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emilykaldwen · 2 months ago

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High in the Halls

Ship: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (OC) Written for the @hotd-bigbang

Rating: Mature

Summary: Aegon Targaryen, the last true Valyrian Warlord, rattles at the machinations of his mother who tries to play Andal politics when he wants nothing more than to be left alone. A chance meeting of a maiden in distress in the Riverlands changes everything.

AKA the Old Valyria AU!

Notes: This is chapter one! Of what will probably be two chapters? I just didn't have the time to finish this, I'm so sorry.

Art by: @the-common-cowgirl / Beta: @vampire-exgirlfriend

Read on AO3

Author's Note: It's the old Valyria AU I've been hinting at for ages! It was a rough summer y'all, and this thing got finished while I was dying from Bronchitis (but before I got Covid) so I wasn't able to finish it. But this is absolutely a universe I want to have fun in and play with from time to time. I hope you enjoy it with me!

Sunfyre’s scream pierced the air, sending seagulls frantically fleeing from the battlements of Dragonstone, crying out as they took to the sky in an explosion of gray and white. The deep pink frills along the back of the dragon’s neck stood high, his head rearing back, snout vivid and wet with the blood of the sea beast he had dragged ashore for him and little Dreamfyre to feast on. His little sister’s dragon was twice the size of a horse, and the dead beast was at least two of her. The pair of them crouched around the great beast on the black sand beach, the waves crashing and little flits of multi-colored light caught in the air every time they broke against the rock of the harsh inlet.

Syrax hissed in response, her head rearing back in offense at being denied, but she eventually turned away, for Sunfyre was twice her size, and the smaller dragon was no match.

Aegon’s half-sister, on the other hand…

“Where is father?”

Aegon tilted his head, looking over his shoulder to where Rhaenyra, stood in the archway that led down to the stables. Her long, silver hair was tied back in a thick braid that fell to her waist, woven with charms that tinkled when she turned her head. The harshness of the style made her look more like Lord Viserys than her own mother, Lady Aemma, whose features were soft like his own mother.

He stayed silent, dragging his thumbnail along the near imperceptible groove of the stonework he leaned against. Did she think he was a servant? Did she think they were as close as their sire liked to pretend they were?

She arched her brows when he didn’t answer, her black boot tapping on the black stone. Before Aegon could open his mouth, there was movement behind Rhaenyra, heavily accented Valyrian answering for him.

“Helaena had another dream last night.” Lady Alicent met Rhaenyra’s eyes as she approached, silent maidens swathed in red following her. She was father’s second wife, taken in marriage when Lady Aemma could bear no more children. Even after all these years, she wore her long green gowns in the style of the continent: square necked and deep sleeved, a heavy, gold chain looped about her waist, her auburn curls held back a net of onyx and emeralds. Next to Rhaenyra in her dark gray riding leathers chased with crimson, Aegon thought his mother looked like a queen.

Rhaenyra ran her tongue over her teeth behind her lips, nodding curtly, and spun away with a swing of her long hair and vanished into the stronghold, vengeful and beautiful in the low light. Helaena’s dreams had changed fate for their family and Aegon did not know if it were better or worse. Some days, in the black of night, he wished he had gone down with the rest of their people in ash and flame. Others, he relished the freedom from politics that had plagued his earliest years. The fearful whispers of assassins, the way Uncle Daemon raged that they did not need to taint their blood to gain the Hightower gold—these things haunted him.

Mother pursed her lips, watching Lady Rhaenyra leave before her large, dark eyes met his.

“You cannot hide from me forever,” she told him in the common tongue. Aegon scoffed and looked back out at the rocky outcropping below where Sunfyre and Dreamfyre continued to devour the salt beast. He didn’t move as she approached, startling only a little when her hand combed through his shoulder length curls. “We must talk about this.”

“Must we?” he snipped, refusing to look at his mother. He kicked the toe of his boot against the stone and resisted crossing his arms to rest his head against them like a petulant child. Aegon was, in fact, acting a little like a petulant child, but he’d grown exhausted of the conversation that had circled for the past three years. “Go speak with Aemond about it. He’ll be more than glad to cross blades with Daemon and Rhaenyra- ow!”

His mother pinched and pulled at his ear to pull his face towards her and Aegon jerked from her grasp instinctively. Alicent Hightower’s lovely features were severe, delicate brows furrowed, pouty mouth pressed into a firm line.

“You are Viserys’ eldest son.”

“And Valyrian law dictates that Daemon inherits as his dragon is older-”

“Valyria is gone,” Alicent spat, her voice grating like the screech of kitlings or claws against stone. “If by chance you’d forgotten in your cups of strongwine, foolish boy. Valyria is gone, to fire and ash these past three years. Their laws of inheritance do not matter. The custom here, Aegon, is that of the eldest son. Sons before sisters, and all before uncles.”

“Then disown me,” Aegon snapped, pulling from his mother’s grasp before she could claw at him further. “Aemond will become your eldest and he shall eagerly fight with Helaena at his side. She could present it as a vision: Aemond inheriting Dragonstone with their children to carry his legacy on.” He clapped his hands together, smiling, although the gesture held no true joy. His smiles rarely did.

Aemond would relish at the opportunity to prove himself, to be more than what his position allowed him. Ever since their first son, Maelor, had been born, his younger brother had strutted about, speaking of his virility, dangling his son, and then soon after, their daughter, Daenys, in front of their father who so loved his grandchildren. Filling the hole that Rhaenyra left when her new family moved out of the fortress to the island of Driftmark, Viserys had indulged his grandchildren and Helaena was expecting her third soon.

The space between them grew as his mother drew back, her mouth pinched so tight that her lips had gone pale. Aegon loathed the way her gaze scraped at his insides and he resisted wrapping his arms around himself protectively, instead focusing on maintaining his languid, distant posture. To show weakness within the obsidian halls of Dragonstone was to be a death sentence. His mother was not of Old Valyria, but of these strange shores that he was more familiar with than the Freehold. She chafed at the ‘strange customs’, sick at the prospect of her children intermarrying with one another to keep their Valyrian blood pure. She misliked his lack of ambition, or how he preferred to spend his time in the brothel in the little fishing village while Lord Viserys lamented not being able to introduce him to the Ruby Palace and the most divine pleasure slaves the Freehold could have offered.

Lady Aemma misliked his father speaking so, although she was better at hiding her frustrations with her tender, tired smiles. His mother also did not care for the time Aegon spent in Lady Aemma’s solar, where they indulged in honey cakes together and she expected nothing from him, letting him lay his head in her lap while she combed her fingers through his hair when his mother’s anxieties turned her vicious.

If his own mother despised so much of him, then why was she so insistent to have him named heir?

“Aegon.”

He could not bear the anguish in his mother’s voice or on her soft features; the way it coalesced with the frustration like how the blood from the carcass on the beach turned the foaming ocean surf as pink as Sunfyre’s wings. Her shoulders that had bowed in on herself straightened, her breathing evening, and her delicate hands smoothed along the richness of her gown. “We will not indulge in such foolish things,” she said with an abrupt shake of her head. “You will be married at the end of the season.”

It felt like she’d punched him in the throat, the air rushing from him like a wheezing carcass. “I have no sisters to marry,” he rasped out, the blood rushing in his ears. Sunfyre’s call from below was a questioning one, and he saw his dragon lift his bloody face to peer up at him.

“One of the River Kings has need of a son in law,” she explained. “He is well known to our family, with only a daughter and the other river kings are circling. In exchange for you to protect his holding and claim his title upon his death, he will ensure that his armies are yours when the time comes.” She sniffed, twisting the ring on her right hand. “Which will be sooner, I think, than we all expect.”

Well known to their family? The Hightowers. The power that family held was ancient and worthy enough of Valyria, their origins a tightly guarded secret, but his father had said the Hightower blood was a special thing, and how lucky he’d been to snap up the daughter of so much power.

Aegon felt strangled and overheated, a pain coursing through his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “Does he know?” There was something guttural and full of warning running through Aegon’s words, and it vibrated through him. For a moment, he thought he tasted salt and metal, satiating and repugnant along his tongue, and he spat on the ground to rid himself of the taste of his dragon’s kill.

She sniffed again. “He has allowed me freedom to do with my other two children as I please, and Daeron is eager to become a Maester and not claim a dragon for himself. He will serve you well when his education is completed.”

Something cool and wet slapped against Aegon’s cheek and he blinked, tilting his head up as a fine rain began to fall. His mother hurried back inside, arms wrapped around herself, but Aegon ignored her insistent call to follow him. He stood there letting the rain hit his too hot, too tight skin, wondering if it would sizzle the way it sizzled against the dragons. A fine hiss of steam had surrounded Sunfyre as he continued to eat, Dreamfyre tucked beneath his wing, protecting her in the ways that Aegon was unable to protect Helaena himself.

Of course Daeron didn’t want a dragon. He knew nothing else but what he learned of on the ground.

“You’d barter me to some little king for the power of my dragon!” Aegon shouted, his voice heavy with rage, an anger that he’d rarely let loose coming to the forefront like the storm surge. The heat in his throat was a dragon’s flame - he’d spit fire if he could.

Rage was Aemond’s domain, was Rhaenyra’s, was Daemon’s. But Aegon was just as fearsome when he chose to be.

“Aegon-”

“You had no right!” His hands ached for something to throw, to bend and break and shoving over the brazier on his way inside would have to suffice. The coals hissed and bounced along the stone, the metal clanging loudly along the ground. Mother jerked away at the sound like something skittish, a doe perhaps, or a mourning dove, dark eyes wide at the display. Perhaps she did have reasons to mislike him. “You had no fucking right. Daeron, you can barter around, but I, in case you’ve forgotten, am a Warlord. My mount is not some overgrown horse, but fire incarnate, and should I ever so choose, I could turn your precious Oldtown to ash, and the rest of this land if the whim took me.” His nostrils flared as he breathed, wishing he could snag his mother and shake her until sense rattled in her head once more.

But she misliked him enough that he didn’t, the notion settling like a stone in his gut as he skirted her and followed the ghost of his elder sister. Mother shouted his name, but he ignored her, striding down the dim corridors that snaked through the fortress. Torchlight illuminated the slick walls and made the obsidian shine like some living, slimy thing.

Trilling, melodious and haunting, echoed down the corridor, but Aegon could hear the shifting in Sunfyre’s tone. ‘Bite? Attack?’ the sound seemed to question. The Dragonkeepers along the dock gripped their pikes, shouting for Sunfyre to settle, to calm, but the golden dragon would have none of it. He called, concerned, and it grated and echoed along the cave that housed the stable, boiling saliva and blood dripping from his maw and onto the black stone. Another cry shook dust from stone as Sunfyre made as if he were to scramble his bulk up onto the dock. The Dragonkeepers shouted once more, Keeper Arrax looking at him imploringly.

Aegon met his gaze briefly before approaching, tugging his riding gloves on from his pockets. “Lykirī!” he called up to him, but there was little command in the words. Sunfyre rumbled low in his throat, eyes flicking above Aegon and past him for whomever had caused such upset within his rider. It was only as Aegon lifted a hand to his bloody maw to scratch gently along his nostril, did Sunfyre relax, albeit with extreme annoyance at not having anything to attack.

The dragon snorted and settled, lowering himself enough that Aegon could make his way up the curve of his wing to the saddle. There were no words exchanged. None were needed. Him and Sunfyre were as one; the envy of the last Dragonlords.

The further west Aegon flew, the lighter the clouds became. There was something deeper within that, he was sure, and he could only imagine what poetic waxings his father would engage in had Aegon asked. Aemond would huff and let out the most annoyed of sighs and simply say, ‘Clouds move, you nitwit,’ and whatever obscure and esoteric insults from the books in their father’s library.

The breaking of the clouds revealed the lush green of what his mother’s people called the Riverlands. He’d flown over Crackclaw point and up the river that flowed into the Bay of Crabs, the great mountains of the Vale majestic and snow capped in the distance. The rolling green hills and dense forests were cut through with snaking slashes of blue and marked with weirwoods like drops of blood unfolded beneath him, a tapestry of a world he did not understand. His memories of the Freehold were fuzzy. The villa they’d lived in had been large, and he remembered the palanquin draped in the blacks and reds of their house as he made his way to the Dragonmont to claim Sunfyre. And then Helaena’s dreams had entranced their father and here they came.

Dragonstone was more home than Valyria had ever been, but even so, the obsidian fortress in the shadow of the mountain felt like a cage.

Out here above the Riverlands, Aegon breathed in the crisp air, the scent of the storm they’d passed through untainted by the smell of sulfur and salt that permeated the air of his home. These creatures of mud and root were meant to be subjugated. They were unworthy of the gift of flight, Aegon’s blood was a pure, magical thing, not something to be bartered to such a thing.

But his mother was of these people, and he loved his mother. Her blood flowed through him. She was just as fierce as his sister even if she lacked wings. His Uncle Daemon sneered and called him and his siblings half-breeds, shocked that they were able to claim dragons as they did.

Aegon shook his head, damp hair stuck across his forehead, and urged Sunfyre lower to better make out the land before him. Here, he could see the frightened sheep moving in a great herd as the shadow of the winged predator loomed over them. Sunfyre rumbled his desire and he tugged on the reins.

“You’ve had your fill,” he reminded the dragon, and the beast grumbled his annoyance. They swooped lower now, so Aegon could make out the details of the sheep and their startled herders, and hear the distant barking of the herding dogs that accompanied them. Aegon turned south, crossing over the Trident and soon they came upon Castle Derry nestled in the hills. His brow furrowed and he circled about it curiously. Was this where his bride resided? On the shores of the Ruby Ford?

Aegon flew further out still, towards the lush wood, settling his dragon down by a grove of bone white weirwoods, their crimson stained faces bearing witness to his sulking and self-pity. The forest floor was damp and gave beneath his boots as he approached the heart tree. The smell of petrichor clung in the air from the storms that had passed through; the scent of rich earth, of the pine scent of the evergreen trees that hugged the red grove a physical thing.

It was only the red sap that gave the look of bloody tears against the bark. That’s what the maester had said. Helaena, who received dreams from the gods, said they were the tears of those their visions could not help. Even though theirs were Valyrian gods - the fourteen flames that dragons like Syrax and Caraxes and even little Vhagar bore like badges of honor. Aegon had never felt close to the gods of his people, for they were angry beings that threw the Freehold into a melted, smoking husk and destroyed everything that they’d come from. The places in his hazy, childhood memory, the people who had visited, who had bustled in the forum below, were all gone, as were the multitude of dragons that had filled the sky from the other families, not to mention so many along the empire, and the many who had been unclaimed, roosting in the fissures of the volcanos.

Sunfyre rumbled behind him and Aegon waved a hand. “Go on,” he told him, Valyrian words feeling strange to speak in front of the tree. Sunfyre gave him a long look, as if assessing Aegon’s intent before his legs bunched up and he took off with a gust that nearly pushed Aegon from his feet. He ran his fingers through his hair before resting his hand on the pommel of his sword and looking around. Mayhaps he’d go for a swim. Climb a weirwood and fall asleep in the boughs. He could pilfer some clothes and dye his hair and vanish into the mists of the Riverlands, become something new and unseen. He could -

The scream that ripped through the forest was full of terror and anger, the words distant and shrill, but he could just make out the ‘NO!’ through the cacophony. Alarm took over and Aegon’s head whipped around trying to figure out what direction it came from. Another scream for help and he shifted direction, darting through the weirwood grove and bursting into the firs and evergreens of the rest of the forest.

‘Don’t stop screaming,’ he thought to himself, blood pumping in excitement for a fight. A dragonlord’s first weapon was fire and wing. His second was the blade, and Blackfyre hung reassuringly at his side - the gift his father had bestowed upon him on his twenty-second nameday. Next to fucking and drinking, he relished most the clang and scrape of metal against metal.Aemond could roll his eyes at his lack of finesse, but Aegon loved a good fight; blade, teeth, a punch to the face, all were ideal.

He slowed on approach, darting behind the thick trunk of a red oak large enough to seat his whole family for a meal. There were four men just past the trees by the stream, their horses lingering, pawing at the ground, perhaps from Sunfyre’s presence earlier. Three of them wore simple brown tunics and leggings, tabards of black and yellow with a sigil of eerie yellow eyes peering back at him. Aegon knew little of the houses of the area to know which this was. From the finer cut of cloth the fourth man wore, he was their liege. Tall, with dark blonde hair and broad shoulders, the leader of the group was clad in a tunic of black, his tabard half black, half yellow, edged with golden cording.

“Hush now, you’re safe,” he crooned to the hissing, spitting maiden clutched in his arms. She was a slight thing, her kirtle a deep, forest green, the skirt split over a pair of leggings, elegant embroidery visible across her gown. Aegon’s eyes darted around, looking for her horse, but none was to be found. A noble lady from the looks of it, but the oddity of her being alone in the forest was not his priority.

“Let me go!” she snarled, eyes wide and frightened, and she reached up to claw at the man’s face. Her little hand struck true, raking across his handsome features, and he yelled, striking her hard against the face in retaliation and sending her to the ground.

Sunfyre growled low in Aegon’s chest and before the man could reach for her again, he made himself known, unsheathing the Valyrian broadsword idly, clucking his tongue against his teeth.

“Is this how you Westerosi whelps treat your ladies?” he asked, brow furrowed in feigned confusion as his lilac gaze darted from man to man. “I confess, I’ve only been here for a little time, but from what I’ve been taught, there are laws among your people that frown on such things.” A lie of course; he could care less what laws Westeros had, but the woman was distressed, and he was doubtful any of these men owned her. Why he cared about her distress at all was something he would dissect later.

Aegon’s gaze raked over the men before lingering on the maiden still on the ground. The damp of the earth soaked into her skirts, her copper curls a frizz around her soft, tear streaked face. The ring her assailant wore had cut into her mouth, streaks of blood welling up and smeared across her chin. Her eyes met his in that singular moment, so vivid and bright, an endless blue. Aegon forgot to breathe at the sight of that frightened gaze that looked at him so full of terrified hope, his stomach twisting and pulling, wanting to drag him towards her.

How could he deny such a desperate plea? How could he deny her anything when she looked at him like that?

“Be gone with you, stranger,” the leader of this little band sneered, unbothered by the glint of Valyrian steel in the shafts of light that struggled to cut through the trees and clouds above. Aegon’s gaze met his and he smiled, lazy and unbothered. The creak of leather signaled the unsettled movements of his companions.

“Prince Ed,” one of them said, all nervous hesitation that pleased Aegon. “He’s one of them.” Fearful and othering, but he should fear him. Aegon was not some mortal clawed from mud. He was nearly a god himself, and the dragons were of the gods. Sunfyre purred deep in his chest, feeling Aegon’s amusement. He knew the dragon was approaching, and Aegon could buy himself some time and entertainment. Three against one wasn’t terrible odds. He’d been in brawls like that before, but rarely with a blade, and the swordmaster’s cautious words ran in the back of his mind to be cautious of how he picked his fights.

Sunfyre would be there before things got too out of hand.

The prince narrowed his eyes in Aegon’s direction and took in the languid stance and the Valyrian steel blade. There was a flicker of unease on his face before he set his jaw. “Are you sure?” he laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t think they touched the ground, let alone come down from their mountain, too busy fucking their sisters and fathers and probably their dragons.”

There was a nervous titter of laughter from his group and Aegon joined in, his own manic giggling not quite reaching his eyes. He moved deliberately yet continued his easy stance before he stabbed forward, a flash of polished steel to slide across the arm of this prince of mud. Aegon smiled as they shouted and pulled their blades.

“She’s mine now. Be off with you. I would spare her from witnessing your rolling heads.”

The supposed prince spat at Aegon’s feet, drawing his inferior blade. “A daughter of the Riverlands will not be taken by an inbred Valyrian bastard,” he declared with all the mock chivalry and hot air that he’d been blowing. As if Aegon hadn’t just come upon them attacking the maiden. She’d been backing slowly away as Aegon had held their attention but she froze now as the man’s gaze shot at her. “Marvyn, grab her. I’ll slay this imp abandoned by his beast.”

He was brave. Aegon would give this so-called prince that much. Brave and exceedingly stupid, which often went hand in hand; Aegon would know, having been called such by his mother. The clang of steel against steel rang through the clearing and the shriek of the woman joined them as she lobbed a rock at Marvyn in her attempt to evade their reach. His opponent relied on strength, on the advance and powerful swings, and Aegon knew the type. He ducked low and got behind the oaf, kicking the man in the ass and sending him stumbling forward. With the space cleared, Aegon turned and shoved Blackfyre through the back of Martyn and removed the blade without catching any bone. Blood sprayed against the damp earth as he fell to his knees and Aegon spun the blood streaked blade, eyes on the third who had hold of the maiden’s arm, and back to the prince.

Aegon smiled brightly at him, all teeth and mirth and the feral edge of the dragon beneath his skin. “Shame about Martyn,” he said with a pitying shake of his head. “But at least it’s a first course.”

Above, a great, winged shadow appeared, blotting out the watercolor sun and casting them in momentary dim. The gust of wind from Sunfyre’s wings shook the tree, a few small branches falling to the ground from sudden and turbulent wind.

“Prince Edmund,” the other man’s voice cracked with fear, and his wide, sunken eyes focused upon the forest canopy, hand still clutching his sword and the other dropping from the maiden’s arm. Another shriek filled the sky and the trees filled with the frightened lowing of woodland animals fleeing, the birds shaking the remaining branches as they took off.

“Don’t be frightened,” Aegon laughed, shaking the damp curls back from his forehead. “Sunfyre is just having a little fun before he feasts. We’re both rather famished.” He opened his arms wide, the blood dripping from the dark steel of his blade. The clearing was quiet except for the low wheezing of Marvyn’s death rattles. He looked to the frightened man who was backing away before his gaze traveled back to this prince, taut and tense and gripping his useless sword with both hands. “What was it you were saying about inbred Valyrians abandoned by their beasts? There were four of you, weren’t there?” Aegon looked around again, and there was neither hide nor hair of the fourth companion, who seemed to be the only one with good judgment.

Sunfyre’s cry shook the forest once more. The horses had already fled in fear.

“Just leave,” the maiden said, finally finding her voice as she stumbled to her feet, her eyes like blue fire as she glared at the leader of her assailants. “Leave and take the gift of your life.”

She trembled with fear but her fists were curled into her skirt, her shoulders squared as she stared the man down. Her voice lilted, softly and strangely, neither melodic nor grating, but something altogether new to Aegon. The common tongue was not her mother tongue, and it gave a dulcet quality to her tone that those brutes lacked.

Aegon’s smile broadened, his teeth flashing as he looked at the prince. “Begone, you mud stricken thing.”

The two men fled, leaving the corpse of their friend behind, and Aegon watched their figures disappear into the trees. Sunfyre’s melodic trill echoed above and he chuckled, reaching down to wipe his tunic on the corpse of the man he’d stabbed. No need to stain his own clothes with such inferior blood. Sheathing his blade, Aegon Targaryen, eldest son of Viserys, the last Dragonlord of Valyria, straightened before the maiden he’d rescued. He knew she would be in awe of him, perhaps even frightened. That was certainly alright. He would reassure her, comfort her, and promise that he would bring no harm to her.

“My lady,” he said with the utmost courtesy. She stood there, several feet away, her arms wrapped around herself, her brilliant blue eyes wide and wild. There was a gentle, cracking sensation between his ribs as he took her in properly. She was a mess from head to toe, the skirts of her riding clothes soaked and stained. She was slight, shorter than he was, and fear had given her soft features a delicate quality that drew from how pale she was, how stark the blood and dirt looked across her face.

It took everything in him not to just reach for her and lick the blood away from her swollen mouth. To swallow her fearful cries away and replace them with precious little moans. She looked like she would make sweet sounds. The fight had his blood pumping with fever and the thrill of the win only increased the potency. He meant what he said: she was his now. He’d claimed her and sealed it through combat.

“Come,” he said, fingers wrapped around her wrist. Aegon was startled at how fragile the bones felt beneath his touch. He made sure he was gentle with it, not wanting to frighten her further. “We’ll fly back to Dragonstone and you’ll be given all that you desire.” The slap of her little hand against his cheek surprised Aegon more than it hurt, but still he reared back at the sting of it, looking down at the maiden with wide eyes. “I saved you!”

“From men who wanted to steal me to make me a bride against my will! You’re trying to do the same thing!” She yanked at the hold he had on her wrist, but he would not let her go, not now that he had found her.

“I’m not going to make you my bride,” he snapped, bewildered at the very thought of it. “You will be my concubine. Then if you prove yourself, I might wed you.” Bride? What a silly idea these Westerosi had. Not that the idea of tying this girl to him wasn’t appealing. To drag her at the foot of the Dragonmont, to sip wine and taste the blood on her mouth with the blood on his, it was an appealing vision. And it was his own choice, not one where he was sold for his precious dragon and his mother’s clawing attempts to change the succession. If Alicent Hightower wanted him to marry a Westerosi so much, Aegon had found his own choice.

From the furrow on her brow, to the flush that filled her lightly freckled cheeks, it was too late to realize those words would not entice her. A sharp pain radiated from his shin from where she kicked him.

“I will not be your concubine, you stupid dragon whelp.”

“You are precious when so angry,” he giggled with amusement and dodged out of the way of her attempt to rake her nails across his face. Abruptly, he released her, and the girl went stumbling back, breathless. He lifted his hands in surrender before clasping them behind his back. “I won’t touch you-”

“Go raibh maith agat,” she muttered and Aegon blinked.

“Did you sneeze?”

She huffed. “I was saying thank you. I will not have uppity Valyrians accuse me nor my people of being discourteous even as you are high handed.”

Aegon snorted. “It was your Westerosi brethren that sought to kidnap you, if I’m not mistaken.”

Her eyes were nothing short of vivid; such a brilliant, cobalt blue like the endless sky, rimmed red from tears and smudged black from lack of sleep. The softness of her vulnerability at his statement was unmistakable and she did not have a snip or barb for him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself and did not meet his gaze. At a loss for words now after she spent so many. Gods, she was a mess. Dirt on her cheek, her soft, molten red hair a mass of curls tied in an unkempt braid. Her wool kirtle was no better, torn along the sleeve and neckline, though it did little to detract from how fine a garment it was—or had been.

The twist of pressure in his chest was uncomfortable and unfamiliar, and Aegon did not know where to put it.It snaked through the pulsing arousal through his blood, the aching desire he had for her. “How long have you been out here?” he asked her, voice gentler this time, as if she were a skittish mare.

She desperately looked around, her lower lip trembling before her teeth caught at the ruined flesh. Blood welled up in the wound once more from the broken clot. The desire to lick it rose in him once more. Instead, Aegon tugged his handkerchief from inside his sleeve and handed it to her. The linen was carefully embroidered with golden beetles by Helaena, who’d been bedridden during her last pregnancy.

It hung between them, Aegon’s outstretched hand with the offering. Tear filled eyes met his before flicking down, eyeing his hand with all the wariness of a little rabbit before she whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, just as softly, if a bit ashamed. Aegon looked down at the corpse that still lay near them and he carefully stepped between it and her gaze, gently herding her away from the sight and towards the weirwood grove he’d come from. He let her lead the way, keeping a distance between them, his eyes darting about for either horses or those fools. Sunfyre warbled above them and Aegon knew he was keeping an eye out before the ground shook at the dragon’s landing. The maiden stumbled and Aegon caught her elbow before she could fall.

She did not jerk away from him this time and he did not grab her roughly, the idea of further scaring her making him uncomfortable.

“What is your name?” It was a polite question and one Aegon should have asked her before telling her he was going to carry her off to Dragonstone. No matter; he could make up for it now.

She did not look at him and Aegon noticed how she trembled, likely from the come down after the fight. His own hands were shaking lightly, but he’d been well trained to manage it. He cursed under his breath and looked towards the clearing where Sunfyre landed. There was a cloak in his saddlebag he could give her.

“Abrogail.” Aegon looked at her, dark lashes shading her eyes, her pink tongue darting out enticingly to wet her lips as she dabbed at her mouth. “My name is Abrogail.”

Oh. “That’s… that’s a lovely name. Abrogail.” It even tasted lovely on his tongue. “I’m Aegon. Targaryen. Of House Targaryen.” How foolish he sounded.

Her mouth twitched with a promise of a smile and warmth bloomed in his chest. “I gathered as much… Aegon.” Gods help him, he loved the sound of his name on her tongue. Adjusting his course of action seemed to be working as the tension eased a little in her slim shoulders and her sweet face. The pulse of desire flooded through his veins once more and Aegon exhaled, looking up at the red leaves and white boughs of the weirwoods they had come to. The light was dimming as the clouds grew heavy with moisture and Aegon could smell the oncoming rain; petrichor and ozone and the promising crack of lightning. Could he make it back to Dragonstone to stay the night?

“Are you far from home?” he asked, the words ashen in his mouth. It was the right thing to do, even when all he wanted to do was bundle her up and take her away with him. She was meant to be his now. He had claimed her, won her in combat.

“Not overly far,” she said with a strange tone. Aegon looked down at her. Abrogail’s gaze had darkened, turned inward in her contemplation. “I left for my own reasons… and I find myself without my horse. I am not,” she paused, pushing a finger into his chest with fierce, flashing eyes, a kitten arching her back, “Saying I would come with you as your concubine.” She spat the word out with a wrinkled nose.

Aegon grinned at her, all bright teeth and amusement, a mad sort of giggle spilling from him. “Oh, you’ve made yourself quite clear, my lady. I promise not to make you my concubine, but I can offer you a ride away from here.” ‘To Dragonstone,’ he thought. She was escaping something, she said, and he could provide her anything she could want. All he’d ask for in return was a taste.

Abrogail tilted her head, rosebud mouth pursing in her wariness but the curiosity was easing her features.

Several tastes, perhaps. If she insisted on looking so appetizing.

“Your dragon?” There was a nervousness in her tone, but oh, that curiosity. Aegon nodded and held his hand out to her.

“Come,” he said softly. “You can meet Sunfyre.”

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you think! If you're looking for more Aegon and Abby, check out The Maiden and the Drowning Boy! and of course, be sure to check out the other stories being posted for the big bang <3

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jakeyt · 7 months ago

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Covet: Chapter 11 (Part 1 of 3)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great.

Was.

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home.

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

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

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

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; mutual pining; crying + feelings of sadness; arguing; heart issues addressed (POTs); use of heart monitors; revisited, vivid memories of sexual encounters; JEALOUSYYY; body changes as a result of pregnancy; negative self-talk (that, off and on, turns positive); talks of baby + pregnancy; pregnancy hormones (+ acting on them hehe); reader and jake are both STUBBORN (as always); cheating; heavy petting; oral sex m!receiving; forgetfulness; vivid imaginings of sex; talks of EMDR + the possibility of revisiting dark places; jake being the best, most helpful baby daddy there ever was (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter 11 (Part 1) Word Count: 23.3k+

a/n: sorry for the looooong ass wait. same old, same old. life is busy. (also, @joshym and i did go to our first three greta shows on THIS leg and almost died, too - soooo that got in the way lmao.)

as always, big thank you to @joshym for being the best sister there ever was and supporting me in my writings + pursuits <3

and biiiigg thank you to @gretavangroupie for being the dopest proofreader + catching my little, dumb mistakes lmao <3

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

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

"...covetousness, looking more at what we would have than at what we have..."

-Joseph Hall

-🌼🌼🌼-

Chapter 11:

Monday

December 5th, 2022

Staring at the ceiling seemed like the best possible option. No rush to your morning or day. Class had been canceled due to a pipe bursting in the building it was held in. And after seeing that in your notifications, you’d also had a text from Gia – telling you she had to cancel your therapy session again, still recovering from the after-effects of Covid. You couldn’t be mad at her, but admittedly, it’d made your heart fall.

And to make your morning even better, when you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the sound of Jake and Maya. The most lovely way to wake up.

All you could hear through your door were two little fucking lovebirds out in the living room and kitchen area. . . The sound from the box fan you’d decided to keep next to your bed was your best companion in your bubble of endless sulking at Jake and Maya.

The ceiling fan above you was great entertainment as it rotated on a perfect pattern, seemingly in slow motion. And the box fan was hitting your face with the coolest, most refreshing air flow. Offered some sort of relief, at least.

In a moment that threatened to make you feel real sad, you felt the slightest bit free by the fans and their fresh air and consistent patterns. The serenity that rolled from them was your only saving grace.

Today was going to be a long day. There was nothing to do.

But, on a wild hair (and after a particularly grating laugh from Maya), you decided to text Theo and ask if he wanted to make up for yesterday's missed study session today. You didn’t know why you did it, but you did. And his text agreeing to it was instantaneous.

Theo, 8:34 a.m.: I would love that! Does 4:00 work for you? I have to work until 3:00 :(

You took your time responding and texted back lazily, not really wanting to do anything with him, but desperately wanting to get Jake out of your mind.

You, 8:37 a.m.: Sure! Sounds good.

This lovely day had already started with a drag. On top of Jake and Maya talking and giggling like teenagers through your door, the sky was gray outside your window, rain having poured all night long. A light drizzle was still hitting your window.

Your stomach rolled at the new smells of breakfast coming from the kitchen, Jake and Maya eating breakfast at your house after their fun night you’d been privy to through the walls.

The dreary cloudiness of the December day was offset by Maya’s squeaky laughs. It kept happening – she kept laughing her ass off at him. The Jake you knew could be funny from time to time, yes, but he wasn’t a comedic genius by any means. He really wasn’t that funny.

But, you’d learned she was adamant at being a good little textbook girlfriend. And it had become absolutely exhausting for you to experience — especially while you continued to carry her boyfriend’s baby.

Your mind got stuck in a thought when you came back to that. . . One little thing that had been bugging you, coming to your mind everyday since Maya had found out.

How in the fuck was she so okay with it? Her boyfriend living in the same house as a girl who was pregnant with his baby? How was she being so damn cool about it?

You grumbled much louder than necessary as you yanked the charger from your phone to check your Ovia app. The photo of what the baby looked like this week was the first thing you saw. You imagined what it looked like right this second. . . . You also wondered when you’d start to feel him or her move – to your surprise you weren’t really stressed that you hadn’t felt it yet. Based on your last doctor visit, you knew the baby was completely healthy and you were feeling much better than you had been a couple weeks ago. You were trying to be logical.

What you did let your mind wander to was what the baby was bound to look like. It was a normal thought process. Would it be a boy or girl? You didn’t even want to guess. Would it have Jake’s eyes and bright smile? You still hoped so – those continued to be the features you desired most of all.

Even though he was not at the top of your happy list right now, you wanted him to share in this with you. It was a conundrum. And, you couldn’t deny that his gesture last night had been so incredibly sweet—the personalized cup he’d left for you, full of iced water.

But, as soon as you went that route, your mind flicked to what hadn’t been so sweet. The not-so-sweet things your ears had been witness to right after he’d dropped the cup off at your door.

Your moment in the kitchen, nothing but an afterthought as soon as he’d gotten to his bedroom to find his goddess of a girlfriend waiting for him. He’d claimed to want you so badly in the kitchen, only to move right on from you to her.

But you weren’t an idiot. You knew he wasn’t yours like he was Maya’s. Although, it didn’t stop your heart from tearing in your chest as you listened to him fuck the girl he truly belonged to through the walls.

Simply put: you were just done witnessing their sex life. Done with it.

It was disheartening and made you feel insecure and sad in ways you really didn’t need to feel.

Your hand found your belly as you tried to get onto a happier train of thought. You read through all of your baby’s fun facts for Week 15. And, rubbing at the bare skin under your giant sleep shirt, you briefly wondered what Jake’s hands would feel like on your bare belly. Your belly, rounder every day with the baby you shared.

You felt your hormones hype up, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes at how much of a jumbled mess your life was.

And, while the predicament could’ve been blamed on you for breaking things off. . . You’d known, way back in August, that he was most likely bound to leave you for her. That day you’d picked him up from her house, their seamless connection had been obvious.

What was strange was every now and then, you heard these faint words from a memory in the back of your mind. His voice. His words. And it was always him arguing it – arguing the validity of him and Maya.

But the entire situation wouldn’t come back to you. So, you’d resolved that the words had been in a dream. They felt more like a dream. . . One you couldn’t reach back to. His stern voice telling you how wrong your assumptions were, a wavy non-memory. . . .

Though you still believed that no matter the case, whether you’d broken it off in August or waited until later, things would have turned out the same. Everything that happened was meant to happen. You’d still be pregnant and Maya would still be around.

There was no escaping the fact that Maya was going to be around. One way or another. Around and taking away the possibility for you and Jake to ever be together again. Not that he needed that. You weren’t good for him. You’d had your solid reasons for cutting things off.

But. . . why did those reasons seem to get hazier everyday? They were harder to place as the days went by.

You sighed deeply, deciding to focus on what else was real. . . The other things in the now that made you feel good. There was no reason to have any of that clouding your mind, to make you feel even worse than you already did.

Getting up, you made the bed and afterwards went to undress. Get ready for the day. But, as soon as you’d stripped your shirt and were standing naked in your panties, your heart sank. You heard something through the door that you really didn’t want to fucking hear.

“Your body looks so perfect in that, My,” Jake’s voice came through the door, sounding astonished. The cat call he made at her right after made a weight fall to the tresses of your tummy. “You are so beautiful. So damn pretty.”

And when your eyes caught sight of your bigger body— reflecting back at you through the mirror. . . .

The tears that leaked from your eyes were expected, your heart hung so heavy in your hollow chest. Words he’d just spoken to you not so long ago as you’d worked to rid yourself of stretch marks (your creams and oils working wonders, by the way, thank god).

“Beautiful,” he’d firmly stated while his eyes locked with yours in the mirror, just as he’d said the word. “This is beautiful. You are beautiful.”

You’d felt reassured by his words and pep talk that evening. . . It was stupid how his words had helped your mind to clear some darkness. It was stupid because obviously those words weren’t special for you. He’d say the same words to her in a heartbeat. You weren’t special.

And, no matter what he said about it not being because of the baby, it was true that he’d started being (more) attentive after finding out. The attentiveness had started almost as soon as he’d known about the baby. So, surely the words he’d said were just to perk your sad, pregnant feelings.

He was great at being attentive. You’d learned from past experience that he was like that if you were in any sort of relationship with him, too. And Maya was in more of a relationship with him than you fucking were right now, so . . . . of course he was bound to say that shit to her.

Her obvious, natural beauty being highlighted by him any chance he got was the opposite of what you needed to hear. You knew how pretty she was. Anyone with two eyes could tell; she was built so perfectly, her face was symmetrical as could be. . . And her smile, wide and shining, with the straightest teeth. He was dating Aphrodite herself (with more voluptuous curves than Aphrodite, even) and he’d be a fool to not state the truth.

And you. . . well, you were not built as well at the present time. And you were aware you’d hadn’t been built as well as her before the baby either. Her appearance had filled you with insecurities even then — and would continue to do so.

Jake could talk you up as much as he wanted. But you knew it wasn’t completely genuine and was just because he felt obligated.

You looked back to the mirror, watching to see the way your body looked as you turned to see the plump curve of your ass. Turning fully around, your hair flowed behind your shoulder as you eyed your backside. The world would never know if you were pregnant if they saw you from the back. . . You hadn’t even realized how normal the back of you still looked. All that had changed was your ass was slightly more plush with the baby weight. But, that wasn’t a bad thing.

The longer you looked at your backside, looking like your normal, used-to-be body. . . You realized how empty you felt to look at a version of you without your baby.

You kept your eyes trained on your body in the mirror as you spun back around on your heel to observe your front. Placing both hands on the tummy you had, your baby tucked safe as could be inside of you, you observed yourself.

There was no denying you were bloated while Maya was perfectly fit — her boobs and ass perky while yours weren’t as much so . . .

No, your whole body was changing to accommodate the little life you were growing. But. . . as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you were finding you were really okay with it. You rubbed your hands smoothly over your ever-growing stomach, tracing shapes on the smooth skin of your (now) stretch-mark-less tummy.

Your belly was growing. . . constantly. You knew that over time, it would continue to crowd you tighter and tighter in every space you occupied.

But. . . You were okay with that. All it meant was that the baby continued to grow and that was what mattered. . . It didn’t matter that you didn’t look like Maya.

But, it didn’t change one thing you knew you couldn’t grow to appreciate like you had your body. You weren’t sure you’d ever be okay that Jake was with Maya. . . And that made it all feel so much worse. Because, no matter how hard you tried, you knew you’d still subconsciously compare yourself to her because of his relationship with her.

And the sounds through the walls, both cutesy conversation and sex. . . The displays at the kitchen counter. . . It got you in your head. Because Jake. Jake was in your head. Always.

It made perfect sense that he wanted to constantly be intimate with her. They were dating. She was hot. He was more than hot.

You grumbled, squeezing your eyelids shut to ignore the image of them fucking — it mocked you behind your eyes. Then, there they were again at the kitchen island. Jake with his head thrown back in pleasure, with Maya on her knees in front of him. . . her perfectly manicured, white pearl acrylics clutching his shirt.

You didn’t even want to think about the scratches those nails had made on the tanned skin of his back. How she probably marked his back with her pristine, almond-shaped nails. . .

Crazy. You were going to go crazy.

Because while you could fully understand why she’d wanted to fuck him constantly (you’d been there – still were there), you hated witnessing it in any way. Why did it have to be right next to you? Or in front of you at the kitchen counter? How in the fuck could you rid yourself of that?

Then, it dawned on you as you changed into a comfier bra. . .

There were rules. There were apartment rules. There’d been no conversation about taking those away. Whatever happened during those months in the summer between you two was exempt. You’d been involved with each other. But now things were back to the way they’d started. No romance (just confusing, minor incidents, really). You were back to being two roommates. . . with a baby.

Those rules you’d rambled off to him in the living room all those months ago hadn’t just evaporated. And Maya. . . she wasn’t the one blatantly disrespecting the rules that had been set for so long. Jake was doing that – not Maya. She didn’t know about them. But Jake sure as hell did. You were sure they were still posted on the kitchen fridge, under schedules and shit. Right under his nose and he didn’t even fucking care. And he wasn’t following them worth shit.

Technically, those still stood. . . right? Had to. A baby made between you two didn’t eliminate them. It actually made you feel more validated since you carried his baby now. You were the one literally living everyday as a pregnant woman for his baby. . . The least he could do was not fuck his stupid ass girlfriend on the kitchen counter. Or right next door.

And, in no time, Maya was sitting at the back of your mind. Didn’t care about her. She didn’t matter right now. No, it was Jake who was making you so mad you couldn’t see straight. . . What the fuck was his problem?

-🌼🌼🌼-

Later in the day, after allowing yourself a little nap after a nice long shower, you got ready for your study sesh with Theo.

You took extra time on your hair and makeup — decided you wanted to look good. Focus on something – someone else. You were desperate to get your mind off of Jake.

Truth be told, you’d accelerated at hyperspeed to a raging emotion since you’d undressed and stood in your room, being forced to listen to him go on about how beautiful his girlfriend was.

And, it just got worse as you had to wait far too long to hear little giggles and goodbyes fade out of the apartment. Finally, at Maya’s departure around 9:30, Jake’s door had closed . . .

By that point, you’d had plenty of time to stew and ponder. You’d pondered multiple ways Jake was pissing you the fuck off. . . Some, very valid. . . others, not even close (you were hormonal, okay?!). You’d piled on more reasons in the shower to be irate with him, too, aggressively shampooing your scalp.

You had to admit, riding a wave of emotion over Jake that didn’t leave you in a mess of tears was actually pretty fun. . .

You’d let your mind wander down aimless paths. By the time you were getting dressed and ready for studying, you were fuming. So much frustration with him. And right now? Jake’s selfish, crude behavior had your full attention. . .

Admittedly, you knew nearly everything you were feeling was thanks to a surge in pregnancy hormones. Those super-human hormones were making you see only red at the thought of him. And, ridiculously, you didn’t try to tame your thoughts. No, you decided to just ride. Wanted to ride the winding rollercoaster of emotion for as long as you could. It felt good to just be angry with him.

Was that a pregnant woman thing? Did it make you a bad person?

. . . Because, well, even if it did make you a bad person, you didn’t care.

But. . . As you finished your light mauve lipliner, layering on chapstick, you realized maybe you should care. Not for Jake’s sake. For the baby’s sake, you didn’t want to put any unnecessary stress on the sweet love growing in your tummy.

So, you’d devised your plan. A plan to get your mind off Jake. Something to maybe piss him off a little. God only knew how he’d pissed you off time and again. He needed a taste.

You just needed a solid distraction. And what better distraction than another man to prove to Jake that you could play at a game.

Just because you were pregnant didn’t mean you couldn’t do as he did. . . You know. . . .mess around like him. How he performed his little stunts for God and everybody to see and hear. . . Would he be okay with it if you did the same? It seemed like an interesting experiment.

The spiral of negative emotion towards him had started with how selfish he was being with the apartment rules. Because, yes you were just sick and tired of Jake and Maya flaunting their shit. That was the root of it. And when your mind had wandered just far enough to retaliate. . . you’d decided to push in to the urge.

You wanted your own thing to show off. . . Your own person to be obnoxious and publicly affectionate with you. And you had the perfect person in mind. . . someone who’d shown interest time after time. . . Going all the way back to sophomore year of high school. The very same person who was about to spend the next few hours with you to study.

Though, you couldn’t help but wonder. . . Even with how interested he’d been before, would he mind your pregnancy?

You figured to test it; there was no use in trying to hide your round belly from your (admittedly cute) study buddy. Hopefully he’d find you, as a pregnant woman, just as appealing as he did before he knew you were pregnant.

You’d decided on your dark brown jumpsuit, which complimented your body just right. With the weather being chillier, you decided on a tight white mock neck underneath. The jumpsuit was your new favorite piece of clothing. You hadn’t worn it out yet, but it actually fit your changing body well. You’d ordered a few failed attempts at a jumper like Gia’s, and you’d finally found one that fit your rapidly transforming body. The material of the suit was soft and stretchy, meaning it would be a go-to for the next several months.

It wasn’t even maternity – that was your favorite part! Outfits like the one you were eyeing yourself in kept you from having to wear clothes made exclusively for pregnant women. In fact, due to its incredibly flexible nature, you already had a few other colors by the same brand in your Amazon cart. . . Cute, comfy, and not made for pregnant ladies only.

The idea of wearing maternity clothing was still something you were warming up to. . . You’d discovered on BabyTok that a lot of expecting mothers hated wearing maternity clothes. The general consensus (that you agreed with) was that it made them feel even more ostracized when they already felt like your body wasn’t your own.

After having the full ensemble put together, you turned to glimpse at your ass in the suit, adjusting your gold jewelry as you turned back around to face the front.

You were beyond happy with what you saw.

Adorable and sexy all in one outfit. Your curves were being hugged in all of the right places: boobs, belly, butt. And, even then, the jumper still left some mystery with its looser parts. . . You felt confident.

The white sneakers and white mini crew socks added the ideal final touch, helping you to feel even more comfortable and excited by your outfit with the other trendy addition. (Thank you, blessed Target and your off-brand tennis shoes.)

The thought made you momentarily think about making a Target baby registry when the time came. Would Jake want to be involved in that? You wanted him to be. . . Ugh. You actually hated how badly you wanted him to be in the middle of all of it with you.

You were supposed to be mad at him!

As you slung your belt bag over your chest, you huffed at the thought, tightening your bag a little to balance just right over your bigger breasts. And, as you did so, your mind started drifting. Drifting to the same eyes you always had waiting for you at the back of your mind. The eyes you wanted looking at you, admiring you. . . They weren’t Theo’s. Not at all. These eyes were Amber-brown and darkened naturally when they took you in (rather, they used to darken at you).

Then, there were the calloused hands you wanted to meet you at the end of the day, in your bedroom, to help you take off this outfit. Piece. By. Piece.

You growled to yourself, readjusting the belt bag once more to not be so tight over your boobs.

Damn that fucker. Jake was like a thorn in your side—making his way into thoughts of yours without giving you a chance to combat it.

God, you just needed to focus on another man. Jake had Maya. You needed someone, too. Right? It was going to help. It would be an attempt, at the very least, to get your mind off of your baby’s (smoking hot) daddy.

Once more, you eyed your outfit – your little round belly, in particular. You loved how it stretched the material at your waist just enough to see there was a baby in there. . . your baby. How could you be so proud of a life that you hadn’t even held in your arms yet?

Your phone dinged from where it laid on your comforter. You walked to check it, finding a quick text from Theo to ask if you wanted him to pick you up. And. . . you agreed . . . It was the perfect start to your plan.

As soon as you sent it, though, you suddenly felt a solid moment of pause at the idea of dating another man while being pregnant with Jake’s baby.

You didn’t want anyone else. Really. You knew it. Your body grew instantly uncomfortable at the idea of someone else. You craved one person in particular and it was not Theo. . . but who’s to say it couldn’t be Theo? Or any other man, for that matter? It could be. It could. . .

If Jake was able to move on from you, you could move the fuck on from him, too.

So, with that thought, you ignored the pull towards Jake. Didn’t need him infiltrating your fresh state of mind.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Once Theo had texted that he was about ten minutes away, you decided you’d make your way out to the living room.

But, of course, the other occupant of the living room at that moment was someone you did not intend on seeing. Didn’t want to see him. Jake, sitting on the couch watching some documentary.

He wasn’t wearing PJ’s on this gloomy, rainy Sunday afternoon, but rather a sexy ass outfit (What was he dressed up for? Could you not catch a fucking break?!).

Looking at him, all you could imagine was being held close enough to feel him hard, against your ass, hand cupping your breast just like you’d needed so badly. . .

Last night, he’d made you feel so many emotions. Two of which being seriously intense longing and lust. And he’d seemed to feel the exact same way. . .

. . .Only to go back to his room and make it no secret that he was fucking Maya into his mattress and not you.

He offered to come to you, y/n. . . a voice whispered, sounding like Elsie. It was something she would say. But, you already knew what you’d tell her. It was what you’d told him and what you’d been telling yourself.

It wasn’t right. Last night had been enough to make that apparent to you. . . and hopefully him, too. It would be a mistake and it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all to do that shit–even if the other person in the equation was someone you despised as much as you were growing to despise Maya.

But, alas, you had no ground to stand on. . . He wasn’t your boyf—.

Well, yeah, actually. You did have some ground. You would pull the motherfucking Baby Mama card if you had to.

You yanked a Canada Dry from the fridge before going to wait in the doorway for Theo.

Back to square one of being pissed with Jake. Hearing Maya outright crying and moaning his name repeatedly felt blasphemous (dramatic, but whatever). . . You were even more tired of hearing him – the same moans and groans that had once been your favorite sound. . . . You were just damn tired of it.

As you popped the can open to take a decent swig, you worked to convince yourself that it mostly annoyed you. Just because it kept you from getting enough sleep for you and a baby. But you knew, quite frankly, it was because you cared more than you should have about it.

What you didn’t care for was hearing said baby’s father fuck another woman any and every way she wanted.

Not when there was a time it had been you instead.

You let your eyes travel to him, sitting on the couch. The profile of his face was all you could see. The sharp outline of his jaw. . . The straight bridge of his nose, begging to be traced by your finger. His pretty mouth, lips slightly open before he licked them in anticipation at the screen in front of him.

Had he not noticed you? Or was he purposefully ignoring you? Whatever. It didn’t matter.

Even though it was wrong, you weren’t able to help the way your brain spiraled at the thoughts of endless summer days as you surveyed him. You thought of those blissful days where it had been you he was fucking so well you saw stars over and over again. . . leaving you with a dull ache between your legs from how fucking good he’d given it. . .

Ugh! No. You rubbed your thighs together, working to alleviate the thoughts that had your panties getting slightly damp. Motherfucker.

Because, again, everything you’d had to witness between him and Maya and he hadn’t even cared. . . . fucking jackass. Acted like he cared so much that day in the kitchen. Didn’t want to let go of what you’d had. But then he’d moved on to what had been patiently waiting for him. . . So fucking soon after. You hadn’t had time to catch your breath.

Truly. Fuck Jake Kiszka. The butterflies that jittered in your belly at your inappropriate thoughts were simply confused as hell. . .

“How you feeling today?” He asked, not looking away from the television, definitely sensing your presence behind him.

God. . . stop acting like you care.

“Fine,” you plainly stated, tone clipped, rubbing your belly briefly.

You looked away as soon as he turned his head in your direction, avoiding eye contact with him. But you could feel his eyes piercing burning holes in you from the couch. You busied yourself on your phone, ignoring him. You checked your Ovia app for the second time today.

“You sure about that?” He asked, his voice getting buried in the back of your mind as your eyes traced the new baby facts again.

Size of an avocado. Legs were officially longer than arms. . . could bend his or her knees and elbows now. . . Baby might be growing hair (would it be his color? Or yours?). . . Baby’s heart is still under construction but capable of pumping 25 quarts of blood a day. . .

You realized then and there that, in spite of how pissed you were with him, you wanted him to live all of this in real time with you – wanted to tell him all of these new things about the baby.

“Baby is the size of an avocado today,” you meekly stated, not wanting to get all mushy when you could have slapped him and felt fine with it.

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? I just told you what,” you snapped your eyes over to him on the couch, but realized he was standing and gathering his bag of almonds and glass of water to head over your way.

You moved closer to the door, not caring to smell hints of sandalwood or vanilla or citrus or amber . . . whatever the fuck he’d chosen to use to smell sexy today.

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head on his way to the kitchen.

You followed every one of his movements; watched him put the almonds in the pantry, then eyed his firm grip on the glass cup as he finished the drink off in one final sip. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he closed his eyes to savor it. You saw as a few drops from the drink slipped from the glass, down his chin, and all the way to his chest. Damn. Right down the middle of his perfectly toned and tanned pectoral muscles. When he went to wash it in the sink, you observed closely as he swiped under his plump bottom lip with his thumb to catch the remnants of water.

In no time, he was done washing the cup and facing you again. A tiny grin quirked on his lips and you realized it was probably because you still had your mouth open watching him. Quickly, you shut it and raised a brow at him.

“Don’t smile at me.” You sounded ridiculous, but you were trying to cover up your moment of staring at him. Didn’t want to seem weak.

“I apologize for smiling,” he responded, his eyes rolling with the words the slightest bit. “What were you saying before?”

“You seriously already forgot?”

“No. God,” he cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was trying to spark the conversation to life again.”

“By acting like you forgot what I said?” Damn it all to hell – what was wrong with you?

“Why are you so upset?”

“I’m not,” you retorted, knowing better. You were upset. . . not about this, in particular. Just him. Just upset with him.

“Yes you are.”

“Stop,” you bit back, not wanting him to see through you. “If you would have just listened the first time and not asked me ‘what’, then we would already be done talki–,” growling with a huff, you frustratedly tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “I blatantly said that it was about the baby. You knew what I was talking about,” you looked down at your phone, doom scrolling on the app – looking at past and future weeks in your pregnancy. “Just listen better next time and you won’t have to talk to me for so long.”

Okay, now you were letting off that you were weak. You sounded pathetic. Were you really feeling insecure about that at the root of it all? Did you feel like he didn’t want to talk to you?

If you were being honest, you did feel like a burden and the tears accumulating in the back of your throat were proof of it. Part of you felt completely inadequate and like he couldn’t care. But. . . if logic was to speak and remind of what was real, you would realize he was the one that initiated the conversation in the first place. Of course he wanted to talk to you. . .

Or was he just being nice?

“Goddamn, yes ma’am. Sorry for my lack of rapt attention and preparedness. I’ll pay better attention next time,” he grit back. “Jesus Christ.”

You couldn’t blame his frustration. There was no denying you sounded crazy. This was becoming something it didn’t need to because you were grumpy with him and just generally hormonal.

Looking down, you thought you’d offer some sort of apology. There was no use in being completely unreasonable. “I’m sorry I’m being so moody and grumpy. These hormones are all over the place,” you reasoned, not wanting to divulge your complete irritation with him you’d sat on all afternoon.

You saw him move from your peripheral. Quickly, you came to terms with the fact that he was coming close enough for you to smell him, despite your efforts to avoid him. And if he didn’t smell more incredible than any other man to ever exist. . . fuck.

You looked up from where you’d started checking your nails, not able to deny his closeness. It spiked your heart rate. He was leaning his back against the counter, right next to where you stood by the door. Personal space was a foreign concept, apparently.

His eyes drifted over you, your skin flaming at the attention from him. His gaze skated over your figure – no doubt he was taking in the outfit. You felt pretty fuckin’ hot. This was the first time you’d felt genuinely pretty in a long time. You could only hope he saw you and thought so, too.

“You look fucking—wow,” he commented, his voice low enough for you to feel his words. “I can’t put it into words. But, damn, this outfit,” he smirked, nodding his head at you before letting his eyes land on your round belly with a soft smile before he looked at you. “I like how the baby looks in it, too.”

You blushed. That was sweet as hell.

“Thanks,” you sunk your eyes into his before letting your eyes rake his figure. If he could do it, you would, too.

He looked fine as hell in his all black outfit with that damn mustache coming in again. . . You could think of a few things that could settle an argument or two. You thought of him exposing your bare breast last night, his dick hard and pressing into your ass. . . . Wanted to feel him grind against you right now. Quite frankly, looking at him, all you wanted to do was lay across the kitchen counter and let him –.

No.

That was the same counter he’d betrayed your rules on. Dammit. You were so mad at him. Was it legitimate? You couldn’t tell. Hormones and shit.

The knock against the door was what broke you from your reverie, eyes having been locked on him for far too long.

“You goin’ somewhere?” He asked, folding his arms tighter across his chest. You didn’t look at his biceps or the jewelry on his hands and wrists. Didn’t think of the way his earring hung just right for you to see it through the thick tresses of his long, wavy hair.

Instead, you took those thoughts and turned them into another woman moaning his name.

Goddamn, y/n. He hasn’t fucking cheated on you. For God’s sake. Slow your damn roll.

“Yes,” you stated, moving to check your makeup in the living room mirror. When you reaffirmed why you felt so damn confident today, you unlocked the door, opening it so Jake could see for himself. He’d moved from his space at the counter, behind you, out of curiosity.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Theo’s grin took up his entire boyish face, his fresh haircut complimented his square jawline well. His excited energy fed the tense air perfectly. Just like you wanted.

“Oh. . . study buddy. . . I remember you,” Jake commented behind you. His tone was almost mocking, challenging the situation. “Making flashcards or some shit, I presume?”

“Depends, man. Might have other goals in mind for today. . .,” Theo winked in Jake’s direction, then yours. You couldn’t help the smirk that fell across your features at his response to Jake. “Little Miss Hot Thang here still needs to go on a date with me like she promised. Maybe we can talk about that, too,” he winked at you. Your eyes smiled, but your lips couldn’t quite reach them.

Little Miss Hot Thang? What?

Though, you had to applaud Theo, he was playing into what you’d wanted perfectly – his little crush on you was shining through. The little cocky lilt in his tone that seemed to be consistently present made your skin crawl just a bit, but you were mostly used to it after all of the studying and times you’d sat next to him in class.

Right now, you only cared to make a point to Jake, though, and Theo’s tone was a non-issue. Though, you hoped his words were clicking with Jake like you wanted them to.

“Oh, yeah? Wanna take her out on a date?” Jake snipped from behind you.

Your eyes twinkled at the sound of his response, tummy somersaulting at the edge in his voice.

It was like a scene playing out exactly as you’d want it to as the viewer. . . The only thing that sucked, though, was that even with the two handsome men standing on either side of you, your body was still only pulling you to the wrong one. The handsome one behind you, dressed in all black. The same one smelling like the most incredible mixture of sandalwood, vanilla, and amber. You caught a whiff of something new, too. . . A different cologne?

You wanted to sink into him. . . let him hold you again, just like he had on Friday.

You did not feel pulled at all to the one in front of you, dressed in his dark wash skinny jeans and a Pratt Football Alumni sweatshirt. The man you didn’t want, that you were about to flirt with even more. It made you less and less excited by the minute for what you were egging on. . . Did you even want it? Was this a stupid idea? You were simply encouraging it for the sole purpose of giving Jake a taste of his own medicine.

Was it worth it?

It made you question if you were sure you wanted to continue entertaining it if you knew you didn’t actually want him.

“Of course I want to take her on a date. You kidding?” Theo smiled, not assuming anything but the best of the situation, his eyes finding yours flirtatiously. “Who wouldn’t?”

You gave a sideways grin to him, feeling unsure of it all.

“And you’re sure she wants it, too?” Jake asked, challenging him with a scoff in his tone.

Suddenly irked by his questioning, you turned your head to the side to address him, still not fully looking at him. You relied solely on your turned head for him to acknowledge that you were speaking to him.

“Not your damn business, Jake,” you snapped, contemplating your next words. “But, yes, I would love to go on a date with him, if you must know. Just like old times.”

You tacked the last words onto the end for extra emphasis. . . . For extra emphasis on the web of fibs you were delicately weaving.

The words made Theo’s smile grow as he leaned towards you, tucking a lock of freshly curled hair behind your ear.

The action made your heart rate pick up – which made you think. Perhaps there was hope you could string this along—just for long enough to shut Jake out. If the tall blonde man was making your heart rate speed up now, he would continue to do that, right? Maybe this revisited ‘romance’ would actually turn into more. . .

Ugh. But was that what you wanted?

The answer was more than likely a big fat no. Fuck no.

Though, you did like what it was doing to Jake. Especially when you looked over your shoulder and saw the pink tinge that had enveloped the apples of his cheeks, how his jaw was set in tight tension. His eyes were trained on Theodore, observing him. Judging him. And when you saw the sudden flare of his nostrils, you knew.

This was making him angry. You’d go as far to say jealous, even. Could it be?

And as horrible as you knew it was, it felt way too fucking good.

“Just like old times?” He questioned, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes at the man in the doorway.

“We dated in high school,” Theo answered for you, completely oblivious of Jake’s irritation towards him. For all he knew, Jake was just an asshole. Was he even picking up on Jake’s mood?

Better that he didn’t. You didn’t want him thinking there was anything more between you and your roommate; even though the baby growing in your belly said much differently. But you were sure Jake’s little perturbed act was something Theo would eventually catch onto. . . . so, you tried to get him off of the subject one more time.

Matching his level of irritation seemed the only possible solution to shut him up.

You turned fully around to face the long-haired man. His arms were crossed, hands wrapped tightly around his biceps and squeezing intermittently. You observed his handsome features for maybe one second too long, but you couldn’t help it. The beauty mark on his right cheek, along with a couple of tiny scars under his left cheek bone caught your eye – parts of his face you’d memorized months ago. His tanned skin was the perfect canvas for every single precious mark it honed. Would your child have any of the same freckles he did?

Not letting yourself get too lost in that devastating train of thought, you tried to catch his eyes and to no avail. He was hard pressed to intimidate your study buddy or some shit.

When you cleared your throat to gain his attention, his hard gaze finally landed on you rather than the poor, unassuming man in Pratt gear behind you. But. . . . you lost all ammunition to say anything hateful to him when his stare penetrated your own. The way his eyes bore into yours made your breath catch in your throat.

You were right before – you could read him well. And while he was obviously angry and (oddly) jealous. . . . you also sensed a tinge of hurt behind his darkened irises. You’d seen his eyes falter like this before. . . the way he would try to hide the hurt behind a sort of tough act.

“Jake,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his arm. You didn’t know what you were trying to communicate to him, but you had a feeling he’d catch on to whatever it was.

He didn’t flinch away. No, he let you touch him, leaning into it the slightest bit. His eyes glimmered for the briefest moment, holding yours. . . . . Before he suddenly was moving away. You were losing him. And, instantly, you knew that the impending fling behind you was definitely not what you wanted.

God. What had your life come to?

“Alright, well, so be it,” the stark tone in his voice, along with the way his eyes stayed trained on yours, made your skin prick with goosebumps and all of your senses flare. “I suppose you’re right. Nothing you do truly is my business. Just as mine isn’t yours, right?”

Thankfully, his biting words made your skin flame once more in aggravation. You were mad at him. Right? You could fight those words.

You wanted to keep whatever upper hand you’d created, so you had to be quick with your next words. And actions.

You squinted at Jake, inhaling deeply and pursing your lips. Then, without taking another second to think it through, you turned once more. Leaning into Theo, you let your hand lay flat on his buff chest. The blonde then placed a sure hand on your hip, looking down at you with a raised brow and smirk. You sort of enjoyed it, but you also felt a little icky about it. Luckily, you knew how to keep face.

Looking over your shoulder once more to say something, the words caught in your throat when you saw his fists balled up, nails surely digging tiny abrasions in the palms of his hands.

You would venture to say his current feelings teetered on the edge of how you felt towards him and his girlfriend.

Feels great, doesn’t it, Jake?

Yeah. . . . . You were completely sure you wanted to play this little game. With the way he was reacting, you were getting curious to see just how far it could go. . .

From behind, you heard Jake shuffling away, his door closing a little louder than normal. A slam, yes, but not enough to alert Theo to anything going awry. The tall man’s blue-green eyes were sincerely sparkling as he grabbed hold of your hand gently.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You remembered you wanted to talk to Jake about the rules as you pulled out of the complex in Theo’s Mustang. His mouth was going a million miles a minute with shit you didn’t care much about. So, you used his personally-created distraction to your advantage and decided to text Jake about wanting to discuss something with him.

Might as well catch him while the fire’s hot. Maybe he’ll actually pay attention.

It took him a few minutes to respond. It made you momentarily question sending it to him after you’d just irked him as you had at the apartment.

Jake, 3:05 p.m.: oh. So you’re planning on coming back tonight, huh?

Your heart jumped in your throat. Motherfucker.

You, 3:05 p.m.: We are purely studying tonight.

Jake, 3:06 p.m.: is that what lover boy wants? A ‘pure’ little study date?

You glanced over at your classmate as your senses flamed with Jake’s words. Fuck him and his invasive questions. You locked your phone.

It was a good damn time to finally look up and acknowledge the other person in the car. You figured this, because as soon as you looked over to Theo, he was waiting on you, trying to include you in conversation. Just at that moment.

“Don’t you agree?”

Shit. Agree with what? You’d totally tuned him out.

“About. . .?” You trailed, feigning interest and trying to act like you were thinking of all of the things he’d said. “I’m still stuck on what you said earlier about. . .,” your eyes glanced at his Pratt sweatshirt. You cleared your throat, “About school.”

God, that was a step too far. Brave? Stupid? You didn’t even know if he’d mentioned school! Fuck.

But, you were relieved when he laughed, nodding his head as he went ahead at a green light. The smell of his Black Ice car freshener was almost too much for your pregnant super-senses.

“Yeah, me too. That professor is crazy!” He said, going ahead as the light changed. “No, but do you agree that this test is going to be a piece of cake?”

Wow. So he really had spent the past several minutes talking about school and a test? Shit. You had imagined there’d been more. Didn’t know why. It was Theo. He had a one-track-mind. He was all about school and Pratt.

Meanwhile, you weren’t even interested enough in school to carry a fully thought-out conversation about it, much less drone on and fucking on about it.

“Oh, yeah,” you knit your brows. “Piece of cake. We’ve got it in the bag.”

“So. . . you sure you don’t want to make tonight our date then?” He proposed, a blush rising in your cheeks with the lift of his brow. Oh.

Answer was. . . Yes. You were sure you didn’t want to go on a date tonight. Didn’t want to go on one at all, if you were honest. Or did you? With the way the blush hadn’t left your cheeks yet, you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about it at the moment.

It was confusing as hell. But, you’d dug your own grave. You had led him on.

Momentarily, you contemplated it. . . If you did it tonight, would that help you to get it over with sooner? Be rid of this guy who’d annoyed you more often than not in recent times?

Ugh. No. You couldn’t let it end after one night. You needed to drag it out.

“Why don’t we start with some studying and then we can talk a little more on that?” You tried, voice cracking a bit on the last word, feeling utterly unsure of it all.

“So . . . .,” he trailed, waiting for you to continue.

“So, I’d say we will find another night to have our date. Make it special,” you slapped a sweet grin on. Make it special? God, shut up, y/n. “I promise.”

His eyes shone, hand coming to grip yours. Fuck, yours were clammy as hell.

“Yeah, special,” he enthused, your stomach dropping at the word. “I like the sound of that, y/n.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

When you were finally home from your excursion, you could have sighed with the deepest relief. You’d have been lying if you said your social battery wasn’t drained. You’d worked to keep up with the flirtiness, acting flirty even when it felt completely unauthentic.

But. . . Unfortunately for you, there wasn’t a moment to sigh with relief, being immediately met by Jake. Still awake and reading a book in the armchair. Didn’t want to make him suspicious of you being turned off by Theo in any way. You needed to convince him that you were interested in the jock.

You figured you might as well start off strong.

“I really like him,” you breathed the supposed lie, not able to contain the eye roll threatening to expose your charade.

Jake hmphed from his spot in the chair, not even caring to look up from his book. “Good for you, y/n.” His tone was a grumble as he never lifted his eyes from the page, in fact turning to the next page, more invested in the literature than you.

You turned to hang your belt bag next to the door, swishing your leftover Pink Drink after the bag was put away. When you walked to put the drink on a coaster in the living room, you looked over to Jake, who was still busy reading. Even though he seemed to be ignoring you, you suddenly wanted to spend some time with him. But, before you could get situated on the couch, you decided on going to your room to change.

As comfortable as your outfit had been, it still wasn’t sweatpants. And the basket of freshly clean clothes you’d left on your floor held your comfiest pair of sweatpants and your biggest Pratt sweatshirt, made of the softest cotton material. You were quickly unlacing your tennis shoes and stripping out of your jumper and undershirt and bra (good god, so uncomfortable). Once you were in the set of comfy clothes, you felt instant relief.

You’d kept your socks on, feeling abnormally chilly. December’s evening weather was still sticking to your skin. It was fucking nice to not be burning up hot.

With one last glance to the side, you grabbed your own book to read, sitting on your bedside table. One from your recent night out with Jake. You figured it wouldn’t hurt you to sit with him in the living room and read at the same time as he did. It had the potential to be a nice, calm setting.

Just before you could make it out of your bedroom, you went to grab your fluffy blanket from your bed – only to find Stevie snoozing away on it. Your heart swelled at her deep sleeping breaths, completely at peace. Being as you were not about to wake her, you just decided to head to the living room and use the blanket you kept in there.

Water was your first priority before a blanket, though. Your mouth had turned to sandpaper in the time between leaving the living room and walking from your room, back to the common area. You were always thirsty these days.

Though, as you went to grab your giant Stanley from where you’d left it earlier, you noticed it freshly washed next to the sink. What. . .? You hadn’t–? Jake must’ve done it.

Your heart tripped over itself. Why did he. . .? Finding your voice, you asked him. “Did you wash my Stanley?”

“Yeah, figured you’d be thirsty when you got home,” he called from the living room, just loud enough for you to hear in the quietness of your apartment. “You fill that giant ass thing up at least twice a day and down it like it’s nothing. And I hadn’t seen you fill it up even once before you left.”

But. . . . he’d been so angry when you’d left earlier? Why was he taking care of you and your things?

“I filled it up when I came out this morning,” you clarified, shocked that he’d noticed your routine of sorts. “But I didn’t get to finish it before I left. Got left on the counter for a Canada Dry,” you made a noise of realization, thinking how delicious one of those would taste right now, too.

When you went to grab the ice cold can, you got the most stereotypical pregnant girl craving. Ice cream.

And. . . you had absolutely zero of it.

“Dammit,” you said to yourself, shutting the freezer door in quiet resolution. In slight frustration, you huffed, blowing hair off your face.

You’d survive. Still really freakin’ sad, though. You could feel the pout making its way to your features all on its own – you couldn’t control it. The cravings came with a vengeance in recent weeks.

When you got to the living room, you fluffed the cozy blanket that you kept on the back of the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders. And in no time, you were sitting, tucking yourself as far into the couch as possible, making sure to lean against the arm of the couch that allowed you to see Jake.

What if you wanted to talk to him about something you learned about the baby as you read? You’d want to see his face to talk to him. And what was wrong with liking a nice view as you read?

As soon as you’d snuggled in with a pillow tucked just right behind your back to support you, you went to open your book, only to find a disappointing reality.

There was no book. No Stanley filled with water. Just the Canada Dry. You’d left your book and your Stanley (still unfilled, forgot to do that, too, you thought) on the kitchen counter.

“Fuck!” You griped to yourself, letting your head fall, placing your hands over your face. You’d just gotten comfy and now you’d have to get up again. Getting comfortable was becoming a chore.

The tears were coming. Dammit.

But, in almost no time, you felt a presence next to you, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Jake asked, nearby and your ears instantly tuning in to him, head still in your hands.

“Pregnant brain,” you mumbled, the words smooshed into an incoherent response.

“What?”

You sighed, bringing your hands to your cheeks to wipe any tears that might have made tracks. Luckily, most had fallen into your hands to avoid a mess of mascara. Though, Jake’s thumb came up briefly to wipe just under your right eye. His finger on your skin, so gentle and making your heart race.

There was no resentment in his eyes when you briefly caught them before looking away. It was as though earlier had never happened. No anger or irate energy between you two. Just compassion coming directly from the man next to you.

Then, his hand was gone, his arms crossing over the thigh, as he took a knee next to the couch. He had leaned in close enough that your head was fuzzy with the scent of him—he smelled so delicious. Although, that new fragrance to his cologne you’d smelled earlier. . . it was there again. What was it?

“New cologne?” You questioned, sniffing the onslaught of tears away.

“Doesn’t matter right now.”

“I wanna know.”

“Answer me first,” he insisted. “Why are you crying?”

You growled, irritated with his insistence. Looking over towards him, you locked eyes with his. Your heart leapt at how his eyes gazed back at yours. . . His stare was unwavering, showing just how much he cared.

“My pregnant brain,” you tried again, grumbling. The pouting still couldn’t be helped. “I forgot my fucking Stanley and book in the kitchen. And I just got comfortable,” you huffed, going to throw the blanket off from around you.

Jake’s hand came up, holding yours to stop you. “No, you stay. Let me get it.”

You didn’t have it in you to argue and not having to move sounded nice. His hand on yours also had you completely frozen. “Okay,” you whispered, eyes growing wet again at his kindness.

A loose grin spread across his pretty lips and he was gone at a moment’s notice to grab your things for you.

Your tummy fluttered at him, completely in awe of his gesture. Though, you shouldn’t have been. He kept doing things like this. Little things to help and show he cared. . .

Why were you upset with him again?

“Did you forget to fill the Stanley?” Jake questioned from the kitchen, your head snapping in his direction.

The tears were back, for God knows why. “Yes,” you cried. “I’m sorry you have to—.”

“Why are you sorry, honey?” he responded, inflection showing nothing but a genuine desire to help. “I’m here to help you. I told you this.”

Yeah, because Maya wants you to.

Aaand you were annoyed again.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, checking your less than pretty manicure. You could stand to have another done soon, the chipped black paint on your nails having seen better days.

In no time, he was walking back to you with the Stanley full and your book in his other hand. He was wrinkling his eyebrows, one raised a bit more than the other in curiosity at you. You felt how your face was still reading unhappiness. Thanks to your lovely thought process. But, then, your tummy rumbled (loudly), reminding you of the other reason you were cranky.

You flushed, embarrassed by the sound.

God, be a little more subtle, sweet baby. Please.

It had turned into even more than ice cream, though. You realized you hadn’t eaten since the morning and you were feeling it now. The ice cream didn’t even sound overwhelmingly delicious anymore. . . all you could do now was imagine how incredible a giant bowl of mixed melons would be with an even bigger bowl of pasta. Any kind. Every kind.

Damn. You really were going to have to get off this couch. Jake was not about to be your errand boy – you weren’t going to let him do that shit. It made you feel really bad to make him do all of the work and running around when you were fully capable.

You figured it would be best to save his willingness to help until you were further along. Lord knew he would get tired of this ‘helping’ thing eventually.

“You hungry?” He asked, sitting on the couch, alongside your stretched out legs. “I can get you whatever you–.”

“No,” you shook your head, moving to get up, managing to flip the blanket off of you this time without him stopping you. “I’m not going to make you do that shit.”

“You’re not making me do anything, y/n,” he said, emphasizing his kind words with another grin, this time laughing a bit to show his beautiful smile. “I want to do whatever I can to–.”

“Jake. That’s not fair to you,” you said, swinging your legs off the couch, abandoning the pillow supporting your achy back. This time, he did stop you again, placing his hand on your thigh, as soon as you’d been sitting next to him. His palm rested dangerously close to a place he shouldn’t be close to.

But, he wasn’t moving his hand and you sure as hell weren’t feeling an urge to move it. It felt so good to have him touching you again. And when he started rubbing gentle circles into the thickness of your thighs through your baggy sweatpants. . . Ugh.

Your mind flashed back to the kitchen, how he’d held you so close and massaged your breast. . . . the same way he was now massaging your thigh.

You were going to light on fire. . . with absolutely zero complaints. You’d die happy if you were set to flame by his touch alone.

Goddamn, y/n. Get it the fuck together.

Before you could immerse yourself any further into your thought process, your stomach made yet another animalistic sound you couldn’t control.

“God,” you shuddered, closing your eyes with a shake of your head. “That’s embarrassing.”

“How is it embarrassing?” He flashed his eyes at you, a dimple in his cheek with his words.

“Well, apparently the baby is just feeling the need to expose me from the inside out,” you complained, placing a hand to your heated forehead. “I can’t even fib and say I’m fine because you’d know I’m bullshitting you, thanks to our child.”

He chuckled, a sexy rasp to it. “I’m glad she’s exposing you because it helps me to know how I can assist you.”

“No, Jake,” you groaned, rubbing your temples with your pointer finger and thumb. “I already told you. . . I don’t want you being unfair to yourself. Don’t hyperextend yourself on my behalf.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat, contemplating what he wanted to say next as he clutched firmly to your thigh, with his other hand now holding his chin. Tapping a couple times with his pointer, he let go of his face and your leg at the same time. Your leg automatically felt the loss, in sudden desperate need of his touch again.

Leaning forward, elbows pressed to his firm thighs, you watched as the muscles in his back flexed so exquisitely through his favorite thin, white, cut up t-shirt. Same one he’d been wearing so long ago, the night in the bathroom. . . when Theo had been over for a stupid fucking study session. Studying had been utterly fucking pointless that night after how Jake had handled you in the bathroom.

You shook yourself of the memory, already feeling yourself beginning to pulse with desire at the memory alone. How did he have this motherfucking hold on you? No other man had ever done this to you. Was it because you were carrying his baby? Did that make it inherently worse or some shit?

Watching carefully, you noticed how his arms filled out the sleeves more-so now than they had before. . . the sight quickly brought you back to the present. He’d slowly put on a little bit of weight, in all of the best areas possible.

Happier than before, perhaps?

You licked your lips absently, appreciating his figure while he was so near to you.

And, as if on cue, your stomach started to grumble again. Fuck. Mocking you and your starving ass. . . suddenly hungry for much more than fruit and pasta and motherfuckin’ ice cream.

“It’s for the baby,” he finally said, after having stared into space for way too long. “Let me do it if it’s for the baby, at least. Please. It’s all I can do right now – help you to help her.”

Her. You wondered why he was so set on that gender.

More than that, though, you were wondering why it felt like an actual punch to the chest that he wasn’t wanting to help you for you. You didn’t want him to. You’d been through this mental battle many more times than you cared to admit. It was so selfish to think about yourself over the baby. Of course he’d want to help the baby. It had nothing to do with an obligation to you.

“It’s the best I can do for my baby at the moment, y/n. I’m not doing anything else tonight, so it’s the perfect opportuni–.”

Your stomach growled once more and you had absolutely zero energy to be argumentative.

“Fine,” you relented with a sigh. “But, I am upset you’re doing all of this for me when there isn’t really a way I can repay you,” you remarked, getting up from your spot on the couch, stretching your limbs to loosen up as much as you could.

“Damn, my body hurts,” you mentioned, offhandedly. You were tense and your back wasn’t loving the extra weight getting added to your body by the day. Not to mention, your boobs felt so heavy — as always these days.

“Can we go somewhere to get stuff? Make it here or go out? I don’t care; we just don’t have what I want here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he agreed without hesitation. “Absolutely.”

“Cool,” you grinned. “I’m sorry you have to–.”

“Don’t say sorry,” he groaned from deep in his throat, irritated but not irate.

You started a trek to your room to gather things to get ready when he made you stop in your tracks with one utterance of your name. “Y/n,” he started, tone stern. Right before you could walk away from the couch to grab your Chuck Taylors and put on a bra, you turned on your heel to observe him, ready to take whatever he had to say with as much ease as possible.

His tone sounded dangerous – your blood licked with desire at the commanding way he’d spoken your name.

You raised a brow, as if asking ‘what?’.

He continued, his eyes brightening when he got your attention, but he didn’t change the tone of his voice right away. It made your skin tingle. “I am the one who can’t begin to repay you.” Moving forward a couple steps, he held your cheek so delicately in his strong hand. “You’re growing my baby–our baby–every day. I can’t even begin to–,” he shook his head, dropping his hand as he went to cover his eyes, nose twitching with a light sniffle. When he looked up again, his eyes were threatening to let tears fall, but his voice was steady as he spoke. “You are not the one to worry about repayment. I don’t need anything in return for the things I’m doing to simply be there for you while you make a whole ass human being.”

The way your cheeks pinkened was uncontrollable. Hearing him say such intimate words was making your head spin. You wished those words could translate into him caring as much for you as he did the child you were carrying, but you knew there was a fat ass chance of that ever, ever happening. You’d given that up with him.

“You helped in making the little bean,” you replied, voice thicker than you expected, tacking a laugh to the end of your line. You hoped it distracted from the way your voice had held so much emotion.

Clearing your throat, you finally went to walk to your room. But, after walking halfway to your bedroom, you paused right before making it to the hallway from the living room.

Why, when you were just complaining of your aching body, were you about to go put on a damn bra?

“Would you mind if I went braless?” You asked, turning to your roommate, getting his opinion. Didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by any means.

Jake blinked a few times, having to cough a couple times to come to the question. Shit. Even the question alone had made him feel uneasy.

“It’s fine. I’ll go put one on,” you started, turning back around. Over your shoulder, you continued. “I don’t want to make you feel–.”

“I would rather you didn’t,” he said, voice husky, behind you.

The words made you stop in your tracks. You felt the muscles in your shoulders squeeze in anticipation at the words. Even when you knew nothing could come of his words, his opinions. . . you felt them everywhere.

Suddenly, you were back in the kitchen.

“. . .Y/n– fuck,” he’d rutted against your ass, his hand moving to the bottom of your full breast to hold it in a firm grip. You’d just realized him moving his hand to see the entire breast — your nipples, straining, through the soaked-through, white fabric. “Your tits. . . they’re so fucking– Goddammit.”

Then, he’d let go of your chest to move your strap to do what you’d so desperately wanted. Needed. Once it was draped over your shoulder, he had moved a hand slowly down over your tight sternum, into the front of your camisole. When he’d grazed his fingers over your oversensitive nipple, skirting over your breast to push your flimsy shirt down, you’d whined, knees buckling.

And, finally, as if you’d been waiting your whole life, he’d pulled your full breast out to touch the air.

The more you thought back on last night, you realized just how much he’d seemed to love your breasts. And, apparently, he wasn’t keeping it a secret from you since the incident.

“No use hiding that I like your tits, y/n. Always have. But. . . right now?” He began speaking in the present time, as if reading your thoughts. “I love how big and full they are. . . I love why they’re bigger. . .,” He sucked in a breath, the sound rattling through his teeth as his jaw clenched. There was no missing how he seemed to move in his black pants, adjusting his sudden. . . issue. You didn’t look down to watch him. Couldn’t. His voice was like velvet with his next words. “You should know how I feel about them after the way I touched you.”

Holy–.

Speechless. You were speechless. But, you had to say something in return, so you went with the first thing that came to your mind.

“Won’t wear one, then,” you sighed, breath caught in your lungs. Your panties were suddenly wet and sticking to you, close to you in a way you wanted him close to you. Did he want all of that? Or was it just your tits?

“Go wait in your room for me,” he’d whispered heatedly, his words piercing your heart at the anxious energy that had floated through your veins.

He had wanted it last night, but you’d rejected him. . . God.

But you literally couldn’t even imagine doing that.

You’d chosen to cut things off with him, and he’d moved on to Maya without a second thought. Any time you said no or stopped things (pre-pregnancy most definitely included), it was always her he chose. It was obvious who his heart always instantly wanted.

What tripped you up was the way he looked at you before he went to her. It was the same way he was drinking you in from the doorway at the moment.

Best to not overthink it.

Still, you couldn’t help what you said next. “I want you to be able to see what you like.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

“Why do you think the baby’s a girl?”

You asked the question as he was driving the two of you home from Walmart.

After walking the aisles with the sole purpose of getting exactly what you were craving, you’d left the store with everything that you’d wanted at home.

With your pick of fruit, ice cream, and the specific type of pasta that sounded good (Penne, for some reason), he’d taken the lead on finding the ingredients for the sauce. All he had asked you was if tomato sauce sounded best or if something else sounded better. A tomato-based sauce sounded arguably more delicious, so you’d answered as such.

Once satisfied with your response, he’d gone full ‘Chef Mode’ and had promised that you wouldn’t be disappointed with his go-to, ‘staple tomato sauce’. You’d responded with your trust for his plan, giggling at his intensity as he narrowed down which ingredients would make the tastiest sauce.

And, of course, he hadn’t allowed you to lift a finger when loading everything into the back of his Jeep. He’d helped you up and out of the passenger seat both at home and at the store, noticing your struggle to keep your balance.

“I already told you. It’s just a feeling,” he responded, turning left down a prettier street on the 30-minute drive back home. You were passing a garden park, the streets lined with tall light posts, older with intricate detail to align with the quaint part of town.

Lavender. . . So much of it, sprawled out in the park’s grass. It made your heart clench in your chest.

You looked at him from the corner of your eye, raising a brow with a sarcastic, skeptical face he wasn’t going to see. “You’re sure it’s not anything more? Some secret you have of wanting to be a girl dad? Braid hair? Use all of the bows in her hair?”

“Well. . . I guess that’s sort of it. I love the idea of having a boy, too, though. . .,” he said, his voice lilting at the end of the sentence to emphasize his genuine response. He sighed, scratching the side of his nose once. “It’s just. . . I really like the idea of a baby girl who reminds me of you,” he peeked over at you for a brief moment, making your heart speed at the words and the way he was looking at you. His eyes were dark in the light of the car, but his tan skin glowed under the yellow street lights. “Seeing you in her soft features. . .it gets me. She’d have your nose, your smile, your dimples, your beautiful, innocent eyes–.”

“Innocent? Oh, Jacob. You know better than that,” you laughed heartily, the words coming so smoothly from your mouth. Even after awkward lulls in your relationship with him, it seemed you could go back to that easy feeling so seamlessly – you’d found that recently. It hurt your heart that moments like this couldn’t last forever. “You know much better than that, sir.”

“You’re right, I do,” he chuckled along, clearing his throat before he adjusted himself a bit in the seat, inconspicuously. You pretended not to notice. “You can definitely be a freaky little thing when you want.”

Blushing, you were yet again caught off guard by him being so blatant with you. He kept saying things that made your heart become a flurry in your chest. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to it.

Not wanting to lose the moment, you responded with a question that tested the waters. You played into him, just a bit. “What was your favorite thing we did that was . . .freaky?”

Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he made a sound that told you he was deep in thought. “Hm. . . That’s hard for me. . . we had a lot of sex in that span of– yeah,” he blew out a breath, once again trying to subtly move around in his seat. And, again, you acted as though you didn’t notice. “I’d say the day in the pool is a top three – top tier – moment.”

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“It was fuckin’ hot, I don’t know. . . I loved everything about it.” He blew out a breath, relaxing a bit against his seat as he brought a hand to rest at the top of his thigh. Dangerously close to his. . . .

You blinked as he started speaking again, switching your eyes back to his profile as he drove. “I think what turned me on the most, though, was that you were willing to give me head and ride me with everyone else so close,” he sucked in a sharp breath of air.

You caught sight of his hand, inching just the slightest bit closer to his crotch. His fingers were now splaying out to lay delicately against his zipper. Your eyes were trailing up his form just as he stopped at a stop sign. And without any preparation at all, he caught your eye as you watched him so closely.

Hot air caught in your lungs.

“Yeah. That was risky as fuck,” he finished, his eyes dark under the yellow street lights lining the road.

The way your heart lurched in your chest with the way he looked at you. . . . dammit. It made your breathing turn so heavy, filling up your lungs. When you breathed fully in, you puffed your chest out as you exhaled through your nose. And you would’ve been blind not to notice Jake’s eyes trail down. . . slowly. . . . to your full chest, staying there to admire what he saw.

In your peripheral vision, you noticed his hand inching. . . .closer. . .and closer to fully cup himself.

You didn’t dare look down, though — too afraid to break eye contact with him and suffocate the moment completely. But, before you could worry much more about it, he spoke.

“Fuck, y/n,” he rasped, his voice deeper and needy.

Surely this wasn’t happening again. . . . You couldn’t be tested like this again with him. You weren’t sure you’d be able to stop yourself this time.

Your cheeks were fully pink from hearing him say your name like that. It wasn’t new at all. No, you’d heard it many times before. He was desperate. Asking for help. Begging for it.

You’d come so close to each other the night before. . .

What happened next couldn’t be stopped if you tried.

Finally, you looked down to his hand to observe his predicament. And what you found made your body instantly, completely ready for him.

His thick shaft, straining against the tight black denim of his jeans . . . . The zipper of his jeans, aiding as well as it could in keeping him constrained. But it was no match for him.

The yellow street lamps above you created the perfect shadow to accentuate the sight before you. . . You could see the outline of him so incredibly well.

“Please, baby,” he whined, completely at your mercy.

What in the hell was going on? You didn’t know how it had suddenly escalated to this once again.

But, you knew you didn’t need any other word to convince you against what you wanted — needed — to do. He had taken such good care of you all night. . . You wanted a way to repay him.

Fuck Maya. You couldn’t help this. You were weak for him, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. The baby hormones were only making this ten times worse, you were sure.

Your hand, clammy yet purposeful in its movements, seemed to move in slow motion towards him.

And once you met his pants and settled a hand over where he needed you most, the car suddenly felt so small – too constricting. The hot air blowing from the vents was too much.

You felt your breath catch in your lungs right as he took in a harsh breath of air. Your skin tingled, your entire body covered in goosebumps, despite the warm car.

With baby hairs stuck to your damp forehead, you inhaled through your nose, letting your hand fully grasp his thickness. You felt his body shiver beneath your hand. You felt your own body react to the moment, clenching around nothing for him. Holding him through the denim was slightly difficult, but you did the best you could. Touching him like this again seemed unreal. Just holding him in your hand again like this. . . It was heavenly.

Though, you were finding as you squeezed just slightly, it was nothing like feeling the weight of it, bare in your hand. So, with a racing heart and soaking wet panties, you decided to make it happen.

With one hand still on his dick and the other on his belt buckle, you looked up to quickly gauge his reaction. His pupils were blown out, nearly filling his entire iris, glowing as he watched you under the old street post lamps.

You raised one brow, trying to school your features the best you could. But you knew there was no way you could honestly change the look of desire painting your features. Your heart hammered in your chest, your head light and airy.

“Can I. . .?” You breathed, the words almost stuck in your throat.

He cleared his throat and nodded his head a bit. “Yes, please,” he sighed, a whine at the end of please, while your hand absently stroked him. You watched his pretty face contort just the slightest bit any time you brushed the tip. He unbuckled his seatbelt, seeming to give the final go-ahead.

So, without any further direction, you moved the hand from his dick to unbuckle your seatbelt. The other hand stayed busy, unbuckling his leather belt and unbuttoning his jeans.

However, your seatbelt was not working in your favor, the latch stuck and not letting you pull the metal from the fastener.

“Goddammit!” You breathed in frustration, on the verge of tears at the fading opportunity and the stupid seatbelt ruining it all.

Without any words, you saw his hand come over, your gaze lingering on two purposeful digits pushing down on the red button to the fastener just right. Your breath caught.

The way your body buzzed at the sight, you knew you needed his hands on you, too. Needed him pushing those fingers into you, against you, rolling circles against you . . . .

Though, when you witnessed the seatbelt finally becoming undone, all thoughts for yourself were flying out the window. All you could think was that you were that much closer to seeing him. Holding him in your hand. Doing whatever this was with him.

Your panties were uncomfortably soaked when you resituated to lean over the gear shift. Though, when you did this, you remembered a new obstruction that you had to adjust with to get the position just right.

Your belly grazed the handle of the gearshift and you suddenly weren’t looking forward to having to lean over it. Though, within seconds, without having to be told, a hand came over — same hand that unbuckled the seatbelt — to shift the car into park. But after he was done, he kept it there, hand covering the gearshift to make it more comfortable for you to adjust.

Tears pricked your eyes when you glanced up at him under bashful lashes. “Thanks,” you muttered with a blush, leaning just a little further over to continue getting his pants undone.

“‘Course,” he replied, voice soft underneath the need. Genuinely concerned, he asked, “Is that better?”

“Yes. Much better,” you answered, no question to your tone.

When your hands finally got his belt buckle undone, you could have cheered with excitement. But, you kept it all to yourself as you unbuttoned his pants, wanting the moment to stay calm and warm and gentle.

Or did you want it to be gentle?

Before you could do anything else, your back started to feel the new weight that hung in front of you. This position, in the cramped car, wasn’t the best. You arched it, just a little, to try to relieve some pressure. You’d deal with the pain for a bit, though. . . For this — needed this.

What you didn’t want to deal with was having to get his jeans off. Not tonight. Not with your back beginning to ache the way it was. So, you simply pulled the zipper down, and with one more heated stare up at him through your lashes, you tucked a hand down into his pants. He didn’t take his eyes from yours.

Your gaze never wavered as you continued from the band of his boxer briefs, down further to finally have your hand meet his smooth, pink tip.

His eyes dared to flutter shut, but he kept them on you. His lips opened slightly to release a whine mixed with a guttural moan. And his stare. . . It was hot, heating your body all the way down to the tips of your toes.

He eyed you, almost possessively. It made your head spin and skin prick with desire for more – you were aching in your panties for him. He swallowed thickly, not daring to tear his eyes off of you for even a second.

You skated your hand to pay proper attention to the pillowy soft tip you could feel beneath your fingertips. Your touch was light at first as you stroked it, but you quickly went to massage it skillfully with your thumb, remembering how he liked that. You made sure to trace the delicately crease underneath it, watching how it made his body tremble.

Moving carefully, you spread the healthy amount of precum over the pillowy head of his thick shaft. His hips rutted up towards you, showing you how much he was enjoying it.

The deep moan he released made your legs clench together and your own moan released of its own volition from your mouth, under your breath. His sound was accompanied by the sight of his head, thrown back as much as he could, while still keeping his eyes trained on you. The sound and sight would be forever sealed in your memory.

With the jeans constricting your movements, you continued to handle his girth the best you could. His heated flesh, dick rock-hard and the skin of it so soft. . . You continued further down from the head, letting your line of sight finally trail down to his pants.

When you looked down, you were met with the sight of his dick, beginning to peek out from the top of his jeans. You’d pushed the pants down a little to access him, apparently, and it’d made the pretty pink tip of him almost fully visible.

It made your heart flip and tummy hurt to see him like that, swollen tip shiny under the dim lights from his arousal. He was so thick and ready — only a small view of him waiting, just above the waistband of his briefs.

You decided you’d take further advantage of the new access you’d created when you’d apparently pushed his jeans down. But, before you could go any further, you decided to wet your hand with some saliva. Wanted it to be as pleasurable for him as it could be.

Though, when you moved your body back and removed your hand from him, the strangled cry he emitted had your breath rattling in your chest.

“Don’t stop,” he whined, exhausted and needy for you.

You reached forward, eyes dark and trained on him. Grabbing his chin, you made him watch as you spit into your other hand.

His eyes flickered, jaw set as he knew what was coming. His breaths were sharp and labored, chest huffing as he waited for what was next.

And, just as your hand was on its way down to his pants, you changed your mind.

You wanted more. Yeah, you loved touching him with your hands, but there was something you liked much, much better. . .

With one swift movement, you skillfully rebalanced in your seat to have your knees in it as you bent completely over him. Your belly came to lean on his outstretched arm, the one belonging to the hand still holding the gear shift.

Hurriedly, you brought your hair behind your head and twisted it into a makeshift ponytail. Pushing back the sleeves of your sweatshirt, you knew the jeans were officially coming further down for the next part.

You tapped his thigh and he got the hint. Lifting his hips, he moved the left side of his waistband down as you took care of the right. And, finally, he was springing free from the black briefs.

Dear God — you’d forgotten just how pretty. . . .

Not wanting to waste another second, you grasped the hair at your neck as the other hand delicately grabbed hold of his length. You positioned it, just right. . . . And then, your lips were kissing his tip delicately before your wet mouth sank down over him.

You would never be able to find the proper words to describe how Jake Kiszka’s dick felt, laying heavy against your tongue. Going almost fully down once, you felt him hit the back of your throat. He cried your name, his free hand coming down to squeeze his thigh. Your eyes watered, lips not quite touching the bottom of his belly.

Once you were sure you had wet his dick completely with your mouth, you bobbed your head languidly, giving him long and slow licks. You savored every last inch of him with your tongue, moving a hand to cup where his balls sat in his pants.

His breath stuttered, a low sound released from the pit of his chest. “Holy fuck. I’ve missed you.”

The words were said softly, not so needily. . . You almost stopped to acknowledge them, but decided against it. It seemed best to ignore the words for now.

So, continuing, you let your tongue lick once more from the base of his dick all the way back to the tip. You grasped his shaft once more in your hand, giving him a few pumps, skimming the underside of the head with the tip of your tongue at the same time.

But, after feeling his thighs shake and hearing your name fall from his lips, you switched your course of action. Not yet.

With one final stroke of your tongue in the crease, you enveloped his throbbing tip in your mouth. After sucking on him for a minute, you went to move to the top of the head and curled your tongue around and into the slit at the peak of it. You licked every last piece of his earlier pre-release from him, wanting to savor it all for yourself.

Without warning, the sound of a horn blaring behind the Jeep, a car having come up — jolted you. The car’s lights were bright, bright enough to blind you and seemingly catch you in the act. So, you stopped at a moment’s notice, shuffling to wipe your mouth and get settled back down in your seat.

Jake took a while to come back to reality. As you buckled back into your seat, you kept an eye on him as he snapped out of it, blinking rapidly. His eyes averted from where they’d been and he used his hands to pull his pants back up, dick still hard with no relief.

Your heart fell as you watched him put himself away, tucking everything back where it belonged, adjusting. He went as fast as he could to buckle his belt, the car behind you honking once more.

“Fuck off,” you mumbled under your breath. “Be patient.”

Jake apparently hadn’t heard your reprimand to the car behind you. He just kept doing what he was doing, trying hard to get his shit together. After sliding his seatbelt back over his chest and lap, he lifted his hips in his seat to settle back in place, one hand clutching the top of the wheel.

He didn’t look your way, just kept his eyes trained forward. Wanted to seem inconspicuous to the car behind you, it seemed.

Following his lead, you turned, breathing hard and facing the front of the Jeep. You wiped your mouth, fluffing your hair back over your shoulder and pulled your sweatshirt sleeves down. The way your heart was beating in your chest was enough to make your heart monitor go off, but surprisingly it stayed silent.

You silently thanked it, not needing any more unwelcome interruption to the previous moment. Needed time to reset.

What the fuck had just happened?

You kept your eyes ahead, observing through the windshield.

The windshield was so clean, it looked as though it wasn’t even there. He obviously cared a lot for this car to keep it looking so nice. You liked how he liked things being kept in good condition. He paid attention.

Speaking of attention, you brought your mind back to the matter at hand before. . . . Trying your best to respond after everything that had just happened.

“The pool was pretty risky. You’re right,” you laughed breathily, still trying to deflate your stuffy airways. But I think that moment just beat it — risky for more reasons than one. . .

Thankfully, he wasn’t acting strange. He actually chuckled along with you, huffing under his heavy breaths. “Yeah.”

When you inhaled and exhaled again, it felt closer to full and even. You felt a faint smile find your lips.

You tried to refocus your brain. You’d think about how he’d felt against your tongue later. Or maybe you didn’t have to think about it. . . It honestly seemed so natural, it was like going back to normal. So strange. Or was it?

So, you went back to what he’d been talking about prior. . . It was making you think. Really think. Had you sort of wanted the guys to find out? By god. . . With a little contented sigh, you continued, “. . . You know, maybe I always secretly wanted them to know.”

“Wanted who to know what?” He sighed heavily, his breathing evening out next to you.

“I think I sort of wanted the guys to just find out. Might’ve made it easier to deal with if they just happened to see,” you explained, talking your own mind through the new train of thought. But. . . there was a reason it had been kept secret. “I just-just couldn’t get past the thought of Josh being upset with me.”

“Why would he have been upset with you?”

You could feel his stare piercing through you. Though, you kept your line of sight trained on a few drops of dried rain on his windshield. Didn’t dare look his way.

“I can’t get into all of that right now.”

You thought of everything Josh had said that kept you from pursuing things any further than you had. How he’d been so protective of his brother before you’d even gotten to know Jake at all. . . He wanted the best for Jake and you knew now, deep down, that you could do him nothing but harm. You weren’t the pick for a man who needed a woman who was good, all the way down to the soul. . . .there was too much that kept you from feeling safe for others. You were not pure enough for someone as dreamy and brilliant as Jake.

Your stomach suddenly hurt at the thought of what had just occurred. . . The guilt began to eat at you. You didn’t want him to lose someone good for him because of dumb sexual urges. But were they dumb urges? Or fully understandable and expected?

Fuck. You didn't know.

What you did know was that Maya was real. She was his girlfriend. She should be the only one doing what you just did. . .

No matter how much you cared for him and wanted him, Maya had been the right one for him all along.

As much as you despised her, she was a sweet woman who treated Jake very well. You saw it in her eyes, the way she’d mess with his hair, hold his hand, sit on his lap. . . They clicked in a way you could only hope to click with someone so illustrious as Jake Kiszka.

They got each other in a way you thought you had gotten him, months ago. . . but that thing between you two had been temporary – you’d known so all along.

And, chances were, he’d been seeing her the entire time anyway.

You felt sick at it all.

There was no way you alone were good enough for him. God, he was just so precious and unique in every way imaginable.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to. It’s the past now,” he reasoned, cracking your heart a little more in your chest. “I still reminisce, though.”

“Me too,” you whispered, tears stuck in the hollow of your throat. “I have a slight disagreement with you about something, though.”

He wrinkled his brow, turning to look both ways before going straight. He caught your eyes when he looked in your direction, and turned a wrinkled brow into a raised one.

“The baby has to have your smile and your eyes,” you reasoned, watching him as he continued straight. “Boy or girl. I’ve wanted those features on this baby’s face for a long time – since the moment I let myself think that far.” You weren’t about to tell him that his smile and his eyes were the sole reason you’d decided to keep the baby that day, on the way to the abortion clinic. The two intricate, incredible parts of his face that showed him – showed just how much of a gift he was to the world.

The same sort of gift you wanted to give the world, in his baby.

“We’ll see who wins their pick.”

“Mama gets first vote.”

“That’s fair,” he responded, flashing the same exact grin you imagined every day for your child.

-🌼🌼🌼-

It was raining again when you got home. The late-autumn, early-winter thunderstorm, a calming vibe for the apartment as Jake cooked in the kitchen.

The smell of italian seasonings and tomato sauce were heavenly, the pitter-pattering of rain against the kitchen window was marvelous. And the fact that you were casually hanging out with Jake? That was beyond the way either of the latter could make you feel.

(The fact that you’d had his dick in your mouth less than two hours ago was something you were trying to put far out of your mind for the time being.)

“Did you have plans tonight?” You wondered aloud, letting the words traipse out of your mouth on their own as you dried a dish with an already-dampened towel, having been working through your task as you waited on dinner. Jake was cooking the sauce and the pasta, and as he dirtied a dish or utensil from cooking, you’d clean it, dry it, and put it away.

He hadn’t wanted you to lift a finger, but after putting your foot down and giving him a look, he’d relented.

“Noticed you dressed up earlier,” you continued, putting a mixing bowl back in the cabinet.

Why were you asking this? You were just asking to be hurt by him saying he’d been with—.

“Yeah, meeting with the label execs,” he replied, moving the seasonings around in the minced onions, garlic, and green pepper, searing hot in the saucier; the new addition of garlic made your nose tingle with eagerness to eat. “Went well. Talked album release and all that shit.”

You watched him, his beautiful hair now meeting the tops of his shoulder blades. . . And, if you were being honest, you could’ve sighed with relief at the idea of him not being with Maya earlier tonight. Which. . . was admittedly unfair of you since you’d been out with another man earlier that day.

Yes, y/n. It’s not fair. And Jake’s relationship is not your business anymore, a gentle voice reminded you. You’re the one who called it quits and you have to be okay with not being the one he chooses. Who he chooses to spend his time with shouldn’t matter. . . No matter what you get yourself into. . .

Snapping from your thought, you noticed him reaching for one more tomato on the counter next to him. You could tell he was looking for the cutting board and knife, but he wasn’t going to find them as you’d already cleaned them.

Without having to be asked, you went ahead and got them back out for him.

His eyebrows were turned in with confusion as you placed them on the counter next to him, one brow raising with appreciation. “You’ve already washed them? I’m impressed – just used them,” he laughed under his breath, going about his task with chopping the red fruit. “I’m sorry to dirty them again.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you grinned, deciding to take a break. You washed your hands and dried them before leaning against the counter to watch him cook, glancing at the glowing green time of 9:33 p.m. on the stove. “You’re making dinner for me way later than you should be having to–you shouldn’t be–,” you stopped yourself, shaking your head. You knew how he’d disagree with your statement. “. . . I’m just trying to keep up with your mad chef skills. Professional chef, meet your professional dish-washer,” you bowed dramatically, only bending so far with the slightly protruding tummy at your waist.

When you rose up and pushed your back against the counter again, you laced both hands under your tummy and looked over at him. His dimple, fully present in his cheek with a bright grin lighting up his features. “You are so fucking cute,” he said, almost as if he couldn’t help it.

The little comment made your heart warm for like five seconds, but then he was turning to the island behind him to grab some salt for the tomato mixture cooking on the stove. It smelled heavenly, by the way – perfectly ripe tomatoes sizzling in olive oil with fresh vegetables, parsley, and cilantro. . .

But, as enticingly savory as the smell was. . . your eyes were still glued to the island.

Everything from your afternoon of contemplation was hurtling at full speed back into your mind.

Maya, on her knees. Jake, moaning. You, having to watch. As much as his relationship wasn’t your business, your apartment and its rules were.

And, in spite of what had happened in his car — or all of the sweet things he’d said tonight and the incredibly kind thing he was doing for you at the present moment. . .

You knew you had to bring up. You’d texted him about it earlier and everything. If you didn’t say anything about it now, you knew your pregnant brain would let you forget again.

It was also probably best to bring it up for another reason. A reality check. Because, as wrong as the action was to do out in the open, it wasn’t wrong for him to be doing it. It was wrong what happened in the Jeep. As much as it broke you. Your buzzing hormones were screaming at you.

It was wrong for him to treat you like anything more than a friend. Yes, you were carrying his child, but he had a girlfriend.

So, saying something about the instance might help to remind him that he had a girlfriend. . . And that you weren’t her.

You needed to bring her back in the discussion – as much as you fucking hated it, it was real life.

“I, um. . .,” you started, looking at your polish-less toenails. You really needed a self-care day. Both types of nail beds were looking terrible. Task at hand, y/n. “Jake, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What’s up?” He replied, voice open and ready to receive it.

You hoped he was ready to hear you and would understand where you were coming from.

“On, uh, on Thanksgiving. . . I–,” you struggled to begin. But, you had to spit it out. Had to get your point made. So, you trudged through. You let the image that was stained in your brian fuel you to say the words exactly as they needed to be said. Letting your back go straighter, and pushing your chest out with purpose, you asserted your claim. “I walked in on Maya and you. You, um, were pushed against the island,” you let your eyes trail there of their own volition. It spurred you on. “She was on her knees. It was obvious what was happening. And I don’t really think that it aligns with–.”

“With the rules,” he finished, sighing in a reflective sort of way. “Yeah, I know.”

You were shocked. He remembered? Then why–?

“Why did you let it happen then?” You asked, still not looking up at him, burning holes into the counter he’d been leant against as her mouth made lewd sounds, echoing in the small space even now. The image was absolutely unwelcome in every sense of the word.

“I was feeling the moment,” he sighed. You heard a burner click down and his own feet slide against the floor.

Looking back at your own feet, you caught a glimpse of his feet . . . facing yours. Ironically, you couldn’t help the New Girl reference spurring in your brain.

“A guy’s feet point at what they want, and his feet were pointing at you.” Cece’s voice was setting off tiny alarm bells in your head. Your heart rate picked up a bit at the idea of it – was this how Jess felt during that entire episode?

Then, you thought about how similarly Maya looked to Cece and you were sick to your stomach all over again. Fuck. She really did ruin everything. And you hated with a burning passion how aggravatingly stunning she was.

“Well, it may be best to not ‘feel the moment’ in the middle of the apartment,” you replied, your faster heart rate encouraging you to spit the words out. Finally, your eyes flicked up to him, only to find his eyes trained on the ground as well, and a blush on his cheeks. “There are rules for a reason, Jake. You agreed to them.”

You continued. “And not only did you break the rule about common spaces, you’ve also been having loud sex right next door while I try to sleep and I– it’s not good for me or the baby and–.”

“I’m sorry. I will tell her to be quieter.”

“I can hear you, too, Jacob.”

“Well, then. . . we’ll work on that.”

“Work on it?”

“Yeah. We’ll try to–.”

“You won’t try, Jake. You’ll just do. . . Just be quiet. Damn. It’s not rocket science.”

“Goddamn, y/n. I understand,” he replied, shaking his head as he glanced at you once and then back at the ground. “And I’m so damn sorry my responses are lacking today.”

Silence. It dragged for a minute or two — long enough for him to go back to checking the sauce, then coming back to face across from you again.

This was officially the longest day in history. You were tired of it. But, you also didn’t want it to be over. . . You’d liked spending so much time with him.

“How would you feel if you heard me next door having loud sex with someone?”

“I wouldn’t—,” he started, grumbling, jaw tense. “It’s not my business.”

“Didn’t ask if it was your business. I asked how you’d feel. Would it make you feel uncomfortable at all?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Why am I a liar?”

“Because, Jake, even if we didn’t have a past,” you placed an absentminded hand on your tummy. His eyes flickered down at the motion, but almost instantly found their way back to your face. “Loud sex makes other people feel uncomfortable.”

“Not me.”

“Want me to test your assumption? I could invite someone over and make sure to have the loudest sex to see how it makes you fee–.”

“No,” he responded, with no hesitation. “Well, not no. You can do whatever the hell you want– I just– fuck. I wouldn’t like it, y/n. Is that what you want me to say?”

“I want you to be honest.”

“I wouldn’t like hearing you fuck someone else,” he insisted without another thought, voice low with eyes dark enough to make your head swirl and your chest heat. “Especially while you’re pregnant with my baby.”

Your heart thumped a million miles a minute in your chest. Again, your heart monitor apparently let you have the moment. “Well, I don’t like hearing my baby’s daddy moaning another woman’s name. And I especially don’t like seeing him getting sucked off by said woman either,” your words were true and harsh as they slid off your tongue. It felt good to say them. Have them out in the open.

“We’ll adjust it. I’ll talk to her.”

More silence. But, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

No, this was literally just a conversation. A conversation that needed to be had, between two people who knew each other well enough to make a damn baby.

As he checked the food once more, he flicked off the burners completely and slid the pans back to begin to cool a bit. He placed the sauce pan on the warmer. You just watched him – focused on the fact that he was right here, so present. . . .and all you wanted to do was kiss him. Even more than pulling his pants down again, you just wanted to wrap your arms around him and kiss him.

He was once again across from you, closer this time. You caught sight of his hands, nearing your face. And, just before he could gently grasp your face in his hands, he dropped them.

Backing up a bit, towards the oven, his eyes softened. His gaze settled on you in a way that made you want to curl up in him and cry. “You ready to eat?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Jake’s POV

“Are you going to . . .?”

Her eyebrows wrinkled, questioning. She was nearly sleepwalking, her eyelids barely open. I knew she was tired and beyond ready for bed. It was selfish of me to ask, but I had to before I lost the fucking nerve.

“Are you going to have sex here?” I clarified, clearing my throat.

She scoffed, but a gentle smile stayed on her pretty face. “That isn’t your business, Jake. What is your business is that it won’t be loud if it happens. And I won’t be doing it out in spaces that you can see.”

At her words came the most unpleasant feeling. . . . and the sight I imagined – it made my stomach turn and my skin heat with jealousy.

Instead of Maya and me at that damn island, I saw y/n and that fuckass Theo guy. . . Him, towering over her. Her round belly, carrying my baby, being held in his football-playing hands as he pounded into her from behind.

He would be making her his in a way I sure as fuck didn’t want her to be. The way I knew how her delicate eyebrows would sink in at the feeling of him inside of her. . . the way her body would be giving in to him, soft, tight, and ready.

The way she’d moan like she did tonight as she sucked me off. . . . Fuck.

And the sounds she’d make. . . I knew the exact noises that would come from her mouth if he was fucking her– the wet sounds from her pretty pussy. . . I knew every single sound like the back of my hand. I’d elicited them from her over and over again for two of the most astounding months of my life.

I could practically feel her clenching around me at the thought. . . the way her body would basically give out with certain positions or motions of my hips. . . . and how she’d become absolute putty in my hands as her release climbed up her spine and spilled over my dick. . .

My dick twitched in my pants, but I tried like hell to stop it.

Hell. This was hell.

And the thoughts were damn near crippling me.

But she was right. It wasn’t my fucking business. I’d told her the same damn thing earlier. Fuck me.

As wrong as it felt for another man to be fucking the mother of my child, I had proven with my relationship and careless actions in it that I had moved on. Though, I hadn’t moved on. I wasn’t moving on. I thought I had been, but then. . . the moment I truly stopped to think about her being pregnant, that first night I’d known. . . I’d known for a damned well fact that I hadn’t moved on worth shit.

Poor Maya. I honestly felt like I was using her at this point. But. . . I did love her. Or so I had convinced myself over the time we’d been dating.

I was just desperate to cling to a woman who hadn’t hurt me. I was so tired of it, and Maya would never. She only ever wanted to please. And that felt so damn good.

“Okay,” was all I could respond with, through my clenched teeth. It was a pathetic response.

She breathed in deeply, her beautiful chest expanding under her sweatshirt. I could see her nipples, hard and ready beneath the thick material. Sweet hell. Was it for me? Or was it for him? Or. . . worse. . . was it for no one and her body was just always ready these days? Was that what happened to women when they were pregnant?

Was that why she’d suddenly been so eager tonight to throw away the morals she’d had just last night? Was a raging, uncontrollable libido to blame for what happened in my car tonight?

Fuck, I needed to do more research. I knew exactly what I’d be looking into tonight. . .

. . .After I finished what she’d started earlier.

“Okay,” she sighed, going to turn towards her bedroom.

“Does he know?” I couldn’t help but wonder, pushing the conversation further.

She didn’t even have to ask who. Because there was only one man in her sights and we both knew who the fuck the man was. Goddamn this guy. I hated him. Barely knew him, but I knew he wasn’t anything near what –who– she needed.

“Yes,” she replied, resolute. Turning, she rested her beautiful, curvy body against her door frame. “Telling him about the baby went well, actually.”

“When did you tell him?”

“Tonight. Told him when we got to the coffee shop,” she detailed, clasping her hands under her belly to hold it. Damn, I could watch her all day long. “He was bound to find out soon enough. I feel like I’m getting bigger every single day – already kind of giving it away.”

Fuck if I know it, baby. . .

Instead of saying the words aloud, all I did was nod and take in a steady breath through my nose and let it out slowly from deep in my chest. Her eyes trailed to my chest with the motion and I felt a moment of hope that she still wanted me as badly as she had in the kitchen. . . Even more so how she’d wanted me tonight.

All of the blood in my body was rushing towards my dick at the thought of her wet body in my arms last night, her hands and mouth on me in the Jeep. . .

Her see -through tank top. . . the way her swollen tits tempted to spill from the top of the shirt. . . how close I’d been to holding her full breast in my hand. . . her nipples, peaked so prettily and showing perfectly through the soaking wet cotton. She’d been ready. I knew her body.

And tonight. . . .? I couldn’t even get started on that.

I was just so confused. Just last night, she’d left and had refused me coming to her room. But tonight she’d taken the initiative to put her damn mouth on me.

After last night and tonight, I could throw Maya on her ass and not feel bad about it. Well, maybe a little bad.

Damn, it was shitty to admit it. Though, it somehow felt even shittier to go take out on her what I only wanted to do to y/n. . . And that had been exactly what I’d done.

“Is there anything else you need before I go to bed? I’m about to fall asleep standing up,” she blinked slowly, sleepily. . . so fucking cute. All I wanted to do right now was follow her to bed and make her sigh my name. . . Then, hold her in my arms afterward, watching her fall into a hopefully blissful sleep. . .

“No,” I cleared my throat. “Is there anything else I can do for you to make your night easier?”

“You’ve done just about everything you could’ve done, Jake,” she replied, smiling the most serenely beautiful, tired grin. . . her lips, tempting me to kiss her. The blush on her cheeks, pulling me closer.

But, all too soon, she was opening the door all the way to her bedroom, walking in and turning once more to look at me through the crack she’d made with the door. “‘Night.”

“Goodnight,” I muttered, in a daze caused by her beauty alone. Her pretty lips. Her body. Her face. Just her.

Damn. I was letting myself in too deep. Again.

It had happened without me fully realizing it. I’d just started falling for her again (Had I ever stopped? Or had I just been hurt?).

I hadn’t even let myself pause to think about how it could bite me in the ass.

But. . . did I care if it bit me in the ass? I wasn’t with y/n. . . I had a girlfriend. If all went to shit, I had Maya to lean back on. It was shitty for me to think like that, but damn.

Though, I couldn’t help but think. . . There wasn’t any harm in listening to my heart and simply being helpful and kind to the woman carrying my child. However that may look, I could be there for her. Right? I had a soft spot for her – I probably always would.

It was y/n. Even if she wasn’t pregnant with my kid, I’d always look at her a little more tenderly than most other people – well, all other people. She’d carved a place in my heart from the first moment I’d seen her.

There was truly no one like her.

Never would be.

End of Jake’s POV

-🌼🌼🌼-

A week later, you were hoping to slide out of class without attracting Theo’s attention, but he’d caught you and followed you all the way out to your damn car.

And, of course, he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about one particular thing you really didn’t want to talk to him about. Something that definitely wasn’t his business, even though he was trying like hell to make it that way.

It was your decision to lead him on, a voice tenderly reminded you. And you’re still going on that date with him. You promised you would. You have to put up with him for at least a little while longer.

“Well. . . is the baby’s father in the picture?” He asked, following his multitude of other yes/no questions, right as you’d opened your driver’s side door to escape him.

Fuck. What did you say? You didn’t want to freak him out. Annoying as he was, you still had a plan to at least try things with him to see if you could make something work with someone who wasn’t Jake. . . Still wanted to test the waters with the whole idea of seeing another guy. There was a chance you could end up giving things a real chance with Theo. And you didn’t want to spoil what could inevitably get your mind off of Jake by acting like you were with him in any capacity.

Because you weren’t. No matter what had happened in the kitchen or the Jeep.

You couldn’t tell him the full truth. It just didn’t seem entirely wise to tell him all of the details. . . just in case. What was a way you could tell him half of the truth?

“Kind of, kind of not,” you replied, not wanting to give much more. But, you added, “He’s not as present as I wish he could be.”

Not a lie, you thought. Because I do wish he was more present. Like, present in my bed, for instance. . . which he isn’t.

“Why not?” Theo asked, going to lean against your car.

Just before he could place his jeans-clad butt against your car, you spoke up. “Don’t lean against the car, please,” you tried, feeling uncomfortable that you even had to ask him. You just didn’t want him to scratch or dent your beloved Jetta.

“Oh,” he said, pouting a bit. “Is the car special to you or something?”

“Well, kind of. Elsie and I shared it when she lived here and still kind of do,” you told him. I also just don’t want just anyone leaning against my car; is that too much to ask?!

He made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything further on the matter as he straightened up with a bit of an attitude. “Why isn’t the father present?”

You were not ready to explain. You didn’t know what to begin to say. . . didn’t want to say too much, but you also didn’t want to completely lie.

“He’s just not able to be fully involved,” you replied, looking down at your nails to pick at a snaggled cuticle. “He does what he can. Just not available to do all I wish he was able to do, I guess.”

It was a diversion and it wasn’t a lie. You just wanted to drop the conversation entirely.

“What do you mean by all of that?”

I don’t want to answer that, you grumbled internally. And you wouldn’t like the answer, Theodore.

“I don’t really want to get into it,” you explained, hiding an eye roll with a glance back at your car. You opened your door more, desperate for an escape. And a nap. . . You didn’t have any obligations ton—.

Dammit – you had therapy this evening. You were looking forward to it, but you weren’t really looking forward to having to be in such close quarters to Jake all evening. After last Monday, you hadn’t seen him as much. He was either gone for the album or at the apartment hanging out with the guys to discuss things. A time or two, Maya had been there, forcing you to make a last minute plan with Josh one night and an impromptu dinner plan with your grandparents the other. . .

It was so incredibly hard being so close while he was forced to be so distant, emotionally – especially after recent events.

The two of you just weren’t what you wished you could be.

God. Alcohol or weed would be lovely right now. Something to get my mind off of things, you wistfully acknowledged.

Then, you peered up at the man in front of you – remembered the entire reason you were giving him the time of day to begin with.

The perfect distraction was right here, in front of you. You pushed down the way your skin was buzzing with annoyance, and gave yourself a second to observe him. Maybe it could work out to just make yourself available to him. See where it could lead. . . .

So, you went ahead and added an ending statement to your earlier explanation, “But. . . . . we aren’t together, I can tell you that much.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, his eyes glinting in the afternoon sun.

And, your hormones worked in your favor as you eyed him, watched him move. . . he really was so fucking handsome. You couldn’t deny it. The more you allowed yourself to study his structure and looks, the easier it was to let your mind wander.

He shifted his broad shoulders, his alumni sweatshirt hugging his strong chest so well. . . For what it was worth, Theodore was hot – you could give him that. He was irritating, but perhaps his looks could make up for it if you allowed. . .

And, you couldn’t deny how much you loved the fact that he still seemed interested in you even though you were pregnant. Someone so seriously sexy still wanted you, all bloated and different. . . that was endearing. It was promising and validating.

“Yeah,” you blushed, looking back into his eyes from his chest. The more you genuinely entertained the thought of Theo, the further your mind traveled of its own accord. . . . You bit your lip as you checked him out, letting your eyes travel to his chest again, and back to his face, flicking over every feature.

One of your favorite features of his were his hooded eyelids. Even in high school, you’d always liked them on him for some reason. His lids and chiseled facial structure complimented his seafoam-colored irises, shining in the sunlight. As much of an open book he seemed, his model-worthy looks gave him an air of mystery that you enjoyed.

“Well, that makes it easier for us to plan our date,” he remarked, moving towards you.

Not sure if it was your raging hormones or what, you weren’t feeling any uneasiness over his proximity. In fact, your body seemed to welcome it with the way your skin heated under the lustful way he peered down at you. Your chest exhaled just enough for your breasts to skim his chest. He was suddenly very close.

You kept looking into his eyes, craning your neck to look up at him. Your eyelids fluttered with the way his stare was piercing you. What was happening? Where had your annoyance disappeared to?

“I want you, y/n,” he said, voice low. “I don’t give a damn if there’s a baby in you or that it’s another man’s baby . . . I want you just as badly as I did sophomore year of high school. You are perplexingly stunning – inside and out – always have been.”

Suddenly, with his words and the way his boyish Axe body spray penetrated your senses, you forgot how annoying he was. The Axe body spray didn’t repulse you like his Black Ice car freshener. No, it reminded you of simpler times – he reminded you of life in its simplest form. Being a teenager, a child – when there’d been much less stress. Your mother, further from your thoughts in high school than she’d ever been before. . . no adult obligation to face your past.

Back then, there hadn’t been a Jake entering your life, whose presence prompted you to fucking heal those wounds from your childhood. . . Those dark, twisted past hurts that you’d worked to cover up very well in high school.

You couldn’t remember why you’d ever been so irritated with him. Because the man standing in front of you right now was not one you were at all angered by. . . He made you feel light and carefree, like you could ignore the hard things and focus on the unimportant. . . You just felt all innocent suddenly, like you had so long ago.

This beautiful man with dirty-blonde hair was clouding your senses – he was the same boy who’d given you so many of your firsts. . . . This person, who was standing in front of you, wanting you just as badly as he had so many years ago. . . He was still so fine, all aggravating traits completely aside.

He stepped closer once more, your breasts aching with the added pressure of his chest. But – you barely had time to wince with the way your breath caught in your throat at his next action. He’d grasped your chin. And was ever-so-slowly leaning his face down towards yours.

You were not about to stop it. Couldn’t stop it if you wanted. And you definitely didn’t want to. Fuck it.

In seconds, his lips had found yours, giving your lips a welcome, proper kiss. His lips enveloped yours so attractively. You felt like a smitten teenage girl all over again. . . you were back in your grandparents’ driveway the summer before junior year, bidding him goodbye with tears in your eyes, right before he moved away. It’d sucked having to break up. . . because back then? You’d never once been annoyed by him, weren’t so jaded as you were now. You had enjoyed his company, in fact (even if Elsie didn’t much care for it, you had).

And, you were finding the same feeling slowly coming back.

Apparently, all you’d needed were a few minutes and a bold kiss to view him in a different light as an adult.

And baby hormones. Those definitely helped. You were horny as hell more frequently than you wished and you weren’t getting any.

The kitchen was one night. Jake’s car was one night. But honestly, both instances had left you even worse off than before.

Your body was feeling it.

He gave you one more sure kiss, slipping his tongue just the slightest bit past your lips. It made your pulse quicken and your neck hot, but he didn’t take it further than that. After he’d opened your door further for you, he’d leaned over to give you a tiny kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll text you,” he promised, winking your way.

Nodding, you batted your lashes at him, completely at his mercy for the time being. What the fuck had happened in the span of you leaving class and now?

Whatever it had been, it didn’t last as strongly as you would’ve wished. Because within minutes, with your R&B playlist blasting, you were feeling your phone vibrate against your lap. And when you picked it up to find Theodore’s name on your screen, you felt utterly disappointed.

Because as cute and strangely endearing as Theo suddenly was to you again, he was not the man you wanted most. It was proven again, as you saw Theo’s name flash across your screen that the only name you wanted to see on your screen was spelled J-a-k-e.

-🌼🌼🌼-

“I can’t stay to hang out after your session tonight,” Jake mentioned that evening, making a turn, bringing you closer to Gia’s office. “I’m sorry. Maya has this thing that she really wants me to be at, and I can’t let her down.”

Your heart plummeted in your chest, but you acted as though it hadn’t. As much as it hurt to hang out with him, it hurt worse when he’d leave you for her.

But. . . You knew that wasn’t fair. You’d stolen her boyfriend from her enough already. For every appointment he had to now drive you to, having him grope you in the kitchen, going down on him in his car. . .

It would be unfair to act as though she was the one asking for too much. He was hers. Him taking you to therapy was what asked too much, her needing him was quite the opposite. It was normal.

“That’s okay,” you said, tone especially light as the words left your lips. Damn – good act, y/n. Good job. “I want you to be able to be available to her.” As much as it fucking sucks to watch, it’s what life is now.

“Cool. Thanks,” he responded, sounding the slightest bit caught off-guard. Why? Had he expected you to be disappointed? He would’ve been right, but you weren’t about to let it on.

It was quiet for a few moments, then he came to a stop two streets away from the practice.

“So,” he started. And, as he moved a hand to turn down your playlist, his delicious, new sandalwood-vanilla scented cologne overwhelmed your ability to properly think. It seemed to exude from him with every action he took.

Your eyes flicked over his hand at his word, seeing his fist go to rest on his Jeep’s gear shift. God. The way his long fingers wrapped so well around the mechanism . . . . You thought of how they felt on your aching–.

Shaking your head the slightest, you glanced up at him. And, of course, his hauntingly beautiful side profile was even worse to look at than his strong hands. “What’s up?” You asked, voice stronger than you expected.

“Are you ready for tonight’s session?” He asked, eyes finding yours, earnest and genuinely curious. “Do you know what to expect?”

“Well,” you began, swallowing at what may await you tonight. Your eyes found your hands, fiddling with the hem of your oversized t-shirt. “I begin EMDR tonight. I haven’t gone to a dark, nitty-gritty place yet. So, I don’t know what to expect, really, no. . . I’ve only been to my Safe Place. I’m hoping tonight, my brain respects that it’s my first time and doesn’t force me down any too unwanted paths,” you chuckled humorlessly, willing it with your words. “Because I can’t control it – you might’ve read about that during your research. But, that’s why I have the Safe Place that I can escape to when things get too scary.”

Simply put, I’ll find you in the field of Lavender if it becomes too much, you tell him silently, eyes glancing over to his hand again. So strong and sure. . . he really did make you feel so safe. Even when it broke your heart to look at him for too long.

Goddammit. Your predicament sucked ass.

“Safe Place. . .”

“Yeah, it’s where you go when things become too much in your partial subconscious,” you explained, hoping he wouldn't ask any further about yours.

“That’s incredibly interesting,” he said, invested in every word. “I have read about it, actually. Lightly, at least. I won’t make you tell me yours. I know it’s a super personal thing,” he assured. Your heart fluttered at his genuine care for the situation. “But yours helps? It’ll be a good place to turn to if things get rocky today?”

“Yeah,” you responded, voice suddenly very teary at the thought of who your Safe Place was. The fact that it was the person sitting next to you, who seemed so honestly caring of the entire situation. Of course your mind had naturally conjured him. The way he made you feel in this moment was enough explanation. Your gaze traveled back over his figure, his soft, black sweater hugging him just right. “It felt like heaven last time,” you breathed, taken by him.

He must have sensed you looking, his eyes catching yours for the briefest moment, scanning your figure so quickly you momentarily thought you’d imagined it. Your tummy somersaulted. Before it could become anything more, the light he’d come to changed to green.

“I’m worried about my heart,” you absentmindedly commented, thinking of your recent run-in with the heart problems and the heart monitor still hidden beneath your shirt. Your eyes were trained on a line of old, weeping trees passing you outside the window.

He was weaving carefully down a side street in an expensive neighborhood. A neighborhood you’d gotten to know by now on your drives to sessions. Gia’s practice is right around the block. Your heart rate was already increasing at what could be awaiting you when you closed your eyes on her couch. “If it becomes too much, I don’t want my heart to fuckin’ Rick Roll me,” you finished, snorting at the ridiculous analogy. Hardly even made sense.

Jake’s signature laugh bounced throughout the car, sounding like Josh’s . . .but a little different. The sound made your pulse even out. A familiar, nice sound . . . Everything was okay. You’d be okay.

“Talk to Gia about it beforehand,” Jake suggested, laughter coming to a natural halt. He said the words, right as he pulled into the parking lot of the quaint private practice. “Rick Roll,” he said to himself, under his breath with a sighed laugh.

The office was modernized to the nines inside, all light colors and expensive trimmings. . . But on the outside, all that showed was an older, classic brick office building.

He switched the car off, pulling the keys from the ignition. The lack of keychains caught your eye, distracting you.

Focus on the matters at hand, y/n. . .

When he cleared his throat, you looked at him once more. “She will be willing to assist you however you need,” Jake reassured you with a sparkle in his eyes. “Just like she has always done for you. Just trust her.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. Throat clogged with wetness once more, you sniffed as you unbuckled along with Jake. “Trusting is hard for me. Are you coming inside with me?” You couldn’t help but comment on him moving to get out with you.

“Of course I am. I want to be there for you. Waiting in the lobby for you when you get out,” he smiled, opening his door. He looked over at you, raising a brow. “Don’t get out yet. I’ll help you out of this thing.”

Your heart soared at the way he cared, tears daring to fall as he got out to come to your side.

Seconds later, he was at your door, helping you out of the car. And as you walked through the parking lot to go inside, he huffed a laugh, not as a joke, but as an understanding form of acknowledgment to something. “I get the trust thing, though, honey. Hard for me, too.”

Honey. Always with that nickname these days.

Your line of sight darted to him from the corner of your eye, and you chuckled under your breath to agree. “Yeah. . .,” you said, eyes brushing down to mess with your cuticles for the second time that day. His arm came around your waist briefly, guiding you as you looked down.

At his touch, your skin became hot through the jacket and t-shirt you wore.

Your mind wandered to a few months ago as he kept a gentle hold on you, keeping you in step with him. The stinging feeling of guilt for making him trust you and then breaking his heart all in a matter of two months. . . . it made you want to scream, cry, yell. . . All at once.

You did it for his benefit, y/n. Remember?

But. . . .had you?

Blinking a few times, you focused on the building’s glowing sign, highlighting the early darkness of the winter evening. Finally, you fell back into the conversation, “Trauma response is what I’d call it,” you offered, clearing your throat of any emotion.

“Exactly,” he concurred. “A coping mechanism.”

Yes! You do get it. Why did you ever have to be an asshole to begin with? Maybe things could’ve been different. . ., your thoughts went back to the first day you’d met him, making your heart lurch in your chest. Or would it have been cut too short, no matter what? Is it simply how my story with you is meant to play out? Have you and then lose you?

The fact that you couldn’t indulge in a relationship with this man was one of the saddest, most unfortunate things the universe could offer you.

“You ready?” Jake asked, breaking the comfortable silence once you approached the door, his hand on the metal door handle.

You looked up and into his wide brown eyes, the amber in them sparkling under the parking lot lights. Your eyes studied his face for a second. . . just let yourself have a moment before answering him. Weird as it was, the deep circles under his eyes brought you comfort in that moment. The fact that they were a consistent feature of his, always prominent, made you breathe easier. . . . He was consistent.

He was real. He was here. You were okay. Everything was going to be okay.

“As I’ll ever be.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: hmmm... ;) what are they getting into? how do you feel about reader being so suddenly interested in theo? what about her plan? do you approve? did you like the bit of insight into jake's perspective?? :o

see you soon for parts 2 + 3, love bugs! <3 prepare yourselves, that's all i'll say........

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake fic #my fics #covet #if you found this part intense in any capacity.....#just get ready for the rest of ch 11 lol <3

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