed, eyes earnestly holding onto yours. “I knew about your past and I still left you. I am seriously so sorr–.”
“Jake,” you sighed his name, looking up at him again. His jaw was flexing, eyebrows turned in. “Stop apologizing,” your lips lifted in a soft smile, bringing a hand to sit on top of his. “We all do things we regret and it wouldn’t be fair for us to hold those things against each other. . . when we’ve all done thoughtless things in the heat of the moment.” At the last bit, your eyes left his to flash at your tummy.  Your hand left the top of his to delicately hold your small bump. “Example A of a ‘Heat of the Moment’ moment.”
A quiet beat passed, his face thoughtful as his eyes studied your own before he spoke. 
“I don’t regret that one though,” he said, eyes so big and so beautifully deep with emotion. 
Wetness was suddenly gathering in the corners of your eyes when you traced them over him—over his chest, tanned and exhaling so handsomely with every breath he took. You looked away from his perfect pecs, and back up to his eyes. 
“I don’t either.”
There were a few slow, nearly silent moments where all you could hear was the sound of your combined breaths with the A/C blasting against you both. Your hands still held each other, gripped each other. His hair was dry. His face was dry. And in the secret dimness of the night and the bright light of the tall lamp outside, you could see all of the delicate markings and freckles on his face. The light birthmark on the tan skin of his cheek.
Before you could think to do another ‘Heat of the Moment’ thing (weird term, but it definitely applied to you), and do something like rub the skin of his birthmark with your thumb, he was breaking eye contact, skin contact, and shutting the car off. 
“Better go inside,” he said, pausing as he’d just taken the keys out of the ignition. “It’s getting late.”
“It also might start pouring again,” you added, opening your door, trying to make conversation. 
He didn’t open your door that time, like he had at the restaurant. He just sent a quiet smile your way before getting out of his side. He did, however, wait for you to meet him at the rear bumper of the car before heading back to the apartment. You matched one another’s steps in silence. It was a bit awkward now, unlike the calm, still moment in the car. Your breaths, having combined in the shared space. . .
When you’d made it inside, he told you to go get ready for bed and that he’d feed Stevie and take care of the rest of the apartment.
“You just go to bed,” he waved you off, his expression kind. “It’s been a long night and you need rest.”
He obviously wanted to help, so you let him. Albeit, you let him do so while your heart fell a bit in your chest at your evening with him coming to an end. You hoped that there would be more times like this in the future with the baby you now both knew you shared. 
Absently, you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, then nodded and gave a faint goodnight. Once you were getting into bed in a giant t-shirt to cover the bit of ass exposed at the edges of your comfortable granny panties, you heard a little knock against your cracked door. 
You waited for him to come in since the door was still cracked, but he didn’t.
“Yeah?” You called, brows drawn in.
He opened the white paneled door just enough to show him at the threshold of your room. His hand was on the knob while he leaned with the opposite forearm against the doorframe. You did very well at not blatantly checking him out. That was something to be proud of. 
Though, you couldn’t be too proud, because you knew it was just because your tiredness had hit you like a ton of bricks. It had been impossible to ignore as soon as you’d felt the cool, soft cotton of the gray oversized t-shirt touch your skin. 
Your blinking was becoming slower and slower by the second. But your eyes perked up a little when he cleared his throat, suddenly interested in anything he had to say. Even if it was something as simple as Stevie not being hungry. Just wanted to hear his voice once more before going to bed.
And you got exactly that as his eyes swept over your face briefly, deep in thought. “I really, genuinely do want to help however I can with the baby stuff—however you want me or need me. I want to help you because it means I’m helping the baby. Our baby.”
Okay, the next time he referred to the baby being his, you were sure your heart was going to beat completely out of your chest. It did things to you.
“Alright,” you responded tiredly, a slight blush warmed your cheeks. “That sounds good.”
When you loudly yawned, he nodded with a quiet grin fitting his handsome features. He began to shut the door, but just before he could, he opened it once more.
“I–,” he cleared his throat. Your stomach felt airy and light at the possibility of what he might say. You didn’t know what to expect, but him talking to you was just. . . exactly what you needed. “I took a drive and listened to music, by the way.” 
You blinked, brow furrowed with confusion. “. . .What?” 
“When I left tonight. I just drove around and listened to music,” he said, his amber-brown eyes, so earnest. “Cleared my head with music.”
“Why are you telling–?” You sleepily wondered aloud.
“I. . . didn’t go see anyone,” he elaborated. “Just wanted you to know that. Also, I promise I won’t tell anyone–including Maya– until you’re ready.” 
“Okay,” you squeaked, unsure of what else to say.
After observing each other for just a few moments after he’d spoken, he suddenly dipped out with a quick ‘Goodnight.’
The thunderstorm picked up again right after he’d left you, Stevie racing in, all frazzled, with her tail fluffed out at the sounds of the storm. The sleep that threatened to cloud your vision was a most welcome friend as you let yourself become cozy under your soft, high thread count sheets and fluffy, featherlight duvet. Your head was nestled against the pillow, Stevie snuggled against your ankles, purring. And your brain was just wandering off to slumberland when you understood why he’d said what he did about not being with anyone. . . it finally clicked. 
He’d wanted you to know he hadn’t been with Maya like you’d assumed. Like you’d brashly accused him of at Applebee’s.
. . .But why did he care to tell you? 
-🌼🌼🌼-
The next morning, you sat at the counter with a book about pregnancy, taking notes. It was the end of your new morning routine. 
You didn’t have class or work for the day, so you were enjoying some much needed down time. The idea that you’d be able to take countless naps literally made goosebumps rise on your skin. 
“Hey.”
And now you had even more goosebumps erupting at the sound of his raspy voice. 
“Morning,” you replied, highlighting a line in your book about staying ‘physically active’ during pregnancy. 
“Morning. You feeling okay?”
“Mhm. . .” you replied, halfway present and barely looking up from the page and the sticky you were jotting a note onto.
“Taking notes?”
“So many,” you giggled, your eyes finally looking up to find him dressed and ready for the day at the Keurig, preparing a cup of coffee. “All the time, I’m doing research.”
“I believe it,” he replied, clicking his K-cup in the holder. The hot drink was trickling into his mug when he looked at you in question. “Based on your research, can you have caffeine? Could I make you a coffee or something?”
“Um, not the safest in high amounts,” you pondered, flipping to the page where you’d just read about that a few days ago and quoted the book for him. “‘Drinking caffeine during pregnancy has some major health risks. The caffeine gets digested much slower and goes through the placenta into your baby’s bloodstream,’” you droned, feeling obnoxious with the long response. 
“Interesting. Anything else it says about it?”
You raised a brow and gave him an ‘mhm’ before looking at the page again. “‘This means that the caffeine side effects of a racing heart rate, high blood pressure, and a stimulated nervous system affect you and your baby. The result is a higher chance of miscarriage. Even small amounts have been known to cause a 13% increase in low birth weight for your newborn,’” you glanced up, he was rubbing his chin, listening to every word. So, you finished out the paragraph. “‘Try switching to a naturally decaffeinated herbal tea, but do consult your doctor or midwife as certain herbs can cause premature labor.’”
“Have you tried any herbal tea?”
You made a gagging motion. Herbal tea honestly did not strike your fancy at this stage in your life. “The baby says herbal tea sounds disgusting,” you joked. He huffed a laugh with you as you finished your thought. “I’m looking into smoothies to start the day. I’m actually going to try making a few today since I’m home all day.”
“Cool. Just thought I’d offer,” he finished. 
Or so you thought.
After getting his coffee off the Keurig, he made his way around the counter to sit in the barstool next to you. Heat washed over your face at his closeness.
“Speaking of doctor or midwife. . . which are you going with?”
“Doctor,” you answered. “Her name is Dr. Rose. Sweet, middle aged, Southern lady.”
“Oh, you’ve had your first appointment?” He asked, sounding curious and a little apprehensive. 
“Yeah. . . First one last week.”
“Oh,” he replied, sounding just a little discouraged. But he tried to cover it. “Cool. How did it go? Did you have to go alone?”
“Mhm,” you said, suddenly digging into a page and very seriously taking notes on a sticky note about random ass shit you could care less about. “Josh went. It went well.”
He hummed, not responding right away. And you knew why. 
You really did feel guilty now that you’d taken Josh to your first appointment and not Jake. He was the baby’s father, after all. And thinking about how he’d have reacted to seeing the baby with you, both of you, for the first time. . . You were suddenly very downcast as you thought of the missed opportunity. 
“But you can come to the rest of them with me,” you rushed out, suddenly looking up at him as you said so. His eyes were huge as he watched you be neurotic. God, you were annoying. “If–if you want. I don’t want to pressure you.”
“O–of course. Yes,” he stuttered. “You tell me when and I’ll be there. Every single one.”
You realized he sounded eager and thrilled, not frightened like you feared. 
“Okay,” you acknowledged, slightly breathless. 
Once again, you were in the same situation as you had been last night. He was, once more, so close. Right there. Your shared breathing, the only sound comprehensible to your ears in the calm, quiet of the morning. His breath, smelling of coffee, should have turned you off. . . but it didn’t not at all. And the way he went to lick his lips, just once– his eyes, not leaving yours. . . 
Then, he was jolted back to reality, blinking furiously. 
“I’ve, um, gotta go run some errands and then I have a meeting with the label,” he suddenly said, rising up. He grabbed his cup, rushing around, dumping it in the sink before grabbing a cinnamon bagel from the pantry. He bent to get a Zip-loc bag from a lower cabinet, and your eyes moved on their own to his ass in his light denim jeans. 
What. A. Sight. Now you were darting your tongue out to sweep over your lips.
He zipped up the bagel and left it on the counter to hurry to his room. When he reappeared, he was holding his phone, sending a text based on the sound, before he tucked it into his front pocket. He also held a beat up guitar case. 
“Still carrying around that same old case?” You grinned, a brow perked at the sight of the duct tape holding it together. A few stickers here and there, littering the case. “Not a new one to match your new rockstar life?”
“The case adds character,” he winked, your blushing face, the victim. Then, he was on his way to the door, keys jingling out of the bowl on the counter and into his hand. “Let me know if you need anything today.”
You were responding with an agreeing noise and word as he shut the door behind him. But when your eyes scanned the counter again, you saw the bagel. Even though it was just a bagel with cinnamon swirl, it was still his breakfast. He needed to eat. That’s what had you rushing out the door after him, your page getting a quick sticky pressed into it.
And, as soon as you saw the twinkle in his eye at you remembering to grab the bagel for him, you realized that you just wanted that. If you were being completely honest, you’d just needed that one last smile to start your day. The perfect start to a morning, you’d say. 
-🌼🌼🌼-
You decided to order some chicken fajitas from a local restaurant. DoorDash was your new best friend with the pregnancy cravings. 
Chicken fajitas were a new favorite for the baby. A weekish ago when you’d first tried them as a pregnant woman, you’d learned they tasted more delicious than they ever had before. They didn’t make your tummy roll.
As you waited for the food to arrive, you decided to do some tidying around the apartment. You washed a couple of dishes you’d left in the sink from the morning, and picked up notebooks, textbooks, and toys of Stevie’s from around the living room. Then, after further inspection of the living room, you realized it could handle a sweep or two with a vacuum. And after that, you decided to Swiffer the kitchen. Didn’t feel like full-on mopping, but you had to round out the floor cleaning. 
Before you could head to your bedroom or restroom to clean those spaces, a boundary was drawn for you when you heard a knock at the front door. DoorDash. Food. Fajitas.
Suddenly, unashamedly, your mouth was watering. Food took total priority over cleaning and you left the vacuum and Swiffer precisely where they were. You never left them out after cleaning, but you were hungry, okay? 
But just as you’d made it to the door, you didn’t have to open it. Instead, you heard polite conversation from the other side, thank you’s and have a good night’s. 
Before he opened the door, you went ahead and did it for him. And so, when you did, there was Jake, holding your food. The fajitas didn’t matter much anymore. 
Well. . . That was until he walked in and you got a good whiff of the steaming, seasoned vegetables and grilled chicken. Priorities were back to normal real quick with an embarrassing rumble from your stomach. 
-🌼🌼🌼-
Once you’d eaten all of your food in basically one bite, you sat on your sofa with a damn good book you were quickly becoming entranced by. But about twenty minutes into you sitting there, Jake appeared from where he’d disappeared to shower after he’d sat your food on the counter.
“You know, I keep thinking about something,” Jake started, coming to sit on the opposite end of the couch from you.
He was freshly showered— looking and smelling fucking delicious–hints of citrus came from his drying hair. Then, you smelled the warm and slightly sweet scent of sandalwood as he moved, propping his pajama clad legs on the coffee table in front of you two, unsticking his ripped t-shirt from his probably still-wet chest. You tried very hard not to watch him situate himself, too. The way he adjusted the inner seam of his pants, dangerously close to his. . . 
Yeah, you looked away. Focused hard on the book you were trying your damnedest to read. His body was a massive distraction. 
Trying to not be totally inappropriate, you replied to his earlier statement, still training your eyes on the page in front of you. “What were you thinking about?”
“I brought up the therapy thing the other night,” he started. You gave an absentminded ‘mhm’ in response, finally finding slight interest in the characters in front of you again. “And I’ve been wondering. Did you ever give that a second thought? Starting therapy?”
You blinked your eyes a few times, trying to catch up with the more serious topic of conversation. Looking up from your book, you closed it and put it to the side. When you placed the novel on the coffee table, he followed your hand back to you. His eyes found yours and your eyes fluttered again. You shook your head. “Yeah,” you trained your features, letting a smile float to your lips at his attention to you. “I actually–um–I started going.”
His features showed unkempt elation at your words. His eyes, bright and a wide smile on his lips. He sat up, facing you better than before, a foot balanced on the floor as the other bent with his body leaning towards you. “Seriously?!”
“Yeah,” you blushed. Why did he care so much? Surely it was mostly for the wellbeing of the baby. Right? 
You know he cared before he knew about the baby, a calm voice hushed in the corners of your mind. Just let him in. Don’t be afraid.
Clearing your throat, you kept up with your thoughts and tried to open up in spite of your ever-swirling unsureness. “Thank you for doing the research. Really. I’m super grateful. You gave me the push I needed and I’ll never be able to thank you enough. The baby, too,” you added. “I wanted to get better for the baby. You two made quite the team in helping me want to be better.”
His cheeks reddened, complimenting his skin tone and the few freckles and scars that dotted his cheeks. He shook his head, “Don’t thank me. I just wanted to help–that’s it. You made the brave move to start,” his lips twitched with a quiet, close-lipped grin. “How’s it going? Well–no–you don’t have to answer–that’s not my–.”
You ignored him, suddenly feeling this urge to fill him in. “I love my therapist. Like, she is already one of my favorite people on this fucking earth,” you beamed, thinking of Gia’s wonderful aura and personality. “And we actually start EMDR in a couple of weeks.”
“Oh,” he started, surprised. His eyes widened as he leaned back into the arm of the couch nearest him. “You decided on EMDR, too?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, glancing down briefly before letting your eyes dance with his again. “That seemed to be the only logical route since there’s so much shit to dig through that I don’t even–can’t even remember. It seemed like the most intensive form of therapy and I needed that.”
“Are you afraid of what you might find?”
“Yes,” you replied without question. “But, that’s the only way you can properly heal. Sometimes things that feel right–like EMDR, because it just feels like the right path already– those things, they’re going to probably also feel a little uncomfortable and feared at first. But, it all leads to the ultimate destination of being healed. And that’s what matters most.”
There was a quietness, a cozy silence that settled between the two of you. A few moments where you shared breaths and your gazes intertwined. . . It felt heavenly to share space with him like this when things felt normal and all right between the two of you. There wasn’t another word for it. 
His eyes were sincere with his tone when he broke the silence. “Y/n,” he breathed your name, making your tummy flutter with the most illustrious butterflies. “I am so fucking proud of you.”
Suddenly feeling like you were getting too much praise for something you were doing for the baby rather than yourself, you shook your head and brushed him off with a wave of your hand. “Don’t be,” you encouraged with a little scoff, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”
“I will be proud and it is a big deal,” he concluded. “All I’ve wanted is for you to feel closer to being whole–you deserve it.”
“The baby deserves it most,” you argued–didn’t want to be self-centered on the subject. “It’s for the baby.”
“Well,” he cleared his throat, crossing his arms across the chest of his white t-shirt. “I want you to focus on helping yourself, too, y/n. Please,” he asked, tone softening. Your eyes flickered across his. “I brought it up in the first place because I wanted you to feel better.”
You took it as food for thought, nodding at his words. Truly, you did consider what he’d said. . . his opinion mattered a helluva lot to you–probably too much. But you didn’t want to waver from who you were doing it mostly for. Your hand found your tummy as you reached the coffee table for your book and Stanley. 
Taking a big sip from your trusty tumbler, you eyed him once more before opening your book. You didn’t want him to feel obligated to stay in here with you when you were sure he had better things to do. “I will remember that,” you offered with a small grin, flipping your book open to where you dog-eared it. 
You waited for him to get up from his spot on the couch, but. . . he didn’t. He stayed put, situating his body to face the TV. 
In your peripheral vision, you saw how his legs spread across the cushion and once again tried to ignore ignore ignore. But you couldn’t help the thought that there was just something so fucking enticing about Jake Kiszka manspreading. It was gross when every other man did it. But Jake? All it made you want to do was straddle his sturdy hips.
Fuck. Focus on the book. Come on, y/n.
“Also. . .you realize, if you are craving something,” he began, pulling you from your book yet again. “You don’t have to DoorDash it. I’m always willing to go get you the food you are wanting.”
To put it simply, you were surprised by the turn in conversation. It was sort of random, but also not random all at the same time. 
For no reason whatsoever, you decided to combat the sweet offer. “What if you’re with Maya when I’m craving something?”
Why the fuck were you like this? Honestly, it felt mostly like a form of protection from getting your hopes up too high. . . it was a coping mechanism. But you hated it. It was stupid.
He hummed, thinking. Then, he piped up with an answer in no time. “I’ll just try to make sure we hang out here more than her house. Simple.”
Oh, joy.
“You’d rather be here than her massive mansion of a home?” You questioned, trying to not think about seeing her stupidly stunning face more than you wanted to. 
“Well, yeah,” he confusedly responded. “This is my home and I like being here.”
His home. He liked being here. The words pulled at you–in every direction. Broke you and made you wish things were different.
“How does she afford that, by the way?” You unapologetically nosed, not wanting to sit in any downhearted thoughts. It was rude to pry, you knew. But you didn’t really care at the moment.
He chuckled raspily, reaching to the coffee table for the Roku remote. When your eyes immediately looked over your book to peer at his waist, you didn’t think twice about it. It was whatever. “She’s the financial manager for this big corporation on Fifth Avenue.”
Your stomach fell. Jesus. Besides having trash music taste, apparently she was incredibly intelligent, too? What didn’t she have? You couldn’t even figure out what the fuck you wanted to do with your life and she was financially managing a giant ass company?Depressing as hell. Showed you your worth once again, in comparison to her. She was someone and you were literally nobody. 
“Can I watch something?” He asked you, patiently waiting. You gave a half-ass ‘yeah, of course’ in reply, not fully present. 
And when he eventually turned on some documentary about pirates that sort of piqued your interest, too, you decided to close your book for a final time. And you didn't put any more substance to your gloomy self-consciousness. It was your own fault you were feeling this way now–being nosy when you shouldn’t have been. Prying into someone’s life who’d never done anything wrong to you. 
Yeah, she’d slept with Jake. . . but did she even know that you’d also–? Shit. Did she know that the woman her boyfriend lived with used to fuck him, too? How in the hell would she react to the news if she didn’t already know that–? Your stomach twisted into knots at the thought of her finding out about. . . all of it.
The courage sprouted up as a historian started speaking on an infamous female pirate. “Does–does Maya know that we used to. . .?”
His brows dipped, thoughtful, turning down the television to acknowledge you’d spoken. But, he kept watching the documentary, his eyes honed in on the black-boxed subtitles. “No, actually. No she doesn’t. Didn’t really feel the need to tell her.”
Of course he didn’t feel the need. It kind of really hurt, but it wasn’t on Jake. Not at all. You knew very well that the sex probably wasn't as important to him as he’d once expressed. You’d been so angry and hateful to him, enough to drive away any sort of deep, lingering feelings that might have lied there. 
He knew that it wasn’t special enough that she needed to know. It was something of the past. All that mattered now was her. Only now. . . There was one inevitable reason it would have to come to light. You didn’t give voice to the obvious. The fact that, now, he would have to tell her. And you both knew it. 
As he turned the volume up a couple notches, you couldn’t help but wonder how the fuck would she react. 
-🌼🌼🌼-
November 21, 2022
You couldn’t have made it to your car any faster if you tried. Looking at your parking decision in hindsight, you realized you should have parked closer to the campus advisory office. But you hadn’t. You’d left your car parked where it had been for class. So now you had to walk a much longer distance that you could have avoided. . . If you’d just thought ahead.  
And in depressing moments like these, you wished you would have. The tears that flew down your cheeks in steady tracks made you beyond grateful that you hadn’t worn mascara. You’d had to meet with your advisor today to touch base and talk career plans. . . It was something that Pratt had decided to add to all program studies, for senior students. The idea of the meeting was to help students feel supported. 
But you didn’t feel fucking supported. Not at all. The way your advisor had blatantly judged you for even daring to bring up the idea of being a lyricist. . . She had instantly struck your idea down with a curt shake of her head and furrowed brows. Her eyes had lit up with laughter. But thankfully, she hadn’t been so terrible as to actually laugh in your face. 
Her words hadn’t been much better than that alternative, though. She’d unabashedly, condescendingly criticized your idea of becoming a lyricist. She made you feel stupid for ever even thinking of it as a possibility. 
“I’m not saying it’s impossible, but there’s a very slim chance that a label will take a fresh graduate. That’s a career you have to prove yourself in. Takes a long time to do that, a lot of experience that you don’t have.” 
The snarky tone in her voice pissed you off. Her words stuck with you enough that they dared to crush every dream you had about your future, which is something an advisor should not do. They should encourage, not discourage, to the point of making their advisee’s feel like utter shit after an appointment. 
So, as you finally made it to your car, you tried to contain the sobs that threatened to escape. . . but to no avail. Because, over and over again, you thought of how your advisor–someone who should be helping you to pursue your dreams–basically told you that you weren’t good enough for the one thing you wanted to do. She’d told you as much in her “officially official doctorate-level” advisor lingo. If her goal had been to completely crush you, she’d done just that. 
You were glad your next stop was therapy because you desperately needed to hear Gia’s two cents.
-🌼🌼🌼-
November 21, 2022
You spent roughly 30 minutes filling Gia in on the past week of your life. She heard all about you telling Jake, talking to your campus advisor, and any other thing that came to mind to tell her. 
When you started the session, Gia had let you know that you only had the first thirty minutes because you needed to find your mental and emotional safe place by the end of the session. It was today’s goal to establish that place. Finding your footing in the safe place was a vital precursor before you began EMDR. She’d had great advice for your life update, once you’d effectively word-vomited all over her. 
To your utter relief, the career thing didn’t bother her at all. Her expression barely changed as she’d shrugged. The first thing she’d done was assure you that everything would be fine and it would work out and that you have time to figure it out, despite what societal norms would tell you. So, even though that had been the biggest, most terrifying thing on your mind when you’d shown up to counseling today, you decided to not worry about it since Gia didn’t seem disturbed by the news at all. 
“Anything is possible,” she’d reassured you once your tears had momentarily stopped after telling her everything your advisor had said. “Don’t let a few words–opinions– from one woman make you disbelieving of that fact.”
Her opinions on Jake were positive, too, which made your heart swell in your chest. Though, it simultaneously broke for the fact that you couldn’t kiss him and hug him and be with him to tell him what she thought of him. Would he think it was weird if you told him what she thought of him? Would it freak him out that you’ve talked about him enough to Gia that she has a solid preconceived opinion of him?
“And Jake. . .,” she’d remarked at the end of the thirty minute mark, rolling back in her chair to her desk to get a big swig of her herbal tea. Your baby thought it was gross, your stomach rolling, but good for her and her nasty tea. “He is an outstanding example of a man. I’m impressed with his actions, his words. . . all of it. He seems like a stand up guy, and I hope I get to meet him one of these days,” her grin was sly, but you didn’t know why. 
So, yes, while your heart beat erratically and longingly at her words about him, it simultaneously broke your heart for the fact that you couldn’t kiss him and hug him and be with him to tell him what she thought of him. Would he think it was weird if you told him what she thought of him? Would it freak him out that you’ve talked about him enough to Gia that she has a solid preconceived opinion of him?
It made you think, as you watched her type notes on her laptop . . . Would you have told him if you were still seeing each other? Surely so. . . But maybe not. . . you weren’t really the best at complimenting him. And you sort of (desperately) hated that.
Don’t fucking think about it, y/n, a thoughtful, protective voice said to you. Just think about you right now. 
So, you did the best you could to shove any thought of being a bitch to him from your mind. And instead focused on Gia’s comfortable couch. Soft camel-colored leather. The way the cushion sank under you felt like sitting on a dense cloud. She was making light conversation before getting to the nitty gritty. You focused on her the best you could. 
Today would be your first venture into the realm of EMDR. . . . And you were anxious to begin this long-awaited journey of replenishing your soul with the incredible gift of reprocessing. 
“The safe place we are finding today will be where you go when things become too much during our EMDR sessions.” Gia wheeled closer to you in her light pink office chair, the smell of eucalyptus and mint following her, as she must use it as a sort of body oil or spray. She carried the calming smell with her everywhere. And the office, so wonderfully consoling with the scent of lavender. The little machine that spurted the essential oil every 10 minutes. All of these things combined, keeping the room drenched in calm. 
“There are places your mind is going to take you, some darker than others. These are scenes from your life that you will need to experience again in order for us to process through them so you can heal through them. Considering, you know, EMDR is simply a reprocessing technique,” she explained, adjusting her wire lens frames on her nose. “In order to not feel trapped, claustrophobic, or overwhelmed in these memories, you will need to have a safe place to turn to–a place to run to–a scene to easily unlock. It might be unknown to you until you actually plant your feet in that scene, but this place is already the natural wave your brain takes to feel safe.” She added one more thing to this train of thought. “This will just be the first time your brain is able to fully experience it. . . because you’re actually giving yourself the permission to do so.”
She held her hands out, palms up, and you took the hint and placed your hands in hers. As you would have guessed, her hands were soft as silk, matching the rest of her fairy-like aura. She squeezed once, lightly before continuing, “Now, I will be there the whole time, watching you, to monitor if you are doing alright. Sometimes you can sense it and get out, and other times it’s a little bit trickier. I will watch your eyes and the way your muscles tense, to gauge how I believe you’re feeling. Your body language will speak the words you may not be able to. This is an incredibly intricate form of therapy that we will wade through together. You will never be alone.”
She grinned, and you did the same. The way she explained these things to you was so assuaging. Were you scared? Hell yes. Of course you were scared. You were about to experience events that had become so dark and secreted in your mind, that they’d left you deep, lasting trauma. . . for a second time.
The re-experiencing aspect was daunting. But. . . you weren’t intimidated. You felt strong to withstand what was to come from your mind. There was the sense that you could overcome the darkness that was buried–some forgotten, some not–in your mind. . . especially if Gia was there to help you through it.
She let go of your hands after giving one more reassuring press. Then she was wheeling back to her desk.
“How are you feeling? Are you comfortable?” Gia asked, grabbing a round, average size cloth, zipped bag off of her desk and placing it in her lap. 
“I’m honestly feeling very much at ease right now. And, yes,” you replied honestly. You pressed your hands into the cool leather of the couch you were sitting on, your hands sinking into the ideally aged material. “I love your couch.”
“That’s good,” she smiled, full lips stretching over her white teeth. “Now, I want you to do a few calming exercises with me. We will start with deep breaths, then we will practice a few eye movement exercises. You just let me know when you’re ready.”
Not wanting to wait any longer, you responded readily. “I would love to begin whenever.”
“You’re sure?” 
“Yes,” you replied, brows fixed and eyes serious. “The sooner I can heal from this, myself, the sooner I’ll be healed for my baby. I’m ready.”
She raised a perfectly trimmed, coffee-colored brow. “You’re incredible, y/n.”
You rolled your eyes, but thanked her nonetheless. You weren’t incredible. Your baby was, and he or she was why you were doing this. The baby was your push, without even being born yet–the baby was the powerful one. 
Gia had you complete a variation of calming breathing exercises to center yourself. And after those, you completed eye movement exercises for the first time in your entire life. It was . . . odd, yet equally nice.
“Your body is loosening. You’re letting yourself transcend–easing your mind,” she said, voice airy and light. Your form felt just as light as her tone. “Now, open your eyes. We’ll do a shortened version of those techniques right before we begin. 
Your eyes slowly opened back to reality to see her unzipping the round black case she’d been holding in her lap. When she opened it, the contents of it were brand new to you. You’d never really seen a thing like the devices she was moving to hold in her hands. She pulled out two little black devices that were attached to a chord plugged into a slightly larger black box. This one, though, had knobs and buttons decorating the front of it. Your curiosity was growing by the second.
She wheeled her chair over to you once more, holding the black gadgets in each hand.
“These are tactical paddles,” she said, motioning for you to take them. When you did, she turned a knob on the black box she was still holding, sending a full vibration to the ones in your hands. “They’re buzzers that will help activate both sides of your brain during the session.”
They were buzzing one by one as you held them in the middle of your palms. You couldn’t tell if it was just your imagination, but you swore you felt each side of your brain moving right along with them. She scooted back a bit, giving you space to experience the feeling. She adjusted the knob just slightly once she’d moved away and you felt their vibrations speed up a little. 
“Do they feel okay?” She asked, situating the frames of her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. “How are you feeling?”
“It’s strange,” you said without thinking. “It’s very comfortable to hold them. . . but that is part of why it’s strange.”
Gia loosely giggled at that and reassured you that that reaction was more than typical and that she always considered that particular combination of feelings a good place to begin.  
After completing the body relaxation practices once more, you were being guided by Gia. “Relax your body. Lean back. Lay back. Whatever feels best for you.” With the last word, she adjusted the paddles down to a more neutral setting. Your hands felt tingly in a weird, yet contented way.
“Bring to mind the intention that you are practicing feeling safe when you actually are safe,” she softly said, soothing. “One of the best ways to evoke this feeling of safety is to imagine being in a place that you might really enjoy being–wherever you may feel naturally safe, peaceful, and/or calm.” She paused briefly, the paddles changed speed as your head started to become light. “It can be a real place or a place that you’ve come to imagine in your mind on instinct. This is the place you travel at the idea of feeling serene.”
You breathed an ‘okay’ in response, but focused more on the way the instruments in your hands were aiding in sending you somewhere. You felt the atmosphere of your mind slowly changing–equally present and not.
The word Gia had earlier used. . .’transcend.’ It was the perfect word because you currently were completely, wholly transcendent.
“I’m right here,” Gia quietly, gently reminded you, as the blackness behind your eyes took hold, becoming the only thing your five senses could grasp, aside from the sound of Gia’s gentle guidance. “You are doing great.”
You felt the instantaneous feeling of a light breeze brush your face. It pushed you back, but you also felt the feeling of your body keeping still. There were two places. Reality: Gia’s office. And somewhere completely unknown. . . You were somewhere new. 
This wasn’t a place you’d ever been before. The barely-there sounds of birds chirping in trees within a forest that guarded you, on all sides, reverberated off the walls of your mind. The sounds, the breeze– they helped you find your footing. And suddenly, your feet were bare against the partially warm, partially cool feeling of damp dirt. Rain had recently come to this place. You could smell the rain. But every crevice of your mind knew it wasn’t raining anymore. No, you knew that the moment you opened your eyes, you’d find a light, clear blue sky, maybe a couple wisps of clouds painting against the beautifully blank canvas of azure. But you weren’t opening your eyes yet. You focused on everything else taking shape around you. 
The paddles continued to transfer varying speeds between your palms, but it was the last thing on your mind. They were the guide that you knew to follow, but didn’t have to concentrate on. 
Your nose tuned in to the smell of flowers around you. . . All kinds, but there was a particular plant infiltrating your mind the most. . . Though, you knew you wouldn’t be able to place it until you opened your eyes. It was strange because you knew the smell, but your lack of sight was keeping the name of the flower hidden. 
Other things were hidden with your eyes still closed, but you kind of enjoyed the blank space. 
This season. . . the most wonderful tiny person was bound to grace the world in this season. Spring. It was springtime. You knew that much. Once your mind realized the season you were placed in, your eyes opened a little more to the scene around you. 
Lavender. An entire field of the wonderfully fragrant plant, surrounding you with its calming notes. And it was beautiful. Never in your whole life had you been in such a beautiful space, yet your mind had no problem creating it for you. 
“Tell me what you see, but keep your eyes closed for me,” you heard Gia’s voice, although it sounded a hundred miles away. It was hushed, distant, like you were hearing her through a tunnel–only an echo in your mind. It was strange. Your physical form was still seated on the comfy couch, but you were standing amongst the most lovely sea of lavender. 
“I’m. . .I’m not really sure where I am,” you whispered, feeling like raising your voice would disturb the serenity of this place you’d stumbled upon. “I’ve never been here before. It’s–it’s incredible.”
Much like Gia’s, your own voice felt muted in your head. But, unlike her, you were standing in the middle of a narrow tunnel, whereas she was at the end. You were traveling somewhere. Obviously.
“That’s okay,” she tells you. You suddenly felt the paddles quicken ever so gently in their pace, but they felt good. Comforting. Real. “Just tell me everything you’re seeing right now.”
“Lavender. . .A field of lavender. A forest surrounding me. Blue sky. . .,” You couldn’t feel much of saying the word lavender. “So much of it. I could just lay in it, let it surround me.” 
“So you’re outside– good. What else do you see? Is there any wildlife?” The echo of her voice became even more distant as you began walking around, searching for whatever else was there with you. 
Deer. A whole family across the field, taking nourishment from the flowers and emerald green grass. They weren’t like normal deer, though. They didn’t run from you as you approached them. They weren’t scared, they just existed peacefully within this place. Then, you heard the birds begin chirping again, as if on queue. 
“Birds are singing. . . There are deer,” you felt yourself telling her, still in amazement with your next words. “They’re really beautiful. And they’re not afraid of me. . .? I can almost touch them.” 
This was entirely unreal, yet all too real all at once. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever believe your mind was capable of this. Yet, there you were, witnessing the most alluring scene that you were sure didn’t physically exist anywhere on earth. Only in your mind. Safely in your mind. No one could destroy it, no one could infiltrate it. It was all yours.
“That sounds wonderful, y/n. Let's focus on a few other senses. Tell me what you smell,” Gia’s sweet voice sounded as if it was coming from the sky, from the wind. It was all around you, yet so far away. 
You felt your present body take a deep breath through your nose, trying to get the best whiff you could of everything surrounding your psyche. 
“I smell the lavender. It’s overwhelming, but in the best way. God it. . .It smells so good. So. . . Fresh. It’s newly bloomed. And I can smell rain. It’s not raining now but it was.”
“Good,” Gia softy said. “What can you touch? Tell me what it feels like.” 
You reached down to run your fingers over a spray of the dark violet flowers, their scent became even more powerful as you lightly ruffled them. 
“I’m touching the lavender,” you told her. “The buds are so soft, so light to touch. They feel delicate, but I know they won’t break. They’re sturdy. But they aren’t stiff.” 
Aside from the way they felt against your hands, they also emitted a feeling of pure peace. Of tranquility. A good, clean energy unlike anything you’d ever felt. 
“I can almost feel them too, y/n.” You heard her giggle quietly across the field. “What are you  doing? Are you standing, sitting?”
You then felt the urge to lie down. So, you did. Your body felt weightless in your mind as you let yourself fall backward, landing softly amidst the blooms. It felt like the most comfortable bed you’d ever laid in. But before you answered her, you felt your hands within your mind reach down to your tummy. You had to know if your sweet baby was there with you. 
And as you laid your palm gently over your tiny bump, you felt it. Your baby was with you, safely tucked away in the most calm place you’d ever known. It only made sense that your physical form of comfort found its way to your mental one, too. Feeling your bump here made you feel. . .complete. Although, there was still something missing. You didn’t know what, but you felt it. But at that moment, your baby was all you needed. 
Or so you thought. 
Because when you let yourself sit up from where you’d laid in the magnificent, flourishing field of flowers, you finally felt complete because the last person you needed had arrived. 
He was standing across from you, on the opposite side of the field. His long, wavy chestnut locks, flowing just the slightest bit in the breeze of the dreamy spring day. He wore a blue suit. A dark blue, three-piece suit with a dark blue shirt underneath it all to match. 
He was so handsome. Beyond stunning. The most immaculately created person. . .
He didn’t stay there for long before he was making his way toward you, striding as he naturally did. His walk, so smooth and sexy–always. 
As he came closer, you were learning that, in this realm, time moved just a tad bit different than normal. He seemed to make it over to you in less than a minute, even from the other end of the expansive field of light purple. 
Then, he was right beside you, lying down next to where you still sat next to him. He’d placed his left arm behind his head, to balance and lift himself a little. And, his left arm, spread out, ready for you to lay beside him. Lay with him. 
He didn’t say anything, but you knew that was what he wanted. You’d laid this way with him a million times before.
So, you moved to lay with him in a way that felt like coming home. You laid back, so comfortably relaxing your tired muscles as you placed a hand on his chest, and one side of your face against it. Curling your body into his, you laid one leg over his, your body facing toward him. Your bump was pressed snugly and safely against the side of his abdomen. Safe. 
Everything was safe here. Truly was the safest place your mind could conjure. You felt his steady breaths against the top of your head as you looked out past him, to the side of the field. Where the birds still chirped in the trees and the deer still meandered. 
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice equal with the breeze–quiet, calm. His breaths hit your head with each word, he was so near. . . but his words also echoed amongst the trees, all around you. 
Then, it was Gia’s voice you heard whisper through the trees. 
“You’ve found it, haven’t you? Your safe place,” she questioned knowingly, her tone lilted with excitement for you. 
Had you? 
Before you could consider it any longer, his hand came up to rest against your head, brushing so delicately through your loose strands of hair. Your body hummed, feeling one with the wind as he held you. Protected you. Stayed with you. Your body was telling you your answer in your curated fantasy, communicating it to your concrete form as you uttered it aloud.
“Yes,” you sighed, your body on the couch and still in Jake’s arms. You were vividly existing in your imagination and in reality all at once. This feeling would take some getting used to. While you were in shock, you were also not shocked at all. “Y-yes, I’ve found it.”
Jake . . . was he–? 
The lavender was glorious and the field you laid in, the soft ground, was better than any bed you’d ever graced. . . The deer were exquisite and lovely. The song of the birds, sounding like mystical, heavenly hymns. . . The sound of the trees brushing together in the warm breeze of the cool spring day, making their own music, and better than any white noise you’d ever experienced.
But Jake. . . None of those things even came close to the way you felt in his arms. The way you felt light as air and at ease the moment he’d graced your presence. You’d felt your peace and the baby’s when he’d graced the scene. Still did, as you melted into him, his breaths, his heartbeat, helping you feel free and firmly planted, one with all living things–all at once. There was no question that it was him. 
Jake was your safe place.
-🌼🌼🌼-
“Now, I want you to make sure you’re finding quiet time to locate your safe place,” Gia advised, getting up from her rolling chair as soon as you’d risen from the couch. “It’s essential to practice before the sessions. You want it to be an easy place to locate during the really hard resurgence of memories,” she coached you, pushing her chair to her desk. 
“Got it,” you agreed, head still swimming a little as you steadily came back to reality. The prospect of traveling to that place in your spare time was a little intimidating. . . But also very exciting. 
Seeing Jake so vividly in such a serene atmosphere on a regular basis sounded like paradise. You could definitely find time to practice that. 
“If you’re not opposed, I would maybe find someone to drive you to your sessions,” Gia suggested, going to clean the paddles with a spray and microfiber towel. You tuned back in, alertness settling in. “These sessions,” she made eye contact with you after bending over to grab her tube of Clorox wipes. “They are bound to be–no, they will be incredibly intense,” she used a towel she’d retrieved from the container to wipe it down. “Just someone you can trust to be there for you afterwards. . . so you’re not alone when you’re coming down from these memories that will present themselves again.”
Still smelling hints of lavender and feeling the warmth of a chest beneath you in some other heavenly reality, you knew who you’d pick. Was it a crazy idea? What did Gia think? Would she tell you her opinion or would you be forced to figure this out on your own? You didn’t want to seem crazy . . . . or weird.
You had just found your voice to respond when she started speaking again.
“Who do you think would be the best–?”
“I actually have an idea of who–.”
The way your chest bubbled with laughter alongside her was wonderful. It felt like the most genuine giggle you’d ever exuded. You truly felt like you were in a sphere of incomparable serenity. The way your body felt. . . you felt complete. You felt self-assured. Still smiling, you raised a brow and motioned one hand to emphasize that she should continue with her train of thought. Your other hand safely held your belly, right where your baby was resting in its safe cocoon. 
“You might not like it,” she grinned. 
Instantly, you knew who she was talking about. 
Gia sighed, settling the paddles securely back in their zipped black bag. Her eyes found yours, testing the waters. Then she offered her opinion in a firm tone, “Jake would be ideal. He would be my option,” she winked, encouraging.
Your chest exhaled in relief. You weren’t crazy. 
-🌼🌼🌼-
Gia had sensed your unsureness as she walked you to the front desk. She was taller than you with a sort of swagger in her trendy set of corduroy overalls. 
Nerves were wracking you, sweat already pricking in your armpits. You’d voiced your concerns to her in her office to which she’d told you to follow her.So, you had.
And when you made it to the front ‘desk’ (a tall counter with a window in front of it), you linked your hands under your belly with a sigh. Gia stopped at the counter and leaned on the heavy, light gray granite–opposite of where you stood on your way to the door. She leveled you with a stare, her fingers tapping against the expensive granite. 
“I’m just going to tell you this,” she sighed, a tiny little grin on her full lips. “Be confident. Have confidence. You can do it. Just try it out. Seriously. All you have to do is give it a try. I see it in you, y/n,” she firmly stated. Then, she got even more serious with a furrow in her dark brown brow. “Let. Him. Care, y/n. Don’t you dare work to control him just because you feel like you don’t deserve it.”
-🌼🌼🌼-
So, when you got home, you somehow found it in you to take Gia’s advice . . . and you immediately went to talk to Jake. The more you contemplated it on the drive home, you realized you weren’t really too nervous to ask him anymore. . .
The nerves had dissipated little by little as you’d rehashed your time in your safe place. How seamless things had been there. . . it felt like before. Like normal. . . and even though it wasn’t your normal anymore, you were clinging to it. It was giving you courage. And the fact that Jake was literally your safe place was giving you courage. 
Yeah, he made you nervous because he was Jake, but he also eased you so effortlessly because he was Jake. He was safe. 
He wasn’t perfect, no. But, he was someone who was permanently, preciously ingrained in your heart. Today had officially proved that. And you were carrying the sweetest little piece of him. . . that helped the nerves for sure. There was a piece of him that was always with you. And now that he knew about said precious baby, things genuinely seemed to be normal between the two of you again. . . as normal as could be at the current time.
It had you knocking on his bedroom door. 
It dawned on you as you delivered the knock that you hadn’t even thought of checking his parking space to see if he was home.  You’d been too anxious to see him and ask him what you had been encouraged to ask. . . .Before you lost the magic courage. Because, yes, let’s be real, he still made you nervous as hell. He was Jake.
It was all confusing and weird. As you stood there, waiting for longer than you’d planned, you realized he might not even be home. You could be standing here waiting for nothing. Or worse, Maya was in there with him or some shit and you were going to open the door to–.
Jake.
The door had opened to show a very sleepy, very effortlessly handsome Jake. His hair was all tousled like he’d been in a deep slumber. And when you looked past him, his bed was a mess from a nap. . .but no curvy, beautiful woman occupied it. 
The only thing you saw laying in the bed was a book, right next to the fluffed pillow where his head had been resting. It was open, laying face down with several sticky notes peeking out of the pages. And all that you could make out was a picture of a pregnant woman on the cover and the word ‘Expecting’ on the cover before your attention was brought back to him talking.
“Y/n?. . . You okay?” He was talking, voice patient and calm, but sounding as though he’d said the words a time or two before you’d come back to. 
You were quick to cover your ass to hide that you had been spying in his room. 
“Sorry,” you shook your head, looking down and clasping your hands under your tummy subconsciously. His eyes followed your hands, a little smile forming on his lips. You continued, “I just wanted to ask you something.”
His eyes opened, as if waiting for what you wanted to ask. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “What’s that?”
You cleared your throat, suddenly a little nervous, but suddenly worked to picture him in the field of lavender. And then you were okay again. He was Jake. He was safe. “I–,” you glanced down, then back up to his kind, tired eyes. Just say it, y/n. “Would you mind going to a few of my therapy appointments with me?”
“Yes,” he replied, without any hesitation whatsoever. “Of course. Special ones or. . .?”
“All of them,” you blurted, needing to clear it up. Honesty. Just be honest. Don’t fear his reaction. He’s Jake. 
Eyebrows wrinkled, his lip quirked. “All of them. . .? Like, all of the special ones or–?”
“All of the appointments. Any of the appointments I have that you can make it to. I just need someone safe to go with me,” you rushed out. 
He blinked a few times, a gentle shake of his head before his eyes got sincere and a smile spread over his pretty lips. “And you chose me?”
“Yes,” you simply answered, not trusting yourself to say anything more. There was a definite part of you still reeling from today’s session and seeing him when you imagined somewhere safe. 
Standing there for a few seconds, you could tell he had a million questions floating through his mind. And, knowing him, you knew he was probably wondering why you hadn’t chosen Josh. And, to be totally truthful, you hadn’t once thought of Josh at the prospect of someone safe being there with you to see you through after the sessions. 
Jake seemed to be the only valid option. The only person you wanted to go with you. Even if Elsie were still living here, totally accessible and available, you knew Jake still would’ve been your first choice. The therapy had been his idea. He had asked you how it was going. He was someone you trusted to talk to, and he was someone invested in this with you. And he was him.
“I’d love that,” he responded softly. “When are the appointments?”
He’d love it? Your heart was thumping in your chest at the words. Absently, you thought of your poor heart monitor, and how it was going to be picking up some crazy data due to this man. 
“Every Monday,” you quietly responded. Then, you thought, before getting your hopes up, you’d better tell him what he was really in for. . . because he might end up eating his words once he found out his job in it all. “You’ll just have to wait for me. You could run an errand or two or whatever while I’m in my hour-long sessions. . . and sometimes they might go over.” He nodded, seeming fine with that. You were shocked. Didn’t know why you were shocked because he was naturally so thoughtful. You knew this. “And then, you’ll have to be there afterwards. And I might be emotional. This form of therapy is intense,” you explained. Then, you thought . . . “Well, you probably already know that because you. . .”
“Found it,” he finished, eyes twinkling. “I’d still love to go. You’re not going to scare me away from it. I know you’re afraid of that.”
Why the fuck did he even care to read you like a damned book? Surely your thought processes didn’t matter that much to him. But, you remembered his voice, reassuring you after Applebee’s. Cleaning up some toxic thoughts you’d let form.
“. . .I didn’t stop caring about you . . .” 
“. . .Just because I’m not talking to you or falling asleep next to you . . . It doesn’t mean I don’t still want what’s best for you. Hence why I’m the one who initiated the therapy conversation. I kept my end of the deal and researched for you because I care.”
Then, it was Gia’s voice. What she’d told you that day. . .just before you’d left.
“Let him care, y/n. Don’t work to control him just because you feel like you don’t deserve it.”
Let him care. 
You decided to just continue on with the only reasonable response, eyes, filling with tears, trained on your fidgeting feet. “Thank you,” the words came out as a whisper. But you shook your head. Confidence. Looking up, you tried again, smiling with your eyes. “Thank you.”
His eyes held yours for a moment. He just let his eyes sink into yours. . .like he’d done so many times before. Just as he had in times past, he was letting himself read you. You could tell. 
Not able to help it, your cheeks filled with heat at his stare. Your heart picked up speed. You had to speak again. Break the quietness. The calmness in his observant, knowing irises was too much.  
“Will Maya be okay with it?” 
Why you chose to break the ice with her, you didn’t know. Probably to get his mind off of you and back on her. Where you knew he wanted it to be. He might have still cared for you, but she was the woman he loved. To him, you were sure that she mattered in this just as much as you did.
He shut his eyes once briefly, and with a shake of his head, he was back. His eyebrows dipped, pursed his lips with a curt nod. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure,” he assured. He tightened his fingers against his biceps. You couldn’t help but watch his strong hand flex. “I’ll–um, I’ll just tell her when the appointments are so she knows I’m not available on those days.”
Shit. You didn’t want to take him away from her. You hadn’t even thought of that. That would definitely be selfish. And not available on those days? Like, not available at all? Was he planning on spending entire Mondays with you?
Hurriedly, you offered a response to make sure to clear the air. “Oh my god. I didn’t even think of you having to–,” you groaned. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t go with me if it’s going to interrupt your plans with her.”
His brows wrinkled. “I never said that.”
“It was implied,” you defended your thought process. 
“No, it wasn’t.”
You were suddenly irritated that he wasn’t understanding why you felt bad. “I just don’t want to be selfish, Jake. That’s all I’m saying. God.”
He rolled his eyes, hands getting stuffed in the pockets of the sweatpants he was wearing. You just realized how low they hung on his hips. You could see the very bottom of his stomach with the way he’d cut his t-shirt, just above the hip bones. You flicked your eyes back to his face when he spoke again. And, again, your face was hot. 
“I was literally saying I want to be there for you and I need to tell her that’s what I’m doing on those days,” he explained, tone sharp and patient all at once. He was putting his foot down.
You conceded. But. . . it made you think of something. Maybe it was the tan stomach of his skin and how badly you wanted to run your fingers across it. Or perhaps it was the fact that the woman in question might not be privy to one important detail. 
So, you asked. “Does she know I’m pregnant with your baby yet?”
His baby. 
You ignored the thought, instead training your mind on the serious matter at hand: would she be okay with it if she knew you were pregnant with his baby?
“No,” he curtly replied. Then, his tone was entirely calm when he stated, “She won’t know until you give me the okay to tell her. I told you that already.”
Flushing, you found his eyes. You tried your best to match the sincerity in his irises with your own. “Thank you for being considerate of that.”
“Of course,” his lips twitched to a small grin, then fell back to a purse. He chewed the inside of his cheek.
Fuck. You needed to wrap this up. You were wasting his time. But–you had to know. . . 
You cleared your throat, replacing your hands from below your tummy to cross under your boobs. The way his eyes flickered down with the action couldn’t be ignored and it gave you the push to ask. “. . .what does she know about us?”
“She knows you’re my friend and that we’re close because we live together,” he offered.
For some reason, the fact that he’d called you his friend made your heart leap into the bottom of your throat. It made you sort of sad, yet happy at the same time. Sad that you couldn’t be more, but glad that he was willing to call you such a wonderful thing. Did he seriously trust you to be his friend?
“We’re friends?” You shyly pondered. 
Aaand hormones were officially in control of your dialogue. It was time to wrap it up. Quick. You eyed the ground, embarrassed at your lack of control over questions.
But, his response was measured, so sweetly assuring you with his next words. His voice was soft and raspy, “I never wanted to not be your friend.” Then, suddenly, he was touching you. His hand was placed on your cheek, lifting your face gently to look into his eyes. There was no saving the response on the heart monitor data. And the swarm of buzzing butterflies in your tummy. You lost yourself in his gaze. “No matter what happens, you are my friend. I always want to be your friend, honey.” 
Honey. 
Your pulse increased tenfold and you couldn’t help the flutter of your lashes, your eyes watery yet again. 
His hand was still on your cheek, and a warm blush had settled in them when you mumbled, ashamed. “I hate you ditching your girlfriend for me. I don’t want to be selfish.”
A finger smoothed gently on your cheek, just beneath your lashes. “You’re not being selfish. And I’m not ditching her,” he removed his hand, and your heart sputtered a few times, trying to balance all of the emotions transpiring within you. He reached behind him, grabbing the handle of the door and shutting it behind him. When he moved forward with the motion, you stepped back. Didn’t want to risk getting too close. His eyes found yours as he consoled you. “Please quit thinking of it like that. I promised to be there–to help you–you a long time ago, and I intend to keep that promise. Let me.”
You were back in the hallway at your grandparents’ home. He was coming to sit next to you, against their beige, textured walls. The house, smelling like the pie that was baking. Familiar and safe. But the home had been the last thing making you feel safe in that moment. It was the man sitting next to you, telling you to let him help you.
“I want to help you. Let me.”
The same night he’d made the promise to find a therapist for you. Then, you were in his bed that night. . .Your cheek, on his damp chest.
 Tears were falling on his chest, your chest was tight as they kept coming, his skin prickling in their wake. “I–I’m sor–sorry.”
“Why, baby?” His voice settled your nerves. Warm. Soft. Him. 
“I hate that you have to see me cry,” you sniffled, wiping at the tears on his chest. But instead of letting you continue, he’d held your hand there, so you could feel the stable beat of his heart. 
“If crying is what it takes to heal, I’m here to listen to you as you wade through it.”
And, then, again. . . those same words filtered through your memory through a warm haze. 
Laying on top of him, in his bed, as you’d stared deeply into the darkness of his eyes, he’d earnestly spoken to you. “I want to help you. Let me.”
“Okay,” you sighed in the present time, your eyes not containing the pools accumulating in them, a singular tear falling down your cheek. 
Thankfully, it happened when he had decided to go back into his room to get something. And as soon as you’d brushed it away, he was back in front of you and had his phone in his hand. It was open, his fingers above the keyboard to show he was about to start typing. 
“What do you want me to tell her you need me for?” He looked up at you, hands steady around the phone as his eyes waited for you. His eyes, open and willing to help. Willing to understand. “I don’t have to tell her that it’s for therapy.”
“You can tell her it’s for therapy,” you responded. His brow raised, as if to ask ‘you sure?’, to which you responded, “I’m sure,” you grinned. Then, you continued on with what would be a valid excuse to give her for why you wanted him to go. “Just tell her you have to drive me to the appointments I have on those days because it’s a long drive that I don’t want to take by myself.”
His lips lifted easily, eyes tired, still, but wholly there with you to help. “Okay.”
As he typed, you stood there–so grateful for him. God, he was amazing. You could not believe there was ever a time you’d thought any different. Jake Kiszka. . . he was the man of fucking dreams. You knew he was. And you’d. . . let him go.
But, as you still believed, it was for good reason that you’d cut things off.
It kept lines drawn and clear and simple. Kept him focused on the dream. It just helped. Right?
Once he’d shoved the phone in his pocket and you’d heard the sending noise and the click of the phone going off, you decided to go ahead and let him be. You began walking to your room, and he started walking in the direction of the front of the apartment. Just as you’d opened your door, suddenly very sleepy and sore from your body growing a human, you spoke again. “Thank you, Jake.”
He turned as soon as you’d spoken, his gaze calm and falling on yours gently. His eyes felt like the breeze on a warm, spring day. The same sort of day you’d imagined in your safe place. 
“Don’t thank me,” he started. His phone chimed in his pocket, but he didn’t even reach for it. Instead, he crossed to you once more, your chest heating at him coming close again. And, once more, his hand reached up to delicately hold your face. The callouses that grazed your cheek brought so much comfort. They were familiar and felt like peace. “This is something I want to do. You don’t have to thank me.” 
Your mouth opened to dispute and as soon as you did, he saw it. 
At this, his lips lifted and he held your cheek fully in his palm, eyes boring into yours as he spoke. “Don’t argue with me. I mean every word. And you know it.”
-🌼🌼🌼-
Life was finally feeling peaceful again with Jake back in it, and in the know about the baby. Having him as a friend in your life was filling your cup – just the mere knowledge of him being there made you rest easier. Every morning was the same. A comfortable, reassuring sort of same. 
You’d wake up, and lay in your bed for a few minutes, rubbing your belly. Checking the Ovia app to read something new about the baby to start the day, you’d also check the size of the baby on that given week for the 100th time on that given week. After clicking your phone off, you would lay there and ponder your day and everything that you had to do. 
And once your feet touched the ground, you were walking to grab underwear, a maternity bra (because, yes, you’d purchased one with the speed your boobs had grown). Then came the outfit you’d set out the night before. (Even though sometimes, there would be a last minute change in wardrobe due to day-to-day changes in your body – the insecurities were slowly becoming very real, the more your body changed. And even the teeniest, tiniest changes were strikingly obvious to you.) 
The bathroom was your next stop. You’d take off the heart monitor before your shower, brush your teeth, and in the shower, you would glance down at your belly, water washing over it, to reflect on the person inside of it and how he or she was growing. And these days, you spent a lot of time wondering if the baby was a he or she. . . Just as you’d lean towards one guess, you’d lean towards the other. On certain days, you would wash your hair and if it hadn’t been very long, you’d skip that step. 
Once finished with the shower, you’d observe yourself to see if any stretch marks had grown, and at this point, a few had shown up, so a special cream was one the way that would be added to your morning and nightly routine to help prevent those from sticking around. Now, all you did was brush your hair and usually put it in a claw clip to avoid sweating profusely by keeping it against your neck. Then, you’d replace the adhesive of your heart monitor and adjust it to track your heart rate. 
You were so ready to be done with the stupid fucking device. It was a pain for many reasons. . . and you just hated the way it looked on your chest. It was a huge blemish on your changing body. A body that you were already feeling insecure enough about, even without the monitor.
When you’d trail back to your bedroom after your shower, you finished out the routine by taking your prenatals, checking your hemoglobin (which was doing consistently well, relieving you every time you saw the numbers stay positive), and you would pop a PregEase into your mouth to chew. The chewable had helped drastically with your nausea, and you weren’t planning on stopping it any time soon.
Finally, you’d go to the kitchen counter after making a smoothie in your BlendJet, and sit there to sip it as you read through The Panic-Free Pregnancy, taking notes in a notebook you’d purchased solely for baby notes.
And, now, since Jake had found out, he’d greet you in the kitchen or on your way to the bathroom to shower and he’d check on the baby. Check on how you were feeling. It always made you blush with the fact that he cared to check in. It was just really fucking sweet of him. Showed his heart. Of course, it wasn’t for you, it was for the baby. But still. . . it made your heart skip a beat. 
The day before Thanksgiving was no different. Except, this morning, Jake stopped you just as you’d grabbed your backpack and opened the door to leave for school. 
“Hey,” he called out to you. Your phone buzzed in your black LuluLemon, slung across your chest. When you turned, he flashed his phone screen towards you briefly. “Josh just texted in the group chat and asked if it was okay for us to have Friendsgiving here like you usually do. Day after Thanksgiving. Want me to tell him it’s fine?”
“Of course,” you grinned, getting your phone out to see the text for yourself. But, as you did, you also saw you were cutting it close to make it to class on time. Grabbing your keys out of your bag, you quickly responded, opening the door wider, one foot out. “Just tell him yes.”
He began typing as you went to walk out, the Jetta gave its signature beep across the parking lot as you unlocked it. But just as you stepped out, you stopped. Fuck. You’d have to clean the place. 
Normally, it would be no big deal, but you were still working long hours and keeping up with several classes while also being pregnant. . . 
So, you stepped back into the apartment, hand still holding the door open. You glanced up at him, accepting your fate. “I'll probably be cleaning the apartment tonight. I don’t want to have to fight any real baby tiredness on top of any food baby tiredness tomorrow night. I already get sleepy at the end of Thanksgiving Day, and I’m sure it’ll just be worse this year with,” you pointed to your belly. 
His eyes twinkled, but he didn’t say anything. . .probably because you were rambling and he was annoyed by it.
You twisted the knob, needing to leave, but wanting to let him know, “You can find something to do tonight so you don’t have to be around me and my obsessive compulsive cleaning habits.” 
He raised a brow, placing his phone on the counter. “Would it be okay if I helped you clean?”
“Um,” you faltered, nervous of him seeing that cringeworthy side of you. “I get really intense when I clean for special events.”
“I’m sure,” he grinned, winking. Your tummy swarmed with butterflies at the gesture. He continued, “But I still want to help you. Will you let me?”
Let him.
“I get kind of scary.”
“I don’t care.”
You measured him with your eyes, contemplating. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t love his help. . . It would be fantastic to have someone help you. You just didn’t want to scare him away. 
You’re having his baby, y/n. Did you scare him away when he found out about that? Or did he want to help you then, too? And what about when he–?
“Sure,” you said, promptly cutting off the voice in your head. “You can help. I’m just warning you. My control issues are bound to go haywire when I deep clean.”
“For good reason,” he defended. “In that circumstance.”
Your lips raising into a soft smile couldn’t be stopped. “Thanks, Jake.”
The soft smile didn’t leave your face as you made the trek to your car. 
Then it all came crashing down when you passed Maya in all of her graceful, voluptuous beauty, right before you got to your car. Your outfit of a giant sweater and loose AE jeans suddenly paled in comparison to her sexy black pencil skirt and tight white button-up shirt. Her perfume, sweet and expensive, wafting off of her in waves as she passed by you with a smile and a quick wave. Then there was you: wearing your Bath and Body Works body spray that you got on sale for $5.95.
Her heels clicked past you as your old white Nikes caught a rock and almost made you trip, eliciting a weird noise from your mouth. Hand on the belly, you caught yourself – not so gracefully. When you looked behind you to see if she’d witnessed it, she was already knocking on the door of the apartment. . .and being greeted with a kiss from Jake. The smile was absolutely wiped off your face at the sight of that.
Of course, your mind traveled to a not-so-fun place as you buckled into your car and went to turn on your soul music playlist. You just sat there, contemplating once more how much it sucked that you couldn’t be with him. It was even more sad with your predicament – it made your heart jump into your throat that you couldn’t complete the natural circle of two parents with a baby.
The song that started off the playlist was perfect for bringing you out of your slump, though. The Commodores singing about being ”High On Sunshine” reminded you of how serene and peaceful you’d felt when you’d woken up. Life was going well. . .Truly, completely well. You didn’t need a relationship with Jake to complete a circle of sorts. . . Really. Especially at this point in your life.
You could be friends – it really wouldn’t be so bad. Just friends. You’d take what you could get. Things would be fine.
-🌼🌼🌼-
“I don’t mind you telling her now,” you mentioned that night, packing up a nice dinner he’d made after you’d cleaned the entire apartment. 
He’d made chicken fajitas. 
Considering the meal was a crowd favorite (the crowd being you and the baby), it had been wonderful when you’d found out tonight how damn good he was at making them. Although, saying that you were packing it up into leftover containers with him. . .was a lie. 
You were leaning against the ledge of the counter top, watching him put it in Tupperware. He’d told you to sit and rest your feet and that he would worry about putting it away. Only agreeing halfway, you sure rested but didn’t rest your feet like he’d asked. After quietly accepting the offer with a quiet okay, you nodded your head. Then, you went to stand against the counter. 
“Please. Sit.” He’d encouraged, his voice slightly impatient, already weary with you. By the look in his eyes, you knew that he knew it was no use and that you weren’t going to agree. “You had to go to school and workwork today. You should rest your feet.”
Even though your feet did hurt like hell, you still weren’t about to let him boss you around. 
“Nah, I think I’m good,” you replied, shrugging. You took turns balancing and bouncing between each foot, totally giving you away. “I sit around too much.”
“Y/n.”
“Jake.”
He’d given you a look. And you had stared right back until he gave up and rolled his eyes before going about his business. 
In the present time, he was once again peering at you. But this time, his eye brow was raised in curiosity. “What?” He asked, unsure.
“You can tell Maya if you want,” you repeated, your eyes encouraging. “Tell her that you’re having a baby,” you laughed under your breath at that. A piece of hair fell from its place behind your ear. “Or, I guess, if we’re being technical. . . That I’m having your baby.”
He didn’t laugh along with the funny wording, just continued looking at you like you’d grown three heads. 
“Why?”
You didn’t know. All you knew was that Maya wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. So, in order to save Jake some extra stress, he’d better tell her sooner rather than later. That was it. 
“Just want it to be out in the open,” you stated plainly, shrugging once more. “Josh is going to tell Sam and Daniel for me soon. . . Explain all of the nitty gritty details of us so I don’t have to again.”
His face sank momentarily. Though, it didn’t last long enough for you to be sure if it wasn’t something you’d imagined.
“On top of that, I’m telling my grandparents tomorrow, so you just go ahead and tell her,” you explained further, trying to convince him it was okay.
He blinked a few times, probably processing it all. And then he responded.
“Okay,” he finally said, lips making a lopsided grin, eyes still containing a sense of curiosity.
“Okay,” you echoed, suddenly feeling the reality of him telling her. . . the reality of Josh telling Sammy and Danny. . .
It was about to be out in the open. Everyone was about to know. Not counting the doctors or Gia, a tiny total of four people in your life knew. Only four. You, Elsie, Josh, and Jake. And now, that number was about to increase. And with your permission, no less. 
-🌼🌼🌼-
November 24, 2022
You were on your way to your grandparents’ house, Elsie being your chauffeur when you filled her in on all of the therapy appointments (though, not the person secured in your safe place), your heart monitor in all of its ridiculous, agonizing glory.
Then, the boys’ careers came up in conversation. The music. The albums. The photoshoots. You even told her about the fan who called Jake hot. And as she was laughing about the fan interaction, and how uncomfy she was sure it made you, you thought to text Jake something that needed to be said. Something you’d believed in with your whole heart since the beginning. His career. 
It was even more important to you now that you were going to have his baby. It had trailed through your mind enough times that you knew you needed to share it with him. 
You, 12:02 p.m.: Please don’t put your career on hold for me or the baby.
It took a few moments, when Elsie was in the middle of telling you that she wasn’t sure how she felt about other girls calling Josh hot. You were absently agreeing on not being sure about it when you got the notification of his response.
Jake, 12:05 p.m.: I won’t. I’ll figure it out. 
And while you were in the middle of having one hard conversation, you decided on another. Something that broke your heart to say, but you believed in it just like you did the other topic. It was going to be awkward to talk about in person, so you were going to be a coward and hide behind the phone to say it.
You, 12:06 p.m.: We also don’t need to be in a relationship.
After sending it, you instantly realized the perspiration that had gathered on your palms. Instead of talking to Elsie, you just stared at your phone. After finding out, he’d turned his read receipts on, so you were able to see the moment he’d seen the message. 
While cleaning the night before, you’d asked him about it and his response was that he had done it so there weren’t any holes in your communication about baby-related things.
Jake, 12:08 p.m.: Never said we did. I don’t need that.
I don’t need that.
Translated, you knew it was a way of saying it would cause unnecessary stress. And you’d be remiss to ignore that the stress would most definitely result from you and your stupid emotional instability. And that thought just reminded you that the baby was the most important person to work on being emotionally stable for–not its father. 
Nonetheless, his response hurt way more than it should have. It cut fucking deep. For no reason whatsoever, because you knew he had a point. You believed the same as he did. Your previous text said as much. You just had to think logically. 
Jake, 12:09 p.m.: 1, I’m already in a relationship
Jake, 12:09 p.m.: and 2, it’ll be easier for us because we won’t have to worry about a relationship. It’s good that we’re just friends.
He was right. He made sense. You knew it. It was good to be just friends.
You, 12:10 p.m.: You are very right. I’m glad we’re on the same page.
Jake, 12:10 p.m.: and as far as touring and the band goes, we can figure out how to handle a baby in all of it. We’ll just work in a few more breaks or something
Jake, 12:11 p.m.: don’t worry about that. We’ll be fine. 
Jake, 12:11 p.m.: and by “we” I mean you, me and the baby
Right as you’d pulled up to your grandparents’ home, you sent him a final text about it. If you were being totally honest, the conversation made you feel sick to your stomach and you just wanted to focus on the fact that it was Thanksgiving. 
There was also the fact that you were more than just a little nervous about rocking your grandparents’ entire world. 
You, 12:22 p.m.: Thank you for talking to me about this. We can talk about it more at some other point. Have a good Thanksgiving!
Instantly, he read it. But it took him a bit to respond. You knew he was busy with family and Maya. And again, your stomach was knotted at another thought. Her. Them. Dream couple.
Jake, 12:25 p.m.: for sure. We’ll find time :) 
Jake, 12:25 p.m.: happy thanksgiving, y/n. I’m thankful for you. I really hope you know that.
With that last text, your heart sped up, your monitor phone beeping repeatedly in your belt bag to notify you of it. As if you couldn’t already feel the way your heart was about to literally beat out of your chest at his words. You grumpily unzipped your bag to get it out, locking your phone on your lap.
“Holy shit, dude,” Elsie exclaimed as she shut off the car. “Are you okay?! What’s happening?!”
You reassured her that it was just your monitor telling you your heart rate had gone up. But you made an excuse for why. Didn’t want her on your ass.
“I’m just really nervous to tell Grandma and Grandpa,” you lied.
You didn’t have to wait long for it to stop beeping. Thank God. It was annoying as hell, calling you out when you did not want to be called out. Finally, it turned off, though.
Elsie’s eyes became sympathetic, her delicate hand coming out to squeeze your sweater-clad arm. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be there the whole time. Deep breaths,” she calmly assured, taking a few with you. “And they’ll honestly just be really excited. Grandma, immediately. . . but Grandpa. . .”
“. . .Might take him a while,” you finished.
Your Grandma wasn’t necessarily your greatest worry, but she had been known to judge a time or two. . . Your Grandpa on the other hand. . . he was in a constant state of disappointment. All in all, you really had no fucking clue what to expect. Within seconds, the two of you were busting up at the thought. He was a pain in the ass. The definition of a crotchety old man. Laughing with Elsie was therapeutic. And this laughter in particular was incredibly necessary.
She waited for you to feel calm enough to go inside, and once you did, you got out to follow Elsie to the door. You never responded to the text. Didn’t even react to it with an exclamation, thumb, or heart. You didn’t want to mess anything up. 
So, you just let it be your last positive push before going inside your grandparents’. Because, while it hadn’t been the reason to make your monitor go batshit crazy, it was still incredibly nerve wracking to tell the people that raised you. The idea of telling them that you were pregnant by a man you weren’t in a relationship with. . . yeah.
You closed your eyes momentarily to locate your Safe Place. You’d gotten quite good at finding it. All you had to do was close your eyes and call it. But as Elsie unlocked the door to let the two of you in, the present time was unkindly welcoming you back in with anxious arms. 
Deep. Fucking. Breaths.
-🌼🌼🌼-
Thanksgiving was one of your favorite holidays. Christmas was your absolute favorite, but Thanksgiving was right up there, just behind it. 
For one, it meant your whole family got to be together for a holiday, and you loved getting to spend time with your family. It felt more special than just about anything else. . . and Thanksgiving was so great because it was just a day where you sat around, eating food, being with each other, talking and laughing. It was a holiday meant to force you to ruminate on why you were thankful for each other– a holiday that was designed to bring out the best in a person.
The hope that your grandparents would only have love in their hearts when they heard your news was the only thing that had pulled you and your nerves through the doorway. The same doorway you’d entered through a million and one times before. Except this time, someone else was entering with you. Your hand touched subconsciously to your rounded belly. There was nothing you could do about your predicament now, so you could only hope for the best responses they could muster.
As you walked in, the smell of your Grandma’s ever-famous smoked turkey flooded your senses, momentarily calming you. It reminded you of the main reason Thanksgiving and Christmas were your favorite holidays. They’d been that way for years–as long as you could remember. Her turkey was an absolute favorite of yours dating all the way back to your childhood. Cooking was her love language, and you first learned that before you ever went to live with your grandparents. You could remember loving it and finding solace in the taste of her full, home cooked meal on the rare occasion that your mom decided to celebrate the holidays with her parents. 
The taste and aroma of your Grandmother’s food represented peace for you–especially her holiday food. Holidays were special because they were the only time you were ever able to escape your mother and the now-hazy situations she’d put you in for the first ten years of your life. And then, when you’d gone to live with them, you’d finally found safety and security. . . The taste of her food had just continued its pattern of bringing you the feeling of comfort.
The times your mom would tote you and Elsie over state lines to see them were always very special. They were bittersweet memories for you. It was the only way you’d been able to see your grandparents then, as she never made them privy to your changing living locations. The three of you were always on the move. Never in one place for too long. But every home was dirtier than the last, a new man who would occupy it, as if anxiously anticipating your arrival.
You shook your head at those times–didn’t want to think about it for too long. Those thoughts led down dangerous, terrifying, dark paths that you didn’t want to experience on a day like today. Those times were the ones you’d explore in EMDR with a licensed professional at the ready to help guide you. 
You’d decided years ago that you weren’t going to venture down those paths alone. Didn’t want to bother Elsie, so instead, you’d instead pushed the memories away to near nonexistence. And. . . today was not the day you planned to change that. You wanted Gia with you for that, thank you very much. 
As you walked closer to the kitchen, you heard the sounds of your grandparents’ laughter, sounding so much like you were used to. . . You could only hope and pray to everything that it would continue on as normal—as normal as it could be—after they found out your big news. 
The warm hugs and expressions of joy that greeted you as the two of you rounded the corner were both a reassurance and an added stressor to your shaky nerves. You really didn’t want to shake their world too much. . . Didn’t want this to change. This was your first true home. They were your first people.
The people who took you and your sister in when you had no one else, the ones who raised you, showed you love when it felt your entire world lacked it. You couldn’t quite rid the apprehension to tell them. You would not be able to until the news officially left your mouth. 
-🌼🌼🌼-
“I’m pregnant.”
The sound of forks clinking against plates and the deafening sound of silence surrounded the entire dining room. You weren’t sure where the fuck it had come from–why you’d chosen to say it when you did. . . but there was no doubt it was out now. No questions were asked. Not yet. All eyes in the room, trained on you. Everyone sat still, totally unmoving and in total shock. 
Thankfully, only a few moments of it had to pass before your sister broke the silence. She was trying to buy some peace for you. Just as much as you, she was not a fan of awkward silence or tension.
“I, for one, am so, so excited,” Elsie beamed, looking back and forth between your grandparents, whose mouths were still clamped shut. “It’s going to be wonderful–the sweetest addition to this family!”
After only a few seconds of Elsie’s attempt to ease the air, your Grandma started blinking and you soon realized that she was blinking back tears. Oh no. . . was she upset? Disappointed? The woman who raised you so well – loved you better than anyone ever had before, who took you in when no one else wanted you. . . She didn’t need to sit there feeling any negative emotions only because of your careless decision. Just like she’d done for you, you needed to comfort her in this moment of unclarity. 
You went to rise from your seat, beginning an explanation you weren’t quite sure of yet once you were standing. “Grandma, I–.”
“Babygirl!” Your Grandmother exclaimed, bursting into tears. And before you could make it from where you stood beside your floral padded chair, she was walking to you – as fast as her frail legs could carry her. Even though you watched her every move, the feeling of her arms wrapping around you came before you expected it to. “We couldn’t be happier. I don’t even have to look at your Grandfather to know he’s as ecstatic as me. I know he loves you just like I do,” she sighed, squeezing you gently. Her shaky, familiar voice spoke softly in your ear, “A baby is the greatest gift – especially if it’s one of my babies’ babies.”
You blinked back all of the emotion that nestled comfortably into your bones. The distinct, wistfully familiar notes of Chanel No. 5 wrapped around you as tight as her arms. And, suddenly, the scent had you back in a mirage of memories where she was holding you just the same. 
The first time a boy had broken your heart at thirteen years old. When you fell off your bike the month after you moved in with them, crying more over your mother than the bike wreck. Anytime you and Elsie got into some asinine bickering match that only your Grandmother could settle. . . So many times she’d held you just like this. Except this time, you felt it differently, gripped closer to her, not ready to let go. . . you’d needed this so badly. Hadn’t even realized just how badly you needed to feel her hold you after finding this out. 
You sniffed, finally letting yourself part from her. She wasn’t going to be the first to let go, so you made the move. “Grandma,” you looked directly into her eyes, getting lost in the aging, watery icy blue irises. “Your approval – and Grandpa’s,” you glanced at him briefly, a small smile on his face as he watched you. Your heart leapt. “It meant more to me than anyone else’s.” 
Elsie huffed and made a noise. Your Grandma giggled at Elsie’s indignance. You rolled your eyes, turning to your sister for a split second to give her a look, then faced the aging woman once more. “Almost anyone else’s. I was just scared to let you down, although I. . .,” you paused momentarily, blinking back tears as her perfume infiltrated your senses once more as she pushed some hair delicately behind your ear. “I should have known better than that.”
“My precious babygirl, there is nothing you could ever do that would make us think less of you,” she insisted, bringing her hand down to your arm, softly soothing circles into your flesh through your sweater. “Not only have we told you that your entire life, but I could only hope we have been able to show it to you. Just how much you mean and how we are always on your side – no matter what.”
-🌼🌼🌼-
The rest of the dinner and dessert went on about the same, with your Grandpa actually receiving the news very well–only grumbling slightly at the idea of the father not being around.
To which Elsie had quickly defended with a correction, pointed straight at your Grandfather, her eyes glued to him. “Don’t be so quick to make assumptions, Grandpa.”
You’d joined in, too, not wanting her to have to approach that on her own. It wasn’t her responsibility to have to make any reassurances for your mindless decision. 
“He is in the picture, Grandpa,” you assured, swallowing your bite of pumpkin pie. Your eyes linked with his, begging him to understand. “I never said he wasn’t. I only said that I didn’t want to tell you who he is yet.”
After that, he’d simmered down on the father subject enough for dessert to finish up. And, as Elsie and your Grandma went to put away leftovers, you led the way to the living room to set up A Christmas Story. It was a Thanksgiving tradition to watch it after stuffing your faces to the point of exhaustion. 
Just as you’d gotten the movie queued up, you heard his telling sigh behind you. His years-old maroon, fabric recliner, moaning with the sudden weight of a person. You gave him the slightest smile, still unsure of how to act around him as he’d been supportive, just quiet about it. 
His reaction could definitely be expected, but you didn’t want it. You just wanted him to not act crotchety, just this once. Problem was, you were kind of stuck on what to say. So, instead of saying anything to initiate conversation, you sat on your phone, checking Instagram stories. 
So many fucking coupley photos with the most generic captions. But, to your complete relief, nothing had yet been posted by Jake or Maya (yes, you followed her now–for no other reason but to torture yourself). Just as you were about to check your Ovia app for the second time that day, you heard your Grandpa clear his throat. 
You just acted oblivious, though, not wanting to look up unless he actually wanted to talk. Didn’t want to push him or anything. . . poke the bear. 
“Sugarplum,” he started, using the nickname he’d penned for you years ago. 
Your heart lightened at the nickname. Anytime he used it, you knew he was about to say something sweet and slightly outside of his comfort zone. And by that, it meant he was going to say something particularly tender and sweet. Two things he was not used to being. . . Save for the heart he’d had when he started using the nickname. It had come at a sensitive time. 
The nickname came from a precious tradition. After you’d come to live with them, he’d started the tradition. The man had been determined to make you and your sister feel better, and he’d always been better with actions than words. So, the year your sister and you had come to live with them, he’d started taking you to the Nutcracker. It was a whole thing. 
Every Christmas season, your family of four would get all dolled up (you and Elsie, having had matching Christmas dresses and ringlet curls–hair-sprayed to the point of crunchy– the first couple of years). Then, you’d go eat at Carmine’s before attending a performance of the Nutcracker ballet – always at David H. Koch Theater. 
You weren’t sure what he was about to say, but the nickname always meant it was going to be rather softhearted.
“Sweetie,” he sighed. You looked at him, seeing every wrinkle and age spot on his worn features. His face held every ounce of compassion you were sure he could muster. Your eyes already teary at the cold, snowy memories you’d just re-lived, and seeing him in such a vulnerable state had you gasp just slightly. “I love this baby. I love you. And I am so happy for you–overjoyed,” he said, singing it in the tone of the Stevie Wonder tune. You gasped on another breath, a tear springing from your eye to cheek. “Very, very much so, honey.”
“Really?” You couldn’t help but mutter.
“With all my heart I mean it,” he confirmed, eyes crinkling at the edges with a smile in them. “I only get short-tempered about the father because I don’t want to witness the child being abandoned or betrayed by men the way you and Elsie–,” he shook his head, draining a thought he was in the middle of. He grunted, eyes glassy when he looked at you again. “I don’t need this baby’s father being absent like yours was, is all. I get infinitely resentful on the subject of the people who did you and your sister wrong. . . and I just can’t have that for my great-grandchild either.”
There was no response you could possibly give save for the intermittent sniffles that accompanied the tears that wetted your cheeks. So, all you did was nod, a shaky smile on your lips. The man deeply loved you. You knew that. But, it made your heart hurt in a strange way when he’d say things that truly proved it. . . since he so rarely did. The baby must have meant a lot to him already, for him to feel so inclined to bare his heart like this. 
“I love that child and I will protect it in my role as long as I can,” he said, his own voice wobbling on the words. “I promise you, Sugarplum. Just like I did for you and your sister.”
After a couple of moments, you found something to say, out of the mess of emotions hugging your heart. 
“This baby’s father will be nothing like ours,” you said, without a doubt. You barely remembered the man who’d helped make the two of you. He hadn’t ever really been around–a sperm donor at best. “He’s an incredible man. The baby is very lucky to have him.”
The words pinched your chest, your stomach twisting tight on what you’d said. . . Jake was so wonderful. Even if he didn’t want you, he wanted the baby. You knew that. You knew it. You had seen it in his eyes the moment you’d said the baby was his. Jake Kiszka was special and you were glad your baby would be part of him–was already part of him. You were glad the baby had him.
You just weren’t ready to tell your grandparents it was him. . . you didn’t want either of them to unrightfully judge Jake if they were to know. Especially your Grandfather. . . they’d had such an honest, genuine connection. It had been magical to witness. Jake, having been the person to bring the old man out of his shell for the first time in your entire life. 
You knew you had to tell them soon, but it just didn’t feel like the right time quite yet. . . There was so much going on already. The two of them finding out the identity of the baby’s father could wait just a little longer. 
-🌼🌼🌼-
You got home around eleven o’clock that night, after taking Elsie to Josh’s. The night had been exactly what your soul needed. Time with your Grandma and Grandpa, as well as a car jam session with Elsie on the way to her boyfriend’s apartment. 
The reason you’d finished so late was because your grandparents hadn’t really wanted the night to end. After sitting through every end credit of A Christmas Story, you’d rented the brand new A Christmas Story Christmas on the Roku TV you’d Christmas-gifted the two elderly people a year ago. 
Although, you hadn’t ended up paying much attention to the movie since your grandparents had been determined to hear all about Elsie’s travels and your current. . . predicament. They had also questioned you about school.
Thankfully, you’d given a few barely-there answers and the conversation had basically concluded on that subject. There hadn’t even been an onslaught of career-based questions. All of the baby-related inquiries had been a good distraction from that. 
They’d even stayed up past their bedtime of nine o’clock, aiming to hear every last detail of your life and Elsie’s. But, there’d come a point that your Grandpa had fallen asleep as he’d tuned out, signaling the end of the evening. 
So, at 11:00, you were finally pulling in to the apartment complex, safe and sound into your designated parking spot. Jake’s car was where he usually parked it, you noticed. But, you already knew he was home. He’d texted about an hour back asking when you’d be home, to which you’d responded with an I don’t know, a little flutter in your tummy as you typed. 
Even though he hadn’t responded, it didn’t crush you. Truly. You were becoming accustomed to your present relationship with him. . . well. . . .at least you were really trying to become accustomed.
On the way up to the apartment, you barely made the last step with how utterly exhausted you were. The act of carrying a child was not easy work and honestly, your grandparents hadn’t been the only ones staying up past their bedtime. You’d kept the heavy-lidded blinking at bay at your childhood home, but as you unlocked the door, you let out a long yawn which felt like it’d been waiting for hours to be released. Because it had been. You hadn’t wanted to be rude while engaging in conversation. Felt so relaxing and the action in and of itself had totally drained you. Your comfy, cozy bed was calling you.
When you entered the apartment, you were assaulted by the wondrous smells of something sweet and sugary–the scent was closely comparable to cake or cupcakes. You almost let your nose drag you to the source, but when you looked into the kitchen on your trek to your bedroom, you hastily decided against that idea. And you suddenly felt like you were going to profusely vomit. 
Jake, with his back facing you as he leaned against the kitchen island, his fingers grasping at nothing, only gripping what he could of the counter his ass was pressing against. His beautiful locks of hair were all stringy and messy–the telling sign of hands having been run through it. His moans were enough to make you grow chills from both distaste and lust. The sound of him reaching his release was unlike any other. . . 
But the infuriating fact that it was coming from the tanned, curvaceous woman on her knees in front of him. Who, unfortunately, you could see from the side of the island. And to make matters worse, she was barely fucking clothed. A tiny sheer dress of black lingerie, the only thing you could see from your vantage point. She had her free hand bunched into the material at the back of his gray t-shirt, holding onto him for dear fucking life as she went to town.
When the bile rose to your throat, you knew you had to get away before you threw up. You did not want to puke up any Thanksgiving food, thank you very much. Couldn’t ruin the sentimental dishes only because of Jake and his frustratingly beautiful girlfriend. 
To your relief, once you made it to your room, quiet as a mouse, you found your Stanley as cold as you’d left it (praises-fucking-be for Stanley insulation). And you didn’t have to force sleep after you’d taken a quick makeup wipe to your face and put on an oversized Pratt t-shirt. 
The moans and groans and whiny-fucking-sighs from the kitchen faded out in no time as sleep almost instantly found you. 
Thank fucking God for the tiredness that came with making a human. 
-🌼🌼🌼-
a/n: see you tomorrow w part 2... Friendsgiving will kick off pt 2... there is so much to come ;)
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!)
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luvrxbunny · 1 year ago
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look at me
Pairing: Post-outbreak!Joel Miller x F!Reader
Summary: The way you look at Joel proves to be an issue for him.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, piv, unprotected sex (lmk if I forgot anything)
WC: 2.1k
A/N: This is the first fic I’ve ever written, also the first smut so please be gentle
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Joel is so in love with you, that you almost don’t know how to handle it. He looks at you like you’re everything to him.. after Ellie of course.
When you first started pursuing Joel you didn’t expect him to fall for you. After all he’s been through you weren’t entirely sure he was capable of loving someone that way, romantically. Nevertheless, you wanted him to know you were interested. You wanted to be his person at least. You figured it was better than nothing, this way you can project your love onto him without him being too uncomfortable. 
You just needed him to know that he was loved by you, greatly.
The results of pursuing Joel were exponentially better than you could've ever hoped for. He loves you back, viciously. After a few months of outwardly loving Joel, having long deep conversations with him, and exchanging dreams, and opinions, he asked you, “Why are you… like this… towards me?” his southern accent drowned in genuine curiosity. 
You answered him honestly “I want you to feel the love I have for you.. I think you deserve it”. You’ll never forget his reaction, the way his eyes widened. The way his chest expanded with his gasp before lunging at you desperate to press his lips against yours. You guys spent the rest of the night on his porch giggling and kissing like kids until you both fell asleep.
It's been a year since then and your love for Joel has only grown since. His love for you exploded, completely consuming him. 
He was closed off at first, still cautious of you and your supposed love for him. He was waiting for you to realize that you were wrong, that you didn't love him. 
That never happened. 
After realizing you were here to stay, his personality flipped.
 He was suddenly all over you, burying his face in your neck whenever he could, constantly wanting to be with you, to touch you. He regularly gets out of bed early just to make coffee and toast for you both. He’s attentive, he listens, and he wants to make you happy. He is caring, he makes sure that you get sunlight every day and that you’re drinking enough water. He likes to take you on walks, explaining things he sees, and the memories he has associated with them. He whispers loving words into your ears without being prompted, he just wants you to know.
However, with this intense love he has, also comes a certain amount of sensitivity he has when getting sexual with you.
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You’re bouncing on his cock, your hips slapping wetly into his. He’s groaning out for you as you grind your hips into his desperately. Your face towards the ceiling as you moan out praises of his name. He moans in response “‘Ya like that, baby?” 
You pull your gaze downward as you keep bouncing on his cock. He’s doing most of the work at this point, pulling your hips up and dragging them back down to meet his. “I love it s’much” You fuck yourself on him faster, desperately chasing your release. “Joel- Fuck keep going please” 
You whine at him as you press your lips against his, and heat pools quickly in the bottom of your stomach. You meet his soft brown eyes, currently clouded with lust but he averts your gaze. 
He always does this, you can feel him staring at you. He watches your expression, sorting what you do and don’t like. He watches the pleasure bloom over your features, the way your eyebrows furrow when he presses into you. He watches the way your eyes roll back when he hits that spot inside you that makes your brain shut off. Every time you try to meet his eyes, to show how badly you need him. 
He avoids it.
He never mentions it but every time you guys lock eyes for that split second, his pace stutters. Anytime you try to see him, he opts for looking down at where his cock slides into you. It’s a beautiful sight but you were fed up with not having Joel’s attention.
“Oh look at that, sweetpea” He presses you down more, trying to fit his cock deeper into you. “Look at how well she takes me” He sounds like he's in disbelief, like he hasn't seen it countless times already. “Got the sweetest pussy wrapped ‘round my cock” His words just bring you closer and closer to release. This time, however, you refuse to cum without his eyes on you.
You place your hands on both sides of his head, your thumbs caressing his cheeks while you push yourself upward until it's only his tip inside you. He hissed loudly at the sudden cold air on him. He whips his head up to look at you and your hands lock in place. Your thumbs are placed underneath his chin so that he can’t look back down.  
You hold his face to yours before slowly starting your descent, keeping eye contact. You slide a quarter way down his cock before he’s burying his face in your neck, You stop and pull him back out. There’s a blush spreading across his features and his eyes are getting hazy. “Can’t look in your eyes darlin’” He slurs out to you, his hands wrapping around your waist, drawing random shapes on your back with his fingertips.
His eyes still avoid your gaze. “I’m not moving until you look at me, Joel”. There is a small amount of venom in your voice, frustrated that Joel refuses to look at you. You deflate a bit, hands coming off of his face and wrapping around your torso instead. “Do I look-”
He doesn’t even let you finish that sentence, “You look nothing but fucking amazin’”. A pout settles on your lips at his words, his resistance making even less sense to you now. “Then why-”
“Here” He pulls his face from your neck, all pinkish and warm. He looks directly into your eyes, he looks worried, a little tense. He pulls you forward against his hips. “This what ya’ want? Hm?”
You smile softly at his puppy dog eyes before slowly dropping yourself the rest of the way down. He presses up into you deliciously as you watch all the tension drain from his face. His shoulders drop, and his eyelids flutter almost closing while he lets his head fall back. He’s able to maintain eye contact until you grind your clit against his patch of gray and black hairs, moaning his name gently. His hands shoot to your hips to pull you deeper. His eyes slip shut as he moans out. “Fuck- sweetheart, I-”.  
He cuts himself off with a rough groan when you pull your hips back up. You lean forward to kiss him softly, he whines against your mouth and tries to tug your hips back down. He whimpers out a pathetic little “please.” You gush between your legs at the sound. You crave to give him what he wants… but his eyes are closed.
“Joel?” You speak his name softly, in a daze from how perfect his cock feels inside you, and your hands come back up to his face. You run your fingers along his beard as you kiss its patches.  His eyes open slowly and he gazes at you softly. Once your eyes meet you start moving, as the pressure in your stomach becomes unbearable. You whisper out a soft “So pretty” to him. He’s breathing fast and moaning on every exhale. His eyebrows draw up and his mouth drops open. 
Joel keeps his eyes on you, they’re dark, dazed, desperate, and full of desire. Yet still cautious. His hands are frantic, they slide up your back, then back down to your thighs. They come between your bodies to play with your chest, palming your boobs firmly. Eventually, he brings his hands behind your head, slightly mimicking your placement. He pulls your head to rest against his, still fixated on your eyes.
 There’s something primal about the way he’s looking at you, he looks.. hungry. Your pussy clenches around him tightly at the thought. His eyes widen, his chest expands with a gasp, and his lip starts trembling. 
His eyes are still on yours.
 His hands start to shake behind your head, you feel his thighs tense under you. His eyes roll back into his skull as a guttural moan rips from his throat. His forehead is still pressed against yours. Your pussy spasms around his twitching cock before you’re cumming, hard. 
The shock of his orgasm, how sudden it was, the moan that left his lips, the way he was shaking for you. These things have you creaming all over him, a nice white puddle of your fluids dripping between the two of you. Joel is still moaning sweetly in your face as you cum together. He thrusts his hips up one more time with a grunt to prolong your pleasure. 
You both pant into each other's mouths, your hands still on his face and he's still holding your head close to his. Your breaths slow and you open your eyes, his are still closed. You watch him calm himself for a moment, admiring him, relishing being this close. His eyes open slowly and immediately meet yours. 
He looks apologetic.
“Joel?” Confusion laces your voice when you speak his name, he grimaces when you do. You stroke his face comfortingly, sometimes he gets emotional after sex but you’ve never seen him so remorseful.
“ ‘m sorry, sweetheart I-” He sighs and shuts his eyes tightly again. “I told you that I can’t look ‘atcha in the eyes” His sentence ends in a whine and you’re baffled as he continues to ramble, eyes closed. “I can’t handle it,” He says sadly. 
You feel bad but the statement, the sentiment, makes you clench around him. His eyes fly open with a shaking exhale, they flash a warning. You press a soft kiss to his lips that has him relaxing in your hold. 
“I didn’t mean to squeeze” You giggle at his unbelieving face. “I’m serious! You’re just so hot Joel” 
He looks at you as though you’ve lost it. His head tilts in confusion as he tries to figure out what your thought process is. “There ain't nothing attractive about a grown man cummin’ in under 10 minutes” He states gruffly, brows furrowed in slight anger.
“I think there is. Lucky me huh?” You say playfully, smiling from ear to ear as you kiss his grumpy, pouty lips. His angry mask falters. 
“Lucky you?” He asks incredulously, but you sense a bit of honesty in his tone. You press your forehead aggressively hard against his, hoping to get your point across. “I am SO lucky, Joel. You have no idea, my boyfriend is perfect in every way. He’s so perfect for me, I love him so much.”
Very small tears welled in his eyes, overcome with love from and for you. “Babydoll” He whispers against your lips before kissing again. His hands are pulling you tight against his mouth. He didn't believe anything you said but he appreciates that you say them.
You can’t help but wonder though. “Why my eyes?” Joel’s red hue makes a comeback and he looks at you with an almost shy expression.. “What is it about my eyes?” 
“It’s the way you look at me, sweetheart.” You look at him with a confused expression, waiting for him to elaborate. He huffs, exasperated. “You look at me like I’m… everything. You look at me like I hung the moon n’ stars like I’m the best thing in the world.”
You almost laugh. “Joel. That’s called love, I love you remember?” He looks frustrated with your answer. “But it’s not good honey, I’m not good enough for you to be lookin’ at me like that.”
“I think you are, Joel. I’m more unbiased than you are. I can see you for who you are, not what you’ve done. That’s why I look at you the way I do. You make me feel loved and safe, that's all I can ask for” He gets that emotional look in his eye, where he’s trying to be hard but wants to cry. You smile and pull him in for a kiss, which he returns 10 times stronger.
Afterward, you pulled him into your chest for a hug. You guys fell asleep like this, arms around each other, stolen kisses here and there. You guys talked about some things, hands rubbing naked backs. 
Joel’s cock is still nestled inside you, where it belongs.
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A/N: Thank you so much for reading!! Please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all!
Edit: If you think the fic changed that's because it was literally out of order for the first day it was posted.
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theatrelove3000 · 2 years ago
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You’re On Your Own, Kid
This is the first Obi-Wan fic I have posted, let alone let someone other than two close friends read. It took me three months of no time, energy, or inspiration to finish this, but it’s finally done, and I am actually really proud of it. I am thinking about expanding this, depending on the time I have and the inspiration as it comes. Let me know if you like this and want to see more!
Sith! Obi-Wan x former padawan reader
Warnings: I suck at warnings. Uhhh, dark side, mentions of death, maybe manipulation, kissing but only a little, canon violence (dude gets an arm cut off), lightsabers, Sith! Obi. I think that is it. The reader was his padawan but they didn’t start training together until she was already an adult. The reader wears a dress but I don’t think I used pronouns?  Lmk if I missed anything else.
Summary: When your master suddenly falls into the darkness, you are left alone to be subject to the watchful, judging, mistrusting eyes of the Jedi Council. It’s one thing to lose a master, you’ve lost one before Obi. It’s something else to lose the man you love. Especially when you can still hear his whispers. 
Inspired by Taylor Swift’s You’re On Your Own, Kid! Recommend listening while reading this
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Three months, two weeks, and six days.
That's how long it's been since you last saw Obi Wan. He'd go on missions that could be that long, or longer, but this time stretch was harder because you know he isn't coming back. Obi Wan is gone. He left the order. He abandoned you. 
At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.
You try to stay upset and hurt about it but it's becoming more difficult by the day. Watching your master walk away from the only home and family he ever knew was a major shock to everyone. He always preached about how the Jedi Order was good, right, and peaceful, yet suddenly, he was gone after causing quite the stir in a council meeting.
He had come back to your shared apartment and marched right over to you, grabbed you by your elbow and drew you into his chest. He was always more physically affectionate with you but this was something different. Something unsettling. He had wrapped you in a tight hug, breathing in the scent of you before dropping his head and whispering one thing in your ear. 
"My chains are broken. The force has freed me."
And then he was gone.
It was explained to you later that your master had fallen and you were to be reassigned to complete your training. You had been set to take your trials for your knighthood in a few weeks but due to Obi Wan's sudden switch to the dark side, they feared you harbored the same beliefs he revealed he had to the council. 
Your new master is… for lack of a better word, an ass. She is your third master. Your first one, who had selected you at a young age, died a few years back. Obi Wan decided to complete your training, since you were just three or four years from knighthood, already an adult. This new master is short and cold and uncaring. You had just been through a rapid and difficult transition and she held no compassion in her eyes, only wariness and dislike. She didn't trust you. 
No one did now. All the friends you had no longer speak to you because they fear you are unstable and dangerous. You never showed signs of leaning into the dark side but because Obi Wan fell, you also must be dark. His apprentice. Only Anakin still speaks to you. Occasionally, Master Yoda invites you to meditate with him as well, though you suspect he is doing so to check on your signature. Master Yoda is a kind and gentle soul but he must be wary. You understand. Sort of. 
It isn't until the heat of summer fades and cool winter winds start to blow that you start to hear him.
My darling.
Little dove.
Sweet one.
Angel.
The terms of endearment your master used to call you whisper through your mind, as though he were right behind you. You feel his presence when you're alone and see him in your dreams. You'd thought if you dreamed of him, they'd be nightmares but they aren't. They're sweet dreams. Almost memories but with slight changes.
Mornings after nightmares when you'd wake in his bed wrapped in his embrace, though he lets his hands wander more. Presses kisses to your neck and shoulders. Messing up on purpose during training so he'd have to wrap his arms around you to fix your form but he stands far closer, holding you tightly to his body. 
You knew you loved him before he left but he never showed signs of returning the feeling. It wasn't until he was gone that the signs appeared. For a while, you thought it was just your mind grieving the loss of him. That is, until he comes to you. 
~~~~~
Anakin manages to convince the council that you need to get out of the temple, take on a mission again. He's always been persuasive, though at first the council wasn't inclined to grant his request. Through many meetings and solid evidence that you're not like Obi Wan, they allow it on the condition that he keeps you in his line of sight at all times. He agrees readily and tells you to pack a bag. 
After explaining the mission, he takes you to Padme so she can help you find a dress. You're attending a gala the senate is holding in order to ease tensions, though with the way the galaxy is now it will only raise them. 
That's how you find yourself standing in a big ballroom wearing a long sleeve, floor length dress. Despite the dress still being modest compared to the other women around you, you still feel exposed. Your Jedi robes leave everything up to imagination but this dress does not. It's more form fitting and accentuates certain parts of your body in a very flattering way, while still being conservative.
"My, my. What have we here? Did you lose your way, Little dove?"
The voice makes you freeze. You spin around, looking for the owner but see no one. You shake your head, hoping to rid yourself of the panic and hope that had appeared with the voice.
"Did you stray too far from home? Do you need help finding the path?"
You know his voice better than you know your own. He's here somewhere. You can feel his eyes on you even if you can't see him.
You turn slightly, searching the crowd for Anakin. He's talking with some of the senators, Padme by his side. He's occupied.
You start walking.
Letting yourself out of the ballroom, you wander through the halls of the massive building the gala is being held in. You had seen a terrace when you first arrived and been escorted in. There it is. You open the doors and step out into the cool night air. 
You don't hear him as he follows you or as he shuts the doors to the terrace. You don't hear him take the last few strides necessary to stand behind you, closing the distance between you. The only sign that you were correct is the feeling of his hands on your hips. They're warm and strong and certain, just as they always were.
"My Little Dove." His greeting is whispered into your hair just above your ear.
"Master-"
"I am not your master any more, my darling." He interrupts you, his voice sending goosebumps down your arms. "I am simply a being you meet in your travels as a pawn in a game your side can't win. I am only a man who has missed you very dearly."
You take a deep breath, praying your voice won't shake as you respond, "you wouldn't have had to miss me if you hadn't gone."
The hum he gives in response is deep, seemingly coming from low in his chest. "It was time for me to go. I hope you can understand. Places to be and people to see, you know."
"You left me. You abandoned me like everyone else." 
He tightens his grip on your hips, fingers digging into them. "I did not abandon you. I never left you, Little Dove. I was always there, always watching. It may have been from a distance but you were never alone."
You try to control your emotions, keep your cool, "Your leaving the Order has shown me I have always been on my own. I didn't choose this life, Obi Wan. It was thrust upon me before I was at an age that I could understand it. I don't remember the sound of my mother's voice. I don't know my father's name."
"I didn't choose it either, darling. Very few of us did. To be entirely honest with you, I dreamed of leaving and yet I stayed. Do you know why, my Little Dove?" His fingers are tracing up your sides delicately, never straying into areas he has not gained permission to touch. 
Your voice cracks a bit as you respond, "Why, Obi?"
"I stayed because I needed to be around you. Your presence is my vise, your signature is, simply put, addictive to me. It was inappropriate for me to have the feelings I do for you while you trained under me so I kept them at bay as best I could." His nose grazes your temple as he speaks, the edge of his beard lightly scratching your cheekbone as he speaks, "I didn't do as good a job as I thought. Those around us began questioning our relationship. They said horrible things that I will never allow to reach your innocent ears. I could have killed anyone who ever said anything nasty about you. I still can. All you have to do is ask."
Your breathing falters, though you can't tell if it's from fear or shock or something else. If he catches it, he doesn't say a word. "I don't want that. Murder is still wrong, no matter where you stand politically."
"Ah, but don't you see, my Little Dove? I don't wish to kill for political reasons. I kill for you. Anyone who ever hurt you deserves to go."
"You're frightening me, Master," you whisper shakily. He responds by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against his chest.
"I do not wish for you to fear me, my love. I only want to protect you, to keep you safe. I can continue to do that from afar as I have been these three months. Or… you could come with me." He keeps his voice low, fingers stroking your sides delicately.
"Where? Where would you take me?"
"Home, Little Dove. I will take you home."
You close your eyes, feeling your resolve beginning to crumble. Suddenly the warmth of your former master against your back is gone. You turn and he's nowhere to be seen. The only sign that you did not imagine it is the phantom feeling of his hands on you. 
"All you have to do is call for me, my Little Dove. I'll come to save you from your golden cage." 
Suddenly you hear your name being called. It takes you a moment to register that it's Anakin's voice. He sounds a little worried. You turn all the way around for the first time since stepping onto the balcony. You use the force to open the doors.
"I'm here, Ani"
His head snaps to face you at your voice and he quickly makes his way over to you, "I've been looking everywhere for you! What the hell are you doing out here?"
"It was a little stuffy in there. I just needed some air. I'm sorry if I worried you. I didn't think I'd be gone long." You let him lead you back inside. Instead of taking you back to the ballroom, he escorts you outside where Padme is waiting.
"It's fine. I'm just glad I didn't lose you. That… would not have looked good on me." He laughs a little, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly, "it's time for us to head out. We're going to be escorting the senator to her suite in the hotel and then going to our room."
"Yes, Master Skywalker," you bow slightly dramatically, tone dripping in sarcasm.
He laughs, rolls his eyes at your playfulness and shoves your shoulder as you start walking, both of you flanking Padme. 
~~~~~
And that's how it began.
You start answering him when he whispers into your mind. You didn't even see him that night but you know it was real. Even if it wasn't, you hope that you continue to hear him. You start feeling him as well. You even catch hints of his scent from time to time. Always when you need him the most.
Those moments became more and more common. The weight of arms around you in those few blissful moments between sleep and wakefulness make you think of him. He whispers encouragement as you train with your new master, even the occasional reminder to help you correct your form or a suggestion to make a motion easier for you. He's still helping to train you. Apparently your four years with him didn't make him sick of teaching you.
It's your next off-world mission that starts to cause your foundation to crumble.
Anakin had convinced Master Windu that he could take you off-world with himself and Ahsoka instead of being with your own master. It was a simple mission. Get into the separatist base, steal the information, get out. 
When is anything ever that simple?
Your cover was blown quickly and it doesn't take long to realize this was a trap. You are separated from Anakin and Ahsoka somewhere in the crossfire between your troops and the battle druids. You find yourself in an empty hallway alone, not even a clone behind you.
Looking around, you move back towards the way you came, only to realize you are more than a little lost in this base. You reach out your signature to find Anakin but are met with a different signature. Another, more familiar one.
Obi Wan.
Before you can take a moment to think it through, you're running towards it. You chase the warm, blue signature you've grown oh so attached to deeper into the base. When you reach a door that you can feel him behind, you pause. Pressing your palm flat against the cool metal, you reach out again. Reaching for him. He responds by tangling his signature with yours, but doesn't open the door. You hear a click and realize it's the lock. He unlocked the door. The door still doesn't open. He's giving you the choice. It almost makes you cry.
He is giving you the option to reach him. He isn't forcing you into anything, simply waiting to see how you decide. The Order never does that. All they do is command and demand and give expectations to meet. It's exhausting. You're tired. You miss him. 
"Obi?" You whisper to the door. As a response, you hear a small thud on the door as he presses his hand to it where yours is. You can feel the pressure of his power through the door. He whispers your name back to you.
"I'm frightened," you feel your eyes start to water, voice breaking softly, "I just want you."
"I know, my darling. It's alright if you are not ready yet. I'll wait for you. I'll wait an eternity for you." His voice is louder than yours, but not by much. You want to open the door but can't bring yourself to do it. He can feel it. You know he can. His signature brushes over yours gently again, soothing you. He was always good at that.
"I have to go, Master. I'm sorry. I need to find Anakin." 
"It's alright, Little Dove. I'll be with you. Always."
You nod and take another moment of weakness before pulling away and running the way you came. It takes you twenty minutes to find Anakin and Ahsoka again. As you reappear, Ahsoka crashes into you, hugging you tight.
"Are you okay!? Your comms weren't working. We've been calling you and sent troops to find you but we couldn't! What happened? Where did you go?"
You push Ahsoka back to look her into her eyes, holding her shoulders. "It's okay. I'm fine. I got lost in the hallways. The droids were coming from that way so I handled it. I just got confused on my way back to you. All the halls look so similar."
You try cracking a joke as you notice Anakin watching you cautiously. He knows something. Looking over, you cast what you hope is a charming smile in his direction. He nods and gives a small smile in return but still looks concerned, though you can't tell if it's for you or because of you. 
When you return to the Temple, the council convenes to be briefed on the mission. Anakin credits you with destroying a majority of the Droid squadron within the base. The council seems to be a mixture of impressed and put off by this news. You're not surprised.
You feel nothing for them anymore. They don't do anything but cause more problems for you and those around you. Most Jedi would say the most dangerous feeling to have is hatred. Some say anger. Others will tell you that hope is the worst thing to feel, especially in this war.
No. The most dangerous thing a Jedi can feel is indifference. Indifference causes one to not have loyalty to those they have been sworn to. With anger or hatred or even hope, it shows one still feels attached to something. With indifference, it is not so.
Your indifference is what Obi Wan was waiting for. 
~~~~~
The next mission you are sent on is the one that sends you over the edge. 
It's another gala you are to attend, this time undercover as a senator's aid. The moment you arrive, you reach out for Obi Wan. You search the room with your eyes and your signature, praying to the Maker that he is there.
As the evening progresses, you stop looking for him. You become distracted by doing your job, working the crowd and getting more information you've been sent to collect. Though the council has seemed to develop more trust in you over the last couple of months, they don't trust you entirely. You have another Jedi with you to keep an eye on you. You don't remember his name, and it doesn't particularly matter to you anyway. He's just a security measure to protect the Order. 
"Pardon me for interrupting, Senator Gunray. I was hoping I might ask this lovely young lady for this dance." His voice drips across your ears like bacta over a burn. Your posture relaxes as the senator you were speaking with bows out gracefully, promising to speak with you again later.
You turn and finally see the man you've dreamt of for five whole months, though if you're honest, it's been longer than that. He looks dashing in his white suit and cape. As your eyes trail up from his chest, you catch the hairs of his auburn beard lift as he smiles at you. You see that smile next, the shining and slightly arrogant one you grew used to throughout your few years of training with him.
He reserves this smile for you. The one that shows his pride but also a glimmer of praise for you. He softens whenever he sees you, even if it's isn't noticeable to anyone else. It always was to you. He was a good and kind master, but a better friend. In this smile, you see your friend. 
You raise your eyes to meet his and your breath catches. The cerulean ocean you are used to seeing is gone, replaced by molten gold, framed by dark lashes, which seem darker than they used to. Maybe it's just your imagination.
"Remember to breathe, Little Dove. I fear you will pass out if you don't."
You let out a small huff of a laugh as you smile and glance down to your feet. You see him lift his hand to under your chin, raising your eyes back to his. You can see him searching your face for something. He must find it or you are imagining it because he draws away again, offering you his arm to take.
"I believe I offered you a dance, my love. May I have one?"
"Yes, my lord." He leads you out onto the floor. A waltz starts not long after he pulls you into position. As you dance, he keeps you closer to his body than the other partners on the floor. You don't mind, letting yourself melt into his arms for the first time in several months.
Obi Wan was the one who taught you to dance. He had been trying to help you learn to make your movements smoother, more choreographed as you dueled. You kept making jagged, uncoordinated movements that caused you to lose your footing or leave an open spot for someone to strike. Obi had taken your Saber, tossed it and his own to the side, then pulled you in gently. He kept a respectable amount of space between you as he placed your hand on his shoulder and his own on your waist, holding your opposite hand. And he taught you to dance. Slowly, you got the hang of it and he moved back into the forms you were learning. You never lost to him in a duel again.
The dance sessions became almost a regular occurrence. He'd hug you when you were upset and slowly rock you, letting it turn into a silly little dance to make you smile and giggle. He'd kiss your head and twirl you just to make you squeal or blush. Those are his fondest memories of being in the order.
"I have a question for you, Darling."
"I will answer anything you ask of me, Darth Nighte," you respond without hesitation.
He grins widely and lets out a laugh. "You always have, haven't you? My good girl."
You blush slightly and look away from him to hide it. He doesn't like that. He lifts your chin again and raises an eyebrow, warning you not to look away again. 
"Did you pick this gown to get someone's attention?" He says it in a teasing tone but you know what he is asking. Is the dress for him?
The dress you selected for the gala was bought with what little you had saved over the years. You had gone out into the city on one of your rare days off to buy it. It was in the shop window and you'd asked to try it on. It was a long sleeved, dark blue dress with tiny gems to make it appear as though you were a part of the evening sky. It's a bit lower cut in the bust than you thought you'd be comfortable with but seeing the way he admires it, you know it was the right decision.
"I must confess, my lord. I fear I am no longer a good Jedi. You see, I find myself disagreeing with the rules and growing agitated trying to suppress my emotions. It feels like I'm being pulled down a different, new path. I can't stand the rule against attachments. I have found that attachments only make you stronger. Maybe that is what they are afraid of…" you trail off as you realize how much you spoke but he holds your eye contact and nods for you to continue. "I have found myself deeply attached to a lord at this very party and I had hoped he'd find the dress pleasing."
"I'm sure he does, my darling. Do I know this lord, do you think?" He knows. He always does.
You smile and glance around as though making sure no one was listening, "I think you know him very well, my lord." 
"Then I suppose I'll leave you to him." He starts to release you but you grip onto him tighter. He laughs again, a sound you truly and sorely missed.
Together, you and Obi Wan danced for several more songs. You talk occasionally but mostly bask in the comfort you bring each other. As the night dwindles on and draws to a close, you know you have a decision to make. A path to choose.
Obi Wan senses your panic and turmoil. He searches your eyes again before leading you off the dance floor to a little alcove on the side of the ballroom. He presses you back against the wall and lets his body tower over yours. 
"My angel, you do not have to do anything you don't wish to. I don't intend to steal you away and hide you from the galaxy. It is your decision. This is your life. Lead it how you wish to. No matter what you decide, I will always love and support you. Even if I must do so from afar." He leans down and presses his forehead to yours. You can feel the love in his signature. True love. Pure love. How can a feeling so pure be so bad? 
Lifting your chin slightly, you let your nose brush his and hear his quick intake of breath. He leans further into you slowly, giving you time to pull away from him. To say no.
You never will.
He lets his lips brush yours. It's gentle, simple, peaceful. He lets you decide how to proceed. Slowly, your hands move from where you had pressed them to his chest up into his hair to pull him closer. He hums in pleasure and pushes you further into the alcove. He kisses you the way you imagined he would. Gentle but dominant. Kind but leading. Persuasive. The Great Negotiator, indeed.
You pull away first, needing to breathe. He lets you go but keeps his forehead against yours. 
"Obi?" You whisper to him.
"Sweet One?" He responds.
"Am I ready now?"
"That, my dearest little dove, is not a question I can answer for you."
You nod, feeling the tears form. His hand is holding your cheek and jaw on one side. He can feel when they start to fall. He coos gently and pulls you into his chest, whispering reassurances and words of love.
"I don't want you to go again. It hurts when you go, my Obi." You mutter through the tears. Obi Wan pulls away enough to hold your face with both hands.
"I don't have to. You can come with me, Darling. I have a place for us. It's safe and quiet and peaceful. It's perfect. I made sure it's perfect for you. All you have to do is say yes. Little Dove, you can stay with me. Come with me."
His voice isn't commanding or ordering you. It's… begging. He's begging you to stay with him.
Sniffling and wiping your eyes, you look up at his eyes. They're no longer gold the way they were before. They're darker now. Green. Your breathing picks up as you kiss him again. It's a soft, quick kiss. He reciprocates, waiting for your decision.
"Home?" You ask him. He smiles against your lips and nods.
"Home." 
"Obi Wan. Take me home."
The burst of joy in his signature is more than enough to convince you that this was the right decision. He kisses you fiercely before retreating and standing up straight. A lord once again. Offering you his arm, he leads you back into the public eye.
As he escorts you through the front doors of the building and towards the hanger, you are stopped by a voice yelling your name. Your Jedi babysitter. You forgot about him. Obi Wan stiffens as he hears it as well, turning his head just enough to see the man behind you. You try to keep going but Obi Wan has stopped. Your panic is beginning to rise again. You'll never be free.
"You are to return to the Temple with me immediately, Young Padawan. This is not a debate."
"I-" 
"My apologies, Jedi, but I believe she has made her decision." Obi Wan's voice is calm but there is a hint of a threat in it. He's daring the man to oppose him.
"I'm sorry, Senator, but that will not be happening. She has been asked to return to the Temple."
"Senator? Do you hear that, my darling? Senator. The level of disrespect tossed about by the Order is truly insulting. He doesn't even know my name."
You keep your eyes on Obi, pleading with him through your signature to just take you and go. In your bones, you knew it wouldn't be this easy. If only.
Obi Wan turns and the Jedi recognizes him. His eyes, now returned to gold, are a dead giveaway. The Jedi draws his weapon and beckons you over, holding his hand out as he calls your name again. 
"This man is not who you think he is, Padawan. Come with me." He reaches for you again but you take a step back, closer to Obi Wan. 
"Maybe I'm not who you thought I was, Master. Or… I think perhaps I am." Glancing up at Obi, you see him watching you with curiosity and… hope. You haven't seen hope in so long you almost don't recognize it. 
Your Obi nods at you, just once, and takes a step back. The Jedi is gazing at the both of you with confusion and horror as you look at Obi Wan.
"I told you already, Little Dove. This is your decision. No one can make it for you." His voice calms you. There's no malice in it when he directs it at you.
"He's trying to trick you, Padawan. It's time to go now." The Jedi got close enough to grab your wrist and begin to pull you away. The moment he touches you, your lightsaber is in your hand and the Jedi is screaming. You open your eyes and see the man's arm on the ground between you. His lightsaber falls from his other hand and Obi Wan comes to pick it up. You feel your hands shaking as you watch him replace the Jedi's Saber on his belt before reaching a hand out to you. 
"Are you ready now, darling?"
You look between Obi's hand and the man's arm and then at the blood on your gown. You take Obi Wan's hand and leave the Jedi kneeling on the ground of the hanger as you're taken onto your love's ship. He sits you down and pulls off his cape, draping it over you. It's heavier than it looked. He helps to strap you into the co-pilot seat before getting into the pilot seat.
As the ship lifts off, you catch a reflection in the glass of the cockpit window. Your eyes are surrounded by a ring of gold.
You feel Obi Wan take your hand as you reach hyperspace and let him smooth his thumb over your knuckles. You glance up at his beautiful eyes and see they are the blue you missed. You realize something that nearly brings you to tears again. You've been on your own for most of your life, especially when it got hard.
You don't have to be alone anymore. You have your Obi Wan.
~~~~~
@meshlasolus @vi-does-stuff @star-whores-a-new-hoe @turtlelover59 @lowkeyorloki 
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duckchu · 1 year ago
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Hi!
Could you please write for the following for Kayn;
Reader has media studies, and got an internship under Yone's guidance (as much as I love him, strictly platonic😭)
Kayn falls for reader along the way she is there to work with Yone, maybe even gets a little jealous until he gets himself to finally make a move and stop being dramatic about it 💀
Can have tags, im down for anything 👀🗿
Thank you ❤️
Ooooh I love this idea thank youuu
But I've got no idea how media studies work (I have expanded history and English, so pretty different directions sorry) so if I make stupid mistakes lmk so I can correct them
Also Kayn is kinda mean in the beginning but it's Kayn
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"Ok no worries it's just an internship with one of the biggest producers you've heard of, no biggie" You thought to yourself as you walked into the studio. Yone, the supervisor of your internship, was already waiting for you. At the beginning, your relationship was very stiff. Neither of you knew how to approach it, since it was the first internship both of you have done. While you liked working under him since you were always given clear instructions and his critique was rooted in wanting to help you better your work and not mean spirited at all. After a week, you both warmed up to eachother, sharing some small talk and finally you met his bandmates. Don't get me wrong, he didn't mean to put off your meeting, but they were all busy with their own schedules while he was mentoring you. But then, one day you walked into the studio and saw the other 5 members of HEARTSTEEL, goofing around. Yone must have noticed how surprised you were, so he introduced you to all the guys. Aphelios only gave you a nod, busy with his own work and Kayn seemed not too pleased at meeting you, but Ezreal, Sett and K'Sante seemed more excited about meeting you. After getting to know most of the guys, you got to work, working on a song for HEARTSTEEL'S new album, which seemed to annoy Kayn
- Are we really letting her produce our songs?-
After that Yone seemed to precisely time your work so you wouldn't be in the studio with Kayn as often as the rest, though it surprisingly seemed to annoy the pink headed menace, who went behind Yone's back in order to find you during your break and talk you up. While being as annoying as he always is. While you entertained him for some time, you quickly got back to work and that was that. Or so you thought. You intrigued him. So he spend his sweet time bugging Yone about you, sometimes even suggesting the older man was in a relationship with you to test how he'll react.
Finally, after a long time, when your internship was coming to an end he decided that he's done feeling jealous of how much time you spent with Yone. Or how many times you went to grab dinner with Ezreal. Even how you and Alune seemed to click instantly when she came to see how the progress on the album was going. When you went to take your break, he grabbed you and pulled you in an old supply closet. From the unamused look on your face he figured there were better ways to do this, but whatever.
- So...Wanna go out? - god, why is he so...himself? But might as well, a little date wouldn't hurt
- Sure. - You couldn't believe you agreed, but what's the worst that could happen?
An annoying boyfriend could happen.
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which-qsmp-egg-would · 15 days ago
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okay I've been thinking about this for months and I think I've decided.
I'm no longer doing polls (THIS DOESN'T MEAN IM QUITTING THIS BLOG)
of course that doesn't mean i'll NEVER do wqsmpew polls again! If the motivation to do daily polls comes back to me or if I just do the occasional request, then I won't have any problems with it!
I've struggled a lot with motivation on this blog, and currently the thing really holding my attention has been OCs and community events! I'm really wanting to do an Egg OC competition some time next year!
I'm gonna ramble under the cut a little
I have really really loved running this blog for the past year. I initially created it on a whim because I wanted a little bit of attention and it seemed like a really fun idea. I didn't even expect it to last this long. And it kicked off rather quickly! That's how polls work on Tumblr I suppose. And then over time you all helped me create Poll! And then it got a brother! And then we started to have our egg OCs interact and it has been a lot of fun for me that I hope will continue!
It's just wild that a single minecraft server has brought us together
I will admit that some of my lack of motivation comes from the server ending, therefore killing the growth I had on this blog. Its hard to get new followers when the fandom begins to leave. Of course I know numbers mean nothing. And I really enjoy seeing everyone that has stuck around! I sometimes see your usernames in stream chats and point them out to my family 😂
I'm trying to think of some other things to say while I'm here. I really want to get more into the egg oc part of the fandom, so if you know any other blogs that specialize in that lmk because I would love to take a look!
I really love seeing the lore and love you all put into your characters. And I hope you also enjoy the storylines I do with mine! I want to expand more on them forever.
But yes, this blog is not ending, only it's gimmick. My name won't be changing or anything. If you followed me only for poll, I do understand if you want to unfollow now that you won't be getting your gimmick. If you're interested in the OCs though, feel free to stick around and have some fun!
Alright I think that's everything I can think of right now.
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plzu · 2 years ago
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Just Water, Thanks - (Adrian Chase x Reader)
part four☕️
a/n: tbh if my 13 y/o self saw me updating a multi-chapter fic [redacted] months after the last update, she'd be impressed. this is shorter than i wanted it to be bc i had to cut it off. consider this an in-between chapter as we navigate (negative) emotions and such. anyway, hope y'all don't mind as i steer this story into angst territory! Summary: Adrian takes care of you while you are drunk and miserable in his home. Warnings: 18+, no Y/N, ANGST (reader is going thru it), mentions of assault, mentions of gore and blood and nightmares, a reference to one of the Saw movies (idk which, sorry), not beta read, if i missed anything lmk pls!! Word Count: 3.3k+
Revelations are dizzying. Revelations taste like vomit in the back of your mouth, and the backs of your teeth. Revelations leave you sore all over, more sore than you think you’ve ever been. Revelations are exhausting. They leave you parched as shit.
Or maybe that’s just the alcohol.
The night wasn’t supposed to go like this. 
It was supposed to be some girls from high school. Old friends. Best friends. The people that were your anchor in Evergreen, who made everything bearable. Late night talks and laughing over the dumbest things and whisperings about crushes and aspirations.
People you slowly stopped talking to once you moved across the country, to some city that could swallow you whole.
People that decided to return the favor. Two last minute ditches, and one that completely ghosted you. They’re just busy, you thought, a dirty martini and a half in. They have real jobs, and spouses, and… kids? Maybe?
Pouty and miserable at the sleek bar, drowning your insecurities in alcohol, picking at the olives at the bottom of empty glasses. They’re too- too good for me, anyway. 
Having found some semblance of happiness in an unlikely friendship with Adrian Chase, you thought you’d finally venture out, expand your social circle again. Feel like you have everything together, finally.
Learn to experience snatches of happiness elsewhere, outside of time spent with Adrian. Because, face it: there is something that feels slippery about him. Evanescent. Like one day he’s going to disappear, or get bored of you.
Or reveal whatever secrets he’s been clearly harboring, something neither of you could return from, and the wedge that it would drive between you would leave you right back to where you started: a ghost that didn’t even have the good grace to properly die. 
You walk -- stagger, really -- down the empty street, most of your weight supported by the masked Vigilante. Adrian is supposedly under that mask. You cannot wrap your head around this fact, even after watching Vigilante answer Adrian’s phone, and say some bullshit excuse only Adrian could come up with. 
“Alright, here we are!” Vigilante (Adrian?) declares. “The Vigilante-mobile.”
You both come to a stop. You squint bleary-eyed at the 4-door sedan, glance at the masked face beside you, then back to the car. 
“It’s just your regular car.”
Vigilante -- no, Adrian, definitely Adrian -- snorts. “Well, yeah. I can’t exactly afford a second car with a busboy salary.”
This almost makes you laugh, because Adrian is good at that, really. Effortless. But nausea stirs in your gut, so you decide against it. Grumble a wordless response instead. 
Adrian attempts to ease you into the passenger seat, asking if you’re hurt anywhere else. If they hurt you in any worse ways other than the obvious. You can only shake your head noncommittally, fighting back the urge to vomit again. There will definitely be bruises and sore spots on your aching body from the rough way they had handled you, but you know what he’s really asking.
Head slumped back against the headrest, you close your eyes for a few minutes. You have to buckle up, Adrian urges, but you cannot find the strength or the energy to pull the seat belt around your body. A pathetic little huff is all you can really muster before Adrian, patient and gentle, pulls the seat belt around your torso and fastens you in place. 
Unfortunately, the gentle action is buffeted by the coppery scent that washes over you, the roughness of his gloves and suit briefly scraping your skin; this doesn’t smell like Adrian. Not like the familiar Irish Spring soap, or coffee and caramel after visiting you at the cafe. This makes you whine. Whimper, really, dissatisfied and uncomfortable and very momentarily scared. 
Misunderstanding, he tells you you’re going to be okay, in a voice that’s a touch too animated for the general mood of the night.
When the door is shut, you try not to suffocate in the brief silence that follows. Keep your eyes closed as the muffled thud of the trunk jolts the car a bit, willing the queasiness away. Desperately wishing for water, or sleep, or death. 
You do not open your eyes when Adrian finally gets in the car, and starts driving, until he mentions something about taking you home. At that point, your eyes fly open.
“No,” you beg. “No, Adrian, please. I can’t go home like this. I don’t want them to see me like this.”
There’s a quiver in your voice. Nervousness builds in your chest, a rapid flutter in your ribs that makes you feel like crying. Adrian stares, eyes flicking from your face to the quickening rise and fall of your chest, and you realize it’s just Adrian sitting next to you, now. Wearing normal clothes. No blood-splattered suit or eerie red visor. Just the familiar--if slightly disheveled--curly hair and glasses, lips parted in confusion or concern. Seeing his bare face is almost a comfort, especially when he nods, and faces the road again. 
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The trip to Adrian’s apartment becomes a hazy memory. He walks you through the corridors of some small apartment complex until you’re trudging through the threshold of his home, where he guides you through the dark into his bedroom. You sag into the edge of his bed once he turns on the light. 
“Gotta get you cleaned up, but… do you need water?” Adrian asks. You only stare back up at him before he goes, “right, yeah, no, you definitely need water. Wait right here.”
When he comes back, Adrian is juggling a couple of bottles of water and a first-aid kit to dress your wound. He sets everything down, handing you a chilled water bottle which you gratefully accept. You cannot unscrew the cap of the bottle fast enough to immediately quench the discomfort of your sandpaper tongue. 
“Slow sips,” Adrian says, after some reckless guzzling causes you to choke and dribble water all over your chin. 
Setting the bottle aside, you notice stands with his back to you on the other side of the room. You realize this is him giving you privacy so you can begin the struggle of taking off the stockings. They get halfway down your thighs, dress rucked up around your hips, before the effort of it unlocks a well of tears; a flash of a memory of being six years old and left to fend for yourself for the first time in a fight to tug on tights for school.
It’s not that you’re so inebriated that you can’t take off your stockings, though it certainly doesn’t help. It’s that once you get the fabric rolled down to your skinned knee, a new wave of nausea overcomes you. You can feel the mesh of the tear sticking to the gooey wet parts of the wound, and your mind reels with the dizzying thought that if you tug anymore, you’re going to make it worse. Take more skin off. Bleed all over Adrian’s bedsheets. Throw up again, probably.
It’s just for a brief second, you don’t let the feeling last too long, but-- the quick snatch and tug of the nylon on the tattered skin of your knee reminds you of one of the Saw movies, and how one of the traps involved gluing some poor fuck’s bare back to the driver’s seat of a car. And the way he had to peel off the seat, screaming and sweating, struggling to reach the -- the brakes? The gas? -- just to try to save some girl’s life. The stretch of skin, the vivid gleam of blood, your memory no doubt enhancing the gore of the scene in a new wave of despair.
When Adrian turns around, he finds you with your face hidden in the cusp of your palms, stockings only rolled down to the tops of your knees. Your dress is still bunched up around your hips, and maybe you should feel exposed, sitting on Adrian’s bed with your thighs bared. Embarrassed, even. But between the ick in your stomach and the sour taste at the back of your throat and the headache that begins to pulse behind your eyes like remnants of the bassline from the club, you don’t have any room to care. 
(And, admittedly. You don’t think you’d mind Adrian seeing this much of you. Under different circumstances, at least.)
You sense him hovering closer, probably paused at the sight of you all pathetic on his bed. Or the bare flesh of your thighs, more likely. Something unintelligible is mumbled into your hands in an attempt to draw his attention. Let him know you’re aware of his presence, and that you’re lucid, at the very least.
“Sorry- what?”
You sniffle, before mustering up the strength to raise your head up. But only enough to stare at his feet. “I can’t- My tights. I can’t… take them off.”
You watch as his scuffed up shoes approach you. Absently, you think about how Adrian hasn’t worn these before, even though it’s gotten cold. And, oh, they’re probably just part of his Vigilante costume. 
Ah. Vigilante. Adrian. 
“Whoa… what do you mean?” Adrian crouches down, his bespectacled gaze in your sight, and you realize the quick, short breaths you hear are your own. “Are you going to cry again? I have tissues here on my nightstand- for, like, normal reasons. Nothing gross. Ignore the lotion.”
There’s a very small part of you that knows this would have -- should have -- made you laugh. It’s the part of you that feels detached from this whole experience, as if watching from outside of your body. Like a muted, sober-ish ghost that can’t do anything but observe. Helpless. Unable to keep you safe.
You can’t even take off your fucking tights by yourself.
“The- the cut on my knee,” you attempt to warble through your explanation. “It’s, um- it feels weird. I don’t think I can take off my tights…”
“Well, we have to dress the wound otherwise it might get infected.” Adrian pauses, raises his hands so they hover over your lap. “Is it okay if I..?”
When you nod -- shakily, fearfully, desperately -- his hands continue their journey to your right thigh. His middle and forefingers, surprisingly gentle, slip into the scrunched up fabric at the base of your knee, and a shiver runs down your spine at the feel of his hands there. There is a feeling that slowly blooms in your chest at the sight of Adrian on his knees for you, taking care of you. But it’s being overshadowed by the anxiety gripping your throat and making your head spin in anticipation of the potential pain to come from your tights being ripped from your bloody knee.
No longer able to keep upright, you gracelessly plop back into the soft sheets, ceiling swaying in your vision. You make no effort to get back up; not like you wanted to watch the horror of Adrian potentially ripping the skin off your knee.
His voice, with a touch of anger that’s still unusual to hear, cuts through the haze of worry. “I hate those motherfuckers for doing this to you.”
A humorless, breathy snort escapes at that, shame sapping the energy out of you. “That wasn’t their fault,” you mumble. “‘M not tryin’ to defend them or anything, but it was my stupid, drunk ass that tripped and got myself into this whole mess…”
Because the truth is, if you hadn’t drunkenly stumbled down the wrong street when trying to find your Uber, if you hadn’t worn heels that don’t feel natural on your feet anymore, if you hadn’t felt so anguished and lonely that you sought solace in a few too many cocktails-
If you had just been a better friend to the people that made your high school years bearable, you wouldn’t have been crowded and overpowered by strange men with horrifying intentions. 
“Were you… by yourself?” Adrian’s voice carries over you while he’s still somewhere at your knees. “Where were those friends of yours? The ones you were meeting up with?”
The heels of your palms dig furiously into your closed eyes until you’re seeing black and red and you’re sure your eyeballs are just about to successfully squish into your skull. “They never showed up,” you admit, hoarsely, dejectedly.
Moments pass. There’s this light, almost lulling feeling, the tug and pull of your right leg. If you weren’t drowning in the barrage of negative thoughts and guilt and the kind of worthlessness that only creeps up on you in your own bedroom, you’d find Adrian’s ministrations comforting. 
“Don’t get mad, but it doesn’t sound like they were very good friends if they abandoned you to drink alone at club a in a sketchy neighborhood.”
But isn’t that what I deserve?
See- 
You left. Most people did after high school, but you made it a staunch point to never come back. 
You didn’t mean to abandon the friends you made in Evergreen. But life went on, and time passed quicker than you could make sense of, and fuck if you didn’t find any excuse to not come back home during breaks -- internships, supposedly important trips for school, job-hunting, moving in with your first love -- all so you could prolong seeing your family again.
What’s so bad about them, anyway?
They make me feel-
A sharp sting of pain rips you out of dark muddled thoughts, hissing through clenched teeth as you shoot into an upright position, lurching forward. 
“Sorry, sorry! But I did warn you.”
Oh, right. Adrian. You’re in Adrian’s bedroom, and he’s currently at your knees, hair still rumpled and eyes shining bright and concerned behind his glasses. And… he’s holding an alcohol pad. And your knee is…
“You got the tights off?” you ask in breathless disbelief.
“Yeah. I had to cut it up, though.” He grimaces. “Sorry. But it was already torn, so…”
Sure enough, the area around your knee is now fully exposed and free of any sticky mesh. The cut was beginning to scab over, but the alcohol pad made it newly shiny. It stings, but at least it doesn’t look like whatever nightmare scenario you’d been afraid of.
Adrian continues cleaning up and bandaging your wound as you look away, too light-headed to watch him work. It’s not until he’s gently pressing a bandage to your knee that you finally let out a breath you didn’t realize you were even holding. 
“There, all done.” Adrian stands, gathering everything up with careful, unrushed movements. “Let me get you something to sleep in.”
“Huh?” You blink up at him, confused. 
He’s rummaging through a dresser drawer, back turned to you when he responds. “Trust me, you’re not going to want to fall asleep in ripped clothes.” Turning around with some folded clothes in his hands, he continues, “I don’t imagine it’d be very comfortable. Plus, what if you wake up, not remembering what happened--you know, because of the drinking-- and you’re in my bed with a ripped dress? How does that make me look? It’d be pretty hard to convince you I didn’t do anything to you.”
He hands you the clothes--a big soft tee-shirt and sweatpants--and turns to leave. There is a cacophony of feelings clamoring around in your head and in your heart, and you find yourself helplessly overwhelmed once again but also, endlessly grateful for this man that saved your life. Not just tonight, but the night he stepped into your cafe painfully close to closing and made things feel silly and good again. 
“Adrian?” you softly call out as he turns to leave you to change.
“Yeah?”
“I think you’re my best friend.”
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Something expands in his chest when Adrian hears those words come out of your mouth. Like a frog puffing up with a croak, or a balloon that’s filled to bursting but doesn’t want to pop. He thinks he was a kid the last time he actually heard someone tell him, to his face, that he’s their best friend.
Sure, the admittance wavered out in an alcohol-infused breath, and he’s not sure how much you had to drink tonight but it may be enough to forget this moment.
But he wasn’t drinking. He’ll hold onto this moment forever.
A smile grows crooked on his face as he hovers by the door, meeting your gaze. “Yeah?”
You nod, holding the clothes handed to you lamely in your lap. There’s something glum about the sag of your shoulders, but he can’t think about that too much in his rush to assure you that you’re his best friend, too. Top 3, definitely.
This makes you snort, which he counts as another win for the night since it’s the first sound of laughter he’s heard since finding you in the alley.
He finally leaves you to change, and to get some much needed rest, and grins from ear to ear at the knowledge that the person he’s liked since high school is in his bed tonight.
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Despite the comfort of Adrian’s tee-shirt, the smell of him in his clothes and sheets, the softness of it all wrapped around you, you do not sleep well.
You dream of dark alleyways and even darker figures crowding you, overpowering you. Limbs boneless, unable to fight back. When you scream, it’s not loud enough. There’s a thumping bass reverberating off brick walls that drowns out your cries for help. 
It’s frustrating. This powerlessness. The feeling of utter uselessness, frightening to your core. 
Then, the dream shifts. You are no longer being crowded and pinned by the shadowed figures, yet fear still grips you, clings to your skin, hot and wet- when you look down, the sticky wet feeling isn’t fear but blood, splattered all over your clothes and dripping from your arms. You want to feel triumph, search for the feeling in the recesses of your brain, you want so badly for that to replace the anxiousness gripping your lungs now that you’re free.
But when you look back up, you see viscera-laden bricks. Bodies with holes where they shouldn’t be, missing pieces. This is still a nightmare.  A familiar voice, tainted by something dark and unrecognizably sinister, laughs at the mouth of the alley. It’s another shadowy figure, red visor glowing in your direction. “You’re okay now,” he says, tone unsettling, too-chipper. “They’re all dead!”
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