#me shaking my playlist like I NEED IT TO FLOW >:((( FLOW!!!!

[lovinggreeniehours]

i forgot. how exhausting playlist making is. damn. sorry about the tags i have so much to say about playlist making lol

[woncon]

➳ like a rainbow

➶ stray kids ot8 x gn!reader ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ sometimes it just hurts and you need to cry it out. but don't worry, your boyfriends are here to help you through it.

➴ genre: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end

: ̗̀➛ warnings: crying, emotional pain

⌨ :: 1.2K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ i had a sobbing afternoon the other day. i wrote this as a therapy session, and now I'm dedicating this to all the dear Stays who need it! <3

⁀➷ thanks to @wonsheep for helping me fix my grammar mistakes and for giving me advice how to convert a whole story into another language precisely °♡̷•.

➳ stray kids masterlist | main masterlist

You retire to the bedroom. You don't even bother to close the door. You just throw yourself on the bed, and the tears are already flowing. You curl up in a ball and let your heartache take its course.

Today seems to be one of those days.

A day for crying.

You're too weak to get up. You're too tired to think. You’re just hurting and you let it hurt. Maybe if you use up all your tears, it'll be easier.

Maybe.

You embrace your body. Your shoulder shakes. Your whole being gives way to desperate cries. You close your eyes because you see nothing but your own tears, endless. Your heart is pounding loud, crumpled in its cave.

You don't even hear when someone enters the room.

Chan calls you by name, softly and quietly, but as soon as he realizes you aren't sleeping, but instead hiccupping from sobs, he is not subtle, he repeats your name in terror and comes to your side.

"What happened? Who hurt you?" He grabs your face. "My baby? Baby, talk to me. What hurts?"

You cuddle up to him, bury your head in his chest and shake it. You can't talk about this now. You have no words now, only tears, but you cling to Chan's body to let him know that even if you can't articulate it, you need him here. So you don't dig your fingers into the fabric of your sweater, but hold Chan close to you.

Meanwhile Chan is stroking your back, rocking you slowly, trying to soothe you with his kind words, you are still crying bitterly, your own chest unable to suppress the grief that is welling up inside you.

Soon Felix sticks his head into the room. His incomprehension quickly gives way to worry. His eyes widen, his mouth clenches helplessly, and every bitter sound you make creates another crack in his heart. He wants to climb on the bed, cuddle up to you, touch you reassuringly, hoping that his touch, his presence, will go some way to soothe your suffering.

But before he can do that, Chan whispers something to him. Felix doesn't understand at first. He shakes his head.

"Blanket. Hot chocolate. Music. Netflix. Dori," repeats Chan.

Felix nods vigorously, and heads out of the room to hand out tasks to the others. Everyone is committed when they find out how bad of an emotional state you are in. They are eager to do something to cheer you up, if only a little.

Seungmin looks for your favorite blanket. Felix makes the hot chocolate while Hyunjin roasts marshmallows. Jisung and Jeongin take care of the music, one brings the speakers from Chan's studio, the other your favorite playlist. Changbin's forearm disappears into the sofa as he searches for the remote control. Minho lures Dori into his lap to bring him to you.

When their duties are done, they all go to the bedroom and shower you with their kindness. You crawl out the cover of Chan's chest and sit up. You are so struck by all these hopeful faces and loving little things that for a moment you completely forget the pain you have felt, and the mere purpose of your existence is the vibrant gratitude you feel for them. A visceral gratitude for their kindness and love.

"See, little one?" Chan says with a half smile as your boyfriends flood the bed. "You are not alone. You are never alone. If you need it, you can cry on everyone's shoulder because we're here to take care of you."

Chan pulls out a tissue from his trousers and hands it over. You blow your nose. Seungmin spreads the blanket on your legs. Jisung turns on the speaker, then puts it on the nightstand. Jeongin starts the music, and the bedroom fills with rippling melodies instead of your inconsolable crying noises.

"Here." You get the hot chocolate in your hand from Felix. 

As you sip the sweet drink and eat the marshmallows, you feel warm inside. Your tears slowly dry up. 

You feel safe in the ring of your boyfriends on your huge bed as they quietly watch and listen to your wishes and reactions. They do their best to make you feel better, and their efforts alone make you feel better. By being here, being with you, and wanting to help, you know that no matter how much it hurts, they will try so hard to make you not suffer. They will listen or silently embrace you, whatever you need, they will want to give it to you, but they won't let you wallow alone, helpless.

Felix clears the empty mug up with a broad smile. As soon as your hand is empty, Minho immediately puts Dori in your lap. The cat instantly curls up on your blanket-clad thigh, settling into regal comfort.

At times, Dori specifically likes to be around those who aren't exactly in a good mood. He makes it almost a mission to cheer them up. Even now, as you run your fingers through his fur and he purrs contentedly, it's enough to bring a small smile to your tear-streaked face.

"You're like a rainbow now," whispers Hyunjin. You look at him. His eyes are bright with wonder, lips slightly parted. "Your tears fall, but your smile shines. Your face is a rainbow."

Embarrassed, you wipe away the remaining tears with the sleeve of your sweater before they dry completely on your face.

"Thank you," you say. "For taking care of me."

"Of course, beauty. We love you," replies Changbin, handing over the remote. You hold it with the hand you're not using to stroke Dori's soft fur. "We love you so much, you can choose the movie. If you want."

"But we can do other things if you feel like it," Felix adds, caressing your hand. "Anything that makes you happy."

"It's nice like this. Can we stay a little longer here?"

Everyone nods.

You scratch the base of Dori's ear.

"Thank you, really," you whisper emotionally.

"No need to thank us." Much to your surprise, Minho is lying down on your other side, resting his head on your shoulder and sliding up. You put the remote next to Dori and stroke Minho's hair with your free hand, and it seems as if he purrs too. You enjoy that this time you don't have to fight with his tsundere self to get him to cuddle up to you. 

Then your hand is snatched out by Hyunjin, who settles down behind Minho. He plays with it, drawing little hearts on your palm.

“Grandpa, space please!" Seungmin pushes Chan aside so that he can lie at your side. Chan snorts, Minho giggles and you smile.

"My seat's taken," Jisung snorts sadly, nudging Dori, who's sprawled on your stomach.

"You have other seats, Sung," Seungmin mutters, who no longer has such a problem because he's found his place next to you.

“Right!" Jisung gets excited. In the next moment, he leaps at Minho, who moans angrily for a second, but lets Jisung sprawl out and nestle on top of him.

Chan, Jeongin, Changbin and Felix form the other pile. 

You wish you had eight arms like an octopus to touch them all and pull them to you. And then Jeongin smiles sweetly at you, Changbin looks at you lovingly, and you understand that you don't need eight arms, because they are all in your heart, as you are in theirs, be at arm's length, cities or continents apart.

[https-florals]

thought that i was dreaming when you said you loved me - j.m.

summary: if there was a contest for the world’s stupidest teenagers, you and jj would take first place.

word count: 3.1k??? i got a little carried away

warnings: a little language. 

a/n: childhood best friends to lovers, a little argument, tiniest bit of angst. WHOLEEE lotta fluff. reading it back, im starting to wonder if it really flows together or if it even makes sense, but i think its cute and i liked writing it!! as always, likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. i adore you all!!

“Can I crash at your place tonight?” JJ blurts out the question, almost like he’s scared of the answer.

The two of you are headed away from a long day of surfing, your hair tangled and a little crunchy from the saltwater. You probably would have stayed out later, if it weren’t for how nasty the waves were getting. JJ had gotten pushed under and scraped against a reef, and you had slipped and landed facefirst into the side of your board, both of your accidents resulting in some pretty nasty cuts. Some old 2000s playlist is playing through the aux, and you’re driving while JJ holds a can of beer to your busted lip. 

“Or..” he swallows. “Maybe until your parents get back? They’re outta town for like another three days, right?

You give him a sidelong glance and push the can away, your lip numb from the coldness. JJ isn’t the type to ask favors, so you’re a little taken aback. You don’t ask questions though; you just nod. “Yeah, that’s fine.” You pause, and then grin, saying, “You scared my daddy would run you off with a shotgun if he was home?”

He huffs and shoves the corner of a towel into your face. “Your lip’s bleeding again, dumbass. And no. He just scares me a little.”

Swatting him away and laughing, you go back to the subject of him staying at your house. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You can stay as long as you need. Plus, that gives me a chance to make sure you don’t let those cuts get infected.” You gesture to the raw skin on his torso. 

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he scoffs, but the way he runs his hand over his side and winces isn’t lost on you. 

By the time you pull into your driveway, it’s started to rain. Beams from the sunset hit the droplets just perfectly, and a rainbow stretches over the cut. It’s so pretty, and if your neck wasn’t so sore and if JJ wasn’t so cut up you would’ve taken the opportunity to pull him out in the rain and force him to dance with you. But he is trying to pick up the cooler and the towels and take it all inside himself, so you run around to the trunk and nudge him away. “Stop! Just grab the towels, you’re too bruised up to lift that.” Wedging yourself between him and the trunk, you set the cooler down on the gravel.

“C’mon,” he sighs, saying your name entreatingly. “No bruise is gonna mess with these.” JJ flexes and grins, and you glare at him.

“Never do that again. If you want to keep me as a friend, you will never flex in front of me again.” You’re only half-joking.

He fake-yawns and stretches, making sure to flex again when you look back up at him. “I know, you can’t even stand to be around a sex god like me.”

You look at him, jaw dropped in faux horror, and shake your head. “That’s it. Maybank, you can go stay at the Chateau.”

“I’ll tell John B you just couldn’t keep your hands off me,” he teases, leaning against you and making kissy noises into your ear.

You are giggling between fake gags, pushing him away gently. “Get your shit and go inside, freak,” you laugh as you tug the cooler into the garage.

Kicking your sandals off by the door,you grab some antibacterial soap, and then check under the sink for peroxide and bandages. 

When JJ comes inside, you’re diluting a little cup of the peroxide with water. Pushing that and the soap towards him, you say, “Go shower and flush the cuts out with that-” you tap the cup- “then scrub with the soap. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but it’ll get worse if it gets infected.”

He frowns, and takes them. “Okay, nurse.”

You both take fast showers, and soon the two of you are back in the living room. You’re wearing borrowed boxers and a big tshirt, and JJ has on the clothes he left last time he came over. Your mother always insists on doing your friends’ laundry, and thank God she does. 

“Sit on the couch,” you instruct JJ, pouring some antiseptic onto cotton pads.

“I can do it myself,” he huffs, but he doesn’t make any more complaints when you climb over him and straddle one of his legs. In fact, he’s staring at you with a kind of awe in his expression. 

“Lift your shirt up,” you command, looking at him with a stony expression.

He rolls his eyes, but obeys, hands a little shaky as he pulls up the fabric and you begin to clean the wound.

JJ hisses at the stinging, his muscles contracting and shifting under your fingertips.

You shush him and readjust so you’re sitting a little higher on his thigh rather than his knee. “Breathe, JJ.” Mentally, you’re telling yourself to breathe too. You’re just helping your best friend. Your heart shouldn’t be racing like it is.

One of his hands balls into a fist, and the other lands on your waist, grasping the worn fabric of your tee. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his lips are parted as he tilts his head back and groans.

You’re shameless in the way you’re staring at him. Maybe you shouldn’t find him in pain so very attractive, but- you’re just observing. You’re not even paying attention to what you're doing anymore as you wipe the cotton haphazardly over his cuts; you just watch the way his jaw tenses and relaxes. He opens one eye, and you jump slightly, heat infusing into your cheeks.

“Distracted?” he teases.

You scoff in response, bandaging up his cuts and climbing off of him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

JJ doesn’t press it any further; he just smirks and leans back onto the couch.

It’s getting late, the cloudy sky turning deep, dusky amber with the setting sun. It’s still raining, harder now, and JJ has the weatherman on TV as you throw together a quick dinner. It’s a three course meal of pizza pockets, some sliced up cucumber and ranch, and a pack of oreos split between the two of you. After some bickering, you settle on a movie to watch together. It’s some old rom-com JJ is obsessed with it, and you have never even heard of it. 

You’re still whining through the first twenty minutes; saying, “A Christmas movie? It’s not even Christmas!”

He shushes you, putting his arm around your shoulders and giving you a playful thump on the head. “It’s got John Cusack in it. Everybody loves John Cusack.”

Sure enough, by the end of Serendipity, you decide you love John Cusack. “I feel a little bad for his fiancée,” you yawn, slumped against the blond boy beside you. There’s no point where you aren’t touching: shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. “I still don’t understand why he’d just leave her.”

You do understand actually, but you would listen to JJ explain the plot a thousand times if it meant you could stay this close. His hand is on your shoulder, fingers playing with the collar of your t-shirt as he talks about fate. It’s a little poetic, in fact, it’s the most serious you’ve heard him in a while.

“The whole idea about having someone destined for you is just really beautiful, you know. Like someone out there is supposed to love you no matter what. Like, the universe doesn’t give a shit about what you’ve done or where you come from. It’s just in total agreement that you deserve to be loved.”

You’re resting your head on his bicep, watching his expressions as he talks. His blue eyes are like lights across the water, his mouth serious. 

“That just seems so… I dunno, fair. Like that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“J, you know that the universe doesn’t have a say in whether or not you’re worthy of love, right?”

He’s a bit caught off guard, looking you in the eyes now. “What?”

You adjust so you're facing him, legs criss-crossed on the couch. Hands in your lap, you wring your fingers as you begin to speak. “I just want to make sure that you know you…” you pause, and breathe. “You’re worthy of love, JJ. Destiny doesn’t determine that.”

His gaze softens for a split second, and he unconsciously rubs his side, the one bruised. But, then the mask is back up quicker than you can snap. He scoffs, moving his arm away from where you're leaning against it. “I know that. None of the Pogues are getting more love than me,” he smirks, but its a little half-hearted. 

“I’m serious, JJ. I’’n not talking about fucking around,” you sigh. 

He says your name a little rough, a little annoyed. A plea for you to stop. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have with you. Especially not right now. “Don’t start with the mushy shit,” he coaxes, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

You stand up, your temper a little hotter. “It’s not mushy shit! It’s the truth, and I’m not gonna sit here while you feel sorry for yourself, acting like you don’t deserve every single good thing.”

“I’m not acting sorry for myself!”

You’re on a roll now, and JJ can’t stop you now. “You so are! You won’t let anyone get close, cause you’re so scared that they’re gonna hurt you.”

He stands up quick, almost knocking you back. You stare up at him, his face a mere handbreadth away, but you don’t back down. “I’m not gonna bet on a race that I know I’m gonna lose,” he says, voice low.

“Love isn’t- it’s not- you can’t win if you’re more afraid of losing!” You’re not even sure if you’re making sense at this point. You don’t really know what sparked this little flame in you. Maybe it’s your PMS, or maybe it’s the rain making you antsy.. Maybe it’s the years or worrying, all the times he has done something reckless and stupid and kept you and your friends up all night. Maybe it’s the blatant disregard for his own wellbeing, or the way he ignores your questions about new cuts or bruises. Now, everything is spilling out, in words, in tears. “You never even give it the chance!”

“It’s just not in the cards for me, okay?”

You start to hit his chest, but he grabs your wrists and holds you steady. “It’s just how it is, and I’m okay with that,” he says, trying to infuse a brightness into his voice.

You snatch your wrists away, and yank your blanket up off the couch. “I don’t know if you’re- I don’t know, blind or just plain fucking stupid.”

His eyebrows furrow as you walk away from him. “What?”

“I’m going to bed.”

He says your name quick and a little strained, but you don’t turn to look at him. You disappear down the hallway, leaving JJ to slump on the couch, alone.

It takes no more than twenty minutes for the blond to come slinking into your bedroom. JJ whispers your name as he cracks open the door, but you don’t answer. He can't tell if you’re really asleep yet, so he just slides under the covers next to you, like he used to when you were kids. You still have the same full bed, and your sheets still smell like salt water and coconut shampoo. When your breath hitches as his hand comes to rest right by your back, he knows that you’re awake. 

“Do you really think I’m stupid?”

“Yeah.” You don’t move, voice muffled against your pillow. 

JJ lays parallel to you, almost painfully close, but not touching. “Come on, talk to me.”

You huff and roll over to face him. “Why aren’t you sleeping on the couch?”

“It’s scary as hell out there alone. Y’all got too many windows.”

Just like that, any animosity dissipates. “You’re supposed to be the man, JJ. S’posed to protect me.” You’re clutching a stuffed animal to your chest, and you push it into JJ’s. It’s an old battered dolphin pillow pet, and his hands close instinctively around it. It’s sat on your bed since fourth grade, and the stuffing isn’t as fluffy as it used to be. He remembers when you first got it. “Mr. Melon’s feeling a little flat,” he comments.

You nod, but are silent, watching the tendons in his hands and the bones of his knuckles. In fact, you’re a little shocked that he remembers the stuffed animal’s name.

“Remember when we used to have sleepovers like, every night?” JJ asks, a little laughter in his voice. “I never understood why your mom was so happy to have me over on school nights.”

There’s a twinge in your chest. You understood. Even during the worst of you and JJ’s childhood arguments, your mom would coax you to invite him over, and she’d patch up his cuts and wash the dirt and blood stains out of his clothes.

“I miss our sleepovers,” you sigh. The two of you have scooted closer together subconsciously, the only barrier being Mr. Melon.

JJ nods, and asks, “Why’d we ever stop?”

You smile. “We got old, J.”

He sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry.”Who cares? We’re old now, and look at us. Having the time of our lives. We could be ninety and still be the funnest people in the OBX.”

“Most fun,” you correct with a grin.

“Hey, y’know I have a shitty English grade,” he answers, playfully punching your upper arm.

“My mom was scared I’d fall in love with you,” you comment, a little off-subject with a shaky smile plastered across your face. “She always said I’d fall head over heels, and that you’d be the biggest heartbreaker in the county.”

JJ’s face gets serious quick, faux solemnity all in his eyes. “A real concern,” he says, deadpan, “For mothers everywhere.”

“She was right about you being a heartbreaker! Remember that poor touron from the other weekend?”

He scowls and shakes his head. “I made it very clear that it was a one night type of thing.”

It makes you think of your argument from less than a hour ago. If love was in the cards for any of the Pogues, it had to be JJ. Girls tripped over themselves just so he would notice them. But, you laugh, shove him in the arm, and switch the subject. “Remember when you fought John B in here and broke my lamp?”

“Wasn’t that like, what, fifth grade?” 

“Yeah. It was my favorite fairy lamp, and you bumped into it and her head broke off!”

You're both giggling, the tiredness setting in. “He called you a bitch! That was a big bad word back then,” JJ laughs, blond hair tangled and messy as it falls across his pillow.

Your eyebrows quirk up. “You call me a bitch all the time now.”

“That’s different,” he waves his hand to cut you off. “But then? I couldn't let him mess with my girl.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you kick yourself mentally for being so damn cliche when you feel it.

The two of you keep exchanging stories, thunder rolling and the lightning lighting up your room every few minutes.

“So, old-fashioned slumber party with the whole gang tomorrow night?” JJ proposes, his goodnight, his eyes barely open.

You nod and smile, then you do your best Pogue handshake the two of you can manage while lying on your sides. 

Your eyes drift close, and after a few minutes of silence filled with JJ’s breathing and the sound of your heart, you say, “My mom was right about another thing.” JJ takes a moment to process, cracking his eyes back open to look at you. Yours are still squeezed shut because you're scared to look at him. “About me falling in love with you. It was inevitable.” You’re shaking, but it has to be said. You have to at least get it out there.

His mouth goes dry. 

The silence is killing you, but you don’t dare look at him.

“Like destiny,” he finally says, tripping over the first word.

A warmth spreads through you, heat in your cheeks and heart. “Exactly like destiny.”

When you finally get the courage to look at him, he’s staring at you like you’ve peeled back your skin and revealed solid diamond underneath. Awestruck, maybe a little fear in that deep blue.

You can hear your own heartbeat, and your breath is shallow and short. His, in contrast, is deep and slow.

“She was wrong about one thing though.”

You wait for his answer, lips parted as you watch his gaze go from your eyes, to your lips, and back to your eyes, down to your lips again…

“I could never break your heart.”

Your cheeks heat when he traces a line from the end of your eyebrow, down your cheek and jawline. It’s a ghost of a caress, almost like you’re some holy relic that he thinks will heal him.

You start to backtrack, feeling a little embarrassed, a little scared “J, you don’t- don’t have to say something you don’t mean.” 

JJ draws his hand back so fast you jump, and he sits up and scoffs. “You think I’m bullshitting you?”

Your stomach drops as the sudden shift in emotion, and you nod hesitantly.

His jaw clenches as he turns his face away from you, and when he looks back at you his lips are pressed into a firm line. You’ve seen this expression only a couple of times, and only when JJ is on the brink of tears. In fact, his eyes seem a little glassy when he starts to speak. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” he snaps. 

“J-”

JJ waves his hand to cut you off. “No. It’s my turn to talk.” His voice does that thing where it gets a little higher, stress peeking through the cracks in his pitch. “Y’know how you called me blind earlier? You’re the blindest person ever! Everybody else sees the way I look at you except you!” he cries. His hands push anxiously through his hair. “It’s been you. Always you. As long as I can remember.” The way he’s looking at you practically sets you on fire. You can see it now. All those years of childhood crushes, pining and overthinking are evident in his eyes, like a storm at sea. “You-” his voice breaks fully now, and he covers his mouth with his fist before breathing and continuing. “You were the first person who made me feel like I was someone. Like, loved. You really made me feel loved.”

“Always have, always will,” you blurt out.

That’s when the dam bursts, and JJ begins to cry. You sit up and throw your arms around him, and his hands grasp your shirt like you’re a lifeline. He’s murmuring your name like a prayer, over and over like he’s trying to do penance. Before you can even begin to console him, he kisses you quick and soft. 

“Is that okay?” It’s so sweet, a side of JJ you hadn’t seen since you were little kids. Since before you had burdens and before the world got scary. 

“More than okay,” you whisper back, utterly melting against him. When he kisses you again, you can feel him smile, and feel the dampness from his eyes on your cheeks.

JJ can’t believe that you’re kissing him back, and he wonders if he’s dreaming. When your hands shift into his hair, he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. It has to be fake.

Almost like you can read his mind, you pull back. “I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you assure.

His smile is so wide, you think it’ll get stuck like that. “You’re gonna have me around forever,” he says. “That’s a promise.”

“It better be, Maybank. I kinda like you.” You cuddle up against him, head on his chest, grinning profusely.

“I guess I really do have to tell John B you couldn’t keep your hands off me,” he jokes.

“Shush! You’re gonna ruin the moment!”

[madi-writes-things]

Francesca Pt. 1

Summary:

It broke Schlatt when he had to let Y/N go, But he would go through hell a thousand times if it meant he got to hold her again.

“If I could hold you for a minute… I’d go through it again.”

Word Count: 1.09 K

TW: Mental Illness, angst, ocd, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, break up, pining, feelings of worthlessness, basically a self insert without a physical description, Based in Texas… because so am I

A/N: I’m totally ok, and definitely not scared of my mental illness… 👀

-Madi <3

“”“”“”“”“”

Y/N’s POV

My bags are packed before Jay gets home. I don’t want to make this any harder than it has to be. I should probably leave before he gets here, but he deserves an explanation. I’m not really sure what to say when he gets here, but he doesn’t deserve to be ghosted…

When the door opens I regret my decision to stay. He’s holding an H-E-B bag with frozen pizzas and ranch.

My favorite.

The second he locks eyes with me I break down. The bag falls from his hand as he rushes to pull me into a hug.

“What’s wrong pumpkin? What happened?” His voice is filled love and tenderness, very different from his online persona. It makes me cry harder.

“I can’t do this Jay… I-” He pulls me impossibly closer, mumbling a quiet ‘don’t do this’. “I already packed everything into my car. I can’t ask you to stay, I wouldn’t do that to you…”

He knows that I’ve been struggling lately, but I would never ask him to understand the extent of my anguish. I could never tell him about my hours spent researching. The notes. The fear of being alone with myself.

All I’ve ever wanted is to marry the man of my dreams, and have a big family. My mind constantly tells me that I can’t have it…

Nobody would want to deal with you, he’d get tired of it eventually. What if your kids are crazy like you? You don’t want to run the risk that he has to find you dea-

“You aren’t doing anything to me, you don’t have to do this… we can get through this, we can get you whatever help you need… please…”

I’m doing this because I love him. I can tell when he sees the look in my eyes, he mumbles a quick okay before leaving to put the pizzas in the freezer.

I run to lock myself in the bathroom… I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“”“”“”“”“”

When I finally get myself together, I leave the bathroom on a mission to get out quickly. It takes me a while before I realize what’s happening.

“where the hell did you put my keys Jay?” I see him sitting at our table, set with two plates of pizza and two glasses of wine.

“You’re not driving right now… I just heard you have a twenty minute panic attack, you’re in no headspace to drive.” I know he won’t give me the keys, no matter how much I try to convince him. “Do you even have anywhere to go?” I just shake my head. He gets up and walks into our bedroom.

I can hear him on the phone with Ted, he’s asking if I can stay in LA with him. When he returns, we sit down to eat the now cold pizza.

“What did he say?” I didn’t necessarily want to move across the country, but we both know I wouldn’t be able to actually leave well enough alone if I stayed.

I can tell that he’s been crying, but I know that this is what’s truly best for him in the long run. “He said yes, obviously. I’ll drive you to his place, and catch a flight back.” I knew that there was no convincing him to leave me alone for extended periods of time… I wonder if Ted told him not to let me out of his sight.

He probably did.

After dinner Jay offers to sleep on the couch, but I tell him that I don’t want our last night to be spent in different parts of the house.

He holds me as I cry myself to sleep.

This is what’s best for him.

“”“”“”“”“”

The nearly twenty hour drive was silent, stopping whenever the gas gauge lit up. Jay always knew what to get me from the gas station, while I stayed in the car reading. About halfway through the ride he finally decided to play some music, our shared playlist flowing through the tense atmosphere.

I decided to take a nap at some point, and was awoken by Jay gently shaking my shoulder while handing me some food that he had gotten. “We’ve only got about an hour left… you need to eat, and I think we should talk about it.”

No. You can’t handle this, the car ride is hell as is… and now he wants you to talk about why you’re breaking his heart?

“There’s not much to talk about Jay… there isn’t any way to convince me that it was a mistake.” I can see the hurt look in his eyes when I say it, and I really didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh. “I love you so much… and I promise, this is for you.”

He starts to try and argue, before settling on asking about publicity. My only response is that we can deal with it separately. I finish my food, and finish the last few chapters of my book.

“”“”“”“”“”

It takes less than an hour to move all of my stuff into Ted’s guest room.

Ted is my best friend, and we’ve known each other for years. He introduced me to the job prospects of the internet. He introduced me to all of his colleagues when I was first starting on YouTube…

He introduced me to Jay.

After helping move everything in, Jay got ready to fly out. He said a quick goodbye to me, before going outside to talk to Ted.

They were out there for a really long time.

What if he’s convincing Ted that you are a horrible person?

What if they’re working together to get you put away?

What if you opened the window?

What if you jumped?

My phone is in my hand immediately, looking up the likelihood of injury/death from a second story jump. Very unlikely. Shit.

All of the sudden, the walls feel too close. The window is too far. I hear Jay’s Uber leaving, and everything starts to collapse.

This was a mistake. I just ruined the best thing that ever happened to me. It’s too late. He hates me. I should have just left a note and Jumped off the congress avenue bridge.

I can’t breathe.

I hear a soft knock at my door, and hear it creak open. Ted sits down in front of me, placing my hand on his chest. We work on breathing exercises that he taught me years ago. When I finally feel slightly normal, he pulls me into a tight hug.

“”“”“”“”“”

@unbruisable @bernardsbendystraws @sturniolo-fann @jnkvivi @stasiesturn

@h3arts4harry @slutforsturniolos @memento-rory

[tainted-liquor]

'Stop Laughing, Baby!...ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁⋆｡

...⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

ingredients: sugar, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles !

tws: Cussing, you being in loooove, mention of surgery

a/n: Miles is implied to be over 18, it literally doesnt matter what age js 18-24

"AH! FUCK!"

That was the last thing you said about the pain in your mouth before scheduling a visit with your orthodontist. You had put off getting your wisdom teeth removed for as long as possible, the reason being you were afraid of the anesthesia. Sure, the procedure would probably hurt like hell, but you were more concerned about how you'd act while high off your ass. The idea of being completely unaware of what's coming out of your mouth scared you, and you really didn't wanna say the wrong thing to your parents or whoever would be taking you. So, what did you do?

You waited literal months so nobody but Miles could take you. You sat in the passenger seat of your boyfriend's car, quiet and afraid as whatever drill your man had on shook the car. "Nigga you can't be serious right now" You deadpanned, turning towards Miles as you gestured to the radio. "What? You don't like DD Osama?" Miles chuckled, knowing full well what you meant in the moment. "I'm literally about to have surgery and you're listening to...this" You huffed, rolling your eyes and fixing your top in the mirror. Miles laughed loudly, shaking his head before changing the music to your playlist.

"Yeah, you kinda right. Estarás bien, Gorda. Promento" Miles reassured as he put the car in park, leaving you to watch as he used one arm to maneuver his way into the parking spot. Damn, you were lucky. You let out a deep sigh, mentally preparing yourself to literally have your mouth cut open before hearing Miles open your car door. "You okay? Y'want some water before you go in?" He cooed as he took your hand in his, gently helping you out of the car before swinging his arm across your shoulders. "Uh, yeah. Lemme get some water actually" You nodded, nervously taking a sip from his water bottle as you walked toward the massive-looking building.

"Guárdalo si lo necesitas" Miles stated, pushing open the glass double doors as he guided you inside the rather up-beat and bustling building. "Baby I don't speak Spanish" you snorted, giggling slightly at the sudden switch. "Keep it if you need it, mama. I don't want you to be dehydrated, cuz you won't be able to drink for a lil bit after your procedure" he shrugged, pulling you closer to his side and placing a kiss on your forehead. You knew he was right, but you didn't wanna be rude and drink all his water. "Nah, I think I'm fi-"

"Drink. Your water." He reiterated firmly, side-eying you in the most menacing way possible. "My bad original gangster" you squeaked, chugging the remaining water left in the plastic bottle. "Thank you. I need you comfy mama, please let me know if you need somethin'" He reassured as you now stood in the waiting room, sighing as you went to go check in. You filled out the necessary paperwork and then sat down next to Miles, who was currently lightyears deep in his phone. You watched him scroll on his feed, both hands resting on his left forearm while he texted his mom.

"Tell Mama Rio I said hi please" You muttered, watching as he nodded and immediately notified Mrs. Morales of your presence. You felt your heart stop as a rather nice-looking lady called your name, motioning for you to follow her into the O.R. You waved to Miles, feeling your anxiety climb as you followed the assistant to the back, getting comfortable on the leathery dental chair. You took a deep breath, and let everything pass by as they set up everything for the next 15 minutes. But baby when they started that flow of gas? Baby you were OUT.

"So she's still gonna be a little groggy, but right now she should be waking up...Hello!" A cheerful, masked face said as you attempted to open your eyes. "Ffffuuuuuhhhhhhckkkkk..." You whined, attempting to lift your 300-pound eyelids. "Hola, Princesa! Te ves drogado" Miles laughed, clearly amused by your half-open eyes and puffy cheeks. "Miiilesh!" You garbled, reaching your arms up loosely as your boyfriend scooped you off the chair. Your arms awkwardly curved around his neck, vision focusing and un-focusing as you attempt to give him a kiss.

"No-...Mama, I can't kiss you I'm sorry!" He laughed, dodging you to the best of his ability. "Wh...C'mere!" you grunted, clearly not processing his words as he picked up your meds at the front desk. You pouted, huffing and puffing as Miles gave you a gentle pat on the back. He quickly made his way back to the car, placing you in the passenger side as delicately as possible and strapping you in. "Comfy?" He asked, turning his head to the side as he scanned your face for any sort of comprehension.

You blinked at Miles sleepily, lips curving into a smile as you began to giggle at...nothing. "Ah! You can't laug-pfft....-Laugh!"Miles quickly stated as he wrapped a little pink compression bandage around your face. "See? It's soft!" He cooed as he pressed both of your hands to the side of your face, allowing you to feel the fluffy material of the compression band. You smiled at him, watching as he quickly made his way to the driver's side after closing your door. He stared at your blissful face, watching as you ran your hands up and down the fluffy material and mumbled a cute little "Ooooh!"

You rode home in silence as you fiddled with the radio, making more "Oohs" and "Aahs" with each click of a button. "Yeah, they got yo ass looped" Miles guffawed as he watched you play with the A/C vents. You leaned your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes while he drove the rest of the way to his apartment. You weren't exactly awake, but you weren't exactly asleep. You were simply just...gone.

You didn't exactly remember when, but you found yourself back In Miles's arms as he carried you up a bunch of stairs. You clung to Miles, feeling like you were falling as you stared down the stairwell. "You good Mama? You holdin' me a lil tight right now" Miles giggled as he finally reached his floor, kicking his door open and setting you down on his couch. You hummed, laying down on the couch as you observed his black and white 8-ball rug, running your hand through the 'mysterious' texture while you hung off the couch. Miles peeked over the couch, watching as you quite literally played with a rug at your big age.

And he recorded every second of your stupidity. From you playing on a rug, to you attempting to take a nap on the coffee table, and you ACTUALLY taking a nap on his chest. "¿Gorda? ¿Estás bien?" Miles asked as he patted the top of your head, realizing you hadn't made an attempt to walk or go missing in almost 10 minutes. Once he heard that smooth and constant breathing, he knew that you were out cold. He chuckled to himself, putting his phone down on your head as he wrapped both arms around you.

"You're a handful."

...⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Taglist

@ashsostrange @chessbox @faeriesoiree333 @janaeby @kxllanxtdoor @fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasegoistt @milesnanana77 @niaurluv

[smoooothoperator]

untouchable

11: Lover

Lando Norris x OC (Violet Sinclair)

same group friend, unrequited love, acquittances to lovers, ski trip, love triangle

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: fluff, smau

a/n: not everything will have drama!!! This part is cute, there has to be a little of calm before a storm, right? Oh, and I added more info about Violet!

Masterlist

Official Playlist

previous chapter | next chapter

If you want to be tagged don't forget to message me!

Every way of feedback is very welcomed

The gifts stayed in the boxes, ignored in a corner of my living room behind the couch. Something wasn't right, something about that note made me have shivers.

But I ignored it. I ignored the gifts and kept living in my routine.

The first day without Lando was calm, relaxed. Being alone helped me analyze everything that happened last week, put my feelings on point and even write about them. I needed to clear my mind and see what I needed to do to start something new with him.

I was still scared, not knowing if it would become something like my previous relationships.

What if he cheats? No, right? 

What if he thinks I'm not enough? Maybe…

What if he… No, he wouldn't. 

Lando showed me how it is to be loved by him. He showed me that he respects my boundaries and that he will never cross the line I could make if I don't feel comfortable. He always waited for an approval before touching me and he even helped me feel better with myself after that incident with my period. It was easy loving him, his actions helped my feelings flow calmly like a river, making me accept those new emotions when I was around him.

We were friends, maybe only acquaintances that barely talked. But since things started to get clear, since the truth was told, we quickly became friends and something close to lovers. The speed of those feelings shocked me, watching how his little and gentle touches made me crave for his warmth, how he messed with my brain and made me do things I was terrified to do after everything I lived.

But it made me realize that I barely know him. I don't know what he likes, what he does besides driving a fast car. I never was that close to him to know that much of him. But he does know me, and I felt so disappointed with myself for not knowing him as much as he does with me.

At night the bed felt empty, even if it never did. I never cared about sleeping alone in a king-sized bed, being in the middle of it. But that night, after sleeping with him next to me practically all night, I missed him. 

“God, what did I become…” I sighed looking at the bracelet on my wrist.

I sigh, grabbing my phone, searching his chat and smiling when I saw the pictures he sent me of the filming.

Violet: Can I call you?

I took a deep breath and sigh, grabbing the pillow and hugging it. 

Then I heard a notification and smiled when I saw the FaceTime call. I accepted it, chuckling when I saw Lando on a bed too.

“You can't sleep, right?” he chuckled, making me shake my head.

“You’re just a good sleeping company” I smiled.

“Mhm” he chuckled. “Did you discover who sent you the boxes?”

“Oh… I think my parents” I sighed, smiling weakly. “A birthday gift, I guess”

“Well, at least they sent something” he sighed. “What are you going to do on Christmas Eve?”

“Well… I think I'll watch Christmas movies on Netflix during dinner” I sighed. “Maybe I'll even cook something. Why?”

“Oh, just to know” he smiled.

“How is the filming going?” I asked. 

“Nice! Is so cool, really” he smiled. “Max was a passenger in the car. It was so funny to watch” he laughed. 

I heard him talk, and his voice calmed me. It was like he was here with me, with my head in his chest and his arm around my shoulders.

“Violet?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry” I smile softly. “I'm a little tired”

“How was your day?” he asked softly.

“Fine, I guess… I stayed at home to do some work and clean the apartment” I sighed. “The usual”

“That's nice” he smiled. “Do you want me to stay on the call until you fall asleep?”

“Would you do that?” I smiled, feeling how my heart melted. “Please…”

“Of course” he nodded. “How is your period going? Does it still hurt?”

“No, it's… it's fine” I smiled. “Just took a warm shower, now I feel better”

I heard him humming softly and then talk about something else, helping me drift slowly in a deep sleep.

The next day I had to work, so I left my apartment early after making my lunch. Before walking out of the apartment I looked at the couch, sighing. I have a weird feeling about those gifts, but somehow I didn't want to believe my own instinct.

As I entered the building of the museum, one of my coworkers welcomed me with a warm smile.

“How was the trip in the snow?” she smiled.

“Really good, actually” I smile blushing. “I had a great time there. I went to the city that looks like the one of the book I told you”

“For real?” she gasped. “That's amazing!”

“Right?” I laughed softly, grabbing my phone and showing her the pictures I took.

“Oh? Who's this guy?” she smirked, pointing to the picture. “Harry?”

I felt shivers running down my spine when I heard his name. 

“N-no, someone else” I smiled weakly.

“Oh! Spill the tea, come on!” she chuckled, making me sigh and shake my head.

“Just a friend” I said. 

Because that's what he is, right? At the moment, we are only friends.

“He's a cute one” she laughed.

I smile and nod, walking away and going to my desk. I know I have work to do, but my mind started to work on something else.

Who sent me the packages? My parents knew I was on a trip, but not in the snow. And Lando said he wasn't… The shivers all over my body made me close my eyes and shake my head, trying to brush away that thought.

Eloise? Harry? But… if it was them, why signing as my parents? Why? If it was an apology they could have signed as themselves. 

I tried to focus on my work, on reading those books and translating some papers and writing in my notebook everything I needed to check out. But my mind kept working on something else.

“Violet, someone sent you these flowers!”

I flinched and looked up, frowning. But when I saw orange flowers on it, I relaxed a bit. Maybe Lando sent them.

“You are a lucky girl, hm?” my coworker laughed softly.

“Maybe” I smile softly.

I looked at the flowers and smiled, looking at the orange ones and smelling them. Then I saw the card and smiled while reading it.

‘I came to London today, do you want to hang out after work?’ 

-LN

I sighed, this time relieved, because I recognized his handwriting, the same handwriting of the cards he used to put inside every book he gifted me.

“Was it your “just a friend”?” she smirked, doing the quote marks with her fingers. 

“Yeah, yeah” I laugh softly, grabbing my phone and texting him.

Violet: I have lunch break around one

Lando🧡: then I'll be there a little earlier. I saw that there is a nice restaurant next to the museum

Violet: but I already brought my own food!

Lando🧡: you can save it for dinner ;) I just want to see you, can't wait four days

I smiled blushing, looking at the screen. He told me he was going to be busy and I assumed he couldn't come around, working hard with the filming. But the fact that he's using his free time to be with me just made me happy.

I looked at the clock of my wrist and I wished time passed faster. But knowing that Lando wanted to have lunch with me, made me focus more and finish half of my work at lunchtime.

I closed my laptop and grabbed my coat and scarf, hung my bag on my shoulder and looked at my coworker.

“I’ll come after lunch” I said, smiling. 

“I thought you brought your lunch? I saw your lunch box in the fridge” she frowned, making me smile and shake my head.

“I'm going with my friend” I smile, biting my lip.

I got inside the elevator and sigh, grabbing my little makeup pouch and fixing it, taking a deep breath when the door opened. The office where I work is at the other side of the museum, so I just had to walk over the exposition.

“Violet!” I heard him call me.

I gasped surprised when I saw him there, in the middle of the exposition of the ancient Rome and Greek exposition. I chuckle and walk towards him, hugging his neck when he opens his arms for me.

“Hey” he smiled, kissing my cheek.

“Hey” I chuckled looking at him. “Why did you come in? You had to buy a ticket, you could just have waited outside for me”

“Just wanted to surprise you” he smiled, making my heart melt.

“You already sent me those flowers, silly” I smiled. “But thank you, I loved them”

“I'm glad” he smiled. “Well… so you are working in this exposition? It's amazing!”

“Yeah, well… translating old texts and inscriptions” I said. “You want to have a look around?”

“Of course” he smiled.

I smiled when I felt his hand holding mine, hearing with attention everything I explained to him. I read him the original manuscripts as well as explained some of the items around the exposition and the ones of the other rooms.

“You are unique, Violet” he smiled, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and kissing my temple.

I smile looking at him and wrapping my arm around his waist, walking around with him. He talked about how the filming is going, what they are going to film in the afternoon. And I let him talk while we stood in front of sculptures.

“Well, I'm hungry” I chuckled softly. 

“Oh yeah” he nodded, laughing and kissing my head. “Let's go”

We walked out of the museum and went to that restaurant he mentioned before, taking a table for two and ignoring the curious gaze from everyone inside, ignoring the fact that we were in public. Right now, everything that matters is right in front of me.

f1_gossip

liked by 2.367 users

f1gossip the last few days the rumors about Violet and Lando started to come back again. We'll remember you all some things about her to refresh our memory:

-Violet Grace Sinclair

-24 years old

-She studies History of Art in the London College and she already has the Ancient Languages degree

-Works in the British Museum as a translator in the exposition “Ancient Rome and Greece”

The first speculation about Lando and Violet started four years ago, the first time we saw her with his friends in the paddock, but those rumors died when we saw posts of Violet's boyfriend in the race with them.

But the last few days they have been spending time together on the snow trip with their friends and then alone back at home. 

What do you think?

view all comments

user2 Don't give us hopes! Some of us still ship them!

user6 Violet only wants fame, nothing more

user3 if she wanted fame she would be posting hints about Lando and her since they knew each other but she never did that!  user5 user3 is right! She was never in the garage during his races! Always watching the hospitality with his friends

user8 well, I think they would be cute together, actually! 

user9 wait a damn minute… isn't she the girl he's been simping for a long time? He always talks about someone on the streams but always using a fake name…

user7 Yes!! He always talked about someone called Grace… 👀

When we finished our lunch he walked with me back to the museum, not taking his hand away from mine.

“Lando… you know we are in the street, right?” I smile weakly. “I mean… people are watching”

“So? I don't care” he smiled. “I-I mean, only if you do! If you don't want to be seen with me it's okay. I totally get it”

“No, idiot” I laughed, nudging his side. “It's just… Well, you know that there are gossip pages, right?”

“Yeah”

“And that they shipped us over the years, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Landolet” he nodded proudly. “I won't lie saying that I never read about that. Kinda funny, tho… Their theories are really funny”

“So you knew that there were rumors about us around the Internet and never said anything to me?” I frowned, surprised. “Lando!”

“What? What did you want me to say?” he sighed, wrapping his arms around me. “Hey Violet, did you know that some of my fans think that we are dating and they are looking into your profile to check that you aren't a golddigger?”

“For example” I laugh softly. “But… you know I'm not a golddigger, right? I mean… I have a nice job, enough money…”

“Of course, silly” he chuckled, kissing the tip of my nose.

“And talking about job… I should go back” I sighed. 

“Right” he sighed, holding me tighter. “At what time do you finish?”

“I think at six. I have some things to update and then I'll help with other things” I nodded, smiling.

“Then I'll come to pick you up” he smiled, kissing the corner of my mouth, making me smile. “I can't sleep without you”

“God, you are so cheesy!” I laughed.

“And I know you love cheese” he smiled.

I laughed softly and hugged him tighter. He makes me feel like a teen again, giggling and smiling all the time. He makes me happy, and being away from him makes my heart ache. Is this how it feels being in love? I never felt this… neither with my ex's or with Harry.

“Let's have dinner in my apartment, hm?” I smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “We can order whatever you want”

“That sounds amazing” he smiled, brushing his lips on mine before kissing me. “I don't want to let you go”

“I have work to do” I whisper against his lips. “And you too”

“They can film things without me” he said, pulling away a little, brushing my hair out of my face. “Today I'm not needed there”

I look at him and bite my lip, cupping his jaw and looking at his lips. I don't care if we are in the street, in front of the door of my work. I don't care if people walk near and see us kissing. I assumed things like this would happen if I want to date him.

“You want to come see what I'm doing at work?” I smiled looking into his eyes. “But maybe you'll distract me and I will take longer…”

“I'll be as quiet as one of those sculptures” he said immediately, making me laugh and peck his lips. “Just give me somewhere to seat and some snacks and I'll be like one of those kids you see with the tablet”

“Alright, alright” I laughed softly, grabbing my pass from my bag and walking towards the staff door.

He walked with me, holding my hand and following me through the corridors of the building. We wasted a little time watching other expositions on our way to the studio, but it was worth it. Watching Lando getting interested in this place and listening to me made my smile grow wider.

“Hey Maya” I smiled at my coworker when I opened the door of the studio.

“Oh!” she smiled. “The guy!”

“The guy?” Lando laughed.

“The guy” I chuckled, nodding. “Maya, this is Lando”

“The just friend, hm?” She smirked, looking at our hands and how he followed me to my work desk.

“At the moment” Lando smirked, making me roll my eyes and laugh.

I grabbed one of the empty chairs and placed it next to mine, making him sit next to me. We took our coats off and placed them on the hanger and then we sat on the chairs.

“Here, put them” I said, giving him some fabric gloves. “I'm going to show you something, okay?”

“Okay” he nodded.

I smiled and after putting my gloves on my hands, I opened the box where the manuscript is being kept. I heard Lando take a deep breath and stop his breathing, like he was scared of contaminating the ancient paper with his breathing. I chuckled softly and unrolled it, putting the paperweight on every edge of it to keep it on the table.

“This is an old manuscript from the ancient Greece” I said looking at him.

“What does it say?” he asked, tracing his gloved fingers over the letters. 

“It's a text from Sophocles” I said. “From one of his plays. I'm just translating them and checking that what we have in the archives is right”

“Wow… God, Violet this is amazing” he said breathlessly. “Just… How many languages can you read?”

“Well… Latin and ancient Greek. And I can understand some hieroglyphics” I smiled looking at him. 

“Are you saying that you could be one of those people that can talk on a documentary about Egypt, walking around the pyramids and translate the first hieroglyphics they find?” he gasped, making me laugh. 

“I mean… first I need the title of historian, but yeah” I nodded. 

“I'm going to make some calls, then” he joked, making me chuckle.

“Idiot” I laughed softly, hitting his shoulder. “Do you want to be a worker of the museum for a day?”

“Oh yeah! What do I have to do?”

We spent the rest of the day there, sitting next to each other on my desk while I translated the texts and he wrote them on my laptop. There were some minutes of rest to cuddle a little and even to take some snacks.

But never in my life have I imagined that I could have Lando Norris, the McLaren Formula 1 driver, sitting next to me and helping me work.

“Well, we're done for today” I smile looking at him. 

“Thank God” he smiled, stretching and closing my laptop.

“Okay lovebirds, you two did a good job” Maya smiled looking at us. “I received the archives. You can go home”

“Got it” I smiled, standing up and stretching.

Lando got up and we collected our coats and my bags and he immediately grabbed my backpack while giving me my shoulder bag.

“You worked hard all day, I'm sure your back hurts” he said, kissing my temple. “And this backpack is heavy, so let me take it”

I chuckled softly and nodded, walking out of the studio with him and going hand in hand through the corridors of the museum, going to expositions we hadn't seen together yet.

“I just love the fact that I had my personal guide here” he chuckled, wrapping his arm around me again. “And the way you explain things make it easier to understand this art”

“Well, maybe I can be your personal guide everywhere we go” I chuckled. “Maybe next summer we can go somewhere like Italy or Greece, hm?”

“Oh, definitely” he nodded, kissing my head.

We walked around the museum, him taking pictures of me with his camera while I was looking at the paintings or sculptures. We acted like a couple, and somehow I liked that, I liked how relaxed and calm we are next to each other, how good it feels when he wraps his arm around me or I wrap my hands around his arm. 

Somehow I knew my phone was going to be full with notifications. Deep inside me I knew that people around us wouldn't be quiet and they would post things about us. But watching how calm he was, ignoring the fact that people took pictures of us, made me stay calm too. I accepted this, I knew that this was going to happen sooner or later.

And having him in my apartment, helping me to set the table after the delivered food came, just made me realize how much I want this. How much I want him.

“Why are you so smiley?” he chuckled curiously, looking at me.

“Oh nothing…” I smiled. “I'm just… happy. I'm happy to have you here with me, to sleep with you again. I'm just happy that you wanted to spend your free time with me, or even skip going back to the filming just to be with me while I was working”

“That's because you are worth it, Violet” he smiled, holding my hand. “You are worth every second, every minute our hour with. And I promise this will be forever. I won't be tired of spending time with you, I'll run back to you every time I can, showing you how much I love you and how much you mean to me”

“That's… No one said something like that to me, Lando” I smiled softly, touched by his words. 

“Well, get used to it” he smirked. “Because I won't stop, never in my life. You are stuck with me”

And I gladly accepted it. I gladly accepted to be stuck with him.

taglist

@elisysd @racinggirl @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @landoyesrizz @lorarri @bellwhysomean @leptitlu @aphroditeisamilf @brekkers-whore @copper-boom @sideboobrry11 @alltoomaples @f1madison @elijahslover @silkenthusiasts @chonkybonky @summerslike11 @randomgirlnumber-13 @is-just-a @whentheautumnleavesfall @malynn @mycenterfold @barackosteaa @izzy-marvel @ssprayberrythings @ophcelia

[nolita-fairytale]

still into you | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter two: friday

summary: big announcements are made at the james beard house dinner, and carmy tells you how much you mean to him.

warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking

word count: 4.6k

listen to: in transit - albert hammond jr. | nightswimming - r.e.m | friday i'm in love (cover) - phoebe bridgers (playlist here)

a/n: remember when i accidentally posted this earlier today at the start of the american work day? that was weird. anyways...

read: chapter one | bonus smut scene

Friday

The way that the four of you flow together is like a symphony – each one of you so committed to your craft – to excellence – and the feeling you get sends chills down your spine. It’s a sign of how far you all have come, which is what the menu is all about this evening. It was Syd and Carmy’s idea: each dish presented this evening would embody a part of The Bear’s story. You’d even worked with Marcus on elevating his signature chocolate cake, wanting to keep the heart and soul of it, even if it had to lean a little more towards the fine dining side of things.

Never in a million years would Carmy have thought that, on his first day at The Beef, that you’d all end up here. After all the chaos, all the swimming upstream, it felt near-impossible that something so disorganized and broken could become something so beautiful. 

He’s near-shaking at the idea of what he has to do next, but he also knows that this is a story he has to tell. It’s not really something he’s spoken about – at least publicly – and not to the food world. 

But he can’t tell the story of The Bear without Michael. 

He feels like he’s sweating through his chef whites, but you remind him that he’s going to be great. It’s a huge step in his healing journey and after a long talk about it, Carmy had decided it was something he felt he wanted to do. 

“Before we wrap up the evening, we have one more dish before dessert,” Carmy says, earning the attention of the dining room full of people. 

He hopes his voice isn’t shaking too much, and he nervously fidgets with a spoon he’s holding in his hands while you and Sydney stand behind him as literal and emotional support.

His face feels hot. He feels like he wants to throw up and cry at the same time, and he looks back at you for reassurance. 

You nod your head in his direction, a comforting smile on your face, as Sydney grabs your hand. You’re both nervous for him. 

You can do it, Bear. Let it rip. 

“As some of you may know, three years ago I left New York to go back home and take over the family restaurant – the restaurant that would eventually become The Bear,” he explains.

“This dish is uh… it’s really special to me,” he says, trying his best not to let his voice break as he continues.

“It’s an ode to my late brother: a play on the braciole he used to make for me and my sister every Sunday.” 

The dining room gets quiet, each person hanging onto every single word that Carmy says, his vulnerability palpable. 

Carmy suddenly feels emotionally exposed, but he knows there’s no turning back now. He can practically hear Mikey’s voice in his head, encouraging him, pushing him to let it rip. Knowing that he’s got you and Sydney behind him gives Carmy the extra boost of confidence he needs to get through this speech. 

As he explains each component of the dish, it becomes easier to fake it: fake some confidence, fake that he’s not crumbling inside. Carmy knows how to talk about food so he leans into it, even if it feels like his voice is caught in his throat. It feels like second nature -- like falling into an old pattern he's practiced a thousand times -- as he hides behind his tough, calculating, diligent exterior. But he feels as if he’s just put his open, bleeding heart on a plate, and it's impossible for him not to feel.

Carmy clears his throat before concluding his presentation with, “So thank you again for dining with us this evening. Uh… Chef Sydney has some news she’d uh… we’d like to share with everyone.” 

He thanks the gods that he made it through.

He can’t wait to get out of the spotlight. 

Carmy moves aside, letting Sydney take center stage, and he can feel the blood rush through his head – an almost dizzy-feeling. As he stands next to you, you bump up against his shoulder, giving him some comforting touch, in an effort to ground him.

“Thank you, chef,” Sydney begins, glancing back at Carmy. “And thank you for sharing this dish with us. I know that it’s something you hold close to your heart and our story of The Bear wouldn’t be complete without it.”

The dining room full of people begins clapping once again and it gives Carmy a moment to zip himself back up emotionally. He only reminds himself that he has a few moments left of being in front of people. While he may be an expert at fooling everyone else with his stoic exterior, you can see he’s struggling to hold it together.

“And thank you again to everyone for coming out tonight. We have some really exciting news to share. After putting our heart and soul into The Bear, we are at a point in its journey where we can expand,” Sydney begins, earning a few excited whispers from the room.

“We felt tonight would be the perfect time to announce that we will be opening up a second restaurant – a separate concept that I will be leading as CDC in Chicago. I’m really excited to have this opportunity to develop my own concept with my business partner, Carmen Berzatto, and to lead my own kitchen.”

The entire room erupts with applause once again as the wait staff begin to bring out Carmy’s perfectly plated beef dish. Carmy nods as a signal to you and Syd and you both follow him back into the kitchen. 

“Stay. I’ll go help Marcus,” Sydney says to you, reassuringly.

She rubs a sympathetic hand over Carmy’s upper back before saying, “Good work, chef.”

Sydney hurries over into the prep kitchen to help Marcus plate dessert, while you hang back with Carmy in the hallway. He’s avoiding your gaze and you can tell he’s trying his best not to lose it right then and there. His body is still – frozen in a moment of time. There’s a tension that runs across his chest and into his shoulders that hadn’t been there at the start of the night. He looks like he hasn’t taken a breath since his speech began either. 

“That was really beautiful, Bear,” you say softly. He still won’t look at you, but you understand why.

“Thanks,” he nods curtly. 

There’s a silent tension between the two of you and you know what you need to do next. 

“What do you need?” you ask. 

“Think I uh-, just need a little fresh air,” he mumbles, his voice breaking a little, before clearing his throat again. 

“‘Course. Marcus, Syd and I have got this,” you encourage him. 

You wait as Carmy slips out back for a break, before making your way back into the kitchen. Loving Carmy through his grief sometimes looked different. Some days he’d need space. Other times he’d need you – crawling into your arms and allowing you to care for him. Together, you’ve had to learn how to ask, and he’s had to learn how to tell you what he needs. 

“How’s Carmy?” Sydney asks with a concerned look on her face, causing Marcus to look up from the plate he’s working on. 

“He’s okay. Just needs a break,” you answer. You’re not worried about him. You know how painful that was for Carmy, and you’re more than happy to give him the space he needs to sit with it. 

“What can I do?”

And then Marcus is handing you a few extra plates, asking you to double check his previous count to ensure that every single plate went out in a timely manner. 

Carmy returns about ten minutes later, ready to jump back in. He’d just needed a timeout – a moment to feel the enormous swell of emotions that had come up when talking about Michael to a dining room of eighty people. Soon enough, he’s helping plate the tiny chocolate layer cakes, with an olive oil ice cream, and a tahini caramel drizzled over the top. 

Dessert is the last dish to be brought out, and as Marcus presents, the four of you receive a standing ovation at the James Beard House. It’s like for the first time in a week, Carmy can breathe again. He feels like a one hundred pound weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, and his heart swells with pride over how the night’s gone. Everyone’s liked the food, you all have worked so beautifully as a team this evening, and he can’t believe he got through his fucking speech without crying in front of everyone. 

Entirely exhausted yet filled with a grand sense of accomplishment, the four of you drag yourselves out of the James Beard House and back out onto the streets of NYC. You’re not sure who suggests it, but you’re grateful the idea has been brought up as you’re carrying pizzas you picked up on the way back to the hotel. Piled onto the two full beds in Marcus and Sydney’s room, the four of you can finally celebrate a job well done. 

“Yo, I think I like the Sicilian slice better,” Marcus says, polishing off another piece of the pepperoni and mushroom. 

“Oof,” Carmy sounds, watching your face for your reaction. “You’re playing with fire, Marcus.”

Sydney snorts, “Fuck. We’re finally able to relax. No one kill each other, please.”

“What? We’ve already had the Chicago vs New York pizza debate,” Marcus says, throwing up his hands as if he’s innocent. I know what I’m getting myself into! I’m just sayin’ the Scilian slice is giving mad Chicago vibes and it’s dope.” 

You laugh, shaking your head, while Carmy playfully nudges you. 

“Okay, while pepperoni and mushroom is a classic and you know I have mad respect that, as a New Yorker… hard disagree on your style of pizza, chef,” you say back, starting on a new slice of one of the remaining NY Style pies. 

“You know what’s fucking fire? Pepperoni and jalapenos – pickled, not fresh,” Sydney chimes in and you all reply in a chorus of agreement. 

“Hundred percent,” Carmy says. 

“Never fresh. The sour tangy brine is key,” you add. “At least we can all agree on something. 

“You know what’s fucking wild?” Marcus begins, looking across the three of you. “We made this whole fancy ass meal, yet we’re eating pizza in a hotel room at the end of the night.” 

Carmy laughs dryly, “Yeah, man. It’s kinda par for the course.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Seriously!” Sydney exclaims.

“Speaking of, how was your stage at per se?” you inquire, curious to hear about his experience in the fine dining kitchen. “We barely had time to catch up this morning about it.” 

Truthfully, you’d all been so focused on tonight going well that no one had really talked about it. 

“Man,” Marcus sighs. “It was cool. But like. Now I know what you guys are talking about when you say a chef only let you zest lemons for three months.”

You laugh in response, thinking back to the time blood orange juice caused you an existential crisis. That existential crisis – the one that led you to quitting your job, leaving fine dining behind for good. 

“And it’s like… the whole staff works as a machine. Kitchen’s more like a science lab than a kitchen. I got lucky, huh?” Marcus continues and Carmy shakes his head. 

“Yeah, per se’s a lot like where we used to work,” Carmy says with a shrug. 

“Should’ve seen Alinea. It’s very… science lab meets art school,” Sydney adds. “Inspiring… but cold.” 

“Damn,” Marcus shakes his head, feeling luckier than ever that he got to learn from the three of you instead. 

“Wait. Syd, how was your supper club?” you ask, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t had a chance to tell any of you yet. She had, after all, gotten home late last night, only to get up early to go with Carmy to Chelsea Market. 

“Oh my god,” she gloats. “So fucking cool. Like unreal. You guys have to come with me next time.” 

“I uh-,” she starts again, as if she has a secret. “They actually asked me to come back and do a pop-up dinner, especially with the new restaurant opening. I mean, they want to do a collab with me!”

“Okay, I see you,” Marcus calls out, proud of his friend. 

“Of course they do!” you cheer her on. 

“What do you think, chef?” she asks Carmy, searching for approval in the way his face changes as he hears the news. 

“I think… you’d be silly not to. We’ll work out a time for you to come back up here once we get the new restaurant up and running,” Carmy reassures, respect and pride in his eyes as he exchanges a look with Sydney. 

“And of course, I want you guys back here with me. Like… are we the fuckin’ dream team, or are we the fuckin’ dream team?” Sydney celebrates, reliving the memories of this evening. 

Tonight has been so incredible and Sydney wonders if this is what it feels like to be at the top of your career. She wants to savor the moments of this weekend, replaying them over and over again in her head. 

“Oh 100%,” Marcus confirms with confidence.

“Absolutely,” you promise.

A temporary quiet settles between the four of you as you reflect on the evening. Carmy is quiet again, caught up in his head as he’s filled with a deep sense of gratitude: for all of your hard work, for how well the evening went, for his team. 

You all are his people. 

And he’s never had people before. 

Not until now. 

“Thank you guys. For tonight,” he says, his tone serious. “You guys were rockstars, and... I couldn’t have done it – any of this – without you.” 

“Aw, Carmy,” Sydney smiles, savoring this rare tender moment with Carmy. 

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Marcus reinforces.

“Of course,” you smile proudly. 

You each take a moment to feel it all: accomplishment, the gratitude, the love and genuine respect you all have for each other.

“Not to ruin the moment or anything,” you begin, half apologetically. “If anyone’s up for more fun food debates tomorrow, Carmy and I have a fun little tradition I’d love to share you guys.” 

You and Carmy exchange glances and it’s as if he can read your mind. 

“Walking dumpling tour?” he questions. 

You confirm with a nod. 

“What’s the-?” Marcus begins to ask as Sydney finishes his question with, “... the walking dumpling tour?”

“A fun little thing we used to when we still lived here,” you reply. “Hit up as many dumpling spots as we can in search of the best pork dumplings that Chinatown can offer. Hell, I’ll make up a scorecard and we can rate them.”

“Sounds fun. I’m in,” Marcus says. 

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Sydney agrees. 

Carmy checks the time on his phone. 

“Yo, it’s getting pretty late. We should probably head to bed,” Carmy says to you. 

“Oh shit. It’s almost midnight?” Sydney asks, seeing the time on the hotel room clock. 

“Yeah. Guys, this has been fun. Seriously, great work tonight. I’ve missed this so much,” you sigh, totally satiated. 

“You know there’s always room for you at The Bear,” Marcus says genuinely, before adding, in a more teasing tone, “You can send me your resume and I’ll take a look. Nah I’m just playin’!”

You laugh, playfully rolling your eyes, “Okay, it is definitely bed time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, goodnight you guys,” Marcus replies.

“Goodnight.”

As you and Carmy leave Sydney and Marcus’ room, it dawns on you that you’re not quite ready to go to bed. While you’re exhausted, and should be in a carb-induced sleepy pizza-coma, you’re wired from the adrenaline of being back in the kitchen. 

“Hey, Carm?” you ask, stopping him as he fumbles with the room key. 

“What’s up?” he asks back. 

You pause for a moment, and as you speak, there’s a certain hesitance in your voice, like it’s the first time you’re asking someone out on a date.

“Do you want a drink?”

He’s caught off guard by your tone of voice, curious to know where this is going. 

“Now?” he asks back with a half-smile plastered to his face.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I-, I don’t know if I’m ready to go to bed yet.” 

You can see the hesitation on his face as he thinks it through. While Carmy knows there are plenty of bars still open in NYC right now, he’s not sure he wants to leave the hotel. 

And neither do you. 

You offer your hand to him, “C’mon. I’ve got an idea.”

*

“I don’t know if we’re supposed to be here,” Carmy states nervously, looking around the empty room. 

He’s bouncing his knee up and down as he sits on a bar stool, alternating between watching you behind the bar, and looking around to check for anyone who may catch you. The bar itself is poorly lit, save for the pool lights outside, that come flooding in through the large floor to ceiling windows. 

“We’re not,” you reply, without a care in the world.

He lowers his voice before asking, “What if we get caught?”

You giggle, “You are such a baby, Carmen.” 

He rolls his eyes as you search for what you need, pouring the appropriate combination of liquors into an old fashioned glass.

Gin. Campari. Vermouth

After stirring them together over ice, you reach for an orange and y-peeler that the bar is stocked with, shaving off a piece of the orange peel. 

“Besides, isn’t that the fun part?” you ask, a glimmer of mischief flashing across your face. 

Carmy shakes his head, averting his eyes as he brings his hand up to his mouth, “You’re a bad influence on me.” 

You snort in response and it’s your turn to roll your eyes at him. 

“And you love it, my little rule-follower.”

“Relax, Carm. I’m gonna leave $40 behind the bar for what we took and we can go back to the room when I’m done if you’re so worried about it,” you offer as a compromise, the tone of your voice still a rebellious one. 

He has to admit that he finds your devil may care attitude incredibly sexy. Carmy’s not sure whether he’s anxious or turned on right now. 

 “Yes chef,” he finally agrees, cheekily. 

“Lighter, please,” you request.

Carmy pulls his lighter from his pocket, tossing it to you. You catch it, immediately flicking it on, using the flame to torch the orange slice. 

Just a spritz of the orange, and then the rest of the peel for garnish.

You hand Carmy the drink from across the bar, before working on your second one.

He looks down at the deep red colored liquid before saying, “Sweetheart, you know I hate gin.” 

But you’re one step ahead of him. 

Only moments later, you’re stepping around the bar with a second glass of whiskey on the rocks prepared for him. You trade glasses with him, and he can’t take his eyes off of you as you finally say:

“Cheers.” 

Clink. 

“Cheers.”

You both take your respective first sips, making sure to hold eye contact with him as you do. He looks at you, and you’re not sure if he’s more surprised that you haven’t gotten caught or that he’s willfully watched you break into the hotel pool bar. 

“Thought you said we could take these back to the room,” he challenges. 

You smirk, even though your heart is filled with pure adoration for the man standing across from you. 

“Yes, chef.”

It’s an easy choice to take your drinks back to the room, opening the french doors that lead to the terrace. You pull a spare blanket from the hotel room closet, curling up with it outside. You drape the blanket over both you and Carmy as you settle down on his lap. He’s brought his lighter and a cigarette out with you, so you close the french doors behind you so that he can light one up. 

You haven’t stayed up this late with Carmy in a while. It feels good – spontaneous and a little rebellious – like anything could happen at any given moment. New York City always seems to bring this side out in you. 

It’s home. 

But Carmy is also your home. 

Having the two of them here all at once is an indescribable feeling. You enjoy the bitter taste of your negroni, the cool spring air kissing your skin as you sit on your boyfriend’s lap. Carmy enjoys his cigarette, his whiskey sitting on the patio table in front of the two of you, as he exhales the smoke away from you. 

“Does being back here feel… I don’t know. Weird to you?” Carmy asks, breaking the quiet between the two of you. 

It’s like he can read your mind, again.

“Yeah,” you answer. “But it’s a good weird. I think maybe because we have all these memories here, you know?”

He takes another drag off the cigarette and it’s your turn to ask him a question. 

“I wonder what would’ve happened if you hadn’t spilled your drink on me that night. You think we still would’ve become friends?”

He’s quiet for a moment as he thinks about it. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, answering honestly. 

You let out a small laugh. 

“Hell of a way to get a girl’s attention.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“Bullshit.”

He’s telling the truth – sort of. He hadn’t been trying to get your attention, though he had spent most of the night racking his brain for any kind of conversation starter – get out of his own fuckin’ head. But he’d spent most of the night overthinking and coming up with reasons not to. He had sort of been your boss back then, after all.

He waits a beat before admitting, “And maybe the only way I would’ve even talked to you that night.”

You hum in response, taking another sip of your negroni. 

“Even then I thought I’d fully fuckin’ blown it.”

“You didn’t,” you say, shaking your head. 

“Uh… yeah I did,” he smiles, shooting you a ‘c’mon’ kind of look. “The first time you ever actually talked to me and… you’re fuckin’ furious. I was terrified.”

You can remember your first real conversation with Carmy fondly – even if it hadn’t been the fondest experience at the time.

“Baby, you ruined my shirt!” you exclaim with a laugh. “I had every right to be mad at you.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d see another day after that,” Carmy recalls, shaking his head. 

“Also. Who drinks a soda the night they get the biggest promotion of their career?” you add, referring to the coke he’d spilled all over you the night he’d gotten promoted to CDC. 

“Pop,” he corrects you. “... is a perfectly normal thing to drink at a bar.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “It’s not. But I love you anyway.”

The staff of the restaurant had wanted to go out and celebrate Carmy’s new position, only Carmy hadn’t seemed like he was in much of a mood for celebrating as he’d refused shots all night. He’d been so nervous to talk to you all night, the recently hired pastry chef, and you’d assumed he hated you considering his cold and stoic demeanor at work seemed to translate to you outside of it as well. He thought for sure he’d blown any chance of getting to talk to you that night, when you accidentally bumped into him and he’d spilled his soda all over you. Your shirt was soaked through, and your friends had rushed in with a spare t-shirt for you to change into. You’d come to find days later that it was Carmy’s shirt that he’d had in his bag.

That soda – and his chivalry that evening –  had set it all in motion.

“After all that, think we’d be here?” he asks, his eyes more like a sad, sweet puppy than ever before.

“No,” you answer honestly with a half smile. “But once I got to know you, I hoped maybe we could get here.”

He sighs, searching for the right words to tell you how he feels. The love you have together is more than he ever thought was possible for himself, and being back here with you has brought up so many memories of not feeling like enough. 

“It kinda feels…” he begins to say, choosing his words carefully. He wants to get it right. “...like. I don’t know. Kinda like we’re going backwards and forwards at the exact same time, you know?” 

You take another sip of your drink, processing what he’s said. He’s nailed it and you just need a moment to sit with his words.

“Yeah,” you sigh, like he’s finally named that thing you hadn’t been able to. “Like our past and our present are colliding or something.”

Carmy nods in agreement, “Yeah.”

You sit together in your comfortable quiet, listening to the sounds of the city below you: sirens, car horns, music from the bodega across the street. 

“I don’t know if I ever told you… how much your friendship meant to me back then. I wasn’t… well, I wasn’t in a great place,” Carmy admits, his eyes piercing and honest with his words. There’s a sadness to him and you wonder if this has been weighing on him over the last few days on top of everything else. 

“I know, sweetheart,” you reply empathetically. 

“I know we’ve talked about…” he trails off, searching for what he wants to say. “... how much we mean to each other now. But you meant so much to me back then too. I don’t-, I don’t know if I ever told you.” 

“Carmy,” you say, your heart swelling with love for the sad mess of a man whose arms you’re wrapped up in. “You didn’t need to. I-, I knew because… because you meant so much to me back then too.” 

He pauses, wondering if he should keep going, and coming to the conclusion that he wants to – not for your sake, but for his. 

Because he wants to tell you. 

“When we met… I wasn’t… planning on letting anyone in,” he continues. 

“Hmmm, didn’t notice,” you joke with him. 

He gives your hips a squeeze, causing you to giggle as you snuggle a little closer to him, hugging the blanket around the both of you. 

“I thought for sure I didn’t need anyone. Sure as hell didn’t want anyone. Had gone so long without someone to-. It just didn’t make sense for me anymore.”

You listen quietly, wanting him to give him the space to say what he needs to say. 

“You know, my sister used to say, she used to tell me that one day I’d wake up and I’d need someone. Someone other than Mikey and his friends – the kids I grew up with. And I didn’t believe her. And then he cut me out and-. And I got really fuckin’ good at it. At the food. At being alone….”

And then you came along.

“But you didn’t push me… you didn’t ask me to be anyone that I-. You just… let me be me… even if I didn’t give you much to work with at first. I think… Sugar was right. I needed a friend back then… and you were always a friend. Are always… It’s why I love you.” 

You’re grinning, and you’re also so, so proud of him – how far he’s come – to be able to tell you all of this. 

You lean over to set your drink down on the patio table. You only have one thing to say him, as you hold his head between both of your hands:

“I’m so in love with you, Bear.”

*

read: chapter three

a/n: the above first conversation/meeting that carmy x reader talk about WILL be written for my 'make my heart surrender' prequel everyone buckle up for the will-they-won't-they bc we all know THEY WILL

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos

[dracoflaco]

Waiting for you // Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x fem!reader

contains: fluff, stressed out reader, use of y/n, flashbacks (in italics), 1.2k words

a/n: its been so long since I write so if it looks cranky, don’t blame me. Idk honestly 🤷🏻‍♀️ (no summary cuz I'm lazy lol)

I reach for the box under my bed, it has been covered in dust meaning it has been down there since forever. Bumping my head in the process of taking the box, I let out a wince, “ouch, this damn bed. I’m throwing you away one day I swear,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. I wipe the dust away to see the hidden words under those dust. ‘Love’ was written on the lid of the box, “I don’t remember having this before” furrowing my eyebrows, trying to remember anything. 

The song from my playlist continues to play, starting a sad tune. I turn to where I place my phone, confused as to why there’s some kind of sad song and to be precise Taylor Swift? I shrug it away and stares at the box in front of me, I’ve been cleaning my room since this afternoon and without noticing the time, the sun has started to set. Plopping on my bed, I take the lid off. My smiles starts disappearing just how he did…

~

I laugh at him when he starts cracking some jokes out of nowhere. We’ve been walking for 30 minutes after our date night. Both us close to each other, my purse in his hand. “Also Nick face was literally covered in it, we had to make a TikTok,” Chris laughed, swinging my hand with his softly.

~

“Happy Birthday my pretty girl. I’m sorry I had to! It was the plan, baby,” he winked, handing me the flower lego to me “my love will last just how this flower last” I laughed at his cheesy pickup lines, rolling my eyes playfully “I really thought you forgot about it, Chris. You better don’t do this again” I squint my eyes at him. “We’ll see princess, we’ll see.” He said, shrugging his shoulder making the ‘who knows’ face. I slap his arm playfully, he eventually starts laughing and bringing me closer into his arms, “I love you, y/n. Even the world can’t describe it” 

~

“This is so good, baby. Cook more often please please please” he begged, chewing the food I made for him. Chris stands up from his seat and walks towards me “Thank you, baby” He hugs me from behind and lift me off from the floor to twirl me. I laugh lightly “Chrisss, put me down” I whine playfully and he set me back on the floor, giving my face all the kiss it needed.

~

A solemn tear fell down my cheek, snapping me out of it. I blink my eyes a few times to stop it but the tears keep flowing down my face like a river escaping a dam. I try wiping it away as the door of my room creaks open, someone just came into my room. Luckily my back was facing the door, giving me times to prepare myself and turns around once I think I’m presentable enough. Nick stood there at my door frame, concerns could be seen on his face, “Nick? Hey, what are you doing here? Should’ve tell me before barging into my room,” I chuckled, eyes avoiding his

“You’ve been crying.” Nick stated, heading towards where I’m seated. One look of the things in my hands, he knew it straightaway. “Missing him? Everyday I passed his room, I could hear him sobbing his heart out. He still loves you, you know? Let him in again?” He suggests, rubbing my shoulder softly. Bringing me closer to his side, laying my head on his shoulder. I stare at the necklace which happened to be in the box, being on the top of the other.

“How? How, Nick? He was the one who ended it, I got no time to stop him from doing so!” I cry out, burying my face in his shoulder. My whole body is shaking from the amount of tears and sobs coming out of me. “Yet you still cry about it, y/n. It’s been what? Almost a year and you two still mourn for each other. I never believe you when you said you moved on from him. It was and still is in your eyes.” Nick whispered into my ears, his hand never stops rubbing my shoulder. 

“It hurts Nick, I still want him but God knows how my brain despise him when he said those words to me but my heart says the opposite” I sobbed, pouring my heart out. Nick only nods and comfort me softly, whispering sweetness to me till I slowly calm down from all the loud sob, non stopping flows of tears. My fingers taking the necklace from the box and turn it around. An engrave of ‘I love you - c.s’. I let my thumb stays on the engraving.

Minutes of staring it, I unclasp the hook and place it around my neck. Nick only observe my movement, saying absolutely nothing. I sigh lowly, resting the necklace on my collarbone. Sounds of a phone ringing starts to play, Nick take his phone out of the pocket of his trousers. The caller ID shows that it was Chris. I nod towards the phone, telling Nick to answer the phone call.

His thumb lingers on the decline button but finally pressing the green button, “Chris? Why’d you call?” He ask, talking to the phone. I shift away from Nick to give them both some privacy. I search for my phone only to be met with the battery logo. Grabbing the charger on the bedside table and plugging it in. “I’ll give you two some times but don’t ask again after this. You better not missed anything or even mess this up again, or I’m killing you myself.” The call comes to an end.

I walk back to my bed and peers at his phone, “what happened?” I asked, picking up the box from the bed and move it into my closet. “Nothing, Chris just asked about the juice from yesterday.” Oh. I nodded out of disappointment and settle down beside him. “Whatever happen, just let it flow naturally. Do not push it away. You better hear me out this time, y/n.” He said, looking into my eyes with seriousness. 

My brow furrows softly, confusion starts to spread on my face, “okay? Anyway why did you come here all of a sudden?”

“You weren’t answering the text I gave you and all my calls went straight to the voicemail. You expect me not to panic knowing you” He said, crossing his arms. “Anyway I’m gonna go buy some takeout with Matt, you want the usual?” 

“The usual I guess?” I shrugged, “up to you though, I don’t mind” 

Nick wave at me and left me alone in my room with my clouded thoughts. Sighing, I rose to my feet and drag myself to the bathroom to wash my face. My eyes are a bit red and puffy after the crying session and all. The sound of my door bell rings all over my house, I dry my face quickly. Rushing down the stairs to open the door. Time seeming to slow down, feeling as if I can hear my own heartbeat. There he stood, My Chris or what used to be. The tears in my eyes threatening to fall, “Chris…” I whispered-

-to be continued-

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 9 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

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

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

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

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; jealousy; negative self-talk; talks of miscarriage and hysterical pregnancy; allusions to childhood abuse; talks of pregnancy; extreme feelings of stress and anxiety; feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; therapy; talks of grieving a baby; pregnancy hormones (just the beginning lol); reader checking Jake out and being sad while she does it (lmao) (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 22.1k+

a/n: sorry it took a month, besties... hopefully this angsty fucking chapter makes up for it lmao <3

and don't worry, i won't be gone long ;)

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

-Horace

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 30, 2022

Birds were chirping. The melodies of an acoustic guitar playing lullabies made your heart warm in your chest. A baby’s cries were being mellowed by the sound of the guitar. A smile, reaching the baby’s face that matched the one on the man playing the strings.

But you couldn’t look at him. Only the bundle of pure, unadulterated, untouched love in your arms; her eyes, looking the same as his, caught yours, the color of caramel coffee. . . twinkling just like his. . .

All pink and white and golden rays of sunshine.

Then, it was gone. 

No. Not again.

There was no more peace. No more lullabies. No more love from parent to child. . .

All dark and dirty and ear-piercing screams. 

A sister, trying to cover your eyes from what was happening, just inches in front of you.

Then there were hands. Hands gripping at your arms, the sister screeching, yelling and clawing for you as she got ripped away. As you got picked up so harshly your head hit something hard, making you dizzy. . . 

When you closed your eyes from the dizziness, you opened them afterwards to see that your sister was back. But she was older this time. 

Elsie. She was stunningly beautiful, as you knew she would grow up to be. Put together in an outfit that resembled that of Rachel Green. Her hair, flowing in strawberry blonde, soft waves around her delicate features and her blue eyes were wide open and wondering. Searching your eyes for something hidden in them. . .

What was she wanting? You couldn’t tell . . . Just as you were about to speak to ask her, she was in front of you, nudging you, not nearly as abrasively as the hands from before. 

You studied her quizzically – why was she–?

“Wake up!”

And the next time you blinked, your eyes were opened wide. 

To reality. To Elsie, shaking your arm in the present. You were an adult, she was an adult. Things were okay.

Life was safe again.

Shit. I’m so tired of that fucking dream, you thought angrily, sitting up and letting the covers fall away from your sweaty, tensed body. 

Blinking furiously, you let yourself cling to the softness— the safety of your bed. The bed hugged you, cocooned you in the fluffy down comforter. You were in your clean, quiet apartment. . . the rays peeking through your bedroom windows the same as they’d been at the beginning of your dream. 

“Sis,” Elsie said your name, out of all of her patience. “Come the fuck on. I’m hungry and I need coffee so bad. You know me. You know I’m about to lose all ability in my limbs if I don’t have caffeine stat–I need it. To survive,” she clutched her chest dramatically. “Please. Get your lazy ass up.”

You rolled your eyes with a giant huff, throwing your covers off of you to try and hit her with them. When you heard her gasp and slap at the covers, you figured you succeeded. 

“Y/n!” She said, backing up from the bed. When you saw her next, her hair was sticking up on all sides from static. Success. But she was laughing, finding it funny nonetheless. “You’re such a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one,” you said, sitting up to stretch a little. You had to fight the urge to put a hand to your tummy. Not in front of Elsie. “Now leave, I have to change.”

“I’ve seen you naked a million times before,” she argued. “Nothing I haven’t seen already.”

There sure as hell is something you haven’t seen on me already. . . Albeit a little small, but rounder nonetheless. 

“Well I don’t want you to look at my naked body this morning, so get the fuck out.”

You were getting irritated. Just wanted to change in peace. Wanted to hold your belly to start the day. It was routine at this point.

She growled, opening your door. “You have five minutes, or I’m leaving your ass.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

As you pulled up to Waffle House, scream-singing Ariana Grande lyrics with Elsie at the top of your lungs, you were sincerely hoping that your stomach wouldn’t roll at the smell of the greasy breakfast food. 

The nostalgia of the morning was something you wanted to wrap up tight and not let flutter away in the crisp and cool October breeze.

Please, sweet baby, you pleaded. Love Waffle House with me. Don’t make me give this up.

You wanted this with Els. This particular establishment had been cathartic to you and your sister for several years. Talks that far surpassed therapy sessions occurred here, in the back booth, almost completely surrounded by windows. . . The thought of sitting in that back booth was enough to make you cry right on the spot. 

And the All Star Special sounded so fucking delicious. Good sign that it at least still sounded good, right? 

You just wanted scrambled eggs, ham, hash browns with ketchup, and a gigantic waffle with the restaurant name pressed in the middle. It was all you wanted at that moment. Truly. Nothing more, nothing less. . . Your mouth was watering.

Cheesy and strange as it was, you were quite literally crossing your fingers that the food wouldn’t make you projectile vomit as Elsie opened the door for you two. 

Please don’t make me sick, please don’t make me sick. . .

To your extreme relief, your tummy didn’t knot and squeeze. No bile came to the base of your throat. . . In fact, the vanilla waffle mixture, the sizzling, salty smell of the bacon and ham. . . it was better than before. Your heightened senses welcomed the scrumptious, sentimental scents that came with the establishment. 

And the back booth was open! 

Tears literally pricked your eyes at the sight. And you must’ve sniffled because Elsie spun around, where you waited to be seated, and checked on you with worried eyes.

“You okay?” She pondered, her tone light with a joke, but eyes still serious. 

Not able to fully collect yourself thanks to the fantastic hormonal effects of your pregnancy, you felt a tear hit your cheek when you sniffled once more. 

“Yeah,” goddamn, even your voice sounded fucking wet with emotion. “Just happy to be here with you.”

Tell her, y/n. Let her help you. . .Tell her.

Fuck that came out of nowhere. 

The soft, reassuring voice being the one to guide you would take a lot of getting used to if it was going to continue as the one to help you, rather than the harsh, critical one that’d taunted you since you were a child.

Honestly, when the calm voice came to you, your mind settled in the waves of reassurance. This was the voice you longed to hear anytime the dark one wanted to boss you around. . .wanted to push you down when you were up. 

It always spoke soft truths to you. This voice didn’t make you feel like utter shit; this was the one that sounded more like Elsie than you’d like to admit.

As you started walking to your beloved booth, you were trying to find a solid reason to not tell Elsie right now. . . You had to tell someone. Right? And it was killing you to be around her and keep her in the dark. She was safe. And, at that moment, the only person you really wanted to tell was your big sister. No matter how bossy she may get, it was worth it to have her know. She was your one and only safety net for years for good reason. 

And she was going to be leaving again tonight until Thanksgiving. There was no way you could wait to tell her until then. 

She’d also never forgive you if you kept it from her for too long. You couldn’t blame her. If roles were reversed, you’d kill her if she waited to tell you until she had a noticeably round belly. . .

You sat down at your booth. You, at the seat with your back to the big windows, her smile wide as she made small talk with the worn-out waitress. Elsie’s smile, though, was big enough it brought a smile to the tired woman’s face. Elsie got along with everybody, and the waitress was no different. 

God, she was sunshine for you. 

As the woman placed your menus down in front of you two, you immediately flipped it to the side with the All Star Special. You watched her kind face, aged from years of hard work, and found comfort in the thickness of her voice from even more years of smoke, as she asked for your drink orders. 

Elsie ordered her blessed coffee and you sat there, contemplating. . . stuck. Normally, you’d order a Mr. Pibb. . .but was that healthy for the baby?

Your sister stared at you, her brows wrinkled as she gave you a questioning smile. 

“Just get her a Mr. Pi–,” Elsie started.

“I’ll take an orange juice,” you finished. 

The sweet waitress left to get your orders ready, and when you looked up from your menu to Elsie’s face again, she was looking at you like you’d grown three heads.

 “Orange juice?!” She asked, as if you’d just insulted her on a great scale. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

You felt nervous under her stare and questions. You were going to tell her anyway. . . why were you feeling your skin prick with nerves? 

“Just felt like getting an orange juice. . .,” you said, shrugging your shoulders to play it off. “No biggie.”

“I cannot remember one time we’ve come here– in the years we’ve come here– where you’ve gotten anything besides a Mr. Pibb.” She leaned across the table to put the back of her hand to your forehead. She then jokingly asked, “Are you well?”

You watched her laugh at her own joke, her eyes, smiling. The same ones you’d looked into when, for years, you’d told her your deepest secrets. . . A couple of things came to your mind. When you lost your virginity and felt like shit about it (for God knows what reason); she’d raised your spirits by telling you she’d felt the same at first, but it got better with time. Then there’d been when you’d smoked weed for the first time and you felt so horribly about it (again, why?); she told you it was not a bad thing to do and that you deserved to feel so free as the drug would make you feel. 

Very rarely had she been extremely judgemental. 

Right now, she was giving you yet another look of concern, though. . .So, you decided. It was time. Now or never.

“Sis, what’s–?”

“I’m pregnant.”

There it was. First time you’d said it out loud. Damn. In that moment, it felt even more real to you, too. 

You were with child. There was a baby in you. There was life growing inside of your uterus. 

Then the opposite train of thought rushed through you. . .were you pregnant? Was the baby still in there? You hadn’t really had time to obsessive-compulsively research any of that yet. Could your tummy still grow if you had a miscarriage? Was that possible? Was there a baby inside of you?

You had to shake your head from your sudden wave of unwelcome, anxious thoughts. There was no reason to believe you’d lost the baby. . . right? Surely. . . You wouldn’t let your anxiety get the best of you. Blinking a few times, you chanced a look at your sister again.

She gaped at you, staying that way until the waitress came back with your drinks, not saying a word. Didn’t even look away from you when the waitress spoke, asking for your orders. You had to tell the woman it would be a minute, while Elsie still zoned out on you. 

Her eyes just bored into yours until you started feeling uncomfortable and irritable. 

Talk, Elsie. Fuck.

You clasped your hands together under the table, over your tummy. . .had to do something with them. And after continuing to wait a couple more minutes, you decided if she wasn’t going to say anything, you would. “Can you say some–?”

“What the fuck?” She asked, voice much louder than it should be for a quiet Sunday morning at Waffle House. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the heads of patrons turn towards you. Inquiring eyes were not what you needed at the moment.

Your cheeks heated as you grit your teeth. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Elsie?” You fumed, automatically defensive for the life inside of you. “I had sex. I got pregnant. Simple as that.”

You’d never felt this sense of protection for anyone in your life. Not even your sister. No, at that moment, you were ready to go to bat for your baby against the woman who’d been your first line of defense your entire life. 

Thankfully the next time she talked, she sounded more subdued and understanding.

“I– I didn’t mean for it to come off that way, babe,” she said, shaking her head, laying a hand against her forehead. Her eyes searched for yours to believe her. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right response.”

“It’s oka–.”

“This is a sensitive time for you–for any woman–my god,” she continued, not letting you make any excuse. “I was just in shock–still am, obviously–but I’m not upset,” she said, pausing. Then she narrowed her eyes, testing you. “How far along are you though?”

You giggled, remembering your earlier thoughts. The two of you were so alike. More like twins than anything, honestly. “I’m only like ten weeks, I think,” you smoothly said. “I found out two weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep it or not, and I didn’t want to tell anyone until I decided. It was my decision and I didn’t want anything or anyone to sway me.”

“That is all valid and correct,” she agreed, nodding her head. Then, she continued asking questions as she poured too much half and half in her coffee. “How do you feel about it? Good? Bad? Sad? Happy? Overjoyed? Utterly depressed?”

Your eyes bugged, and you waved your hands at her once she was drinking from her mug, watching you and waiting for a response. “Damn, slow down,” you began, entwining your hands again, on top of the table this time. “First of all, per usual, I don’t always know how I’m feeling. . . But–it’s strange,” you started, squinting out the window just next to her. “It’s like, this time, instead of bouncing back and forth between sad and mad and confused. . .I’m more bouncing between a variety of happy emotions for this life,” you untangled your hands to once again place them on your tummy, below the table. “The confusion is still there, but for this baby. . .the emotions are mostly positive ones full of hope and love,” you looked back at her. “It’s weird.”

She was squinting at you, nodding her head as she took everything in. 

Then the waitress was back, taking your orders. And just as soon, she was gone.

Elsie spoke before you could. “What changed?”

Snorting, you gave her a look. “Really, Els?”

Yet again, she narrowed her eyes, but this time it was out of annoyance. “You know what I mean.”

You did. She wanted to get to the heart of it. Not the situation. But what had changed inside of you to instigate your new, surprising view of things? You really weren’t sure . . . To be completely honest, this new feeling had just started yesterday. Less than 24 hours ago, you’d made the decision that would change your life forever.

But, you answered the best you could in spite of it all. 

“I don’t know,” you glanced down at your hands, holding your sweater-clad tummy. You hadn’t had to delve into oversized sweaters the past couple of weeks. Not quite yet. Your tummy wasn’t that round. “I just kind of started thinking on behalf of this life I made, and not really myself. I put him, her–whatever the fuck it is– first and doing that just gave me this new outlook. Like I didn’t have all of the time in the world to criticize myself anymore. Because I have someone else to look out for. Someone special–someone whose life I have to be careful with– a life I hold in my hands.”

She giggled. “Literally,” she motioned in the direction of your hand placement. You joined in on her little moment of humor, enjoying the feeling of normalcy with her. She knew, and things were still the same as always. You didn’t feel any weirdness emanating off of her. This moment was easing you and brought you a sense of undefinable calm. Something you’d needed so badly. She kept on, having more to say. “I’m so fucking glad you’re starting to feel lighter,” she stated, reaching a hand out towards you, palm up on the table. “You’ve always carried so much on your shoulders. Always. And it has sucked to watch helplessly. You have hurt for too damn long and you deserve more than anyone to feel this new happiness.” 

The tear that suddenly gathered at the corner of your eye and trickled down your cheek was unstoppable.  

You moved a hand to place in hers and you squeezed each other. “Thanks Els,” you wetly responded. And nothing more– just needed her to know you were thankful.

After a minute of just communicating with your eyes, your food was being brought in small increments. Her biscuits and gravy were placed at the same time as your plate of eggs, hash browns, and ham. 

“Your waffle will be out shortly, honey,” the waitress smokily said, tone sweet as could be. “You two enjoy.”

After you’d both responded with a nod and she was gone, there was no stopping you two from digging in. 

After swallowing her first bite of food with a moan, she looked at you, still chewing your hash browns, which now tasted more like the sugary, tomatoey ketchup you’d smothered them with. 

“God, I was starving,” she said, taking a little sip of her half and half with a dash of coffee. She squeaked a little as she set her coffee down, a smirk on her glossed lips. “Josh would not quit last night.” 

You made a gagging motion at the implication, your brow furrowed with disgust at her words. 

Then, you took your first sip of orange juice. 

Goddamn.

Fuck! Ew. Baby does not like orange juice.

Coughing a little, your throat felt ready to reject the liquid right as it hit your uvula. Gross as it was, you put as much as you could back into the glass, not caring for Elsie’s reaction. 

“That’s not nasty at all,” she sarcastically noted, still chewing her food. 

You kept coughing into your hand, swallowing as much as you could, focusing on getting it down, not wanting to projectile vomit all over your breakfast. 

I’ll show you nasty, Elsie. Don’t test me.

You rolled your eyes at her remark, finally getting the remains of the drink down. You held your napkin to your face, coughing a bit. “Says the woman who’s talking and chewing,” you said, your voice weak to avoid any bile rising in your throat and at the sour, putrid taste still sitting on your tongue. “And you’re one to talk–telling me way more than I need to know about Josh.”

She snickered. “I’ll tell you more. Just say the word.”

Laughing once outright, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, that won’t ever be happening,” you tried taking a bite of hash browns to get the taste of orange juice off your tongue. But it only made it worse. Your throat was not ready to accept any more at the moment. Spitting the mushy remains in your napkin, folding it up so as not to offend other customers. Your throat was tight as you responded. “I need water.”

“Here we go, babydoll! Waffles just for you,” the waitress returned, placing the food right in front of you. The waffle did not look appetizing in the slightest. You didn’t bother looking up to say anything, instead squeezing your eyes shut and willing the nausea away. “You okay, sweetie? D’ya need anything?”

“Can we get a water and a Sprite?” Elsie intervened, calmly requesting. “And like, ASAP, if that’s doable. . .”

“Sure thing! Back in a flash!” 

You kept your eyes closed, the twirling in your stomach not going away, but not intensifying either. You were scared to talk–afraid of what might come from your mouth if you did. 

“Here,” the sweet, older lady’s voice rang through, as you heard the plastic cups hit the table. She was rushing, her voice moving fast. “Gotta go to another table, but wave me down if ya need me, sugar.”

“I think we’re good for now,” Elsie reassured. You could hear the smile in her tone. “Thank you so much.” A few seconds passed, then your sister was tapping your hand that was still laid on the table. “Sis, please take a drink from one of them.”

Keeping one hand pressed to your mouth, you tapped the wrapper off of the straw. You chose the carbonated Sprite, banking on the carbonation and natural aid of Sprite for a sensitive stomach.

As soon as the ice cold, fizzing drink hit your tongue, you felt relief. The feeling hadn’t gone away in your tummy, but you also didn’t feel like you were going to hurl at any moment anymore either. You took a few short, yet healthy, sips, eyes closing again to center yourself. 

Your eyes trailed back to hers after you sat the cup down.

“You okay?” Elsie questioned, following you with her blue eyes, which swam with concern. You nodded, then she talked again. “Do you get sick a lot?”

Reaching for the water, you took one little drink of that, finally feeling able to talk. Your stomach was simmering slowly. You pushed the plates away, needing the food away from you for the time being.

“Not hungry?” 

You shook your head, your brows furrowed. “Not now. Fuckin’ orange juice,” you flipped off the offensively orange drink. Elsie snorted at you, and you grinned at her. “And to answer you, yes. I puke all of the time. Thought it was stress at first. Just throwing up because of all of my stress.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing her own food away. “You’re an idiot.” You scoffed at that, offended. “I’m just saying. You’ve never been a puker. Fevers and shit, yes. But never thrown up a whole lot. And you’ve had some terrible fucking stress in your life. . . never vomiting from any of it; just to remind you.”

“I guess I just wanted to stay ignorant,” you admitted. “And I didn’t think it was possible at all that I was pregnant.”

She hummed in understanding, then she leveled you with a stare as she took a drink of her coffee. 

“What now?” You groaned. “You fuckin’ weas–.”

“Does Jake know?”

Your stomach fell all the way to the bottom your feet. Fuck. What? How did she know?

Stupidly, you tried to reject it. Why would you try to hide it from her? You didn’t know. There was no point in trying to hide it. 

“Why would he need to know? This doesn’t concern him. He’s not the fath—.”

She practically honked with a huge laugh, blossoming from the back of her throat. You blushed, sinking back into your seat. Why would you even try to play dumb? You knew better than to do that with her. 

After wiping a little tear from below her eye, she sipped at her water. Sitting her glass down, she coughed a couple times and snorted with another giggle before continuing. “Please do not insult my intelligence like that.”

Weakly, you tried to defend yourself. “You believed me at the festival that we weren’t fucking anymore, so I just assumed–.”

“You think I believed that shit?!” She gawked at you– in disbelief that you’d thought that of her. “I just wasn’t going to push it out of you while you were so obviously in the depths of sorrow over that girl that was with him.”

Face flushing yet again, you chewed on the inside of your cheek. “‘Depths of sorrow’ is dramatic.” And true, you silently agreed with her. So incredibly, stupidly true.

“And you’re pregnant with Jake’s kid,” she pushed, wanting to hear you say it yourself.

You looked up at her through your lashes, not ready to say it out loud. But definitely needing to. . . and who better than your sister to say it out loud to for the very first time?

“Jake is the baby’s father, yes,” you said plainly, looking directly in her eyes as you said it. Then, immediately peering out the window, directly to your right. “Half him, half me,” you murmured, under your breath.

You pressed your shoulder, clad in your fluffy sweater, against the chilled glass. You still felt the coldness from the brisk autumn day through the thick windows. It calmed your heart which beat frantically against your breastbone. Talking out loud about Jake being the father of your child made reality slap you in the face. You were carrying Jake’s baby. Inside your womb was half of Jake and half of you. Together. Something you’d made. . . together. 

The thought of a part of him just floating around in your uterus was honestly jarring. . . but not unwelcome. Not unwelcome at all. No, in fact because the baby was half of him, you’d decided you had to keep it. Jake was the reason that the baby was a necessity to this world. A piece of the first man you’d ever. . . 

You shook your head amidst the raging thoughts, deciding to cut them off right. there. That was a path you did not want to venture down. 

Dangerous territory.

Knowing the baby was his and that fact being was the sole reason you had to keep it. . .that was big enough for you to acknowledge. Huge, actually. . . You couldn’t believe you’d let yourself face that so surely and honestly. But. . . that was something you refused to tell your sister. That was one thing for you and only you to know. It felt too personal to share–belonged in your heart alone.

The mother and child you were observing just outside Waffle House were about to get you lost in thought again . . . You could spend hours appreciating a true, authentic love between a mother and her child. You’d never had it, and it was just so unique in and of itself. A relationship that held its own definition of love. A love so lovely, precious, safe. . . wholesome.

You were desperate to create that for a child. Something you hadn’t had the privilege of experiencing. And the baby in your womb deserved to feel it. . . But could you do it? Or were you too much like your mom?

Before you could fall down that depressing rabbit hole, you slowly swiveled your head back in the direction of your sister. 

Then, without much contemplation, you unloaded. Told her everything. Informed her of the situation between you and Jake, how you started feeling iffy about all of it towards the end, and then how you’d decided to cut it off due to your desire to protect him. It rushed out of your mouth, with almost no thought and you honestly didn’t have time to consider anything before it slipped from your lips and into the air between the two of you. 

Elsie was watching you, eyes attentively following your every word and movement. She looked ready to help. As always. Her eyes, the color of the ocean and just as deep and sure as the waves that enveloped it. The overwhelming calm you felt after telling her, also similar to the ocean in its ability to offer peace. . . 

What she said first was not what you were expecting. No counsel. Just humility. 

“I’m sorry for what I said about you watching that girl with Jake at the festival,” she started, tucking her hands in her lap, expression sincere. “That was callous. Not the time.”

Wrinkling your brow, you argued back, unnecessarily defensive and overwrought with emotion after spilling all of that and for the life in your belly (lovely hormones). “I’m still me, Elsie,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

She raised a brow, combatting you. “Fine. If you’re still you, then I can say this: get the fuck over yourself and just be with him,” taking a drink of her coffee, she made a face. “Room temperature coffee is absolute balls,” she looked over her shoulder, trying to connect eyes with the waitress. 

You saw the woman head your way, and immediately got the hint when Elsie held the cup out with puppy dog eyes. “You’ve got it, sweet baby.”

“Thank you,” Elsie said, her voice that of a grateful servant to the woman. 

“You, with your food and drinks that must be so hot they burn your mout–.”

“We’re not done with you. So, shut up.”

“Jesus, Elsie! I–.”

Holding a perfectly manicured hand up, black nails flashing in front of you briefly, she cut you off. “No! I don’t want to hear any more of the bullshit. You’re literally having his baby. Get over this. . . thing in your head, and just be with him. You obviously want it. And I think he does, too.”

You sighed, the breath coming fully from your lungs. It wasn’t like you didn’t want it, too. . . it was just complicated. “It’s not that easy, Elsie,” you lamented. “There are several pieces to the puzzle.”

“Liiiiike . . .?” 

“Well, for one,” you held up a finger to start the count. “He has a girlfriend now.”

“No he doesn’t,” she scrunched her face, completely disagreeing. “He’s not with any–.”

“They showed up to the party together, Elsie. The girl from the festival. And they have a past. He was groping her all night last night and she never left his side,” you repeated the events aloud, your stomach rolling at the heinous thoughts. 

“Oh, shit,” her eyes got big, blowing out a slow breath. “I didn’t even realize. Josh and I–.”

“Were roaming the room for half of the night and preoccupied for the rest of it,” you said, shivering at the deplorable thought of your friend and sister. 

“I was with you for a good chunk of it, too, bitch,” she corrected, pointing at you. 

You stuck out your lip, nodding to agree. “You’re right. . .but you were also way too distracted by Josh to notice.”

She made the same face, mirroring you. “You are not wrong,” she grinned smartly, winking suggestively. “No regrets.”

“I’m going to puke on you.”

“Oh my god, please don’t,” she gagged. And then started singing a thank you as the waitress came back with your tickets and a fresh coffee. After dumping one million half and half cups into her mug, she took a hearty sip. When she sat it down, she practically vibrated in delight. “Oh hell yeah.”

“You know Josh hates coffee,” you noted. “Prefers tea.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know. We’ve had many long debates over the ridiculous fact,” she growled. “He’s a miscreant when he wants to be.”

You laughed outright. “Yes he is. Little fuckin’ gremlin.” 

The sound that roared out of her was more reminiscent of a yell than a laugh, but it became a string of snorting and giggles that you joined in on. After a few minutes of enjoying the sound of the other’s laughter, you shook your head and scratched your brow before seeing your phone light up with a notification. 

Stupidly, your tummy fluttered at the possibility of it being Jake texting you. But then you remembered that he would absolutely not be texting you in his right mind. . . that was not where you were with him right now. You weren’t sure you’d ever be there with him again. And that thought made your tummy sink as soon as it’d fluttered. 

Though, the notification on your screen was enough to bring a little grin to your face, your eyes watering with the overwhelming excitement and joy that ignited in your heart at the update from your Ovia Pregnancy app. 

Week 10: Congratulations, y/n! You’re heading into the tail end of your first trimester. Your baby is now the size of a kumquat and almost 1 ¼ inches long!

Not being able to help it, you turned your phone to Elsie so she could see the notification as well. 

She read through it, her mouth moving as she took in the words. A wide, toothy smile made its way to her face–her entire demeanor lighting up with you. Clutching both hands to her chest, her eyes were wet next time you saw them. Your own eyes filled with more tears at her reaction to it. 

“I’m so proud to be an aunt to your little kumquat baby!” She said, her voice actually quivering with emotion. 

“I’m glad you’re proud,” you responded with a sniffle, drying your undereyes with a Waffle House napkin. “I’m proud, too.”

Her smile turned close-mouthed, yet no less sincere and delighted. “You should be,” she paused, then her crying eyes dried a bit as her tone turned serious. “And Jake will be, too. I know it, babe,” she stopped, pondering a thought. “You are going to tell him, right?”

You didn’t have to think about your answer. He had to know. You wanted him too, really. “Yes.” Then, your tummy flipped. “ But I don’t know if he’ll be super excited when I do,” you shook your head. “This was not in the cards for him this year. . . I wouldn’t blame him if he rejected the idea of me being pregnant with his baby.”

“Well, he wouldn’t reject it. I can say that for certain–I’m dating his twin and I know Josh would never reject a baby,” she said, wiping at her face with her own napkin. “And, I’m going to argue the other part, too. . . it obviously was in the cards for him,” she reached a hand out towards you and you took it. “This happened for a reason, sis. A good one. And Jake will view it as such.”

“I just don’t want it to slow him down,” you squeezed her hand, looking down to where they entwined on the gray table. “I need him to keep going and chase his dream.”

She raised a brow, shook her head from side to side, once again disbelieving. “He will, y/n. He’ll keep going. Josh is– and he and I are dating?. . . What’s the difference?”

“Where do I start? Most importantly, I’m messed up in the head and I need to work on myself before I expose him to myself,” you insisted, bringing your hand back to place on your tummy. “And he and Josh are different. . .Josh has a drive that Jake doesn’t. Jake gave up his dream before and he’ll do it again if he’s allowed. And a baby is already damn near the most drastically life changing thing that could happen to a person. Could completely screw up his plans,” you sighed resolutely. It was clear to her that you were firm on this, so she sat back with open and considerate eyes to let you finish. “Best to keep things separate between us so he has one less thing that is tempting him to put himself last. A baby is enough.”

She hummed, taking it all in. After taking a moment, she gave a response. “I just have one question.”

“Yes?” You prepared yourself, raising a brow.

“What’s the difference between you and the girl?-- What’s her name anyway?”

“Maya,” ugh. Hate that name. “Her name is Maya. And she is normal where I am not.”

“O-kaaaay,” she replied, still unsure of the validity in your response. You didn’t know why she seemed so unsure. She knew you better than you knew yourself. She knew you were jacked up. She let out a massive sigh, then continued. “Well, I don’t personally think you know her well enough to make that assumption. She could be more detrimental to him than you–.”

“Not possib–.”

“And you could be exactly what he needs,” she said, almost in finality, though it was obvious she wasn’t done when she leaned forward, her tone hard and steadfast. “You’re also not as “jacked up” as you seem to believe you are. Have you got things to heal? Yes. But are you still one of the most incredible people that has ever walked this planet–if not the most incredible? Even more so, yes,” her eyes watered again, but she sniffed the tears away to say her last piece. “I think you could very well be exactly what Jake Kiszka needs to be complete. And even though I wasn’t around for all of the intricacies of you two, I should’ve caught on. Because I do know the way that man fucking looks at you. . . and dammit if I’ve ever seen another man look at a woman the way he looks at you. . . not even Josh with me or Grandpa with Grandma.”

Your heart swelled and your cheeks grew instantly red. Your blood buzzed in your veins. . . did he really look at you like that? 

Then, selfishly, you wondered if anyone else had noticed like Elsie had. . . like Josh. Fuck. Did he see how Jake looked at you? Had he already presumed things about you and Jake based on how his twin apparently, blatantly, ogled you? And then you realized, yet again, how you would have to obviously tell Josh of the baby. . . oh god; how would he react?

“I wish he wouldn’t,” you muttered. “I don’t need anyone to–.”

“To know?” She squeaked a giggle. “I’m sorry, babe. . . but I think your cover’s about to be totally blown within the next nine months.”

You groaned, placing your forehead in your hand as you blew your hair away from your face. “How will Josh react?” You moaned, halfway to yourself and halfway to her. 

“What?” 

You snapped up. “How in the hell is Josh going to react?!” You anxiously quizzed her, eyes wild. “He is already going to be hurt that I kept it from him. And then there’s the reason I kept it from him in the first place. . .,” you felt tears well in your throat right before you nearly slammed your head on your crossed arms, which laid against the table, dramatically. 

Okay, these hormones can fuck right off. 

“Why’s that, sissy?” She carefully inquired, tone soft, not judging your reaction the way you internally were. “Remind me again.”

You moaned, raising your head and willing the tears away. “He made it so incredibly clear to me how Jake didn’t need another woman infiltrating his life and distracting him. And how Jake needed this time to discover himself for the first time in his life. . . and I’ve completely ignored that desire of his,” a lone tear slipped from your ducts. “I’ve betrayed him. Selfishly.”

Letting the words sit in the air between you, she waited a couple of beats before inserting her two cents. “When does Jake finally get what he wants?”

You wrinkled a brow, tears completely dissipating out of curiosity for her next words.

“I mean. . .” she started, making a thoughtful smacking sound with her mouth. “Josh thinks he can call the shots. You think you can just decide to not let yourself ruin his life? Like, what the hell, first of all? And second of all. . . what if he doesn’t care about any of that shit and just wants you? Did you ever take a second to consider that?”

“Yes, Elsie,” you growled, defensive once again. “And that’s why I’m keeping the ball in my court. I’m protecting him. And that was Josh’s intent, too.”

“I don’t know where you two get off acting like Jake isn’t a grown ass man who can make his own decisions. . .,” she trailed off, flashing an irritated look out the window. 

You did not want to get into this right now. The conversation was trailing much further than you fucking wanted. Your nerves were practically electrifying you and your head felt heavy.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Elsie,” you shortly bit out at her. She snapped her head back at you, her eyes still on fire. You stayed firm. “I’m done talking about all of that shit,” your hands laid safely on your lower, swelling tummy. “I have bigger things to consider now,” after glancing down at your stomach, you hit her with another stern glare. “So drop it.”

Her chest was heaving. 

You were not sure what was happening; why was she suddenly so “Team Jake”? When had that happened? And again, why? 

“Fine,” she conceded, sniffing resolutely once and then went to sip her coffee. Which, by the look on her face, was cold again. “Yuck. Can we bust this joint and go to Starbs? I need the sweet stuff.”

You sighed with relief at the change in subject. “Yes,” you smiled. “Let’s.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

It was just you and your sister in the open apartment, which was now completely cleaned from last night’s festivities due to your obsessive-compulsive cleaning. Though, you couldn’t help but notice when you’d come back from breakfast, Jake had been gone and the apartment looked much better than when you’d left with Elsie. It felt nice that he cared for the apartment, too–enough to try to keep it clean. 

You trained your thoughts on Elsie, as she waited at the door to leave, bags completely packed, awaiting her Uber to the airport (you were, unfortunately, so suddenly fucking tired that you had decided you weren’t fit to drive her). 

You didn’t want to let her go. She was your one person who knew now, and no matter how much she challenged your stance on Jake, she was still your sister and your person and you needed her with you during this time. . .

“Can you not just stay for a couple more days?” You tried once more, knowing better than to ask, as she’d repeated the words more than once now. “Let them know your sister is having an existential crisis and needs you?”

She huffed with a grin, rolling her eyes. “You are literally fine,” she reassured, reaching a hand out to hold your arm. But instead of letting it stop there, you fell into it and let yourself fall into her–let yourself wrap both of your arms around her shoulders, hugging yourself tightly to her. 

“Please don’t leave,” you moaned, your voice so meek it was straight up depressing. “I need you.”

She hugged you back, dropped her duffel off her shoulder in the process of embracing you. “I always need you, sissy,” she agreed. “But I’m just a FaceTime or text away,” she assured you, combing her hands through your wet hair, having taken a shower while she’d been gone saying her goodbyes to Josh. “I’m here. And you have people here. You just need to let. them. in.”

“I know. . .,” you sighed hotly into her natural curls. “I’m just so scared to tell Jo–.”

“I’m tired of hearing that, babe,” she asserted firmly. “Because the last person you need to be scared to tell is Joshua,” she stated, leaving no room for argument, right in your ear. “And if you think about it, you know him well enough to fucking know that. So get out of your maze of thoughts and know the truth.”

She was right. . . Truly, you knew she was. You knew his heart. But. . . “How will I even. . .?” 

Pulling away from you, she kept her hands wrapped around your forearms, keeping a caring hold on you. Keeping you near. “I’ve actually been thinking about this, like, all day. . . but the first thing that came to my mind is what I keep going back to.”

You waited for more, but she didn’t continue her thought. Impatient, you asked. “Which is. . .?”

“Invite him to a doctor’s appointment. Maybe your. . .first?” she offered, questioning the last part. But sounded completely sure of her idea. “It’s the perfect way to break it to him. And. . .if I’m correct, I’m assuming you haven’t had one yet since you just decided to keep it?”

“Yeah. . . no appointment yet. So, I could. . .ugh,” you answered. “But– why? How–? Will he–?”

“It’s the ideal situation because he will feel like he’s being helpful and loving. He’ll be able to be there for you. He’ll feel needed and involved and that is literally all Josh wants in general in life, so. . .”

“It’s perfect,” you weakly agreed. It really was. You couldn’t deny it.

“Yes, it is,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder and lifted her duffel bag back over her shoulder. “I came up with it.”

You scoffed. “Okay, now. Don’t get a big fuckin’ head, loser.”

“Bitch,” she bit back, shoving your shoulder. 

Rubbing your shoulder in faux pain, you gave her a pitiful expression. “Elsie. I am with child, you need to be careful with me now.”

Bursting with a chuckle, straight from her chest, she shoved your other shoulder. “I’m not touching the damn stomach, so I’m good.” 

You shoved her back, dropping the act and giggling with her. “You right, you right,” you said. Then, your thoughts came back to the task at hand. The baby that was squirming around in you. “I’m still scared.”

“That’s another perfect aspect of telling him in that scenario though,” she added, assuring you with her opinion. “You can’t back out. You’ll have to tell him if he meets you at the doctor’s office or takes you there or whatever the hell he does. . . you’ll have no choice but to tell him before you go in. And he’ll just have to take it,” she said, her plan sounding, admittedly, concrete. “He will survive,” she dropped her hands from your arms and looped her belt bag around her chest before placing a hand delicately to your cheek. “I promise he’ll survive.”

Just then, her phone dinged, indicating her Uber had arrived. So, with many “I love you’s” and a few curse words, you were following her down the stairs, then hugging her tightly once more outside of her awaiting Uber. 

And as you watched her leave the parking lot, the tears started to flow. So. many. tears. Steady, hard, relentless weeping. . . 

The emotions were obviously true, yes, but the hormones–and your current, lonely headspace– were amplifying the already-existing emotions of her leaving to an incredibly irritating degree.

But before you could lose yourself in them any more, you heard a door to a car shut to your left, along with a laugh you knew all too well. Jake was home. 

And if you didn’t move, he was going to see you as a hysterical mess and you did not want his fucking pity right now. Last thing you needed. And worse, you also didn’t want to see his expression, for the chance it might be hard and uncaring. You also didn’t want to possibly see a certain woman arrive with him. 

You were sure she was with him. The feminine giggle you heard accompanying his endearing chuckles could be no one else.

So, instead of looking in his direction, you turned quickly on your heel and speed-walked up the stairs, a hand on your tummy to avoid any hurt to the kumquat baby. 

As soon as your back hit the closed door, you breathed a sigh, which turned into a long yawn. The kind that made you shiver with a sudden, urgent desire to sleep. You didn’t have to work today, you’d canceled study plans. . . So suddenly, you felt abundantly free and a nap sounded like the perfect remedy to the overwhelming emotions of your day.

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Monday came and went before you even knew it was happening. As did Tuesday. As did Wednesday. And when Thursday came around, you had your Modern Poetry elective. The one class you had with someone you knew relatively well. 

You hadn’t made it a priority to make tons of friends while in school to get your degree–you’d had Josh and Elsie, and eventually Sammy and Danny. . .and that had been enough. 

But, when Theo had popped back up into your life, anytime you saw him in a class, it really did feel nice to be around someone familiar at school. Even though he was on the more annoying side, he was still a good confidant.

And especially with the massive course load this semester, having someone you knew around was helpful. Good for feeling less alone. He was somebody who was going through school with you; he got the overwhelming amount of pressure from school, too. He felt the senioritis, too. . . but, his case was slightly different. 

He was ready to be done with school so he could pursue this career he longed to have in writing, while you were just ready to be done. 

Initially, when you had started the semester, you were just ready to be out of Pratt because you felt like you were wasting your time on a degree you’d lost passion for (save for your minor in media studies which gave you the occasional music-related course).

Now you weren’t sure why you were ready to be done. What made you feel more anxious to put Pratt in the past now? Was it the burning desire to be done with a passionless major? Or did the life in your tummy have something to do with it? The thought of the baby you held inside honestly got your blood pumping more excitedly in your veins than a college degree ever could. 

You really only cared about ascertaining a healthy baby– no longer caring much for a piece of paper saying you had studied writing, uselessly, for four long years. 

But you had to make it through school. If not for you, for your baby. You didn’t have much longer left, and you owed it to that child to see this through. You had to find some drive though. So, in came Theo to help with that. He was great at encouraging others, and that was exactly what you needed while trudging through the sixteen hours of classes you’d enrolled in this semester. 

When you were getting up to leave for class that afternoon, you had your mind set on a big jar of baby pickles (stereotypical pregnant woman, much?). You were ready to get off campus and to the nearest grocery store for the deliciously tangy food. 

Before you could leave your two-person table, though, a hand came out to grab your arm as a way of stopping you. If you had acted on impulse, you would have whined and stomped your foot in protest at being kept from satisfying your pickle craving. 

But you didn’t act like a petulant child. Instead, you turned around, eyes opened and ready for whatever was needed from you. 

And when you looked behind your shoulder, Theo was there, a head or so above you, smiling and waiting for a response. 

“Yes?” You asked, semi-irritatedly, semi-sweetly. “What’s up?”

He just stared a little while longer, blinking rapidly before shaking his head. His blonde hair had grown out a bit and shook with the movement, eyes twinkling just enough, making your heart thump a little harder in your chest. 

Why in the hell? 

“I meant to ask you Tuesday, but you were gone before I could,” he started, adjusting his messenger bag over his shoulder. He shifted on his feet a little before peering curiously into your eyes. “Are you okay? I missed seeing you for our usual Sunday study time. . .”

You swallowed, slightly grumpy that he felt the need to pry. 

He’s just showing he cares, y/n, the angelic voice said, which now stopped by more occasionally than the negative one. 

Not wanting to tell him anything too personal (God, no), you went with the bare minimum. “A friend hosted a Halloween party at my place on Saturday, and my sister was actually in town for it,” you divulged, wrapping your fists tighter around the straps of your backpack. Please let me leave after this. “So I hung out with her yesterday while she was still in town.”

Not the whole truth, but not so much dishonesty to  me feel bad.

“Oh!” He said, a light hearted laugh accompanying his tone. “Cool. I remember from high school how close you two were.”

I remember how much she didn’t like you, you thought, feeling uneasy at past-Elsie’s opinion of the guy.

Was he really that bad though? He’d been great for you during high school. Even though it had only been a year of time with him, he had still been a decent person to have around during those formative years of your life. He had been considerate, kind, helpful. . . the only negative things you could remember were the few times he’d try to get you to calm down on unnecessary occasions. He could be occasionally judgmental, but wasn’t everyone to an extent?

And maybe you and Elsie had only been your average, overly sensitive high school girls and had thought he was worse than he actually was.

Because at this moment, all you could see were the green flecks in his blue eyes and how they caught the sun that shone in from the window behind you, and onto his pale face. The way he waited earnestly to hear your response made you feel special and valuable to him at this moment and what woman didn’t like that?

“Yeah,” you said, tucking some hair behind your ear before folding your hands over your chest. Aaand, wincing, you quickly moved them away. Your boobs were especially tender with the extra pressure against them. Every day they seemed to get more sensitive to the touch, feeling heavier–fuller. “We’re still that close. Probably closer now, actually. After living together, and then her job forcing her to be far away often. . .,” you trailed off, sad at the thought of her being so far away all the damn time. “We’re forced to communicate way more than we ever have before.”

He nodded, winking at you. And although he was cute, you didn’t feel anything at the wink, really. It didn’t swirl your tummy with nerves like it would with someone. . .else. You chalked it up to the craving that was still distracting you, making your tummy growl. 

He cleared his throat before he tucked one hand in a jeans pocket and one tighter around the strap of his bag. “Intentional is the word,” he added with another wink, seeming to understand to a degree. But you caught the aggravating ‘know-it-all’ attitude. Tipping his head, he looked at you with smiling eyes. “You okay?” He motioned with his hand at your neck-chest region.

Your brow furrowed, confused. Defenses were instantly raised and you took a step back, tucking your hands into your back pockets. “Yes?” You retorted, tilting your head to challenge him. “Why?”

“Just saw you flinch and all,” he said, in wonder at your tone. When he spoke next, he no longer seemed understanding, only misunderstanding. “Nothing big. Don’t worry,” he held his hands out, as if calming a tiger. 

You felt stupid for overreacting, so you covered your tracks with a forced giggle, masking the situation the best you could with a straight-up (ironic) lie. “Just a certain time of the month,” you explained extremely falsely. “Overly reactive to everything right now.” That was true. 

“Oh,” he pointed a finger at you, pretending to get it. “Makes sense.”

Okay, you thought, squinting at him as he looked to the side with a sort of confidence. Maybe Elsie had been onto something. . . 

But then he peered down at you again with his sparkly eyes and shaggy, naturally blonde hair.  It made you feel a little weak for the guy, even with him irritating you.

But why was he irritating you, exactly? Maybe your emotions were controlling you a little too much– getting too easily offended thanks to the hormones. . . Perhaps he was just acting like a normal human, while you were the one who wasn't reacting like a normal human.

Your stomach was fucking growling though. . .Theo didn’t matter worth fuck at that moment. What did matter was how badly your body was craving eating for two. If you didn’t eat soon, you were afraid you would faint from lack of sustenance (you definitely wouldn’t, but there were the over-reactive feelings again). 

You started backing up, and made it just next to the table when you were saying your next words. “I’m going to go ahead and get out of her–.”

“Wait!”

Having just turned on your heel, your face was hidden from view, and you were able to roll your eyes when you heard him. You weren’t going to stop though. He could follow you to the parking lot. You were hungry and grouchy and ready to eat an entire jar of pickles before crashing hard against your sheets. Before you had to show up at the B&G for the evening shift.

“Follow me,” you said, short, only looking over your shoulder at him briefly before continuing your trek. But please don’t talk for long. 

You were just outside North Hall when you decided to stop, so you wouldn’t have to fear him stalling you at your car.

“What’s up?” You asked, playing cool despite your desire to grumble. 

“I actually– I just thought–,” he laughed, seemingly at himself. He scratched behind his ear. Then he stood up straight, determined after tucking both hands into his front pockets and clearing his throat for the second time that day. You noticed his jeans, dark wash, skinny, and complimenting his firm thighs. “I wanted to ask you to hang out with me sometime– outside of here.”

Seriously? He was stopping your pickle eating for this?

You couldn’t help the snicker that escaped you, confused. “We do hang out,” you grasped tightly to the straps of your backpack again, anxious to get food. Already tired of him. “Every Sunday.”

“Well, yeah,” he agreed, pausing. Then he grinned in a way you assumed he thought was cute. But all it really did was make your eyes hurt from the inability to roll, out of courtesy for him. He continued, taking a step closer. Your hands did start perspiring and your heart sped up positively at his proximity. “But I thought maybe we could do something not related to school?”

You opened your mouth to reject it–you were not interested. For many reasons. The biggest being the baby in your belly. . .

Although, the more you pondered the baby, you realized more than that, you were hesitant because of his or her father.

Not the child, but Jake. The man that was ever-present in your mind– with his beautiful, brunette hair, eyes the color of understanding, easing you in the most complex situations. . . and the heart that’d made the world suddenly make sense. . . (Which still scared the hell out of you, by the way.)

But. . .as the thoughts spiraled, it all started to have the opposite effect. Made you want to agree.

So, you did.

You said yes to hanging out with Theo. Because, as soon as that thought process had started derailing, you knew it was best to agree. The idea of hanging out with him seemed like a great distraction from Jake. A much needed one.

What you had with Jake was nothing and it was in the past. For a reason. 

After you watched him smile wide and say he’d text you, he went to join a heap of Pratt’s fraternity boys. You could only hope that maybe getting out there and hanging out with someone else would get your mind off of Jake. 

You did not want it going further than a few dates with Theo. Just a little time with Theo would surely be all it took to get your headspace cleared and make it easier to navigate life. 

The repercussions to its ending were literally nothing. You’d switch seats in class and force yourself through school with the occasional encouragement from Elsie. Theo was not a necessary addition to your life long-term, but you figured he could help you short-term, while also creating long lasting benefits.

Surely you could divert your thoughts from Jake. Think of the child first, and put its father on the backburner as you weaved through this next chapter in your life. . . No matter how badly you wanted him with you through all of it, experiencing it all first hand with you, it was the wiser decision to keep things separate. 

And, as an additional help, Theo would make it obvious to Jake that you were willing to keep your life separate. 

So, when you did eventually tell Jake (dear fucking God), there would be an additional party that emphasized you’d moved on and all that mattered now was the baby. 

Not the two of you. That ship needed to sail. 

Even though the thought made your stomach hurt like hell and tears well in your eyes as you pulled into the nearest Trader Joe’s for pickles. . . you knew it was the truth.

-🌼🌼🌼-

That evening, you took a longer route to work, choosing to listen to a podcast you’d found. 

Having listened to the first episode on the way to school that morning, you decided to fill your cup with another episode on the way to work. 

It was a magnificent podcast that was all about the ‘ins and outs’ of pregnancy, being a new mother, and how to grow mentally and emotionally during such a unique time.

The second episode was going just as well as the first until you heard one of the moderators’ voices get low and forlorn. 

“You know ladies. . . the first time I got pregnant is planted firmer in my memory than any of my other pregnancies,” she said, sighing heavily. 

“Oh, yeah, Jen,” another moderator said, voice growing dim with Jen’s, apparently (you were still getting accustomed to their names). “I bet, babe. . . The ones that are lost are the ones that stick so close it fuckin’ hurts and heals at the same time. . .”

“Agreed, Tally,” the third—and last—speaker on the podcast chimed in. “I’ll touch on my story after Jen.” 

“Thanks, Molly,” Jen’s voice rang through your speakers again. “Yeah, it’s just a different feeling when they’re there and then suddenly they’re not. . . When you imagine holding them in your arms for God knows how long and then it suddenly becomes impossible to do so,” Jen sniffed, and just as she did, you felt a tear hit your own cheek. God, you were hurting with her. “Every woman is different, but I just hang onto my loss like nothing else. And not necessarily in a bad way— just in an attempt to sort of keep the baby here with me— Give her the life she never got to fully live.”

Dammit, the tears wouldn’t let up. They were trailing down your cheeks steadily. When you got to the next stop light, you had to grab a napkin from your glovebox to blot at your cheeks, already marked with black streaks of mascara. Thankfully you could still wipe them up easily, not dried to your skin quite yet. But you knew the crying wouldn’t be letting up soon. Your emotions had been triggered and you would be seeing this sadness through. (Hello, pregnancy hormones.) 

You took turns holding the napkin under each eye, making sure to catch the tears as they continued. 

“I’m right there with you, Jenny,” a voice you now recognized as Molly’s said. “Even though my stories are a little different.”

Stories? 

God. You kept your eyes on the road as you popped open the glovebox once more, grabbing a fistful of left-over restaurant napkins. 

Sitting them on top of your legging-clad thighs, right where you could reach them, you took a right turn towards the B&G. 

“I’m sure we have listeners who will relate to all of these stories,” Tally interjected, sniffing. “Both of you girls.”

“I hope we’re able to help someone,” Jen responded, voice still thick, but not so bad as before. 

You heard a sigh before Molly started speaking again. “The first time I carried was very similar to Jenny’s. Lost the baby. Early on. The worst loss I’ve ever experienced—I will never understand why we lose them,” her voice shook with sadness. But, it soon transitioned to a hot flash of irate frustration when she spoke next. “I will also never understand the people who invalidate our experiences just because they were lost in the womb or lost as little tiny babies. . . Just because they weren’t full grown people, outside of the womb, when it happened. . . doesn’t make it hurt any less. You have just as much to mourn for the life they completely lost.” And just as soon as she was firm, her voice was soft again. “The life we lost before it was time.”

The other two agreed, voices low out of respect for the moment. 

“Then there was my second. . .,” she blew out a breath, as if preparing. She gave a half-laugh. “Strange occurrence. . .”

“But it happens!” One of the other two chimed in. 

“Sure as hell does,” Molly said. “The second time I carried, I had a hysterical pregnancy– a case that only 6 women in 22,000 experience. . .”

“I can’t imagine. . .,” Tally breathed a sigh out. “Your body, tricking you like that.”

“Yeah, and it felt completely real– like everything you’d expect,” she replied, thoughtful. “Like everything I experienced with the one I’d lost before. . . And, God, it was so incredibly hard to get through once I found out what my body had done to me. . . I just wanted a healthy baby–especially after the loss. I was still hurting badly from losing the first when it happened. Almost like my body was playing tricks on me just to see how far I could stretch mentally and emotionally,” she laughed under her breath, in spite of it all. 

“So fucking cruel, babe. . .”

But you weren’t focusing hard enough to know who was talking anymore. You’d caught on to the stories they’d told and now you were over analyzing your situation. . . Questioning everything. . . Was this real? Was there a baby there? Were you having a hysterical pregnancy? Was your body playing tricks on you? 

Or, had you been pregnant, and had now lost the baby like those women had? Were you still carrying the life you’d started planning around? The little life you were becoming more and more attached to by the day?

Had you ever been carrying it? 

As you pulled into work, you put one shaking hand on your rounded lower belly.

- 🌼🌼🌼-

Suffice to say, your entire evening shift was spent in over-contemplation and searching miscarriages, hysterical pregnancies, and semi-local OBGYN’s during the lull of customers. 

As you’d searched online for a clinic, you were not looking for places too close, as you didn’t want God and everybody seeing you enter the clinic on a regular basis (if you, in fact, were to find out you were carrying a tiny little bean-baby). You sure as hell didn’t need anyone to start questioning you before you were ready to offer up answers. 

Once you finally left your longest shift ever, you drove home in deep thought and drowning silence. 

Your research over miscarriages and hysterical pregnancies had done you very little good. They’d actually done you no good at all, if you were being honest. Everything you’d read made you question a lot.

Because, everything that could possibly reassure you was also possible in a hysterical pregnancy or a miscarriage.

One: your growing tummy (which could continue growing in both of the sad, unwanted instances). Two: your hurting breasts (which could still hurt in both sad, unwanted instances). And three: your nausea (which could still occur in both sad, unwanted instances).

Once at home, you took a hot second getting ready for bed— lost in thought, you decided to try to tiring yourself with a bath, complete with lavender scented bath salts and bubbles. Once you were finally in bed, cozy in your softest pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, you tried so hard to force yourself to sleep. You didn’t want to have to wait any longer to call the nice little clinic you’d found. 

And you sure as hell weren’t hungry. Didn’t want to eat with your stomach spinning with so many nerves.

And, the sooner you fell asleep, the sooner you could call the clinic and schedule an appointment. 

- 🌼🌼🌼-

But, after laying there for what felt like hours– the sounds of calming ocean waves playing through your phone and everything– you were still awake. 

You were drowning in all of the thoughts. Drown-ing. 

One that was flashing brightly at the front of your mind was why you even cared so much. And, the more you thought about it, tossing and turning, you realized you’d found the most unique, fulfilling form of reassurance in carrying the child. You wanted this baby. It had happened without you even meaning it to. . . but you wanted this baby so. fucking. badly. You’d tried damn hard not to want the little thing, but now that you’d spent so much time pondering it and holding your tummy? There was no question about any of it. You just wanted your baby and you couldn’t figure out how to explain it.

After rolling around far too much in bed, you realized you still hadn’t heard the telling sounds of Jake coming home. So, you decided to venture out into the living room to let a TV show distract you. Hopefully distract you enough to go to sleep. Pillow, Stanley, and phone in hand, you grabbed the fluffiest blanket from your blanket basket and nestled into your couch. 

Just as you’d turned the TV to Friends–wanting to feel closer to Elsie, but not feeling brave enough to talk to her whilst already being so emotional–, you heard the sound of a key jingling in the locked doorknob. And then the door was opening and you were looking behind you at the sound— for God knows what reason.

Then he was all you saw.

Jake.

Clad in the most handsome black, felt peacoat, the top of his head hidden by a black beanie. . . the chilly evening’s attire suited him so well that it brought a ridiculous tear to your eye. 

So devastatingly handsome and not at all mine, your thoughts became enveloped with storm clouds.

Thankfully he didn’t see you staring, as he seemed to be trying to avoid eye contact as he went about setting his keys in the bowl and taking his coat off to hang it on the rack by the door. And, as his actions cemented your thoughts, your eyes became wetter, a tear falling down your cheek for this stupid ass, cruel reality that you’d created. Even if you had done it for a good reason—and you had—it still sucked big ass. 

But, just as soon as your eyes were growing teary, your heart was beating erratically in your chest. The sight of the soft, tanned skin between the opened lapels of his shirt— exposed after taking off the coat. And the silver necklaces that clanged against his bare chest were the same he’d worn for Halloween. . . Your mouth watered as you observed the way they fell between his pecs which rose and fell with balanced breaths. . . 

Seriously, fuck these hormones.

Before you could get lost in the roundness of his ass through his jeans, he turned to the counter once more. You flipped back to your original spot on the couch. You decided to 

feign any knowledge of him being home, curling into a little ball on the couch and closing your eyes to fake sleep. 

When you heard him make a stop at his bedroom and then heard the bathroom door click shut, you stayed wrapped in your cocoon on the couch. And before too long, you felt yourself fading to black, one final tear slipping past your closed lids as Rachel and Ross argued over being on a break.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Initially, you weren’t sure what it was that brought you back from such a deep slumber. But, once you heard him, you knew. The deep, raspy laugh that was slightly muffled through you gaining consciousness. 

Why was he in the living room? Was he? Was this your imagination? A taunting dream?

You cracked an eye open the slightest bit to allow some adjustment to the light you’d shut your eyes to. But. . . There was no overhead light. It was off. The room would’ve been pitch black, save for your standing lamp’s yellow glow and the blue light from your TV. 

More importantly, the warning feeling of a crick in your neck was suddenly catching your attention. So, without worrying about your company, you quickly sat up to attempt getting more comfortable. You didn’t want to feel awkward around him, but you also didn’t want to deal with a hitch in your neck or a migraine in the morning. 

The loud yawn that escaped you once you’d sat up couldn’t be helped. You were slightly embarrassed at the obnoxiously loud noise that emitted from your mouth as you stretched. Blushing, you glanced over at your fellow living room occupant to see if he’d even noticed. 

And, of course, he had. 

He was staring at you—but. . . not judgmentally. Not at all. In fact, his eyes held the natural, reassuring lightness that occupied your sweetest recent memories. And the small grin on his face. . . was shocking, to say the least. 

Why was he acting so okay with you? He’d been so distant recently. . .

You knit your eyebrows together, hyper aware of his presence and needing answers as to why he had decided to sit next to you. 

“What are you doing here?” You clipped, tone sharp. You brought your blanket all the way up to your chin and around your shoulders, as a way to protect yourself from the (obviously) harmless man. 

Although, you instantly regretted it as his expression became apprehensive rather than open like seconds before. 

Why do you have to go and ruin everything, y/n? 

He leaned back, his eyebrows furrowed as he balanced a bowl of (. . . macaroni and cheese? Fuck, that looked good.) on his knee, holding onto it with one hand. “I live here, y/n.”

And yet another memory was flashing back to you from the night you got high. . . his breath, hot on your neck, your skin erupting in goosebumps as he said similar words then– your skin flaming now, too. Just the sound of his voice could elicit the most from you. Fuck your pregnant feelings.

Or were they just feelings? The fear came rushing back the moment you thought yourself pregnant. . . was there a baby in there? God, fuck. . . you really didn’t want to sit in this train of thought again. 

You figured you might as well use your company to distract you. . . .You missed talking to him anyways–missed it so damn bad. 

But your tummy interrupted you. The growl that emitted from it was fucking humiliating, honestly, but it had happened. And after eyeing you curiously for a minute, Jake’s lips turned up with a one breathy laugh, his beautiful pearly whites on full display. God, he was handsome.

“You hungry?” He questioned, lifting his mac and cheese. “I made more of this. It’s just the shit Kraft, but it still hits the spot.”

Nodding, you went to hesitantly get up to get some. You really didn’t want to move from under the security of your warm, cozy blanket. 

“No, just wait here,” he insisted, standing. His pajama pants were your favorites (the ones he didn’t normally wear underwear with). But you did not watch his crotch for movement. Your eyes were just staring at the wrong place at the wrong time. Really. “I have to wash my bowl anyway. I’ll put the rest in a bowl for you while I’m up.” 

Again, why was he being so fucking nice? But you weren’t about to disagree. You were comfy and hungry and he was offering. It felt like old times and you felt like being momentarily delusional.

“Okay,” you quietly agreed, your eyes shifted, unsure to his face. But he was moving before you could look at him. Back to the kitchen. After a few moments, he was back, handing you a little white bowl with a spoon. The scrumptious, cheesy noodles made your eyes light up. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, responding as though elsewhere. This was weird and you hated how it all felt. But he kept talking, filling the air as he sat a beer on the end table beside him, before sitting back down in the chair. “I had to get a beer anyway. Long day with the guys and May–,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shutting briefly as he shook his head.

Fuck. Thanks, Jake, you thought, your eyes on the verge of welling with tears. The moments of silence, hanging in the air, closing in around you. Not fucking now, hormones.

All you wanted to do was ask why it had been a long day. Get more information that might hurt you. Why did you do that to yourself? 

Though, before you could say anything, he continued. Awkwardly, his eyes flashing momentarily to the TV to reset as he spoke. “Long day. I should’ve asked if you wanted one.”

Your cheeks heated. . . little did he know. “I’m good,” you mumbled, looking down at your bowl. Stomach sinking with your thoughts from earlier, you decided to eat before you lost your appetite again. Not the time to be sad. “Thanks though.”

The next few minutes went by in a silence you wanted to stab with a fucking knife. It was seriously unpleasant and sucked ass. After you both laughed at a certain thing Joey said, you figured you might as well try to keep some sort of conversation going. Because, god, you missed him. 

“I meant in here, by the way,” you motioned with your head to the space around you, mouth full. (Ladylike.) 

His brow raised as he looked from the screen to you, setting his gaze on you. “What are you–?”

“My question. Why you were here,” you embarrassingly restated, hearing how it must’ve sounded. “In the living room. With me. Why you were in here, in the living room, with me, of all places.”

He sat further back, but this time going to sit in the armchair comfortably. His feet propped up on the ottoman across from him. “Well,” he covered his mouth, coughing briefly into his fist. “To be fair– you were sleeping when I came to sit down in here.” 

Rather than being unnecessarily hurt over him only wanting to be in the same room as a sleeping version of you, you let yourself give in to the temptation and take advantage of him being distracted by his next task. You missed everything about him. . . even such a simple thing as watching him move.

Pathetic. And, because your mind hated you, it felt like you were watching him move in slow motion.

You watched in a daze as he leaned over to the tall lamp’s attached table, his self-cut gray t-shirt rising up at his hips to show his firm abdomen flex with the stretch. It shouldn’t be so fucking hot to watch someone reach for a fucking beer bottle. But, the sight that greeted you next was worse than seeing his side peeking from his shirt. What you saw next were his full, pink lips, wrapping just right around the glass top of his beer bottle as he took a generous sip of his Miller Lite. You admired, mouth open as his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with each gulp of the beer. 

But when he went to repeat his action of leaning over the chair to set the bottle back, you decided to look away so as to save yourself from the torture (or, from the possibility of being caught). You took a bite of the mac and cheese, growing cold in your bowl.

Your heart was already hammering much too erratically from glimpsing these ridiculously mundane motions. . . fuck it all. The heat from being so near to him and watching him settled from your head all the way to the pit of your tummy. You swallowed down your bite thickly.

Your tummy.

“Yeah,” you muttered, awkwardly – you just wanted to have a conversation to get your mind off things. Problem was, you didn’t know where to necessarily start with him these days. . . Work? The band? Maya? God, no. . . gag.

Lucky for you, he took the initiative before you had much longer to overthink it. “I’m glad you woke up, though.” He pulled at his plaid pajama bottoms as he scooted up again, going back to get comfortable on the ottoman. Sitting with his legs spread (dammit), he balanced his elbows on his knees as he reached for his phone in his pocket. “I actually wanted to run something past you.”

God, please don’t say you found a place and you’re moving out. . . you thought, suddenly downcast and dreading what he was about to say. Or that you’re moving out to live with her.

You swallowed the thickness in your throat, trying to alleviate the unwarranted nerves before responding. Dispelling them with food, you took one more bite before swallowing it to talk. “And what’s that?” 

So what if he wanted to move out? He damn well could. He surely had the money and you two weren’t involved. 

He scrolled for a few more moments, your heart thump-thump-thumping without relenting. . . And finally, he found what he was looking for and before you had time to prepare, his eyes were sinking into yours earnestly. 

God. . . what is he about to sa–?

“I found a place for you to get therapy,” he stated, tone soft and careful. 

Therapy? Safe to say you were not expecting those words. 

And rather than being nervous, your emotions shifted to defensiveness. Where did he get off looking into that for you? Why was he . . .? Was he talking about the promise he’d made in his bed? That same night you’d panicked at your grandparents’? He’d remembered to do that? Why did he even care, still? You didn’t deserve for him to care– didn’t want him to care. It felt uncomfortable. 

“Why?” You sharply asked, holding your bowl in stiff hands on your lap. 

He leveled you with a look that said ‘cut it out.’ Did he really know where your thoughts were trailing? Was he still that in tune with you? Surely not. He was probably just irritated with your tone of voice. “I told you I would look for you, so I’ve been keeping up my end of the deal. I’ve actually asked a few clients if they knew of any nearby therapists worth their salt,” he peeked back at his phone, scrolling on it when he spoke next. “And there are actually quite a few good ones in the area.”

Your heart still beat harshly in your chest as you felt your skin heat with rage. You set your bowl down on the coffee table. And, the blanket, suddenly suffocating you, was flung off without a thought. “So, what is this? Is this you saying I’m a fucking loony, Jake? I’m sure you’ve been desperate as fucking hell to get me help because you think I’m such a nutcase,” you spit. You sounded dramatic (and, admittedly, like a deranged woman). You knew that. If you were thinking sensibly, you’d know he didn’t believe those things. . . but you were embarrassed that he’d been thinking so hard about this. It hurt your feelings that he thought you needed help that badly. “I’m just so broken and damaged and insane that you’ve decided you need to get a damn shrink to fix me.” Your lap was a sudden magnet for your eyes, your hands entangled on your pajama bottoms. Now, the hot teardrop that hit your interlocked hands was not expected and you swiftly swiped at your cheek. “Thanks for thinking so long and hard and asking God and everybody to find the most qualified person to psychoanalyze the shit out of me,” you sniffled, a couple more tears falling before you willed them away and looked in his eyes. “Thank you so much, Jake.”

But he wasn’t flustered. . . no, he actually sat there and took it. The brow that had raised on his face as you spoke was the only indicator that he’d heard you. 

The emotions you were experiencing were big and uncalled for. . . but, you were stressed. Over a lot of things. Doubting a lot of things. Your life seemed like one humongous question mark and you were sleepy as fuck and it was all just catching the fuck up with you. 

He cleared his throat, glancing once more at his phone before setting it on the arm of the chair. A tiny smirk ghosted briefly over his lips before they were set in a flat line again as he spoke next. His eyes stayed trained on his own hands, now clasped as well. “Y/n. . . Please. You know I don’t fuckin’ think those things,” he tried quietly, slightly testy, but not harsh. Then his irises found yours once more, making your heart rate speed up. You did know that. . . You knew better. He was right. “You agreed to this. I wouldn’t have made a point to look into this if you hadn’t okayed it,” he stretched his hands out and then combed them through his long, chestnut locks. 

His jaw flexed and he eyed you once more, digging into the heart of this before going any deeper. “I don’t want to force it on you. I won’t go any further in this conversation if you don’t want it. This is your decision. You know I looked into therapists. That’s it. You choose where you want this to go and then I’ll either leave you alone or tell you what I found out.”

You felt bit by bit of your current guard break down as you slowly relented. Because, well, you did want to know what he’d found out. Absentmindedly, you glanced down at where you’d subconsciously placed your hands over your stomach. It was habit at this point. That one reason underneath your fingertips was pushing you to know what he’d come to know. If you were, in fact, with child, you were desperate to start therapy. Yeah, sure, you wanted to get help for your sake. . . but more-so the child’s sake. Because, honestly, if you were not with child, you weren’t really sure if you’d want to push yourself to do that– go through all of those intense measures and changes and emotions that you knew only therapy could bring.

There was a ginormous sneaking, sinking suspicion in your gut. The one that was telling you there was a helluva lot more simmering, boiling beneath the surface than you knew. There had to be. For all the blaming you’d put on Jake just now, you knew you were a basket case. And there were some good fucking reasons behind it that you had to get to the bottom of. 

You had to do it for your child. And, on the off chance that your worst fears would come to light and you weren’t actually pregnant, it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear Jake out. Listen to what he’d found. 

You mumbled your next words. “Do you think I need fixing?” Dear God–where had that vulnerability come from? Did you want to know his answer?

Jake brought a thumb and forefinger up to his chin as he scratched it in contemplation, still measuring you with a long look. “I think it’s more complex than that, y/n,” he breathed a sigh out, as if not sure how to say what he was actually thinking. 

And dammit– it hurt for him to not just respond with a simple “no, I don’t think you need fixing.” More complex? What the hell did that even mean? 

“Do you think I’m brok–?”

“No,” he sighed. Then, he had your heart leaping into your throat when, in one swift motion, he was standing and walking the ottoman closer to where you sat on the couch. When he plopped down, he didn’t touch you. . . but the closer proximity was enough. The way your eyes naturally flitted momentarily to where his chest steadily rose and fell. You breathed with him. He spoke his next words with a low rasp, eyes serious as they pored into yours. “You are not broken.”

Your heart fluttered, making its way back to its home in your chest. “Okay,” you muttered. You needed to hear him say that– more than you’d ever be comfortable admitting. Finally, you responded to his prior offer. You knew what you wanted. “Tell me what you found out.”

Jake watched you for a few more seconds before leaning back a little, reaching back to grab his phone from the arm of the chair he’d been sitting in. You averted your sight to your hands this time, not watching his movements. Your hands, which were still nestled nonchalantly on your tummy. 

“So,” he started. Your gaze flickered up to him, a lazy smile fitting to your face. You watched his lips move as he spoke. Honestly, you hated how safe he felt. It wrapped you up cozier than the blanket that’d been around you moments ago. And the sad reality: you couldn’t wrap yourself up in him. You’d have to take what you could get. “I found this place. About 30 minutes from us. It’s a bit of a lengthy drive, but I figured it was worth it. It’s a clinic that’s very well known by many people around here, I’ve found out.”

“Expensive?” 

“Eh. Yeah. Pricier than others,” he clicked his tongue, raised his brow. “But– I asked Josh offhandedly the other day what the insurance was like at the B&G to figure out if it was covered by your–.”

“What do you mean offhandedly?” You nudged, hoping he hadn’t divulged that it was about you. “You didn’t tell him–?”

“No. I just asked him as if I was comparing it to mine at the agency that I teach lessons through,” he reassured. You breathed in relief. He snickered. “I wouldn’t tell him anything about. . .,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shifting from your face to the wall behind your head and then to his phone again. “Anyways. . . they’re covered by your insurance.”

At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter if Josh found out. . . he was about to have a massive bomb dropped on him (by you, of course). But. . . you still didn’t really want him finding anything out from Jake. Didn’t want him hearing anything before you were ready. 

“Cool,” you grinned, trying to ease the tension. He opened his mouth to continue, but you stopped him before he could. “Thank you, by the way. For looking into this.”

He looked surprised and you hated that he seemed that way. You should have been more appreciative to begin with. . . this was such a selfless thing for him to do and you’d reacted by getting defensive and snapping. When that was the last thing he deserved. God, you were awful sometimes. 

He smiled, wide and close-lipped. “Of course. I told you I would.”

You nodded, looking back to your hands, which you’d let move to your lap. Didn’t want him catching on to you holding your stomach. “What’s the next step?”

“Well,” he began, hesitantly. “I called them for a quote and asked about a specific therapist.”

“Why specific?” You questioned, scrunching your brows. 

“That leads into the next part, actually. . .,” he slowly continued, “She’s the only one at their practice that specializes in this unique form of therapy. A type I’ve read and researched on a fuck ton. . . I wanted to find the perfect method for your specific traumatic effects. So, I thought of the dreams. . . how you like control. . . I think it’s the type of therapy you could benefit most from.”

Damn. Way to call you out on your need for control. If anyone knew how much you desired control, though, you figured he did. But. . .now you were even more curious. . . because. . . you were venturing into different types? Wouldn’t just be sitting down with a shrink? What did he have in mind?

“And this type is. . .?”

His eyes light up, excitedly, as if he’s been dying to get to this part. “It’s called EMDR,” he voiced with a tinge of apprehension and elated anticipation. As you mouthed the letters under your breath, he clarified further. “Eye, E. Movement, M. Desensitization, D. And Reprocessing, R.”

You blinked a few times and shook your head. “Okay,” you stated slowly, placing your hands in front of you to indicate he needed to slow down. “What the fuck does all of that mean though?”

“Before I continue, I need you to know: I’ve done a shit ton of research and out of all of it, I’ve become really invested and interested in this type of therapy specifically. . . and for good reason. I’m really hopeful that it will help you,” he emphasized, eyes sincere. 

Your tummy did somersaults at how invested he’d become in all of this . . . but your mind stuttered momentarily at the flutter. You couldn’t help but get lost in the thought of a little bean in there and how you hoped to feel little kicks someday (obviously not yet, Jesus Christ), not just Jake-induced butterflies. God, you hoped there was a little thing in there. . . 

Jake’s steady, soft voice brought you back to the present and to his face that peered down at his phone, reading carefully. “To put it simply: it’s like a form of hypnosis. A way to force you to remember certain things so you can finally move on and heal from them.”

You blanched at that. “I’m going to be hypnotized?” To say you were second guessing this was a massive understatement. This EMDR shit could take a back seat. You were already apprehensive about getting help–even with the traditional approach. “I’m not down for hyp-fucking-nosis. Hell no. And all for the sake of remembering things I don’t really care to remember in the first place? I don’t think so, Jake,” you shook your head, toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your t-shirt. “I’m already taking a hugeass leap by being willing to go to therapy itself. I don’t need the voodoo shit . . . I’ll settle for the traditional approach,” you paused, not wanting to get too far ahead before showing your thanks. “But. . . thank you for–.”

“No, no. Listen,” he said, laying one hand on your knee for a blip of a second, your mind short-circuited at the touch. He damn sure had your attention now. “It’s different. Yes, you’ll remember things. But . . . well. . . Shit, I don’t know how to explain it in my own words. 

“Well, just send me a link and I’ll give it a read and we’ll settle–.”

“Quit,” he sternly said. “Quit saying that you’re going to settle. I don’t want you to settle. I want you to get to the root of this. . . so you can heal. Please. Hear me out,” he pleaded, the hand going back to rest on your knee for a few moments longer than last time before he removed it again. “It's–it’s more than remembering. It’s like— like your mind takes you back to the memory. You’re there all over again, living it a second time.”

“Yeah,” you went to stand up, but he moved with you, showing you he would follow you. So, you stayed put. Dear God, Jacob. “I don’t want to live the shit for a second time. Why the hell would I want to do that?“

“Do you want to fucking heal?” He snapped, his eyes searching yours for any sort of bullshit.

You blinked, “Damn,” you began, a sarcastic, irritated smirk on your face when you shook your head. Could he give you a break, maybe? Shit. But, still, you answered him. And his impatient, waiting eyes. Your answer was a no-brainer for you at this point. “Yes, Jake. I want to fucking heal.”

His jaw flexed as he let out a deep breath, through his nose, pinching the bridge of it. “So, please, y/n. . . just listen to me. Hear me out. You don’t have to do it. I just want you to let me explain it first,” he begged, eyes trained on yours, following every flicker of them. The unsureness you communicated through your gaze was balanced by the overwhelming sureness in his. You nodded for him to continue. He reciprocated the action, continuing with a deep breath in and and a deep breath out. “EMDR allows you to heal by letting you be in charge of your healing. You have the power to leave the situation this time. You’re in control of it now. It’s the past. But you have to face it. . . That’s part of it. . . The cool thing is, though. . . you can control whether you stay or leave a memory; you control how you move on from it.”

Well, goddammit. . . Of course he’d know just what to say to get you to finally listen to him. 

Control. That single word finally flicked the lightbulb on in your stubborn, jaded head. 

You paused heavily in your opposition, taking note of his far too sincere features. Perhaps he truly was just trying to help you, a sentiment that had always felt utterly foreign to you throughout your life. You’d held all of your guards up so high for so indescribably long. It took a lot for you to dare let anyone in aside from your sister (who, if you had to be honest, simply didn’t have a choice being your own flesh and blood. . .And given the fact that she lived it, too). 

But the harsh reality of the matter was, you had let Jake in. Too much. If it weren’t for the seriousness of the moment, you could’ve smirked at the irony of just how much– the possible little life in your tummy, a constant reminder in recent times. And, well, you’d definitely let him in enough that he knew you came with some serious trauma.

You watched him carefully, suddenly beginning to realize that the only reason you’d felt so reluctant to heed his guidance with this bizarre form of therapy. The reason you always doubted him– you couldn’t fathom the fact that he truly wanted to help you. 

But, time and again he seemed to prove you wrong. Even after you’d bitched him out to kingdom come in the kitchen months ago. There was no reason for him to want to help you. But here he was. With his research, his beautiful and honest eyes, the phone that he gripped with purpose with explanation after explanation, as if a lifeline. . .

He cared. Whether you could accept it or not. . .it didn’t change the fact that he actually cared. 

“I’ll go talk to the therapist,” you finally offered, relenting as much as you could at that moment. “I’ll feel it all out after I talk to her about it. . .,” you leveled, feeling fair in that decision. 

And he didn’t question, just shook his head with a lip stuck out. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.”

“How do I schedule the appointment?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next day was spent making strides towards your future. You scheduled the OBGYN appointment as soon as the clinic opened— being as that was the first, major priority. Setting that up had been simple. A date and time. The insurance you’d be using. Then, you’d hung up.

But, as soon as you’d set that up (and felt utter relief at having that panned out), you called the counseling practice Jake had told you about. And, you set up a therapy session with the woman Jake had given you the name of for the day before your first OB appointment. . . 

The counseling appointment was set up for the upcoming Monday. . . For some reason, when you’d been on the phone, scheduling for the nearest date available had seemed like the only logical option. But, it hadn’t been as cut and dry as your scheduling for the doctor’s appointment. There’d been a form. They’d informed you that they would email it for you to fill out with some general information (and a picture) before your first appointment. It was slightly daunting, but not totally unexpected, the more you’d thought about it. It was an understandably reasonable precursor to your first session. Just a few minor things to assist in your therapist knowing the most basic things about you before beginning. 

Doing it before the OB appointment had also seemed like a good idea. Talking to someone about the newfound worries to help you wade through the days to seeing the obstetrician. . . It seemed like a good plan of action. Made you feel more peace for the whole situation, honestly. 

So, that Friday, as you settled into your seat for a stupid ass writing course, you didn’t even care as you felt like other things were on the move. Honestly, at this point, you wanted to say fuck school and your distaste for the major you’d chosen. . . As they didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of it all. Bigger things were about to start happening. 

And you could only hope that what awaited you would be positive. . . Positive bigger things ahead. 

Bigger things that looked like real healing and a baby with Jake’s eyes.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The couch was leather and a little cold, even through your leggings. . . and the small office-room smelled like essential oils. It was reminiscent of a spa without the ambience music. 

The place didn’t need the music, though. . . the oils and general atmosphere were the perfect, calming mixture. . . Well thought out combination of smells and colors to ease the mind. 

But no therapist. Not yet. You’d been led by the secretary into a room where you now sat by yourself. She’d offered tea, coffee, and water, with a large, welcoming smile on her freckled face. You couldn’t refuse the offer, so you’d accepted the option of water. 

It had been in a bottle, and you clutched it tightly, opened only for the tiniest sip as you let your body relax as much as it could, leaning the slightest bit back into the couch. 

And you continued to wait. 

You watched the closed wooden door, your eyes wandering every now and then to the artwork that depicted gardens and fresh flowers. . . Some were beautiful paintings, while others were simple little drawings, or even real flowers, pressed in a glass frame. 

The walls were tinged with a light sage—the color, oddly easing to the mind. 

Then the knob was twisting open, matching the feeling of your nervous tummy. The muscles at the pit of your stomach flexed and flinched at the prospect of the therapist. What was she going to be like? Would she match the cool, relaxing environment of her office? You could only fucking hope. . .

Looking down at your hands to avoid any awkward eye contact, you took note of how badly you needed a manicure. . . damn. 

“Y/n?” A reposeful, gentle voice interrupted your nail critique. You looked up to acknowledge your long-awaited company. . . and man, was she completely different from your last therapist. The first thing you noticed was that she was. . . young. Mid-thirties at the very oldest. She was much younger than your aging counselor from the past. How long had she been doing this? “I’m Gianna. But all of my clients and closest friends call me Gia.”

“Gia,” you tried it out, letting a small smile fit to your face. It was a genuine smile– you were relieved. Without even really knowing her, you already felt so at ease with her. She was one of those people–like Elsie or Josh–who just carried a naturally empathetic, calming air. Made you feel like you were standing in the breeze on a warm spring day. “Nice to meet you.”

Her hair, naturally dark, but dyed beautifully to be a blonde-gray, was up in a styled messy bun. Lips, painted in the most beautiful naturally red tint. . . and the round, wire-framed glasses that sat on the bridge of her nose complimented her soft features so incredibly well. The freckles on her pale face, visible through the circular frames. Her cheeks were tinged with a perfectly rosy blush, and they swelled with your greeting. 

She adjusted her loose, beige overalls over her off-white, long-sleeved mock neck. The overalls were the fabric ones that’d gone viral (which helped you to note how incredibly trendy she was, if you hadn’t already been able to guess that). She inhaled and exhaled easily, her lips quirking even more than before. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n,” she repeated back to you. “I’m sorry it took me a bit to make my entrance. I like to give my people some time to adjust to the space before they’re bombarded with all of the therapy stuff. It’s an important thing to me.” Then her leg was being bent to balance her white, platform converse on the seat of her pale pink rolling chair. “Before we begin. . . I also need you to know that my office has a completely open door policy. If, at any moment, you start feeling uncomfortable, please let me know and you may leave to take a break, or simply leave the practice to adjust your thoughts before the next session. Won’t charge you for the whole time or anything. . .,” she added the last part, surely as another financially conscientious adult. “I just know that sometimes this shit gets tough–baring all of it and having to get through it. . . it’s rarely easy, and I want to be able to foster a healthy, resting environment for you as you wade through all of it.”

“Wow,” you blinked, your heart warm in your chest as you let yourself sink a little further into the couch, shoulders loosening just a bit. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”

Winking, she brought the mug up to her lips that she’d carried in with her. After taking a sip, she sat it on her desk and then wrapped both arms around her bent leg. “Is there anything you’d like to know about me and my profession before we begin?”

You pondered that, always having questions swirling in your head. “Just general things,” you snorted, playing it off. “Stupid, basic shit that I don’t need answered.”

“Nothing is stupid in here, sweets,” she said firmly, her eyes communicating more than the words she’d said. “Sometimes misguided and confused, yes, but never stupid.” She used the foot on the ground to swing the chair from side to side, ever-so-slightly. “Sooo, shoot. Ask anything you’d like–basic or not.”

Blinking at her again, you let your grip on your water bottle ease up. “Oh, um,” you quietly began. You scrambled for the right words. “Well, I guess I was wondering how long you’ve been doing this?”

She giggled. “Oh, sure. . . I’ve been practicing for about five years. Administered EMDR for the past two or so. . .” Her cheeks were still rosy with a gentle smile when she spoke next. “I will ask, though. . . did you not check out the website prior to this?”

Fuck. You hadn’t thought to do that. That was strange. . . usually you’d jump at the chance of looking into anything and everything before diving head first into something. Especially something as serious as a life-changing thing like therapy and the person you’d be inevitably baring your soul to. What in the fuck? Why hadn’t you thought to do that?

“I– um,” you searched her eyes, as if they held your answer. “I didn’t. Which is strange for me.”

“It’s not a big deal, really,” she said, grabbing her mug from her desk again. But before taking a sip, she continued. “I just noted on your form that you like having control over the things that transpire in your life. And checking the website to do some solid research seems like just the way to do that.” She took a sip, humming as she took it away from her full lips. “But there’s my thoughts going to crazy places based primarily on black and white principles. And we’re definitely not here to do that,” she shook her body as if shaking it off, putting her leg down and nestling her mug between her hands. “I don’t look at shit in black and white. That’s something that, as your therapist, I need you to know. There’s a lot of healing properties found in the gray.”

You couldn’t explain it, but the last sentence left you feeling this overwhelming sense of hope and understanding. Without even knowing you, she seemed to get the fact that you came with a lot of fuckin’ gray. All kinds of shades of the color. Had you been that transparent on your form? Not able to remember it, you just pushed it to the side as you figured it didn’t really matter. Because even if you had been open on the form, you were about to get much more transparent.

“Thank you,” was all you said, the water bottle held in loose hands as you comfortably crossed your legs. “My life has left me pretty fucking gray, so that’s a relief.”

“There’s beauty in the gray, love,” she noted, leaning forward as if engaging even further in the conversation (as if she wasn’t already remarkably with-it). She held her tea steady in her hands, and you couldn’t help but look down at the mug to see what it looked like. And, of course, it was covered in pale flowers, just like her office. “I’m down for any more questions you may have.”

“Family?”

“Just a fiancé, but other than her, I’m pretty estranged from much more family. Boundaries are a specialty of mine, and I’ve had to set a few in my life,” she said, assured and confident. “No kids yet. We aren’t quite sure if we want them or not.”

You nodded. But, you were not able to hold back the wetness that gathered in your eyes. The tears settled at your ducts and if you blinked, you knew they’d fall. The way you were feeling at the moment was unexplainable. So many things at once. But, most importantly, you were thankful. Thankful for people like Gia. The woman exuded peace and you weren’t sure why you’d ever questioned trying therapy again when there were women like her in this profession. 

“Thank you,” you said again, as if you were a manufactured robot. Then you shook your head, embarrassed at your currently tiny vocabulary. “I’m sorry I keep saying that. I’m just grateful there’s people like you in this world.”

Wow. Okay. So we’re getting real honest and sentimental now, huh? A good-humored voice asked you. Here for it.

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said quietly, respecting the new emotions in the room. “Are you ready to tell me a bit about you?”

Letting the tears fall with a blink, you wiped at them with a breathy laugh. She grabbed the nearest tissue box and handed it to you. You wiped under your eyes and dabbed at your cheeks. “Chose to not wear makeup for a reason,” you chuckled, internally thanking past-you. She laughed with you, placing the Kleenex on the couch next to you for proper access, then sat back, balancing her elbows on her thighs as she held her face up with open palms. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said once you’d settled. “We’ve got the next hour and a half.”

“How much do you wanna know?” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you placed your locked hands over your tummy. “I’m a basket case.”

Her eyes sparkled. “As much as you’re willing to tell me,” she affirmed with a wink behind her glasses. “I’m all ears.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

So, as you left that day, you were absolutely confident in saying Gia knew about as much of your life as Elsie did. And that was saying something.

She’d just been so receptive, and had kept encouraging you– as you cried and laughed and sighed and growled. She kept reminding you that she wanted to ‘hear as much as you’d give her’. That she was ‘in your corner’ and that she was ‘there for you.’ And her words and kind eyes were enough to spur you on. Continue to the point of her knowing nearly everything there was to know about your life. 

From your childhood to now, Gia was now totally knowledgeable in the realm of Y/n. 

Thankfully, there’d been no EMDR, as she informed you that next session you’d begin talking about the intricacies of the practice and whether or not you wanted to begin with it the session after your next. She wanted to take time to adjust and ‘simply be’ before introducing the innovative method of therapy.

She’d given a couple of tidbits about it, just for you to think about before the next session, but not too much, since the next session was dedicated to her actually breaking it down for you. 

“Now, before you leave, I want you to know that we can locate your safe place next time. The place in your mind where you’ll return when you need a breath of fresh air amidst the memories,” she’d offered, hands in her pockets, tea cup abandoned as you stood up alongside her to follow her out of the office. But before you two left the office space, she took the time to assure you once more. “But only if that is what you decide you want. This is your life, sweets, and I’m just here to help you through it.”

And, for the eighty-millionth time that day, you’d told her ‘thank you.’ You were going to take a bit of time to consider it. 

She’d also given you a few nuggets of wisdom. 

They’d specifically followed the end of your session, when you’d broken down about the unsureness of your pregnancy (but easily applied to the rest of your messy ass life). 

One thing she said to do: “Slow down your thoughts. Do not let them take control. Slow them down and figure them out with what you know. Piece by piece, break them down before they get too astronomically crazy.”

Another being: “Let yourself feel peace. Just every once in a while, let yourself feel it and don’t let guilt eat you alive for it.” (When you’d laughed sarcastically, she’d nodded, agreeing that it was “most definitely easier said than done.”)

She had been wonderful at assuring you that it was most definitely a product of your trauma to react so preposterously. How you thought certain decisions and thoughts might give you peace, yet always resulted in the opposite. But, she’d also told you that you’d “figure it out bit by bit” as you move along and to “give yourself grace” as you navigate it all on your own, in your day-to-day life.

But, there was one singular, specific piece of advice she’d offered that was sticking out more than much else. 

Of course, you’d filled her in all the way up to your appointment tomorrow and Elsie’s idea for Josh to attend with you. You wanted her opinion on it, asking for as much, and she’d been firm in her opinion. Her words rang in your head as you navigated the late afternoon New York traffic on your way back home.

“Your sister is a genius,” she’d said astonishingly, blowing out a breath from between her naturally full lips. “Everything she said is exactly what I’d tell you, too, sweets. And if it helps to hear this, even as an outside party, Josh sounds like the type of person to receive it in a non-traumatizing manner. He will, most definitely, be sensitive to your feelings. And, having him there will help you feel less alone and calm in your worries. . . and it will help him feel needed–like Elsie said. So, truly, it’s a win-win. If I had my way, I’d make sure Josh is there tomorrow. But, again, it’s your life and it’s up to you.”

“How do I even ask, though?” You asked pathetically, pulling your sleeves down over your hands as you began to get nervous at the prospect. 

“Take a deep breath,” she calmly recited (as she’d done a time or two during your life lament). After doing it with you, she settled you with an understanding gaze. “Just text him. Tell him you have an important appointment tomorrow and that you need him there with you.”

“And if he asks what it’s for?”

“I’d say you tell him that you’ll tell him when you see him or when you get there,” she advised. “But, I don’t think he’s the type of person to question when you’re being vulnerable like that. I’d bet you he just agrees to it, no questions asked– if he’s free, that is,” she winked. 

So, with her sitting there, you’d texted him and asked exactly what she’d told you to. The thing about having an “important appointment.”

And even though he hadn’t responded, you tried to not overthink it as you calmed down from telling your entire life story to your therapist.

When you’d pulled into the apartment complex, your stomach sank at the sight that greeted you. Your space was awaiting you, but Jake’s, next to yours, was empty. Per usual these days, his new purchase of a used car was not at home at the same time as you. Really, you’d gotten used to his lack of presence. But it always made you sadder than you wanted to admit. Because, well, you knew if he wasn’t at the studio or some rehearsal, he was most likely with Maya (you were awfully glad he didn’t bring her around the apartment too much, but still. . .your mind went crazy at the other prospects of what they were doing). 

But today, it was worse. You were sad for more than your assumptions about his whereabouts. Today, you desperately wanted to tell him thank you– wanted to fill him in on how it had gone so great. But he wasn’t there. Because you’d pushed him away (something that Gia told you you’d ‘navigate the reasoning for’).

So, as you trudged up the steps, instead of walking in to tell Jake, you just took time to relax as much as you could. And you figured a good way to do that was to give yourself a long ‘everything shower,’ with your most favorite R&B playlist playing as background noise. 

And when you’d gotten out, the screen that you opened your phone to was something that brought a swarm of anxiously joyous butterflies. Under his name, there was a ‘Yes, of course!’ from Josh. And below his text, was a notification for your next appointment with Gia. One week from today. 

Everything would be okay. It would. You recited this as you responded to him, deciding to try your best not to think of telling him until you absolutely had to tomorrow, after hitting send with a simple ‘thank you :)’.

You kept reciting that everything would ‘be okay’ as you put a hand to the firm little bump, growing steadily at the bottom of your tummy. And you contemplated as much as you were willing to, without reducing yourself to any more tears (you’d cried enough already for one day). Because now all you were going to be plagued with for the next several hours until your OB appointment was whether there was actually a baby in your growing belly. 

You then ate a giant salad (everything else you wanted to eat had made you feel nauseous as hell), as you’d watched Friends. Your thoughts were subdued, but still spiraled a tad. . .though, you took Gia’s advice and tried to slow them down to navigate each one with what you genuinely knew. There was nothing telling you that you weren’t with child besides your own convoluted mess of negative thought. More signs were pointing to that you still were. One piece of truth keeping you going was your growing belly. And even though bellies could still grow after miscarriage or in the case of hysterical pregnancy, the probability of that being your situation was very, very slim. Right?

You knew that. 

Before too long, you were standing in front of your vanity, braiding your wet hair and laying down to find rest much easier than many nights in recent times. . . the only thing that kept you up for a bit longer than you wanted was wondering why Jake hadn’t come home yet.

But, again, you knew it was none of your fucking business.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next afternoon had you waiting outside of your apartment as soon as Josh said he was about five minutes away. Your apartment had started to feel absolutely insufferable, closing in around you as your mind went crazy with scenarios.

The autumn day was lovely, sun shining, but warmer today than it’d been yet this season. With no breeze. And, the lack of breeze was not aiding in your already-sweaty palms, wet with nerves. Or your upset stomach—your current nausea induced by your anxiety more than the (hopeful) baby in your tummy.

Your stomach was fucking rolling as you waited for Josh to pull up to the complex. 

Dramatic as it may have sounded, you felt as if you were on the verge of a heatstroke when he eventually showed up in his little car, which was literally squeaking and creaking as it sat still. The exhaust emitted from the back of the car was enough to make you feel like you were actually going to blow chunks, and you instantly decided you could not ride thirty minutes to the clinic in his little hunk of metal.

Sending a quick text, you made up an excuse to take your car. To emphasize the text, you went ahead and started walking to your Jetta, parked in its usual spot.

You, 11:49 p.m.: I need to get gas… Can we take my car? 

Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Of course.

Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Are you ready?

You smiled, looking over to where he was still parked in his visitor space. His eyebrows crinkled in concentration to the device in his hand as he watched the screen, waiting for you to respond.

You, 11:51 p.m.: Yes, Joshua. I’m at my car and staring right at you.

As soon as he got the text, you waited for what you knew was coming. He looked up from his phone, through his windshield, and at you with a giant grin painted across his features. It didn’t take him long to get out of his car, lightly jogging as he came over to you. 

“You creep,” he smiled, slightly out of breath. “Peeking through my windows.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach started aching, yet again, at the prospect of what you were about to tell him. Honestly, at this point, you were just ready to get it over. The longer you kept it to yourself, the more you were worrying about it and his possible reaction. And the sooner you could just tell him, you’d see his honest, real reaction. . . and then you could deal with the rest from there. 

It also helped that his girlfriend and your certified therapist thought that it would go okay. They were the practical thinkers in this situation, whereas you were an overthinker to the highest degree. And, if you could just get it out–just fucking tell him–you could (hopefully) validate their predictions of how the situation would play out. 

“Am I driving or are you?” He asked, bringing your thoughts back to the present. 

To current Josh. Josh who didn’t know anything yet. Completely ignorant Josh. . . fuck. The last moments of keeping him in the dark.

“You,” was all you said before you unlocked the car and made your way to the passenger side. Once you were both inside, you handed him the keys as he started the engine.

Your stomach fucking dropped as he backed out of the space. . . what was about to come out would literally change you and Josh forever.

Would it be for good? Would it be for bad? If he was going to be mad at you, how long would he stay that way?

You couldn’t be upset with him if he got angry. For everything. Like distracting Jake when Josh had specifically told you he didn’t want that for his twin. Or for simply keeping this giant ass secret from him about it all. The more you thought about it, you thought that perhaps the reason you were so scared was because of how completely validated he would be if he did end up being pissed as hell with you. . .

But. . . you just couldn’t stand losing him. Especially at such a time as this. . . you needed him. 

And that’s why you just needed to fucking tell him. It was inevitable for him to find out, and the sooner it was out, the sooner you weren’t lying to him anymore. Because that’s exactly what you’d been doing. You’d been fucking lying. For months. To your best friend.

“So,” he began, excited–the complete opposite of how you were feeling. “Where are we going?” 

Plugging your phone into the CarPlay, you turned off Siri’s voice before you did anything since you didn’t want her blurting out your destination before you were ready to tell him. Once she was silenced, you pulled up the directions to the clinic you’d carefully chosen. 

You sat back slowly after entering it, your stomach spinning as your thoughts went insane and your nerves continued to set on white-hot fire.

You spared a glance over at him through your lashes to see him looking out the corner of his eye at you, coming up to a stoplight. The look he was giving you made you sure that your face was morphed to show utter terror and worry. “What’s wrong, mama?”

Fuck. You turned to face the front again and squeezed your eyes shut at the nickname, bringing two clenched, sweaty fists up to your eyes as your skin began to feel like it was quite actually peeling off of you in nervous jitters. Your eyes couldn’t stand being squeezed shut any longer as you felt the tears forming behind your lids.

He continued driving, but with the occasional nervous glance in your direction. 

Then, he laid a comforting palm on your shoulder, his thumb soothing circles over your arm. 

And, once he’d done that, it was no longer in your control to keep the tears at bay. You tried to fight them back, but it was to no avail. 

So, there you were, face becoming drenched in tears as you couldn’t stop sputtering little sobs. 

In your peripheral, you saw Josh looking at you as he came to one last light before the highway, face surely painted with distress. “Y/n?” He checked, careful and concerned. “I’m sorry if I said some–.”

And what came out of your mouth next was not at all expected. But, it blurted through your lips with zero fucking warning. You did not know which part of your brain had decided to communicate with your mouth to say it.

“I’m pregnant,” you sobbed.

The car lurched to a stop, cars honking furiously behind you at Josh’s abrupt action. Your stomach, already thick with nerves, couldn’t handle it. You quickly slapped an open palm over your mouth to conceal any projectile vomiting. Thankfully none came, but you had to clench your eyes shut once again as Josh made a wide, sloppy U-turn off of the street that was leading to the highway. 

And when he’d finally come to a stop again, you opened your eyes to see he’d pulled the car over into the nearest McDonald’s.

Focusing too hard on trying not to vomit helped you to stop the outrageous weeping for a few minutes. You finally peeled the hand from your mouth as you took several deep breaths, in and out, to calm yourself and your stomach. 

Before you even knew what was happening, Josh was getting out, running to the door of the establishment. You watched in the mirror to your right as he simultaneously got his wallet out of his back pocket. 

Choosing not to worry about it, you shut your eyes once more to ease your tummy. But it did not help and you felt the puke coming in just enough time to unlock your door, open it, and puke all over a piece of the yellow line that boxed the car into its space.

You groaned as you leaned back up into the car and into your seat, letting your hair fall from the impromptu ponytail that you were holding at the back of your neck. Popping open the glovebox, you grabbed a few napkins to wipe your face (these days, between the incessant crying and vomiting, you were fucking constantly thanking God for the years-accumulated collection).

And then the driver’s side door was opening once more, this time Josh’s khakis making the first appearance as he climbed back in. He had two cups, one balanced between his bicep, clad in a white, long-sleeved tee and his chest and one in his hand. He quickly placed both in the center cup holders and popped a straw in each. 

Your brows lifted, wondering. “What did you–?” 

“Sprite,” he pointed to the one at the front. “And water,” the one in the second holder. 

“How did you–?”

“There’s a part of my brain permanently cemented with what it was like to watch my mom be pregnant with Sammy,” he explained, eyes soft with a smile gracing his handsome features. “I was too young to remember watching her pregnancy with Ron, but Sammy. . . he’s always been tough–even in the fuckin’ womb.”

You gave a small giggle, stomach spinning when your hand went to grab the Sprite. The carbonation sounded perfect, and Sprite had been a go-to in a few cases of your recent nausea. 

The cool drink had been just what you’d needed, sighing as soon as you brought the straw away from your lips with the first sip. You kept it clutched in your hands as a lifeline when you looked at Josh next, eyes wet. “Thank you, Joshy,” you croaked, tone exuding gratefulness. 

“Yeah, always,” he affirmed, his eyebrows dipped in. The next few minutes were spent in silence, your thoughts finally quieted a little with the initial confession to him. You took a few quiet sips of your drink, the sound of you swallowing the loudest sound in the small car.

Knowing he most likely wasn’t wanting to pressure you to talk, you took the initiative. “I–I’m sorry for not– I’m–,” you choked, shaking your head. The tears were beginning to gather once fucking more. Yet, even with eyes wet and throat tight, you persevered. You had to get the rest of it said before you continued to the appointment–you were going to be late if you didn’t get going soon. And you weren’t about to tell him the rest afterwards. “I have to tell you the rest.”

His jaw clenched in preparation for it as he nodded, his body turning to better face you for what was left. “Lay it on me.”

You gulped, mimicking his movement so you could see him better. Your throat was so tight it nearly suffocated you with nerves. “The–the father,” you started, looking into the eyes that looked so eerily similar to his brother’s. Very much like the ones you hoped your baby would wind up having–yet, not entirely the same. “Do you want to know?”

Of course you’ll want to, you thought at your ridiculous question. And I’m going to tell you anyway, but I’m stalling like a pussy.

His lips quirked, but only the slightest, tiniest bit. “Only if you want to tell me.”

I have to.

“I–I do,” you said, your eyes darting down to your hands which wrung at your waist, itching to touch your tummy. So, you did, settling them on the small bump. And instantly, you felt better. You were beginning to find it slightly crazy what one simple touch could do. 

Choosing to watch your hands lace at your tummy instead of him, you took the last jump with two words. “It’s Jake.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: i promise you won't be waiting a month for Josh's reaction ;) see you very, very soon <3

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[zerobaselove]

acting homework | kim jiwoong

pairing: actor!jiwoong x costar!reader

genre: suggestive MINORS DNI

word count: 1096

warnings: no smut but it does get suggestive, lowercase intended, not proofread

prompts: 16. "let's kiss and see where this takes us."

notes: this unsurprisingly made my jiwoong problems so much worse LMAO but apologies as this is a little rushed and not my strong suit

"and, cut." the directors sharp voice cut through the air, ripping you and jiwoong out of the immersion of the kiss scene, not that there was much immersion to begin with. with his busy idol schedule on top of acting, you two hadn't actually gotten to meet until today, having done script readings over zoom and speaking in hypotheticals for weeks; so to say it was a little awkward was an understatement.

the director let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head at the two of you, "let's wrap up for the day," he put down his clipboard before walking over to you and jiwoong. "i need you guys to work on your chemistry, we are going for romance not whatever you think this is. you're both better than that and you know it." his words were harsh, but you couldn't help but agree with his statement; you two weren't exactly giving romance, and something had to change.

the director turned on his heel, walking back to his trailer, leaving the you and the taller man standing there, an awkward silence surrounding you. "so," you spoke up, not really knowing where to take your words. thankfully he took the lead, speaking up himself.

"do you maybe want to hang out? off this set, maybe somewhere with less people breathing down our necks." he let out a laugh, you following suit; the tension already lessening, thank god.

"yeah that sounds good, but where is even private around here?" you wondered out loud, you were in one of the biggest and busiest cities in the country. "well i know it's not very romantic but," he sighed, realizing how lame his suggestion was, "we could always go to my group's company building, there's always empty rooms there. and they're soundproof." he winked at you before his serious composure broke, suddenly covering his face in embarrassment of the implications it might've had. it was cute, you weren't used to seeing this side of him, but it made you feel a bit more at ease.

giving a small nod, you gestured for him to lead the way, the two of you making small talk on the way to the parking lot. surprisingly the conversation flowed better than you had imagined and you found yourself enjoying his conversation at the least. "this is me," he gestured to an all black car in front of you, rushing ahead to open the passenger door for you.

"thank you jiwoong." you smiled, hopping in the front seat as your eyes grazed over the details of the car.

a coffee cup for this morning you presume was sat in the cupholder, the other one filled with loose change. instead of the stereotypical fuzzy dice on the rearview mirror, he had a little charm of a butterfly which you thought was quite cute.

"here," he handed you his phone, spotify open already, "you can be in charge of the music." his smile was contagious, you thought to yourself, unable to contain a small smile from spreading to your lips as he looked at you with joy. you had only nodded as you scrolled through his playlists, heading out of the parking lot.

"oh i love this song," he exclaimed as you played something from his liked songs, causing you to laugh. "i hope so, it's from your likes." a sheepish grin took over his face, chuckling lightly before shaking his head, "you make a fair point."

the rest of the drive had been peaceful, light conversation in between faint melodies playing over the speakers. it was nice, he was nice; you had no doubt about that before, but getting to start to see his personality, you totally saw what everyone else saw in him, beyond his good looks.

arriving at what you assumed was the company building, jiwoong rushed out of the car, opening your door for you yet again. "i know how to use door handles, you know" you chuckled, nodding your head as a thank you before following him to the entrance. "what kind of gentleman would i be then?" tilting his head as the sliding doors to the building opened themselves for you this time.

eventually you ended up at what you assumed was a vocal practice room; there was a keyboard sitting in the corner with a desk and chair, as well as a small two seater couch that looked rather inviting after you'd spent your whole day standing. jiwoong sat down first, ushering you over to get comfortable.

"so, what do you want to do, do you want to practice, or?" you rambled on, not noticing the way jiwoong smiled at your string of words.

"well how about," he thought for a moment; he hadn't expected to like you this much, this quickly, but he couldn't stop thinking about kissing you, for real this time. not for the script or the directors approval, just to feel your lips on his. "let's kiss and see where this takes us, yeah?"

you didn't mean to nod so eagerly, but it was too late, jiwoong's smile widening at the idea of you wanting this as bad as he did. his hand came up to the back of your neck pulling you in slightly, your eyes fluttering shut as your heads tilted, connecting in a kiss that you were convinced had caused fireworks to go off around you. this was no match for earlier today, you thought to yourself. you weren't sure what changed but you were sure that you didn't want to stop.

you let one hand rest on his torso as you leaned in closer, parting your lips slightly, letting his tongue lick into your mouth. sure, it was moving a little fast, but you didn't care; he was addicting.

he tugged on your hair slightly, causing you to moan into his mouth which made his head spin more than he had been prepared for. his free hand had found it's way under your shirt, grabbing you at the waist, sending butterflies to your stomach. "do you want me to stop?" he mumbled against your lips, wanting to make sure you were okay with everything. you let out an opposing hum, but that wasn't enough for him.

"i need words love," the pet name made you dizzy, pulling apart for a moment to nod feverishly, "please, continue." your words were whinier than you meant them to be, but at this point you couldn't be bothered to care.

"then let's keep it up."

[majicmarker]

a life (and writing!) update, if you care to catch up with me

now that some Big Events have come and gone (namely, my sister's destination wedding), i'm settling in for whatever i'm doing this winter.

i've learned, over the past couple, that this is not the time of year that yields any real momentum in terms of book writing—that is, as much as i'd like to knock out a full draft, pressuring myself to do it only makes me Feel Bad when i don't. so, we're done with that.

i'm going to spend the winter playing in the sandbox of book 3: sorting out the themes, the romance dynamic, building the playlist, and drafting scenes when the mood strikes. then, when the dreary fog of my wintry depression lifts, i can hit the ground running and get the book itself done and done.

but i do also want to write this winter, so i'm planning to do that more on my blog and, also, with fanfiction. i could use the comfort. and, with the time and distance i've spent away from fandom, i've found that i can actually write fic for the pure enjoyment of it again—it is, actually, comforting again. i couldn't care less about the increasingly toxic culture around it. miss me with the entitlement and the ship wars and the whatevers, okay, i'm here to write and make myself feel better.

so i plan to finish my eddissy/jason pov (my other big eddissy wip, aka the fake dating fic, is on the books, too, but as it's so much longer... we shall see what we shall see).

but i've also been thinking a lot about bethyl again, as i'm working with some similar themes in book 3, so i'm planning to revisit a wip or two or so there. and, to be totally real with you, i'm really jazzed about it; there's a few things that will keep me engaged, busy, and my writing up to scratch, and i'll get to do it with a dynamic that's really close to my heart.

i might have some potentially exciting professional news to share soonishly too, but, eh, we'll see how that shakes out. right now i'm just feeling good about, like, accepting my lot for the next couple of months and making the best of it.

in the meantime, i'm still offering tarot readings and editing services—if any of that rings your bell, please check out the link for more info and DM me! ya girlie needs some extra cash flow. (my day job is cool, but getting paid once a month is kinda the pits, and with the disability?? forget about it, i'm freelancing for my life over here.)

so, until i see ya around the corners of the internet i've mentioned here... xx —maj

[taetaespeaches]

bts inspired by random 70s classic rock songs I like

bts x reader (ocs) genre: fluff; suggestive in jimin and jungkook’s word count: 4,858

a/n: Hi lovelies! I was listening to a few of my favorite 70s classic rock songs the other day and felt inspired to do some drabbles/blurbs based on them. So here we are! Something that no one asked for! Each one of these drabbles features or is inspired by a different 70s rock song. Some of them get a bit long bc I can’t shut up but anyways! I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading :))

Also! Here’s a spotify playlist with the seven songs featured in these drabbles: where the melody’s fine

seokjin x reader (oc) song: I Want You To Want Me, Cheap Trick word count: 500+

I want you to want me I need you to need me I'd love you to love me I'd shine up the old brown shoes, I'd put on a brand-new shirt I'd get home early from work if you say that you love me

He’s so pretty as he rests his head against the couch’s headrest, his face tilted toward you as you burn through topics. It’s as though you both don’t want to stop hearing each other’s thoughts pour out into the cozy living room. Music hums from your phone that’s discarded on the coffee table, lost in the midst of the affection shared for one another.

You’re sitting on your knees which are directed toward him, one arm slung over the back of the sofa, the other in your lap as you admire the man’s features. “I didn’t know you were such a classic rock fan,” he announces suddenly, lifting his hand to tap the outside of your thigh as he brings attention to the phone. You hum in response, smiling softly.

“It’s because I’m so mysterious,” you tease, watching as Jin flashes you a lazy grin. He knows of the label so commonly thrusted onto you by people who simply didn’t understand you. Mysterious. It followed you for years, making you feel lonely when all you wanted was to be wanted, needed, loved.

Tsking at you, Jin shakes his head. “I don’t think you’re so mysterious,” he smirks.

“No?” You ask, eyes widened and full of fondness.

“I see you,” he tells you simply.

Tilting your head to rest it against your arm, you smile at him. The grin is full of appreciation and adoration, your heart brimming so full with both emotions that you can feel them flow into your tummy, your limbs, your fingertips aching to touch him.

The upbeat pop sound of I Want You To Want Me by Cheap Trick plays throughout the room as Jin’s bright eyes stare at you. Unable to resist, you reach out to toy with the ends of his soft strands.

“This song used to make me sad,” you share, Jin’s eyebrows raising in question. He’s anticipating your explanation while your digits delve into the smooth tendrils.

“Come on,” he encourages as you gently scratch your nails against his roots, Seokjin’s eyelids briefly fluttering shut at the sensation. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know, it sounds happy but,” you shrug. “It’s in how he sings ‘crying’,” you explain. “Didn’t I see you crying?” you repeat the lyrics. You watch as Seokjin’s eyebrows pull together just slightly in thought, his lips forming into a natural pout. “There’s a desperation.”

He gives a slow nod as a sincere emotional response etches its way into his features. You focus on the curve of Jin’s jaw below his ear as it clenches and relaxes throughout the song, your finger following the pulse and dragging down to his neck before traveling back and forth on his jaw. The touch is light but his throat bobs in response to it.

“I don’t want you to be lonely ever again,” he whispers, as you shift your hand to cradle the side of his face. Jin leans into the touch, placing his palm overtop yours to keep you there. Turning his head slightly, he kisses the inside of your wrist. “Ever,” he adds for good measure.

“I’m not anymore,” you tell him before crawling toward him to settle yourself against his body.

yoongi x reader (oc) song: The Man In Me, Bob Dylan  word count: 700+

But, oh, what a wonderful feeling Just to know that you are near Sets my heart a-reeling From my toes up to my ears

Yoongi taps his pointer finger against the bottom of the steering wheel as a rough voice singing a melody of “la, la, la’s” plays through the car speakers. He leans forward to look up through the windshield at your apartment complex, wondering if you’re ever coming down.

It was very much like you to be running just a few minutes late, which you blame on your habit of confusing the time you need to be somewhere with the time you should leave the house. ‘You should set your clocks fifteen minutes ahead,’ Yoongi has suggested before, earning a ‘I’d just remind myself that they’re fifteen minutes ahead and then since I’m bad at math I would end up being extra late because I wouldn’t be able to figure out what time it really is,’ in return. Yoongi smiles to himself in the cab of his car, amused by the memory.

Just as he re-accepts his fate in which you’re late for the rest of your lives and settles back into his seat with a huff, he begins registering the lyrics that Bob Dylan croons out to him. ‘The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from bein' seen, but that’s just because he doesn’t want to turn into some machine. Took a woman like you to get through to the man in me.’

He doesn’t realize it, but he’s smiling at the car’s touch screen as his mind sifts through thoughts of you like a film reel. In a montage, you’re screaming because of a spider, then you’re crying as you read a book, you’re initiating a pillow fight, you’re watering your dying irises with a pout and a hope that they’ll recover, you’re brushing your hands through his hair while he rests his head in your lap, and then you’re asleep on his studio couch, your face squished adorably against the cushions. It’s all so beautiful, he thinks.

He’s mentally thanking you for every memory, for being the person to get through to him, for getting under his skin and never letting up as he stares at the sepia album cover displayed on the dash screen. You pull his focus when he catches you walking through the doors of your apartment building, already waving at him as you wear a bright smile. Yoongi waves back, chuckling at how you begin skipping toward him.

Then you stop and spin a couple times, stretching your arms out at your sides and directing your face toward the moonlit sky. The light breeze picks up a strand of your hair, sending it across your cheeks, and Yoongi can’t help but notice how pretty you are when you reach for it and tuck it behind your ear. Your tote bag that rests over your forearm smacks against your thigh as you begin jogging toward the car, still beaming happily.

The door of Yoongi’s car is ungracefully torn open, your bag dropping to the floor. “It’s so nice out tonight,” you announce before stepping inside, appreciating the nighttime air. Yoongi watches as you do so, giving you your time to be you. “Sorry I’m late,” you then apologize as you plop into your seat, leaning over the console to kiss the man, not a second of time with each other wasted. Yoongi is slow to react but you wait for his lips to press into yours before you pull away and grab your seatbelt. He simply shakes his head as he stares at you for a moment, his expression dripping in that honey boy affection you love and love to tease him for. “What?” You ask as you find him frozen instead of pulling out onto the street. “Uh oh, you’re extra in love tonight.”

Shaking his head with a scoff, he slowly turns his focus toward driving to avoid meeting your eyes. Before pulling out onto the street, however, he quietly lifts his finger to the car’s touch screen and replays the song. “Ooh, Bob Dylan,” you notice his small action, calling attention to it.

“I’m gonna learn this song on the guitar,” he decides, glancing over at you as you study him. When your lips curve into a fond grin, he knows you know that the comment is a veiled dedication. He wants you to hear this song, to know it’s for you. You know him too well.

“I can’t wait to hear it,” you simply say as you reach your hand out to turn the song up. Instead of returning your hand to your lap, you extend it over the console to find his, Yoongi easily allowing you to intertwine your fingers with his own.

hoseok x reader (oc) song: Right Down The Line, Gerry Rafferty word count: 500+

I know how much I lean on you Only you can see The changes that I've been through Have left a mark on me You've been as constant as a Northern Star The brightest light that shines It's been you, woman Right down the line

Hoseok enters the art studio, his eyes easily landing on you from across the room as a smooth 70s classic rock song fills his ears. You’re oblivious to his presence and he takes the moment to watch you as you pull your hands up the bulbous form, lifting the clay between your fingers. The singer of the song sings about a woman being a constant in his life, ‘the brightest light that shines, it’s been you, woman, right down the line.’

The lyrics hit him in the chest, deepening the appreciation he already feels for you. You didn’t plan to see each other tonight but after his stressful day, he just wanted to hear your voice. You sensed the edge in his tone over the phone and asked him to come see you in the art studio under the veil of missing him, taking the guilt of crashing your plans off his shoulders before it could even settle.

As he watches you create, he wonders if you realize how much you mean to him. You’re so alluring, you always have been. He nearly laughs at how you’ve always been completely irresistible to him, the man making a fool of himself time and time again as he tried to earn a chance with you from the first night you met. But it’s more than that. You’ve acted as a pillar of support and devotion in his life and he’s unsure he’ll ever be able to show you just how much he appreciates you. Do you even know how much you do for him?

Like a gravitational pull, he can’t keep himself from stepping closer to you, allowing you to catch him in the corner of your eye. Looking over the freshly thrown pot, you greet him with a soft smile. “Hi, Sunshine,” your voice soothes out to him as you sit up straight in your seat.

You need to feel it, he decides. You need to feel how much he loves you, how desperately he wants you, how sincerely he appreciates you. Hoseok chooses not to respond with words, instead making his way across the room quickly and not stopping until he stands right beside you, getting as close to you as he can without stomping right over the wet clay.

You look up at him with wide eyes, surprise written in your expression as he grabs your face between his hands and bends to plant his lips to yours in a needy, sentimental kiss. He smiles at the whimper you let out, and then the giggle that tumbles from your mouth to his.

“Hoseok,” you whine into the meeting, holding your hands out to your sides to avoid getting clay on him. He pulls back just enough to look at your face.

“Hi,” he smiles, eliciting an eye roll from you.

“I’m defenseless,” you playfully complain, nodding to your clay-covered hands as he still cradles your face.

“I thought you missed me,” he retorts teasingly, flashing his stunning smile while the song still plays, the guitar soothing throughout the space.

Smirking at him, you wrap your messy hands over his bare wrists, the man smiling gleefully in amusement. “I did,” you whisper, leaning forward and kissing him again.

namjoon x reader (oc) song: (Love Me Like Music) I’ll Be Your Song, Heart word count: 600+

When you get free come on home to me I’m gonna lay it down

Ain't it good to know you've got a place to go Where the melody's fine Sometimes I'm not so strong And even now I could be wrong But if you love me like music I'll be your song

When Namjoon steps into the kitchen, you’re holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two glasses by the rims in the other. You flash him an apologetic frown and Namjoon lets out a single breathy chuckle. Lifting his arm, you see the bag of takeout he’s carrying, and you feel the tension in your muscles melt.

You were both angry when you left the apartment that morning, in the midst of a fight you didn’t have time to finish. Now, after the hellish day you had, the fight felt so silly and pointless. All day you thought of him, your place to go, your person to love. You could start the day anew in his arms, and that’s all you wanted to do now.

You crack a smile at his gesture of goodwill as you place the glasses onto the counter top. “Long day?” You ask, popping the lid off the bottle. Namjoon reciprocates your affection with a small upturn of his own lips.

Giving you a single nod, he steps toward you, placing the bag onto the island and staring at you intently. “You too?”

In lieu of answering, you allow your eyes to look up and down his frame as your shoulders slump in defeat. He’s so broad, so strong, so comforting as he stands in front of you. You inhale deeply and let it out in a disappointed huff, the man reading the action for exactly what it is: regret for the morning’s events, for the anger, the fight that no longer matters because he’s standing right there and you just want him.

Namjoon reaches for your hip, tugging you into him as he takes a step forward to meet you halfway. Your arms wrap around his waist in an instant as he envelops your shoulders with his muscular ones. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into his chest, Namjoon’s hands rubbing up and down the outsides of your arms.

“I know, I’m sorry too,” he tells you. “My day is already better now that I’m here.”

“Mine too,” you mumble into his chest, the scent of his cologne embracing you. The beat of his heart is lulling you into a relaxed state, a pretty melody just for you. There’s a special love that Namjoon dedicates to you, and it’s full of grace and forgiveness, understanding and interest. It’s similar to the loyalty and devotion he has for music. He treats you like music, something to take care of, figure out, love and understand. He’s never given up on you, always offering you a home to settle into. You aren’t sure he knows what a gift it is to receive his easy forgiveness, but you hope he does.

You feel content this close to him, and he knows it. He feels it in the way your body lightens in his arms. Namjoon chuckles into your hair, his hands gripping your biceps as he pulls away from you to shoot you a small dimpled grin.

“Don’t get sleepy on me, we have whiskey to drink,” he teases you as you squeeze the sides of his abdomen adoringly.

Letting out a quick exhale, you shake out the tiredness and flash a beam at him. “And takeout,” you nod to the bags of food. Turning to the counter, you grab the bottle to pour you and your lover a much needed drink.

Namjoon leaves an arm slung over your shoulders as he watches the alcohol fill the glasses. Pressing his lips to your temple, you find yourself leaning into the touch as he lingers for just a moment.

“I love you,” he whispers earnestly against your skin. “Through it all.”

jimin x reader (oc) song: Beast Of Burden, The Rolling Stones word count: 700+

I'll never be your beast of burden So let's go home and draw the curtains Music on the radio Come on, baby, make sweet love to me

You’ve been careful. But Jimin has been afraid. While you’ve been conscientious, allowing the pace of your reunion to follow Jimin’s lead, Jimin has been holding back. You’ve felt it in the way he hesitates before wrapping his arms around your frame. The way he stops himself from kissing you, unsure of whether it’s ok to do that now. After he hurt you. After he did you, himself, and your relationship wrong.

You feel it now in the kitchen, the same one you shared your first kiss in, as he stands beside you but a few feet out of reach. He’s propping himself up with his elbows against the island, and though his body is tilted toward you, he’s keeping himself closed off. He’s tentative to love you the way you know he wants to, and your waist is aching from the lack of his touch.

“We should go on a date tomorrow,” he tests, wading out into the waters, scared of how far he can step before it’s too far.

“That sounds great,” you nod, noting the relief that floods his features as he raises his eyebrows.

“Really?” The question, a plea for reassurance, catches you off guard. Of course you should go on a date, and you wonder how long your presence will act as a reminder to the mistake he made. The breakup was his doing, but you chose to forgive, to leave it in the past. You don’t want it following him around every time he looks at you. You refuse to be his beast of burden, reminding him of a single memory of regret when there were so many other memories of more importance, full of love and friendship and absolute devotion.  

Jimin glances at your arms that are crossed over your ribcage and you realize he’s looking for an in but can’t find it, your demeanor pushing him away. He doesn’t know you’re waiting for him to lead the way. He can’t feel the heaviness in your heart that begs to be cradled by him in the way he used to: uninhibited with undying sincerity, every emotion bared on his shoulder for you to witness and hold.

“Jimin,” you sigh, lowering your arms to your sides, opening up, inviting him in. “Of course it sounds great.” You can read the eagerness in his face as you travel the few steps to him, crossing the divide until you close the space between you both. Jimin stands up straight, his hands hesitating to reach out to you, so you do it for him. “I miss you,” you tell him as you brush his cheek with your knuckles.

He exhales in response to your touch, his eyelids fluttering slightly. “I-I’m right here,” he replies quietly.

“Are you?”

Jimin’s eyes bounce around your features almost frantically, searching for an appropriate reply.

“Don’t you miss me?” You ask, lowering your voice suddenly to give it a sultry appearance. Lifting your hand, you push his feathery fringe off his forehead, only for it to fall back in place when you remove your hand to settle it on his chest.

“Yes,” he whispers, the feeling of his hand pressing into your hip following the single-word.

“We’ve made our amends, Chim. We’ve talked it out, we’re here together. You don’t have to be so scared or hesitant,” you say, letting him know it’s ok to love you.

“This is ok?” He asks as his hand shifts to your back, right on the curve of your ass. You know he’s not simply asking about the placement of his palm. He needs to know you want him. In every way you did before.  

And you need to let him know you do want him. That you can handle it. The touch of your lips to his is gentle, slow-burning, but it’s enough to let him know it is very much ok.

“I love you so much,” he mumbles into the kiss that’s becoming heated quickly. Looping your arm around his neck and pulling yourself closer to him, he squeezes at the flesh of your ass before pushing you against the kitchen island.

“I know you do,” you mutter breathlessly against his lips. “Love you so much, too,” you manage to mumble out. As your heart races in pure bliss, you recall just how good it feels to be loved by him.

taehyung x reader (oc) song: You’re My Best Friend, Queen word count: 600+

Oh, you're the first one When things turn out bad You know I'll never be lonely You're my only one And I love the things I really love the things that you do Oh, you're my best friend

Taehyung eyes the mojito in your hand as you grab the microphone from one of his friends with a newfound and borderline aggressive confidence that makes him chuckle to himself. You’re no stranger to karaoke, but usually you’re accompanied by your closest friends who you’ve known since you were eighteen. Without the liquid courage he knows you would not be quite this willing to perform a song solo in front of his Wooga Squad pals, and he finds himself thanking the minty lime rum drink. He loves nothing more than seeing you uninhibited.

There’s a glow hovering around you like a halo when you meet his gaze and point in his direction with a smirk. “This one,” you speak into the microphone as the electric guitar riff intro of You’re My Best Friend by Queen starts playing, “is for my Dearest.” You flash an adorable smile at the man and he thinks he’ll melt from the gooey soft feeling that flows from his chest to the ends of his limbs.

Contrary to the adoration he feels inside, he’s seated coolly with his leg folded over the other, his ankle hooked over his knee as he sits back in his seat. He almost looks like he’s waiting to be impressed, but the smile he wears is fond as you sing the first line of the song.

He watches in fascination as you shimmy and sway and twirl as you sing the song dedicated to him and only him. His friends are chuckling in amusement as they clap and woo at you, but Taehyung hardly registers it. He’s too immersed in you, in his memories with you, in the mutual way you make each other feel. There has always been an air of quirkiness that surrounds the man, making him difficult to understand for many, but you’ve always made him feel like he belongs just as he is. It’s been you for the past several years who has shown him the grace of being understood, without erasing his uniqueness. You find him fascinating, intriguing, but still seen.

Since eighteen, you have been the person he’s run to, with the good and the bad. The lyrics of the song refer to its muse as “my sunshine” but Taehyung specifically thinks of you like a sunrise. Radiant, bright, warm, beautiful whether anyone is looking or not, but people do look. They can’t help but pause and watch even if for a moment or a quick glance. A sunrise is consistent, dependable, loyal, always there, always rising. It symbolizes a fresh day, new opportunities, endless possibilities, shining a light on it all.

Some day, he’ll tell you you’re a sunrise. You’ll be confused at first, but you’ll understand. You always do.

Perhaps that’s the result of finding romance in friendship, allowing the two to blend into an all encompassing union. All these years since meeting you, Taehyung realizes nothing has changed between you and him. Yes, he kisses you now, without hesitation, and he’s stripped your body bare more times than he can count, but it’s still just you two. Dearest and Peaches.

As you sing, “you’re the first one when things turn out bad,” you approach him, making Taehyung sit up and lean in, resting his elbows on his knees. He’s keen for your next move. He always is. Standing in front of him, you sway your hips back and forth, and he can’t resist reaching out to feel the sides of your thighs under his palms. “You know I’ll never be lonely, you’re my only one and I love the things,” you continue singing to him, Taehyung looking up at you with wide pretty eyes, youthful in their anticipation. “I really love the things that you do,” you sing as Taehyung flashes his boxy smile and wraps his arms around the backs of your legs, tugging you on top of him and causing you to squeal into the microphone until abandoning the song altogether when he kisses you. It’s the perk of being best friends and lovers, after all.

jungkook x reader (oc) song: Let’s Do Our Thing Together, Chuck Berry word count: 600+

Now, let's do our thing together Go out and have a balling time You know I dig you doing your thing And I'll turn you on when I do mine I'm not a blue-blood or a scholar Just a hard-working boy And after five long days My body needs a little joy

There’s something so magical about the way Jungkook moves. It’s no wonder he can command an entire stadium of people. He’s charismatic, sharp, smooth, powerful, and all those technical terms dancers use that you weren’t keen to.

All you know is you can watch him dance all night. He’s been freestyling for the past several minutes, staring at his reflection in the mirror as he self critiques, probably much more than necessary. You try to capture his vibe and movement with your pencil against the sketchbook pages, hoping to capture just a touch of the gold that envelops him.

As the song comes to an end, another immediately replacing it, he slows his movements and spins coolly until he’s facing you. “How’s it going?” He asks, glancing at the sketchbook in your lap.

“You move too much,” you smirk teasingly, watching adoringly as his mouth spreads into a cute boyish grin. Reaching for the towel to the side of you, you toss it at him. The cloth hits him in the chest where he clutches it as he makes his way towards you.

“I’m so sorry to inconvenience you,” he feigns an apology, shaking out his hair as he wipes at the sweat gathered on his neck.

“An apology is a start,” you break into a smile, the man now hovering over you. Flipping the sketchbook around for him to see the series of drawings, scribbles of forms leading into different positions, your attempt at following him along in his footwork and movements.

“God, you’re crazy good,” he awes, crouching down to get a better look. His eyes follow along the etchings carefully, observing every marking as though it was all important.

“Oh shush, you’re the one doing the damn thing out there,” you nod at the now empty dance floor. Jungkook smiles shyly, your heart clenching in response to the expression. “Aren’t you tired?” You ask him. It’s well past one in the morning, which isn’t so much a late night for him, but he has been dancing for the better portion of the day.

“Nah,” he scrunches his face in negation, which you see through easily.

“Right,” you smile knowingly. “Well then sit with me to keep me company, not because you’re literally exhausted.”

Giggling at you and his own antics, Jungkook swings his body over to your left and drops onto his butt less than gracefully. “Hi,” he greets you quietly, leaning in to place a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Hey, baby,” you smile at him.

“This really is so cool. I kind of want it,” he nods at the drawing.

“You can have it,” you assure him. “I just like watching you dance.”

“Am I your muse?” he beams, staring down at the drawing still. It’s amazing how fascinated he could be with a simple sketch, but you know it’s not just the sketch. It’s the fact that it came from your hands, your mind, your heart.

“Something like that,” you tell him, skirting around complimenting him just to tease him.

He giggles, nodding exaggeratedly. “I’m happy to serve as inspiration,” he tells you, looking up at you. “I’m gonna frame that.”

Smiling at him, you shake your head in feigned judgment and slight genuine disbelief. Leaning towards you, he nudges your cheek with his nose. “You’re so hot when you do your thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you poke him in the abdomen with your elbow. “You are too,” you assure him. “But I know you’re tired so maybe we should go home.”

Shooting you a defiant pout, you sigh through an amused grin. “If you take me home you can show me what else those hips can do,” you tempt him.

And just like that, Jungkook rises to his feet and reaches a hand out to help you up.

“Home it is,” he grins victoriously. He can be so easy.

[paradox-n-bedrock]

A Gentlebeard Playlist

Tracklist (and specific lyrics that make me think of these babes):

imagine - Ben Platt Your eyes give life a new meaning / It's like I found the north light / I never knew what I needed / Until I felt your hand holding mine

Remind Me - Emily King You remind me of something / Something that I used to feel myself /Something that I used to feel / Like a heartbeat racing / Like a new beginning

Wicked Game - Chris Isaak The world was on fire and no one could save me but you / Strange what desire will make foolish people do / I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you

On + Off - Maggie Rogers Take me through this wild time / Stay with me through all of time / I'm drenched in madness, dangled blue / Won't you, won't you? / Take me to that place where you always go

Hungry Eyes - Eric Carmen One look at you and I can't disguise / I've got hungry eyes / I feel the magic between you and I / I wanna hold you so hear me out / I wanna show you what love's all about

Can't Help Falling In Love - Perfume Genius Like the river flows, Surely to the sea / Darling, so it goes / Some things are meant to be / Take my hand, take my whole life too

I'm Your Man - Mitski You believe me like a God / I destroy you like I am / I'm sorry I'm the one you love / No-one will ever love me like you again / So when you leave me, I should die

First Time - Hozier Remember once I told you 'bout / How before I heard it from your mouth / My name would always hit my ears / As such an awful sound

The Stranger - Melissa Ferrick So let me in now / I am ready to move / And here comes fear and resistance from you / And for once I am willing and now what i've got to wait?

I'll Be with You - Pawns or Kings Spend too much of my time alone / wondering about my friends back home / thinking if they are having more fun / without me

Thirsty Dog - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds I'm sorry about all your friends / I hope they'll speak to me again / I said before I'd pay for all the damages / I'm sorry it's just rotten luck / I'm sorry I've forgotten how to fuck / It's just that I think my heart / and soul are kind of famished

10,000 Emerald Pools - BØRNS I'll dive in deeper, deeper for you / Down to the bottom, 10,000 emerald pools / Under water / Time is standing still / You're the treasure

j's lullaby (darlin' i'd wait for you) - Delaney Bailey I'd give you the sun if you asked me / You could have all of the time / You could have the stars and the trees / When dividin' up the universe / You could have mine

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey I think my time is near / And I've traveled over / Dry earth and floods / Hell and high water / To bring you my love

Hold You in My Arms - Ray LaMontagne Weapons of war / Symptoms of madness / Don't let your eyes refuse to see / Don't let your ears refuse to hear / Or you ain't never going to shake / This sense of sadness

Grow as We Go - Ben Platt If to change is what you need / You can change right next to me / When you're high, I'll take the lows / You can ebb and I can flow / And we'll take it slow

First Light - Hozier One bright morning goes so easy / Darkness always finds you either way / It creeps into the corners as the moment fades / A voice your body jumps to calling out your name / But after this I'm never gonna be the same / And I am never going back again

[astramachina]

musical tag game!

@fortunatetragedy tagged me a couple days ago and if y'all know anything about me is how much i fucking LOVE talking about the musical influences behind my silly lil guys.

I want to know what 1-3 songs you feel best embody a character from your WIP/s, either in general or at this moment in the plot.

nailing Ricky to a cross for this one, so saddle up boys. (he does have a full playlist which you can listen to here!)

"Rabbit Hole", by AViVA

I could say I'll take you I could say I'll make you But underneath all I plan to do, to do is break you You could be my breakthrough Watching demons wait 'til I leave you, and they can initi-niti-nitiate you

aside from the "haha, i get it, because William's a rabbit" imagery and obvious play on words, Ricky's journey is all about facing his demons head-on while sauntering into the deepest pits of hell with the casualness of a man uncaring for his borrowed time. the problem is, hell would've been a cozier alternative to whatever the fuck Ricky has gotten himself into. he thinks he can play William's game and win, and the same can be said for William. unfortunately both took calculated risks and boy howdy they are both bad at math.

2. "Destroy Me," by Mr.Kitty

I couldn't run I wouldn't hide Lay on the ground I should've died Red river flows Lights start to fade Your work is done Please, let me decay I need you to hurt me I need you to fight me I need you to kill me I need you to destroy me

sometime in his youth Ricky really thought that suffering abuse was the only way to atone for the horrors he had no control of, and because by lying and saying he was actively inviting said abuse he felt like he had a modicum of control over said situations. he likes to think he grew out of that. :) he's older and wiser now :)) not at all unwillingly desperate to accept whatever kind of "love" he can take. :)))))

3. "Panic Room," by Au/Ra

Still waiting, hands shaking Maybe the coast will clear But these voices, these strange noises They followed me in here My phone has no signal It's making my skin crawl The silence is so loud The lights spark and flicker With monsters much bigger Than I can control now Welcome to the panic room Where all your darkest fears are gonna Come for you, come for you Welcome to the panic room You'll know I wasn't joking When you see them too, see them too

SURELY the conses won't quences, right. right?

BONUS TRACK: "Points of Authority," by Linkin Park because RIP Ricky would've loved this band were he around in the 2000s but also 'You love the way I look at you / While taking pleasure in the awful things you put me through.' :)))))

no pressure tagging @opaleyedprince, @ap0stle, @the-golden-comet, @deanwax, +open for anyone who wants to do the thing.

[meme-streets]

gbu playlists director's commentary

@trifoliate-undergrowth asked and now i am going to give the full track by track breakdown + general commentary because i have been waiting for someone to give me an excuse

(be warned before opening, this is long as hell)

overview

ended up making all of them 21 songs long–no particular reason for the number, it just worked out that way. i didn't originally intend for playlist times to matter, but when i realizes blondie's and tuco's could fit onto a cd, i fiddled with angel eyes's to cut down the length as well (specifically by dropping "riders on the storm" and replacing it with "people are strange"). i do definitely intend to burn these at some point; i'm thinking i'm going to start them each with the respective character's variant of the main theme and end them with the quotes i put in the descriptions. i structured blondie and tuco's by starting and ending each with a townes van zandt song. i had originally intended to do the same with angel eyes, but i couldn't find any townes songs i liked for him; i briefly considered starting and ending with the johnny cash songs instead, but i didn't like how that would've flowed, so i discarded the idea entirely. my main priority was getting things to flow musically well, but i did want certain themes in certain places.

breakdown: il buono

"where i lead me", townes van zandt: the opening verse especially.  “where i lead me, i will follow / where i need me, i will call me / i’m no fool, i’ll be ready / god knows i will be / and in the meantime make a little money / and buy a little mercy.”  really this is a blondie/tuco or even general gbu song, especially “or you can clench your fist, shake your head, and head to the country / i got no doubt about it, friends, that’s where they’ll find me” as tuco tracking blondie down for revenge.  i felt the vibe suited blondie best.

"elements and things," tony joe white: mostly my joking reference to the clint squint with “i would, but the sun’s in my eyes.”  that said, the music itself has the right vibe for him–makes me imagine him riding through the countryside–and the grandeur of it seems to suit him.  “you lay back and think about things,” too.

“the changeling,” the doors: “i’ve had money, and i’ve had none, but i’ve never been so broke that i couldn’t leave town.”  and also, blondie as a changeling, impossible to know or define or pin down.

“call me the breeze,” jj cale: a desert breeze, untethered, tied down to nothing?  “i ain’t got me nobody, i ain’t carryin’ me no load”?  that’s blondie to a tee (or he’d like it to be, anyway).

“spoonful,” willie dixon: a parallel with tuco, who has the howlin’ wolf version.  “could be a spoonful of water, to save you from the desert sand / but one spoon of lead from my 45 will save you from another man.”  this version strikes me as a little more romantic/sincere with the piano and dixon’s crooning vocals, and it also doesn’t mention gold like the wolf version, something i think blondie cares less about by the end.

“walk away,” tom waits: walking away, aka blondie’s favorite pastime.  “i always get out of the trouble i’m in.”  also, “a yellow dog knows when he has sinned” reminds me of him abandoning tuco and then being marched through the desert for it.

“secret intention,” the william loveday intention: blondie at sad hill specifically.  the religious overtones of both song and scene especially.  the ritual of it all.  the treachery.

“dancing with mr. d,” the rolling stones: another sad hill song.  it opens with “down in the graveyard where we have our tryst,” for god’s sake.  playing with blondie as an otherworldly and sinister figure.  “he never smiles, his mouth merely twists.”  not entirely true of him, but evocative.

“calling card,” rory gallagher: “whatever you do, brother, don’t show that hurt.”  i almost put this on tuco’s before ultimately switching it to blondie; he strikes me as being lonely deep down, and determined not to let on.  if you like, think of it as him advising tuco.

“the spy,” the doors: “i know the words you want to hear / i know your deepest, secret fear.”  finding out tuco’s secret(s).  also, “a spy in the house of love” just feels right for blondie.

“fire of love,” jody reynolds: “the sun beats down with its fiery glow  / knows i won’t see my love no more / i’m sorry for the things that i’ve done / forgive me dear, my only one.”  the desert!  also, the general idea of being burned/hurt by love strikes me as appropriate.  i think it hurts him, in a way, that he loves tuco.

“waiting for the sun,” the doors: mostly vibes, but the image of “it’s time to live in the scattered sun” reminded me of him for some reason, and the “waiting for you to come along / waiting for you to hear my song / waiting for you to tell me what went wrong” made me think of him and tuco (every gun makes its own tune, the ending).

“written in your hair,” robert lester folsom: this one is mostly vibes, and also something something buried gold/golden hair, but also “you can’t do a thing if you ain’t there” reminds me of him.

“don’t let me be misunderstood,” the animals: pretty self explanatory; he’s cruel perhaps without always wanting to be.  also, “no one alive can always be an angel / when things go wrong i seem to be bad” reminiscent of the missed shot and his subsequent ditching tuco in the desert.  a sort of apology.

“all along the watchtower,” bob dylan: a very blondie & tuco song to me.  the second verse especially.  “there are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke / but you and i, we've been through that, and this is not our fate / so let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late.”  tuco’s near hangings and blondie’s near death in the desert (but you and i we’ve been through that), and the exchange of the secret at the bridge (so let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late); ironically, blondie lies.

“hunger child blues,” townes van zandt: one of THE top blondie songs to me.  i almost ended with this one for the “do you think that you know my name?” but it didn’t flow well.  it’s ethereal, and a little threatening, like him.

“(ghost) riders in the sky,” johnny cash: also on sentenza’s, who has the ronnie dawson cover.  i wanted to lean into the supernatural aspect, and “cowboy, change your ways today, or with us you will ride” felt apt.  i actually liked the dawson version better for blondie but the cash version flows very well musically.

“wand’rin’ star,” lee marvin: from paint your wagon.  if the title itself isn’t convincing enough, “i’ve never seen a sight that didn’t look better looking back.” 

“don’t fence me in,” clint eastwood: pretty self explanatory.  had to pick the clint cover for obvious reasons.

“state trooper,” bruce springsteen: “maybe you got a kid, maybe you got a pretty wife / the only thing that i got’s been botherin’ me my whole life” immediately makes me think of him.  as does “hi-ho, silver-o, deliver me from nowhere” and the echoing cries at the end.  the crushing loneliness of the open road.

“snake song,” townes van zandt: the other top blondie song to me.  “you can’t hold me, i’m too slippery / i do no sleepin’, i get lonely / you can touch me if you want to / but i got poison, i just might bite you.”  that’s blondie, baby.  the line “lie in circles on the sunlight” is also very evocative and “i’ll be there when you start sinkin’” reminds me of the ending.

breakdown: il brutto

"lungs", townes van zandt: another general gbu song, but “salvation sat and crossed herself and called the devil partner” makes me think of him and pablo.  “jesus was an only sun and love his only concept / strangers cry in foreign tongues and dirty up the doorstep” makes me think of his relationship with blondie, given their weird interplay as jesus and judas at various points.  as a bonus, “seal the river at its mouth, take the water prisoner / fill the sky with screams and cries, bathe in fiery answer” gives me branston bridge vibes also.

"wanted dead or alive," warren zevon: pretty self explanatory just from the title, but i thought "all i'm trying to do is find a peaceful place / but they say i have an outlaw's face" is particularly apt.  that, and the parallel of "fifteen states" to tuco being wanted in fifteen counties.

“do it again,” steely dan: “but the hangman isn’t hangin’, so they put you on the street.”  any song with a noose in it is a tuco song to me, especially if said noose is escaped, but the rest of the lyrics fit well too–revenge, trouble with the law, water in the desert, seduction and lost love (the wives!), gambling, making money.

“black widow blues,” townes van zandt: “i got the hands, pretty lady, gonna make you grieve / and the lovin’ gonna make you mine.”  a specific kind of drifting, hedonistic romanticism that suits him, i think.  something something a wife in every town.

“ventilator blues,” the rolling stones: “when you’re trapped and circled with no second chance / code of livin’ is your gun in hand / can’t be browed by beatin’, can’t be cowed by words / messed by cheatin’, ain’t gon’ ever learn.”  the line about “everybody's trying to step on their creator” and the opening verse about being agitated and beat down.

“goin’ out west,” tom waits: “they got some money out there, they’re giving it away” and “all my friends say i’m ugly, i got a masculine face.”  i feel like the braggadocio and the musical sound of it suits him.

“highway chile,” jimi hendrix: “now you’d probably call him a tramp, but i think it goes a little deeper than that”–tuco calls himself a tramp on the wagon.  “ain’t seen a bed in so long it’s a sin.”

“born under a real bad sign,” albert king: pretty self explanatory.  “if it wasn’t for real bad luck, i wouldn’t have no luck at all.”  that’s tuco, baby.  i used king’s original over the cream cover namely because of the line “i can’t read, never learned how to write.”

“laundromat,” rory gallagher: “what do you think of that? / i’m sleepin’ down at the laundromat” and the line about “come and meet my friends, they’ll be with me to the end” reminds me of his “if you work for a living, why do you kill yourself working?” scene

“who do you love,” townes van zandt: the morbid, boastful lyrics and themes of seduction suited tuco very well imo.  i love bo diddley but i picked the townes cover as i felt it fit better musically.

“brown eyed handsome man,” chuck berry: the braggadocio and the romanticization of brown eyes fits already, but the line about the judge’s wife setting a man free especially caught my attention, because it seems like it would happen to tuco (or he’d make up a story about it, anyway).

“hate street dialogue,” rodríguez: the song’s about growing up in inner city detroit, but it fits well, i think, with tuco’s line “where we come from, if one did not want to die in poverty, one became a priest or a bandit.”  also, “i’ve tasted hate street’s hanging tree.”

“snake mountain blues,” townes van zandt: the general lost love, “no one to care for me” thing, but also: “and it’s goodbye to this yellow-headed misery i’ve known.”  remind you of anyone?

“should’ve learnt my lesson,” rory gallagher: never learning, and “my first mistake was when i thought that you’d be true / now i realize that was a foolish thing to do” as everything with blondie.  “when you don’t fit, you know that’s the time to move.”  “you must be prepared to lose if you choose to toss the dice.”

“just a bum,” michael hurley: a wistful, romantic take on the life of a hedonistic drifter.  “just a tramp / call me what you like / see me travelin’ down the pike / and singin’ love songs / sittin’ by the fireside dreamin’ all night / makin’ love drunk in a meadow ‘neath the pale moonlight / travelin’ over land like a natural born man.”

“paper mountain man,” linda perhacs: the chorus, the line about “sewn by the love many ladies’ hands” and “you like delicate ladies with real fine skin / you’ll touch ‘em but you’ll never love / that’s the way you’ve always been,” the line about curly hair.  “heavy-booted walk tappin’ low funk blues” also feels fitting for reasons i can’t quite describe. 

“spoonful,” howlin’ wolf: also on blondie’s, who has the willie dixon version.  this version mentions gold, which is apt, and i think the mentions of being satisfied with just a little love work more ironically here than for blondie.  something about all this strife over a little wealth (before the gold comes along anyway...)

“driftin’ blues,” lowell fulson: “well i’m drifting and i’m drifting like a ship out to sea / ain’t got nobody in this world to care for me.”  need i say more?

“get behind the mule,” tom waits: one of the best suited songs for him, imo.  “i’m diggin' all the way to china with a silver spoon while the hangman fumbles with the noose”–sad hill!  but also, the idea of “you've got to get behind the mule in the morning and plow” is about how it goes for him.  he's just got to endure.  blondie leaves him in the desert seventy miles from town and tells him to manage it, so he does.  what else is he supposed to do?

“dirge,” bob dylan: this is the other peak tuco song for me.  the verse that starts “can’t recall a useful thing” which i made a web weave out of, but also, “i’ve paid the pride of solitude, but at least i’m out of debt.”

“rake,” townes van zandt: i wanted to end on kind of a grim note because there’s something very tragic about tuco as a character to me.  he ends the movie alive and with the gold, yes, but humiliated and abandoned by his partner.  reminds me of his relationship with pablo, too: “have you accomplished anything but evil?”  his drifting and hedonism can only take him so far before his past catches up with him eventually.

breakdown: il cattivo

"dead before dawn", vaguess: “please burn my rotting flesh / and don’t give me a grave / buy yourself something nice / with the money that you save / cause i’ll be gone”.  sad hill!

"sinister purpose," ccr: THE angel eyes song to me.  “burn away the goodness, you and i remain / did you see the last war? well here i am again.”  specifically, angel eyes to blondie.

"big in japan," tom waits: this one's all about the "i've got the [blank], but not the [blank]" structure.  as in, the cemetery, but not the grave–which could go for all of them, but i felt this fit sentenza best given he's trying to get both of these things; tortures it out of and forces a partnership on blondie since he suspects torture won't work on him.  that, and the "i've got the whole damn nation on its knees."

"people are strange," the doors: a time-constrained replacement for "riders on the storm," which i felt would’ve really suited him with the sinisterness of it and the thing about the drifting killer.  regardless, i think the idea of being cruel and apart from other people as a self-reinforcing cycle feels pretty fitting.

"thirteen," johnny cash: a song about a nameless killer.  “bad luck wind been blowin' at my back / i  was born to bring trouble to wherever i'm at” and “the list of lives i’ve broken reach from here to hell.”

"sympathy for the devil," the rolling stones: a song about a sophisticated devil?  come on, that’s angel eyes for sure.  i think “so if you meet me have some courtesy / have some sympathy and some taste / use all your well-learned politesse / or i’ll lay your sole to waste” is very fitting especially.

"whistlin’ past the graveyard," tom waits: this could've gone for any of the trio, honestly, but i picked angel eyes as this specific brand of sinister, supernatural braggadocio seemed to suit him best.

"i’m the devil," the william loveday intention: i feel like this one’s just self explanatory, to be honest.

"old judge jones," les dudek: one of my early adds; his (italian) name’s sentenza, after all, so i’m a sucker for pairing him with any song about judges/judgment.  “old judge jones never gave a man a break / on his hanging tree the leaves don’t shake.”

"the snake," al wilson: the theme of accepting someone else’s help and then crossing them because “you knew darn well i was a snake before you brought me in” feels very right for him.  something with how he betrays tuco.  hell, this could be a blondie song too.

"money talks," jj cale: “you’d be surprised with the friends you can buy with small change.”  the goons he hires.

"dead man, dead man," bob dylan: a tuco’s-eye-view of angel eyes, specifically.  the lines about “the glamor and the bright lights and the politics of sin,” “the tuxedo that you’re wearing, the flower in your lapel,” and the choruses with lines like “pretending that you’re so smart” and “what are you trying to prove?”–all his false sophistication and arrogance covering that he’s just another lowdown coward.

"hoist that rag," tom waits: the horrors of war (specifically, the prison camp stuff).

"wolf teeth," jd mcpherson: “i leave a little magic every place i go” (the inhuman vibes of him) and “leave a little blood so the grass can’t grow.”

"rotten to the core," the builders and the butchers: while i initially listened to this song assuming it was about a guy who sucked, it’s about seeing the world as an inherently cruel and dangerous place–which, funnily enough, i think also fits pretty well.  case in point, when he tries to justify his brutality to that prison camp official by claiming they have to have “respect.”

"bad seed sown," the bellfuries: “the kinda people hip to my kind of evil / are few and far between / it lurks, it lies, it feeds on cries / it’s sophisticated and mean.”  self explanatory.  additionally, “there won’t be omens or signs / just a smile and a line / then the swing of the axe”–betraying tuco.

"love of hate," st. john green: sad hill.  this one’s partly just vibes.  “shall die alone, without privilege of a stone” does fit nicely.

"riders in the sky," ronnie dawson: also on blondie’s, who has the johnny cash version, so i ended up using this for angel eyes.  blondie may have changed his ways, but angel eyes doesn’t, and he strikes me as the type not to stay dead and buried.  i just like the idea of him as a ghost.

"god’s gonna cut you down," johnny cash: the delicious irony of sentenza as a figure of judgment, and of him being then cut down by blondie (golden haired angel).

"the werewolf song," michael hurley: a slightly softer, sentimental take on the violence, if that makes any sense.  vibes mostly.  i wonder if he ever gets lonely.

"death don’t have no mercy (live)," hot tuna: reminds me very strongly of his intro at stevens’s place; “he comes to your house and he won’t stay long / you look in the bed and somebody will be gone.”  felt this was a good, grim note to end on, and i felt the hot tuna cover fit very well musically.

[dujour13]

9 Ship Songs

Tagged by @dragonologist-phd Thanks for the tag!! This was harder than it sounded at first for Siavash & Woljif. Some are from my wip sequel playlist.

Undisclosed Desires - Muse

I want to reconcile the violence in your heart I want to recognize your beauty is not just a mask I want to exorcise the demons from your past I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart

Talk – Hozier

I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus When her body was found (hey ya) I'd be the choiceless hope in grief That drove him underground (hey ya) I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee That made him turn around (hey ya) And I'd be the immediate forgiveness In Eurydice

Flatlands – Chelsea Wolfe

I want open plains And scattered trees I want flower fields I want salty seas I want flatlands Soft and steady breeze Bringing scents of Lined-up orchard trees Dripping heavy With pears and dancing leaves I want flatlands Will you go there with me?

Endlessly – Muse

Hopelessly I'll love you endlessly Hopelessly I'll give you everything But I won't give you up I won't let you down And I won't leave you falling If the moment ever comes

Sous ton Aile – Eiffel

Phénix Prends-moi sur-le-champ Couvre moi d'étincelles Et de ta clameur arque le ciel Prends-moi sur-le-champ Oiseau rare éternel Prends moi sous ton aile Sous ton aile... Fais couler la sève nue Des immortels Prends moi sous ton aile

Phoenix Take me now Cover me in sparkles And in your rainbow clamor Take me now Rare eternal bird Take me under your wing Under your wing Make the immortals' naked sap flow Take me under your wing

Wandering Star – Portishead

Please could you stay awhile to share my grief For it's such a lovely day To have to always feel this way

Teardrop – Massive Attack

Love, love is a verb Love is a doing word Fearless on my breath Gentle impulsion Shakes me, makes me lighter Fearless on my breath

Let Me Follow – Son Lux

You can break throw yourself away Leave it behind We come Undone And if you need to, you can break me too You can disappear Please just take me with you and you go Or let me follow Let me follow

Orpheus – Sarah Bareilles

Don't stop Trying to find me here amidst the chaos Though I know it's blinding There's a way out Say out loud We will not give up on love now No fear Don't you turn like Orpheus Just stay here Hold me in the dark and when the day appears We'll say We did not give up on love today

Tagging (no pressure!) @silversiren1101, @angrygoatwoman, @dmagedgoods, @dragonflytehanu, @spyridonya, @commander-lariel, @arrow90-art, @iwoszareba, @another-heroine, @rollofleaf, @iaspideus and anyone else who wants to do this!