#that makes me like and want to support his work even more

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Bottled Up (Satoru Gojo x Reader)

MDNI SMUT 18+ CONTENT

Gojo can’t cum. Too much on his mind, not enough time to himself, not enough chances to indulge. It’s becoming a matter of personal hygiene. He can't go on like this. He needs help. Your help.

Ao3 Masterlist.

WC: 7.4k Warnings: casual sex, raw sex, penetrative sex, kissing, kissing SLOPPY, oral m!receiving, discussion of anal but not present really, improper use of cursed energy, doggy, begging, crying, desperate whiny Gojo, brief mention on former satosugu,

------ Wow can you guys even believe? I actually wrote something about Gojo!! Tbh writing about/for him intimidates the fuck out of me but i have some longer form ideas about him so this was a good exercise. I hope y’all like it. -Doodle

Satoru can’t cum. He’s broken. His balls dried up. His dick died. His cursed energy overloaded and rendered him impotent. Limitless misfired and clogged him completely. It was the only way to explain why he hadn’t cum in two months.

He used to be able to cum. Fuck, he used to cum too easy. Ten years ago he would jerk off before hooking up so he didn’t cum too fast. He was so fucking sensitive, every touch or graze could send him shivering. Now he would have given anything for his days as a quick draw. That life was over.

Do people have cum caps? Like a finite amount of times they can orgasm and an excess of masturbation and experimentation in his youth had burned through his chances. He wants to believe that if he had known how wasteful he was, he would have acted differently, but it was a lie. He was too instinctual, everything in his nature, his upbringing, had taught him to trust his instincts above all else. They kept him alive, kept him going, kept him satisfied. But now, a vital piece of the puzzle was missing.

It was the sixty-sixth day in a row. He got home around eleven pm, an earlier night than most. His apartment, with its spotless, professionally tended, interior that betrayed the depraved chaos burning inside of him. Dropping his keys and shoes at the door he groaned into the silence at the way his work pants shifted against his throbbing erection trucked down his left leg. This was the part that was growing painful. The sensitivity. It started just around his pelvis, any brush of fabric or misjudged distance between himself and curses, near his hips would send a shaking beat of pleasure up his spine. But it spread, and spread. Even the car seat against his back was starting to turn him on. Last week Principle Yaga touched the back of his neck by mistake and his eyes rolled back. His black blindfold was working finding more work by the day. He started leaving limitless up constantly, well, more constantly. Only dropping completely after he had crossed the threshold of his home. Anything else was too risky.

Today had been rough, he woke up aching between his legs, the coldest shower he could stand helped to bring it down, but not for long. On the way to work he had to cross and re-cross his legs, a difficult feat at his height, over and over until he got to the school. Because of his existence in the good graces of the universe, there were no classes, only a brutally endless string of meetings. Not good, but at least…seated. By the time the final meeting was dismissed he thought he could bite through a cement support beam. On the way out, one of the higher ups patted him on the back, limitless blocking it from making contact, but he found a tantalizing urge to let it pass through, just for the contact.

He was fucking ruined.

Passing through the mainroom, up the staircase to the bedroom, he pulled his blindfold from his eyes, blinking a few times, snowy eyelashes relaxing from their position pressed against his eyelids. Finally in his bedroom, he pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor, already breathing hot and deep. He passed his bed into the ensuite bathroom, clicking the light and taking in his own reflection.

Fuck, he looked rough.

Skin sallow. Muscles strained and tense. Still handsome, of course, but drained. Like he had been wrung out.

And alone.

Satoru clicked the light off. He couldn’t go there.

He walked himself over to the bed, lithe hands finding his belt and unfastening it, slipping his pants down his legs. A relieved sigh left his mouth as the tight garment was removed. He sat on the edge of his bed, palming his desperate erection. He was shivering, the stimuli so overwhelming already. He wasn’t hopeful, but he was too desperate to stop. Keening back onto the bed, he let his eyes close. He didn’t want to see, the only sensation he wanted was to feel himself, touching himself, bringing him to the peak that felt so insurmountable. He was diamond hard now, finally he pulled himself free of the confines of his briefs. Taking his length into his hand, circling his palm over his barren tip.

He couldn’t even precum anymore.

He groaned in frustration, scooting back further on the cushy mattress, his briefs joining his discarded pants on the floor. He spit onto his hand, coating his dick from base to head, easing his strokes. He let his head fall back against the pillows, dredging up memories of past lovers to try and aid his efforts. He wasn’t really a porn guy, not above it, certainly. But it was overstimulating, bright lights, too colorful, just overwhelming to his already heightened senses. He preferred to rely on his own mind, he was in total control there. Or at least he used to be. His mind was too full of other bullshit to wander into the salacious. Work, always work. Lesson plans, missions, reports, meetings.

Fuck.

He reset, turning over onto his knees, moving one of his silken pillows under him, opting to rut against the soft cushion. One hand underneath pressing it against his length. His head hanging heavy under his shoulders, sweat dripping down the slope of his nose. The cold silk pillowcase against his cock, making his sweating body erupt into goosebumps. He slid his hips, gasping out shuddering breaths. It felt so good, so cold and soft against his begging erection. The muscles in his back rippled, swelling and beckoning under his frosty, even skin. The light of his bedroom cast gorgeous shadows on his back and hips, bringing out his excellent physique. The shadow of his spine, the lat muscles under large, perfectly worked arms, almost appearing as angel wings in the low, soft glow.

He brought his thoughts to long shapely legs, thighs shaking under his touch. Lips, wet and swollen, against his own. This was working, his breath was starting to catch in time with his hips against the pillow. He let his mind continue to wander and increased his speed. Glute muscles flexing hard as images of bodies he once held, some with features he knew well, some less familiar but still worth remembering. Some too familiar, silky, long black hair falling into his mouth. Dark violet eyes, full, strong arms.

No. Not that. He couldn’t go there either. There was nothing left for him anymore.

It killed his momentum. Still aching below but too stormy on top. Stilling his hips, slouching over the mattress. He took a few deep breaths, trying to take in the room around him in pieces, grounding himself in the present. In reality.

He wiped his wet hand over his face then on the sheets below him, gripping hard. This was getting ridiculous. He felt pathetic. Tears burned behind his blessed eyes. He felt broken. He felt shame bubbling behind his navel. He couldn’t live like this. He needed to cum. He needed to release all of this build up and get himself right.

Satoru pulled his phone from the discarded pants and tapped it a few times. Until he found just what he was looking for.

Your phone screen illuminated your dark bedroom. Your humidifier was on, your lights had been long turned out. You had just fallen asleep after some restless tossing and turning. The screen lit up again, this time chiming out a text notification. That jarred you from the warm grip of dream and made your head spring up. You glanced at the screen, trying to read the too bright notification with sleep still coating your eyes. But before you could, it changed to the dimmer incoming call screen. It vibrated on the nightstand, suddenly too loud to ignore. You sighed, and retrieved it.

It was Gojo. He was calling you. You hadn’t seen him in months. fuck was that right? You thought back. You hadn’t seen him in…six months. The last time you left his gorgeous, perfectly styled, agonizingly well put together apartment, it hadn’t been on bad terms, by any metric, but it wasn’t like you were falling into each other's arms either. There hadn’t been any blow out or agreement not to see each other anymore, it just fizzled out. You were sure you had been disappointed when the calls and texts slowed to a trickle, but it wasn’t like you were dating or anything. You had hooked up a few times earlier in the year. No more than four times total. Okay, six times. Okay, nine times. Okay, you lost track somewhere in the second month. What really qualifies as hooking up these days, anyway? Just penetration or sexting? Oral? Hand stuff? Hand stuff in public? Other stuff in public? What should even qualify if you were keeping track -- which you weren’t! You answered the call.

“Do you know what time it is?” You sighed out, smiling through your feigned annoyance.

He purred on the other side of the line, “hmmmm, what are you wearing?”

“Pajamas, because it's almost one in the morning.” your voice was hoarse, sleep having laid your vocal cords to rest.

“Sounds hot.” You could hear his stupidly sexy smile, “You should come over. Can’t waste an outfit like that at home.”

You laugh, already planning how quickly you could pull yourself together, and whether or not the trains were still running, “You’re kidding me. I haven't heard from you in months. You call at an ungodly hour and expect me to come running over at the drop of a hat?”

“You don’t have to run, I’ll send a car.” He coos.

You laugh again, stretching in your bed, letting out a soft groan.

“mmmm, do that again.” His voice grew heavier, there was some suspicious sounding rustling on his end.

You stayed quiet, wanting to see if you would hear anything else and wanting to deny him.

“Now don’t be like that, baby.” He whines, he sounds pathetic “I need your help. It’s an emergency.”

You got out of your bed, still taking your sweet time, savoring his helplessness, “An emergency, huh? Nothing fatal I hope.”

His tongue clicks on the other side, “hmmm, it’s hard to say. Could be a fever, I’m feeling…hot.”

You hate that a line so corny is making you bite your lips to keep quiet. You slipped into a cuter, but still comfy lounge set, a bit more versatile than your pajamas “Sounds contagious, maybe it would be best if I stayed home…”

“Please!” His voice changed, cracking and almost panicked, “I need you, please.”

There was no version of this conversation that ended any other way, “Send the car.”

“Already outside.” You heard his face split into that gorgeous smile you couldn't resist, not even over the phone.

When you arrived at his front door, you didn't even have a chance to knock before he swung the door open. And fuck he looked good. Bad, but good? Not bad, just…disheveled. He hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on, inhumanly muscled torso glowy and flushed, his hair matted and unkempt, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The long, angled white scar healed from an injury long past going from his shoulder to his opposite hip. You traced the line with your eyes, recalling the first time you had seen it, how he had moved your fingers over it, getting you used to the feeling of it under your touch, assuring you that it was long healed and nothing to fuss over. Every inch of him was perfect, despite his pain, his history. You couldn’t resist the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world. Your ogling did not go unnoticed, looking up to his face you saw the smile you had heard so much of recently.

“Miss me?” He opened the door wider, allowing you to enter, ducking under his arm.

“Yeah.” You admitted rolling your eyes and stepping inside, leaving your shoes at the door.

You took in the sleek, cavernous town house around you. His decor hadn’t changed at all, a lovely front room, a staircase along one windowed wall, leading up to his bedroom. If you were to press further into the main floor, peeling back shoji screens you would find more bedrooms, frozen in time just as they were last left by their former inhabitants, his office, barely ever touched, a gorgeous bathroom complete with a personal sauna. For someone who spent nearly no time at home, he really did have the house dreams are made of.

“I can get you something to drink if you want.” He offers, shutting and locking the door.

“That’s okay. You sounded pretty desperate on the phone, I’d hate to keep you waiting.

He wasn’t totally ready for this part. Having to explain what was going on with him. He shifted a bit, he wanted you so bad. He needed it. He needed every part of you right now, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Come on Gojo, you got me out here. Don’t get shy on me now. What’s the big emergency?” You set your bag down on his expansive kitchen island, not subtly eyeing the absolutely incomprehensible bulge tenting the front of his sweats.

“It’s been so long, why the rush, Sugar?” He plays coy, approaching you with a suave gait, moving past you to the refrigerator, “Sparkling water? Still? I can go down to the cellar if you want something stronger?”

“Gojo…” You raise your eyebrows.

“I have tea or coffee if you prefer. Some sodas, you like diet right?”

“Gojo come on---”

“You know i'm not great in the kitchen but if you’re hungry I could---”

“Satoru!” You cut him off, finally pulling his attention from the icebox, “What’s up with you?”

His white eyebrows knit together in the center, making his eyes droop pitfully, “I can’t cum.”

You can barely hear his confession, and you must have heard him wrong so in earnest you ask, “What?”

“I can’t cum. For weeks, nothing. I try and I try and just…nothing.” He blurts, simultaneously relieved and mortified.

You know you shouldn't stare, that you should say something, but you’re dumbfounded. There was once a time, not too long ago even, where he had you bent over this exact counter pushing through his own leaking orgasm to bring you to tears. And that had been the third round that night. You always thought he was the untouchable man, a paragon of self control and pushed limits. To think of him unable to even pleasuring himself, it felt impossible.

“You can’t cum?” You say dumbly.

“Well now that you have repeated it, I think I must be cured, you can go now.” He rolled his eyes, leaning his shoulder against the fridge, fighting the hiss that bubbles in his throat from its chilling surface against his heated skin.

“I’m sorry!” You put your hands up like you had been caught, “It's just a little hard to believe! I never expected you to….struggle…in this…area.”

Gojo’s eyebrows flew up, every word you said made it worse. You could feel it but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were apparently determined to put every foot possible in your big stupid mouth.

“I just mean because you’re usually so good! How could this happen, are you sick? I don’t know why I would even ask that! Obviously you’re not sick, you're just….having some…dysfunction.”

“Why would you say dysfunction?” He stared at you, ego bruised but still amused at how poorly you were handling this.

“I didn’t mean like that! I Just---”

“Any other word. Any word in the world you could have said, and you go with dysfunction.” He chuckles, his own embarrassment now vacated completely in wake of how flagrantly you had just shit the bed.

“That was super dumb, and I’m really sorry. I have no idea what to say.” You just gave up on the second half of the sentence, knowing nothing you were saying was going to help.

“I don't have erectile dysfunction, the erection is not the problem,” He doesn’t have to gesture below his waist, the subject of conversation stands perfectly at attention, pushing against the flimsy fabric, “It won't go away, I’m stuck like this, and I can’t think about anything else, and I can’t get anything done. I need your help, you have to help me get rid of it.”

Your chest warmed a bit, a sly canary eating smile crossed your face, “So you called me, huh?”

“Yes I called you.” He sighs.

“Out of everyone you could have booty called to help your infinite boner, you call little old me? Gojo, I'm touched!” You sound like you're accepting a Nobel prize.

He rolls his eyes, “I knew you were going to be annoying about this.”

You took a seat at one of the bar stools at the counter, resting your head flirtatiously on your perched hands, “So like when you were choosing who to call, what made you pick me…am I just that good?”

You were, fuck you really were. He had thought about you so many times, Your perfect body, your pretty eyes, your soft hair, your legs around his hips, your fucking mouth. It had been too long over all, but it had been far too long since he had been with you. He called you because he knew you were great, and because he trusted you. He could be honest with you without judgement, your current reaction notwithstanding. He knew that he could count on you to be discreet and up front. There weren’t any guessing games when you were together, he didn’t have to guess or grasp for clues at how you were feeling. He knew you.

“That’s right.” He nodded, willing to let you have this.

You let out a teasing school yard oooooooooooooh. Batting your eyelashes and grinning widely, feeling like the absolute queen of the universe.

But he was growing impatient, “You gonna help me out, or what?”

“Sounds like I have quite the reputation to protect, how long has it been exactly?” You eyed him up and down.

“Still about twenty centimeters. Give or take.” He answers, “Oh! You mean--two months.”

“Months? Two MONTHS?” You gawked and then caught yourself, “I’m sorry I know that doesn’t help…I just can’t believe you’re upright. How are you not hospitalized?”

“If this conversation takes much longer I may have to be.” He crosses the room to you, leaning over where you are seated on the counter, putting his arm around you to grip the back of your chair.

You lean back, taking in a breath as he leans closer. Fuck, he’s so handsome. Perfect pearly skin, hair soft and fluffy, those fucking eyes holding you still under their gaze.

“Come on, Sugar, help a guy out. We’re friends right? Friends help each other.” His breath is sweet against your face.

You feel hypnotized, looking between his eyes and lips in a dizzying circle. His cocky demeanor you were so used to was crackling, you could see beads of sweat that had formed on his brow, his tongue wet and heavy kept his lips parted, drawing you closer. He smelled like him, warm and clean, the whole place smelled like him. You were completely in his arena, but you still had all the power. The Strongest asking you for help, begging even, you felt high. You tilted your head up, close to his face, catching his eyes,

“What are friends for?” You closed the distance between you, locking your lips together.

He is quick to pull you closer, making your breasts press hard against his chest, drawing a moan from both of you. His tongue slips past your lips, and maps the interior of your mouth quickly. Reacquainting himself with your taste. Even just a kiss, a real kiss, made his body shudder. His left hand holds your face, his long fingers splayed over your cheek, from your neck up to you temple, his right hand held the back of your neck, keeping you firm in place against him. You are far handsier than him in this moment. You can’t stop yourself, you missed his body, his kiss, him. Feeling his toned stomach, around his hips to his back, digging your nails in just enough to see if he gasps. He does not. Far too focused on the sloppy, dripping kiss he waited so patiently for. He’s leaning over you, pushing you further and further back, making you dangerously close to falling off the stool below you. But of course, his hand grabs your back, holding you still, right where we wanted you. Just past the point where you would have to engage your abs, but not far enough for you to want to hold yourself up. Muscles right on the precious of passive ability and focused contraction, forcing to to rely on his hold, trusting him completely, and he could feel you would relax into his palm, melting into his touch.

“Fuck, Gojo. You really are desperate.” You giggled as his kissed moved down to your jaw and neck.

He moaned against your skin as your nails clawed at his lower back, nodding his head passively, running his tongue over your pulse point.

“You’re so pretty.” He hooks your leg over his hip, pressing the problem child erection right against yours clothed cunt, drawing a shaky gasp from you.

“Not here.” He pulls himself away. “Upstairs…do this right…let’s”

He’s not finishing any of his sentences, you almost worry if whatever problem that resides in his cock could be spreading to his brain. But maybe it was contagious because you can’t bring yourself to care. Holding your hand a bit too tight, he pulls you forward and up the staircase to his bedroom. He doesn’t bother shutting the door, no one else has lived here in a long time. The house is quiet, bar from the panting breaths that drip from both of you, the rustle of clothes, and the reconnection of hot, desperate skin. You kiss him again, pushing him back toward the bed. He allows you to push him onto the mattress, disconnecting your lips.

“So?” You flirt, standing naked before him, letting him see all of you, “how do you wanna fix this?”

He has shed his sweatpants in the shuffle, propped up on his elbow, the other hand giving himself long, slow strokes.

“I’ve been dreaming about that mouth, baby.” He chews on the interior of his bottom lip, “show me if you’re as good as I remember.”

He spreads his legs, allowing you a good long look at how hard he really has become. Angry, pink tip swollen, veins along the shaft straining against the skin. The lower ab muscles are so strained you think they might pop. You had almost forgotten how fucking big he is. Everything about him was too big. His broad, strong body, his long spindly legs, built, strong arms hanging below his hips, those big hands with their knuckly fingers, his long, thick cock and the ego that accompanied. Seeing all of him, how big he was, made a shock run up and down your spine.

How the fuck had you fit this thing inside of you before?

“Oh, don’t be shy now,” he echos your earlier words, “you can take it.”

Not to be out foxed, you steel yourself and sink to your knees in between his spread legs. He stops stroking himself, leaning against both elbows now, waiting with held breath for you to begin.

Your put your hands on his knees, massaging them down and up, feeling the taut muscles of his thighs, the soft hairs under your hands.

“You think about me a lot?” You kissed the side of his left knee.

“Mhm.” His head hung backs exposing his delicious, wiry throat.

His adam’s apple bobbed as he gasped, you ran your nails down his legs, making his hips jerk upward.

“Don’t tease baby, it’s bad enough already!” He begged.

Fuck he sounded good like that. No one could swing the pendulum of pathetic and cocky quite like Satoru Gojo.

“Two months huh?” You carried on, giving open mouthed kisses up his thigh between thoughts, “you must be sooooo sensitive. Poor baby.”

He nods, his eyes squeezed right, trying to focus on every sensation you’re giving him.

Finally you reach the divot between his hip and the base of his pelvis, the internal hinge of his thigh. You ran your tongue along the muscle, tasting the salt of his body. His hips jerk again.

“Please!” He cries out, the lamp at his bedside flicker off and on again.

“Careful Satoru.” You warned, “all you had to do was ask.”

You swirl your tongue around the swollen, aching tip of his dick. Looping around the underside of the head and sliding your mouth down further.

Satoru was in heaven, his eyes rolled back in his head, he fought to keep his hips still, he didn’t want to hurt you, but fuck he wanted more.

You slide your tongue along each beautiful vein, making a perfect map in your head of the topography of his penis. Pulling off and sinking back down again you could take him all the way to the base, coarse white hair ticking your nose as your relaxed your throat to accommodate him he fell back against the bed, one hand moving your hair off your forehead so he could see your pretty face. He didn’t know what he wanted to do more, relax into the pleasure and let it wash over him, or watch you take him further. He leaned up to watch, just as your peeked on eye open to see him falling apart. But the eye contact was too much for him to bear, he felt his cheeks erupt in a blush, and he fell backward again, using one arm to shield his eyes.

You tutted, running his cock along your lips as your spoke, giving it sloppy kisses to make the syllabals, “oh Satoru, look at me, baby. Doesn’t it feel good?”

He nods but doesn’t look up. He can’t bear it. Your weepy eyes filling with tears from the lack of breath, your lips swollen, encasing his cock head. Your hair pulled to one side, giving him a perfect view of your hollowed cheeks as you suck and pull at him. With your spit coating his cock, the sensitivity has doubled. Wet, schlucking sounds fill his bedroom, alongside your haughty moans. Or wait…that’s actually him moaning like that. He doesn’t even recognize himself, he’s panting, sweating, begging. He didn’t even realize he was talking but the praises have been spilling from him continuously:

Yes

Baby yes just like that

Fuck you’re so good

You’re so pretty

Fuck you’re doing so good

Feels so good

Baby

Fuck

Sugar

So pretty

So good

I can’t I

Please baby make me

Fuck you’re

Agh

Oh

Fu

Oh

Ah

O

I

All he can manage by the time he looks back at you are open vowel sounds. It’s feels fucking incredible, perfect, if this were three months ago he would have cum in an instant. This was the closest he had felt, but it still wasn’t enough. He had to be inside you. The hand keeping your hair back rounded your face, his thumb pushing against your lips.

“I need to fuck you.” He says breathlessly, “I won’t cum until I fuck you, please.”

You pull off of him, a little disappointed that you wouldn’t get to brag about your head game, but you push it aside and join him on the bed. Clingy as he is, he pulls you close, kissing you hard again. Your mouth is wet with saliva and pre cum. He didn’t have the time to be impressed at your skill bringing forth the pearly substance, he coveted so greatly. He was too focused on being as close as two people can be. You move to straddle his lap, but he shakes his head, breaking from your lips.

“Bend over.” His mouth is wet now, both of you wet from lips to chin.

You grin and climb off him, stacking a few pillows to give you something to rest on and presenting your hips to him. Satoru is getting his bearings back, he feels more in control now that he has moved onto his knees behind you. Desperate as he is he can’t resist brushing two feather light fingers down your spine, watching you arch as he drags them further and further down. Your spine snakes, your hips sway, his fingers find the cleft where your spine meets your ass, a perfectly little dimple, waiting for his hands to paw at, your breathy moan eggs him on, sliding further down, feeling your tight asshole clench from just the lightest of contact.

“You remember when you let me back here?” He circles it, reminiscing, “you were so tight. fuck, you felt so good baby.”

“Remember when you let me back there.” You tried to sound tough but your position bent over with your head buried in your hands made it difficult.

“Mmmmhm.” He felt his dick twitch again, remembering when you had fingered him open, sucking him in tandum, he swore he saw an angel that night.

And here you were again, having rushed over in the middle of the night just to help him, trembling under his fingertips. Maybe you really were an angel. His very own guardian angel. If anyone could bed a steward of the divine it would be him.

“I thought you needed my help.” You whined.

He giggles, leaning over you, close enough that his lips touch your ear, his heavy cock pressing against your slit,“Just making sure you’re as needy as I am.”

He runs his tongue over the shell of your ear, making you squeal. Of course he remembered all your sensitive spots. He returned to his knees behind you, spreading you open, marveling at the mess you had made. Dripping honey onto the bed, onto your thighs, on his hand. His mouth floods, the desire to bury his head between your legs quickly matching his desire to cum.

“Later.” You whimpered, having read his mind, “you need my help.”

He beams, “so selfless.”

Finally, after an hour of build up since your arrival, the agonizing time waiting for you to get here, and the two months of celibacy that had brought him here, he aligned himself at your drooling hole, your spit was still shining along his cock but he ran either side though your folds anyway, making sure he was wet enough. He had fucked enough and had a big dick for long enough that he knew taking it all required some specific anatomy or a lot of prep, usually both. And while you were familiar with him, and giving yourself so willingly to him, he didn’t actually want to hurt you.

“Satoru please just—-“

The rest of your sentence would never see the air of his bedroom. It’s conclusion stolen from you and replaced with a pathetic scream as he pushed inside. He had meant to ease in but as soon as he started he couldn’t stop himself, he bottomed out in his first thrust. A loud smack of your ass hitting his hips still resounded in the room as he pulled back and thrusted in again. Your back arched evilly, dangerously close to snapping your spine in half. Despite his tunnel vision, Satoru eased his hand up your back, effortlessly smoothing it and gripping your shoulder for more leverage.

“Yes! Oh fuck yes.” He grunted, thrusting in an evil pace.

You couldn’t even speak, he was so deep, you were willing to bet his made an impression agains the front of your stomach. On your pillow pedastule you sank further, and reached up one formerly supportive hand to grip his on your shoulder.

“Sa…sa…” you panted out, not even able to string his name together.

He moved to long, languid, but devastatingly deep thrusts, the hand on your shoulder holding the side of your neck now, “that’s it, sugar. Say my name. Say my name, baby, come on.”

You tried, you really fucking tried but the letters wouldn’t come, “S—Sa—-sss.”

Your eyes rolled back, crumbling completely into the silken pillowcases, not caring if your spit or tears ruined the fabric. He spanked you once hard, making your head shoot up.

“I said say it.” He grunted.

Cocky for a man who was nearly in tears over the phone because he couldn’t bust.

“Satoru!” You finally spilled, his cock pushing hard against your g spot, “Satoru! Satoru please! Be gentle!”

Now that your voice had found you again it was hard not to beg him for mercy.

“Please baby, please! Fuck that’s so good.” You babbled, bringing a sick smile to his face.

He fucked harder, deeper into you, reveling the way your walls fluttered around him. You were so tight he had initially worried he was going to split you in two. But you are his angel, he should have known better than to deny your divinity. Satoru could hear your moans increasing in pitch and becoming choppy. He reached around your hip, finding the perfect pearl between your lower lips and circling his middle finger around. The clench that followed sent you both keening. His fingers brought forth an orgasm you didn’t think was nearly as close. Your hips shaking, biting into the pillow to keep from screaming.

“No baby, let me hear you.‘I need it.” He panted, not stopping his fingers on your clit or his evil thrusts, seeming deeper and deeper every second.

You tried to lift your head but felt dizzy, your vision wasn’t right, your clit throbbed beautifully but made you aware of how fast your heart was. Gojo pulled out turning you on your back, reinserting himself with a kiss to your cheeks.

“Don’t pass out on me, okay? I need you baby, I need your help. Help me, please.” He thrusted slower, only moving a few inches at a time as your came down from the mind fuzzing orgasm.

You nodded, coming back to yourself, you pulled your legs over his hips, your hands moving down the curves of his body. He slower thrust gave you time to admire him. He really was so beautiful. Looking at the sun and having to look away beautiful. His skin was reddening from effort and arousal, splotchy flushes that still couldn’t take away his perfection. The divots on his shoulders, the smell of his sweat, the taste of his spit. Fucking him felt like being completely encompassed in perfection incarnate. And you couldn’t feel luckier to have the chance to be so. He opened his pleasure screwed up eyes, those glowing blue irises, that contained so much of what everyone thought he was, looking down at you with so much trust, so much vulnerability, your heart lurched into your throat.

“You okay?” Satoru scanned your face.

You nodded, pulling him in to kiss you again, feeling his soft hair under your fingers. You held on as he increased his thrusts again. Speed, depth, power, all of it ramped back up to fainting orgasm levels.

Satoru was on the verge of tears, he couldn’t do without again. He couldn’t not cum one more time. He wouldn’t make it. He would bury himself into any hole you offered him again and again and again until he was free from this. Reaching back and pulling your leg over his shoulder, he allowed himself even deeper into you. He watched your face scrunch up in pleasure, your mouth drop open to catch hot, stolen breath from him. He wanted to make it easier, slotting his lips against yours and kissing you deep, tasting your pleasure. He swooned, his heart felt so tight and full it could burst, he was so grateful for you. For your body, your generosity, your care for him that you made look so simple. He knew he wasn’t an easy person to care about, but it seemed to him like you had never considered it cumbersome. Kissing you he felt the tears long built up by restriction begin to fall, wetting his own cheeks as well as yours.

“Satoru are y—-?” You worried against his lips, your hand in his hair moving from. A harsh grip to a soothing pet.

He shook his head, although you were right, “it’s okay. Thank you. Just thank you.”

He kissed you again and carried on thrusting, long and deep. He found your other hand and took it in his own, interlocking your fingers. Hips hard and fast, the friction not enough, he needed to touch every inch of you with every inch of himself. Your pressed against his chest as you moved to match his thrusts, putting aside the emotions that had arisen and remembering your purpose for being here. He had to break away from the kiss, pushing his forhead against yours, gasping out as you synced your thrusts together.

Oh.

Like a dim lantern in a barren desert, a non phosphorescent illusory light in a cave, the shine of climax came into his view. Still holding your hand, one of your legs over his shoulder, bending your body into a bizzare position, he chased it with everything he could. Drilling himself into your drooly, puffy pussy, again and again, causing you to cry out.

“Baby almost, cum with me, please! Pleasepleaseplease.” He squeezed your hand a bit too hard, your fingers felt cramped.

Well, they would, if you could feel them. And your leg would likely feel strained, if you could feel your hamstring still. But you couldn’t feel anything except the white hot pleasure bursting inside of you everytime he pushed against your gspot. Not breaking away from his hand, your other shot between your legs circling your clit, making you tighten up around him. Satoru cried out, the devilish squeeze of your walls felt like the last barrier between him and total bliss.

“Please baby, please.” He can’t control his voice, he doesn’t care, nothing matters when he is this close, “yes, cum around me. I need it. Cum.”

Your eyes flutter back, your head pushes against the pillow, your body erupts into cooling, overwhelming bliss.

Finally, his torment turns, the ache in his stomach unraveling. He can’t believe it, it’s finally about to be over, he feels your body shake underneath him, your hand gripping his so tightly, your cries filling his bedroom. Just at the precipice Gojo, steals one last look at your pleasure struck face, and he falls.

The lights in his bedroom bloom, swell, and overload. Bulbs bursting as he pumps himself through the most earth shattering orgasm he has ever known. Line after line of thick, long stored cum spilling from him into your waiting cunt. The room is plunged into darkness, he buries his head in your neck, panting hard.

You smile as you feel him filing you, and continue filling you. He had always cum a lot, he joked that it was his lineage begging him for continuation. But this was, beyond. Load after load of hot, desperate cum. He pushed his hips closer to you, his body yearning to become fused to yours. To never separate again.

You move one careful hand up his back, feeling the cooling sweat at his neck, the soft hair at the nape. His breath slows against your skin, but he doesn’t yet push himself off of you, keeping his heavy frame collapsed on you. But you don’t dare complain, committing the heat of his body to memory. The moonlight from the window is now, thanks to his discharge of power, the only light in the room. Your eyes adjust slowly, his features glowing in soft blue-white light. The air in the room is thick and full of both of you. Had you an eternity to indulge yourself in this moment, it would still feel too intangible to recall. But you try anyway.

Once his eyes have stopped spinning in their sockets like some knock out cartoon, Satoru pushes himself off of you, staying inside, just hovering above your body. His misty blue eyes look over every inch of you in a second. Taking in everything about this moment, how your skin reflects the moonlight, your eyes heavy and half lidded with sleep and bliss, your soft smile waiting for him to say something. But he wasn’t ready yet, he pressed his lips to yours again, firm but not desperate. He’s kissed you lavishly and with no burning sense of time. It could be called lazy if it weren’t for the focused decadence behind his mouth. He finally separates, thin silks of spit still unbroken between you two.

You brought your unheld hand to his face, cupping his cheek, watching as his eyes flutter shut. You could see tears drying on his cheeks, overwhelm and gratitude thier origin. The moon brought them forward for your viewing, you swiped a thumb under one eye. They both open under your touch, filling with something unreadable. He let go of your hand, opting to mirror your hold on your face, using one long finger to brush away a hair gelled to your sticky forehead.

“Thank you.” He reiterates, the frantic gratitudes from before nullified into a sincerity that made you nervous despite the juxtoposition of his cock still inside of you.

“Anytime, Satoru.” You can feel your cheeks heat, but your bliss doesn’t waver.

He slid out of you slowly, careful not to jostle his tingling, overstimulated length.

You both are left panting once he has been removed completely. He moved onto his side next to you, on his back, breathing up into the dark ceiling. You realize that you had no way of knowing what time it was. The thoughts of work and responsibility tomorrow we’re beginning to gnaw at the edges of your mind. You should get home soon, leave him to his new sexual freedom. You’d imagine he would be ready to pass out if he wasn’t asleep already. The expulsion of cursed energy enough to knock out the lights, enough to send him comatose.

You should know better than to underestimate him. Gojo sits up, stretching his long arms in front of him, allowing the formerly clenched back muscles to reset. Leaning back against his hands he looks down to you.

“I gotta change the bulbs and reset the fuse box. You wanna stay here? Once I’m done we can go again.” That flirty smile quickly irresistible, “orrrr, if you help me I’ll be done ever faster and I can thank you properly.”

You rolled your eyes, giggling, “I’m still recovering from the last favor I did for you. Come get me when you’re done.”

You settle back into his bed, the luxe duvet the perfect cloud-like weight on your shoulders. The smell of him clinging to every stitch of his sheets.

He moved off the bed, slipping on his underwear and making quick work of changing the burst light bulbs. This wasn’t the first time a miscalculated charge had knocked out the electrical system of his house. He had a private grid, it wasn’t that elegant but between the solar panels on the outside and a small self sustaining aquaphir underneath, it was nearly entirely self sufficient. So it was simple enough to fix when it did happen. When he switched the fuse box, the electric hum returned. Back in his bedroom he found you sleeping, curled up in his bedding, snoring softly. He moves some hair off your shoulder, fingers gentle on your thin, soft skin. Bare except for the duvet pulled over your shoulders. He crouched next to you silently, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. He was lucky to have you, someone who would help him so readily, so selflessly. Someone he could trust and confide in. It had been a long time since he could trust someone like this. Still standing over you, he watched as your stirred, sleepy eyes opening to take him in, squinting against the refreshed lighting.

“Coming back to bed?” Your sleep riddled voice charmed.

“Oh I’m not done with you yet.” He moved into bed beside you, taking your body in his arms once again, his lips fighting home under your jaw.

He really was insatiable.

YAY!!! I hope y'all enjoyed this one. It was fun to write and fell together really easily. I am a lot less intimidated by writing gojo now. But I would love to hear yall's feedback on how it came off!! PLEASE! again, i have a much longer, more structured idea for him that I am wanting to build up to eventually so i would really love to know what yall think. Doodle <3 <3

[bunnigumi]

can you do drabbles of best friend (fwb) gumi (*´-`) (i love ur work and aesthetic btw (´ｰ｀) )

cw. megumi x reader , friends with benefits , first time , possessiveness

an. i think i got carried away... i sooooo love this trope hehe. and thank you, nonnie! ^w^ (not carefully proofread)

Hey, 'Gumi, remember how I said you owe me one?

Fwb!Megumi isn't startled when you casually ask him if he can take your virginity.

Honestly, you were partially joking, but when he agrees with that static expression like you didn't just ask your best friend to be your first time, you're taken by surprise. You really didn't think he'd entertain your idea. Anticipating a huff, him brushing it off as a joke

You were expecting a more touch-and-go experience: He fucks you, you can claim you're no longer a virgin, and that's that. But he really takes the time to get you all worked up and desperate, telling you that your first should be your most memorable. It's just the rules.

And it was supposed to be a one time thing, you swear! But after that, nothing could get you off as good as he did.

Fwb!Megumi can't help the teasing smile on his expression when you tell him that you want to have sex again, Didn't realize we were friends with benefits now.

You can't even begin to explain how degrading it feels to go back on your own word, but you've been so pent up and had no one other than him to help... He seriously ruinied your ability to orgasm.

He teaches you the reins the second time around. How to touch him, The tip is the most sensitive. And tighten your grip, it's better. How to ride him, Fuck... yeah, that's it, letting go of your waist he leans back into the pillows, keep moving your hips like that.

It's way better than highschool sex-ed, that's for sure.

Fwb!Megumi is weirdly intimate—not that it's a bad thing. He's always had a romantic streak, even if he denies the fact.

It's in how he kisses you, not with hunger or pure lust. In the way he holds your hands and leaves marks on your neck that are hard to hide. Even if you whine about it, he'll still do it.

He has your other friends wondering who'd be giving them to you since you weren't in a relationship with anyone.

When you need a little cheering up, Fwb!Megumi starts offering a little more than just emotional support.

You're on your elbows and knees, back arched, face buried into his pillow. Avoiding his face so that he wouldn't have to see the makeup running down your own. Even though hes seen you in way worse states, somehow it's more embarrassing when he's inside you.

Your date had stood you up. Megumi knew how excited you were for it. Barging into his place, carrying tons of outfits in your arms. Showing them off. Asking him for his input, what you should wear. Which dress flaunts your body off best.

He told you that you'd look great in anything, but you urged that you should look perfect, and as your best friend, it's his obligation.

Fwb!Megumi likes to be a bit rough with you when you're sad like this. Feel-better-sex, as he jokes.

Tight enough with his grab on your hips to leave bruises, He finds that you forget about the pain better when you have a greater sensation to focus on. Dopamine's your favorite drug.

And he wont admit this either, but he's real possessive over you. As your best friend, he knows that you deserve more than the world.

Frankly, he likes the idea of keeping you all to himself; its practically why he agreed to your request in the first place.

He won't make you flip over so he can see your face while he fucks you missionary, but he really wants to see the pleasure wash over your face. To see how he can only make you feel good like this.

Pounding you from the back so hard that you forget the name of the douche who stood you up is good on it's own. Theres enough proof of his worth to you in how your cries are that of satisfaction, and not the kind caused by stupid boys who don't deserve to even look at you.

No one else should get to experience how your cunt tightens around him as your about to cum. Hear the way you moan out him name wantonly. See how you push back onto him when he tries to pull out, insisting that he stay inside you for just a little longer.

There's one more thing Fwb!Megumi won't tell you either; he really, really loves this arrangement.

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 12 (Pt 3 of 3)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary: Life was good. No, life was great. Was. Until. Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture. You welcomed him into your life—your home. Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want. At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; tension; recollected memories of traumatic situations; memories of very self-destructive coping mechanisms used by a teenager; crying + feelings of sadness; self deprecation/worries of being a bad mother; mentions of a (very) toxic and absent mother; vivid memories of sexual encounters; body changes as a result of pregnancy; talks of baby + pregnancy; jealous!reader; possessive!jake; pregnancy hormones of multiple variety; INFIDELITY; (intense) phone sex; self-pleasure m!receiving; self-pleasure f!receiving; loooots of dirty talk that is absolutely 18+ (!!!!); elsie + josh being our voices; mentions/talk of being unable to have children; evil evil evil inner monologue via maya (i'm sorry - it had to happen); (((yes she's just as dreadful on the inside as you'd think))); massive amounts of (very negative + hateful) manipulation; BABY KICKS <3333; PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter 12 (Part 3) Word Count: 47.6k+ (......um. yeah.... about that....)

a/n: ok. so. yeah. wednesday obviously hadn't been ~~the day~~ LMFAO. dear lord. IM V SORRY I AM ME <3 but, fr, has anyone on here ever struggled w migraines? how about w a brain stem aura? they last for days and make you move very slow + put you out of commission !!!! so fun !!!!

in all reality, this was supposed to be edited + uploaded in december... but, life.

i love you all and welcome to the delicious, official mid-point of this monstrous series <3 every single one of you mean the world to me. i hope you know that you reading and commenting and liking and messaging brings THE utmost joy to this woman's fragile heart :') thank u, my sweet loves. we're in this together. <3 "until the very end"

btw: these next few chapters will pick up right where the previous leaves off... that includes this one :)

as always, massive thank you to @joshym for being the best sister there ever was and supporting me in my writings + pursuits + listening to every time i have anxiety over my writings <3 i love you to the ends of the earth, lis. you're my person - forever + ever. <3 additionally, a BIG OL thank u to @builtbybrokenbells. you are a queen whose throne is one to be bowed at. always. you'll never understand just how much your help + friendship means to me... in this silly story, other stories, and in LIFE. ily more, canadian me <3 an ever-present thanks to my girl @alwaysonthemend. Thank you, my love, for always being just around the corner when i need you. you're a personal favorite of mine + you know this <3 and finally, an ode to my wonderful pal @gretavangroupie... for helping me in the final revisions and edits when i release my cry for help. you are a true friend + i hope you know how much i appreciate u <3

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

Specific songs that accompany this chapter: “We Might Even Be Falling In Love” — Victoria Monet ft. Bryson Tiller; “We Might Even Be Falling In Love/Jaguar” — Victoria Monet + co. (orchestral arrangement); “Merry Christmas Baby” — Booker T. & the M.G.’s

Covet Masterlist

"We are ever striving after what is forbidden... and coveting what is denied us."

Ovid

December 23, 2022

After a short five hours of work, Elsie had been there at 8:00 on the dot to pick you up. 

Although, when she’d arrived, you’d still been checking out a few regular customers who’d stayed a little too close to closing time. Last minute Christmas shopping, of course. There was no way you were going to rush the customers. You’d even told Elsie she’d have to wait a bit. You cared for these regulars dearly, so you’d chosen to take your time. They were special to you and you were grateful to be able to wish them all a 'Happy Holidays'. 

You really appreciated the extra time catching up with these people. And almost all of them were dying to know how your pregnancy was faring and you didn’t hesitate on filling them in and showing them the sonogram pictures on your phone. It meant a lot to you that these sweet people cared so much. They’d made up so many of your working days for the past four years, permanently creating a home in your heart. 

And, the last of the stragglers had been none other than little brown-haired Stacy. The high school girl you and Josh and taken a liking to instantly – ironically, both of you being on the clock the first day she’d entered the store. She was a tender soul. A thin girl with freckles covering her heart-shaped face with glasses, just a smidgen too big for her petite features. Every pair she got, oversized in comparison to her slimness. Even as the other customers exited the store with one more ‘Merry Christmas, y/n!’, she’d continued to pick through bins. 

But, by the way she’d hunched over as soon as the bell had chimed to indicate the others' departure, you knew something wasn’t right. And then she’d rubbed at her eyes, making your heart break in your chest. You assumed she needed more time, hence her looking past the very last minute. Though, knowing the kind hearted girl like the back of your hand after knowing her for so long, you knew she felt bad for needing more time. So, you’d urged her to continue browsing. There was an innate need in your chest to make sure she was okay and wasn’t hurting any longer. You needed her to be okay. Especially this close to Christmas.

“Stacy, just hang around for a bit and keep looking,” you gently spurred her to not give up yet. “Take your time. I have plans with Josh and my sister, but those aren’t for another hour or so. You have time.”

“But–you’re pregnant, y/n. You need to be off your feet. You need to leave,” she tried, making her way to the front without anything in hand. Her shoulders, sunken and her posture telling that she definitely hadn’t been successful in her search for vinyl. “It’s not your fault I got off work so late, y/n. You need to rest for the baby.”

“The baby is fine,” you encouraged her with a gentle smile and a raised brow, making your way over, hands stuffed in the front pocket of Jake's hoodie to fight the cold air seeping into the older store on the chilly evening. Just as she’d made it to the door to leave, you met her there. Bringing one hand out of the pocket, you put a hand on her bicep, you spoke to her as she turned to face you. “Seriously. All is well, nice, and cozy in there and I didn’t even get here until late afternoon. I’m fine. The baby is fine. Now you need to be fine.”

She nipped at her bottom lip with worry, timidly glancing up at you. “Are you sure?” Yet, even after you nodded, she continued. “Because it’s also not your fault that the Black and Gold is closed tomorrow and the next day is Christmas, so why would you guys be opened on Christmas?" She said it all so fast, you knew she was on the verge of having a break down. You'd been there. "I should have planned better, y/n. I’m just really stressed right now and I–.”

“Stacy,” you interrupted her, placing a hand on each of her shoulders to squeeze them in reassurance. “It is o-kay, sister. Plus, if it makes you feel any better, we do have chairs behind the desk. If I need to sit, I can. You only have tonight to find your vinyls.” 

Even through her glasses, you could see the tears beginning to glass over her eyes. “Thank you, y/n. I owe you.”

“No you don’t, silly,” you giggled, giving her shoulders one more measured press before you texted Elsie a quick explanation. Then, pocketing your phone, you were moving down the aisles of bins in an effort to help her. “But, while we look. . . I did want to know how the college hunt is going. Also, what exactly is it we are looking for?”

After she told you the records, you immediately began to help her. You knew exactly where to find a few of them, so you instantly went to do that for her as she began to tell you about her school findings. 

Stacy was right up there with the regulars who had preceded her in line – a little more so, if you were being honest. She was set to graduate high school in May, when you were set to graduate college yourself. So frequently when she’d visited the store in recent months, you’d asked her how college searching was going. You knew that finding the perfect school was important to the girl, just as it had been to you. Your decision had been easy, though, as your heart had always naturally longed to follow in Elsie’s footsteps.

And, yes, while you and Josh both had taken an instant liking to Stacy as soon as she’d started coming into the B&G a couple years prior. . . it was different for you. Josh loved her quirky personality – as did you. But you found her even more special because the quiet, unsure spirit she housed reminded you so much of your own during your high school years. 

But. . . you hadn't always been that version of yourself. No, up until high school, you'd been the opposite.

You remembered now (with Elsie and therapy’s help) how you’d been chaotically fiery as a child. How, as a young girl, you easily used to become overstimulated to the point of raging aggravation. . . . But, that had (mostly) only lasted through your pre-teen years. And once you’d come into your early teens, you’d wanted to fucking change. Those parts of you had been ugly and humiliating and you didn’t want to identify with them — at least back then. 

You’d only recently begun to recall random things from your childhood from time to time (thank you, EMDR). Thankfully, there weren’t many of the extremely triggering moments that popped up. Like the trials with your mother or a man named Mr. Morgan. Nothing too scary intruded during your day-to-day. . .

No, it was the ‘easier’ stuff from your childhood that came to mind; whether it be in dreams or randomly as you completed mundane tasks. These recollections were of little things you’d done to yourself growing up that had permanently scarred you. It had become obvious that you used to be very self aware. You’d felt too self aware back then, actually. 

A lot like Stacy seemed. Self aware. But yours had been rather negative, where hers seemed more positive, most of the time. 

In all fairness, you hadn’t even known what the words ‘self aware’ meant until a school counselor, Mrs. Reams – with curly, graying hair and ready to retire – had droned on at you. The ‘self awareness’ had felt stifling and gloomy and never ending. Like a massive thundering, swaying hurricane you were stuck in – desperate to cling to the eye of it. But the eye of your storm had always been just out of reach. 

Admittedly, it was a lot for a kid – especially a traumatized one. So, at thirteen years old, you’d decided enough was enough. 

You’d taken what you assumed were ‘proper steps’ and had sat after school for an entire week with good ‘ol Mrs. Reams. All in an effort to learn what she had called ‘coping mechanisms.’ Again, you hadn’t understood that term either – until she’d referred to them as 'skills learned to adapt and survive'. Then, the wrinkly woman had explained some examples (explained them rather poorly, you might add). And after meeting with Mrs. Reams, you’d even gone so far as to use your Grandpa’s laptop to further search for ways to ‘cope.’ 

The idea of ‘forgetting things’ had been one way in particular that had gotten your attention — when it’d fallen from Mrs. Reams’ skinny, flimsy lips. “Memory suppression,” she’d recited, monotone. There had been a pamphlet and everything that she’d handed you. One picture had caught your eye of a teen girl. She was crying and sitting on the floor, with her head trapped between her arms. 

“What does it do?”

“It’s a way of forcing the traumatic memories to the back of your mind,” she’d replied, already standing to gather her things as you’d sat on the couch. Unmoving, still considering the conversation to be only midway through. 

But, when Mrs. Reams had turned off her lamp, you’d gotten the hint. Time to leave. . .

That was when the search had officially begun, though . . . With Grandpa’s laptop. The hours and days worth of research you’d done to forget things. (It was important to note that you'd never failed to clear the browser history, lest he tell your Grandma his search history out of worry. And the possibility of them both confronting you with smothering, misplaced love and care. . . It was not what you'd wanted). 

‘Memory Suppression’ was your goal, so those were the words you’d typed into Google. Over and over again. (‘Memory Replacement was a term you’d seen in your hours of time researching. And that had been the easier term to comprehend for your thirteen year old mind). Those blue, underlined letters on Google’s search results had never looked as pretty as they had on that first rainy afternoon in April. A couple days after your meeting with Reams - the perfect opportunity to use the laptop. Your grandparents and Elsie, having been gone for one of Elsie’s track meets. You’d claimed you had ‘too much homework’ to go. 

And so the process had begun. . . ‘Memory Suppression’ . . . a helpful friend and your worst enemy wrapped totally in one. An intense and slightly subtle form of self harm, in the end. The hours of time researching, leaving you ill-informed. Your teenage mind had been (understandably) incapable of truly wrapping around the concept well enough to complete the skills healthily. 

There had been ways that you’d literally transformed yourself to the point of a sort of internal mutilation. You’d succeeded in tying yourself in such tight, tricky knots that you were now, as an adult, tangled and confused. And, essentially, you were now void of incredibly essential memories that you needed to remember in order to heal. 

You’d found a lot of strategies. Many of these strategies to complete the process of suppressing memories had required a lot of time spent alone. So, usually late at night (or into the earliest hours of the morning) when everyone was asleep, you’d lock your bedroom door. Once it was locked, you’d shut off all of your lights to feel utterly isolated. And, for an hour and a half, night after night you had sat there and forced yourself to feel, feel, feel and block, block, block. Knees, hugged tight to your chest. For an entire year.

You’d timed yourself every night and everything. You’d obsessively cared about getting your ‘time’ in. That grueling, horrid time had been spent unhealthily blocking out the known, problematic times in your past. You’d altered the ‘fight or flight’ traits by convincing yourself that the times you’d spent learning them had never actually happened. It was all relative to preteen y/n. After a while, there had even come this dark voice that’d begun to enter your mind amidst the changes. And, the voice hadn’t ever truly left – accompanying you into adulthood. Narrated your every move.

This voice had been yet another unhealthy coping mechanism that your immature mind had initially conjured. A classic mechanism called ‘Self-Talk’ – but yours hadn’t been anywhere near what therapists recommend. It wasn’t ‘Positive Self-Talk.’ Your ‘talk’ had just been things you thought about yourself. Whether they be negative, positive, true, or false. . . Usually, the ‘talk’ brought with it the most hateful words and phrases you could imagine at that time about yourself – which had been supplied in abundance. And, it had been nice in a sense. For a time. 

That time spent in the darkest and most demoralizing solitude had worked wonders for you as a teenager. And, after one particularly “successful” night, where you’d awoken in the morning and felt more dazed than traumatized, you wanted to tell someone. Figuring Mrs. Reams was the ideal candidate (being that she’d been the one to give you the initial push), you wanted to tell her. 

So, after a class, when you’d passed the counselor in the hallway, you’d found that as the perfect opportunity. . . . Only for her to mix you up with a completely different student all together. Referred to a 'dead dog' and a 'father with an ailing illness'. . . But, absolutely nothing to do with anything you’d told her or talked with her about. 

And then when she’d called you by the wrong name, you’d known for sure. She had forgotten about you. You weren’t important to her. She didn’t give two shits. Her blatant ignorance when it came to you was another fun tidbit you’d added to your pile of “reasons” you had issues. Trust was shaky as fuck - even with people like counselors that you were supposed to trust the most. And that incident had caught you in the tresses of already learning new (bad) coping skills. So, you’d tacked on the idea that trusting people was bullshit unless they earned it. Your mom had begun this idea, and then Reams had really nailed it into the coffin.

The fact that it had hurt so badly, but hurt less than other memories meant you could really use it, though. So, that you did. After school, you’d sat in your car and effectively sobbed over the ordeal. All your life, people had just continued to prove why you couldn’t trust anyone’s genuinity besides your family’s (grandparents and Elsie only, until Josh). 

Thankfully, that day, no one had witnessed the breakdown. Elsie hadn’t ridden home with you, thanks to a track meet. And, luckily your grandparents had never missed her track meets or your choir events.  So, you’d had the entire evening to yourself. Yet again. You’d taken a long, sad shower and sobbed over the joke that was your life. You’d sat on the floor of the tub and lamented over how little you’d seemed to matter. Time and again. 

But, after a few fat and ugly tears, you’d gotten an idea. Which was: taking advantage of the newer and less traumatic sadness. You could use the counselor forgetting about you. Turn the event around to suffocate some darker moments from your dingy, messy past. It was a brand new, fresh wound, right at the front of your mind, that you could use to cover a repulsive, red, unhealed scar. 

It had still hurt like fucking hell to drag out the traumatic shit in order to cover it with new, painful shit. None of the process had been easy or fun. It’d hurt like a bitch. The entire time, you’d given yourself plenty of additional issues to sort through by doing it to yourself. Though, you’d clung onto it back then. Survival mode. And you’d continued to use the strategy. . . Forgetting the devastating things and forcing 'normal' life events to 'erase' horrendous, not-so-normal occasions. All of the bullshit method, used to cover the reality of why you were doing it in the first place. . . And, really. It had worked.

Hence why you always got especially angry or sad or scared with newer situations. . . It was all finally making sense as things came back to you. You were just paying the consequences now by not knowing how to handle your emotions as an adult.

“I found the other two!” Stacy squealed two rows over from you. Her excitement, breaking you from your apparent reverie. 

It was funny how therapy was truly assisting you in remembering so much of this shit. All of the pieces were clicking together and occasionally left you stunned. But the the feeling was getting a little easier to come out of everyday. . . Thankfully.

You looked over to where the younger girl was, in the country music section. A part of the store you, admittedly, did not look at very often. You hadn’t been able to be much help in that area. However, the three blues records you’d put yourself in charge of had been safely secured within a couple of minutes. “And I found the others,” you replied with a giggle, grounding yourself with the now. The present time. Centered yourself in the Black and Gold – in your current plans with Josh and Elsie. 

Your stomach rumbled on your way down the record aisle and you were very rapidly realizing how long it had been since you’d eaten. You really were hungry as fuck. And if you weren’t happy about that, you knew for sure that Lavender wasn’t happy about it. You didn’t want to kick Stacy out, but it was past 8:30. You saw as much when you slid open your lockscreen to your texts. 

Two new ones from Els. Fucking Do Not Disturb. You continued to succeed in not checking your thread with Jake, pressing Elsie’s contact in your pinned as soon as you opened your texts.

Elsie, 8:33 p.m.: 🧍‍♀️

Elsie, 8:35 p.m.: Y/n. Seriously. Come the fuck on. We’ve got plans in like 45 minutes. 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻😐 ALSO, we still need to get your pictures taken before dinner. Don’t forget you wanted to do that. We planned that. You NEED TO do that shit. Trust me, bitch. 😮‍💨🤤🍆

You laughed outright at her texts. She was so fucking funny. But – she was right. You had plans and you did still want to take those pictures. Badly. The idea of posting something like you’d found on Pinterest, so electrifying. . . There were butterflies in your tummy just thinking of it.

And now that Stacy was smiling again and making conversation like normal as you made your way to her, you were very ready to leave.

Walking over to her, records cradled in one arm to your chest while the other held your tummy, you smiled down at the small brunette and asked a question you hoped she’d answer with a ‘yes’. “You ready?”

And to your delight, the answer was exactly as you’d wished.

After some conversation and contemplation with Elsie, she’d come up with the idea that you should make an actual post with its own picture and a story post with another picture. 

“Close Friends only, perhaps?” She’d thrown out into the universe. And at that, you’d just snorted with a ‘maybe, weirdo.’ 

She’d continued to brainstorm it all with you as you took a shower to rinse your body. With the cold weather you had seriously wanted it. Your muscles already hurt all the time nowadays, and the chilliness outside did not help matters. Yet, when you’d gotten into the shower, you’d caught a glimpse of the vibrator that had started it all, not even twenty four hours ago. . . And, unfortunately, at the exact same moment you saw it, Elsie wasn’t there as a distraction from the memories. She had gone to grab something she’d forgotten from the car. 

Thankfully, though, the warm water felt so nice against your skin that it helped you refocus. You hardly even thought about the night before with Jake. . . and Elsie didn’t take too long to return. And talking to her was the exact cure you needed for all of it. As you showered, she was busy looking at the Pinterest board you’d created at the nail salon, having added her as a collaborator while you were at work. 

“Oh. . . I like this,” she commented from the other side of the curtain from her spot on top of the toilet seat. 

“Which one?” You asked as you rinsed shampoo through your hair for the first step of rinse and repeat. 

“The comparison picture? Like, one of your flat, pre-baby tummy with a comparison to your tummy now? Black and white?” 

“Oh, yes. I think I’m sold on that one for sure,” you replied as you began to lather your hair for the second and final time. “I loved that one. I actually already found a picture to use with it during a lull period on my shift.”

Ironically, the picture you’d settled on was tied to a rather memorable day. It was one of you in your all-black bikini. You’d taken it before heading to the AirBnB the day you’d fucked Jake in the pool. It was your favorite. Your go-to swimsuit. And that morning, when you’d put it on, the confidence had been plentiful. . . That swimsuit in particular had always worked wonders at helping you feel sexy. There were the smallest pieces of lace that extended from the hems to cover the outer curves of your ass and cleavage. . . And it had led to a quite wonderful moment of your bikini-clad body riding Jake's as you'd made out on your bed.

And, then, of course. . . the pool. The pool had been the greatest reward.

“Phone’s on the counter. I favorited it. Go to my favorites,” you added, starting your conditioner.

Not one to pass up the opportunity to snoop through your phone, your curly haired sister seemed to immediately locate the photo you’d found. Or, you assumed at least, with the wolf whistling beyond the shower curtain. She wasted no time complimenting you with her words next. “Damn, sis! I see you! Fuckin’ hot ass.”

As she surveyed the picture, she explained that in order to fulfill the aesthetic aspect of the photo comparison, you had to incorporate the same colors in the new photo. So, again, all black. You were glad — it made your options very attractive. 

You asked her if you could do a black bra and jeans rather than panties — you didn’t want to mimic the swimsuit bottoms. . . It seemed too risqué and very awkward to completely replicate the barely-there summertime clothing. Besides. . . You hadn’t worn the swimsuit since that day and you didn’t feel like putting it back on, lest more sadness creep in.

“Sure. That will look amazing. But. . . Why don’t you put on the swimsuit again?” She wondered aloud, humming the melody to a Sam Cooke song that you couldn’t name off the top of your head. (Your mind was busy shuffling through nerves in anticipation of the pictures. . . How would you do your hair? Just blow dry? Didn’t want to go all out. . .) “Wearing the same thing could make for an even more aesthetically pleasing side by side.”

“Elsie. No,” you shook your hair out under the stream of water in the shower, rubbing your fingers through to get all of the conditioner washed out. Then you grabbed some sugar scrub for your arms and legs. Might as well exfoliate. “I don’t want to take a picture wearing a bikini in the middle of December. That would look ridiculous,” you’d replied, telling only half of the truth. But, you decided to tack on the extra little bit. No use lying about it. “And I also don’t really feel like putting that swimsuit on again. Memories associated with it and shit.”

“Jake?”

“Yes.”

“Niiiice,” she slyly answered before her phone pinged to inform her of a new text. You rolled your eyes at her response, grinning to yourself at the memory. 

“Josh will be here in like fifteen,” your sister alerted you before she let out a groan of irritation. “He’s actually running on time for once — the singular time I am not. I fucking swear, y/n. . . I love him more than anything, but his issue with promptness makes me want to scream.” 

You snorted at that, finishing your body washing a bit hastier due to his near arrival. And before you knew it, you were done and pulling the curtain open. She was already waiting, hand extended with the first of two towels you'd set out. 

“He has always been like that, Els,” you giggled, wrapping your hair in the towel, holding your hand out for the other that she was already handing your way. Both of you were two-towel believers. One for hair, one for body. Almost always. . . last night not being one of those times. . . Far more important matters had been at hand than the thorough drying of your hair a second towel could do. “I’m afraid there is no changing him. . . . And you knew that about him before you got together, so I have no sympathy."

She only hummed in annoyance, before she was continuing on with your conversation, nails tapping against her screen.  “Anyways. . . the other picture. . . For your story,” she cleared her throat. The noise gained your attention, looking over at her as you wrapped your body in the towel, pulling it to tuck under your arms. She was showing you the other picture you’d chosen for inspiration. The sexy one from the nail salon. Butterflies went batshit in your tummy. This was the one you were most excited to take. You didn’t have anything picked out for it, but you figured the black bra would do. . .  some black underwear to accompany. 

And, of course, his shirt. Was it too daring? Over-confident? Did you care? For once, you really didn’t. Not with last night still playing on a loop in the back of your mind. 

She pulled the phone back to herself, fingers sliding on the screen to indicate she was texting, but she kept on helping you all the while, continuing to speak. “The sexier one. . . Do you mentally have something picked out for that already?”

You went about toothpasting your toothbrush as she continued to zone in on her phone screen. “Maybe. . . I’ll probably just use the same black bra as the other one,” you’d said, as you brought the toothbrush up, preparing to brush as you looked up at her through the mirror, where she stood behind you now. She was taking turns watching you and checking her phone. “I’m gonna brush. Wanna go figure out lighting?” 

“Oh, lighting? Sister. . . I’m impressed by your determination to get these photos just right. . . .” she raised an eyebrow at you. “What gives?”

“I’m a horny ass pregnant woman who is finally feeling sexy, Elsie. That’s what gives.”

Her only response was laughter as she opened the door to the bathroom, closing it behind her on her way out to begin her task.

There were no words for the black, lacy set.

All you knew was that it was fucking gorgeous. Stunning. Sexy as fuck. Everything you wanted and more for the photo. It was laid out and awaiting your body, on your bed, as your room’s lighting accentuated the allure of the black, lacy, sheer piece. 

Along with the lingerie, you'd come to find your room all ready after you’d finally finished in the bathroom. And, Elsie’s Victoria’s Secret surprise had been laid out for you on your bed, the little pink bag sitting beside it. She’d assured you of a few things as she’d taken in your reaction, her face resembling the Cheshire cat. In her words, the lingerie was ‘not part of your Christmas’ since she’d ‘already gotten you enough shit.’  She, instead, insisted you call it her ‘donation to assist in getting your ass fucking laid’. 

You’d rolled your eyes at the last part, but still said thank you because there was simply nothing else to say. She’d also laid out the makeup she felt was best for the pictures (you’d always trusted her makeup advice and she knew it). Your hair was already done, blow dried and brushed through exquisitely, shiny and cascading beautifully down your back. Els had even lit candles, adding to the darker, enticing vibe you were going for. . . Not so dark that you’d be a silhouette. Not even close, actually. The lamp next to your bedside and the tall one she’d brought in from the living room (that she’d already promised to ‘put back’), added to the multiple candles’ lighting in the most erotic way. 

You were going to be bathed in a golden hue as the room around you was dimmed and mysterious. The theme of the photos was something you were sure would turn Jake on. And, as much as you didn’t want him to be the sole reason you were taking these (it wasn’t), it had been a big motivation to get your makeup on and get the pictures taken. The voice in the back of your head was telling you to stop thinking of him and his reaction, for fear that he might not react at all. Might see it and ignore it. No sign that he’d seen anything aside from his name popping up on the list of people who’d seen your story. 

“This is going to have to be a Close Friends story,” you’d emphasized, giggling as you’d toyed with the piece laying on the bed once more before you'd gone to begin your ‘no-makeup makeup’ look.

Now, your makeup was almost completely done. And Josh was apparently pulling up with coffee for Elsie and a hot chocolate for you.

“I thought he was going to be here like twenty-some minutes ago?” You’d asked, genuinely curious as you finished the blending of your blush. Eyeing your cheeks once it was completely on, you grinned. Your complexion looked wonderful and your face was officially done. “Why’d you make him stop for damn coffee?” 

Now all you had left were your eyes and lips. You’d be wearing brown mascara with your lips simply shiny from lip oil.

“How did you know I made him?” She asked, feigning offense. All you did was level her with a stare, only seconds later she huffed. “Whatever. I’m a caffeine addict. The first step to healing is acknowledging the issue, so kiss my ass," she came up behind you and fluffed your hair once before observing your makeup with a smile. "Also, I was stalling his ass. He can work on my time for once.”

You’d only snorted before going to finish your mascara. “Should the light be on for the first one?” You asked, your mouth moving awkwardly as you focused on your mascara application. One more coat. "And can you find me some jeans? American Eagle, please. . ."

“Absolutely. To both,” she replied, going to find what you trusted to be the perfect light wash jeans for you in your closet. “The button’s gonna be open on the jeans, right?” She called from where she was in your miniature walk-in closet. 

“Yes,” you confirmed, curling your lashes once more – just how you wanted – with the curve of your finger. “Black bra, light wash jeans, open button.”

She was just coming out of your closet when you started stripping yourself of your towel before grabbing the black bra you’d decided on from your underwear drawer. “Light on?” She asked, your light wash mom jeans thrown over her arm. 

“Yeah, go ahead. For the first one.”

When you turned to face the mirror after getting the bra on, you got the first good look of your tits since last night. And since last night, they’d changed. Fucking hell. Pregnancy was astounding, truly. Good ways and bad alike. How the fuck could a body change so damn quickly?

You eyed your swollen chest and the blue veins that had once lurked in light, subdued tracks across your growing breasts. . . But not anymore. Subdued was a thing of the past, apparently. Because today, as you eyed yourself, you saw displeasingly prominent tracks. Dark indigo, both purple and blue in their tint, now. They trailed from beneath the cups of your bra to midway up your chest. They weren't dark-dark. . .just enough that you definitely noticed a difference.

“Why? Why today of all days? Why now?” You lamented (admittedly dramatically) aloud, turning to the side to look from that position. And unfortunately, they were just as unattractive from that angle.

“What’s wrong?” Elsie responded with worry, laying your jeans on the bed as she rushed up behind you. 

You were facing the mirror once more when she came up behind you, concern painting her prettily petite features. Her blue eyes swam with panic. But you saw when she noticed you eyeing your breasts, bringing a hand up underneath each to see how they looked when lifted in the bra. Still horrible, you found. 

“Dear god, y/n. I know exactly what you’re looking at. Yes, you have darker veins in your tits. Your milk supply is coming in,” she informed you, as if you were an inept idiot. She was seeming to forget how you had spent an insane amount of time, cumulatively, doing research on all things pregnancy. "I'll explain. . .See, when the milk comes in, the blood flow affects the veins in your boobies-."

“I’m not a fucking child, Elsie. I know what happens and I knew that this was bound to happen. I know why it’s happening,” you explained, suddenly wanting to slap her for how much she’d annoyed you. “The veins just don’t get this dark for every woman and I was already feeling insecure about my body last night. Thankfully, I started feeling better last night. But now? Now, I’m feeling like shit about myself again. And we’re about to take pictures–.”

“They’re not even bad, y/n. And you know I'd tell you if I thought they were ug,” she said sternly, backing up from you to grab the jeans from the bed. “I happen to think you’re overreacting.”

“Elsie, you aren’t allowed to have an opinion,” you snapped, your chest heating with aggravation. “You’re not the pregnant woman experiencing these obscene body changes.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m going to pretend you didn’t tell me that. If I’m not allowed to have an opinion, I think I might die. So. . .,” she paused, holding the jeans out to you in the reflection behind you. “Just quit looking and put these on. I’m hungry.”

You grumbled the words back at her, dropping your heavy tits and slowly turning to face her. “But seriously – why in the fuck did they have to pop up today? Right before pictures?”

“Because your body knew it needed the additional sexy,” she replied with a wiggle of her perfectly waxed brows, filled in just right. “Jake will think it’s sexy.”

The jeans were tugged from her hands with another slight growl from your lips. Thinking about Jake seeing your now-strikingly veiny boobs was not a pleasurable thought. Your un-confronted attempts to get his attention were sure to backfire in your face. Even if you knew Jake would most likely compliment them, it wasn’t guaranteed that he’d actually find them sexy. Who in their right mind would think that? She rolled her eyes at your huffing as you pulled the denim over your fat ass. Seriously, there was no winning. Veiny tits, fat ass, thicker thighs, bloated everything. . . 

Fuck. So much for feeling sexy enough to take these blessed pictures. You were having second thoughts. After you got your jeans on, you leveled her with a glare. Your brain was officially a mess. And the front door was opening, adding to the crashing waves that had become your brain. You could hear the slight creak of it and you heard Josh upon his entry, as he quite literally sang his arrival. 

“I’ll be out in a second, babe!” Elsie shouted towards the living room before sending her gaze back to you, one eyebrow raised.

She opened her mouth to speak, but you were speaking before she could get another word in. “How in the sweet heavens are these thick, dark blue veins sexy? And how am I supposed to think I’m hot enough to take these pictures now?”

“You’re shitting me, right?” She asked, grabbing your phone for you from your bed and whipping it out at you to take. Reluctantly, you grabbed it (more forcefully than you probably should have). Your eyes were still communicating discontent with it all. “Open up your damn camera, so we can get to the good ones. Once you’re in that lingerie and getting in your thoughts about sex with your baby daddy, we’ll be fine. Swear.”

You found it so lovely that all it took was the mere mention of sex with Jake for your heart to start hammering against your rib cage. She was right. Your head was dizzy just in preparation for the thoughts. . .thinking about him to get you in the mood sounded incredible.

And at that, you were suddenly ready to take pictures. But then, you were looking back in your tall mirror at your fucking roadmaps and you weren’t ready anymore. 

“I don’t even want to take the first picture. How am I going to want to be all sensua—?”

“Y/n. Shut the fuck up and quit being melodramatic,” she insisted, bossing you in a way you (admittedly) needed. But, it didn’t mean you liked it. You snarled a lip at her, still glaring because you felt like it. “If you keep up the attitude, little sis, I’m going to go sit in the living room with my boyfriend and force you to take these by yourself. I’m not down for your shit and you know it. So, make your choice, bitch.”

Placing a hand on your tummy, you grounded yourself. Planted your feet. Out with the negative, y/n.

You thought about your boobs, got a good image of them in your head and imagined how, in a few months, you’d be using them for someone who mattered much more than you. And the reason they were changing in the ways they were, was solely due to the little one who took precedence over anything and everybody. And everybody most definitely included yourself. If you could do the multitude of other uncomfortable things you had already done for her, the least you could do was take a damn picture. You wanted the world to know of her. Everyone, ever. And that began with a post of you proudly posing with the bump that housed her. 

For Lavender. You could do it. For her. She was someone to be proud of in every capacity, even if for now, that was just an Instagram post. 

“Fine,” you moaned, turning from your sister. Her curls were seeming to stand on end with her frustration and restlessness towards you and your back and forth mental battle. “Help me pose in this damn mirror.”

The lace felt just as good on your body as you initially imagined it would. The insecurities had dissipated as you’d continued to remind yourself of the baby girl who was thriving inside of you. She needed a mother who was proud of her, and that you were, in spite of personal insecurities. And, posing for the picture in the mirror - holding your bump - made your heart long for the moment you'd finally get to hold her in your arms. And at that, everything else simply didn't matter.

Every change on and in your body was because of her. And she was worth all of it and more. 

So, by the end of your ‘innocent’ announcement photos, you were already in a much better mindset. It had only been a few of those pictures and that one pose. Your phone, up and covering your face as you gave proper camera attention to your bump. You held the phone with the hand on the side of your body furthest from the mirror. Elsie had insisted it was a 'natural' pose and you 'keep it that way'. 

The said the same thing when you went to touch your belly with the palm of the other hand. You truly adored touching your baby in this way. Putting a hand to your tummy was the thing closest to holding her. You'd found, over time, you weren’t one to move your hand quickly once it was placed there. Liked feeling close to her. . .

But now, you were most definitely not holding your body. No, you were focusing on the rest of your body. You’d adjusted as much was needed, but it hadn’t been a lot. The two piece set had fit your body like it was quite actually made for you.  The black, sheer, lacy lingerie Elsie had gifted you was of smutty romantic novel dreams.

You were focused on putting on some lipliner to accentuate your lips beneath your lip oil and touching up your lashes. All the while, Elsie had been gone helping Josh with his task of finding a shirt of Jake's. Though, that was a task that should have taken five minutes or less. . . and it had now taken almost twenty and you were getting antsy. And irritated. And frustrated. And grumpy. And envious of their freedom. . .

You couldn't lie. Your current predicament with Jake was ass. Not at all what Josh and Elsie had and you wanted to scream for it.

Honestly, most of it was definitely credited to the fact that you were hungry as fuck. Your stomach was growling more than you liked, so you were hesitant, yet again, to imagine how distraught Lavender was over the hunger.

At this point, you imagined the stomach growling was actually her saying her first words. Imagining her inside, begging you with ‘feed me, mommy’s’ was enough to make your heart race with anticipation. You needed to get these pictures taken to tell the world of her. . . and, perhaps, possibly, get a reaction from her father. If you were lucky. 

And, as you eyed the lacy ensemble on your body once more, turning to the side and poking out a hip. . . You hoped to god - hoped that her aforementioned sexy ass father would see it and love it. And, perhaps, let you know, too. . . Again. . . if you were lucky. 

You were snapped from the thought of his opinion as Elsie was crashing into your space once again. Swiveling on a heel, you gave her a look that said everything you were thinking. Or at least you tried to translate it to say, ‘Thanks for leaving me to suffer in hunger and anxious excitement for a damn quickie, bitch.’

“Okay, so Josh has secured the shirt,” Elsie said in a rush, not looking at you and hurriedly shutting the door behind her. Her hair was much messier than it had been when she’d left you. And when she finally looked up at you to urge you to get moving, you noticed her salmon-colored lip liner-lip oil combo. . . had smudged down to her damn chin. “Shut up, bitch,” she said, without a second thought. “I haven’t seen the man for a hot damn minute and I missed him. Give me a break.” 

“You just saw him last night," you huffed an annoyed laughed at her excuses.

“We’re making up for lost time.”

You could’ve gagged. “I’m starving, Elsie. I’m ready to take these so we can go eat.”

“Y/n,” she huffed, voice pitching a bit higher with her annoyance. “I’m doing you a damn favor by helping you. You’re going to appreciate it without judging my ass.”

Damn. She was right. And you were grateful. But still. Pregnancy hormones and cravings and hunger and hungry baby — they were no joke. . . You figured you’d bother her a little more. Just because little sisters had to meet their monthly quota. 

“Your niece is hungry, Elsie,” you remarked, watching as she began unbuttoning the shirt Josh had found. "I am quite actually eating for two and I have to make sure she is eating enough."

Her eyes flicked up to yours and there was a bit of fire in them. Along with an unspoken guilt. “For that I am sorry. We will get this finished up before you know it. I promise,” she finished with the buttons, offering the white dress shirt to you. 

You’d only seen him wear this a slim number of times. Very slim. Label meetings. A few lessons with higher paying clients (you internally gagged at the idea of Maya being one of said clientele). And Halloween night.

Goddamn, he’d done it for you that night. When he’d been dressed as the most breathtaking pirate you’d ever fucking seen. When you grasped the shirt, you didn’t hesitate in bringing it up to your nose to smell it. Amber. Vanilla. Sandalwood. Paradise. Safety. Love.

When you heard Elsie’s snort just past you, you realized what you’d just done in front of her watchful eyes. You kept your head down, wanting to avoid said eyes. The oceans of teal and dark blue were most surely judging you just as she’d asked you to not judge her. Albeit, your little stunt was a little more creepy. Okay, very creepy. Weird as fuck. Whatever.

“Don’t judge me, Elsie,” you muttered, still letting your eyes shift nervously at the carpet on which your toes wiggled. “I’m just—.”

“A horny ass ho ho ho. . .What a Merry Christmas to Jake!” She finished with a singular loud cackle, flipping the light switch off behind her. The lights off with the candles and lamps was still an absolute ambient dream. “Y/n. Seriously, though. It’s okay, babe. Like I said, I get it,” she giggled a little more as you let the cool fabric slip over your arms. You could’ve sighed with relief at the hug from the material. But you didn’t. Not after your display. “He’s going to be chokin’ the chicken tonight no matter what. Maya’s stank ass will be the last damn thing on his mind when you post thes–.” 

“Els!” You finally let your head wrench up from your shame. But you couldn’t dig at her for what she’d said. It was hilarious. 'Chokin’ the chicken'? Where did she get this shit? All she was met with, though, was a little smirk on your lips. She was such a little devious rat. . . . and you loved it. You faux-scolded her. “Quit that. . .,” you shook your head, messing with the buttons of the shirt for something to do with your hands. “He can’t even do that shit with Maya around. Not that he’d even want—.”

“Oh my god. Y/n. Be so fucking for real.”

“Even if we don’t like her and she sucks and I really, really can’t stand—.”

“See? You can barely say a nice word about her. She’s a whore,” she pursed her lips with a toss of her eyes and hair over her shoulder. She then went to the mirror you’d just been standing in front of to touch up her lips. Using a finger to touch up the edges, she hummed and spoke the best she could as she completed the job. “You want it, he wants it. And I, for one, am not going to pretend like him buffing the banana is not the end goal with these pictures.”

Buffing the banana? What in the sweet fuck?

“I honestly just want to post a pregnancy announcement,” you reminded her, knowing it wasn’t the full truth. Not at all.

“Also," she continued as if you hadn't said what you had. It was bullshit and she knew it. "I can almost guarantee he’ll be finding time for himself in the bathroom in that little town— what’s it called?”

“Oh my god,” with a flat brow, you gave her a look with your deadpan response. “It’s Charleston, Elsie. . . One would think you’re not a world-fucking-traveler. You know how big Charleston is. Now you're just being a rat for the hell of it."

“I know I am. . . It's fun," she winked at your expression. "Sometimes I just feel like being a bitch. Especially about things concerning her,” she said, digging through her belt bag on the dresser for her gloss. Never one to reapply the original lip. Only gloss after her lips were smudged.

You shook your head at her.  "Which room did you christen so I can sanitize it?"

"Jake's, duh," she replied, as if that were supposed to be a given.

But it just left you standing there with your mouth agape. What in the-? "What in the hell? His own brother's room?" You turned your voice down, so as not to make Josh privy to the conversation. "I've-we've-he and I have-so many times-. God, Elsie. . .," you shook your head and massaged your temples. For the briefest moment, Maya didn't fucking exist. No other woman did, in fact. Because all you could think about was how that room belonged to you and Jake. Only the two of you. "Please tell me it wasn't the bed."

"Not the bed. God, no. Too far," she seemed offended like that idea was so incredibly dirty to even consider. God - your sister was a trip when it came to one Joshua Michael Kiszka. "It was the desk. And, in that moment, it wasn't Jake's anymore. . . it was only us in that moment," she explained, popping her lips a couple times to ensure the gloss was doing what she wanted. And still, she put on another coat. You were ashamed that your mind had literally been following the same thought process only seconds ago. "When the feeling strikes, it strikes," she continued in a strange tone as her lips curled for the application. "Don't tell me you wouldn't do it anywhere if Jake were to approach you for it."

You wanted to continue the argument, but. . .She had a point. The thought alone had you wanting to bend over as an offering to the man. . . Wearing his shirt as he claimed you over and over again. . . Hard. Rough. Passionate. Talk about making up for lost time. . . Fuck. The though alone - you were growing desperate with no route for escape. . . In the next moment, when you shifted to tousle your hair away from your hot face, the shirt brushed just right across your chest. And suddenly, there was only one thing you wanted. . .

So, without another thought, you were giving into a sudden urge. Turning from her, you faced the bed. And once your front was safely hidden from her sight, you very subtly brushed the lapels of his shirt against your nipples. The sensation was enough to make you shiver - the peaks of your breasts grew taut and damn near painful at the way it lit you up. . . All for him and fuck - it felt so good. Your toes curled into the carpet, eyes closing at the feeling as you continued to use his shirt for stimulation. The lace and sheer material were the ideal match for his button down and your sensitive tits. 

“Yeah, you know I'm right. It’s the precise reason you want to take this second one with Jake’s shirt covering your almost-naked body,” she sarcastically interjected, playing a little too well into your current thoughts and actions for your liking. Your cheeks blushed, feeling like you'd been caught when she hadn't even turned around. When she popped her lips for a third time, though, you knew she was finished. And you were on edge for more reasons than one. So, you stopped what you were doing and went to get on the bed. Didn’t want to seem suspicious.

“Oh, the things this poor bed has witnessed. . .,” she pushed out a breath, grabbing your phone from where it laid on the edge of the bed. You rubbed your brow with a finger, ready to get the show on the road and feeling sympathetic for your bed and the way she spoke of it. (And the way she was so right. . . Your insatiable ass.) “Woo-wee, mama," she emphasized the words with a pat-pat-pat to the bed.

With a groan, you went from a sitting position on the bed to move on all fours. Had to find a good place to pose. But, moving like this was quickly becoming too much of a reminder of the night prior. So, you didn’t stay like that for long before you were scooting around the bed on your knees. Which, again, was a stark reminder of how his mouth had tucked up and inside — so well — from this angle. At the same time, his shirt once again brushed your tender nipples. Goddammit!

“Elsie, how do you want me?” You wondered aloud, done with the dilly-dallying. Turning to face her to clear your mind, you knew your expression was pinched in an effort to have her understand your frustration. 

And the mischievous smirk she gave you was not helpful. But, somehow, it did still trick your mind enough for your lips to part with your own grin. “I think we should only focus on using the position from that photo. Do you remember it?”

“Duh, bitch,” you bit out, once again irritated. The hormones were not working in your favor or your sister’s. Not with the additional hunger overtaking you to push it to a higher degree.

“Alright, so bend those knees,” she encouraged, ignoring your snippiness. All she did was move to prepare for the exact spot she needed as the photographer for the photo aesthetic. So, you did just as she said, posing the exact same way the woman in the picture had. When you loosened your hips to get your ass close to the fabric of your down comforter, you ruffled the covers around you for a special effect.

The bed shouldn’t look too pristine. . . Not for the idea I’m trying to create. . .You thought, face feeling hot at the implications of this photo.

You didn’t get down too low to the covers either; imagined where a face might lay below your hips, nestled between your thighs. A handsome face with amber-brown eyes and full lips, top one curled in a grin special to only him. . . Last night had been a reel in your head all day, but now it wasn’t playing at the back. No, it was playing at the front. Widescreen in a fucking cinema.

Slowly, before you had processed anything else, your hips had begun moving again with some assistance from his persistent hold on your hips. He’d gone to fully grip your ass, assisting you in grinding down, hard against his strong, flattened, and fucking wet tongue. He hadn’t stopped once the entire time. His fucking stamina was otherworldly. And, even though you’d just (kind of) come back to, you’d already started to fall apart again. It had hit you suddenly – when you’d felt his hums switch to a low growl against your labia, right before he’d gone back in for a sloppy kiss. You’d instantly gone back in the throes of all things Jake; your body had become utterly numb as you sunk as far as you could onto his face. 

The growls and groans had continued from his mouth – you’d felt every single one against your center as he’d worked to tilt your body just so, his nose, having nudged against your aching core. Right where all of the nerves met - just briefly. Your toes had curled tighter at the contact, amidst the harsh ride of your orgasm on his lips. He’d wanted you to feel every bit of work he was putting in. Every movement of his mouth was crucial to your enjoyment of the moment and he’d made damn sure you knew that.

You’d made the mistake in that moment of looking down as you’d groggily returned from your third orgasm, to the then-present time. Because, when you’d looked down, you’d been offered the opposite of reprieve. With a slow glance just past your round tummy, you’d caught sight of the very bottom of his chin and the strong column of his neck below you. And what you’d beheld had been intoxicatingly beautiful. . . And shocking.

All of your release, all over his tanned skin. . . He’d become fucking soaked. Had you squir–? Fuck. The knowledge of the fact that you'd done so. . . just enough to make a fire light up in the pit of your tummy. The flood of heat that’d enveloped your belly, washing over your entire body in a rush of glorious overstimulation, had been the only sign you’d had of a fourth orgasm. 

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

Too fucking bad nothing had come of it. That thought alone was enough to gain a sense of self in the present time. But god, you were still feeling things from the memory. Things you really didn’t want to be feeling in front of your sister. Your cheeks alone were hot from the thought of him last night, as you’d been positioned – just like you were now – in the same exact spot. You had to control the reactions your body was desiring to emit at the memory.

Not in front of Elsie. Have some respect for yourself, y/n, the voice in your head counseled you. Couldn’t tell if it was the mean one or the nice one. . . Either way, it was correct in its advice.

“I see what you did there,” she appreciatively noted, snapping a photo at the same time you messed with the blanket. “Keep moving in candid ways. You’re already killing it with that gorgeous face. I’m so fucking jealous of those darker features from Grandpa’s side of the family.”

“Please don’t talk about our Grandfather right now,” you replied, cheeks cooling when you shot her a glare. You were sure your face showed utter disgust. Because, ew.

“Alright. Almost done,” she said with a slight snort of a laugh, getting off the bed from the curved position she’d made to get the last round of pictures. She snapped a few from a standing position at the end of the bed. Then a few more, with only her chest and arms leaning on the mattress. You were sure you had at least good one from all of these as she kept complimenting you after every few. God, you were so thankful for her mindfulness and helpfulness. You really would be lost without her. She really didn’t have to be doing this, but here she was. “These are going to be so fucking hot, sis.”

You breathed out with a smile, feigning an incredible amount of effort that you hadn’t used with the back of your hand across your forehead. Though, ironically, your next breath was, actually, from back pain alone. While the position was really attractive, it was starting to hurt a bit. No Jake below you to make you feel better this time. You really did love how incredibly well it resembled last night. . . But your baby was growing everyday and your back was unappreciative. . . Especially in new, abnormal positions such as the one you were in. 

The look of pain went unnoticed by your sister as she had gone to speak loudly to Josh through a crack in the door. One hand on the knob and phone in the other, she looked over at you quizzically. “How would you feel about The Monkey King?”

Anything sounded delicious. . . And The Monkey King had hit the fucking spot all two times you'd eaten there. You were in shock at the suggestion. Seriously. The Monkey King? The restaurant was not cheap. Even with grandparents who provided more than well, you’d only ever been to the restaurant a couple of times in your entire life. 

“Um. . . Who will be pay–?” You began, with a scrunched brow before Josh interrupted you with a 'me, mama!'.

However, that voice had come from way too close. Was he directly outside of the room? Why was he not in the living room? You did not like the idea of your male best friend being so near when you were in such flimsy and revealing clothing. 

You’re literally posting these on Instagram, y/n, a little voice spoke to you. Pretty sure Josh is the least of your worries.

“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed, grimacing again from the pain in your back just as she’d turned to speak with him again. 

Thankfully, she was back within seconds with one last idea. There was a choir singing "Hallelujah" in the distance - you were sure of it. “Okay. . . One more pose I just thought of. Stay on your knees, but lightly grab the lapel of his shirt.” You did just that, following her instructions, your fingers brushing the ends of your hair strands.

“How can he afford that?” You asked as she fidgeted with the lapels of the shirt. It was honestly astounding that he’d just thrown that expensive ass restaurant out there as a recommendation like it was nothing. 

“You should see the money they’ve made from some of this promotional shit with their label,” she bragged on the band’s behalf – but you knew it was more on Josh’s behalf.

“Seriously? Without a tour, even?” You wondered, letting your eyes meet hers once at the question. “Or a damn album release itself?”

She told you to ‘keep the pose’  before she responded. “It’s a lot of explanation and words and Josh talks so much that I don’t always catch everything he says,” she explained, pursing her lips before telling you to look down again. “But from what I’ve gathered, they are doing a lot of shit for the label and with the label. . . The type of shit that racks up some big money.”

“That’s incredible,” you said, speechless as you surged with a deep sense of pride for Jake specifically.

It was impossible to communicate the amount of emotion you felt for his career taking off. So quickly, too, in the grand scheme of things. Absolutely awe-inspiring for anyone to witness. It was proof that if he wouldn’t have stopped after high school, he’d have gone farther than he already was going now. The fact that they were going so far now and doing so well for themselves was further confirmation that you couldn’t ever let Jake abandon a damned thing for you. Or for Lavender. She had to see him do this wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime thing — live this dream out. In the long run, it would inspire her to follow her own dreams. It sounded stupid to already be saying shit like that, yes. . . But it was how your hormones laid things out for you — mentally and emotionally. And it really did make sense. . .

The thought alone was enough to help you stand firm in your desire for him to not be with you. And you didn’t want him with someone like Maya. You were so passed that. She wasn’t good like he was. They didn’t fit and it was hell watching them together because he was better - far better - than her. Being so close and intimate with him again was (very slowly) helping to clear your head of the bullshit that you'd orchestrated in your mind that she was right for him. Jacob Thomas Kiszka wasn’t right for anybody. He was too good for this world and no one was good enough for his heart. Even if he were to believe it wasn’t true, you believed it. And you would continue to believe it for him if you had to. You loved him enough to believe in anything for him.

You were jealous of him and Maya, yes. And you wanted him to leave her. But it went beyond that. So far beyond that. In the end, it had virtually nothing to do with Maya and everything to do with Jake. Jake deserved to live his dream without a woman tying him down. While you wanted all of him more than anything, you knew you’d only ever give so much of yourself. Only for his benefit. You would use your body to show him your love for as long as time would allow. You wanted that shit and he’d made it seem like he did, too. You’d be his friend, too. Being his friend, alone, was a gift. His friend, first and foremost.

Your entire heart — everything that came with a relationship — was too much for him and you refused to burden him with it. You loved him too much for that. God. . .you really fucking loved him. So much it physically hurt. The love you had for him was the reason you were so adamant about not letting him push anything away like he’d been forced to before. His future was right around the corner. The life that he was destined for. . . One outlined with fame and adoration from fans who loved the music he made. 

He’d helped you reclaim a hellton of shit in your life. The least you could do for him was not squander it with a relationship. A relationship with a broken woman. His baby would know that he loved her. You’d make sure of it. You knew he’d make sure of it. Lavender Kiszka would only bring joy and hope in her wake — just like she already did. You brought confusion and unsureness and a broken heart from things that weren’t his doing.

Yes, your goal was to have those things healed before Lavender was in your arms. But. . that was another thing. It was for her. The healing, the getting better. . . At your core, you knew it was for her. Not him. Not even for you, as much as it was her. She needed your devoted attention. And that did not include him working tirelessly to keep up with your bullshit. No, Lavender needed to be his main focus, too. 

After Elsie claimed she’d gotten the ‘perfect shot’, she left you to get changed for the night. But. . you couldn’t take off the lingerie yet. Didn’t want to. It made you feel so fucking incredible, in the end. Even when you went to brush your hair and touch up your lips in the mirror and caught sight of your vein-ridden tits. . .you didn’t begin to feel like shit. No, the veins that stared back at you above the cups of your bralette weren’t quite so offensive anymore. Not when you associated them with why they were so prominent. 

You slipped a nice, black v-neck sweater over your head to match the expensiveness of the restaurant you’d be going to. And when it was just the sweater and the lacy underwear (that did not cover your ass), you turned to the side and smoothed a gentle, loving hand over your bump. She was worth every bit of everything. And so was her daddy. 

“How about I post a story of you and Els? That’ll break the ice,” Josh brainstormed as all three of you got settled into your seats at The Monkey King. “We can see if he’s online.”

For the past half hour of leaving your home and waiting for a table at The Monkey King, Elsie and Josh had been talking you down from being worried. Worried about posting your pictures. The non-sexy comparison one would be first. You already had that post queued up on your end. But. . . you’d been leaning into hesitancy. You were waiting — because of nerves forcing you to believe that Jake wouldn’t even react to them.

Why would he? He was with his girlfriend, for god’s sake! And you’d even told him to ignore you. And, stupidly, you’d voiced the moronic worries to Josh and Elsie who hadn’t stopped giving ideas for the past almost-forty minutes now. But they just didn't get it. You needed a little more time. . . You just needed a bit to boost your courage to post anything at all — especially the risqué story. And that one was set to come after the first post. . . So, as it went, the sooner you posted the first. . .

Elsie had been right about the last set of pictures she'd snapped. There had been one photo in particular that had been perfect. When you looked at it, it was hard to believe it was even you. But that was how you knew it was fucking good and hot as hell. Your hair had been the slightest bit tousled from your moving around for the pictures, your hand holding onto the left lapel of his shirt. . . Your legs, opened into a small 'V' and bent at the knee, ass nearly touching the bed in your 'relaxed' position. 

And your tits. Damn. In spite of the veins, you still loved how they looked at this stage in your pregnancy. They were ideally round and swollen in a way that would make any boob-lover’s day. Yes, the veins were noticeable. But you actually understood Elsie’s point about them adding a sexy touch. You saw yourself as this ethereal sort of pregnant woman in the sensuous picture. You’d made it black and white for an added noir effect. . . And it was actually perfect. But, still. You were nervous. 

“I swear if this is actually about your titties. . .,” Elsie began, somehow reading your mind in her creepy ass sister way. Her words got an abrupt response from her boyfriend. 

“A woman’s body is magnificent in any light, y/n. Don’t be ashamed of it, mama,” Josh encouraged, catching your eyes and blushing cheeks. His brown irises held compassion and empathy. 

“Thanks, Jo—.”

“Yeah, y/n,” Elsie cut in, earning herself a glare from you. “And that especially goes for pregnant bodies.”

“I believe if my twin were here he’d have to agree,” Josh inserted, looking at Elsie when he said it. He was literally using it as a conversation piece to add onto her statement. Josh was an appreciator of the human anatomy — of all of its beautiful features and abilities. 

But it felt like you were being put on the spot. Like Elsie had said some shit. Something that would make him feel the need to encourage you with a statement in reference to Jake and your boobs. “What the fuck did you say to him, Elsie?” You wondered, being cut off by the waiter coming to take your drink orders. 

For once, you actually got a drink with caffeine. Coke. You knew from reading, that a little caffeine wouldn’t hurt the baby and you were craving the unhealthy carbonated drink. Christmas and Coke just went together. When the waiter had gone, you went to say more to Elsie — really chew her out — but it was Josh who spoke first. 

“I don’t even know what you’re referring to, y/n,” he clarified, gaining your line of sight. His eyes screamed genuinity. You knew he wasn’t lying. “I just felt the need to insert what I knew. What I know about the man. Because. . .,” he cleared his throat, leveling you with a pinning stare. His lips quirked. “Because, I know — based on what you told me, y/n —, that that stupid ass motherfucker is part of the reason you’re nervous to post anything.”

“What, do you know that Jake’s a boob guy or something?” Elsie tried, smirking at her boyfriend. “I mean. . .could have guessed that based on the way I’ve caught him looking at y/n’s on the few occasions I’ve been around to witness it.”

What? He did that? And often enough that Elsie had noticed it after only a few visits?

“You do make quite the impeccable point, my dear. . . The fucker can’t take his damned eyes off of them,” Josh agreed with a puff of air from his lips, quantified to a laugh. “It’s hilarious, actually. Thinks he’s being subtle.”

You had no idea what they were talking about. There had only been a few times that you had caught his eyes roaming. . . And usually, it was just the two of you who were there when he did it. “I don’t know what the fuck you guys are talking about,” you interjected. “Surely he doesn’t—.”

“Y/n. Even if I hadn’t caught him doing it, he told me his goddamn self,” Josh informed you, placing his fingers together in a pyramid in front of his face. As if he were some sort of great scholar discussing this shit. “That day after he groped you in front of us all and got himself off in the bathroom — which he also admitted to, by the way. He actually told me the shit about your body whilst admitting to yanking his fucking chain.”

Okay, they had to stop with the variety of terms they used to describe sex things. “Where the fuck do you guys hear the variety of ways to refer to male and female genitalia?” 

“Urban Dictionary,” they said in unison, side eyeing one another with a little grin as they bumped shoulders. 

You rolled your eyes. 

“We just get on there for fun sometimes,” Elsie explained, rubbing Josh’s arm lovingly as the drinks got to the table. 

“You’re both gross,” you replied as you watched them fucking Eskimo kiss in front of you. God, you were so damn single. 

For a number of seconds, they continued on as if you weren’t there. All handsy and flirty and in love. You stared at them blankly and with self-pity. . . All you wanted, with one person in particular. But you just couldn’t do it. 

You were caught off guard when the waiter was suddenly back with your drinks, asking for your orders. You quickly ordered your meal, having checked the menu online on the way to the restaurant. The way your stomach had been calling out for help had simply left you no other choice. When the server was yet again gone, with the orders tucked into his apron, you let your eyes roam back over to your two best friends. Thankfully, they were back from Love Island. Though, unfortunately, they were both eyeing you with measured stares of awaiting nature.

“What, you two?” You snapped at them, arching a brow as you took a long sip of your Coke. Which, as you'd expected, hit the spot just right.

“You’re not even going to react?” Josh quizzed you, raised a brow as he took a sip of his piping hot green tea. “I just told you that Jake told me how much he loved your body.”

To tell him or not to tell him. . . Fuck. Whatever. What was the harm?

“I don’t need to react to that Josh,” you began. After one more little sip of your Coke, you placed your phone on the table. The confidence was coming; you could do it. “Because last night I think his mouth did a pretty impeccable job informing me — on my body.” 

“In her body,” Elsie added, with a pointed look at Josh. 

The curly headed twin almost shot green tea out of his nose, choking slightly as he swallowed his most recent sip. “What?!”

“Yes, Joshua, we both took your sage advice. Thank you so much, Wise Counselor,” you griped, for no reason besides how hungry you were. Because, truly, you were grateful. Josh was working wondrous Christmas miracles in Brooklyn, NY. 

“Dr. JMK,” Elsie wiggled her brows at him, patting his back as his coughs turned to little huffs and puffs. “My favorite therapist.”

You didn’t even have to guess that they were referring to sex. Not with the way he was smirking and rubbing at his bottom lip as his breathing calmed. His eyes, darkened and looking in the distance - far away from you. Then, he was whispering in her ear and you wanted to gag. Again. 

Their public display of affection was enough to encourage you to go to your own little world. And the most effective way to do that at the time being was to just get the damn picture posted. Just the comparison. The one in the jeans. You could do that. With the caption up and ready and everything, all you had to do was click a certain button. 

So, you did it. Posted. Just like that.

The left side, the picture of you in a black bra with your jeans undone in the front to showcase your protruding lower tummy. And then, of course, the right side was the picture of your pre-baby body the day you went to the pool. In your little black swimsuit – but just enough of the picture to be a near-replica picture of the one you’d taken that evening. Just your face behind the phone, your chest, your tummy, and the very top curve of your ass. 

The focal point of both pictures, being how your body had changed. Which, you had to admit. . . you were beginning to prefer the baby bod. Whether that was thanks to Jake’s assistance the night before or the fact that your changing body meant your daughter was growing - well and healthily. . . you weren’t sure. Though, you were leaning more towards being proud of the little human you were housing. She was right there, obvious to everyone, all of the time, and you loved that fact. Lavender made the cutest little bump. And when you weren’t in your head about your appearance, you could see just how much you loved your bump. You were admittedly blessed with quite the adorable round tummy. 

And, after comparing your body to hoards of other pregnant women, you knew you were also blessed with incredible pregnancy-induced tits. You’d seen plenty of other women who had perfectly suited bodies to accompany their pregnancy… but, you were glad to simply prefer yours than compare it to others’. Your nipples were still smaller and lighter, those not having changed too much (strangely, you were terrified for those to change). It was nice to not have to get used to those changing along with everything else (Seriously. Everything else: belly, ass, thighs, swollen feet — the works.). The only thing that had really changed about your breasts was the size of them. They’d grown beautifully larger, in your opinion. Round, sexily swollen, and sitting just right on your body above your bump. . . (If you took time to consider it, you could understand why Jake had focused on them so intentionally the night before.) 

Seriously, where this confidence was coming from, you had no idea. You assumed it had to do with the night before. 

You stared at the post for just a moment longer, not daring to refresh the page to see any comments, likes or anything of the sort. The caption was very sweet, the ideal thing to accompany the black and white side-by-side comparison. It was simple, pointing out the obvious. (Your tummy was still small-ish, yes. However, it was also pretty clear that you were, in fact, more than a little pregnant.) 

For your caption, you’d written:

Just a bit of a difference… 🤭🫶 May 2023 🐣💜

The notification ping! on Elsie’s phone went off with your post. At the noise, you looked up at your sister to see her reaction to it. Thankfully, it had been enough to break her and Josh from their mini lovefest (seriously, thank god). She’d given you an eye with a smirk that said she was proud of you before she picked up her phone to see the post. Josh was looking over her shoulder as she clicked through to the app, curious to see the highly anticipated post finally up and in action.  

“Oh, y/n. . . . it is perfect!” She’d excitedly squealed, instantly double clicking her screen with her pointer. She flourished the action with a little flick of her wrist, which made you laugh. And soon, Josh was readily getting his phone out to, presumably, do the same. “I’m gonna comment and share it to my story. . . How about you post your story pic, sis? Please. I’m dying.”

Still maneuvering around his phone like he was a grandpa, Josh held the phone away from his face a bit to get a good look. With a gentle grin, he double clicked before sending a wink your way. “So cute, Mama. Jake’s going to love it.”

“I can’t look to see if he’s liked it yet,” you admitted out loud, only eyeing the post for a second longer before you started preparing your story post. “And I literally just posted, so I know I sound ambitious even referring to it yet.” It seemed like the right time to get the truly risque picture set and ready while you were feeling so good about your figure. . . And to distract you from Jake possibly seeing the other post. 

“We don’t have to quite yet. Els, why don’t you. . .?” Josh said across from you. From your peripheral, you noticed he was gearing up his phone to take a picture of you. You glanced up at him just as Elsie was moving around the table to sit beside you. The crinkle in your brow questioned what they were doing, but you didn’t have to ask as he was revealing it himself on his next breath. “I’m going to make that story post I mentioned earlier. And, if he sees mine, then I’ll be able to call him on his shit if he doesn’t pay attention to yours.”

“Josh,” you scolded with a stern brow. Though, in spite of your slight disagreement with the plan, you went along with it. It did make sense. . . you just weren’t sure you wanted him calling Jake out. You said as much, just as he got the phone set up just right to get the best angle. “You shouldn't call him out for anything. He is with Maya. His focus doesn’t need to be on me. I’m just being weird about him seeing it.” 

With another glance, you eyed your phone screen before turning it on its face – didn’t want to show how it was opened to a new Insta story. The black and white picture of you in the sexy black lingerie and Jake’s shirt, only awaiting a song to accompany it for your second post of the night.

“We all want to know his reaction, sis,” Elsie clarified as she snuggled up beside you, wrapping her arm around you and pulling you close. “Now, smile for my boyfriend.”

You did just as she said, the smile not hard to fake at all. This night was honestly of your dreams, getting to be with your two best friends. Elsie living in New York again still felt too good to be true. . . But, it was, in fact, very true. And you were overjoyed. There was only one person truly missing. 

Josh continued to narrate as he took a few pictures. “I want him to see what he’s missing out on, too. Selfishly, I’m also pissed he’s spending any time away from me this holiday season, too. . .,” he grumpily noted. “I thought that the ‘prioritizing the girlfriend’ shit was behind us.”

With a flush in your cheeks, you couldn’t help but agree that it was aggravating that he was away. “Yeah, it sucks that he’s not here,” you said, not really caring to be transparent about that. It was just Josh and Elsie. . . you were tired of hiding all of these pent up feelings from them. There were only certain things you were not about to divulge to them. . . . like your love for the man. “I was looking forward to spending some of the holiday with him, too.”

The curly headed man turned the phone around to show you the pictures with measured scrolls between the pictures. “I feel you, mama,” he solemnly noted in return. “Tell me to stop when you see the one you love.”

They were all very good. Josh knew his way behind a camera. . . truly knew how to make people look their best. But there was one in particular you instantly stopped him at. It was the happiest you’d seen yourself for a hot damn second and Elsie looked majestically gorgeous with her curly hair falling around her petite, fairy-like features with ease. 

“That one is my favorite,” you said, tapping the screen to hit the favorite button to emphasize your point. “I love our smiles in it. You look gorgeous, Els.”

“This is about you, sis,” she grasped Josh’s wrist to halt him from moving his phone away just yet. “Do you like how you look in it?”

You shook your head at her insistence, smiling at her. Gently, you lifted her fingers from Josh’s wrist and grasped her hand in your own. “Yes, Elsie. I love how we both look in it,” you promised her, keeping her hand in a tight grip when she gave you a grin to match your own. “But can you please stay beside me for a bit? I need you right here when I post this fucking sensuous story.”

“Yes, silly,” she responded, a glint in her eye as she winked. “Do you want to post first? Or do you want Josh to?”

From the side, you saw Josh pause before placing his phone on the table. “You stopped me just in time, babe. . . Was just about to post it. Instantly knew the song to make him feel guilty with, and put it on there, too," he said, relief and a giggle evident in his tone. “And before either of you see it, yes. I can confirm my words are a little braggy, but I like them that way.”

“I’m sure whatever you said was fine, Joshy,” you said to him with a pat on the back of his hand, curious at the song. But. . . you didn't worry too much about it, though, since you had your own shit to worry about.

His lips quirked under his mustache before he asked you the same question as your sister. “So, you first or me? What would you like best, mama?”

“And Close Friends only or do you want Maya to see it, too?” Elsie asked, brow raised when you caught her eyes next. “Honestly, that would be poetic fucking justice for her to–.”

“No, Els. Only Close Friends. No Maya,” you rolled your eyes at her antics. “I don’t want her to feel any type of way over me posting this. Want her to enjoy Christmas and not worry about me or any of this,” you motioned to your belly.

Silently, you added that you really didn’t want to give her any reason to question you. Didn’t want her to catch on to anything you and Jake had done right before they’d left town. . . . or the fact that you were wearing his damned shirt. You liked it being posted in a sort of secret. For a second, you sat and contemplated it, though. You knew what you truly wanted to do. You were ready. Mostly. “I think I’m gonna post mine. Then, if he’s ignored that and my actual post-post, we’ll see if he’s actually online and not interacting with me if he’s viewing your story.”

“Sounds good,” Josh agreed with an approving purse of his lips. “The floor is yours.”

For some reason, you were beginning to question all of your concern about wanting him seeing it. . . was it stupid? Juvenile? “Why do I even care about him being online, again?” You questioned, out loud, to them. It was better than drowning completely in your own thoughts. 

“Because you care about him and you want him to see these,” Elsie said, knowing you better than you knew yourself. “You know you look good and you want him to see you.”

Briefly, you questioned your motives. “But, like. . .is this okay? Am I using my daughter for some sort of weird, personal gain or some shit?”

“Oh, babe. No. Not in the slightest, sis,” Elsie insisted with a squeeze to your bicep. She went to grasp your arm with both of her hands, urging you to look at her. And you did, eyes glazing with tears as you observed the sincerity in hers. “Get out of your head. Are you using your body to take sexy pictures while you look so fucking good pregnant? Yes. I would judge you if you didn’t take sexy maternity pictures. . . And I will judge you if you don’t take more with a professional, later in the pregnancy.”

“You’re taking advantage of being confident in your current state,” Josh added on. You looked over at him, a smirk present on his lips to encourage you. “And I’m glad you are. Every woman should feel divine as fuck in her body while carrying a human life. That’s fucking incredible shit that only you women are able to do and you should fully flaunt the fact that you’re doing that shit. It’s fuckin’ badass, y/n.”

“I completely and wholeheartedly second that,” Elsie tacked on to the end, your gaze going back to hers. She grasped your chin in between her dainty, soft fingers. “Don’t convince yourself of this shit about you being selfish or whatever. I know that's what you're doing. You're confident! It's good to be confident. And you'll get to teach your daughter the same. Don’t you dare dim your light. . . because you won’t want her to dim hers. Yes, you’re posting this to look sexy for Jake, but you did it for yourself, too. And–.”

“And ultimately, it is for Lavender,” Josh finished for Elsie. 

Her name. Your eyes snapped over to him, instantly welling with tears at hearing her name flit from his lips. Out in the wild.

It took him a second to register what you were reacting to, but when he did, his expression went flat and his eyes went sympathetic. “Fuck, y/n. I– I didn’t even–,” he rubbed an eyebrow before using his hands to aid in explaining himself. (Which he did not need to do, but you couldn’t say that yet. All you could do was simply sit there in shock at hearing her name in the damn wild.) “Jacob told me. He told me of the significance of it and everything and he just really wanted me to know. . . . Told me to keep my mouth shut and not tell anyone. Because, duh. He wanted to wait for your time for everyone else to find out. But, again– he did tell me you would most likely be okay with me knowing and I just really fucking hope he was correct in this–.”

“Yes!” You adamantly interrupted him, a huge smile lighting up your features at all of it. “Yes. I absolutely am fine with the fact that he told you. I would’ve told him to, but pregnancy brain and all – just slipped my mind,” you shook your head with a contented smile, catching his eyes once more. “I just– I loved hearing you say her name, Josh.” His own smile widened under his mustache as his eyes got glossy. He reached a hand out for you, which you gripped surely and tightly to communicate your love to him.

It’d definitely caught you off guard. But you truly were elated that Jake had told him. You liked it being only your little circle of people that knew. Just your circle. You hoped Jake viewed it as special as you that only your few chosen people knew about her gender. . .And now, a couple more new the name. Only Josh and Elsie. In your heart, you knew he viewed it the same. You’d bet anything on it.

So, feeling emotions rise in your chest and love pouring out of your ears at the support from all areas. . . you decided it was time. And without a second thought, you went for it. Posted the picture, which you’d edited to be a faded and fairly aesthetic black and white tone. On top of the photo were thoughtfully curated words and a favorite holiday-esque tune of yours to match them.  

Your words, ��Most definitely ✨falling in love✨ with my favorite gift ever.’ And, to add to the darker and more mysterious vibe of the shot, you’d tacked on a tiny black heart under the text. 

The song you’d chosen was by one of your current favorite artists. Victoria Monet. An orchestral, instrumental rendition of her tune, “We Might Even Be Falling In Love.” The song had been released by her a couple of Christmases ago, with a bunch of her other tracks that she’d added a Christmas sound to. The song fit the overall theme of the story exquisitely. Sexy for Jake to hear as he watched the story, yet loving to fit the message meant for Lavender. And of course, Christmas-y for the season and the text you’d added.

Even with the nerves whistling through your system, you relished in the fact that it was out now. For everyone to see. For a specific person to see. You watched it play through again, admiring the way you looked in it. Elsie had done a damn good job, you were impressed.

“Ready for me to post mine, mama?” Josh asked, breaking you from your reverie of the fact that you’d just posted the picture. 

You blinked at him once. Twice. And then told him yes. But it was barely any time after he posted his story that you decided to finally click through to your notifications. When you did, you saw a name you were awfully enthusiastic to see. And that was an understatement.

jakekiszka liked your photo. 

16m

jakekiszka commented: 💜

16m

Sixteen minutes ago. . . You clicked through to the post, noticing the time stamp implied that you’d posted it nearly the same length of time ago, save for a couple of minutes. Fuck. He’d seen it basically right away? You couldn’t help the smile that floated to comfortably sit on your lips in silent relief. And on top of seeing it right off the bat, he’d been the first to comment, many others following to offer comments and likes to offer congratulations. Elsie and Josh, taking the cake for the first people to like the post. . . But Jake had taken the time to comment. 

And a purple heart, at that. To match yours. For your girl.

Jake’s POV

The initial post had been enough to make me forget where I was. Then she’d posted her story. And the concept of space and time and the people around me mattered fucking none. My dick, doing all of the thinking in my damn pants. . . Daring to react like it wanted to. Goddammit. 

She was wearing nearly nothing, only the most breathtaking lacy and sheer bra and panties. Matching. She’d put fucking thought into this. Her tits, so fuckin' heavy and swollen for what they were preparing. . . And when I noticed it was my goddamned shirt on top of her basically naked body - those perfect tits - I was done for. I knew exactly what she was doing. I crossed my legs, rubbing at my jaw in complete and utter appreciation of her heavenly fucking body. My phone, hidden from Maya the best it could’ve been. 

I made sure Maya was still engaged in whatever she was talking about with her dad before I turned to the side just slightly to avoid her eyes on the screen. And I really took a moment to digest the image on my phone. My thumb was holding the story in place like my damn life depended on it. . . My dick was fucking aching to do something about what I was looking at. . . And right here, at dinner with Maya and her father, I felt myself getting real fucking hard for y/n. Couldn’t stop it if I fuckin’ tried. This image was sealed in my mind. 

Fuck. And I'd been I’d been so damn good. . .

After spending the entire day wanting to continue our conversation from earlier, I hadn’t. A few times, away from Maya’s eyes, I’d opened our thread and almost started something. But I had refrained each and every time. I’d done a damn good job of honoring her wishes by focusing on Maya. I knew that y/n had a point with her insistence on that and I knew it was the right thing to do. Ignore her and think about Maya. . . I knew she’d had a point. 

But, still. After last night, all I wanted to fucking do was wrap myself up in all things y/n. Being away from her right now was fucking torture. And not being able to talk to her at all? Worst part of all. But I couldn’t respect her wishes to not communicate when she was posting shit like this. 

It lit a fire under my skin. . .

The little act even made me grit my teeth in anger at her. Why did she get to pull shit like this, but I wasn’t allowed to simply text her? Didn’t seem fair to me and I fucking wished there was something I could do about articulating this point to her. Words really wouldn't do it justice. I wanted to use my mouth, my hands, my cock to get the damned point through to her. 

But I couldn’t fucking do that at the moment, could I? I crossed my legs tighter together, crushing my fuckin' nuts. Though, I didn't care too much at the moment. . . I was too busy contemplating what was happening in my mind and my damn pants. It was starting to hurt — trying to conceal the throbbing problem in my jeans. So, I decided I needed to say or do something. Teach her a fucking lesson. I just didn’t know how. 

Fuck, she needed to understand that she couldn’t do shit like this when I wasn’t around. When I was with my girlfriend. 

All I wanted to do was make her understand that this wasn’t fair. . . . Wanted to use my body and hers to do so. . . But I fucking couldn’t do that, now could I? Then — as my dick strained just a bit harder in my jeans, threatening to expose me — I got an idea. Without taking even a second to consider anything, I clicked my phone closed before I turned to Maya. 

“I’ve gotta call Josh about something,” I told her, gaining her big brown eyes, making sure to sound as sincere as I could. I felt sort of shitty doing it, but my dick was doing all of the thinking at the moment. My brain was not in charge. “I’ll be real quick.” 

“You’re good,” she smiled, patting my thigh and leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek I didn’t want from her at the present time. “Make it quick, though? This place closes in a couple of hours and I want you to try all of the desserts that come out on the tray. . . I have a story for each and every one.”

Again, not really thinking much, all I could do was offer a quick smile and an ‘mhm’ before rising from my chair quickly and quietly. I did my best to walk with my ass facing the table, covering my front the best I could with my phone and sweater. Without needing much time, thinking on efficiency mode, I found the sign for the bathrooms in no time. 

Once I made it to the family stall bathroom, I unbuttoned my pants for some relief. I sighed at the feeling of my jeans not crushing my fucking pulsing cock. And while, yes, it felt better, it was still not good enough. Not even fucking close. I opened my text thread with her. It only took me half a minute to decide on what I wanted to say.

Me, 9:53 p.m.: okay so

Me, 9:53 p.m.: I’m not allowed to talk to you... But you can apparently get fucking naked and wear my shirt when I’m not there to do something about it?

I reached into my briefs and gave myself a few strokes, getting impossibly harder as I watched her name on my screen. Just her name had my head fuzzy as shit right now. I continued to pay special attention to my dick. It was dense as fuckin' lead, so my hand only offered decent satiation. It was nothing compared to her hand, her mouth. . . And especially not her wet and fucking warm pussy. That shit hugged my dick like a damn glove.

I studied her contact picture in my phone. . . Fuck. She was so damn perfect. No other woman compared. I still had her picture in my phone set as one I’d taken over the summer. . . From that day at Sam’s AirBnB pool. Her, laying on the edge of the pool, arms crossed to hold her up right beside where I still still sat in the pool. She was grinning down at me, smile wide enough that I could see her dimples. Her eyes, squinted shut, under the summer sun. The way her skin glowed under the sun. . . And if I were to click through to see the whole picture, I’d be able to see each and every droplet of water that had been clinging so flawlessly to her soft skin. 

The swimsuit in the contact photo, the same damn one as the post from earlier in the evening. God. . .That post had been pure perfection. The black bra and jeans, the swimsuit. . .I’d clicked through to that first post so quickly— as soon as I’d gotten the notification. (Yes, my post notifications were still on for her. . . I’d initially set them up over the summer when she’d posted quite frequently.) Standing in this bathroom, I came to the realization that the baby reveal post had been the first real post she’d made since summertime, aside from the occasional story. 

The first post alone — an incredible way to come back. Damn. As soon as I had gotten the notification that she’d posted, my heart had started hammering in my chest. Like I was a fuckin’ teenager with a damn crush. She’d had that effect on me since day one. 

The picture of her in her cute little black swimsuit — the one with the lace that shaped seamlessly to her tits. . . Then, there was the new picture of her that it had been compared to. Y/n, posing in the mirror. Wearing only a black bra and worn jeans, the fly undone to show off her cute, round belly. The belly that was holding my baby girl.

Goddamn. 

And those tits. . .I could still feel them, what they'd felt like in my hands. In my mouth. In the picture, they'd been sitting just right in that maternity bra – something I’d never known to be hot until y/n was the one wearing it. I couldn’t help but think she made everything sexier. More beautiful. But god, did I want to hold those motherfuckers in my hands again — grip them and make her whine for more. Lick her tender nipples into my mouth. . . Shit. . . . .My hand continued to wrap around my dick, pumping the best it could. A sad comparison to y/n. . . . . . Fuck, I missed her. 

I went back to Instagram with the hand that still held my phone. When I was back on the app, I had to click away from the story post. Art in its finest form. But, as I exited from it, I mentally promised that image that I’d damn well be back. I just had to look at the other post. Let my delusional ass travel back to summer time. That older photo in the black and white comparison. . . I’d recognized that cute ass photo right away. 

The day it was taken, locked in my fucking memory. The photo from her post had been taken right before we’d left for the pool. I’d caught a glimpse of her taking it, right before knocking on her door with a gentle rap of my knuckles. The door, only being cracked, easily opened for me to enter. . . That had been normal for us. Doors open. Casual entry. God, things had been so damn perfect.

She’d smiled at me with this secretive little grin on her pretty lips. And that had led to me sauntering over to her to take her in my arms. I could remember every detail from the moment— the way she’d melted into my grasp, the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks, and the way her soft lips had tasted like her coconut chapstick. . . 

Before I could get too carried away with my memory, my phone buzzed in my hand. Her name, floating across the top of my screen. I tapped that shit on sight, letting my eager hand ease up a bit on my dick, but kept a sure hold of it in my flexing fist.

Y/n, 9:57 p.m.: Jacob. What the fuck did I say about texting me?

Oh, fuck no. She was not going to tell me what to fucking do. Not when she’d pulled her shit. She'd known what she was doing with her little photoshoot. That picture with her tits out, pussy just about visible in her lacy panties — and in my clothes. Yeah. . . Y/n was the furthest thing from an idiot. She knew. This meant she was the one who needed a damn talking to.

Me, 9:58 p.m.: oh baby... You will NOT tell me what to do any fuckin more today

Her next reply came quicker, barely enough time for me to register that she'd read mine. 

Y/n, 9:59 p.m.: Yeah? And what gives YOU the right to decide that, Jake? I’m pretty sure I can make MY OWN damn choices, baby. 

Me, 9:59 p.m.: yeah. But you telling me to stop texting you and to focus on my girlfriend… that IS you telling me what to do

Me, 10:00 p.m.: and just like you I get to make my own damn choices. YOUR little stunt tonight is making it pretty damn hard for me to not want to talk to you. Quite frankly… I wanna do more than talk to you 

Me, 10:01 p.m.: looks like I need to teach your ass a little lesson, hm? 

But, after I sent that, I just stood there. My hand, loose and lazing up and down, on my dick, for a good while, waiting for her to answer. After a few long ass minutes, I started to get fuckin��� pissed. I didn’t have time to wait on her shit. She’d started this mess, she needed to fucking finish it. And I was on a stupid fucking time limit. Had to try this goddamn dessert tray. Fuck. I was just aware of one very clear thing. . . I was aware that there was no way I could go out like this. At that thought, I lifted my hand from my aching dick. Damn near ready to bust and lacking real attention. I let my boxers snap against my hips. Leaning against the wall, I got into the best position I could to get a picture for her. 

I opened the camera in my texts with her, letting my hand go to grip my straining cock over my briefs. Tilting my phone just right, I made sure she could see the entire imprint. Every detail. Tip to base. My wrist lifted my sweater just a bit. And from the exposed skin at the bottom of my abdomen and down, it was clear what was happening in my damn underwear. She’d be able to see what the fuck was going on for me right now. What she’d caused. 

As I finished taking the picture, feeling satisfied with the result, my phone buzzed in my hand. Her name, yet again, at the top of my screen. But I couldn’t read her text before I sent the photo, as was the case with iPhones. So, very quickly, I went ahead and sent it so I could see what she’d said. 

Y/n, 10:06 p.m.: Please, Jake. Tell me about this ‘stunt.’ And how it concerns you. 

Oh? Okay.

Me, 10:06 p.m.: you’re wearing my damn shirt, y/n. That’s how the fuck it concerns me

At the same time I finished that text, my picture was finally sent. 

Me, 10:06 p.m.: so. now thanks to you my dick hurts like a motherfucker. I want your tight fuckin pussy around me so damn bad but I can’t have that shit can I?

Shockingly, she didn’t take forever to respond this time. It appeared all she’d needed was a damn reality check.

Y/n, 10:06 p.m.: I never said you couldn’t have my pussy.

She was determined to make me go crazy. . . goddammit. Though, I was soon distracted by her next text, which made it clear to me that she’d seen my photo.

Y/n, 10:07 p.m.: Oh.. okay. Fuck me, then, huh? Wanna fuck me over with a picture like that? Real nice, babe. Way to return the favor.

Dammit. I wished I could fuck her. My hand slipped into my briefs again as I sent my text. I imagined how I'd hold her hips. . . my dick, pounding into that slick heat over and over and over. . . Damn. It was hard to type with one hand, but so fucking worth it to (hopefully) get off with her help. . . It had been too damn long. Come on, y/n. . .

Me, 10:07 p.m.: damn right I’ll fuck you, baby. If I had MY way I’d fuck you right here, right now. Take you out to the fucking middle of this restaurant. Put on a little show for everyone... show them how damn well I can fuck that sweet pussy

The thought was debilitating. My knees, getting weak as I’d typed that shit. I would love to show her off to all of the people in this goddamn establishment. Make everyone else appreciate this perfect woman. Those swollen tits, already so much bigger than they’d once been. And that was considering they’d already been ideal before. Prettiest, perkiest fuckin’ tits. And, the bigger they got, the more of them I got to appreciate. And that ass. . . It just got bigger and rounder, the more she grew with my baby. Then there was the cutest damn bump; always growing with that hard ass work I couldn’t even begin to pretend to imagine. She was working fucking magic in that body every damned day. I'd never admired a woman so much in my life.

Fuck it all. I could've blow my fuckin' load at the thought alone. How indescribably hot it was that she was taking such care, every damn day, of my baby that lived inside of her. My hand began to move in a pattern of torturously slow and a speed right in the middle of fast and slow. . . Had to pace myself. . . I wasn’t going to last with this thought process.

Y/n, 10:08 p.m.: Fuck, Jake. Shut the fuck up.

Me, 10:08 p.m.: no way baby. It’s my turn to make YOU imagine this shit 

Y/n, 10:07 p.m.: Now you’re trying to get the upper hand? Is that how it is, Jake? 

Me, 10:08 p.m.: seems fair… Wouldn’t you say?

Y/n, 10:08 p.m.: I'm just pissed to hell that you’re not going to send me a fully naked picture of your pretty dick. That’s fucking rude, babe.

The little grin that lifted my lips was out of nothing but pure appreciation for her. God. She made my fucking head spin. She was a dream and a half. And now that I’d had a bite of her again, allowed myself to give in to what I’d been keeping myself from? It’d been bad enough when she’d given me that incomparable head at the fuckin’ stoplight a while back. . . A domestic ass grocery trip that had turned into a whole lot more. . . Satisfied more than her cravings that night. 

But, honestly. . . While the head was fuckin’ killer, her body was the one that deserved worship. All of her. . . Goddammit. And now that I knew how much sweeter her pussy tasted? My hand started to move in languid, pulsing pumps up and down my dick, thinking of her body. . . How delicious she was. . . Fuck. It was only a month or so ago, I’d read that pregnant women sometimes emanate a different smell. . . a different taste. . . And now that I knew that shit was goddamned true? I couldn’t control when my hand began to move a touch faster, fist tightening in a way that had my eyes daring to cross. Her pregnant body— fuck everything on this earth that wasn’t her and her beautiful body. 

My mind had been a constant loop of her bedroom. Nonstop. I could still taste her. . . Fuckin’ swore on that shit. Even before pregnancy, nothing on the goddamned earth had tasted better than her release. But now that she was carrying my baby? It was even more magnificent. It was warm fucking honey. More delicious than that. . . the most addictive, intoxicating taste. A drug that I couldn’t get enough of and wanted to keep devouring. I shook my head of this path of thought, coming back to reality to text her back. She was walking on thin damn ice with me.

Me, 10:09 p.m.: you don’t get to talk about me being rude when you started this shit, baby. I wouldn’t be in the fuckin bathroom at this fuckass restaurant if you hadn’t posted your little story

Y/n, 10:10 p.m.: did you listen to the song? 

God, y/n. My hand stilled around my dick, pausing so I could focus on only her. I couldn’t take much more of this. . . 

Me, 10:10 p.m.: couldn’t. You posted it while I was at the damn table with my girlfriend

Y/n, 10:10 p.m.: But you said that you’re in the bathroom now?

Me, 10:10 p.m.: Yes

Y/n, 10:11 p.m.: So… listen to the damn song. Tell me if you remember that melody.

God, her love for music was so sexy to me. I couldn’t even be mad when I let go of my dick to gain some sanity. This woman captivated me on a regular basis with how much she loved music. That wall at home, with racks of vinyl. . . Seriously. Music was a way of life for her. She translated her emotions using it. Just like me. Women like her weren’t only rare, they were fucking extinct. We talked to each other with melodies and rhythms. And sometimes, it was only with our eyes. God.

Like that night at the bar when she’d caught me, unabashedly eyefucking her. Then, to make matters worse, she'd held my gaze like her life had depended on it. I’d seen every emotion pass from her irises to mine. We hadn’t been talking at the time, so this had been a big moment for me. She’d known – she knew – what that song was to us. “You’re All I Need” and “Natural Woman” were our songs. But, for some reason, "You're All I Need", specifically, would forever feel like making love to her. . . There was no stopping the imagining of her tight pussy around my dick when I heard that song in particular. Shit, even that night, I’d reminisced about fucking her to that song with Maya sitting right next to me. 

But. . . I couldn’t feel too bad. Because it was y/n. And to think she’d been sitting there, knowingly pregnant with my baby as we’d shared that moment. . . It made me sort of angry, sure. But not so much anymore. No, now it was just real damn captivating to me that she’d been so openly obvious about all she was feeling. With my baby in her belly. Even if it were just with her eyes. . . her eyes meant the world. 

Carrying Lavender had helped y/n. Our baby girl had assisted in her being braver with her emotions. . . and I fucking loved it. Lavender and music – working together to bring this enigmatic, worthy woman out of her convoluted and complicated shell. She was still hiding, yes, but she was easing back into that girl from the summertime. The one who’d wanted me to stop in the middle of sex to put on an Aretha vinyl. . . . The love I’d felt for her when she’d asked that of me. I’d felt so in love with her in that moment. . . on that rainy morning. I had known then that my love and admiration for her had surpassed any and everything else in my life. . . . God. 

Why did that have to change? Why had she so willingly let me go? Was it all trauma related? Or was there a part of her that really didn’t want me? Because, there was no forgetting how easily she’d drawn lines. I just had to remind my (hopeful) thoughts. . . even if she was coming back to that version of herself now, she had still put up this massive roadblock back then that had changed things. Not everything, but enough. 

Though, whatever may have changed and would continue to change, she’d always hold a place in my heart. Firmly in her grasp. She’d always live there. No matter how much she’d hurt or would continue to hurt me, her spot in my heart was eternal. I felt this all-encompassing ache at the thought of her that I’d never felt before her, or since her. . . Only y/n.

I’d felt it everyday for her since the moment I’d laid eyes on her. And, as I stood in this bathroom, with her on the other side of the phone. . . I realized just how far she’d truly come. Where she was once afraid of letting me in at all, apparently now she was okay with publicly posting a song I should recognize the melody to. . . And with a sensual photograph of her, at that? This was all a huge fucking deal for me. And, well. . . that shit was just hot as fuck. 

As I clicked through my phone, to see her story again, I paused on my home screen for a a brief moment. Appreciated the picture I’d taken of a sonogram shot. . . No gender reveal was obvious – didn’t want anyone knowing that yet. Well, besides Josh. . . who I’d spilled that shit to (couldn’t help myself – had to tell my fuckin’ twin). I couldn’t help but admire my baby girl. She was the first thing I saw on my phone, every time I sused it. She'd successfully secured her place on my lock and home screen. 

I’d just been too consumed in her mother for the past several minutes to pause on her picture until now. . . God, I loved this little girl. So much more than she already knew. Didn’t know until her – how much one could love another - I loved this little, tiny person so goddamn much. This tiny person I hadn’t even held in my arms yet. . . But god, I’d kill for that little girl. Already. 

When y/n’s story was on my phone screen again, I took a moment to just look at her (again). But after I’d taken a proper amount of time to ogle at the damn photo of my dreams, I let the story play through again. Tried to ignore my stupid, impossibly hard dick for y/n, and turned up the sound.

The song on her story was incredible. Not something I’d normally have found to put on a playlist, but it was damned good. And her taste to a T. A track, completely composed with an orchestra. No lyrics. Just melody. A symphonic melody. I had an affinity for orchestral compositions, so I’d immediately closed out the story when the little snippet ended. Searched for it on Spotify, then immediately added it to a playlist I had specifically for that style of music. 

Orchestral Equilibrium was what I’d titled the playlist, long ago when I'd made it. And, I instantly pressed the box and the square, sending the list in a text to y/n. Just wanted her to have access to a playlist I loved so much. Because, apparently, she loved these types of arrangements as well. A lover of philharmonic symphonies, too? On top of her other otherworldly tastes in genre? She was a woman unlike any other, truly. 

Me, 10:14 p.m.: added it to my playlist :) that arrangement is fantastic

Y/n, 10:14 p.m.: 🥹🤭I’m really glad you liked it.

I assumed another text was coming. . . I just knew she’d send something along the lines of “but… do you remember me playing it?”. . . Something of the sort. She’d asked a question, after all. Needed her answer. So, when the ellipses appeared and then disappeared to be replaced by a new text, I wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

Y/n, 10:15 p.m.: Do you remember me playing it though?? 🤔

And there we go, I breathed a laugh to myself as I read it, the grin still stuck on my face. I had quoted it practically verbatim, too. Knew her well. And while I hadn’t heard this version specifically yet, I’d heard one a lot like it. . . So, hastily, so as not to lose y/n on the other end of the phone, I pulled up my Spotify again. 

When I opened the app, it was still showing my Orchestral Equilibrium playlist. It took me zero time to realize it had a new like. One like, where there’d been none before. The grin that floated to my features was the most natural reaction to something so precious. She was precious. Such a small act that. But, I knew that as a fellow music lover, the act was as big to her as it was to me.

After a second, I typed in the song “We Might Even Be Falling In Love.” The title of the song from her story. And the first result, a black and white picture of a man and woman, caught my eye. I recognized it. From y/n’s Apple CarPlay screen. I pressed play on the song, pulled up the album photo to get a good look at it. Yeah. I remembered it. What the screen had looked like the day she’d picked me up from the guitar lesson. The lesson I had not wanted to be at, but kept a positive face about. I had wanted to be with y/n that day. . . Could still remember that shit.

(Same as every day I’d had something going on, when she’d been free. Was even worse when I'd wake up with her wrapped around me and have to say goodbye. . . Wasn't to say that, on those mornings, the goodbye sex wasn't real damn good.)

Music was the way my brain moved. I lived in a constant state of melodious tunings. My mind, an assonance of grandeur, all on its own. I’d gotten so used to it, I hardly realized it wasn’t normal to hear music on a constant loop in your head. But, because my brain worked that way, I could hear a song and be transported back to moments in my past instantly. 

The car’s cool air had been blowing through her lustrous locks and against her radiant, sun kissed face. She might as well have been moving in slow motion — like a fuckin’ romance film. I’d watched the goosebumps appear on her flushed skin, the freckles that’d twinkled on her beautiful face. The twitch of her nose when a few strands of hair had tickled her face.

I’d watched her so closely – observed every intricate detail of her features. She was spellbinding. Irresistibly breathtaking in every possible capacity. It had been out of my control entirely when I’d gone to grip her thigh, wishing I was touching her skin for extra relief from the skin to skin contact. Yet, even though she’d been wearing jeans, I’d taken advantage of what I could do to calm her. She’d seemed burdened, as always. I'd always hated how much she kept on her shoulders. Wanted to take it all away from her. Make things easier.

The way I’d felt for her – it was beyond what words could articulate. I felt tender, yet animalistic for her all at once. I’d wanted to make everything better for her all of the time. The little switches in her mood were so apparent to me. . . I could tell from a mile away if she was thinking or in her head. . . And, for some reason, she had been at that moment. But it was okay. I could make it okay – had to. For her. 

Her cheeks had begun to grow pink, even with the air blowing on her face. So I’d known – she’d felt at least a touch of peace. Her skin reacted beautifully with her emotions, a piece of art on her features that marked a pathway to her soul. 

In that moment, all I’d been able to think about was showing her what she meant to me. And while I hadn’t been in the right place to lay her down and express myself with my body and hers, I could do one thing. When her cheeks had grown a touch more pink, she’d bashfully grinned. The dimple in her cheek, such a tiny detail, but so precious to me. It’d encouraged me. This one way to convey what she meant to me came to mind. . . Carefully, hand still holding tightly to her thigh, I leaned over the armrest and touched my lips to her blushing cheek. Right where the dimple pinched her skin, my mouth met.

Her skin, like the finest velvet, under my lips. Fuck. I’d only lingered for a moment, knowing if I didn’t stop, I’d end up fucking her right there. And we had somewhere to be. Her grandparents were waiting.

But, before I could even move fully away, she’d been swiveling her body. Setting her eyes, once again, on the street ahead before she put the car in drive. Why is she pulling away so quickly? What do I mean to her?, I’d wondered. Still, those thoughts constantly cycled through my head. What did I mean to her? In that moment, my eyes had drifted to her thigh and my hand there. My hand. . . it looked so fucking good against her, holding her.

Underneath my hand, I could feel her muscles flex as she pressed down on the brake to keep the car in place. She’d been busy on her phone, thumbs moving as she scrolled. Without even glancing at the screen, I’d already known she was picking the perfect music to serenade us to our destination. Music was a big fuckin’ deal to y/n. And that was fucking heaven for me. The first thing about her that made me fall.

And now, it made my heart beat fast for one more reason. I know that she had our baby girl listening to the best damn music. Lavender would, naturally, love music. I knew it. And that made my heart fuckin' rush with an exhilarated sort of adulation.

The song she’d ended up choosing, I’d genuinely really liked. It hadn’t been my taste, per se, but it could’ve been. Reminded me of her and her very eclectic taste. This style, one she really loved. I'd noticed. Those songs heavy with the bass and rhythm. A true rhythm and blues admirer. The way the bass bumped against the speakers. And the rhythm, really fucking delicious. It made my head bob, foot tapping to keep in time. Good fuckin’ music, honestly. More Josh’s speed than mine. But, more than him, it really, truly reminded me of y/n.

And the fact that I correlated this type of music to her. . .made it even better to me than if I were to try to give it a shot for Josh. No, for y/n, I was willing to immerse myself in her taste of music. Just a way for me to swim even deeper into the crashing waves of her soul. 

“I actually like this,” I’d commented, trying to make things seem okay. Because they were. Had to convince her. Was she doing okay? God, I hadn’t been able to tell. . .

She was worth knowing that her world was okay. That she was safe. She was worth all of that and more.

The summer had been one of the most incredible fantasies, come to life. Just a bit of a girl I wanted all of, but still. I’d gotten a bit. . . More than I could've gotten had I continued to dick around with her like the asshole I'd been before. So, I knew I'd treasure what I had gotten -forever. Though, frequently, back then when I'd have these thoughts, I’d reminded myself that she hadn’t wanted forever. 

Nonetheless, I’d caught onto these little quirks she had. I'd decided, however long she’d give me the access to her soul, I'd use every moment I could to discover more, more, more. Because of this, I had started to really notice those minuscule moments where she’d begin to pull away. Even if she did want to pull away. Even if she didn’t want me, I’d still wanted to help her. All I wanted to do was make things easier for her. Be a safe place for her. Her muscle had seemed to relax under my touch once she’d started to drive. Though, I had not wanted to move my hand from her. In fact, I did what the fuck I could with our location. Even if I couldn’t lay her down, I could still appreciate her - her body. Communicate my care for her, to her with my touch. 

I’d let my thumb twirl over her thigh, making thoughtful circles. She’d sighed, seemed to enjoy the attention. And when she’d done that, I’d known she was feeling better. So, I continued, urging her to talk to me. Always wanted to talk to her. “What’s it called?”

I paused the song on my phone int the Carmella's bathroom, the memory still so clear in my head. And, the title of it. . . Had she been telling me something? With the song? The title, subject matter of the track. . . Made me wonder. My mind was suddenly, in the present time, going insane at the possibility that she’d been telling me something with her song choice way back then. . . Had I been too much of a moron to realize? But - no. It didn’t matter now — was too late now. 

Me, 10:17 p.m.: That night at your grandparents :) You played it on the way there 

Me, 10:18 p.m.: I really did like the composition of it on your story. It’s gorgeous. Accompanies your picture real damn well 🔥

Y/n, 10:18 p.m.: 🤭I really love it too… I thought of something after I posted it, though. 

Me, 10:19 p.m.: and what’s that?

Y/n, 10:19 p.m.: Something else happened right before I played that for you, too. Remember? 

Yes. Fuck yes, I remembered the entire night. Every single detail.

I'd taken my time with her that night. Laid her on her back, her tits, laying just like always on her soft chest, so pretty, full, and supple. I'd taken one of her smooth thighs and held it up by my arm as I'd fucked her with raw passion. Slow thrusts, on my knees to get the best angle to feel every bit of her, to make sure she could feel me. . . Every whimper and whine and moan that had fallen from her lips that night, the praise and encouragement I'd given her for the sounds - a little more notable than before. A momentous occasion, I'd call it. It had just felt different for me. After I'd witnessed her, breaking down. . . openly crying and panicking - desperate for comfort - in her grandparents' hallway.

The noises she'd made, as I fucked her slow and deep, hitting every inch of her with a feverish force. I'd taken that night as an opportunity to use my body as a vessel - to help her truly understand the fact that I was a safe ground for her to fall on. I always wanted to be safe person for her. I could only hope she felt as safe with me as I longed for her to. Then, at the end, as she'd fallen apart, soaking my dick in her release, she'd moaned from the pit of her tummy to the depths of her chest. Almost like she felt that same relief from the new connection. That beautiful sound, forever a part of my walls. Like it should have been.

This newer, revered sort of dance that had started happening between our bodies. It had always been more with her than any other woman, but that one morning, with the songs - things had changed. She'd given me a glimpse of her head and heart and past. And then directly after that conversation, the way I'd held her body on the pallet of blankets. I'd watched her so closely, every line of her face one I wanted memorized for all time. And, I'd almost damn well spilled into her on that living room floor because I'd been so distracted by her face and her noises - fuck. And then. . . there was that night, after her grandparents'. Before and afterwards, she’d let me in, just a little more - opened up to me. In the hallway and then right there in my bed. As we’d laid in my bed, sweaty and fulfilled. Her hair fanned over my heaving chest, when she'd told me more details from her past. Told me enough that it had impacted me. I'd vowed to help her that night, and I'd kept that promise. Intended to keep it. As long as she'd let me.

But, now wasn't the time for reminiscing - my dick twitching in my pants, reminding me itself to get on with the fucking matter at hand. The memories of fucking her and the closeness - weren't doing me any favors. Goddamn. I needed her help. With one thing in particular. Soon.

Y/n, 10:20 p.m.: It was the night I got to see Maya for the first time. Realized you’d been seeing this fucking goddess of a woman for lessons all summer. Felt so insecure that you’d been around her for her lessons every week.

Again, with her assumptive fucking ass. Here we went. . .again.

Me, 10:20 p.m.: well. For one it wasn’t every week. She didn’t have lessons every week 

Be easier on her, Jacob, a voice counseling me. One that sounded strangely like Josh.

Me, 10:20 p.m.: and two… I’m sorry you felt insecure… but there was never anything you needed to feel insecure about, honey 

There were a few minutes between that text and her next one. . . I could only assume she was pondering something. Always in her damn head. I walked a fine line whenever she’d get like this. I always contemplated whether to insert myself in her thoughts to get them to shut up. Or, whether it was best to just let her think through it, so she could think and heal – uninterrupted. 

She had to figure some of this shit out on her own (with Gia’s help, of course). . . But it didn’t mean it made it easy for me to just sit around and watch. I hated watching her, while also knowing she was spiraling. This was at least the slightest bit easier, though. . . Since I didn’t have to watch her pretty face fold in that way it would. Her brows scrunched, mouth puckered, or a straight line as she’d chew the inside of her lip or cheek. This incredible woman, rigid with cruel self doubt and years worth of confusion that was unraveling. I typed and deleted and re-typed a few things. . . But, after a minute of doing so, I decided I needed to give her space.

I’d learned there was little I could do to get her out of her headspaces, anyhow, so I usually just waited them out. . . Unless I found it was absolutely necessary for me to step in and battle the voices. Help her battle these hateful, never-ending thoughts. . . So, instead, I used my time for good and checked on that Ovia app she’d told me about. Checked on Lavender’s growth for the week. Just to remind myself of all of the terms. . . I checked this thing every fucking day. Wanted to know exactly what was going on with her little body.

Every time I'd checked the app, I'd read through the same paragraphs of information for that given week. The first paragraph of information for this week explained a bunch. Her neurons, making connections with her muscles. . . helping her to gain strength in her legs. . . Her arms and legs, in proportion with the rest of her tiny body, now. . . Only about nine inches long (at most). . . About nine ounces (again, at most). . . She was starting to become covered in a waxy substance called Vernix Caseosa, which protected her unharmed skin from any amniotic fluid. . .I was losing myself in my girl, completely forgetting about everything else for a minute as everything became about her. My body, the least of my concerns – losing speed and fucking forgotten as it all became about Lavender. But, I hadn’t been able to get much further than the first bit of information. Because, after refreshing my memory of a few of her developments, my phone was buzzing in my hands. Y/n’s name, at the top of my screen.

I gave a silent goodbye to Lavender as I went back to her mother.

Y/n, 10:23 p.m.: It’s fine. It’s in the past now. I just thought about that shit after I posted it… Sooo, I’m just glad I gave that shit a new correlation tonight. Now it belongs to being excited for my baby.

Her saying that made something in my mind click. It had clicked before, of course. The night we got high — first time I’d fully realized. Her own damn mouth, telling me so. . . And multiple times since, when she’d spoken of Maya. . . When she’d seen Maya that night, after the lesson — that had really been the beginning of the end for us. Knowing y/n, it made perfect sense for her to go down a rabbit hole at seeing Maya. Seeing how beautiful Maya was. . . Should have known y/n would take that the wrong way and compare herself. Why did she do that though? If only she would’ve known. No one had ever compared to her in my mind. Y/n's beauty was unparalleled.

I’d tried to explain it all to her. Tried real damn hard to communicate my feelings on it to her. . . Over and over. She just never listened. Or cared to listen to me. She’d chosen to be stubborn, give in to the harshness of her thoughts. . . continued to do so. And now. . . I was with Maya. In a very serious relationship with her. And y/n was being very clear about it being the past. She had no desire to discuss it. No desire to approach the shit that had come from that night she’d seen Maya for the first time.

Now my mind was spinning with the following weeks. The one truly positive thing that had followed was the night we’d conceived Lavender. The night we'd gotten high. . . Then how it’d all fuckin' downspiraled. . . With no way for me to stop it. No competing with y/n’s stubborn insecurities and persistent moments of self-deprecation. . . That only led to self-destruction. I’d had no chance to get through. Her mind had been made up and everything had changed. Those weeks after, when I’d taken time to fall for Maya, after y/n had closed herself off completely. . . I hadn’t wanted to look at her, she'd hurt me so damn bad. But. . . I hadn’t wanted to leave the apartment, either. Even with more money, I’d wanted to stay close to her. I was fucked in the brain. Stupid.

But I’d been desperate for her — all the while, heartbroken and lost and confused. And she hadn’t given two fucks about any of it. And that was a paramount reason I'd stayed with Maya. She was consistent. Nothing to question about her intentions with me. While y/n had ignored me, Maya had been there to pick up every single piece - just like she'd been there for me before. . . after my first heartbreak.

The same woman as before. . . Maya was always. the. same. Except this time, Maya and I hadn't been 'the same'. We’d become more. It meant more to me than aimlessly fucking a ridiculously hot woman against and on every solid surface of her giant home. Because the relationship with y/n had been different than the relationship with Amelia. After Amelia, I'd believed love was nothing more than a social construct to destroy the human mind. Stopped believing in it. Because I'd realized that I hadn't actually been in love with Amelia for a long while. She'd been a high school girlfriend that I'd tried to extend past high school.

That was why y/n had made me so angry at first. When we'd first met. I hadn't wanted to be in love again because I hadn't thought love was real. And she'd shown me, so damn quickly, that I'd been dead wrong about love. Because, with y/n, I felt it all. Exponential. Otherworldly. An astronomical and cosmic connection, only designed in the stars for us to find. A purposeful accident, finding true love. I'd been destined to find y/n. Everything had led me to her, it'd seemed. Love had been real. A way of life, not a pointless, hollow sensation like I'd believed before her.

So, after y/n, I'd been so hungry to find that connection with someone else. I'd been embarrassed and ashamed that I'd fallen so hard for a woman that hadn't felt the same for me. . . . At least not enough to fight for me. I'd known love was real this time. And I'd needed to find it with someone else to erase the marks y/n had carved into my heart. So, who better than a woman I'd already gotten to know, just a little, over the summer? And even better that she'd been someone that made y/n jealous. That had been an asshole move, yes. But, wise decisions weren't ever made with a genuinely broken heart. Though, I'd come to quickly find that the love I'd felt with y/n was exclusive to y/n. I'd found a love in Maya, but not the same as y/n. I didn't want to admit that I loved her anymore. I'd worked to erase that. . . But my love for Maya's just paled in comparison to the love I'd felt for y/n.

So, while y/n had lose some of me, she hadn't lost all of me. She still had me. A big fuckin’ piece. Always would. And no, the ‘piece’ of me wasn’t our Lavender. Our Lavender really just worked as an additional metaphor for how much of me y/n truly had. . . I was an eternal fool for y/n. 

But. . . Not completely. I wasn’t fool enough to risk my heart in her hands again. Because, well. She’d proven she didn’t want to fight for me. She didn’t want to listen. She hadn’t listened to me.

And, at the moment, I had to reject the overwhelming urge to make this conversation become any more than it was. . . Reject the urge to fight for her. When I wasn’t sure she’d ever do it for me. We’d lost that. That chance. Because I was with Maya now. And I didn’t want to make that shit change. That stability. Not for the very real possibility that y/n would only ever repeatedly say no to me. All for the sake of her own damned pride or whatever the fuck. . . Hell, her lack of love for me, perhaps? I really did still question the hell out of that shit. All I knew for sure was that the woman I was currently with loved me. And I loved her. Fuck yes I loved Maya. Who wouldn’t?

But. . . when I glanced down at the screen, my heart was no longer on Maya. Because I saw a word. An important word. That nine ounce little girl. . . whose arms and legs were finally proportional with her body. . . This word that brought me back, crawling on my knees like a lost puppy, to y/n. Because on top of being so much to me, she was also the mother of my child. . . A fucking superwoman. Just had to correct her phrase. . . 

Me, 10:25 p.m.: our baby… :)  

Y/n, 10:25 p.m.: Yes. Of course. Our baby. :)😘

Ridiculous as it was, I had to resist the urge to cry. I had never felt this effect from a woman until her. This incessant, perpetual longing. A longing that hurt, yet felt so fulfilling, all at once. And it just continued to be true; because, no matter how mad she made me, my dick was still plenty hard. Only for her. It was still ready, for something it wasn’t going to get tonight. I was literally staying rock fuckin' solid at the simple, pathetic fact that she was texting me. And, with barely any time to process it, she was texting me again.

Y/n, 10:26 p.m.: By the way… you mentioned you’re in the bathroom? 

Y/n, 10:26 p.m.: …are you still? 

Didn’t know where this was going, but it took me no time to respond. My dick twitched in anticipation. . . Getting harder again, coming back to life fully with almost zero assistance. . . Sorcery. 

Me, 10:27 p.m.: yep. All because of YOUR damn picture. Fuckin ridiculous. All your damn fault 

Y/n, 10:28 p.m.: Well, you got your fucking revenge, Jacob. I had to go to the damn bathroom after YOUR picture. And those texts… about fucking me??? Damn it, Jacob. Thank god for family stalls.

Me, 10:28 p.m.: you’re telling me lol 

Y/n, 10:29 p.m.: And a safety rail to lean my ass against… better angle for my fingers. Humiliating as fuck, but. It's what I have. You knew you’d do this to me, Jacob Thomas… 😒

And… my hand was going to hold my dick. Yet again. The back of my head hit the wall of the one stall. This was torture. My dick was red fuckin' hot with this aggravating need for her. . . 

Me, 10:29 p.m.: damn straight I knew that shit, baby. You gonna fuck yourself well with those fingers for me? Make that pussy ache a little more for me?

I stroked my dick slowly. But, as good as it felt, it could only be so enjoyable. My hand was not even nearly soft enough to replicate her hands. Fuck me. I needed her.

Y/n, 10:29 p.m.: Fuck, Jake. Yes… So wet for you, baby. Gonna do the best I can to pretend my fingers are your dick... but I know they won’t even fucking compare. Miss it so bad... Been so long.

God. My fist tightened around myself, desperate for the pressure. Still wasn’t enough. I could feel sweat, accumulating at my hairline. My hair, sticking to my neck as my breath came out in hot puffs. I was a mess.

Y/n, 10:30 p.m.: And… you were right when you said I started it. Really fucking loved wearing your shirt. Made me miss you more than I already was. And I just had to include you in those pictures somehow… 💜

Fuck. The heart? And she was admitting that she missed me? Today had been a clusterfuck of emotions. . . My heart was barely holding on. . .She was so damn special to me. And I needed her so desperately at this moment. Hated the stupid ass result of last night. 

Me, 10:31 p.m.: I miss you baby. So damn bad

She didn’t respond to that right away. It made me worry for a hot damn minute about whether or not I’d said too much and freaked her out. . . But I didn’t sit there for too long. Made myself gather my thoughts so we could finish this damn thing. My dick was begging me to do something about it. Matter at hand, Jacob.

Me, 10:34 p.m.: so that post...

Y/n, 10:34 p.m.: What about it?

Her instantaneous response reassured me that I hadn’t needed to worry, so that made it easy for me to pick up exactly where I wanted. . . Start us down the path that I was desperate to go down. 

Me, 10:35 p.m.: let’s talk about you wearing my shirt

Y/n, 10:35 p.m.: Let’s.

Me, 10:35 p.m.: you wore it for me? Thought about me every time you spread your pretty legs for those pictures? 

Y/n, 10:35 p.m.: Jake. Let’s just say it’s safe to assume that if I post myself in that type of position, it’s for you. Whether I’m in your clothes or not… 😶

Y/n, 10:36 p.m.: I really did think about you the whole time I was taking them… 

Hell fuckin’ right she thought about me. . . .

Me, 10:36 p.m.: oh yeah? 

Y/n, 10:36 p.m.: Yeah. Your shirt felt so good against my nipples, baby… :( Might sound weird, but...

My hand squeezed tight at the base, flexing intermittently to get some mild relief. Then, I skated to the top, massaging only my tip. . . Imagined her mouth. How good it would feel to have my dick, about ready to bust, pressed between her tits. . .

Me, 10:37 p.m.: fuck, y/n. Not weird at all baby. I hope to god it helped you in some way. Hated leaving your beautiful body last night

Y/n, 10:38 p.m.: Not my favorite situation. But it is what it is. 

Me, 10:38 p.m.: is what it is

Yeah, Jake. It is what it fuckin’ is and it will continue to be like this if you don’t get a damn move on. 

Me, 10:39 p.m.: so my shirt… did you get yourself off after you took those? Wearing it?

Y/n, 10:39 p.m.: No, actually… :( Went to dinner with Elsie and Josh right after taking them. No time. Didn’t help that they made me wait for pictures while they had a damn quickie… lol. Got behind on time… no time for my imagination to go as wild as I wanted… 

Me, 10:40 p.m.: those fuckers… 

Y/n, 10:40 p.m.: Literally. Hahah :p 

I glanced at the time at the top of my phone. . . I’d been in here for forty minutes. . . If this didn’t already look suspicious, god knew it was about to. . . If I didn’t get the fuck out of here and back to that table.

Me, 10:40 p.m.: but you had all that time while they were doing that shit… had you already been in my shirt?

Y/n, 10:41 p.m.: No. :( I would’ve taken that opportunity to get off to you, wearing your clothes… right in the spot you fucked me with your mouth last night. 

God help me. My dick throbbed in my hand. I felt it – that familiar sensation. . . . But I needed something more. I wasn’t going to finish until I had what I wanted from her. . . And I knew exactly what it was that I wanted.

Y/n, 10:41 p.m.: Promise I would have done it… 🤞

Me, 10:42 p.m.: prove it, then 

Y/n, 10:42 p.m.: How the fuck am I supposed to do that? I don’t have your shirt. 

Me, 10:42 p.m.: you damn well know how, sweetheart

Y/n, 10:42 p.m.: Oh, do I?

My lips curled into a wry smile, my hand pausing on my cock to focus on her attitude. . . She was something else. And I needed her to quit with this shit before I decided to really take it out on her tomorrow night. . . She wouldn’t even know what was coming when I’d finally have the chance to walk through our front door. . .

Me, 10:43 p.m.: y/n. Baby. tell me what the fuck you’re wearing before I stop playing nice.

Y/n, 10:43 p.m.: You act as though I’m not pregnant with your child. Show me some respect. 

What she didn’t realize (or, maybe she did) was that there wasn’t a single woman that I respected more than her. She had all of my respect held in the palms of her pretty hands. Right where she held my useless heart. Her mind, her unparalleled beauty, her immaculate body. . .Fuck. I needed her. Every bit of her. My hand itched to continue its ministrations. . . But I had to get her to work with me.

Me, 10:44 p.m.: y/n. Dammit. I know you are and that shit turns me the fuck on. You know this. Jesus fuck.

Me, 10:44 p.m.: it’s why I’m in this bathroom with my hand down my pants right now. The fact that you put that gorgeous body that’s holding my baby on display... You’re making me wait and you know damn well how all of this is making me feel. How your body makes me feel... 

Y/n, 10:45 p.m.: Do I? 

Her little games were doing something real damn bad to me. I dropped my dick with an exhausted huff. I grasped my phone in both of my hands, willing my dick to be patient. If I kept playing with myself, I wasn’t going to last worth shit. And I needed to fucking last. She needed to stop. . . . Was walking a real fragile line with me right now. . .

Me, 10:45 p.m.: if you ask me that question one more damn time…..

Me, 10:45 p.m.: seriously. Need I give you a play by play of last night? Did I not make that shit stick? Did my mouth not do a good enough job for you? Seemed to, but seems like you’re not thinking about how well I treated you… hm?

Y/n, 10:46 p.m.: Fuck, Jake. Of course it stuck. I can still feel you between my thighs… So damn wet for you right now. Have been since you left. I just... NEED you. I don't think you understand the dire need, baby. I’m fucking miserable as hell that you’re not here. Need you so damn bad. 

Me, 10:46 p.m.: there we go, sweetheart…

The fuck I didn't understand. I understood real damn well. I couldn’t get her sweet taste out of my mouth if I had tried. Fuck that dessert tray. After last night, I was completely convinced that there was nothing on this planet as sweet as her. Intoxicating. Addicting. My entire body was on edge for her and the things her body could do. . . If I, god forbid, never had her again, I’d spend the rest of my days searching for a taste so sweet. It would be a fruitless outcome, though. Only she could ever satisfy such an intense craving. 

Y/n, 10:47 p.m.: And that damn shirt was nothing compared to your mouth. 

Me, 10:47 p.m.: I hope the fuck it wasn’t. I don’t want anything else on your body that makes you feel as good as my mouth does 

Y/n, 10:48 p.m.: You don’t need to worry about that, baby. I’m not the one on a date with my girlfriend, now am I? 

And there she was again, walking that extremely fragile line. . . .

Me, 10:48 p.m.: watch it

She was quick with her response to that. Seemed like she’d been waiting for it.

Y/n, 10:48 p.m.: Why? When I’m going to have to think about HER getting you off all fucking night? Nothing against her, but… damn it. The idea of another woman on you makes me want to tear down this entire establishment. 

Fuck. My dick was pleading for attention from me. The way she’d said all of that made me want to drop everything and go to her. . . . Let her be the woman with my dick in her mouth. God only knew I wanted her to be the woman doing that. . . At least for tonight. Didn’t want anyone else.

Y/n, 10:49 p.m.: These pregnancy hormones are no joke. Lol. 

Yeah. . . and neither was the idea of leaving my girlfriend, high and dry in her hometown. Knew I couldn’t do that shit. So, y/n needed to do what she could from there to prove to me that she could be the woman getting me off. . . Do what she could to make me reach that peak. . . It wasn’t impossible. Not at all. 

Me, 10:50 p.m.: Y/n. Maya does not have to be the one getting me off tonight… I’m talking to YOU for a reason. I’ve left her at the damn table for you

Y/n, 10:50 p.m.: What does she think you’re doing??

Me, 10:50 p.m.: the fuck does that matter?

Y/n, 10:50 p.m.: It matters.

Dear god.

Me, 10:51 p.m.: she thinks I’m talking to Josh

Y/n, 10:51 p.m.: ??? This entire time?!

Y/n, 10:51 p.m.: Jacob Thomas Kiszka. Get back out to the table. Jesus.

This woman was surely mistaken if she believed I was about to move out of this bathroom in this state. Absolutely fuckin’ not. Besides. . . I didn’t want to follow her instructions. I’d told her this.

Me, 10:52 p.m.: what did I tell you about telling me what to do? 

Y/n, 10:52 p.m.: What the fuck are you going to do about it from there, smartass? I don’t need her to find out you’re talking to me and be mad at me. So, please. It’s Christmas. Supposed to avoid the negative shit at this time of year.

If Maya were to find out (god, please, no) and wanted to be mad at y/n, that would be fucking ridiculous. I wouldn’t let her be mad at y/n over this. If she were to say something, I would correct that shit right away. But she wasn’t going to find out it was y/n I was speaking to. . . Wanted to keep this thing a secret, so it could last as long as possible. . . Just like summertime, if this was what I was going to get with y/n (all she'd give and all I’d let myself have, too), I wanted to savor it.

Me, 10:52 p.m.: why would I do that yet when I haven’t gotten what I wanted? 

Y/n, 10:53 p.m.: What is it that you want? Want me to talk to you until you finish? Let's get it done, then. So you can go back to the table.

Okay, the fucking attitude needed to stop.

Me, 10:53 p.m.: jesus. Don’t think you could sound more thrilled if you tried

Y/n, 10:53 p.m.: Well, I’m pissed, Jake. Pissed that this isn't happening in person. Pissed that I couldn’t do it last night. Pissed you’re not here still. Wanna get down on my knees for you more than anything. Suck that pretty cock clean...Fuck! But all I can do is WISH I fucking could. Like an idiot. It all just pisses me the fuck off. 

Y/n, 10:54 p.m.: Happy?

Damn. I was just relieved we were, apparently, in the same damn boat.

Me, 10:54 p.m.: well, no. I’m not ‘happy’ at all... I’m pissed about all of that too

Y/n, 10:54 p.m.: Just hate that we have to do this through the phone. It sucks and it’s stupid. 

Me, 10:54 p.m.: and I agree with that too... I’m sorry baby :(

Y/n, 10:55 p.m.: Not your fault her dad lives twelve hours away. Ha :/ 

Me, 10:55 p.m.: What can I do for you? Wanna help you feel better now. First. Now that I know you're as sad as I am. Need you to be better... 

Y/n, 10:55 p.m.: Um, no…? I wanna help YOU, Jake. However I can, from here. I need to be the one to please you, baby. Let me.

And, like an asshole, I couldn't deny her. Wanted to hold true to my word, but. . . She'd gotten me here, after all.

Me, 10:55 p.m.: oh yeah?

Y/n, 10:56 p.m.: Baby, I take f u l l responsibility for being the one that caused you to be in that damn bathroom. And I intend on NOT letting anyone else see you through it… That dick is MINE to take care of right now and I promise I’ll do it well.

Well then. If she could prove to be a good girl, she’d be able to see me through it. . . And my dick was absolutely hers. She was damn right.

Y/n, 10:56 p.m.: What can I do for you, baby?

My hand jerked against my dick at the mere thought of what I was about to ask her for. . . Had been thinking about them all night. . .

Me, 10:57 p.m.: I wanna see those beautiful tits… need to see ALL of you

Y/n, 10:57 p.m.: Go look at your girlfriend’s. 

The way my eyebrow raised at my screen. The scoff that left my lips, entirely provoked by her behavior. . . She was testing me. Not being good for me. . . So, I’d test her right back. See if she truly wanted to be a little tease. . . And I was genuinely wondering. . . Wasn’t sure what exactly she was doing with this. I assumed she was playing around, but. . . Just in case.

Me, 10:58 p.m.: is that really what you want me to do?

Her response was instantaneous.

Y/n, 10:58 p.m.: Not at all. 

Okay. Was just being a little tease, then. . . Had a feeling. Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming. . .

Me, 10:59 p.m.: that’s what I thought. Don't be a fucking brat, baby... you know better

Me, 10:59 p.m.: Yes I do... I'm sorry. 🧎‍♀️

Oh. On her knees? Fuck. If only she were fucking here. Before she took any picture, I had to know. So, with a swift thumb, I began my burning question. 

Me, 10:59 p.m.: tell me first…

Y/n, 10:59 p.m.: Anything.

Don’t say that. Fuck.

Me, 11:00 p.m.: you still wearing that lacy thing from your picture? Under your clothes? I could see the entire outline of your nipples through that bra… And those panties did very, very little to hide you… 

Damn I wanted to get possessive so badly. Kept typing and re-typing. . . But. . . I had literally zero say in that considering I chose to not be with her. It was just. . . the more I thought about how revealing that shit was — how it hadn’t been for only me. I wanted her to know that sense of jealousy. Wanted her to know how my stomach twisted at the thought of anyone else seeing her like that. Wanted her for my eyes only. But I knew that was not right and not the move. Sometimes, I was ashamed of the way my brain worked. . . Stupid ass shit that came with the chemically wired male brain. It was what I always accredited feelings like that to. At the end of the day, I was only a man. A man who was weak for her. . . and that body was just too damn beautiful for me to be willing to share it. But I had to be okay with sharing it. She wasn’t mine. And she could flaunt that body if she wanted. Whether we were together or not.

Y/n, 11:02 p.m.: That was the point ;)

When my phone buzzed next, my eyes went to the time. And my stomach fell. Because, fuck. It was already past 11:00? I couldn’t even take time to appreciate her text. Because, when I'd glanced at the time, I'd felt like shit momentarily. This had taken much longer than I’d initially intended. . .I needed to finish this. And while I loved her flirtiness, my question was still hanging in the air and I needed an answer before we moved on.

Me, 11:02 p.m.: you still haven’t answered me.

Y/n, 11:02 p.m.: What was the question, again? Must’ve forgotten.

Me, 11:03 p.m.: why are you playing dumb with me? do you seriously enjoy putting me through this?

Y/n, 11:03 p.m.: 🤭

She was so goddamn cute. Only y/n could succeed in making emoji reactions cute. Never felt like that before her about the stupid ass yellow faces.

Me, 11:03 p.m.: well. Since you won’t answer me about the lace… I think the least you could do for me is let me see your tits

Y/n, 11:04 p.m.: Jesus. A bit needy, aren’t we?

Me, 11:04 p.m.: a bit patronizing, aren’t you?

Seriously? Out of everything, the word patronizing was going to burst her bubble? I could only guess that was why I was left on read for two solid minutes.

Y/n, 11:06 p.m.: 🙄 oh yeah? Patronizing? Asshole.

Yep.

Me, 11:06 p.m.: 😒 dear god, y/n

Y/n, 11:06 p.m.: Practice a little patience, Jacob. You really don’t think you’ll get what you want?

Patience? I had given her nothing but patience. I didn’t even have time for patience at the time being, but I’d damn well given it to her. Had no choice.

God, no girl had ever put me in such a state. I felt utterly pathetic standing in a fucking bathroom, stroking myself because of the unrelenting desire I felt for her. And the little game she was playing with me. . . She knew what she was doing to me. She was no fool. I swallowed what little saliva was left in my dry mouth when I watched those little bubbles appear under her last text. Waiting, patiently, to see those incredible tits that nothing could compare to. . . Because apparently, I was going to get what I wanted. . . The pure anticipation of seeing them pop up on the screen of my phone had my cock pulsing, throbbing. Fuck. I needed her so bad – it was hurting me. What the fuck had she done to me?

Y/n, 11:08 p.m.: Here you go, baby 😘

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

But – I stood there for a bit. . . wondering why I was seeing only words. No picture. Had to be the fucking cell service. Why was the service such shit in this goddamned bathroom at this very moment? Several seconds, too many seconds passed. . . as I waited for the next text from her to come through. 

And when it finally did. . . God, such a little fucking tease. 

Me, 11:09 p.m.: y/n. 

Y/n, 11:09 p.m.: Yes? ;)

Me, 11:09 p.m.: you know what I want, sweetheart…  

Y/n, 11:10 p.m.: I was just answering your question about the lace piece... AND I showed my boobs. Just like you asked… I’m confused… Is that not what you wanted? 🤔

Well, she was right about that. She certainly answered my question. She was still donning that pretty black lace. Almost sheer enough to see what I was craving. Almost. Enough to make my dick ache all the more. So impossibly fucking hard for her. I needed more. 

The way she’d pulled her sweater below her tits, using her forearm to push them up, covering herself just enough with it that I couldn’t see everything the bra's material could’ve shown me. . . . Still, I bit my lip and willed my dick to calm down. Just the thought of her bare tits was enough to get me off. I had to see them. . . Nothing less. Couldn’t go the rest of the godforsaken night without having a photo of her tits to get me through it. 

Me, 11:11 p.m.: come on, baby... you know that’s not what the fuck I want. I need to see ALL of you... you give me what I want and I'll return the favor... 

I wanted to be pissed. But, fucking hell. I just couldn’t. She was my kryptonite. The sweat was pooling on my palms. My phone was threatening to slip out of one hand, the other gripped tight around my dick, imagining it was her instead. (Fucking hilarious that I was even trying to imagine it was her — she had the warmest fucking pussy. . . And so damn wet now that she was pregnant.  Couldn’t even explain how incredible that was, by the way - not even to myself.)

Y/n, 11:12 p.m.: Yeah? And what might that favor be?

Jesus. I could hear her saying that to me. Hushed and sultry, the sexiest voice I’d ever known. Especially in these types of moments. She’d adopt a little rasp to her tone, just enough that her velvet voice would deepen just a bit. It took everything in me to not just call her. Listen to that pretty voice while I look at her incredible tits. I knew I couldn’t, though. This shit was risky enough. Couldn’t add her another layer to it. 

Me, 11:12 p.m.: well, you seemed awfully bent out of shape over not getting to see all of my dick… we help each other out in this little mess we’ve created?

Y/n, 11:13 p.m.: Oh, so now you’re bribing me… Lucky enough for you, I’m not opposed to a little bribery. Especially if it means I get what I want. 

What she wants. Fuck. 

Y/n, 11:13 p.m.: And yes. Seeing your dick is exactly what I want right now, so.... 😘 Just give me a sec, k?

I couldn’t bring myself to type another fucking word. All I could do was wait, stroke myself slowly in anticipation for her next message. That blinking ellipses. . . taunting me as I used every bit of my strength to not crumble. I had to hold myself the fuck together. 

And then. . . The photo finally came in. 

Those perfect, gorgeous tits on the screen of my phone. Fuck. No matter how many times I’d seen them, it was like the first time every time. The most beautiful set of full tits. Fuckin' stacked. She'd pushed them up with her forearm that rested beneath them. Her right hand cupping her left breast, fingers touching the perked nipple. And the right one, fully bare and exposed. Those tits. . . so round, always the perfect size to hold in the palm of my hand . . . But, now, big enough that they spilled from my grip. . . Just enough to make my dick throb at the thought. God, I could feel those pretty tits against my fingertips. . . In my mouth. So fucking soft. I pumped my dick, taking careful consideration for how close I was as I took in the entire image.

What I loved about the photo just as much, if not more than her chest, was that I could see the lower half of her face. Her rosy lips, kissable as fuck, curved in the sexiest little half-smile. Her bottom lip tucked deliciously under perfect teeth. Jesus, fuck. I felt myself getting close, starting under my belly button, my balls tightening to the point of pain. But only the best kind of pain, of course. . . Just wished she was here to hold them in her hand. . . My dick felt hot, pulsing in my grip. . . I could feel it coming. 

Y/n, 11:15 p.m.: Well? I think I deserve to see what that ^^ did to you… ;)

Me, 11:15 p.m.: you sure as fuck do, baby

Just like before, I opened the camera in our text thread and positioned the phone just right. Not much different than before, only I made sure that this time, she’d be able to really see what the fuck she’d done to me. How it was even worse than before. How close I was. . . She’d been a good girl and she deserved to see just how good. 

I was twitching ridiculously from this little game we had started with each other. And if I were to be honest with myself, the pure fucking risk of it all only made it so much worse. My goddamned girlfriend only feet away from me. Nothing more than a few walls and a door to separate us. I knew it was wrong. And I knew I should've cared about that a lot more than I fucking did. But when it came to y/n, Maya became nothing more than the girl that was there to help me get over her. Clearly, that wasn’t working worth fucking shit. Y/n made that little dream fucking impossible. 

I pulled my briefs down just enough. Enough that I could free myself from the tight material. I snapped the photo the same as I had before, letting my sweater lift to give a clear view of my lower stomach on down. I gripped my cock with my hand once again, hissing through my teeth as I did so. One wrong touch, and I was done for. . . 

Y/n, 11:17 p.m.: Oh, fuck… you’re so close, aren’t you, baby? Poor thing… 🙁

Me, 11:17 p.m.: y/n… I’ve been close since you posted that picture lol

Y/n, 11:17 p.m.: Well, then… You ready to let go for me?

Me, 11:17 p.m.: never been more ready for any other fuckin thing in my life… 

Except, the next thing that showed up on my screen wasn’t a text. . . No, she was fucking calling me - what I’d been too much of a coward to do, she was doing it for me. Without even realizing how badly I'd wanted it - she just knew me. Wanted the same as me. Fuck. My heart started hammering in my fuckin’ chest the moment I saw that beautiful name show up, along with the photo of her from the summer, filling up the whole damn screen. . .Hearing her voice was bound to set me off. . . And I was damn ready for it, so I pressed that green button.

“Thought it might help to hear my voice,” she began, her tone bright, but more sultry than anything. It instantly captivated me — just like I knew it would. “Have you spit in your hand yet?”

Shit. No. I hadn’t. “Not yet,” I breathily laughed in response, before doing just that. When my hand was wet, I let it wrap around my dick once more. . . Felt much better. But, still. “Not as good as your pussy, though, baby.”

“Yeah,” she responded, her breath hitching on a bit of a whine. Fuck. Was she—? At the same time—? Oh, I fucking hoped to god she was. “Tell me about it. . .”

“Y/n,” I said, questioning and stern all at once. Wanted her to listen to me. Needed her to stop what she was doing so she could hear me. It was about damn time she did something I asked of her. 

“What, Jake?” She sighed, with a huff. Sounded irritated. Good. 

“Oh. . .,” I began, ready to correct her attitude. “You’re about to behave as if you’re the one who’s been jacking off to your picture for the past hour?” 

“Almost as long,” she snapped back. She was frustrated. . . Right where I wanted her.

Before I replied, I heard a noise in the background of her call. It sounded like a hand smacking against skin. What in the—? “What was that?”

“I was just making sure it was clear to you, Jacob, that I am not about to be bossed around by you,” she said, each word in its own breath. She was making a point, it seemed. “It was the hand that’s been shoved between my legs. Slapped my thigh with it because I’m impatient.”

“Well, me fuckin’ too. No need to act like such a damn brat,” I said with an intentional edge in my tone. “I was simply saying your name to ask if you were touching yourself already. Seems you were, hm?”

“I’m a horny woman with pregnancy hormones that escalate at lightning speed, Jacob,” she responded, not taking my shit for a second. (And, I had to say, I really liked it.) “My skin was all tingly at the table at the idea of what you were doing. . . It led to me to the damn restroom. Pulling my pants down as soon as I was in here.”

“Touché,” I agreed with a grin. “Except for the pregnancy hormones part. . . Don’t have those.”

Why was I stalling? My dick was hard in my stilled hand, pulsing in my fist. . . And I’d been ignoring it. It was also late and I needed to get to my girlfriend. Couldn’t help this, though. . . I just wanted to revel in the sound of her voice. Wanted to simply talk to her. No sex. Just us. 

But, my body wasn’t going to let me forget about the very present problem at my groin. So, as not to reject the need, I let my hand glide. My steady fist, readily pumping myself before I was addressing her again. “Go ahead and begin again. . . We’ll talk each other through it, baby,” I said with a heavy breath that turned to a grunt with one particular press of my fist to the tip. Now that I could hear her voice, I’d made up my mind that I needed her to get there before me.

“Thank you,” she breathed, relieved. Her breathing was picking up on the other end of the call. The sound made my dick feel as though it was getting impossibly harder. But that definitely wasn’t possible, so I knew it just meant that one tiny jerk meant I was going to crumble. “Miss you so much, Jake,” the words left her lips on a choked sob, my name nothing but a whimper.

So. . . She’d really been waiting for my permission? Damn. . . Just wanted her under me right fucking now. Life wasn’t fair. “Yeah? Why don’t you help me understand how much, sweetheart,” I urged her, knowing I was close to finishing and just wanted to hear her voice again. 

“Let’s just say, whether I finish or not tonight–.”

“You will,” I interrupted, with zero room for argument in my tone. “I will stay in this bathroom as long as I need to get you off, baby. Don’t you worry.”

And I meant every damn word. Her finishing came before everything else at the moment. Including myself. . . Which was a lot to say since, at the moment, I knew I’d explode if I were to be breathed on the wrong way. I let go of my cock to spit in my hand again, before bringing it back down to wrap around me. I gasped at the touch of it, but tried to keep a cool front for y/n.

“Jacob,” she said suddenly, insistent with the utterance of my name. “Let me fucking finish what I was going to say,” she paused, seemingly waiting for me to talk. But I was not going to. “I was saying. . . whether I finish tonight or not, it won’t matter. Because I know I can only do so much to myself. It will be nothing like what you’d do for me. . . I’m still going to be a mess. Makes me want to scream.”

My lips turned up in a sly, yet doleful close-lipped grin. “It’s okay, baby,” I began, attempting to reassure her when I felt the same exact way. “Because, either way, you’re gonna be soaking those fingers and that’s what matters to me. . . And my name is going to be the one falling off of your lips,” I took a second to let that sink in. I heard her push air through her lips, breathing heavily before a moan of acknowledgement. But it wasn't enough for me. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Jake. I promise I understand. I promise, baby,” she gasped. All I could hear were her sharp breaths as she repeated the promise. I imagined how frantically she was moving those fingers. I knew now how much honesty she spoke when she told me of how difficult those pregnancy hormones were. Knew just how high her libido was. . . . .

“How close are you, sweetheart?” I said, holding myself and only giving my dick attention if I felt it twitch. Needed her to get there. 

Before she even began to speak, she was huffing on the other end before she let out a little whimpering noise that had my balls tensing in a way that made me realize I had to let go of my dick for a moment before something else might occur. Not yet. 

“I am so close. Was close before I even got to the bathroom. The knowledge of you getting off to that picture alone had my panties wet,” she explained, making a groan release from deep in my chest. I encouraged her to continue, giving myself a swift pump before she began speaking again. “Wish I could explain – just want to crawl out of my skin with this need for you,” she said on a labored breath before she was whining again. Fuck. Hand off of the dick, Jake. “When I tell you I’m miserable for you, Jake. . . I have never experienced these feelings before now. There is nothing in the world that will be able to stop me from coming if we keep– fuck. Yes,” she whimpered, before practically growling. I knew that noise; she'd hit a spot. Fuck yes. “I’m just waiting for you to give me the word, to talk me to the edge. . . Want you to do it.”

“Fuck, y/n. . . That’s–.”

“Let’s just say - I learned something new about my body last night. . . my damn clit - you've made it pulsate in a way I didn’t know it could,” she gasped on a breath, her little noises coming through the line, and into my ear, beautifully. “I can’t touch it until you’re ready for me to finish because once I do, it’s over. So embarrassing. . . I can’t believe I’m this wound up.”

“It suits you, baby. . . Love when you’re so damn needy and desperate for me,” I said on a mewl that quickly translated to a growl. My hand was itching to touch my dick, and I couldn’t resist the single stroke I gave myself before continuing. I groaned when I let go of myself again. “You want me so damn bad, hm? Tell me how badly you want this, y/n. . .”

 “I just did, Jacob,” she replied, frustration clearly marking every single word. 

“Oh? You’re going to use that tone?” The voice in my head seemed to judge me, in agreement with my dick - and the time on the damn clock - that we were cutting it real damn short. Come on, Jake. . . We don’t have time for the games, dude. . . 

But – I couldn’t give it to her if she wasn’t going to be good. She knew better. 

“I’m s-sorry, babe. I just–I can’t–,” she purred, apparently hitting another sensitive spot. . . had me wishing I was the one hitting the inside of her like that. God knew I could go much deeper than those fingers. Stretch her wider. “I want you so badly that I would run on my own two feet all of the way to South Carolina right fucking now if I were a crazy person. There. I said it. And it’s the truth, Jake. Humiliating as fuck.”

“I’d do the same damn thing for you, sweet girl,” I replied, my heart lodged in my throat and dick at the thought. “Now. . . how wet are those fingers?”

“S-soaked,” she gasped back, my ear tingling at the tremor in the word. 

“How many do you have inside of you right now?” I asked, not able to help it when my head fell back against the wall. Couldn’t touch my dick yet – was punishing myself for the sake of her pleasure. But it was worth every second of denial. 

“Only one. ‘M s-so tight, Jake.”

Fuck. Me. I knew how goddamn tight she was. But. . . “I fuckin’ know you are, baby. . . Just like you should be. But, do you think you could fit one more finger in there for me?” 

“Don’t know, Jake,” she choked before releasing a trembling whimper. “But I’ll try. For you.”

“Good girl,” I encouraged her before eyeing my angry fuckin' dick. That motherfucker was hanging on for dear life. 

“I did it. Two,” she breathed before letting out a strangled groan. “F-feels so good. . .”

My cock was past the point of strain – in need of my grip. So, I went ahead and spit in my hand again before wrapping a hand at the base, moving at a torturously slow speed to the tip. 

“Oh, baby. . . I’m so damn proud of you,” I moaned, unable to reject the way ‘proud’ trickled pathetically from my lips. 

“‘M gonna cum like this, Jake,” she said with a trembling, needy whine. “I will. . . Promise.”

“Full of so many promises, aren’t you?” I pushed her, letting my hand continue its agonizing pace against myself. “Do you promise your tight pussy will still be ready for me when I get home? Gotta keep that shit ready for me. . .”

“Oh, yes, Jake. I will be because I know– shit. You’re s-so– so damn thick. I– Fuck!” She let out an intense cry that would’ve scared me if I didn’t know better. I knew exactly what it meant when she got this loud. . . Could only mean one thing. “Jake, baby– I’m g-gonna– but want you to– before–.”

“No fuckin’ way, sweetheart,” I interrupted her, sweat dripping down my forehead from the utter exertion required of me to wait. But I wouldn’t before her. “I’m not going to cum until I know your thighs are soaked with everything you have. . .”

“No, Jacob Thomas,” she argued back, voice suddenly sharper than it had been for the past several minutes. She’d found some sort of strength in her and I heard that damned slap against her thigh again, in the background of the call. Goddammit, y/n. “No fucking way am I going to not cum at the same time as you. I won’t finish this unless you finish with me.”

Okay, that option was starting to sound pretty appealing. . . My cock was a ticking time bomb in my hands, just waiting for the word to bust. . . “Jesus Christ, y/n,” I grunted, letting my hand tighten once more around my shaft. If we were going to do it like that. . . “Fine. Then you damn well better put those fingers back in that pretty pussy because I’m damn fuckin’ ready.”

“How’d you–?”

“Heard that goddamn slap against your thigh for a second time,” I bit back, patience gone. “Stopping while you know I’m about to–.”

“That’s why I stopped, asshole! Want you to cum all over your hand while you say my name,” she sighed. It was the same one she’d give when I’d sink into her. So, I knew those fingers were back where they belonged. “You just haven’t let me talk you to the edge like I wanted to and I’m mad about it–.”

“Y/n, fuck!” The heel of my palm nudged the underside of my tip in a way I thought would be my undoing. I couldn’t help how loud the curse word had drifted off my lips. . . dammit. And it’d been loud enough to very possibly gain the attention of anyone near these bathrooms. Quiet ass establishment. I brought my voice back to a hush for the next thing I said. “Your voice– and the filthy noises you’ve been making– shit. Trust me when I say you’ve done your part, sweetheart.”

“Really?” 

The way her voice had quieted just a bit; her question was completely genuine. That ‘really?’ was so incredibly her. . . She sounded hopeful that I was telling the truth. And I knew why she was asking. I knew her and I knew she’d seriously wanted to keep her word. She wanted to make damn sure I was being honest before she let this continue. 

The smirk that tugged at my lips was easy, turning into a full-blown smile when I reassured her as my hand stilled. My dick was crying out to me, but I had to reassure her first. “Yes, baby. You did your part with that post,” I chuckled under my breath at the culprit in all of this. “Anything you did was going to send me over the edge. . . . Especially after last night. But, I just wanted to talk to you so badly– just wanted an excuse to keep texting you until you were tired of my ass. Then you called and– it was over for me the moment I heard your voice.”

Every word I said was true as fuck. But, I shut my mouth and gave her a chance to speak. . . Needed it. “Shit, Jake. . . Over for you? Did you already–?” 

“No,” I insisted, letting my hand continue its ministrations on my dick. Nice and slow. . . “Trust me when I say, babydoll, you’re going to know when that happens.”

Babydoll. . . hadn’t used that one on her yet, but I liked it. . . It fit her.

“I fucking better,” she replied, her voice breaking up a bit as she began to breathe heavily. She was working herself up again and we were not stopping this time. 

Spitting in my hand once more, a sense of finality laced all throughout me, I let my palm go to very delicately grasp my dick. And then, as I felt necessary, I applied pressure, my head falling against the wall for the umpteenth time. I was hot, all over, my cock like fire in my hand. . . It throbbed in the most fulfilling way as I let my hand do what it’d wanted to all night.

“Jake?” She tried from the other side of the call, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts for the time being. 

“Yes, baby?” I replied, not able to stop my hand from moving, but tried my damn best to let her voice control me. But that shit was damn near impossible at this point in the night. 

“I really do miss you,” she said. I heard her sweet voice choke up a bit – for more than sexual reasons. 

Again, I knew this because I felt it, too. “I miss you, sweetheart. So fucking much. I can promise you that,” I insisted, the rumble in my chest, coming to life in the tone of my voice when I spoke next. “But just think about how ready you’re going to be for me. . . When I finally see you again. . . When I finally get to fuck you like we both want. . .”

“Gonna feel so good,” she said with a hiccup and a quiet, shaky sigh. “Can’t wait to feel you fill me up again, baby. . .”

I was going to burn this place down. “Tell me just how hard you want me to fuck you, y/n. . .,” I began, feeling those words leave my lips was like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel I’d been trying to reach for years. 

“Shit, Jake. . . I’m just ready to see you finish again. Been so long. . . Haven’t gotten to taste you on my tongue–.”

“The night in the Jee–?”

“But you never came for me that night. . . Remember? I haven’t gotten to taste you for so long and fuck– I miss the way it feels when I swallow you down—I need it,” she beautifully sighed, then moaned on the cutest little lilt of a laugh. 

I couldn’t emit a proper response. What in the fuck did I even say to that? A pornographic harmony, spoken to leave no fucking man alive. . . Said just for me. . .Fuck, I was so ready to come for her again. My dick was swelling with this urgency for her. . . So damn close.

She wasn’t finished, though, so I didn’t have to form a coherent thought as my eyes began to roll back in my head. Her smooth voice, like damn silk flooding my ears, “. . .or feel you spill out of me since the night we. . . you know. . .”

Even in the heat of this moment, I couldn’t stop myself from asking. . . My heart, being fucking stupid, begging for answers. “Do you remember much from that night?” I asked, my voice faltering. 

I knew most of the tremor in my tone came from the feelings flowing through me from my current desire to let the agony from tonight end in triumph. But. . . I wasn’t a fool. I knew it was also faltering because I wondered this shit every day. Ridiculously, that night was a sensitive topic for me. . . for reasons not concerning our daughter. 

“Oh, Jake. . . I remember it so well. Every single day, I remember just a little more. . . My brain–no, my heart won’t let me forget, baby,” she said, voice cracking on the last few words. 

There was a little sniffle behind her words. . . By the way she’d sniffed, I knew she was trying to hide it. And, ironically, at the same damn time, I felt that familiar, tight sensation – constricting my throat – daring me to cry. But now was not the time. We’d discuss this later. Now that I knew she hadn’t forgotten as much of it as I’d previously thought, we damn well were going to finish this conversation. 

“It’s because that shit isn’t meant to be forgotten, babydoll,” I rushed out as I clung on for dear life. My cock seemed to hum with pleasure under my palm, a sort of feeling of appreciation from my body for what was on the precipice of occurring. 

On top of her words, my mind went crazy thinking of how she’d fall apart. . . When I'd fuck her, watching her finish was always my final undoing. . . Every time, I was left a man spent with nothing left to give. . . A man who only knew her name. . .

Last night, I’d been so enraptured at the prospect of sinking inside of her again. . . I couldn’t help but remember – how her thighs had trembled above me last night. Every angle had been glorious, but being underneath her, eating her pussy while I watched her full body take everything it was given. Watched her heavenly tits bounce while her thighs tempted to squeeze my head, over and over – shit. How well she’d fallen apart. She’d opened up for me – completely – soaking me when I’d made her release fully. . . It had been exquisite – all of her, covering my face and chest in the most mouth watering arousal. 

And, after making her finish multiple times (just like I’d wanted), I'd been so close to finally giving her what she’d wanted. But I hadn’t gotten to give it to her. Hadn’t had the chance to enjoy the feeling of her swollen, soaking wet pussy, sheathing my dick. I’d felt the thrumming, pounding beating of my pulse, all the way from my balls, to my heavy ass dick, to my dizzy mind. . . And then. . . Maya had fucking knocked. Mine and y/n’s luck was shit. 

Josh and Elsie had been a non-issue. I knew them well enough to know that if y/n were to have put them off for what we’d been doing, they’d have let us at it. Hell, they probably would have celebrated (fucking weirdos). And she’d just about let them off easily when Maya had made her presence known. 

I’d been so fucking angry over it. The sinking feeling that had happened in my gut at that moment had made me shut down. . . And like the fuckin’ dick of a boyfriend I was, it hadn’t had shit to do with feeling bad for doing anything to (possibly) ruin things with Maya. No, all my brain could spit at me was how close I’d been to finally being buried in y/n again. And how viciously it’d been yanked from me. By a single knock. Not tonight. No, I was going to see this shit through. 

“Keep going, baby,” I told her. I was not letting that shit happen again. No interruptions. We would get our beautiful ending. Together. I wasn’t stepping foot out of this goddamn bathroom until then. “Keep fucking yourself for me, honey. Don’t stop.”

“Jake. . .,” she cooed in response, not much more than a whisper that had fallen off her tongue. “S-say my name, Jake. . .Please, baby.” Fuck. The prettiest goddamn voice to ever grace my ears. Melodic. Tantalizing. And her breathing, still labored, coming out in tiny huffs. High in pitch — they had become quicker. The sweetest staggered huffs, tiny gasps.  She was close. I could hear it. In her voice, her breathing. Imagined her nimble fingers - thrusting in and out of her soaked pussy. 

I was fucking done for. Those little noises alone, setting my body alight. My dick threatened to spill with the gentlest touch of my hand. So fucking careful. “I hear you, y/n,” I sighed, barely finding the air in my own lungs. I closed my eyes, picturing her in the very spot she was in. Getting herself off, all by herself. “G-give it to me, babydoll. Please. Let me hear you finish for me.”

Desperation had completely taken over, with a strength unfathomable. My dick was throbbing under my palm. My head became light and fuzzy, lacking all the blood I needed to keep myself upright for much longer. And then, I swore I heard it. The technology behind these damn iPhones could be so sweet. Because, after really concentrating on the faint sound, I knew I heard it. Those slick sounds, from her pretty little fingers working her oversensitive pussy, so well. . . Fuck yes. She breathed the most ethereal sound. The sound. The one right before she'd. . .God, fuck. I bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood. I tasted it on my tongue, focused on it instead of the urge to pump myself one last fucking time. 

“T-talk to me, babydoll. Need to hear, — Jesus!. . .,” My dick twitched against my palm, creating almost enough friction to force my end. No. Not fucking yet. We had to do it together. I would settle for no fucking less. “Let me hear you, y/n. Don’t fucking hold back for me.”

“J-Jake! I’m cumm — fuck!” 

She was there. She was fucking there, making all the same pretty noises she had made last night when my tongue was in the same place her fingers were now. Tasting her when she. . . god, fuck! A string of spit left my lips, my mouth hanging open with the gasped breaths. And, as if on purpose, past my sweater, it met my lower abdomen. I shivered as it slid down to the base of my dick. I reached for it, coated my hand and gripped my dick - squeezed it real fucking hard. It felt so exhilaratingly good that it hurt.

“Cum with me, Jake. . . P-lease,” she pleaded, and that was all it fucking took. 

With the iron grip of my hand, I pumped myself with haste — Once, twice. . . I hissed through my goddamn teeth, bit the fuck out of my tongue to keep my volume to a low rumble. I squeezed my eyes shut, so hard it nearly hurt. My head had fallen back against the wall, my balls and stomach tightened painfully with the movement of my hand. She was still moaning in my ear, still working that gorgeous fucking pussy with her fingers when I felt the closest I had all fucking night. 

I pumped my dick again, and again. And with one more thrust of my fist, I coated my fucking hand. God —it hit me so fucking hard. The building up from the entire night— The moment I saw that blessed Instagram story, the texts, her tits, and then her fucking voice. . . Just her. Everything that was her. My every thought of her left my body numb and trembling with pure goddamn pleasure. Tear inducing. 

I felt so close to her, and she wasn’t even here with me. Not physically. Not the way I wanted. But the fact that I did feel that way was a testament to the undeniable effect she had on me.  Not even fucking here, and she still had me worked up as though she were. Still had this claim over my body - like it belonged only to her. 

And apparently, I had the same effect on her. 

My jaw had gone slack, and the only thing my lips could muster was her name. “Y/n, y/n, y/n. . .”

“There you go, baby. Fuck — listen to you. . .”

I kept stroking myself, slowly and fucking carefully as the blood had started returning to my head. My body was vibrating. My dick was tender as fuck. Sensitive to the goddamn touch. But I couldn’t let go of myself. Not yet. Not when she was on the other end of the line. Waiting for me. “How are those fingers? Are they fuckin' soaked like I wanted?”

“So-s very soaked, baby,” she sighed between heaving breaths. “I think I. . . I'm actually - my thighs. They're drenched. It’s just like last night. . . when it'd covered your chest and face. . . Did I just. . . ? Fuck.”

Fucking Christ. “Did you squirt for me, baby?”

“I’m pretty damn sure I did,” she breathily giggled, my heart picking up speed at the sound. “Th-the insides of my thighs are seriously drenched to fuck.”

I chuckled along with her, under my breath as I tried damn hard to not book a stupidly impulsive flight to New York. Even though we were done, I still wasn’t finished speaking to her. I knew it was late, but I needed to hold onto this moment with her. It was all I had at the moment. “How are Josh and Elsie tonight? Disturbingly flirty and shit?”

She began laughing outright at that, though her voice still cracked a bit from the rasp in her throat. She was exhausted. . .Could only imagine. . . And I was all the way in South Caro-fucking-lina. But, she succeeded in snapping me from my irritation, with a sigh, so beautiful, into my ear as she agreed. “Oh, you already know. . . And talking about the most absurd shit they find on Urban fucking Dictionary of all places. . .,” she laughed again, taking a deep breath before she told me about the place she was at tonight. The food sounded much better than the wallet-breaking, tiny-ass portions I’d had earlier in the evening. . . But it had been Maya’s favorite, so we’d had to go. Just like the dessert establishment we were at now.

I was about to respond to another remark she’d made about Elsie and Josh’s escapades – still on my blissful high. . . . When we were interrupted. By a goddamn fucking knock. The sound of a knock on the door was truly becoming one I hated at this point. 

And when I heard the voice on the other side of the door. . . . My blood ran cold.

“Jakey? You almost done talking to Josh?” Maya. Voice calm and kind – completely unassuming. 

I loved my girlfriend, but dammit if hearing her knock made me want to punch the nearest wall with all of the strength I could’ve possibly mustered. . . However, I stood in the same place I’d been for the last almost two hours. My hand, still comfortably around my dick. And the result of the phone fucking I’d just partaken in, all over my hand. . . Shit.

Though, unlike last night, bit by bit – second by second –I began to feel guilty. Because, now, my girlfriend had been left at the table – abandoned by me – for the better part of almost two hours while I did this shit. I checked the lock on the door with a careful eye, terrified that I’d somehow forgotten to lock it. The thought of what might occur if she were to open the door had me wanting to throw up. I felt so goddamn terrible. What the fuck was I doing?

I had these two beautiful women – who I cared for so deeply – hanging on by a thread. Granted, how I felt for y/n was worlds different than I felt for Maya. . . In that way, I meant that my love for Maya was the type of love I could explain. . . It was a deep love. But. . . the way I felt for y/n? I didn’t even know where to begin. . . It was beyond words. And where I felt deeply for Maya, it didn’t stop at ‘deep’ for y/n. 

No, with y/n, I felt like I was constantly drowning in the most beloved waters. . . Desperate for air while also enjoying the feeling of being utterly encompassed by these stunning, yet treacherous waves. . .

But. . . in the end, they were both special to me and I was fucking with both of them. I didn’t know what to do. 

“Jake?!” Maya’s knuckles hit the door once more, her voice level raising in a way that made me want to tell her to quiet down. This was her quiet restaurant that she knew so well. . . She’d already given me the talk about not speaking loudly in the place. So, apparently she was irritated enough that she–. “Jake!”

Okay, not quite as loud, but definitely obvious that she was fed up with waiting on me. I couldn’t blame her. . . I’d just give her some excuse about how Josh was really going through it or some shit. She’d have to understand that.

And, just as she was tapping against the door once again, y/n was in my ear. . . Her soft voice, making me feel lighter – better. “Hey. . . what’s wrong, baby?” She questioned, real concern guiding her tone. I knew that she’d noticed that something was off by the way I’d just stopped interacting. “Was it something I sai–?”

“Jakey, please, I’m really worried about you, baby!” Maya squeaked from the other side of the door. 

“I have to go,” I hurriedly hushed into the phone, hoping y/n would be the easier one to put off this time. She’d understand. Right? “I’m sorry,” rushed through my lips as I pressed the red end button for the call. 

I hated doing it to her, but she’d be easier to explain this all to. . . She’d been very understanding about me needing to dedicate time to Maya in the past. . . And she’d already told me to get off the phone and go back to her earlier in the conversation. . .

In complete shame, I looked down at my hand that held the phone. Our texts, staring back at me and making me immediately miss her. Fuck. It was like I’d escaped to this other world with her for such a short time. . . Only to be yanked back to earth. Was she going to be mad at me now? Then, there was the evidence on my other hand. My release, covering the hand that was holding my dick (that was still too hard to leave the bathroom). . . It was drying real quick, making a sticky mess over my skin.

 I felt like shit. This wasn’t supposed to be so damn difficult. . . I just wished we still had the easiness of a few months ago. . . Very little interruptions, so much time for only each other. No one in the way. . . I felt like I could’ve cried in that fuckin’ Carmella’s single stall bathroom. Stupid as it was. . . But I’d been waiting for this and hadn’t even been able to begin to enjoy the post-coital bliss. 

Was y/n okay? She was also covered in herself. Completely alone in the bathroom of whatever restaurant she was at. With Josh and Elsie. I really would have left South Carolina right that instant if I could’ve. Flown back on the next flight to be with them. But I couldn’t. I had made this commitment to Maya and I had to see it through. 

But. . . My heart hurt for the woman in New York, so fucking precious to me, who I’d effectively worked up and thoroughly drained. Only for me to leave her immediately upon finishing. And her gentle voice in my ear. . . It’d been so nice — creating that familiar swirly feeling in my chest. Yet, no matter how she’d made me feel, I’d just left her. 

Fuck—I couldn’t even worry about that. Not when my girlfriend was still outside the bathroom, making her presence known with little intermittent spurts of knocking. Damn. . . the woman really liked to knock until there was zero doubt of her presence. My teeth had ground together every time I heard her after the first knock. It was a lot — considering it had happened at least ten times in the span of a couple of minutes. 

My attention was drawn back to my hands. . . To the phone in my grasp that was awfully silent. Why was I expecting anything from her? Why would she want to text me? With how I’d left things just now, my heart would be broken if roles were reversed. 

Dick move, Jake, my thoughts called out, judging me. Way to use her and then hang up, asshole.

I shook my head of the thought, knowing it to be true, but not having the energy nor the time to deal with it. Not when Maya was still doing her best to make sure I knew she was still out there. My phone got clicked to lock and slipped into my back pocket. Then, I was trying to silently pull up my briefs and pants, zip my jeans, and maneuver very quietly around the bathroom, so as not to make Maya question anything else. 

Just needed to wash my hands. . . Get my fucking semen off of my hands before she saw that shit. I triple checked the bathroom door to make sure I’d locked it. And when I’d reassured myself again, I turned the faucet on. 

Talk, Jacob. “Yeah, My, I’m okay—sorry,” I finally called out, panicking to get myself cleaned up and get this night over with. When I said I felt like shit, I meant it. Pure, utter shit for hanging up on y/n, with no explanation and no warning, but I had no other choice. “Josh was just really going through it. . . Needed me to talk him down.”

“Oh. . .,” she began from the other side, her voice breaking just a little. But what caught me was the way the word was spoken – as if to question what I was saying. She had no reason to question it. “Saw he posted on his story like right before you came to the bathroom to talk to him. . . He’s with y/n and Elsie. They looked pretty happy in his story.”

Mother of fuck. Of all times, Josh. Thank you, brother. 

Improvise, Jake. Improvise. . . “Yeah. . . They were really awesome at being there for him tonight when I couldn’t be,” I said on a whim, soaping and washing my hands for a second time under the water as it heated to scalding. Was helping to snap me back to reality. “He’s just having a hard time. I didn’t know how else to help him from here other than staying on the phone with him.”

“Is he better now?” She asked, seeming legitimately curious over the illegitimate situation. The lie.

“Y-yeah,” I stuttered, drying my hands against my pants, not wanting to hear the harsh noise of the hand dryer. I wasn’t sure I could handle that at the time being. . . “He’s fine. Feeling much more like himself.”

“I’d hope so,” Maya laughed, the sound seeming more mocking than anything. She was over the bullshit of me being in the bathroom. I understood that for sure. “You’ve been in there long enough. . . The dessert tray is at the table. And lucky for you, there’s no ice cream.”

She seemed like she was joking, but I could hear a slight edge in her tone that wasn’t usually there. So, I busted ass. Made sure my face was wiped of any residual sweat and that it wasn’t flushed to fuck. Thankfully, I seemed to look relatively put together. . . And I believed (really hoped) to have washed all of the leftover smell off of me that could indicate I’d been doing what I’d been doing. 

After a deep breath in and out, I slapped a smile on my face and left the nerves in the bathroom. . . . And when I saw her beautiful face, completely aloof as to what had just happened, I felt a punch in the gut. The same punch I felt when I instantly thought of how y/n was going, five states away from me. . . Was she crying? Was she going to be able to clean up okay? She’d had her entire body out for me tonight, only for me to leave her. Fuck. It was all on a loop in my damned head. 

As Maya talked to me about the fucking dessert tray, I contemplated my next steps with y/n. And once we were seated back at the table, I immediately noticed her father was glaring at me. And while I was never one to disrespect a partner’s parent, he didn’t fucking know me. It didn’t help that, at the present moment in time, I was not in the mood to deal with any shit. After giving him a forced smile, I decided to ignore him and continue to ponder my mess of thoughts concerning y/n.

I decided the best (and only) option was to text her. So, I took a few moments while Maya and her dad started in on a conversation. And from the sound of it, she’d apparently stopped in the middle of to come get me from the bathroom. God. Could she not have just waited to finish her damn conversation before coming to me? It would’ve been better for all parties involved. God. Whatever. All it meant was I had an ample opportunity to send this text. 

Me, 11:35 p.m.: I’m so sorry, baby… I promise you I didn’t want to leave. Maya came to the door and needed me. I promise it had absolutely nothing to do with you, y/n

When I sent it, I decided the least I could do was look at Maya to pretend as though I was listening. The conversation happening between them wasn’t one I could participate in – they were talking strictly about work. I wasn’t needed here. But, as the minutes ticked by, I realized. . . y/n was fed up with me. She’d read my message at the time I’d sent, and still, five minutes later, there was zero response from her. I hadn’t even witnessed the little ellipses bubble when I occasionally opened my phone to check on a response. 

I could admit. Shitty as it was, the woman beside me had barely been a thought to me all night. Even still, as I sat there, with a forced smile and a dick I was begging to soften all of the way, she wasn’t who I was thinking about. I decided to go to Instagram. Curiosity had me wanting to check Josh’s story to see what Maya had been referring to. 

And, the picture on his story was enough to make my breath catch in my throat. The bright smile on y/n’s face and her hair, falling so prettily over her shoulder. In this picture that had apparently been taken before the texting and the phone call. . . She’d been so full of joy. Goddammit. Then, there was the song he’d used – I knew it very well. "Merry Christmas Baby" by Booker T & the M.G.’s. And I knew exactly why he’d used it. He’d used it to get my attention. This was one we’d regularly listened to at Christmastime as a family, growing up. I could remember the day I’d learned the guitar part and everything – a snow day during our freshman year of high school.

Weird that I remembered that. But, he’d known it was special. He'd known that it would trigger some sort of memory for me. Make me feel something. What was he trying to say? Was he just mocking me by putting a sentimental song on his story to accompany a picture of her? Was he trying to make me jealous? Knowing my brother, I was sure to fuck that he was doing all of the above.

Fuck you, Josh. Seriously. 

After eyeing her for just a moment longer in Josh’s photo, I decided that while Maya was engaged in such an intense conversation with her father, I could go look at y/n’s story again. With a clear head. Really appreciate the picture this time. So, with a quick message to Josh telling him to ‘go fuck himself’, and a glance in Maya’s direction to make sure she wasn’t looking, I speedily tapped y/n’s name in Josh’s story. And once I was on her profile, I made hasty work of my mission by clicking on her cute little icon photo. 

And there she was. I was quickly realizing, though, that maybe it was a mistake to look at it because it was only making me angrier that we’d essentially been cut off in the bathroom. I had needed her – before, during, and after. I’d taken the fucking L last night in her bed by not getting to fuck her and done so again tonight by sacrificing talking to her after getting her off. 

The lace on her skin – it was just so fucking gorgeous. I wanted nothing more than to pull it over her tits myself and pay those pretty nipples some real attention. . . God, her tits. Then there was the underwear, nearly see through. . . How I’d pull those to the side and fuck her sensitive pussy until her perfect legs trembled, yet again, with my name on her lips. Her pretty release, seeping out of her, right before I’d let loose inside of her. . . And when my spend would trickle from her tight, pulsing cunt, I’d pull those sexy little panties back over her. Cover her up and let her feel me against her until she understood to not post shit like this without me near. 

My dreams were stalled when her name flashed across my screen, though. I didn’t even wait to read it. Had to talk to her. 

Y/n, 11:41 p.m.: I’m not talking about promises anymore tonight, Jake. 

Goddammit, Jake. What the fuck had you done, man?

Me, 11:41 p.m.: you know that I wanted to talk you down from that, baby… you know me. You know me better than that

Thankfully, she immediately read that one and responded. Fucking win.

Y/n, 11:41 p.m.: Just hate that you’re gone and it was just a vicious reminder of why you’re gone… I’m just being selfish. Ignore me.

She was being selfish? Fuck no she wasn’t. 

Me, 11:42 p.m.: you are NOT selfish, y/n. Please don’t say that about yourself. Wish you wouldn’t say shit like that 

Y/n, 11:42 p.m.: I jacked off with you while you were with your g i r l f r i e n d tonight, Jake. No, actually… while you made HER wait for ME. It was all my fault and I am so sorry.

Oh, fuck no she was not going to apologize. 

Me, 11:42 p.m.: sweet girl… don’t you dare say sorry for anything. That was the peak moment of my entire day :)

Me, 11:42 p.m.: don’t overthink any of this. Please. The situation is what’s shitty… not you. The situation could be MUCH fucking better

What was I implying? Surely I wasn’t considering what it would be like to not be dating Maya. . . That would be fucked up. But– dammit. I couldn’t help how drawn I was to this girl on the other side of my phone. As I waited for her to respond, I went to her photo again. Sound turned down, of course. . . Maya was still busy conversing. I was fine.

There was a solid minute to appreciate the way y/n’s breasts were swelling – how gorgeously marked by veins. . .– fuck. All for my baby– shit fuck. I was truly realizing, as my stomach turned in arousal at her body – looking at this again had not been a good idea. And, as if a saving grace, her name was at the top of my screen again. 

Y/n, 11:44 p.m.: You deserve to be happy, Jake. That is the best “situation” for me. 

God. What was she implying, now? 

I didn’t know what to say in response to that, so instead, I decided to switch back to her Instagram story and tell her exactly what I thought of it. Perfect. That’s what it – she – was. Y/n. . . Her heart, her face, her body. . . she was perfect. Maybe not for me, due to everything that had transpired between us. So much history in a shorter amount of time. . . . but she was the most perfect specimen that graced this Earth.

Before her, I hadn’t been sure about having kids. But with this woman? My uncertainty about having kids was out the window. When she was the mother of my children, I didn’t care how many there were. Anything that came from her would surely be flawless and so easily lovable. God, the singular thought that there would be a tiny her also gracing the planet in a few months?. . . 

I’d never felt the amorous flame – this pure, overwhelming light inside of my chest. . . . All because of y/n. The chance we’d taken over the summer. . . The chance of a lifetime. 

Y/n. . .she was worth all of it and more.

End of Jake’s POV

Maya’s POV

When Jake got back from the bathroom, I assumed the night would continue as it had started. Jake’s attention being on me. All on me. 

A whole twelve hours away from Brooklyn, New-fucking-York — where there were possible distractions galore. But here, there truly were none. A glorious victory for me. The one complaint I’d had before now had been earlier in the day. He’d been immersed in his phone this morning as we’d walked around my favorite Charleston shopping centers. Though, even if it had annoyed me at first, I hadn’t complained. Because, he’d bought me any and everything I’d wanted. Merry Christmas to me!

And, as he’d told me, he’d been texting with his brothers. Which, I could only get so annoyed by. They were fun enough and seemed to like me a lot. So, they passed in my book. Really, more than ‘like me’, I knew his brothers loved me. And obviously, I appreciated this. They saw me for me. 

Occasionally, I still stopped to silently appreciate Josh. His noble act of stopping the display in the living room on that horrid game night. And then, going the extra mile and stepping in to talk to Jake the morning after. . .? God. A keeper for sure. At this point, I didn’t think I’d ever make Jake cut off communication with his family. . . And that was saying something. I’d definitely done it with boyfriends in the past when their family members rubbed me the wrong way, so. . . He was lucky he had a decent family.

Even if I did like his brothers, though, it had gotten annoying after about an hour and a half. Every time I’d wanted his attention, he’d tell me to ‘wait a second.’ But, thankfully, once he’d put the phone away finally, his focus had all been on me. He’d looked frustrated (which had annoyed me), but when I’d asked him what had been wrong, he just shook his head. It was obvious after one try that he hadn’t really wanted to talk about it. So, I’d dropped it. He’d talk to me if he needed to. No use poking him. All day long, I’d told him memories of my childhood. Little things from when I’d come to stay with my dad. Everywhere I looked, there was something to tell him about that had to do with me. It was heaven. Had been. Not any-fucking-more.

Because, when he’d gotten back from the hour and a half long conversation with Josh in the bathroom, I’d borne witness to his fucking screen. And the sight had not made me very happy.  I’d had every reason to lose it when I initially saw that green circle around her picture. That classic pick-me bitch icon she used for Instagram. Trying to stay all natural with her lightly edited photo. Her, in a (surely cheap) white sweater, and a New York Yankee baseball cap on. A little cutesy grin on her features. Trying to look all adorable and shit. And failing. Puh-lease. Stupid fucking bitch. Y/n. The baby momma whore. 

And, unfortunately, even if she was a giant slut, I had to admit, she was very pretty. . . Well, had been very pretty. . . She was subpar now with the baby bump constantly expanding at her abdomen. More and more by the day. Gross. 

Even more disgusting and sneaky, after a hasty glance at my own Instagram, I’d soon noticed she hadn’t included me in that little green bubble of Close Friends. But. . . To be fair, of course she wouldn’t – I had the thing she wanted. Her envy of me drew the line at us being ‘close friends.’ Women were naturally envious of me, intimidated by me. Had been my entire life. It was why I still had zero female friends. Bitches were haters.

I really, sincerely knew it was simply because she was jealous of me — as she should’ve been. . . But, she’d succeeded in getting under my skin. No one ever did that shit anymore — except for y/n. I was a very pleasant person, but y/n. . .Oh, that bitch brought out the worst in me. Close Friends. I could’ve strangled someone. 

Seriously. Whore. A whore who was posting shit like this to lure my boyfriend in. And, no. She couldn’t have him. She got to have his baby. That was plenty for her. It was too much, if I were to be honest. But no one was asking me.

I had to put up with a lot from her. Most women would have dragged her away from him by her hair. Told her to get the fuck out of his life. And then told her to fuck off and give another woman (me) the chance to treat him better than she had. Like trapping him, right before he started his career, by getting pregnant in a primarily fuck buddy circumstance. 

Crazy to think Jake had lied to me about that, by the way. . . When we first really got together in September, I’d questioned him about living with another woman. And, he’d fed me a bullshit line about being ‘just roommates’ with her. “Just roommates,” he’d told me. “It’s just the most convenient living situation.” And, I’d believed him. Like a fool. 

That was before I’d had to spend my Thanksgiving focusing on the new knowledge that his roommate was pregnant with his kid. He’d so carefully told me the morning of the blessed holiday. And seriously, I’d been a stunning girlfriend to him when he’d told me. I’d had and still did have every right to be pissed. But I’d reacted as calmly as possible. . . Even if I’d been exploding on the inside. No woman would put up with that besides me. ‘Just roommates’ my incredible, fat ass. ‘Just roommates’ with a damned history of fucking each other enough to make a kid from it. She was lucky I hadn’t screamed in her pretty little face by now. Couldn’t upset the pregnant lady. God forbid. Lest I be a terrible person to all of society. 

And she had that heart thing Jake had told me about. Pits? The Pits? Stupid name for a disorder. Something made-up about her heart beating too damn fast. So, on top of being pregnant, she was also at risk with whatever the fuck that illness was that she had. Sounded like a y/n problem, not mine. She was a true ‘pick-me’ girl. To her core, always begging for attention. 

God. . . I had such a good heart. Loads of tolerance for the never ending bullshit. I had been the bigger person through all of this. The biggest person, actually. Well. . . not physically. I could’ve laughed at that. No, no. That spot belonged to Jake’s fuck buddy roommate. Past fuck buddy, of course. I knew I gave it to him so fucking good now; he didn’t need her or her tired ass, fat ass pregnant body. That show, The Biggest Loser — right in front of me. 

She’d had her chance. When her body was tight and her face wasn’t at risk of fattening like a pregnant bitch. And now she seemed to think she could offer him anything worthy in this body? Her new (not improved) one, which only got progressively fatter every time I saw her? Though, no matter how fat she was, she still never managed to shoot her shot. Reference: game night. Her, being a disgusting whore in front of us all. And Jake, still sleeping next to me that night. . . as she’d slept with that moron from her school. Comedy. Peak comedy.

I looked over briefly at his screen again. It had been a couple of minutes since I’d last checked on him. And he was still on that damned story of hers. Why?! What did she have to offer that I didn’t? Nothing. Seriously. If all she had to offer him was that kid, that was still nothing compared to me. 

A baby was all she had to offer him. A tiny little thing that took up hardly any space. So, I knew I made her insecure. How could I not? 

And my body wasn’t bloated and expanding with an unexpected kid like hers was. My body was the same as it had been when Jake and I’d first gotten together. The day of the guitar lesson, at the beginning of summer. The guitar lesson that had led to me being bent over my kitchen counter, where he’d fucked me until my eyes had watered. So fucking good. Best sex of my life — and that was saying something, too. That ‘situationship’ of ours had only lasted for a few (too-short) weeks. . . And, towards the end of it, I’d been able to tell she was pissing him off. The sex had gotten rougher and he’d been harsher when he’d spoken to me. But I was there for him. Talked through life with him. His breakup, those stupid rules that y/n had put in place at one point (control freak). . .

I’d even gone to a few of those shows of his — which I’d never seen her at. Only that festival when she wore that white outfit that had done very little to cover her up. Just like this story he was still looking at. Barely anything to cover her fat ass body. Slut. She constantly gave me every reason to believe I made her insecure. . . This story, for one. Couldn’t handle her precious roommate being with his fucking girlfriend. Had to post this shit to try and get his attention. 

But. . . he was still looking. . . Seriously. What gives? Did he just feel bad for her or what? Was he gawking, repulsed by her ugly body like I was? In shock that she’d post such a horrendous thing? 

I thought back to last night, her hiding herself under that hoodie when she’d left Jake’s apartment. I knew why she’d done that shit. She probably couldn’t stand the sight of herself anymore, especially when she knew I was around. Couldn’t let Jake make the unfair comparisons when I was so near, so she chose to hide. Good. Best option for her. Hide, bitch. She was insane if she thought he found her attractive right now. Sure, maybe he did before she got knocked up. But not now. Again, comedic to think he could find her anywhere near pretty. 

Besides, she had no hope for post-pregnancy either. Everyone knew women were at risk of losing their entire figure when they had kids. And I had no doubt she would. But that wouldn’t happen to me. Not ever. I would stay looking just like this, just how Jake liked. My tight, not pregnant body. God, just – it was Jake. I couldn’t let her have him. 

There was not a chance in fucking hell that I’d let her have him. I knew she still wanted him. I knew she did. Any girl would want to be with Jake. I knew for a damned fact that every woman who saw him wanted to be with him. I’d seen the bitches staring at him. Everywhere we went. What woman wouldn’t want him? He had everything anyone could ever want in a man — anything I could ever want. He was a long-haired fucking rockstar on his way to a huge fucking career with a killer body. He was the definition of perfect. And I was the one who had him. 

Besides, it was kind of fun to be around her knowing that he’d chosen me. At this point, I’d only tolerated her because I liked being the winner. Watching her be pregnant, fat, and sad while I got to suck face with her baby daddy right in front of her pathetic ass. . . Like a blue fucking ribbon.

Even after a couple of minutes more of conversation with my dad, I noticed with a sideways glance that Jake was switching hastily between apps. What the fuck was he—? But before I could see a glimpse of his texts, once again, he was back on Instagram. And looking at her hideous post. I was shocked to find it was the other one. The one I could see, on her page. Ugly, cheap ass, deplorable maternity bra for her engorged tits. And equally cheap American Eagle jeans. However, that post did stop me in my tracks the slightest bit. . . Before she was pregnant, she really had been very easy on the eyes. Nice, tight body. Decent ass. Perky tits. Good skin.

But man, compared to the picture of her now. . . It was sad how she’d let herself go. Disheartening, really. The woman was just so fucking fat right now. And the unfortunate thing was, she’d probably only allowed herself to get pregnant in the first place, to keep him. It was just hilarious that she believed getting fat would make him want to stick around and be with her. Carrying his kid or not, she was fat. 

Truth hurts, you fucking delusional and selfish cunt, I thought as I did the ‘right’ thing and liked her stupid post.

It didn’t matter in the long run. A nice little gesture. Sure. I could do that – because I knew I was the one he wanted. All along. He knew that he’d hit the fucking jackpot with me. I knew, from his mouth, that he’d regretted letting me go. On a couple of occasions, after a few shows where drinks had run aplenty, he’d told me as much. 

But. . . I knew that if she could dig her claws into him, she’d somehow be able to figure out a way to manipulate him into going back to her. Even if it were just for sex. If she was given the chance, of course. . .Except, as long as I was around, he wouldn’t be able to even think about going back to her. As long as he had me, he wouldn’t want her. Wouldn’t need anything from her. All she was good for was making the kid. Her body was a waste, her manipulation tactics were tried and true. . . She was only surface level pretty. . .but everything else about her was shit. 

Too bad he didn’t care about her. This pregnancy wasn’t about her for Jake. Because, while she may have thought that Jake was helping her, he obviously was not. I could read him like a book. I knew him so well. And I knew everything he did was only for his kid. That kid was the only reason he had jack fuck to do with her. He only felt like he had that obligation to her. And, like the kind, understanding, Christian woman that I was, I’d let it slide this long. . . Too damn long. 

She’d already tried to pull one over on me. On that stupid game night, she’d tried. With her tiny ass shorts and tight shirt to show off her bulging, overweight tits. And then, right there, in front of all of us, she’d spread her legs for him. In front of me, the love of Jake’s life. I was still shocked that, for some reason, he’d fallen for that shit. Even with me sitting right there. I’d watched her pick at him and be a little bitch about getting comfortable. I could only imagine it was hard to get situated and comfortable with that fat, disgusting body. 

I’d wanted so badly to make a comment about her being so gross, but I’d known then, just as I did now. . . I had to keep face — especially in front of Jake. I was just grateful Josh saw that it was wrong, too. When he’d come in, telling me to nicely leave so he could (presumably) personally discuss the ludicrous situation with Jake. Discuss the whore and her conniving ways. I trusted that Josh had told Jake everything I would have. Surely. What else? 

With another side eye at Jake’s screen, I saw him switching from texts and Insta — again. Except this time, I saw her name on his texts. Did she really need to be distracting him this badly? Could the bitch not have waited for his assistance with baby shit? God. . .Jake was simply too nice and blinded by that kid in her belly. Thought he had to do so much for his fucking kid. And y/n only used that. She constantly took advantage of Jake. She got under his skin and tricked him into shit using that kid as collateral damage. Seriously. 

What. A. Vicious. Whore. 

The worst part of all of it was. . . I’d let her get this close. But now that I’d seen this little trick she’d just pulled, I was not so sure I could keep my mouth shut anymore. Her claws had no place in my man. Who the fuck did she think she was that she could put him on her Close Friends list like that? And post that hoe ass picture to her Close Friends? The little stupid bitch just wanted to make sure he would see that slutty picture. 

I just thought it was pretty pathetic that she was showing off her body like that when she was going to be a literal mom. Didn’t seem like something a mom should do. . . Not to me. What would the kid think? Growing up knowing its mom cared more about flaunting her body than being a good mom? And that just proved my point that she didn’t give a fuck about anyone but herself. Didn’t give a flying fuck about him. She was an embarrassment. Right along with that clump of cells in her belly.

I had let her cross too many lines. And I could make it so she’d never get Jake alone again if I really wanted to. Shit, I’m sure I could even convince him to let me move into the apartment. Never give them a moment alone. Yet, while I was worried about her advances, I wasn’t worried about how Jake viewed her. I knew he loved the kid, but I couldn’t believe for a second that he could ever think she was worth it. 

Which was why I couldn’t fucking understand why he was still looking at it. It had been minutes of this aimless conversation with my father about my branch of his company in New York. An hour while Jake went to talk to Josh and then came back to the table to look at y/n on his screen. Post, story, post, story. The occasional text with her. Couldn't see what they were saying. He was quick. Whatever. Probably some stupid ass pregnancy bullshit.

And now he was back on the blessed story. How was he looking at it? God. I still couldn’t tell. Was he glaring? I didn’t know. All I knew was he’d been holding his thumb on the screen for a long fucking time so her story wouldn’t close out. There was no chance he actually liked that, right? There was no way.

His thumb had held the screen long enough, but when he finally moved it and let the story play through, I started to feel a little better about her little trick she’d tried to pull. . . But it didn’t actually get to play through. Because then, he’d slid his thumb up on the raunchy ass photo and clicked the fucking heart eye emoji to react to it. That was fucking shitty enough. Then, the fucking fire emoji reaction came next. What the hell? Two emoji reactions?

What did it for me, though, was when he’d slid his thumb again, tapped the send message bubble and typed out ‘God fucking damn… So perfect’. What in the fuck?! Did the idiot think I couldn’t see over his shoulder? Seriously? Why was he encouraging her behavior? Nope. Not fucking okay. I was not going to let him get away with that. 

“God. . . She is just so pretty, Jake,” I finally said with all of the sugar I could muster in my tone. Sweet, but invading his space just enough to let him know that I’d seen everything. The way he’d jumped out of his seat at the sound of my voice made it pretty clear that he didn’t realize I was looking. And it gave me a sick satisfaction. Caught ya, buddy.

I knew I’d caught him off guard. . . that little ‘she looks really good, doesn’t she?’ sort of comment in response to his moment of openly staring at her. The blush that was slowly but surely covering his features as I blinked my long lashes at him pissed me off. . . And the message. I couldn’t scratch it out of my mind. What the fuck? Had he simply sent it because he felt bad for her? Had he been taking a long moment to pity her? Or, in some part of his brain, had he actually thought she looked good like that? 

God. I hoped not. Jake was smarter than that — classier than that. . . Than to think she looked anywhere near attractive as a pregnant sow. What could actually be so hot about an overweight, bloated body? The man had good taste, so surely not. . . I mean, he was dating me, for God’s sake. All he’d ever done with her was fuck her. She had her rightful place secured. Below me.

It was quite funny, actually, how little she’d truly had of him. It made a smug grin come to my face, just as he was looking over his shoulder at me. He was locking his phone at the same time that I turned my grin into one of faux authentic appreciation for her. But seriously. Fuck that bitch. I was really doing such a good job at this front I was putting on. I bet that he couldn’t tell that I was actually pissed about it. I’d gotten quite good at this ridiculous act to hide my distaste for her. 

For added effect, I tacked on an extra bit of falseness that made me want to puke. “She carries pregnancy so well, huh?” I was doing damn good at keeping this smile on my fucking face. Part of the reason I was trying so hard to look nice and undeceiving was to make sure he knew that I was the more beautiful of the two of us. Both looks-wise and heart-wise, I beat that bitch by a landslide. 

And even if it pained me, I would keep up this stupid act that I liked her. . . If all it meant was I could keep him, that would be enough. Because no matter what, I just wanted him to know I was the better person of the two of us. He was staring at me, at a complete loss for words. It made me want to question him. But considering we were at this restaurant with my father, at a very nice establishment. . . now was not the time or place. 

“Who is it, MyMy?” My father had asked from across the way, which just made me raise a brow at Jake. “Who is pretty?”

Oh. . . yes. I hadn’t told my father about Jake’s situation. I’d known better than to do that. My father would not be happy to know I was dating a man who’d knocked up another woman. Whether it was before me or after me, my father wouldn’t hesitate to have very little patience for that. 

And, as much as I wanted to shame Jake for his actions, ruining Jake’s image for my father was not what I wanted in the long run. Not at all. He’d done so enough on his own. . . Leaving the table for so fucking long. No. I had to try my best to make him look good. I wanted to keep Jake in my life. But, my father had to find out sometime. . . if I was going to have the role in this kid’s life that I knew I was bound to take on. Mommy #2. Or simply, a variation of Mom or Mommy or Momma. . . Any of those titles had a nice little ring to them.

“Do you want to tell him, Jakey?” I posed the question, so innocently, to my boyfriend with a couple of flutters of my dark lashes. “It’s your exciting news to share.”

His expression was one of peak confusion. Like he thought I’d already told my father about his predicament. . . Ha! There was no way in hell my father would have greeted him with such open arms had he already known. Who in the fuck did Jake Kiszka think my father was? 

It really showed how little Jake actually knew about being a good, decent father. He had a lot to learn. When he was leaning over to whisper in my ear, I was momentarily sidetracked from my thoughts by how damn good he smelled. It should’ve been a crime to turn someone on so effortlessly. . . With only a mere cologne.

“Does he not know?” He asked me, his tone slightly clipped in my ear. Like he was upset with me, of all people. That was fucking laughable! 

I moved towards him, muttering quietly in his ear with a tiny smile that was somehow sticking to my features. All in the name of an act. “I wanted you to get to share our exciting news, sweetie.”

Our. Yes, our. Even if thinking of the kid invading my life with its dad made me want to vomit profusely, I wanted to continue to be with Jake. And fuck y/n if she thought this kid only belonged to them. I was in this for the long haul because of my love and desire to be with Jake. . . Wanted to get to see his fame come to be and be a part of that with him. 

“I uh –,” Jake started, slowly pulling away from me as his eyes darted back and forth between my dad and me. Eventually, his eyes landed in his lap. A look of. . .defeat? Shame? Good. Sit in it, Jacob. 

“Well, I had a thing with this girl,” he began, ruffling the front of his hair like he so often did. It pissed me off when he’d do it — messing up his hair for nothing. “Wasn’t too serious, I suppose. . . But, well. . .,” he paused once more and I reached over to grasp his hand. I gave it a slight squeeze to urge him to keep going. Jesus Christ. 

“Well what, son?” My father urged, his face showing zero patience for his lagging. Seriously. Same, Dad.

“She's pregnant.” Deplorable fucking words that made me want to scream. But they were out there. Fucking clear as day.

My dad straightened his body against the back of his chair, setting his fork down on his plate firmly before crossing his arms. He wasn’t happy, but in such a nice eatery, he would keep his cool. All about the image in this family. Although, his face was set, hard as stone. Lips, a flat line, and his jaw so impossibly tight with quiet aggravation. . . I knew that look from my father very well. He could hide his irritation from most, but not me. Not when it was a look I found so fucking impressive. 

This look – one he’d give people when he was all ears, but not in a good way. Not in an understanding way. I rarely got the look. My father had told me nearly my entire life how I could do little wrong. He’d always understood me. This look had always been reserved for the people who had wronged me, or him, or us. 

Amir Mustafa – my father – he was. . . a simply powerful man. I’d looked up to him and his ability to control people and situations for my entire life. Many employees of ours had gotten this brash, stern look right before getting kicked to the fucking curb. He did it all my laugh growing up, right in front of me, to countless miserable people. (And now I got to do the exact same thing to my employees. . .) I watched my father, seeing the wheels in his mind beginning to turn. And god knew my father was not going to let this news set easily over our barely touched dessert trays. 

“And she’s, um. . .,” Jake looked at me again as he cleared his throat, a look of fear and embarrassment on his face. For the sake of putting on this ridiculous show of understanding for him, my grin widened. 

Thankfully, Jake quit stupidly pursing his lips. His mouth, opening timidly right before he said the punch line. “The baby is—. She’s pregnant with—with my baby.”

And there it was! He was so stiff under my hands, which still held onto his arm in the spirit of fake pride and togetherness with this obscene news.

I was glad he was so stiff underneath me. He needed to sit in this. Because god knew — I’d be embarrassed if I were him, too. Embarrassed to admit I was the father of her offspring. And, yeah, I knew this wasn’t easy for him. But he didn’t deserve for it to be easy. He’d gotten himself into this mess. And put me in the middle of it with him. The little stunt that had gotten him here had happened after he’d left me high and dry over the summer. . . If only he’d have stayed with me. He wouldn’t be in this ludicrous situation. But, in spite of how he deserved to be treated by me, I just sat and smiled. Supported his mistake-making ass.

God. . . I was so easygoing and compassionate for this man. So kind hearted and patient to put up with his and y/n’s bullshit. He was so lucky to have me. Even more lucky to have me than I was to have him. . . And that was saying something. He was a gift, sure. But I was a serious gift to him to stick around during this shit. Though, I would let him sit in his uncomfortable, messy truth that he had to come clean about — to my dad. I couldn’t keep picking up Jakey’s mess. Fuck no!

I was just so excited for my dad’s reaction. It was, undoubtedly, going to be in my favor. Knowing my father, I wondered if now was the time he’d reveal the little secret I’d kept from Jake. Surely this information would set him over the edge enough that he’d mention it. Get offended that this had been flaunted in front of my face for ‘X’ amount of time. He’d get spitting angry for one very specific reason. 

This reason. . . Well, it was one my father had cared much more for than I ever had. . . Getting this certain information years ago hadn’t bothered me at all, really. But my father? He’d always hated the idea for me. This man had defended my honor when it came to topics such as this. And now that I was directly involved in the pregnancy of someone else? 

“The baby is due in May,” Jake continued, apparently feeling the need to fill the air with more words.

Rather than rolling my eyes like I wanted, I let my faux smile widen at my dad. I even grabbed Jake’s arm tighter, laying my head on his shoulder, as though we were telling my daddy the news together. But, of course, I wasn’t about to say a damned word. I’d let Jake do all the talking. Wasn’t really my news to share, honestly. His little fucking joyride he was paying the consequences for. Besides, the less I had to speak her name, the better. 

I had zero problem putting Jake through this awkward little confession. Especially after I had caught sight of his little interaction with y/n’s instagram post. He deserved it after that. No matter the reason for messaging her. He was dating me. Other women shouldn’t exist. He deserved my dad’s piercing stare; this stare, smothering Jake for a long time before anyone else spoke. I knew what that meant, too. It meant my dad had a lot to say, but he was letting it all sink in before he said all that he was thinking.

I knew he wouldn’t speak out of anger. I knew he would say it all in a way that would make Jake feel really bad about the whole fucking thing. Make him think about it in ways he hadn’t yet. But I also knew where it was going. That little something I hadn’t brought up to Jake yet. I was waiting for the right time, and for the appropriate situation to come up. The situation that I would come out on top of. For once, everything wouldn’t be about her. 

With a sarcastic smile on his face, my dad finally took a breath to begin his response. And I, still hanging onto Jake’s tense arm, kept the same smug ass grin on mine. “This is certainly news to me,” my dad said, with zero congratulations. There was none necessary. Fuck this kid, seriously. My father kept his arms crossed tight against his puffed chest. “And this girl. . . I assume, then, that she’s still in the picture? Do you see her often?” 

I could feel Jake taking a deep breath at that question. The air was shaky as he breathed it out of his nose, his arm rock solid with the increase of tension. And, god. . .Try as I might have. . . The flexing of his muscles began to turn me on. Yeah, I knew it was an inappropriate response given the situation. I rubbed my thighs together subtly under the table. I could feel however I wanted, though. I wasn’t the one in the hot seat. And in that moment, I felt solid in the fact that Jake’s tension was because of me. And that made me want him all the more, because I knew that tension was because of how much he cared about me. And I was loving it. 

I wanted him to feel tense about it. He was finally getting an idea about how I felt about the whole situation. Being with Jake was all I desired, and I was willing to go through this shit to be with him. But he needed to be slapped in the face with the reality of it all. And I was glad my dad would be the one to make him understand my side. I couldn’t be the one to do it. I needed to keep up my nice girl act in front of everyone. Not let on to the fact that it all pissed me the fuck off.

Jake looked at me with wide eyes, and I just smiled. I wasn’t going to help him explain that shit. I left the floor open for him to tell my dad about the fucked up living situation. Maybe Jake saying the words out loud to someone outside of the whole thing — seeing someone else’s perspective on it — would make him understand how I felt about it. I waited, on baited breath, ready to listen to Jake give my dad the truth. He lived with this woman. And I couldn’t deny, he deserved a negative reaction for it. . . For what he was putting me through. 

The sexy man under my hands gulped as he turned his attention back to my dad, whose piercing glare never let up. I swore he didn’t blink once as he waited for Jake’s response, his thin lips under his black mustache pursed. 

“She’s. . .,” Jake cleared his throat once more, and his body stiffened completely against the back of his chair as he sucked in a deep breath. I kept my grip on him, held his arm even tighter than before, felt the sudden urge to dig my nails into the muscles. Fuck. I watched my dad’s eyes flit to me, then narrow in on Jake. “She’s my, uh—she’s actually my roommate.”

Jake’s hand shot up to his scalp, fluffing his hair and smoothing it back down. God. Stop messing with your hair. You’re ruining it. Then he began rubbing away at his chin. Little nervous ticks of his that pissed. me. off. But, I was more focused on the excited nerves surfacing in me about admitting the fucked up truth. It made me shiver with excitement. 

When I looked over at my dad, I got even more thrilled. Because it was obvious he was far from happy with that news. It was apparent in his body language, and the silent non-verbals he was communicating to Jake. The clenching jaw, the breathy chuckle of disbelief. Jake knew it was fucked up. He wouldn't have been so goddamn nervous about admitting it if he didn’t know. The way he hesitated before delivering the news said that he was probably not so proud to admit such a thing. Who would be? And who would want to tell their girlfriend’s dad about such a thing?

Let’s just say, he was lucky my dad had never been the physically violent type. No, his weapon of choice was always in his words, in the way he could manipulate people with them. Watching him get what he’d wanted out of people my whole life taught me a lot; he taught me how to get what I wanted out of people. I knew how to play nice, learned to easily pick up on how people ticked and used that to my advantage. I’d learned to tell people the things they wanted to hear, made people like me by faking whatever I needed to in order to earn their trust. 

My dad was always quick to acclimate himself to any situation, to anybody with a simple manipulation tactic based on what he'd known about them. And I always did the very same thing. Because of that little trait of ours, I knew what he was going to say and how he was going to say it. He knew just what to say to pull even more guilt from Jake. That’s why I never told him, because I knew the right time would come. And this was the right time. Perfect, actually.

He let the silence linger just a bit longer, making sure Jake was nice and petrified of his reaction. “You know, Mr. Kiszka,” my dad said as he uncrossed his arms, his voice much softer than Jake had probably expected, given the harsh breath he’d sucked in when my dad began speaking.

But I knew exactly what my dad was thinking, how he was feeling. I knew the sweet voice was only a front, a tactic he used often when he wanted to make someone feel, well, like shit. “I, uh, don’t know if MyMy has told you this yet. . .,” he paused with a sincere smile, making sure the silence hung in the air even more to add to the effect of the news. 

I smiled too when Jake looked at me again. A sad smile, though. As sad as I could make it. My dad and I locked eyes and communicated with each other that we were on the same page. Silently, of course. We could always speak with our eyes. I carefully nodded my head at him, giving him the ‘okay’ to keep going. 

I could feel Jake’s arm loosen just a little under my fingers when he looked back to my dad. His pretty lips were parted and his eyebrows were scrunched. He had no idea what was coming. I felt a little bad for him because of that, actually. No one should have to carry as much guilt as my poor Jake did. With as much as I knew he really loved me, I knew this would hurt. 

“Jake,” my dad said as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m overjoyed for you — overjoyed that you’ll have this singular opportunity to experience being a father.” 

He was using the exact tactic I knew he would. Excited for Jake, but with a tone that held sorrow for me. I felt it coming. I had to contain myself—I was ready for it. Ready for the news that would seal Jake’s guilt and keep him with me. My father cleared his throat before he laced his hands together, eyes intent on Jake’s. “Because our beautiful MyMy will never be able to carry a child.” There it was.

Jake stiffened under my hold before he looked down at me. I laid my head on his shoulder, even sniffed a few fake tears. It was true—I was born with a defect that made it impossible for me to ever become pregnant. Sure, it was sad. Whatever. Sad for most women, maybe. My dad had always felt horrible about it. But for me, it was a different story. 

I had always viewed it as a positive thing. I didn’t want kids. I had never wanted kids. No, definitely not my cup of tea. First of all, kids were simply a nuisance to me. I was glad I’d never had to worry about getting pregnant. Second of all, having a kid would undoubtedly take the attention away from me – only my kid getting the attention. Yeah, no thanks. And, third, it just meant I got to have a lot of unprotected fun. Well. . . until Jake. Who hated having sex without condoms. Probably despised that he was having a kid in the first place and wanted to be extra safe, but didn’t want to say so. That was probably why he was protecting himself so well. But, now, that was something he knew he never had to worry about. No surprises, no accidents. 

Knowing Jake, I knew this “sad” fact about me was something I could use to make him feel bad for me. Another little tactic I’d learned from my father. And that combined with me knowing the way Jake ticked. . . This little “unfortunate” truth about my body would force him to sympathize with me. Make him feel so bad that he’d stop giving such a fuck about y/n and give more fucks about me. 

“Maya. . . why didn’t you—,” Jake’s voice was solemn, shocked. He looked me in the eyes, with his that had started glassing over. He was about to cry? Ugh, poor thing. He felt it right along with me. He knew that my heart had been broken by the triggering news of him becoming a father. Something I would never be able to give him. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

I mustered all the fake emotion my body was able to create, even shed a few alligator tears to really add to the effect. “I’m sorry, Jakey. I didn’t want to cause you anymore stress, baby. You’re already under so much.” All because of the mistake baby and stupid ass y/n's attention-seeking ass, I added silently. I sniffed to cover my inward irritation. It was the last of my tears, though, so I decided to lean in and kiss his stiff lips. My poor Jake. So full of sadness for me that he couldn’t even kiss me back. “You know, with y/n and all. I didn’t want to add anymore pressure to you. I just didn’t want you to feel bad for me.” Because she does such a good job at making you feel bad for her and I'm better than that, I added (once again) silently.

“Feel bad for—?” He looked at me in pure confusion, and I was starting to get upset over his lack of a response. I had fully expected him to hold me right when he was told the news, tell me how much he loved me and that he’s sorry for everything he had put me through in our time together. 

But to my shock, he pulled his arm away from me. Completely yanking it from my hand. A knee-jerk response, I thought. Maybe his way of coping with such a thing was to withdraw, let it really sink in before comforting me in such a difficult moment. I’ll say this, though – he should’ve considered himself lucky that my dad hadn’t been paying close enough attention to pick up on that little move of his. Yeah, he surely would’ve put Jake in his place had he witnessed that. Dad had reached for some chocolate something sitting on the giant dessert charcuterie board during the awkward lull. This had kept his eyes focused elsewhere when Jake had pulled that little trick. God. . . this lull - inevitably caused by Jake. Aggravating. . . BUT, I was understanding. So, even if it were annoying, I didn’t take that as a bad sign. I not only knew that it wasn’t anything more than Jake’s way of dealing with the news, but I was the calm and stable girlfriend that didn’t flip shit over those things. 

“I know this may be hard for you to hear, Mr. Kiszka,” my father said, his voice breaking through the silence that Jake had opted for. “Especially since you clearly aren’t opposed to having a family. Not the careful type, are ya, son?” My dad laughed, and I laughed, too. Made it seem as though it wasn’t a big deal to have a baby momma. I didn’t want Jake to take this whole having a kid with y/n thing any more seriously than he already had been. Yeah, it was a big deal. But why make him think it was the biggest deal in his life? When I was right there? 

“Listen,” my dad continued. “You and I both know that our Maya is worth it. She’s worth more than all of the babies in the world. She’s no less of a woman because of it. You’re enough of a man to understand that. Isn’t that right, Mr. Kiszka?”

Jake just stared into his lap. His eyes were squinted from the crinkle in his brows. He must’ve not heard my dad, because he wasn’t very quick to respond. And it really began to annoy me when he didn’t respond at all. It was like his mind was somewhere else. And I didn’t like it, because I didn’t know where it was. It took me nudging his shoulder to get his fucking attention. And even then, he’d asked my father to repeat himself when he lifted his head. When he decided to join us at the table again. 

When my dad said everything for the second time, and then cleared his throat for emphasis, Jake nodded his head. “Y-yes, sir. She—uh, yeah. Yeah, she is.”

That didn’t convince me for shit. He sounded unsure, like he didn’t believe it. It could’ve been the shock of the news that made him sound that way. Had to be. He knew it was true. He knew I was worth more than any—than his—baby. Having me at his side was the real prize. He knew that. But it still felt. . . Not how I wanted it to feel. He wasn’t giving enough. I wanted him to give more. More of a reaction, more of a response, more to me. 

I started having a hard time putting on a front any longer, because I was confused. I looked at my dad. And he was confused, too. But he didn’t say anything else. The best thing to do at that point was to let Jake stew on his words. 

And even though my little act was beginning to crumble, I still managed to put on another smile. I squeezed Jake’s thigh, holding my hand there to offer him the reassurance that he wasn’t offering me. He’d hear about this later, that was for certain. “Thank you, baby,” I said to him, keeping my hand on him to remind him of who was by his side. 

A woman who had put up with more from him than any woman would. Me.

End of Maya’s POV

It was Christmas Eve when you felt the first kick. 

At first, you hadn’t been totally sure what it was, waking up in a panic in the middle of the night. 

You’d felt something rustle in your tummy. . . thought it was an upset stomach, leading to something that could possibly be wrong. But when you’d realized you didn’t feel sick, you’d let yourself lay there and think as the little thumping feeling happened again in your tummy. The feeling had you reflecting on Dr. Rose’s words from your last visit. You’d been on your way out, with fresh knowledge of the fact that there was a baby girl bouncing around in your tummy. After hearing how (apparently) active she was, you’d asked about kicking. When would you finally be able to feel the baby kick?

Dr. Rose had answered wisely and unworried, knowing the answer without even having to think about it. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t start feelin’ your sweet girl’s purposeful movements within the next couple of weeks. The “Quickening,” as it’s most often called. When she starts movin’ to tell ya she’s there,” she’d winked, explaining as she clicked a few buttons to get your next appointment set up on the front desk’s computer. The office had been empty at that point, as you’d been the last patient that day. An early evening appointment, as you remembered. “The movements feel strange at first, just a warnin'. Like a little flutter in your tummy, but different. I’d say what most compare them to are tiny pulses. Each kick from the foot or elbow being flung – they feel like a single pulse of a heartbeat – that’s what I hear from first-time mothers more than anythin’ else.”

And that was exactly what it felt like to you. Right now. Honest to God. The feeling was so strange; odd enough that it’d literally awoken you. 

Lavender had woken you up. Your baby girl. 

And her little movements — so purposeful. They truly felt like teeny tiny heartbeats in your belly. You looked down, lifting your giant t-shirt to observe. Stevie had rustled for the briefest of moments at your feet, but had snuggled back down when she’d realized you weren’t in trouble. You watched your tight, round tummy to observe if you could see any of the movements. . . you knew it wasn’t unusual for babies to be visible from the outside. Little imprints from their feet or hands. . . . you’d watched enough TikToks to know that. 

It was a few minutes that you watched and waited, but the movements stayed internal. No external evidence. . . Too early for that, surely. But. . .you knew there was a way to feel them externally. If you just touched your tummy where you felt her on the inside, you’d be able to feel her right under the palm of your hand.

Yet, as badly as you wanted to touch where you felt it, you were also hyper aware of not doing so much that could inadvertently make the baby stop. Yes, it sounded unlikely, but you’d been dying to feel her and you wanted the feeling to last as long as it could. However it could. It was the craziest sensation and completely took your breath away. . . you could have felt it happen forever and it still wouldn’t have been long enough. 

But. . . you had to feel closer to her. She was right there. You couldn’t stop yourself if you tried. And, when you gently placed your hands on the taut skin of your tummy, your breath caught in your throat. Tears immediately sprung to your eyes.  It was unlike anything else ever. . . To feel your baby girl moving under your hand. Little, tiny kicks as if to say ‘hello, mommy!’. 

Very carefully, you went to raise onto your knees, the softness of your sheets pressing delicately into your soft skin. You kept your t-shirt raised, then put your palm on your belly once more. . . And it took almost no time to feel her. Still. She just kept on going. . . Dr. Rose had said she was active. . . And god, you loved it. You could tell now. She was old enough to show you herself – finally. 

God. Tonight had truly been a night to rival all others. First, the Nutcracker. Then, the wonderful bubble bath you’d treated yourself to, to combat the cold temperatures from the evening. And finally. . . the cherry on top – Lavender kicking. 

The only person missing from all of it. . . the one you wanted there most — for all of it. . . . . .Was the same one who��d left you on delivered for the past twenty four hours. An entire day of nothing.

The texts that had started after your earth-shattering, toe-fucking-curling phone call – the texts that he’d started. But, no response after your final text (which had not been the type of text to end a conversation on). Nothing in response to you when you’d responded to his Instagram message. You’d taken fucking courage and responded with a damn heart, too. It was terrifying using a heart in a text with someone you were secretly in love with. . . And it had been the second time you’d done it last night. But. . .he hadn’t even seen it. Hadn’t even cared to look. 

You were so damn confused. And hurt. 

But, the night before with Josh and Elsie, watching movies into the wee hours of Christmas Eve morning. And then, with your time with them and your grandparents at the ballet tonight. These events had been more than enough to raise your spirits. The ballet, gelato at Amorino, and having your people with you had done very well at distracting you. You’d taken time to tell your grandparents the gender and the name, but hadn’t divulged the full significance of the name. All they knew was that the plant was a favorite of yours that correlated with certain events that concerned your pregnancy with Lav. 

When you’d gotten home, you had felt a hint of sadness as the dark, empty apartment had surrounded you. The disheartening feeling that came with the lack of communication with Jake. The deafening static of crickets from your phone’s text and Instagram message thread with Jake. You’d kept your phone on Do Not Disturb, but the urge to check to see if he’d responded had been too strong on a few occasions that evening. 

So, in order to get your mind off of it, you’d focused on Stevie for a long while. You’d fed her, given her a couple of her favorite treats, snuggled and pet her as you’d scrolled TikTok. . .

And before long, you’d decided on self care; a bubble bath. And it had been very nice. So damn nice. You’d used the little bath tray Elsie had gotten for you the Christmas before last, filled your bath with a lavender-scented bubble bath soap, threw in a pink bath bomb, and lit many candles that smelled like your favorite plant. 

On a last minute thought, right before you’d settled in the tub, you decided on a movie. So, with your phone on a stand on the toilet seat, you’d watched through Barbie in The Nutcracker. It was a favorite of yours and Elsie’s that you’d watched the night previous with Josh when they’d stayed the night with you. But the temptation to watch it again had been too great and it always lifted your spirits to indulge in it. 

Once the bath had done its job at relaxing you, sleep had come easily. Though, it was as if Lavender had known that you’d needed a touch more of encouragement to see through Christmas Eve. To see through her father ignoring you. 

It’s fine, you’d told yourself all night. He’s not yours. You can only be so upset. Get. Over. It.

Yet, with Lavender giving the tiniest, feather-light kicks to your palm, Jake was, once again, on your mind. How badly you wanted him here for this. Home. With you. 

When you glanced at your phone screen, you noticed it was already past midnight. . . You had no clue what the flight schedules were and he hadn’t told you shit about when he’d be headed home. Considering he’d ignored you completely all day long. . . But, seriously. You couldn’t blame him. You weren’t together. He didn’t necessarily owe you that specific knowledge. 

So, all you could do in the waiting was sit there, on your knees and feel her. . . Let the warm sensation that was blooming in your chest take over. For the millionth time in the past two days, though, you really fucking hated this trip that Jake was on that had taken him away from you. . . Because he should’ve been here for this. 

Lavender’s very first kicks. 

Jake’s POV

Only ten minutes away from home. Only. Ten. Minutes.

I didn’t know where this had come from, but it hadn’t stopped for the past three and a half hours. On the way to the airport, waiting at the airport, on the way to the car at the airport, and now. . . On our way to y/n’s apartment. Home. 

All of this shit from Maya, directed at me, coincided with me doing shit I’d gone out of my way to do for her. I’d taken time away from my Christmas with Josh – with y/n – for this little trip to South Carolina to see her father. . . I’d absolutely gone out of my way to do that shit to make her happy. But apparently what I did wasn’t enough as she was pointing out ways she needed me to give her more. 

“I just feel like you’re not giving me all of you, Jake,” she’d said as we’d ventured through the airport in South Carolina. “For instance, your baby. . . I don’t even know half of anything about the baby.”

“You’re holding back. There’s so much more to you and what’s going on in your life all of the time. . . So much more that I’m not getting,” was what she’d continued on with as we’d boarded the plane to come home. “And as your girlfriend, I feel I deserve all of who you are. . . I love you, Jakey. . .So I want more of you.”

Then, waiting at baggage claim at LaGuardia, it had persisted. Holding onto my arm as I’d given her kiss after kiss to get her to stop talking. . . But, of course, that hadn’t worked. “I just can’t believe there is so much about all of the baby stuff that I still don’t know, Jakey. . . There’s all kinds of fun, exciting shit that I don’t know and I want to,” she’d explained, one hand going to slide into my back pocket as the other had only tightened on my bicep. 

I’d looked down at her, raising a brow at her antics. Yes, it was sweet of her to care. . . It was just a lot. I didn’t know why she was so adamant about all of it. If it had been because of insecurities due to seeing my response to y/n’s story, I had already said sorry for responding to it. 

And for not knowing how the fuck to explain it when she’d brought it up to me, I’d done a damn good job lying to her. Obviously, I’d had to lie. I’d talked her down from all of the story shit. I’d done all I could to lie my way out of that. I couldn’t honestly tell her it hadn’t meant anything, but I’d lied enough that I felt she’d fallen for it. I’d told her that I’d only been talking about my baby’s perfection. . . . I had just known, when it came up over breakfast (just the two of us, thank god), that I had to hide it – this thing between y/n and me that had come to be again. I couldn’t lose it just because I was foolish enough with my actions for Maya to see some words and shit.

Much to my relief, she’d bought it. She had been totally fine after I’d explained it, it’d seemed. . .Was it the fact that I now knew about her inability to have kids? Was she feeling better about having that all out in the open? More open to discussing things about the baby? Or was there something else that she was insecure or upset over? I didn’t know how to explain this sudden influx of demands and the nonstop talking. It was new. These tangents she just kept going and going. Even with just my eyebrow raises and half assed replies — she’d taken those as indicators to continue. 

“I’ll wait, though. . . For a bit. I love you enough to wait, but. . . Only for so long before I get really hurt. . . You know?” She’d rubbed my arm right before I’d had to leave her to grab her first (enormous) bag. And still, when I came back with it, she was wrapping around me the same as before and kept going. “I’m dying to be more involved. I want all of you. Wanna help you however I can. Really, baby. . .” And, she’d gone the extra mile on that one, rubbing her incredible tits against my arm as she’d grasped my ass through my jeans, left hand still in my back pocket. 

Once we’d gotten her second (equally huge) bag and my one duffel, we’d had to make a quick stop in a single stall bathroom. I’d already been on edge about getting home to y/n after last night. . .and after Maya’s little trick with her boobs? I was but a man who loved a good set of fuckin’ tits. And Maya knew that – pulled that shit on purpose, And while I was definitely not complaining, I was beyond ready to get home. Thankfully, there hadn’t been a whole lot of talking in the bathroom. It had just been a lot of skin slapping against skin. And her (slightly irritating) whines I’d covered with my hand. It hadn’t been too bad, as I’d finished pretty quickly after getting her there even quicker. Because, seriously. I was tired from the trip and ready to get home.

However, she had tried to make me pause to discuss why I had still put on a condom when I knew now that she couldn’t have kids. . . I didn’t explain to her that it was because I simply never had sex without condoms (unless it was y/n, of course). I’d just acted as though I hadn’t heard the question and said some shit about getting home. 

Getting home was the goal.

But even after that quickie and after me ignoring that one question about the condom, she was on the same shit from before. . . So. Fucking. Persistent. 

“I just don’t know how else to get you to understand I’m hurting for more, baby. . . I’m in the dark and it does not feel good. If you’ll just let me around more and if you just tell me more about your baby and all of the baby news. . . I’ll feel so much better. I want to stick around for the long haul, but I need to feel more connected to it all. . . It’s important to me.”

She wasn’t wrong at the fact that I hadn’t given her as much of me as I could, with all of this baby stuff.  But, I still felt like I was doing a pretty damn good job for my predicament. I had a child now. A child that deserved more of my time than Maya did. I also had a responsibility (and a burning fucking desire) to be there for y/n. I couldn’t just be everything, all of the time, for Maya. Not anymore. But she was suddenly acting as though that was what she needed to stick around. 

I especially didn’t want to lose her – break up with her – after finding out her news. Not like I had wanted to lose her or anything before. . . But now, I knew how much I really wanted her to stay around. I felt for her. Very deeply, I felt for her. I loved her and I wanted to do everything in my power to give her even half of the good she’d given me for the majority of our relationship. The entire time I’d known Maya, she had been a helper for me. A listening ear. A sweet and kind confidant, no matter the situation. Through my heartbreak and joy, she was there and she was good for me. To me. She showed her love for me and her heart on a daily basis. I knew that I had a prize in Maya. It was one of the biggest reasons I hadn’t broken things off with her to be with y/n. 

That brought me to the paramount reason I couldn’t end things with her. The painful realization that y/n could very well not ever want me. At least not in the way I wanted her. How I’d always wanted her. Y/n wanted things to stay the way they were. She had already said plenty to indicate that she didn’t want to change the arrangement we used to have (and were hopefully going to have again). I didn’t want to risk losing Maya, only to not have y/n. I’d stayed with Maya to fill that void. I couldn’t trust that y/n wouldn’t still hurt me if I gave her all of me. . . I knew y/n very well — and well enough that I knew she could still get scared enough to lead us back to the day in the kitchen. And we couldn’t do that yelling at each other shit anymore with a baby around. . . Y/n’s inability to commit and my longing for that with her. . . Not a good match. And that was all we’d come to, yet again, if I were to try to take us beyond the just-fucking. 

And, then, there were the two talks (yes, two – one at Carmella’s and one afterwards) her dad had given me. . . All of the talk of her not being able to have kids and the good she deserved. I couldn’t lose her. Her father’s words were the final reason for not ending things with Maya. The tense moment, at his home, on repeat in my head. Said he’d “wanted a moment to talk with me about everything” – only him and me. 

It had happened after we’d gotten back to his massive and expensive home, from that famous sweet treats place called Carmella’s. Fuckin’ Carmella’s. 

When we’d gotten to her dad’s house, it had been late enough that Maya had wanted to go to bed, lay in her (probably) 100 percent cotton Egyptian sheets. It was obvious that they had money – a lot of it. . . And it was obvious that her father loved to spoil her with it. To each their own. But, I hadn’t wanted to sleep yet.

No, after my day, I’d wanted to take a shower to relax my mind. . .to think about everything that I’d found out about from Maya’s father. Not Maya, but her father. That had stung like a massive bitch, but not nearly as badly as I’d expected. . . Though, in my head, I could only imagine having babies with y/n. I’d mentioned more babies to her before and I’d meant that shit. Had slipped up when saying it, but in my heart, I’d known. It was the truth. 

Considering this, I’d only really been sad for Maya, more than me. . . Not really sad for me at all. Just hurt that she’d kept that from me. I just couldn’t feel sadness for it on my future’s behalf because I didn’t want her to be the mother to my children. Didn’t trust her with that. Loved her, but not enough to be my future babies’ mom. . . . Only trusted y/n that much. 

It was odd, because even if I didn’t trust y/n with my heart, I explicitly trusted only her with my kids. I think it was because I knew she was only scared to care that deeply for me – it seemed wouldn’t ever let herself. But I knew, wholeheartedly, that she could care for our children like that. That she would. Already was. Lavender was a lucky baby girl to have a mommy like her. . . To have her as a mommy specifically. Because y/n’s heart was so incredibly huge. 

In the end, I was just pissed the fuck off that she’d let her dad tell me. She was a thirty year old woman who’d damn sure informed other people of it, so why not me? I was someone she’d told me she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. . . She felt comfortable enough telling me plenty of other things. Personal things. 

It’d been quite a lot to process with her giant father there, eyes stony as he’d stared me down. I hadn’t even wanted to worry about his opinion of me. . . I would’ve preferred to only discuss this type of thing with Maya. Even if I didn’t want it with her, her lack of care to inform me of it sooner had pissed me off beyond words. It was like she’d wanted me to be humiliated. But. . . I knew Maya better than that, right? She’d never been like that before. . . . Conniving or anything of the sort. Perhaps she truly had been worried to tell me because she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me.

When I’d finally somewhat calmed down from it after my long, hot shower, I’d only had y/n in mind. So, after I’d changed into my pajamas, I’d been on my way to call her from the front porch. Just wanted to hear her voice. To ease me. . . And, I’d be able to explain my sudden, unexpected absence. But, right before I could exit the hallway of Maya's old room, her father. Amir. Her father was humongous. Towered over me by a solid foot of height, and was easily 280 pounds of man. 

He’d approached me with purposeful steps and quiet footfalls. He didn’t want to disturb Maya’s sleep, but he’d wanted to make a point with me. That much had been obvious right off the bat. And, just as I’d gone to greet him, he’d held a large hand up, in front of my face.

“I’ll control this conversation, Mr. Kiszka,” he’d rumbled at me, my name having come from deep in his puffed chest. 

I’d been nervous as fuck. The man intimidated me in a way I fucking hated. And I was tired of news about Maya coming from him. I hadn’t known if I could handle anything more that he could’ve wanted to tell me. What was next?, I’d wondered. Was Maya going fucking blind, too? And couldn’t tell me that, herself, either? 

My mind had begun swirling with other things that she possibly just hadn’t told me yet. 

“Yes sir,” I’d offered on a shaky breath. (I wasn’t easily intimidated, so I hated how this man made me feel so fucking small – in stature and as a human being.) 

At my words, he’d held up his hand again. His features, curving down to say ‘don’t test me’. “I wanted to take a moment to talk – just you and me,” he’d all but growled, crossing his massive arms across his chest.

After being scolded for speaking twice already, I’d only nodded while (sadly) placing my phone in my pocket. I’d known, based on his tone and stance, that I wouldn’t be able to go outside anytime soon. “Maya has been perfect her entire life. She has always been a dream. And she does not deserve to be treated like she isn’t just because you got yourself into a sticky situation,” he’d told me, backing me up against the nearest wall of the hallway. This moment had been worlds different from the restaurant. With Maya there, he'd taken a calm and cool approach. 

Though, when it was just me, he’d been a lot more serious than before. Quiet, stern. Intent on intimidating the fuck out of me. 

“And, I’m inclined to believe, Mr. Kiszka, that if you haven’t ended things with my daughter by now,” he’d taken a deep breath in through his flared nostrils, gripping his arms to the point that his thick fingers, umber brown in color, had turned white. I’d swallowed – thickly. “Well, it seems to me you don’t intend to. You want my baby girl to stick around. You’ve kept her around and forced her to experience all of this, led her around by a string. . . . And all while she can’t have her own children.” 

He’d walked close enough to me that my back was up against the wall, arms limp and lifeless at my sides as I hadn’t dared to look away from his almost-entirely-black irises. His pupils, dilated in his apparent rage. With his next words, I’d felt tiny droplets of spit land on my forehead. I hadn’t been able to control my fury, being spoken to like he had spoken to me. My fists had tightened at my sides and my entire body had stiffened to the point of completely unmoving. “It would be a seriously dark and ugly mark on your character, Mr. Kiskza,” he’d spat my name at me, the words landed on my face in the form of his saliva. He’d been fucking snarling at me. No fucking joke. “To force my Maya through all of this and then get rid of her as though she doesn’t matter. . . My sweet angel of a daughter.” 

I had never one to let people get to me, intimidate me all for the purpose of knocking me down and making me feel small. And, angry as I was, this conversation with her dad had certainly succeeded in shrinking me, inch by inch. . . . In that moment, I’d like shit for ever thinking of anyone but Maya. Felt tiny as a fucking mouse. . . Like gutter trash. Which, I knew, was what he’d wanted. And, he’d fully succeeded in getting it from me. . . I had put up with that shit, and let myself feel small all for the sake of loving his daughter enough to feel guilty for putting her through the shit I had. He’d had just a bit more to say, but had waited. Tapping his foot in anticipation for my response. As if I were his child, getting disciplined for stealing fucking cookies from the cookie jar. 

After a nod of confirmation from me that I’d heard his words, he’d cleared his throat and continued.

“Our Maya deserves the world and if you don’t give it to her for the simple fact that you’re going to have a child, you’d be a damned fool. And you’d be cheapening my baby girl of the opportunity to be an incredible second mother to your child.”

I hadn’t even dared to argue with him over my child not needing a second mother. She’d have a solid one mother — already did, in fact. Y/n was the only mother I wanted for our baby girl.  Lavender didn’t need multiple mothers. Only one perfect mother. And she already had one. Maya could be someone in my daughter’s life, but not a mother. I didn’t want her doing that. I wouldn’t allow her to be a mother to my baby girl. Maya’s father had been wrong for insinuating anything different than that. 

But he wouldn’t have listened to me for a second. Not if it had anything to do with questioning his word. And everything else he’d said had struck me enough that I hadn’t wanted to correct him at that moment. Come to think of it, his little confrontation and how shitty it had made me feel was definitely part of the reason I’d been on edge for the past almost-twenty four hours. 

And, unfortunately now, we were trapped in her car for the time being – as we’d driven to the airport in her car. Thankfully, I was driving – so I got to control the speed at which we got back to my place. I’d also needed some sort of distraction from the way her voice was grating on my ever-loving nerves – this nonstop questioning. The mere sound of her voice felt like a nail being driven in my eardrum. Again, this was something new that had recently developed. . . Most of my irritation with Maya, though, I was attributing to an insane amount of tiredness. All of the traveling. All of the talks. All of the emotions surrounding the texts and the phone call. 

“Jake, I don’t understand why you’re keeping anything from me. None of it is that big of a deal, babe. . . . It’s just cutesy little baby stuff.” 

Where was this coming from? 

“What about the gender, babe? That’s a good one! Just the gender. . .  Everyone is going to know it soon anyway,” she tried to reason, as I mentally pled with the traffic light to just fucking change. “If I just knew what we were expecting. . .”

Goddammit. Not the gender. What the fuck? Seriously – Maya, confronting me about wanting to know the goddamned gender, had been the last thing I’d needed to deal with. I did not want to tell her. That was exclusively mine and y/n’s to share for now, along with my twin and her sister. There was no reason for Maya to know. 

But. . . . she was pushing me awfully close to a breaking point of some capacity. And I’d never felt that way with Maya. This way. This longing to just get her to shut up, somehow, some way. This ongoing frustration with her was something new. Something I felt starting last night at Carmella’s . . . . Hanging on to me – clinging to me when that had been the last thing I wanted at that moment. 

I didn’t want to be annoyed with someone who I wanted so badly to love unconditionally. She’d done so much for me; the least I could do for her was try to get past wherever this vexation had come from. But god – I could hardly take anymore. I was just tired, surely. . . I was ready to get home and lay in my own bed. Speaking of which. . . I had no idea if Maya was planning on staying the night, but I really, really hoped she was planning on going to her own home, too. 

Didn’t want her to stay with me. For multiple reasons, but mostly one. One very beautiful reason, hopefully still waiting for me. . .

“Jakey, please, babe. I just want to know as much as I can so I can start buying baby clothes for–.”

“No, Maya. Fuck!” I finally snapped, voice raising a decibel higher than it should have in the small space of the car. I’d been giving half assed responses for the past few hours – spent a lot of time giving her a variety of ways to say ‘I’ll try my best’ or 'let me think about it’. But I couldn’t take it anymore. Thankfully, the traffic light switched within seconds of my heated way of reply. I felt really fucking bad – didn’t want to snap at her. But it had been threatening to leave my lips for the past several hours and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The last few words that somewhat sputtered from my mouth were from utter irritation and they couldn’t be contained, even if they were unintelligible. “I’m not–I can’t– The fucking–? God! No. Please fucking stop. Just for a minute.”

My words hung there, uncomfortably, for a few seconds before I heard her sigh. She was not happy about my response, but I’d had enough.

“Well,” she replied, her voice more of a huff than anything. She was noticeably upset. And I wanted to roll my eyes at her sudden theatrics. She’d never been like this. I couldn’t handle this shit right now.

But. . . when I heard a subtle sniff, I looked over at her with regret painted on my features. And, just like the sniff implied, there were legitimate tears accumulating in her pretty eyes. I hadn’t ever seen her cry for the entirety of our relationship. Even when we’d just been fucking at the beginning of summer. . . And for the past few months of dating her, never a single tear. . . Maya had never cried. Last night at Carmella’s was the first time I had ever seen that from her. Those tears after her dad told me the news. . .  It had been hard to see from her. 

Maya was a dream, usually. So sweet, yet extremely even tempered – not one to frequently break her calm resolve. It was something I loved about her. She was predictable. But I couldn’t have predicted anything at Carmella’s, just like I couldn’t have predicted this. Had I not tried well enough to know her? Fuck. That made me feel really shitty. Seriously, was it a bad thing that I’d never seen Maya cry until last night? And the idea that I’d made her cry. . . the idea that I could make any woman cry. . . I couldn’t help but think of y/n’s tears. . . when she'd been forced to tell me about being pregnant with Lavender. How easily she’d broken down. And I’d hated it. . . didn’t want to see her cry. God. 

And while seeing Maya cry wasn’t nearly as bad as seeing y/n cry, it was still tugging at me – eating at me. There was another traffic light. The last one. Right before we got to the apartment. I could see the complex. And while I really didn’t want to tell her the gender, I couldn’t stand the sniffling anymore. . . When I glanced over and saw a few tears spill from her eyes to her beautiful caramel-toned cheeks. . . Fuck. She was so pretty. And I loved her so much. . . it wasn’t that I didn’t love her. 

I just. . . fuck. I knew what the fuck it was. It was the other reason – the main reason I was so urgent to get back home. The person I was so fucking anxious to simply be around again. The person I’d been missing since the damned moment I had to leave her — unexpectedly. 

The woman that, no matter what, was popping into my mind. At every turn, I was relating things to her. For a reason. And I knew why. I fucking knew. . . . Ever since moving to New York, I had spent a lot of time thinking. And in this thinking, I’d come up with a theory. A theory that life was a song. And, no not like a song. Life was a song. Every person had their own enigmatic masterpiece, unfolding to reveal more of the melody everyday. And by the time a person died, the melody would be chaotic and beautiful – all at once. The life song, all tied up with instruments unique to every person. Every incident in life, a different lyric that described a person. 

Then, of course, in every song, there was a chorus and a bridge. The chorus in life was what a person came back to – at every turn, there was the same chorus to tie you back to the true meaning behind the song. The chorus was the reminder that, no matter what, it existed. And, without it, the song would be empty – meaningless. Every song had a chorus and it was undoubtedly, the predominant and most essential part of the song. 

And then, there was a bridge. The bridge was the triumphant part of the song that made the entire song make sense. . . The Sui Generis, as I’d call it. This idiosyncratic, rare, special section of the song – so unlike the rest of the melody. . . The bridge made goosebumps build because it made one wonder – where had it been for the entire song? It was so magnificent and beauteous that it made the song have purpose, standing out from everything around it.  

And, while I didn’t want to admit this, I had to. It was undeniable. Y/n was my chorus. Lavender was my bridge. . . And if y/n was my chorus, it only meant one thing. . .

I loved y/n. And I loved her more than Maya. So much more. An infinite amount. Wrong as it was, it was true. But, to be ‘fair’, I loved her more than I’d ever loved anyone. Anyone. I loved y/n past the point of life being a song. . . Past death, I would always love y/n – I’d always love her – and so fucking much. I hadn’t seen her coming, but the love had been unstoppable – unavoidable. . . . She was destined to come along and be my chorus.

And with that, I would forever feel this need to protect her and what she wanted held sacred. . . . and in this instance, I also wanted it kept sacred. I watched my fingers flex against the steering wheel, my emotions piling so high. . . I let out several breaths to calm myself. Thought of y/n. What would she want me to say? Honestly, as the light changed, I really thought about it.

In all of what y/n would always be to me. . . the gender of our baby was only a small piece in the grand scheme of things. . . There were so many other things that were more important. Like the baby alone. Lavender, on her own, was only mine and y/n’s. She was who was important. Nothing could change that. The same, unchanging fact I’d been sticking to, mentally, since Maya’s dad had confronted me. . . 

Goddammit. Everything he’d told me. . . . What Maya had finally admitted to me. . . . How she couldn’t have kids. Fuck. She just wanted to experience it. Just this once. She wanted to feel the excitement of the preparation for a baby. And, the gender of a baby was a huge part of that thrill. . . the fun. 

Surely y/n would understand all of this, right? If I were to let Maya in to this little part. . . She had been intent on me prioritizing Maya anyway. . . She wouldn’t want Maya to be sad over something that I could just tell her? Right?

As I was finally turning into the complex parking lot, she spoke up again. Her tear-filled voice chipped, once more, at my heart. “L-look. . . I’m sorry, Jake,” she started, at the same moment that I turned into a visitor parking space. I let out a deep breath through my nose, coming to my decision before I even let myself look into the wet pools of her dark chocolate eyes again. But when I did, my heart broke further. Her full lips, trembling. “I’m just excited and I’m ready to start planning for it–the baby. And I–.”

“She’s a girl,” I hastily cut in, averting my eyes towards the windshield, closing them as I spit it out. Just had to say it. Before I could beat myself up for telling her. Didn’t want to regret that I’d said it. “The baby–she’s a– she’s a girl.”

a/n: for one, i apologize for maya's pov. she is, in fact, a hateful ****, as elsie would say. buuut it was necessary. and - ohhhhh, jake...... like, shit, guys.... what's gonna happen next? i mean for the love of all things holy, y/n is upstairs feeling kicks while maya is KEEPING JAKE IN THE PARKING LOT UGH !!!! guys. what. w d y m ???

i love you all !!! ....+ you can ask @joshym + @builtbybrokenbells if you don't believe me....... but, PLEASE BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY -- chapter 13 is, in fact, JUST AROUND THE CORNER !!!! SEE U SOON <3

AS ALWAYS -- please send in asks, respond to chapters, etc. I PROMISE I SEE THEM AND IT IS THE BEST REWARD FOR THE DAYS, WEEKS, AND MONTHS SPENT WRITING THIS STORY! <333 this story takes up SO MUCH time in my already busy family-filled, work-filled, etc. life, but YOU all make it WORTH IT. So I LOVE to hear from you!!!!! <3 xoxoxo

trying my best to keep up w the Covet Visualizer... you may view it if you'd like. however, you don't NEED TO. i simply am a very visual person, sooo i made it for my fellow visual learners/lovers. the photos i pulled inspo from for y/n's photos in this chapter will be in the visualizer :D !!! (IF YOU DO CHOOSE TO USE IT, PLEASE VIEW IT IN PRINT LAYOUT!! — esp if you’re using the docs app/are on your phone!!)

Taglist (continued in reblog):

@joshym, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlover, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule, @texas-bbq-pringles, @jennyraye20

I always try to tag everyone, but you all know how it goes! ughhh (taglist will be cont. in reblog !!) Please make sure you’re filling out my Google Form if you would like to be tagged and aren’t already on the taglist! <3

[stansthemans]

Stan sex work ptsd with Ford finding out during their first time goes brrrrrr in my brain

Sliding into the tight heat of Stan’s body should be amazing, transcendental, the most glorious physical experience of Ford’s life. For a moment, it is. For a moment, everything is perfection. His brother loves him, loves him in all the ways that Ford loves him in return. They have exchanged words of love and gentle kisses. Kisses that grow more and more heated as hands become more and more desperate. Desperate to touch, to feel every inch of each other, to memorize smooth planes and raised scars, both old and new.

Stan’s moans as Ford rolls his hips are so beautiful, music to his ears. The way he clenches around Ford’s cock, providing him with the most perfect pressure, it should only be obscene, but it too is beautiful. Feather light, Ford kisses his brother’s back, over the burn scar from so many years ago, and Stanley shudders.

“Getting—fuck—getting sentimental on me, Sixer,” Stanley says, rocking back to meet him.

Another kiss, an apology he has already spoken so many times, and will continue to speak. “Yes,” Ford says. “For you, absolutely.”

“Sap,” Stan says, and Ford hears the truth in that statement, that Stan adores him too, that this is good, it’s perfect. “You can do more. I ain’t gonna break.” He pushes his hips back hard to meet Ford’s next thrust, proving his point in the most delicious way.

Ford groans, his fingers digging deeper into the soft skin at Stan’s hips, deep enough to bruise. Yes, he wants that. He wants to mark Stan as his, lay complete claim to him. If anyone were ever in an opportunity to see these bruises, Ford is sure he would lose the entirety of his mind, but he wants those marks dark and deep—replenished each time they begin to fade—on Stan’s skin so that there can be no doubt that Stan belongs to him.

And if Stan is his, then it is Ford’s responsibility to give him what he wants. Ford picks up his pace, his thrusts harder and deeper. “Oh fuck,” Stan shouts. His arms, thick with corded muscle, tremble with the effort of supporting himself, and soon enough, he drops down to his forearms, back curved in a gorgeous arch. And Ford doesn’t have to wonder for even a second if the change of position is good, if it will lead to a truly glorious prize, because on the next thrust in, Stan is screaming into the pillow.

Ford pounds into him harder, desperate to hear more of those beautiful moans, desperate to make Stan feel better than he ever has in his life. But that pillow, that detestable pillow, is muffling those perfect moans, the transcendent sound of Ford’s name spilling from his brother’s lips. “No, Stanley,” Ford moans. “Let me hear you.” And he curls his fingers into Stan’s sweat damp hair and sharply tugs him back up.

It is in that instant that everything changes.

Stan goes rigid, and the whimper that escapes his lips is not one of pleasure. Ford freezes, his own blood like ice in his veins. “Stanley,” he asks, low and careful. “Stanley, are you—“

“Fine,” Stan chokes out, and the one word alone is broken glass.

Ford eases his grip, both on Stan’s hair and hip, and pulls out slowly. “N-no,” Stan stammers. “No, it’s—Ford, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s nothing.”

Ford helps Stan to sit back, helps him fold his legs in a manner that won’t strain his knees or hips. “It is clearly not fine,” Ford says, cupping Stan’s face. Not only is Stan very noticeably no longer hard, but he’s begun to tremble like a leaf. It’s not the good sort of trembling it was earlier, when they had first pressed their bodies together, when they had said with plain and uncompromising words how they love each other.

“It is,” Stan says through his teeth, but the sweat on his forehead is cold, and his face is ashen, and his eyes are quickly growing distant. “It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s—“

Ford folds Stan into his arms, holds him tight against his chest. Stan clings back, blunt nails digging into Ford’s skin. “I’ve got you,” Ford says firmly. “I’m right here, Stanley. I’ve got you.”

He does not say that it’s fine, because it isn’t right now. He doesn’t say that it will be ok, because he doesn’t know what is going on in Stan’s mind. He does, however, recognize a panic attack when he sees one. He does recognize that far off look of someone slipping into the past. It’s agony to know that he can’t stop it, can’t protect his brother from his own memories. All Ford can do is sit there, hold him, promise him that he’s there, he isn’t leaving, he’ll always be right here, he loves him.

Ford doesn’t know how long it takes before Stan’s breathing begins to steady, before the desperate way he clings to Ford eases just the slightest bit. Ford pets at his brother’s hair, squeezes gently on the back of his neck. “Are you here,” he asks, voice a low whisper. “Are you back with me?”

“I—I’m sorry,” Stan gasps, and Ford’s heart breaks.

“No,” he says, pulling back just enough to cup Stan’s face, to look into his wet, red-rimmed eyes. “No, Stanley. No, you don’t—can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Stan begs, the tears falling from his eyes. Ford pulls him forward, lips slotting against Stan’s, desperate to tell him in this way too that he’s here and he loves him.

“What happened,” Ford asks, thumbs wiping the tears away. “What did I do?”

“Naw,” Stan says, kissing him again all too sweetly. “Wasn’t you.”

“It clearly was,” Ford says, distressed but trying very hard to not lose control himself because he hurt his brother. His teeth are on edge, but he knows if he loses control, it will only be worse for Stan, and he will not make it worse. “Everything was—it was so perfect but then I pulled your hair and—“ Ford stops short. “I pulled your hair.”

“I—uh—I guess I don’t like that,” Stan grumbles, and he won’t meet Ford’s eyes. There are certainly plenty of indicators to choose from that this situation is serious, but that’s the biggest one. Stan is more than capable of lying while looking someone directly in the eyes, but not Ford. Ford has always been able to see everything there, no matter how much Stan wants to hide it.

Ford folds his hands over Stan’s, intertwining their fingers. “It’s more than that,” Ford says. Stan still doesn’t look at him. “Please, love,” Ford says. “We—we have to talk about things. I know we’re bad at that, but there are so many bad things that wouldn’t have happened if we’d just bothered to talk to each other. I don’t—I can’t hurt you like this. Please, Stanley.”

For a long moment, they simply sit there, holding tight to each other’s hands. Stan still isn’t looking at him, but Ford cannot tear his eyes away. He watches everything, every slight twitch of Stan’s frowning lips, the clenching of his jaw, his throat working around a lump. A desperate part of Ford wants to demand that Stan speak, grab hold of him tight and shake until he spills. But that would only make things worse. He has to wait, even if the wait is agony.

Finally, Stan huffs a defeated sort of sigh, and he mutters, “Just reminded me of some bad times.”

They have spoken about their time apart, both before and after the initial portal incident. Ford knows that neither of them has gone into much detail, but they have told each other enough for them to know that neither of them was having a good time without his twin. Both dealt with homelessness, resorting to criminal activity to make ends meet, and crippling loneliness.

But what Stan says next, Ford is in no way expecting. “Some of Rico’s guys, you know, and just, shitty Johns in general.”

“Johns,” Ford echoes, trying to make that word make sense in connection to his brother, but there’s a mental block roughly the size of the Berlin Wall getting in the way.

“Yeah, Sixer,” Stan says slowly. “Johns are—“

“I know what Johns are,” Ford snaps. “Why would you—“

And Stan still isn’t looking at him, but everything about him radiates shame. Shame. That’s not—Stan does not do shame, not like this. When Stan decides to do something, he stands by it firmly and stubbornly, even when he is so clearly in the wrong. He had risked the entire world, this entire dimension including the kids that he loves so dearly, by turning on the portal to bring Ford back, Ford who might have been dead for all Stan knew. He had known all the risks and dangers, and he just hadn’t cared. In his mind, Ford was more important than it all, even if the odds were horribly stacked against him coming back.

Events big and small, Stan is never ashamed of himself. So why is that the emotion so clearly radiating from him in waves?

“Stanley, why would you be involved with Johns?” Ford still cannot make himself understand this.

“Come on, Sixer,” Stan says miserably. “You really gonna make me spell this out?”

“Apparently I must,” Ford says, his stomach twisting, because no. No, it can’t be.

“Pa kicked me out of the house at barely seventeen years old,” Stan says. “Fifty bucks and a half packed duffle. Shit went bad real fast, and everything I tried to make ends meet just was worse and worse. I—I had to do something, and apparently I was good at it. Or at least good enough to get paid.”

There is some odd noise ringing in Ford’s ears that makes each new word Stan speaks harder and harder to hear while at the same time comprehension slams into him like a tidal wave.

His brother spent some amount of time—possibly years, possibly when not even a legal adult yet—so desperate to survive that he was forced into selling his body for men to do with it as they pleased. His brother had looked at his life and seen only one option to get the money needed to put food into his belly and that was to allow strange and cruel men to fuck him and throw whatever amount of coin his way after. His brother had to allow himself to be treated like an object, something to be used and then discarded, little better than trash.

The blood in Ford’s veins is somehow both ice and molten lava at the same time. He’s shaking and sweating, numb and burning.

“I know it’s—I didn’t want to tell you. I should have,” Stan is saying. “That way you’d know that I’m—I’m not—“

Ford feels the same way he did when Stan told him the truth of the differences in how their father treated them as children. The hurricane of rage clouds everything but the desire to know names. He wants to find these men. He wants to erase their existence immediately with his quantum destabilizer, but he also wants to prolong it, to make them truly understand how badly they fucked up, how unforgivable their actions were, how they could have destroyed and shattered the most precious thing Ford has ever known, which is something that Ford cannot abide.

“You deserve better than me.”

“What?” Stan’s defeated, broken statement slams Ford back into his body. Did he just—? “How dare you,” Ford hisses.

Stan flinches and starts to move away. “I’m sorry, I’ll—“

No. Absolutely not. Stan is not allowed to move even a centimeter away from him. In fact, he needs to be closer. Ford darts forward and grabs Stan in a tight hold, pulling him fully into his lap, clinging to him with a renewed desperation. Away from him is where Stan gets hurt. Ford has hurt him too in the past, but never again. He’ll die first. “Shut up, Stanley,” Ford says, and he buries his face into Stan’s neck and locks his hands around his back in a tight hold that Stan will not be able to break.

“Not gonna lie, I’m kind of confused,” Stan says after a moment.

The rage is not quelled, but Ford does recognize that he has not been clear. Time to rectify that mistake. He will not allow Stan to labor under any delusions as to his feelings. “Do not ever talk about yourself like that again,” Ford says through his teeth. “There is no one better than you. You are perfect. I am extremely angry right now, but not at you. I wish very much that I could find every person who treated you so terribly and disintegrate their atoms.”

The tension in Stan’s body starts to ease, just slightly. “Not to out myself as kind of a nerd—but only by necessity—you can’t disintegrate non-radioactive atoms,” he says.


“I will find a way,” Ford promises in a dark, vengeful hiss. He is being fully serious, but his declaration makes Stan laugh. Ford is still angry. He will be angry about this for his entire life, but that beautiful sound of his brother laughing, a chuckle that builds up into a loud guffaw, lets Ford release at least some of the pressure threatening to make him snap.

“Sure you would, Poindexter,” Stan says. “But—um—this is ok?”

“That you were hurt like that will never be ok to me,” Ford says.

“No, I mean—“ Ford’s face is still pressed into his brother’s neck, but he can practically hear him chewing on his bottom lip. “You’re not—you know—“

“I don’t know,” Ford says.

“Fuck,” Stan grumbles. “You don’t think I’m disgusting? Like you don’t want to call all this off?”

Ford lifts his head and stares at Stan bewildered. “What are you talking about?” Stan isn’t exactly blushing, but his face is a bit red, and some of that impossible shame seems to be settling back into place. It’s a dilemma, but Ford makes the choice to release his hold around his brother but only so that his hands are free to cup Stan’s face. “I love you,” Ford says, slowly and firmly. “I have loved you and wanted this since long before I understood what I wanted. What do you mean, call it off?”

A dread begins to seep into his bones. Does Stan not want this anymore, now that Ford knows? Does he not want him, now that Ford has proven capable of so easily bringing up these old hurts?

“Hey, hey, stop it,” Stan says, all too gently, his own hands finding Ford’s face. “I can see that giant brain of yours going into overdrive. I love you too. I want you too. I just—“

“Explain,” Ford demands, his heart beating too fast, although Stan’s hands on his face are grounding and soothing.

“I don’t exactly feel good about that shit,” Stan says, his eyes lowering. Ford rubs his thumbs over Stan’s stubble rough cheeks. “It was fucked enough on its own, but I always used to—I thought if you knew, you’d hate me even more.”

“I have never hated you, Stanley,” Ford says. It’s true. No matter how angry, how bitter, how desperately sad Ford was ever feeling in the forty years they were separated, hatred was never something he could muster up. Those negative emotions were real, and they did taint much of how he thought of his brother, but always still, in and around it all, Ford loved him. There is nothing that either of them could ever do that would take that away. They are too ingrained into each other’s souls.

Stan shrugs a bit. “Or be disappointed in me,” he says in a manner that suggests it would be an inevitable and obvious way that Ford ought to feel, and that cuts Ford deeply. “Hey, what’re you—“ And then Stan’s thumbs are moving over Ford’s cheeks, and that’s when Ford realizes that he’s crying. And now that Ford realizes he’s crying, the tears come harder. “Oh shit, Sixer, no,” Stan says, so soft, so gentle, and now he’s the one holding Ford close, his hands moving in slow, steady, soothing trails over Ford’s neck and shoulders, his voice uttering a gentle mantra that he’s there, it’s ok.

It feels like it takes forever for Ford to calm down enough to force out the words, “I’m sorry.”

“Sixer, no,” Stan starts, but Ford shakes his head.

“No, I am,” Ford sobs. “You—I made you feel like I would have—“

“Hey, no.” Stan squeezes the back of his neck, and it helps Ford feel like he can breathe again. “I—fuck—I don’t know, Sixer. Maybe you did. Maybe I was just fucked up about it all on my own.”

Ford sniffles, and it’s a disgusting sound. He’s always been a disgusting crier. Despite that they have the exact same face, he always thought Stan did it better. If someone can cry better than others. Certainly Stan never produced as much snot or got quite so blotchy and puffy. “Still, I never meant,” Ford starts, and Stan shushes him.

“I know, Stanford, I know,” Stan says. He pauses for a moment, and then he leans forward and kisses the tears from Ford’s cheeks. “Hey, so we kind really beefed this thing up, huh?”

Ford huffs a wet chuckle. “Understatement.” He frowns. “I’m sorry.” Stan opens his mouth, but Ford plows on. “No, I am. I wanted—it was so perfect, Stanley. You were so perfect. I wanted to make you feel so good but—“

“You did,” he says. “If that’s how prostate exams went, I’d go more often.”

Ford snorts. “As if you’ve ever gone in for a proper prostate exam even once.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “Like I’m paying some quack doctor to stick a finger up my ass and not even get off for my troubles. But we can try again. I mean, not tonight. Mood’s definitely killed, but maybe in the morning?”

“I would like that very much,” Ford says. He leans forward just a bit, not quite closing the distance, until he sees the little uptick of Stan’s lips. Then Ford kisses his small smile. “Are you as tired as I am?”

“I think a marathon run of fucking worthy of teenagers would have been less exhausting than this talking about our feelings shit,” Stan says.

They settle back together in bed, this time under the covers. Ford wraps Stan up in his arms, the press of skin to skin soothing. Even more so is the warmth of Stan’s breath across his chest. Ford trails his hands along Stan’s arm slung across his stomach, up and down his back. Stan’s skin erupts in pleased goosebumps. Ford continues over his neck and then stops short.

Stan lets out a displeased grumble. “Why’d you stop?”

Ford has to swallow past a lump in his throat. “I—I almost touched your hair again. And I did it when you were—when you were upset—before you told me.”

“Hey, Sixer,” Stan starts.

“I’m sorry,” Ford says.

“Honestly, getting really sick of that phrase tonight.”

“Stanley,” Ford starts.

“No, I am,” Stan says. For a moment, they lie there, the calm broken again. Then, Stan sighs and asks lowly. “Remember what I told you about Pa?”

Immediately, Ford’s blood heats again, the anger starting to bubble towards a boil. Stan’s fingers dig into his side, both a warning and grounding. “He grabbed my hair a lot too,” Stan says. “To throw me around. ‘Cause that didn’t leave bruises like it did when he’d grab my arm or something.” Stan’s thumb starts to move in slow, steady trails over Ford’s ribs. Ford matches his breaths in time to it. “I hated people touching my hair. I hated when it was aunts at family functions. I hated when it was the couple of girls I went out with in high school. I hated guys at the gym or coaches ruffling it up. I hated the goddamned barber. I still do. But know what I never hated?”

Another lump forms up in Ford’s throat. Because he does know.

“I never hated this,” Stan says. “When it was just you and me. Maybe after I had a bad dream. Or you were reading some adventure book out loud. When it was just you and me, laying around like this, and yeah, we had on more clothes then.” Ford laughs wetly, and Stan snickers at his own joke. “But it was just like this, and you’d pet my hair or kind of drag your knuckles on my scalp, and I never hated that. I loved that.”

“Sap,” Ford accuses before Stan can. His voice only warbles slightly with the emotion as he buries his fingers into Stan’s hair, nails light on his scalp.

Stan melts. He melts just like he did when they were kids, when they curled up just like this—yes, with at least shorts on—as if they were the only two people in the world, locked into a perfect bubble of warmth and comfort and each other.

“Love you too,” Stan mumbles, starting to succumb to the exhaustion of the incredibly emotional evening.

“So much, Stanley,” Ford says, struggling also, but he manages to keep himself awake, keep his fingers moving in steady trails until Stan falls asleep. Then, Ford is seconds behind him.

[niki-phoria]

i've never known someone like you / tangled in love, stuck by you

pairing: arisu ryohei x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 439

notes: this is 100% self indulgent bc i love kento yamazaki so much, begging and pleading on my knees for more arisu fics pretty please, not my best work honestly, apologies about my inconsistent posting lol uni is hard ://, not proofread !! pls forgive any mistakes, title from beabadoobee - glue song

ARISU RYOHEI looks like little more than a heap of messy, black hair laying beside you. his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. soft breaths occasionally escape his parted lips. his arm stretches across the expanse of your mattress; his fingertips are just barely able to reach the curve of your waist. 

his body seems to glow beneath the golden glow of the morning sunlight. summer had returned, bringing arisu’s tan skin back with it. in the silence, the rest of the world fades into the background. reaching up, you brush the hair away from arisu’s face. you tuck the longest strands behind his ear, leaving the rest to settle against his nose bridge. gingerly, you begin to trace your hand against arisu’s face. your thumb brushes against small patches of acne scars littering his cheeks. 

your hand falls lower, now running down his neck and tracing against the edge of his shoulder. your fingertips trace against the curve of his collarbones and dance along the skin of his bare chest. arisu flinches slightly and then stirs at the feeling. though he doesn’t open his eyes, you don’t miss the way a deep flush spreads across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

goosebumps rise along arisu’s skin as your hand trails even lower before finally settling against his waist. you trace miscellaneous shapes against his skin, taking the time to admire the man before you. arisu’s lips have curved upwards slightly into the faintest smile. 

you shuffle across the sheets, closing the gap between your bodies. leaning in, you press a chaste kiss against the corner of his lips. “good morning,” you whisper.

arisu squeezes his eyes shut. he groans quietly as he wraps his arms around your waist, finally opening his eyes. he squints, doing his best to make out your figure before him despite his tiredness. “can i have a real kiss?” 

you hum, pulling away slightly. arisu reacts almost immediately, tightening his grip around your waist ever so slightly. “i don’t know, ryohei,” you say teasingly. you cup his face between your hands, holding his jaw between your fingertips. arisu’s gaze flickers down to your lips momentarily before returning to your eyes. “you haven’t even said good morning yet.” 

arisu pauses, then smiles. he chuckles softly as he wraps his arms around you, tugging you into a tight hug. this time it’s him who reaches up to cup your cheek as he leans in to rest his forehead against your own. “good morning,” he murmurs. he barely waiting a second before he’s pulling you close, finally pressing his lips against your own. 

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my aib masterlist <33

[hellfire--cult]

Edit of Eddie: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Masterlist (Go here to see list of chapters, plotline and general warnings.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU, Mechanic!Eddie

⚠️18+: angst, jealousy, possessiveness, eddie being a jerk, smut

wc: 10.6k

A/N: Sorry for the lack of update, i am not proud of this chapter BUT its the beginning of the angst loves. not proud of how i portrayed words here but its okay its fine, thank u @andvys for proofreading it ❤️

Anyways, Enjoy! ❤️ And don't forget to always support me by hitting the reblog button or leave a comment!

Taglist is closed

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CHAPTER 20

He wiped his forehead for the seventh time in the past five minutes. 

The heat inside his shop was being a little suffocating now that the spring completely rolled over. It was humid and everything just felt too sticky. Every tool he grabbed almost slipped out of his hands thanks to the grease and sweat. He looked around to see Jeff in the same situation, working shirtless over a mustang’s open hood. 

“I am going to get the AC fixed, I didn’t think the heat would come so quickly Jeff.” Eddie sighed, feeling a bit horrible with himself for making his friend work with these conditions. Jeff only chuckled, shaking his head, grabbing the rag from the back pocket of his jeans and wiping his hands with it.

“Not your fault, Eds. You can’t control the weather… but yes, please, fix this.” He pointed at the high ceiling where the ventilation system was located. Eddie groaned and nodded, getting up from the stool he was sitting on, flexing his body and deciding to discard his shirt that was drenched in sweat from working hunched over for over an hour. 

He stretched his neck all around as he tightened the bun in his head. He sometimes wanted to chop all of his hair off when it was work and heat coming together. The hair stuck to his face and it felt so wrong, and the amount of times he has to wash it in the spring and summer is insane… but no. He would never chop his beautiful mane, as he calls it, away just because of some temporary distress. 

He heard Jeff start coughing loudly, and Eddie turned around to see his friend looking wide eyed at him, his own fist punching his sternum while Eddie stood completely baffled, not knowing what happened to his friend.

“The fuck happened–”

“Holy fucking shit, your back! Were you attacked by a fucking animal or something man!?” And Eddie was confused for just one more second until– Oh.

He felt a twitch in his pants as he realized what marks he was talking about. The nail scratches all over his back, on his biceps, on his chest… The bite marks and hickeys that lingered on his collarbone and some on his thighs that he couldn’t see thanks to his jeans. They were so intense that they popped out just like his tattoos. Eddie cleared his throat as he grabbed the rag behind his back pocket, a smirk displaying on his features as he started to clean the sweat off his chest a bit with it.

“Uh, sure, you can call it that.” Jeff whistled as his eyes stared wide eyed at his friend. 

“Well fuck… I’ve never seen you marked up like this. She’s good GOOD, isn’t she?” And Eddie’s mind wandered back to two days ago, how the two of you were driving back from Jonathan’s bar and you had a few more drinks than he had, making you bold and confident. You had rubbed your hand all over him through the whole ride to your house, making him lose his self control minute by minute. 

You had leaned over at red lights, kissed his neck, bit his shoulder that made him hiss, and when you two finally arrived at your home, the moment you closed the door, you slammed him against it and dropped to your knees. You controlled the night. He was stunned and just purely amazed by you. Every encounter was something new and– you two couldn’t keep your hands off eachother. 

Out of the seven days of the week, you two fucked four or even five. A month passed since you two started this new agreement, and he never in his life felt this much desire towards someone. He assumes it’s because of your capability to do things his other hookups had yet to match. It must be it.

“She is… excellent. The best I’ve ever fucking had, Jeff.” His friend whistles again at that, pointing at Eddie’s back with a proud chuckle.

“I can see that. I’ve never in my life seen those marks on you.”

“I’m not one to let himself be marked easily.” And it was the truth, and Jeff tilted his head, squinting his eyes, a playful smile appearing on his lips as Eddie frowned. “What?”

“I think someone is falling a little deeper than he should~” He groaned loudly at Jeff’s words, rolling his eyes, pushing away the fact his stomach did some turn at them.

“No, I am not. I just get too lost in it and forget to tell her not to.” Eddie retorts, crossing his arms over his chest as Jeff raises an accusatory eyebrow at him.

“Right. So this is just fucking then? Just a little hook-up every now and then?” He asks with a cheeky tone behind his voice, making Eddie squint and push his friend on the arm, making Jeff laugh. 

“What else?” 

“She the only one?” At that Eddie stopped in his tracks, his eyes getting a bit lost at the question because– you were. For some reason, he couldn’t be with anyone else, and he had hovered over the messaging button on past girls' Instagrams… But he always went back to your chat.

He never did exclusivity. It was too intimate, too private, and the last thing he wanted was to make things complicated. He didn’t want them to be complicated with you, and if they did become that way, things might end, and he doesn’t want them to end, not this soon. But you two are just having sex, yet the idea of someone else touching you was making him clench his fists tightly every now and then. 

He wondered if you felt that same kind of worry or passing thought with him. Wondered if he was sleeping with other girls, if he talked to others. This is just because of who he is, no more than that. He ignores the fact this hasn’t happened with any of his past hook-ups, better to be oblivious than think too much over it.

“Um–” As he opened his mouth to talk, not really knowing if he was going to tell the truth or deny it, the small garage door opened, the one made for employees, and Steve walked in with three bags of food in his hand. Eddie sighed with relief, feeling saved by a god or something and Jeff rolled his eyes, but immediately put the rag away as his mouth salivated when he saw Steve walking towards them with food.

“Hello there ladies– HOLY SHIT!” Steve jumped a bit as he saw Eddie’s body and– fuck.

“I had the same fucking reaction Steve.” Jeff commented, chuckling as he saw Eddie’s glare towards him before turning back to talk to Steve who was checking him out with his jaw dropped and a frown in his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I’m having sex, where’s the shock in that?” But Steve’s eyes were still roaming him from head to toe, never having seen Eddie in this state. 

“Oh nothing, is your partner a fucking bear?” Jeff snorted, making Eddie glare at him with everything in him.

“I asked the same shit man… But no, it is in fact a woman.” With that, Jeff grabs one of the food bags from Steve’s hands as Eddie rips one in anger, making Steve whistle just like Jeff had done minutes before. 

“Does the woman identify as wolverine or some shit?” Steve finally laughed, but Eddie could sense the curiosity in his friend as a frown was still etched in his eyebrows. He was a bit nervous at the prospect of Steve interrogating him, but he could play it off as one of the many hookups he had. But– The problem was, Steve knows all about them. This is the first time he saw Eddie this way, all marked, bitten, completely ravished.

“I am just that good Steve. Want to try?” He jokingly asked and Steve scoffed, shaking his head as Jeff chuckled, closing the hood of the car and sitting on it, opening the bag on his lap. Eddie’s nose scrunched up, snapping his fingers at his friend. “Not in the client’s car.” “It’s going to get washed and polished either way.” Jeff retorted and Eddie rolled his eyes, not wanting to acknowledge that Steve’s eyes were still on him. He turned to his brown-haired friend, trying to gulp down the nerves.

“Thanks for bringing the food man.” He peeked inside the bag, mouth salivating as he saw the pastrami sandwich Jonathan makes at his bar. It’s delicious, one of Eddie’s favorites. 

“Don’t mention it… Eddie–” Suddenly, the door opened once again and his eyes widened, heart stopping for a second. Soft heel sounds were heard and echoed through the whole shop, rustles of bags and– oh, fuck.

The moment the three men came into view, you stopped in your tracks.

Eddie could see the emotions running all over your body, your face frozen as you saw Steve staring at you, confused by your sudden presence, but Jeff wasn’t. He was used to you being here, not knowing what had been happening between you and Eddie. Eddie disguised it as you coming in to ask about your car, not to arrange when and where the two of you would fuck after work. Not at all.

“I– Hi.” Your voice was small and Eddie almost winced at it. His eyes roamed your body as you got closer, and it felt like his body turned a switch and something ignited inside of him. It was automatic. Every time he saw you, it was as if there was this predatory trait in him, something in you making him go feral, primal.

You were wearing that stupid ass office attire he dreamed of staining with his fluids mixed with yours, of maybe ripping a button or two. That grey skirt, grey blazer with that turquoise blouse peeking from inside, and those low heels that for some reason make him go insane. His eyes then fell to the three bags in your hand, his face trying to conceal a wince as he realized you had the same idea Steve had.

Your eyes were fixated on him, slowly roamed over his exposed body and arms, and he saw how your breathing hitched, how it lost its pace for a second, how your eyes darkened and your lips trembled slightly. He wanted to smile victoriously, but he would give himself away if he did… but as soon as that lustful look on your eyes appeared, he sensed the panic. Steve saw your marks. Jeff saw your marks. 

“More food, fuck yeah.” Jeff interrupted and your eyes went towards him and then glanced at Eddie once, and– a sinking feeling came to his stomach. He didn’t like that look in your eyes. He saw how you turned to face Jeff once again, and you fucking smiled sweetly at him. 

Oh, fuck no.

“Y-Yeah! I just… thought you guys might be hungry and I know all the work you guys have lately so–” And Eddie felt his jaw tense up. Steve though… his eyes were going between you and Jeff, and he was trying to conceal a smile. 

“Well, Stevie here had the same idea.” Eddie’s voice was low, rough, and he had to force his mouth open to talk because if he hadn’t he would have spoken through his teeth. Your eyes went towards him and then all over his body. You had the nerve to scrunch your face in disgust, an eyebrow going up in question.

“Did you fall into a lion enclosure at the local zoo or what?” At that, Jeff and Steve snorted, looking away momentarily from the two of you. Eddie’s eyes were now on you, and he felt like he wanted to bend you over and show these two what he could do to you. Your mouth is being really brave right now when he can turn you into a stupid mess in the matter of seconds.

But he also understood how you two had to act. He understood what your idea was and you were being smart… Still, he glared at you, and he saw how you shivered underneath his gaze. His jaw clenched once before he gave a forced smile, a warning towards you.

“These just means I do a good job.” His eyes turn to Jeff. “You can’t say the same, huh?” 

Your eyes widened as well as Steve’s. Jeff turned to look at Eddie, a frown appearing on his eyebrows in confusion at his friend’s anger towards him. He was about to open his mouth but Steve suddenly stepped in between, a fake smile on his lips as he looked at Eddie.

“Eds, let’s go to the office, I wanna talk to you about something.” Eddie saw how Steve gave a quick pointed look towards Jeff and yourself and– He wanted to punch someone. Why did you have to go and tell people you were fucking Jeff? Why not a random guy? Even if you were right, and they have bought into the idea that Eddie was yours and Jeff’s wingman, he did not see this confrontation coming.

“Y-Yeah! You two go talk, I’ll keep Jeff company!” Your voice was high-pitched and sweet, and with the act of being excited and Eddie wanted to choke you. Steve was buying your whole show and Jeff was plainly confused. Your eyes were on his brown ones and you gave a raise of eyebrows as if telling him to go with Steve, to follow your lead.

He sighed and nodded, but his blood temperature elevated when he saw Steve turn around and wink at you and Jeff before turning with Eddie and heading up to his office. It’s just an act. It’s something that was going to happen sooner or later. But now, Jeff will have to know, won’t he? There’s no way of covering that one up. His heart was hammering in his chest and it’s just this stupid sense of possession he has over you and–

He opened his office door, and walked inside to drop the bag on his desk, sitting on his chair with a huff, rubbing his hand over his face as Steve closed the door behind him, a smile still on his stupid face. 

“Well, I think that our little lady is smitten.” He felt annoyed at those words as he walked over to his mini fridge, opening it to take two bottles of coke out, while Steve put the food bags on his table, already opening them to reveal the pastrami sandwiches he had gotten with fries. He let out the breath he was holding in his stomach, feeling it growl in hunger and the scent of food filled his nostrils, making him sit down immediately.

“What makes you say that?” He asked, intrigued even if irritated because… if he thought that of Jeff, then it meant that you would appear like that with him. You didn’t bring food or visit Jeff in particular. You came to do those things with him. Steve shrugged, sitting down on the seat in front of his desk, across from Eddie, as he started opening his sandwich.

“Coming to the shop just because?” That wasn’t a good enough reason for you to be smitten, wasn't it?

“It really doesn’t mean anything. She came to the shop before, many times.” Steve frowned at Eddie’s words, taking a fry into his mouth.

“Just to bring in food?” Fuck.

“Uh, yeah. We became good friends.” He hoped his voice didn’t give him away, though, it wasn’t entirely a lie. You didn’t show up just because, but this wasn’t the first time you brought food with you. Even if you came to the shop because of your car before, the having lunch together part is not entirely new.

“And it still baffles me.”

“Aw, you afraid she will take your place?” Eddie snickered and his best friend rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his sandwich as Eddie opened his own, licking his lips in anticipation as his stomach growled.

“As if. Does she know what I know?” Steve asked and Eddie stopped midway on taking his first bite. He closed his mouth and cleared his throat, a small shake of his head.

“No.” And just like that, Steve scoffed in victory and Eddie took his first big bite, moaning as he closed his eyes in delight. They kept eating for a minute in pure silence, and Eddie was grateful for that until Steve decided to be a fucking menace.

“So… Who is she?” “Huh?” Steve pointed to his shoulder blades with a fry pinched in between his fingers.

“Leopard girl. Wolverine. I don’t know, whoever the fuck it is.” Steve ate the fry and Eddie thought he wasn’t going to question it at all but he knew he was wrong in that. Eddie took another bite of his sandwich, taking his time to chew so he could think of something, making Steve roll his eyes at the theatrics. 

“Um– Just… A friend of a client of mine.” He lied, trying to make this person as unknown as possible to make it seem like the actual woman he was fucking was not a few steps away from them. 

“Explain?” “She came to fix her car after her friend recommended us to her.” Eddie took another bite of his sandwich as he felt the nerves making his heart beat into his chest, and he could hear the pumping of his own blood rushing in his ears as he saw how Steve was looking at him.

“And is she like… a recurrent hookup?” And Eddie pondered that question because… he just had to lie about who he was fucking, didn’t he? “Oh yeah. Not letting her go any time soon Steve.” And it felt good to tell someone about it. To tell someone about you without really saying it was you. Steve smiled as he leaned forward, putting his crossed arms on the desk as he gave Eddie his full attention.

“Well, I never thought I’d hear that from you.” Steve’s face was one of shock and amusement as he looked at his best friend. Eddie noticed, yet, nodded slowly as he took the last bite of his sandwich. His mind suddenly filled with your encounters, never more than a fuck, never less than just that. 

“She… I– I enjoy sex with her. I enjoy it very much, Steve. For the first time ever I feel entirely satisfied with someone.” Eddie wasn’t looking into his friend’s eyes, just picking into his fries as his mind was elsewhere. Steve’s eyes were wide, staring at Eddie in shock, amusement, and some worry etched within.

“That’s certainly something I never heard from you, Eds… What makes her different from the rest?” Eddie took a fry into his mouth as he thought, a wave of something he doesn’t know how to identify rushing over him as your face popped up in his head.

“I mean, we started as friends, you know… Just messaging eachother, and then one day it just happened… She–” He felt his cheeks flush completely and Steve’s face was one of understanding, looking down at Eddie’s fidgeting fingers.

“Not the usual… size troubles, I assume?” And Eddie slowly shook his head, making Steve even more intrigued. He got nervous for his best friend, his thumb going to his mouth to bite onto the edge of it as he thought. Eddie’s eyes found Steve’s gaze moved somewhere else, making him frown.

“What is it?” “I mean, Eds… You sound kind of serious with this girl.” 

What? “Huh? No. I assure you, it’s nothing serious, Steve. We–” Did he? Did he sound serious about you? No, absolutely no. He has never sounded serious about anyone before. It just sounds like it because it is the first time he has been with the same hook up for so long.

“You never talk to me about your affairs. I mean, sure you told me about some chicks you slept with, but they were always complaints… This one is–” 

And Eddie realized he had never talked about a single good moment he had with a woman before with Steve. He had them, he sure has, but never in the extent he had them with you. You felt like nothing ever before, and that didn’t make you serious, it just made you– special. Just that. 

“I know, but I promise you, it’s nothing like that. It’s just sex.” He felt his words choking him up slightly, but he cleared his throat, trying to take the lump he got away. Steve’s eyes found his and then went down towards Eddie’s body.

“It’s just… you letting her do that means you aren’t sleeping with anyone else but her, isn’t it?” Oh he got busted. Eddie bit his bottom lip as he felt his stomach closing in on him, not knowing why Steve was making a big deal out of him sleeping with just one person.

“Am I that promiscuous?” He tried to play it off as a joke, but his best friend sighed, shaking his head.

“Eddie, I never heard you talk about a woman before, much less see you only sleeping with one and just one. Are you two exclusive?” 

“What?” “Are you exclusive to eachother?” And that conversation was something that never happened between the two of you again. He hadn’t slept with anyone but you, he never told you it, and probably never will, but it was because he was satisfied with you. You met his needs and that was the deal of it… but he wondered if it was the same for you. He wondered if you slept with others but him. He wondered if he was the only one. 

But no. Exclusivity means that the relationship is heading to a more serious tone and Eddie does not want that. You surely don’t want that. He won’t talk about this to you anytime soon, yet, answering the question to Steve felt like he was being punctured by needles in the tip of his tongue.

“No. We are not.” That tasted like piss in his fucking mouth. Why? You two are not exclusive, and probably never will be. That tasted even worse in his mind.

“It’s just– You gotta tell her if–”

“We are not exclusive and we will never be a couple. Drop it, Steve.” At his sharp words, Steve’s eyebrows met in the middle in a frown.

“That’s because you avoid it! Eddie, I’m sure someone out there doesn’t care about your condition! This is the first time I hear you talk about a girl this way and you are letting her go–”

“I am not letting her go! I have no one to let go of because we are just fucking, Harrington! Fucking! I’m so sorry I don’t have the perfect love story you and Johnny had, or Nance and Robin. Hell, even Argyle and Eden!” He was angry now, he didn’t want to be but talking about this matter just made him become infuriated at his friend. Why did he make such a big deal out of this? Why question him about his decisions? 

“Perfect!? I had to endure watching Johnny flirt for about a year until he decided we were more than friends with benefits.” And Eddie remembered that distinctively. Steve crying on his shoulder after he saw Jonathan flirt with someone… even with you. After the night they met you, and Jonathan asked you out, he went to his home with Robin, consoling him. Another reason for his stupid hatred towards you when you didn’t know Steve at the time. You didn’t know Steve was in love with Jonathan, much less they were sleeping together.

Eddie’s jaw clenched as he looked away, trying to avoid his best friend’s gaze. He knew all of his friends had their hardships with their relationships, but it didn’t mean his would be more than just a fuck buddy system thing. It doesn't mean that you two will become a couple. He can’t do that. He knows a relationship with him means that it will meet an impending doom at one point or the other. He was meant to fail.

“It’s not going to turn serious. It can’t.” Eddie’s voice was small, and Steve’s demeanor softened, a low sigh escaping him as he looked at his best friend with a pitiful look in his eyes.

“You are insufferable. You know that?” Eddie chuckled and looked up to see Steve smiling at him.

“You told me once or twice.” Steve nodded once as he started throwing all the wrappings into one of the food bags he brought.

“You think they’re fucking? Should I stay a bit longer up here?” “Huh?” Eddie was confused until Steve smirked and nodded towards the door. The long-haired man wanted to crack his neck from the sudden annoyance that washed over him. 

“No, Jeff knows that he should not do that at work. I’d have to fire him.” Eddie said as he got up from his chair, his heart beating in his chest with something he couldn’t pinpoint what. It was a feeling of nervousness, or of anticipation, or worry as he got closer to the door. He heard Steve getting up to follow him as he opened the door and–

He stopped.

You giggled as your hand rubbed Jeff’s cheek while he sat on the hood of the car he fixed. You were in between his legs, his hands were on your waist and to your hips as you two giggled with eachother, intimately. Steve stood next to Eddie, smirking, looking down at how you looked radiant once again after a few months of not doing so after your break up. As if remembering what Eddie had told him, he cleared his throat loudly.

Jeff’s eyes looked up the stairs, wincing as he ripped his hands away from you, making you gasp as you pulled away, acting ashamed as you looked down at the floor and fixed your blazer. Steve elbowed Eddie a few times before starting to head down, not noticing the state his best friend was in.

Eddie’s chest was rumbling. 

He was seeing red. He wanted to rip Jeff’s head off and then claim you in front of him, even in front of Steve. He wanted nothing more than to show off how dumb he could get you. How sweaty and how desperate you looked when you were underneath him. It was something he hadn’t anticipated and the fact was, he didn’t know if it’s a plan or not from you and Jeff. He knows it is, but his brain, his very own self is making him think Jeff is taking you from him. 

But this was the reality he was in. He couldn’t do what he wanted to do with you, not in front of them. They didn’t know you two were an item. He has to remind himself of that part, of that little detail in order not to lose you. If he fucks up, and you decide to cut everything off, he doesn’t know how he could cope with the need you fill. The need you satisfy, and for now, it is you only.

He slowly walked down the stairs while Jeff smirked your way and then looked around as if shy, only making him get angrier, but he has to fucking calm down. He started feeling how his palms started sweating the more you did googly eyes at his friend, and Steve was eating that shit up. He heard Steve clear his throat as Eddie stood next to him, his eyes never leaving your face.

“I think I’m leaving now. I’m supposing you’re… staying a bit longer?” His question was directed your way, which you fidgeted in your place, looking at Eddie for one second, and he knew you felt his anger, or his displeasure. He knew you felt it because he saw how you straightened up for a second, to then realize you were looking his way too much, and then you turned towards Jeff.

“Um… If the boss lets me.” You said innocently, this time, your eyes still glued to Jeff, who then looked at Eddie. The metalhead’s hands clenched as his glare was directed to his friend now.

“I was about to have lunch anyways… right?” Jeff asked and Eddie wanted to rip his head off. But you weren’t leaving. No. He had to talk with you privately about this stupid show you just did. So, Eddie faked a grin, nodding at his friend and then turned to you. Your eyes were worried as you looked at him.

“Of course, Peach can stay.” He felt a pat on his shoulder as if saying ‘Good job’. He didn’t turn to face Steve, his eyes still glued on yours, the fake grin still plastered on his lips.

“Well, I gotta go help Jon so… I’ll talk to you guys later, okay?” His best friend bid his goodbye and he knew he winked at you because your eyes followed Steve, and you rolled your eyes at him as he left. The moment the door closed, Eddie’s grin fell, his jaw clenching tightly as your eyes found his, filled with nerves and uncertainty.

“I um…–”

“I knew you two were fucking, jesus fucking christ.” Your eyes widened, and you turned your head to look at Jeff but Eddie’s anger elevated yet it also calmed down slightly, knowing that Jeff knew about you two made you now untouchable, at least to his friend.

“You told him?” Eddie asked and your eyes found him again and now they were angry as your jaw clenched. He tilted his head in question only to then hear laughter from his friend. Eddie sighed as he ran a hand over his face, knowing he was the one who fucked up. 

“I didn’t. You just fucking did.” Your voice was coming through gritted teeth and Eddie glared down at you, and he felt a hand on his right shoulder. He turned to look at it, and seeing Jeff’s hand made him remember how it was on your waist minutes before. He licked into his bottom lip, turning to look at his friend.

“She didn’t, but I had my suspicions when she told me to act as if we were hooking up just now.” Jeff talked, sitting back on the hood of the car as he opened his bag of food. Eddie’s nostrils flared as he heard you sigh, making him look back at you.

“We had to do this sooner or later… or at least I had to. It was going to happen at one point that everyone would be in the same room–”

“So this means, that if we are in the same room with everyone else, you two will act all lovey-dovey like just now?” His words seemed to take you aback because your eyebrows met in the middle as you looked at him as if he had gone insane.

“Well, not lovey-dovey, but we gotta pretend Eddie.” Your words were sharp, while you crossed your arms over your damned chest, making his eyes gaze at it then back at your eyes, and then at his friend who sighed as he unwrapped his sandwich.

“Look, I can help, but– I have a relationship too, and it’s becoming serious and I don’t want it fucked over because of this.” Jeff clarified and that made you sigh, making Eddie look back at you as he felt his belly burn in the pits of hell for some reason.

“I promise it– I don’t know for how long but… it’s just so no one gets suspicious if we are at the same place and they don’t see us interacting at all…” Eddie rolled his eyes as he held back a displeased groan. He did not like those words coming out of your mouth. It sounded as if you were already putting an end to you both, and while his head started reeling, he failed to notice how his friend was looking at him.

“Well… Why not let them know? It’s… just fucking right?” Jeff’s words made Eddie’s head snap towards him, and their eyes locked for a second before you interrupted.

“Yeah but… it might cause issues in the group, just– It’s better this way.” You replied and Eddie’s jaw clenched tightly as he looked at the floor. Jeff shifted in the hood of the car, a smirk appearing on his face as he turned towards you.

“Then, it will be a pleasure to be your fake fuck buddy for as long as you need, sweet thing.” 

“Can you go have lunch somewhere else, Jeff?”

Eddie’s voice was sharp, rough, and filled with something that sent the other two people in the room shivers down their whole bodies, goosebumps pricking on their skin. Your eyes were locked on Eddie, and he knew you sensed something was going on. His fists were clenched as he kept his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes still directed towards the floor.

“I still have work–”

“I will finish it, take the rest of the day off.” 

“But–”

“I’m your boss, do as I fucking say.” 

Silence.

Jeff slowly got off the hood of the car, and Eddie saw how he gave you one last look. Your eyes followed Jeff’s figure as he grabbed his things that were on the desk near the front door. Eddie cracked his neck as he heard the door finally shut, leaving the two of you alone in the shop. Your neck turned quickly, eyes filled with fire as you frowned in complete confusion and worry.

“Why did you treat him like that? He–” He didn’t even let you finish. He turned around and walked towards the stairs, going up towards his office and he knew you were going to follow. He would have smirked when he heard your soft heels against the stairs if it weren’t for the fact he felt himself as if he wanted to rip a wall open with his own fists. He walked towards his mini fridge, taking two beers out as he heard the door of his office close.

“Here.” He put a beer on the desk as he popped the other one open with his bare teeth, taking a gulp out of it. The coldness of it not helping at all with the burning in his stomach, the heat all over his body. 

“I have to head back to work, I can’t fucking drink– What the hell was that down there!?” Your voice was loud, now knowing the two of you were alone. His gaze fell on you, eyes scanning you from head to toe. That fucking office outfit–

“Don’t do that shit in my shop.” Your mouth fell in a big O, in complete disbelief and he knows he sounds crazy. He knows he sounds… weird, but he can’t help it. He really can’t help himself.

“I had to think fast! If I didn’t appear close to Jeff then Steve would grow suspicious! In his head, and Robin’s, and in everyone else’s, Jeff and I have been fucking for the past month and YOU were our wingman.” Oh, he took a long sip of his beer at that, because rationally, it made sense. Rationally, it was a good plan because Steve left content and, probably, with the intention of telling Robin about it, who will tell Nancy, and so on. It was a good plan.

But it doesn’t mean he liked it just because it's good.

“Did you think of Jeff’s relationship at all?” He was using something else to disguise his anger, and it was pitiful, it was pathetic, but what is he supposed to tell you? That he wants to scrub away Jeff’s hand prints off your waist? For what reason? With what motive other than his possessiveness?

“He said it was okay! His girlfriend is not part of your job group or ours, so we are fine!”

“And what about a club, huh? What if Steve decided to start inviting Jeff over for our outings? He thinks you are smitten, like romantically involved with Jeff.” You fell silent at that. He felt his heart beating in his chest, his ears ringing with something he could not fully describe. There was this feeling of hope, or need inside of him that he could not figure out what it was.

“Smitten? I– Why would I appear smitten?” It seemed his words got to you, because you walked towards the desk to grab the beer he left there, and you popped it open by smashing it against the edge of his desk, followed by a big gulp. The room grew tense, he felt it. He saw your body language, the nerves that suddenly invaded you, and he wondered if it was because of the situation, or rather something else.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because instead of doing some flirty googly eyes, you were smiling at him, caressing his cheek like a lovesick idiot, while he held your waist?” His voice was sharp, the edge of it as sharp as an ancient katana. He saw how thrown aback you looked, how confused that made you and he wanted to just erase that frown, wanting to replace it with your mouth in the shape of an ‘o’ as your eyes teared up thanks to him.

“It– It wasn’t that big of a deal! I thought it was a convincing action and the hand on my waist was not premeditated.” At your words, Eddie’s eyes widened a bit, his jaw clenching tightly as he realized it was Jeff’s fucking improvisation. He touched you, and not because you told him to. 

And how many were there like that? How many were like Jeff when he didn’t see you? When he didn’t meet you? How many were touching your waist, your thighs, your arms, your face, when he told you he was too busy? Or when you two simply didn’t contact eachother for that sole reason? Does he have a right to ask? 

But why the fuck does he care?

He has all the right to do the same. He shouldn’t be bothered by this but– He blames who he is. He blames this stupid thing he has to live with because if not, he cannot explain what is happening or why he feels this way. So possessive of you, so protective and like he wants to eat you whole the entire time you two are together, even if it’s just minutes. 

Yet the present was something he was focusing on, and that was, his friend is taking all the merit for what Eddie does to you. He didn’t like that. Not one bit. He knows you told Robin because the girl always joked about inviting Jeff to the get togethers, making you and him have a panicked exchange of looks, only for Robin to always laugh it off, that she would never overstep over your boundaries like that. Not when you weren’t ready.

But ready for what? He never got an answer.

“Yeah, good job tho! Your little act worked.” His voice was dripping with disgust, no sarcasm because it was the truth. Steve had bought into your show, and Eddie should be happy, glad and relieved it did… yet he started thinking that maybe it would not be so bad to tell the group about the two of you. You two are adults. They also fucked with eachother before becoming romantically involved–

Ah, he sees why he cannot tell the group. He sees why the two of you are hidden. The others didn’t hide it because they liked one another, romantically, and the sole purpose was to, in the end, get together. That was not the end with you. That would never be the end with you. 

“And who did you tell Steve you’re fucking, huh?” You asked with a roll of your eyes, taking a sip of your bottle, to then wave it towards his naked torso. He almost forgot he was not wearing a shirt still, looking down at his chest, the marks of your nails still there as well as on his stomach. 

“A friend of a client. A random non-existent person.” He replied with a flare of his nostrils and his eye clashed with yours, a scoff leaving your lips, shaking your head at him.

“Don’t start this shit again. It wasn’t the smartest decision when it came out of my mouth, but it was for this whole month our ticket to leave with one another without raising any suspicions! If it were a random person, why the fuck would you take me to their house all the time?” You took a long sip of your beer and Eddie’s fists clenched as his chest started burning, rumbling, like a fucking earthquake.

“Another client of mine.” He suggested, his eyes moving from your neck to the first buttons of your blouse. You didn’t notice him, still drinking your beer as you chuckled with almost no humor in your voice.

“Right, as if that weren’t suspicious at fucking all. What’s your problem, Munson?” You asked him, and he wondered if telling you would be wise, but tell you what exactly? He took a few steps towards you, seeing how your body stiffened as you stared at him, waiting for a response.

“I don’t have a problem. It’s just… Jeff being the one to take the credit for how fucking dumb you get when I fuck into you it’s almost funny.” Your mouth fell open at his words, huffing at him as you put the beer on top of the mini fridge, crossing your arms over your chest as you faced him.

“Me? Dumb? Should I remind you Munson who whimpered stupidly just because he got his balls sucked on?” You were playing a very dangerous game with him right now. This was not going to end in civil terms. Your perfume was invading him, your smell, just you. You were contaminating his entire space and he was growing a little dizzy thanks to it. His jaw clenched as he took another step your way, his gaze hard as you stood your ground.

“Baby, someone who gets drool and tears running down their face as she gets fucked into a mattress, should not play this game.” He could fucking feel you. He knew how much you wanted him right now, how aroused you were. He saw you shift in your place as you scanned his body, a cocky grin appearing in your face as you looked up at him.

“No one knows that… But you, everyone, will now know what I do to you, without them knowing it was me.” His jaw clenched as he felt the tip of your fingers running over your nail scratches, your bites on his shoulders, your hickies on his collarbone. Steve saw it all, and Eddie confessed to feeling incredible with you. Steve will tell Robin and Jonathan. 

“Yes. They will think that a random chick did this. Not you.” Your smile fell at his words, and he knew he hit your ego, but he was not ready for your response. He was not ready for the turn of events against him.

“And whatever you do to me, they will think Jeff did it. Not you.” 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

He felt his arms shaking. He felt fire just running through his entire system and he didn’t know how to take it, how to tame it, or what it meant. This is not normal, yet he knows it isn’t new. His teeth clenched against eachother, and all he wanted now… all he needed… is to fucking show you that no matter what you say, it was still him. Everything was done by him. Every single thing you felt was thanks to him.

“You know Peach… I always liked this attire of yours.” He mentioned, putting the beer on top of the mini-fridge as he walked towards you, your head tilting to the side as if you were stupid when he knew you weren’t. 

“What does that mean?” And he walked behind you, his left hand grazing your shoulder to then slowly wrap it around your neck, not even pressing into it, and he dipped his head low to whisper in your right ear.

“That I’ve always wanted to lift that skirt up and fuck into you until you forgot about work altogether.” He heard your breath stuttering, a small gasp leaving your lips as you felt him press his body against your back, his voice hoarse into your eardrum. “Think about it, a quick fuck before you leave…”

“Y-You’re crazy if you think I will let you ruin my suit.” You turned your head to look at him as he held you close, his head over your shoulder to look down at you. Your pupils were dilated, probably as much as his were. Your words died in your tongue completely as he saw you made no move to get away from his grasp.

And a smirk was displayed on his lips.

Not even ten minutes later, you two were in the same position, standing next to his desk, but your legs were spread, your panties down to your mid-thighs as your tube skirt was unzipped and pulled up, bunching up over your hips. His hands were grabbing onto your bent elbows for leverage as his knees were slightly bent in order to reach you. In order to be able to rail into you the way he was doing.

His pants and boxers bunched up on his feet, the open foil of a condom right next to them on the floor. Your head was thrown backwards as the sound of skin slapping over and over filled his entire office. He looked down to see his cock going in and out of your wet cunt, all the way, and almost all the way out. Repeating that motion in quick movements, deliberated. 

You were on your tippy toes, with your heels still on, in order to lift your ass to him as much as you could, arching your back so he had more access. He looked at how you jiggled against his movements, your moans coming out of your mouth with no restraint, knowing the two of you were completely alone now… or at least he hoped Steve didn’t decide to come back for something.

But for some reason, he would love that. He would love it for Steve to know it was never Jeff. For Steve to know just how good you two make eachother feel. For Steve to know that it’s you the one who marked him up. For Steve to know, and to tell everyone, that your disheveled hair, and the marks on your body, the ones he will surely leave now, were made by him.

He kept pounding into you, his grip on your arms tightening, his knuckles turning white as he groaned when he felt you fluttering all around him, just like you always did. Everytime he hit your g-spot, you fluttered. That’s how he knew he found it. And well, there’s also your moans–

“Eddie– Eddie– fuck!” He smirked in victory as he angled himself and pulled you into him, keeping himself seated against you after each hard thrust. Deep and brutal, knocking the breath out of your lungs, choking on your voice. He growled each time he felt his tip just hitting you in your deepest parts. The warmth all around him. The sound of your whimpers and cries in his ears. 

“Yeah, keep screaming my name, Peach.” He began to roughly fuck into you again, using you like a fucktoy, but that’s just because– His eyes diverted towards your waist, the image of Jeff’s hands on there, making him groan in anger, not wanting to think about that now. He is fucking into you, not touching you lightly just like Jeff did. He wins in this equation, doesn’t he?

He could hear the squelching of your juices with his thrusts, and he could feel the wetness all over his pelvis, his pubic hair, proof of how you were feeling with him, how you always felt with him and him only. 

But his eyes fucking went to your waist again.

He growled as he pulled out of you, making your knees tremble, your feet hitting the ground again and he noticed how weak your legs were. You whined in question, wondering why he stopped filling you the way he was. He made you turn around and take two steps back, slowly moving his feet with his pants and boxers still tangled around his ankles, trying not to trip on these two steps in order to follow you. 

He gripped your waist, his fingers burning, hoping that they somehow would brand their digits there and create a barrier so that no one– Fuck, no. No. He lifted you up on the desk, taking your panties off completely, and he threw them over his shoulder as he spread your legs so he could nestle between them.

You were breathing heavily, your blouse open, chest out with your bralette showing. Your blazer was still on, still buttoned, and it was just fucking delectable. You were holding yourself up with your hands behind you and on the desk. His face immediately leaned forward, capturing your lips in a strong kiss. He hadn’t kissed you since you entered his shop.

It was something he couldn’t really go without in the night or in every encounter you two had. He had stolen kisses from you in Steve and Robin’s kitchen. You had trapped him in Nancy’s apartment and kissed him senselessly. He had pulled you out of view in the club and under some stairs in order to rub himself against you, kiss you stupid, before letting you return to everyone and keep dancing.

You couldn’t not kiss eachother every time you saw one another. 

You moaned into the kiss, his hands going to hold your neck, both of them wrapping around it, his fingers overlapping onto one another in the back of your head, his thumbs hooked underneath your jaw. His tongue instantly invaded your mouth, a place that was its second home by now. If not in his mouth, it was in yours, dancing with your tongue, making a mess out of eachother. 

He went blind with it, thrusting his hips forward and luck was on his side when in two movements where the tip of his cock kissed your clit twice, the third time it caught on your slicked entrance. He huffed a laugh into the kiss with satisfaction as his hips pressed on, his dick disappearing once more inside of you. You stopped kissing him, yet you didn’t separate from him as you moaned into the kiss. 

He moaned your name into your mouth followed by a curse as he felt you engulf him once more. It will always be a new sensation, never fully sitting with him how he is going to go on without it once you decide to put an end to it, or in the crazy event, for him to be the one to do it. 

He pulled away from the kiss, his hand moving to press onto your chest, pushing you just slightly for you to get the hint. You let yourself fall backwards, glad that there was nothing on the desk that could be in the way, and if there were a few papers of clients underneath you, so what? He has the copies in a computer.

He grabbed the back of your right knee, giving a kiss on your calf as he pulled your leg on his shoulder. He repeated the process with your other leg and his hands grabbed onto your waist, his fingertips digging into your skin as if he were holding onto you afraid you would slip away from him. But it was because he wanted to mark you there. Particularly there.

He immediately started railing into you once again, the coil in his belly turning as he saw your mouth falling open, those eyes filling with tears of pleasure as his name tumbles out of your lips like a prayer. You bounced against his thrusts, the sight of your disheveled office attire making his mind short circuit as he felt himself burn. The outfit he wanted to ruin from the very first moment he realized he wanted to rip it off from you. He hoped you couldn’t put it back as perfect as it was before. He wished for people in your office to notice you were just fucked by someone. He wished people knew you were fucked stupid by him, only him.

“Look at you… yeah, I’m the only one that can make you feel like this Peach.” He said it with confidence because he knew he was. He has to be. If he weren’t you would have gotten tired of him by now, right? But he wanted you to say it, no, he needed you to say it. He needed you to admit he is the only one.  “Say it.” 

“Mhmm–” You couldn’t even pronounce a word from what he could see, but he was going to make you talk. He growled as he started to pull you to him each time he thrusted back into you, making his movements go deeper, and making them punch the air and soul out of you. His cock twitched inside of you at each tiny gasp you let out thanks to what he was doing to you.

“Come on, use words. I know you are a little cock drunk right now, but I’m sure you can manage this– Fuck–” He cursed when he felt your pussy fluttering and clenching around him, and that never gets old for him. All tight around the base, making him see stars. You were close, he was close, but he needed this. “Peach, I’m not letting you cum until–”

“You! Just you Eds– Fuck, just you–” You were breathing heavy, moans escaping you in between, and he groaned in pleasure at your words, relief washing over him and he didn’t know why. He just felt a little lighter than before. He decided to believe your words because who knows if you’re lying or not, but for some reason he knows you aren’t. He knows you are telling the truth. He is the only one who can make you feel like this, and hopefully, that makes him the only one you’re fucking for now.

“You make me feel good too Peach, perfect every time.” You moaned loudly at that, and he assumed it was because you liked what he said, he could feel your delight at his words. He felt his lower abdomen tighten, signaling how close he was getting, making him hiss. His right hand left your waist in order to wrap his arm around your thigh, his hand reaching your clit, fingers pressing onto it and immediately rubbing in circles to help you achieve your orgasm.

Your back arched from the desk as your hands grabbed onto the edges of it, your moans becoming whimpers and cries as he kept pistoning inside of you while rubbing onto your clit, feeling your walls tremble and flutter around him. 

“God– Baby– I’m–” The pet name slipped out of your mouth and it always drove Eddie to the edge. You never used them outside of sex, so this made them special. Eddie was panting through his moans as he kept his pace even if he felt his hips wanting to stutter, his climax right around the corner.

“I know sweetheart, I know, I can feel it. Come on–” And he growled, groaned, and moaned your name loudly when you clenched around him like a vice, tightly. His cock was engulfed completely by you, being sucked in as your back arched, your moans loud cries of his name as he kept circling your clit with his fingers, unable to move from how hard you were clenching around him.

He looked at how twisted in pleasure your face was, your body trembling and twitching as you rode your orgasm out. The sight before him was insanely perfect, hot, just a mix of everything that is good. You looked so beautiful when you were in complete pleasure, you looked… ethereal—made for him. Each fucking time.

“Eddie–!” And his name in your mouth in the middle of your orgasm was enough to make the elastic band snap for him, his abdomen finally feeling like it explodes as his body tightens, tenses up, and he finishes inside the condom, filling it to the brim as he always does. Spurt after spurt. He moaned loudly, his hips stilling deeply inside of you, twitching at every shot of his cum.

He felt his body drenched in sweat, and he was left breathless, panting, putting your legs down and slamming his hands on the desk, caging you in between him and the hardwood. Your eyes were closed as you tried to catch your breath, your chest moving up and down, his eyes going over your bare collarbones, your dark lace bralette still in full view for him. He looked at the skin on your neck, now seeing the mark of his hands, then a bite he gave you on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. He marked you like you marked him.

“So much for not messing this little suit of yours, huh.” He said and that’s when your eyes opened, your head snapping to look at the clock that hung at the top of the door, quickly sitting up, making him pull away and out of you, the both of you groaning at the sensation of it. He quickly pulled his pants and boxers up, his eyes never leaving your form as you quickly buttoned your blouse back to place.

“Fuck, I have a meeting in ten fucking minutes!” You yelled and he could only chuckle, and he saw a smudge of your lipstick on the side of your face. He wanted to dart his thumb out, needing to wipe it off from you so you could be presentable, but that gesture was too intimate, wasn’t it?

“You didn’t mention that to me, can’t blame me for it.” He licked his lips cockily as you glared at him, jumping down from the desk, pulling your skirt down and zipping it on the back again. Your eyes looked around, frowning your eyebrows which made him tilt his head in question.

“Where’s my underwear?”

“Oh, I have no clue. I threw it over my shoulder–”

“This is the third one! I am losing the underwear that goes with my bras! I have to wear mismatched colors!” Eddie rolled his eyes at that, but he couldn’t help it, you looked kind of adorable when you cared for stuff like this.

“I am the only one that sees them anyways, so why does it matter?” At his words, your head turned to look at him.

“Who says you’re the only one? Don’t act cocky.” And he flared his nostrils, looking at you, studying you, doing the one thing he never cared of doing before meeting you because he believed he was invading people’s privacy with it. 

“I know you’re lying now.” You turned your head to face him again, a puzzled look on your face, and also, surprised. Before you could talk, he opened his mouth again. “You will have to go commando for now, Peach. I’ll try to find your underwear.” 

“Yeah, sure, you’re probably going to keep it and sniff it like a pervert.” At your words, his eyes widened in surprise, and he started sniffing as if he were a dog. Loud and invading your space, making you snort out a giggle as you tried to swat him away like a fly. “I said like a pervert, not a cute angelic being!”

“Dogs are angelic beings? I once saw a man getting his dick bitten off by a rottweiler–” You winced at that and this is what it was being with you. He was a horny teenager ten seconds ago, and now you two are laughing as if… nothing happened. It was the perfect scenario. 

“Goodbye Munson, find my underwear! All of them! And no more hickies! I need to wear blouses and, unlike you, I meet with important business people almost everyday.” You said, fixing your skirt again, and then your hair. You’re probably going to notice the smudge of lipstick in the car.

“I meet important people too! You think that everyone owns a Ferrari sweetheart?” You stared at him for a few seconds and then you nodded, frowning your lips downwards with a nod.

“Good point.” You walked towards the door, opening it, ready to head out and this was one of the parts Eddie did not particularly like.

“Talk to you later, fuck buddy.” You flipped him off over your shoulder, closing the door behind you and he was left in the silence of his room, a huge contrast to what was happening ten minutes ago. 

It was a perfect scenario for sure… but that didn’t mean he liked it.

He didn’t know why, or what, but he didn’t want to be like he is with his other hookups, or rather was. You are a friend, and you two share something special unlike some random situationship. You two greet eachother normally, never with a kiss, and then when you bid your goodbyes… this was it.

A funny exchange of words, and then it’s him or you leaving out the door. He stayed over and you stayed over, yet, never once you two had morning sex. Rarely had breakfast together. He understood it, and he accepted it because, you two are nothing more than just friends who fuck… constantly fuck, and will never be, and he knew it and he accepted it. 

You also got out of a relationship, and most likely did not want another one at all, much less with someone like him. He decided to keep it this way. The waves from afar when saying goodbye, and no intimate gestures right after waking up. He took a deep breath in as he looked to his side, spotting your underwear underneath the metal archive drawers. He walked over and picked it up, looking down at it on his palm.

His gut turned with uncertainty as he looked at his door. He knew why he was angry before now that his mind is a little clearer. Right after having you. Right after you admitted what he needed to hear at that moment. He doesn’t want to say it or think on it, and maybe he shouldn’t. He wasn’t angry because of the whole plan. Sure he was being possessive but that’s just because of his nature and who he is, but it was more than that.

It was way more than what he dared to admit.

Because sure, Jeff had his hands on your waist…

But you never caressed his cheek the way you did to his friend.

end of chapter 20

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[unhingedpolycule]

Haiii ! Love what you do and had two questions :

Do you think any of them would cry at the others burial (if they even want that ? Cremation ?)

And do you think one of them would wear glasses once they age a bit more ?

Thank you 🩵

Haiiiii! First of all, thank you for your ask! It made me think and it was a really cool concept to work with! You can find the (long) answer under the cut!

If the body is recovered from the warzone where they died, they would have a small service I think. Not because the other would particularly want or need it, but because the team would more or less insist and it is simply the social convention. It doesn’t really bother them either. That being said… they would not cry. Nikto would probably get pretty gruff, outwardly pretending that their relationship was not as deep as it actually was, so he isn’t too sad. Mostly because people keep giving him condolences. He does not like it, handling Sebastian‘s death is hard enough on its own. Krueger would just get… like very silent in my mind. Not directly pretending that it doesn’t bother him, but he would let his mask slip a bit. Instead of being detached on purpose, he just sits and reminiscence about Nikto and what he is missing right now. His voice, having someone to concentrate on and to care for as to make his life less eventless. He was Nikto’s caretaker and partner for years and he was used to being joint at the hip, always having an interesting and stimulating person around.

Both feel the urge to be alone. Krueger would go missing soon after, probably searching out Blaustein without telling him what is going on. Of course, Blaustein understands that something bad must have happened and he is smart enough to count two and two together. Krueger would find a new PMC, maybe he would even stay with Coalition (Blaustein’s faction) for a bit. But he is a wanderer at heart, so it wouldnt last longer than a year. Nikto was the only thing tying him to a specific faction, so he starts moving again, with regular visits to Hans though. As for Nikto… he would be pursued by Nikodim, who thinks that he is helping. Their relationship might very well break under that pressure, leaving Nikto much worse off, just because his stability and his support system is gone. He eventually rebuilds routine on his own, but before that, he would probably burn himself out in an attempt not to grief too much.

To make it short: Krueger would let himself feel what he feels, accepting it for what it is and seek the support that he might need. Nikto would very much do the opposite and repress in order to continue being functional, even if this ruins a lot of things for him. Both would be incredibly affected. I don’t know if they would actually cry. If they do, it comes over them in the middle of the night without any warning. They want to turn around to hug the other and they find themselves alone. For Krueger, it’s a few tears. Nikto is angry ugly crying, clutching the pillow and staring at noting.

Krueger keeps Nikto’s last pill bottle in his pack, using it for his own drugs. Nikto keeps Krueger’s net on his bedpost. Both store the other’s gear. Nikto in his room, Krueger with Blaustein, since Hans has a more steady lifestyle.

BUUUUUUUT since Krueger is an unkillable cockroach (derogatory) and Nikto is very capable and has a second pair of eyes attached to a man which would go to length to safe him… they are fine. Very fine. VERY FINE AND HAPPY. (I can’t do mcd unless it’s a “growing old” setting. I am weak.)

As for the glasses: very easy. Nikto is used to taking medication and having to subsidise for things his body is not able to do anymore (mostly because of his mental illness, but I also imagine him to have issues with mild erectile dysfunction/maintaining an erection if he is not actively having sex right in that moment.) so he would wear some cheap old man glasses. He has like three pairs, all various stages of scratched/disrepair.

Krueger on the other hand would not like it. At all. He has lived his life being able to do everything without aid, running into an active warzone without proper protection and coming out mostly unscathed. It would take some time until he could accept glasses properly. Not because of pride or of others seeing him like this, but because he has to admit that he is no longer fully “self-sufficient”. Especially because he has above average eyesight! Nikto would tease him a bit until he notices that Sebastian does not wear his glasses. They might have a gruff, short talk about it after Nikto sees Krueger holding his phone very far away from himself, squinting in annoyance while trying to read his messages. Krueger wears the damn thing after that. At home. Sometimes.

[soobchwe]

pleasant conversations ᯓ 𝚕𝚌

ʚɞ pairing: lee (dino) chan x fem!reader || ʚɞ word count: 0.2k || ʚɞ genre: fluff || ʚɞ tags: (newly) established relationship au, "meet the parents" kinda date, chan is adorable albiet a bit insecure || ʚɞ synopsis: "I think my family really liked you. Maybe more than they like me." || ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: For my darling @hursheys!

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ WANT A DRABBLE DIARY ENTRY? REQUEST ONE.ᐟ

Chan is grateful your great conversational skills make up for his terrible ones. Being the youngest in his friend group and family, someone else always had something more engaging, more important, to say. Why bother trying?

But then you came into the picture, and while you can work the room, you always love hearing what Chan thinks and the way his mind works.

Even at dinner, you push Chan to talk about his newest projects at work with his parents when there’s gaps between them asking what you do for a living and what you see in their son.

He’s not used to commanding the table, but it’s easy when he has support to do so.

On the walk back up to your apartment, Chan makes it known how well meeting his family for the first time went. “I think my family really liked you. Maybe more than they like me.”

You smack him in the arm, your mouth going agape. “Don’t say that! They love you.”

He shrugs and holds onto your hand tighter. “I know, it’s just hard to imagine they actually care about anything I say.”

You stop him in front of your door and kiss him hard on the mouth, holding him close to you as you move together. He starts rigid but eventually gives in. “If nobody in the world cared what you had to say, then they’ll have to file a missing persons report on me.”

Chan laughs and pokes your cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

You wink and go to unlock your door. “But you love it.”

And Chan thinks that maybe, after tonight, he really does.

@yvnempire @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @loserlvrss @pars-ley @lovetaroandtaemin @hursheys

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (V)

C/W: slow-burn, Diluc x gn!reader, reader works at the flower shop in Mondstadt, fluff, shorter than the rest but that’s because it’s the end

Note: The story comes to a close! Thank you all so much for your support, I couldn’t have done it without you guys🫶🏻 If you have some ideas for other fics, feel free to leave a request in my inbox! (Part 1) (Part 4)

(You) About Diluc: Reflections

I’ve been thinking a lot about our fight. I don’t know if it was the heat of the moment or my own pride, but I said things I shouldn’t have. I called him stubborn, like his concern for me was some kind of flaw. He didn’t deserve that!

But when he called me reckless… it stung. I wanted to defend myself, to tell him I could handle it, but deep down, I knew he was right. I was reckless. I got hurt because I wasn’t careful, and instead of thanking him for worrying about me, I threw it back in his face.

I know he was just trying to protect me. That’s who he is—he takes on the weight of the world, and I made it even heavier with my words. I was so caught up in proving I didn’t need him hovering over me that I forgot how much he cares.

If I could go back, I’d say something different. Or maybe… I’d just listen. He didn’t deserve my anger. He deserved better.

(Diluc) About you: Reflections

My thoughts are quite repetitive when it comes to them, and maybe that’s how I drove them away—by caring more about their safety instead of them. I didn’t mean to hurt them, but seeing the scar on their arm reminds me of how much I could lose with one careless act. It was unbearable. And I let that fear dictate my words.

I know I can be overbearing. They’ve told me before that I control too much, and that I was… incredibly stubborn. Maybe they’re right. I wanted to protect them, but I didn’t stop to think about how they felt, what they needed from me in that moment. I acted as if I knew best, and in doing so, I ignored the trust we’ve built.

If I could go back, I’d handle it differently. I’d find the right words, words that wouldn’t hurt them. But now… all I can do is hope I haven’t broken something I can’t repair.

(You) About work

I’ve been trying to get back into the rhythm of working at Flora’s shop, but… it feels strange. The flowers are the same, the customers are the same, but something feels off. Maybe it’s me. Or maybe it’s the weight of everything that happened at the manor. I keep catching myself glancing toward the road leading to Angel’s Share, wondering if he’s okay, or if… he even cares.

*sigh* I need to focus. These asters aren’t going to arrange themselves.

(Diluc) About you: From afar

I passed by Flora’s shop today, and I saw them working as usual, but… quieter. Seeing them brought it all back—those quiet moments at the winery, their laughter, the way they always managed to surprise me. It’s unbearable, how much I miss them.

I almost stepped in, but quickly retreated. What would I even say? “I’m sorry”? Would that even matter by now? I’m sure they’re mad at me—maybe furious. And I’m sure… if I could change anything, I would change even the night I resigned from my position as Cavalry Captain if it meant bringing them back.

(You) About Diluc: Finally aware

I saw him today, you know. Well, not saw as in meet with—he just passed by. He didn’t come in; though strangely, I took a step in his direction. Out of habit, I suppose. I don’t think he noticed me… and why would he? After everything… Ugh! Why am I still dwelling on it? It’s not like I’m waiting for him or anything.

He’s just so… stuck. In my mind. I keep hoping to see him, even just for a moment. I miss eating with him, and trying to make him laugh. I miss the flowers that we took care of in the winery. I miss Adelinde.

I miss him…

And it’s infuriating, because I was the one who left. I needed space. I chose to leave the winery because it felt like too much. So why? Why does he linger like this? Why does every passing memory of him feel so sharp, so close, like it was yesterday?

I don’t know what this is. I thought leaving would bring me peace, but it’s only made me realize how deeply he’s rooted in me. I don’t know if I can ever let him go, even if I should.

…Could it be? Could this feeling—this aching pull—be love?

No… not could. It is. I love him.

(Diluc) About you: Finally aware

I need your thoughts on something. It’s… rather personal. For some time now, I’ve found myself increasingly distracted by them—always thinking about their safety, their well-being, even their smallest habits. Every little thing they do seems to pull at my attention. At first, I dismissed it as concern, but it’s different—stronger.

When I spoke to Adelinde about it, she said it sounded like love. Love. I… I don’t know what to make of that. But the more I think about it, the more everything starts to make sense—why I can’t stand the thought of them being hurt, why their smile lingers in my mind long after they’re gone.

I’ve even gone as far as to read about it in novels from Inazuma, though I’ll admit most of them are overly dramatic. Still… I couldn’t help but see myself in the pages. And now I can’t ignore it anymore.

This is love, isn’t it? I can’t believe it took me so long to realize. But… it’s oddly comforting, too, to finally understand why I feel this way. It all feels clearer now.

… I can’t let it end like this. I’ll speak to them, no matter what it takes.

(You and Diluc) Character story: Confessions

The day was drawing to a close, and the horizon burned with hues of amber and crimson as the sun dipped below the mountains. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

They didn’t know why they were running—only that their feet carried them forward. Wind gracing their hair, tugging at their clothes, and each breath coming quick and sharp with the patter of their feet. Were they running to the winery? They haven’t really thought about it. They were just chasing the closest thing that felt like home.

Inside the manor, Diluc sat at his desk, quill hovering over an unfinished report. He’d been staring at the same sentence for far too long, his mind elsewhere. His eyes kept straying to the lamp grass resting in a small vase—“For when nights are long, and the weight feels heavy—may these remind you that you’re not alone.”

In a breath, the quill laid flat on his desk, ink leaving a stain that may or may not come off. He didn’t care, though—he had other business to attend to. One that could change his life, for better or for worse.

As he ran, he thought of what to say. He’d gone over the words a dozen times in his head, but nothing ever seemed quite right. Every thought felt too small, too simple to convey the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

The crimson sky had turned to blue, stars slowly forming like the constellations they once had. They both remembered that night—their head on his shoulder with only nature to accompany them, silent, and sanctified.

The moon hung low in the sky by the time they crossed paths on the dirt road. Neither had planned for this exact moment, yet it felt inevitable, as if fate itself had intervened.

They stopped a few paces apart, both breathless—Diluc from his hurried strides, and them from their sprint. For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet hum of the wind wrapped around them, heavy with all the words they hadn’t yet said.

“I…” they muttered, but their voice caught. After a breath or two, they spoke again: “I didn’t think I’d run into you.”

“I could say the same.” Diluc’s eyes softened as the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Though… perhaps I hoped for it.”

Their breath hitched at his words, and they looked away, unsure of what to say. They hadn’t expected this—hadn’t pictured him to be so calm, so open. The reality of seeing him here, in the flesh, was almost overwhelming.

“I don’t even know why I came,” they confessed, voice trembling. “I just… I missed—“ they hesitated admitting they missed him. It terrified them—how one word could strip away everything they’d worked so hard to hide, yet hold the power to give them everything they wanted.

They swallowed hard, the silence between them growing heavier, and tried again. “I missed… the winery. Adelinde. The flowers. The peace of it all.”

But the lie tasted bitter, and they knew he saw through it. Diluc waited, silent and patient, as though he knew the truth would come, in time.

“I missed you,” they finally whispered, their voice breaking. The confession escaped before they could stop it, leaving them vulnerable and exposed. Their heart raced, the fear of rejection and relief of honesty crashing into each other.

“I’m sorry…” they added, one reckless word after the other. “For being so careless, for not understanding that you were only trying to protect me—for everything.

“I thought I did the right thing, leaving the manor. I told myself I needed space. But since then, all I can think about was you. I couldn’t stop looking forward to our lunch dates, to the moments you’d pass by the flower shop, to even catching a glimpse of that slight smirk of yours.

“And it’s all so infuriating,” they continued, voice gaining strength, yet still trembling with frustration and longing. “Because I look at you with that unreadable expression of yours, and it’s like you don’t care. You’re always so calm, so distant, like nothing ever fazes you. It’s maddening!

“Even when we were together, it was the same. You always tried to shoulder everything alone, hiding behind that stoic exterior. I could never tell if you were trying to protect me or push me away. And now…” Their voice wavered, and they dropped their gaze, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions spilling out. “Now, I don’t even know if you missed me at all. Or if I was just someone you had to look after.”

They hadn’t noticed how Diluc closed the gap between them until they felt a gloved hand caress their hair. “I cared.” They looked up at him with a somber expression. “More than I should. And I still do.” Diluc’s eyes had changed. The unreadable mask they had always found so frustrating had slipped, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“I tried to convince myself it was better this way,” he continued, his voice low but steady. “That keeping my distance would protect you—from the burdens I carry, and the dangers that follow me. And though I wasn’t completely wrong,” he put attention to your scarred arm. “Pushing you away felt worse. For both of us.”

He hesitated, his thumb brushing against their cheek as if grounding himself. “You were never just someone I had to look after. You are… everything I’ve been too afraid to lose. I thought keeping my feelings buried would keep you safe, but all it did was drive you away.”

His voice softened further, but the intensity of his words only grew. “I can’t bury it anymore. I won’t.”

Their breath hitched, tears pooling in their eyes as he stepped closer, his other hand reaching to gently hold theirs. His grip was firm, steady, and yet full of care—just like him.

“You have undone me completely,” he said, his voice shaking with the weight of his emotions, “and I have no desire to be put back together.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and profound, and the sincerity in his eyes left no room for doubt. In that moment, the barriers between them shattered, replaced by a warmth that enveloped them both.

Tears slipped down their cheeks, but they smiled through them, their heart full for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’ve been undone, too,” they whispered, fragile yet filled with hope. “And I don’t want to be whole without you.”

The stars above, as well as the wind, bore witness as they stood there, hands entwined, finally allowing their hearts to speak what had been unsaid for far too long.

—end—

[burningembers91]

Looking Up - Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Outside Looking In

In the Bleak Midwinter

Without You

Synopsis: Desperate to start afresh and build a life for the both of you, Nam-Gyu searches for a new job. But, with no qualification and no experience, will anyone take a chance on him?

A/N: I saw this gif and it instantly made me think of his itchy interview suit i’d pictured 🥹

Nam-Gyu’s suit was itchy, the fabric pinching at his skin as he sat in the waiting area. His tie was too tight, the uncomfortable compression around his neck making him squirm in his seat. He wasn’t sure why he’d let his brother talk him into borrowing his old suit; it was poorly fitting and the beige colour did nothing for him.

But Nam-Gyu had been desperate, and had nowhere else to turn. You’d been living together for two months now, both of you searching for different jobs that would hopefully lead to better prospects and more money. You’d manage to find a job in a florist, and although it paid almost as poorly as the hostess job, you were so happy. It was what you’d always wanted to do, and your boss was incredible.

Nam-Gyu had decided to take his father’s advice and find a proper job, something in insurance or finance. He’d always been so scared of having a “normal” job, so terrified of becoming another nobody. But he didn’t feel like that anymore; not with you. You made him feel like he could do anything, and for the first time in his life he was happy to blend peacefully into the background. He had you, and you were all he needed.

He’d been looking for jobs for weeks but had been turned down at every corner. He had no real experience, and had never stepped foot inside an office before. This junior finance assistant job was quite probably his last chance, otherwise he’d have to go searching for a job as a waiter. He wanted a job that could support you, that could relieve some of the financial stress you were both under. He’d been awake most of the night thinking about this interview, and as he sat waiting his palms were sweating.

His parents hadn’t spoken to him since the night they kicked him out. Nam-Gyu was hoping that if he got this job he could show his father how hard he’d been working, that he’d finally decided to grow up. He really wanted them to meet you as well, to meet the girl he’d fallen head over heels for. His brothers had met you, and while they would never admit it to Nam-Gyu, they thought you were perfect for him. You grounded their little brother, kept him stable but at the same time made him happier than they had ever seen him. He was an entirely different person around you, no longer cocky and brash, but sweet and gentle. You two were made for each other.

“Park Nam-Gyu?”

His head snapped up at his name to see a woman in a sharp suit eyeing him through a doorway.

“We’re ready for you now.”

Heading into the interview room, he tried to swallow his nerves, wiping his sweaty hands on his itchy suit. A group of two men and one woman sat opposite him, their faces stony as he sat down. His throat suddenly felt impossibly dry, his lungs no longer seemed to work. He couldn’t take a full breath, and he was desperate for a glass of water.

“Tell us a bit about yourself,” one of the men said. “Do you have any experience in finance or accounting?”

“Uh… well…” Nam-Gyu knew the interview was over before it had even begun. He had no experience of anything other than standing out in the cold handing out leaflets that nobody wanted. He’d been rejected for every job he’d applied for, and he knew this one wouldn’t be any different. So what did he have to lose?

“No, not as such.” He admitted. “I was a club promoter for many years. I spent most of my time trying to attract customers to different venues around Seoul.”

“And were you successful?” The woman asked, her razor sharp eyebrow raised high.

“For the most part,” he lied. He wasn’t going to make himself look like a complete idiot.

“So why the change of career?” She asked him.

“Well,” he smiled as he pictured you. “I fell in love. I didn’t think I ever would but I’ve met someone I want to spend the rest of my life with, and that means I need a job; a real job.”

He couldn’t tell how the rest of the interview went. He wasn’t able to answer any accounting related questions, but they asked him lots of questions about his life in general.

He had a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach as he made his way home, eager to shed the uncomfortable suit.

“How did it go?” You squealed, as soon he came through the front door. You’d been a bag of nerves all day, checking your phone every two minutes in case he’d texted you.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, hastily removing his suit jacket and pants. “I was honest and told them I didn’t have experience.”

You could sense his frustration, and you wished there was something you could do to help him. He’d been working so hard the last few months, studying accountancy books he picked up at the library, staying up until the early hours of the morning apply for jobs. You wished someone would take a chance on him, to see the hard worker he was.

The two of you spent the rest of the day on the sofa with the TV playing a show neither of you could concentrate on. Nam-Gyu kept checking his phone, refreshing his email every five minutes to see if anything had come through. With each passing minute, his hope waned. No one was going to take a chance on him; not that he blamed them. There was a cafe down the road that was looking for part time workers. He’d head there tomorrow and fill out an application.

It was late when his phone rang, the two of you half asleep in front of the TV. Nam-Gyu shot up at the sound, noticing a number on the screen he wasn’t familiar with.

“Oh my god! It could be them!” You cried, “answer it! Answer it!”

You clapped your hand over your mouth to stay silent, the nervous excitement almost bursting out of you.

“Hello?” He answered the phone, his voice shaking.

“Park Nam-Gyu, this is Kim Ha-Ri from the interview today. I’m just calling because we’d like to offer you the job.”

Nam-Gyu couldn’t speak for a few moments. He’d been so sure he hadn’t got it, was so sure he’d been passed over that he didn’t know what to say.

“Mr Park? Can you hear me?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered, shooting you a quick thumbs up, his face beaming. “That’s incredible, thank you much.”

“Can you start tomorrow? 8am?”

“Absolutely! Thank you so much, I’ll see you then.”

The call ended and he breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, finally things were starting to come together.

“I’m so proud of you,” you smiled, pulling him close to you. “You just watch. It’s only up from here, I promise.”

Nam-Gyu was determined to make this new job a turning point. He was going to make good money, find a new place for you both to live that wasn’t cramped and damp, save up enough that he could take you on holiday. He wanted to show his parents that he had changed, that he was capable of becoming a son they could be proud of.

For the first time in months, you both slept soundly, the prospect of a new life so close you could almost touch it.

[honeyskiies]

new bot: zayne.

requested?: yes!! by a friend!! they asked for this ages ago and it took me forever to actually make lol

synopsis: he's your safe space. ✧˚ · . vague pre-relationship, loose canon so you can place it wherever you want. zayne was rather used to worrying about your safety, being both your doctor, and friend. though, he knew you could take care of yourself and understood that your job required you to go away for short periods of times. but you normally tell him when you have to leave for a mission, and you're hardly ever gone for more than a few days. but you vanished without a word, and it's been two weeks. he had half the mind to search for you, and probably would have if his own job didn't demand his attention. so to say he was both relieved and worried when you showed up at his place in the middle of the night, clearly exhausted and possibly injured would be an understatement. there's many questions he has for you, but his first priority is to make sure you're okay.

bot greeting is below the cut for any who may be interested, and if you want, you can send any requests you have to this form.

Two weeks. You've been gone for two weeks, and Zayne didn't know what to do. You weren't answering his calls, you weren't even looking at his texts. He was trying to be rational, maybe you had gone out on a mission and you weren't able to contact him?

But the longer you were away, the more antsy he became. He was trying to not let his worry impact his work, but he was starting to lose sleep not knowing where you were.

Are you in trouble? What if you get hurt, and he's not there to help you? He's your doctor, your friend, your…

And after two weeks of not being able to contact you, of not knowing where you were, you show up at his door in the middle of the night. You looked so tired, like you hadn't slept in days.

The moment Zayne registered that it was you, he was grabbing your wrist and pulling you into his home. There were no immediately visible injuries on you, but that didn't make him any less concerned as he brought you to his couch.

His touch was gentle as he pushed you to sit down.

"…Are you hurt anywhere?" He softly asks.

Zayne's hand was still gripping your wrist, ever so gently, almost as if he was scared you'd disappear if he let go. Two weeks without you, and you were here.

He had questions, of course. What happened? Where did you go? Did someone hurt you? Who? So many questions were rushing through his mind, but he knew better than to ask them. Not while you were like this.

Right now, Zayne's only mission was to make sure you were okay. To make sure you get the rest you so clearly needed, and to be a pillar of support.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: As Lucy continues to pull further away, Tommy tries to bridge the growing schism between them.

Word Count: 6,398

Warnings: Angst, insecurity, suicidal thoughts, chronic pain, sexual harassment, and references to infidelity and sexual content.

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Chapter 11: Kiss Me Where I Break

Tommy was beginning to worry that he might have broken her.

She said next to nothing the entire train ride from Birmingham to London, all his attempts at initiating conversation met with one word answers or just quiet hums in acknowledgement while she stared out the window. Eventually, he just gave up and decided to leave her alone.  

The past few days had been utterly hellish. He kept forgetting that Lucy wasn’t at the house anymore. He’d be in the throes of work, and call out for her, only to realize a second later that no one was coming. She wasn’t a simple holler away anymore.

He missed her almost more than he could bear. He had gotten so used to her always being there. Right by his side. To help him, to talk to him. To just…be there when he needed her. It was like someone had amputated one of his limbs.

But being around her during the workday did little to soothe the ache of her absence. Both because of the guilt that chewed away at him at every glance into her sad eyes, but also because something had undeniably changed between them. There was a schism between them now, ever since he had told her about Lizzie’s deal. Lucy was more distant, more subdued. Like the bright spark that she always carried with her had been suddenly snuffed out. He missed her, even when she was standing right in front of him. 

He wanted his Lucy back. 

For a while, he had thought that perhaps she was immune to him and the darkness that he carried. And yet in the end he had sapped out her light; broken her like he did everyone else close to him. 

He rolled his unlit cigarette between his fingers as he strode down the hallways of Westminster. Frustration crackled beneath his skin. His meeting earlier that day with Aberama had gone well. Aberama had agreed to postpone his planned killing of McCavern. And he was planning to propose to Polly. But despite the recent string of accomplishments, Tommy felt no joy or relief. If anything, he felt even worse.    

He couldn’t help the prickle of jealousy he felt towards Polly and Aberama. How fucking lucky they were, to actually be marrying someone that they truly loved. 

He eyed the golden band on his left hand disdainfully. It felt more like a shackle than a wedding ring.

Pushing open the door to his office, he chanced a glance at where Lucy was sitting, bent over a few documents with her fists pressed to her temples, elbows on the desk in front of her. Her lips were tilted downwards. Next to her, the fresh bouquet of sunflowers he’d sent was perched on the edge of her desk. He opened his mouth, considering asking her if she wanted to go out to dinner, then closed it. Why bother? He already knew that she was going to say no. 

Still, worry festered at the edges of his already frayed mind, longing to fix what he had so stupidly broken. He needed her. Everything was ten times harder without her there to lighten the load. He hadn’t even fully realized just how much he’d come to rely on her emotional support until it had been ripped away.  

He didn’t know what to do to make any of this better. They had never had problems before. Sure, they’d had their squabbles and arguments from time to time, but they never lasted long. When it came to Lucy, this was entirely new territory for him.     

Wandering into his own office, he tossed the folder of papers he was holding down, reaching for the decanter usually filled with whiskey only to find it empty. Scowling, suddenly deeply irritable, he opened a drawer and snatched the large bottle inside, taking a slow swig. A soft sigh left his lips, eyes briefly slipping closed as the cool liquid slid down his throat.

With the meetings with McCavern, Chang, and Aberama, he had barely had time to stop to catch his breath.

Without even so much as a knock, the door to his office opened, and, of all people, Mosley came slithering in. Tommy quickly stashed the bottle back into the drawer and wiped at his mouth, turning to face him. Those dark eyes of Mosley’s narrowed, voice doing little more than to set Tommy’s teeth on edge as he discussed the invitation Tommy had extended to him to the ballet performance at Arrow House for Lizzie’s birthday. As the conversation continued, Tommy moved to sit in his chair behind his desk, suddenly eager to have some sort of barrier between them. 

Mosley eyed him up like an animal waiting to pounce when he started speaking of his past acquaintance with Lizzie. No doubt hoping for some sort of reaction from his words. Tommy kept his hands laced tightly in his lap, hoping that the other man didn’t see the way his fingers tightened against each other.  

“Well, if you recognize her, maybe you can talk about old times, eh?”

“Maybe, if we have met before, your wife and I could even renew our acquaintance. I am invited to stay the night, yes?”

It was becoming increasingly hard for him to remember why he continued to tolerate Mosley’s presence. With each passing moment the temptation was growing stronger to grab the gun in his drawer or use the blades in his cap to slice the man to pieces. Or to perhaps call Lucy in and have her deal with the fascist piece of shit. That could be fun.

Speaking of Lucy, perhaps now would be a good time to let Mosley know about the research he’d asked her to do on the MP.

“I too have done some research, Sir Oswald,” he allowed his eyes to narrow a fraction. “Yeah. I researched your wife. And your wife’s younger sister. And your wife’s stepmother, Lady Curzon. All of whom you are fucking. If such things were to take place on a narrowboat, the church would get involved.”

“But…” Mosley’s voice was but a whisper, “it’s not happening on a narrowboat.”

“No. It’s taking place in your apartment, in your country house, sometimes even in your office here in the House of Commons.” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “So no secrets. And yes. Yes, you are invited to stay the night with whichever member of your family finds favor. Now, if you don’t mind, I was about to leave. I need to lock up my office.”

Mosley looked at him for a long moment, smoking casually. “Funny,” he said finally, “how disapprovingly you speak of my liaisons. Considering that lovely redhead that you always keep so close to you. Pretty thing. A bit plain, for my taste, to tell you the truth, but still. Lovely.” Tommy’s stomach churned. “Tragic past too, poor thing. She’s been working for you for many years now, hasn’t she?” Mosley cocked his head. “And I hear that she has quite the array of talents. Tell me, was it her that you had do your research on me?” He didn't wait for a response. “Wonderous job, if it was. Very few people know about my particular relationship with the Lady Curzon. Perhaps I should borrow her, at some point. I’m sure that she could be of the utmost use to me.” 

Tommy felt like he was going to throw up. Mosley took another long, slow drag from his cigarette, eyes not once leaving Tommy’s.

“Actually, I will come alone,” he said, finally, in response to Tommy’s invitation. “In society, you are judged by your hospitality. I will expect adventure.” He leaned across Tommy’s desk to put his cigarette out in the ashtray. Tommy was certain that if he had to hear that man lecture him one more time about the ‘rules of society,’ he was going to scream. Mosley straightened. “Such rogues we are, aren’t we? Sing like songbirds in the House. And then afterwards, relieve ourselves in the bodies of whomever we choose. Two men for whom forbidding is forbidden,” he raised the little paper that was his invitation, “should be quite the party.”

Tommy managed a smile that was more of a grimace, and Mosley finally, finally slunk his way out of the office. He pressed a hand to his face once the door closed, mind whirling. The idea of letting Mosley near Lucy or Lizzie made his skin crawl and stomach heave. And yet he was going to do it. To let the man waltz right into his home on an invitation. His hand trembled. Neither of them deserved him. Lucy’s sad eyes and Lizzie’s resentful gaze danced in his mind. He should have left them both alone. They would be better off now, if he had. Rather than latching onto them and dragging them down with him into the depths of hell. He’d only wanted to help them, and yet all he had accomplished was ruining their lives. And that wasn’t even counting this current mess he had made. A mess that he had no idea how to fix without hurting at least one of them.              

His eyes flickered down to the topmost right drawer of his desk, hand pulling it open almost of its own accord. The gun sat atop the papers stacked inside. Tommy let his hand fall from the handle, eyes still fixed on the gun. He leaned forward with an exhale against his desk, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut. There was a breath echoing in his mind. Slow and steady with its inhales and exhales. He rested both hands on the back of his head, rubbing at the skin in an attempt to quell the swirl of self hatred that he was drowning in. The room was suddenly very dark and cold.

“You have to listen to the voices that you hear.”

His head snapped upwards, eyes wide open. No.

“Do what they tell you to do.”

The breaths were continuing. Her breaths. Her last breath as she died in his arms. Yet another one of the women in his life that he failed despite the amount in which he cared for her.

“You don’t even have to rub the lamp anymore to summon the genie,” Grace continued to speak from where she was standing in the corner. A shiver ran down Tommy’s spine. Grace raised a hand, and dangling from her fingers on a chain was the massive blue sapphire, the one he had locked around her throat. His greed having sealed her fate. “It wasn’t the blue stone, Tommy. It was you,” she pressed the necklace to her chest. He could hear her heartbeats now, a rapid thumping in his head. The drip of blood running from her chest to the floor. Tommy’s hand tightened into a fist. He couldn’t look at her. At those accusatory eyes. “It was you.”

There was a soft knock on the door. “Tommy?” Lucy’s voice called.

The breaths and heartbeats faded away. Grace vanished from sight. Tommy leaned backwards, squeezing his eyes shut tight and exhaling. “Just a minute, Luce,” he choked out. He forced deep breaths to pass through his lips, pushing the panic attack down with each one. Eyes finally opening, he pushed the open drawer with the gun in it closed, sitting up and straightening himself out. “Yeah?”

The door cracked open and Lucy poked her head in, a folder tucked under her arm. She stepped into the room, walking to his desk and holding the folder out to him. “I need you to sign these.”

He took the folder from her, scribbling his signature on the dotted line of the documents inside. Lucy passed a hand over her hair. 

“I sent Adam home. What did Mosley want?”

“To talk about ballet.”

She snorted. “He’s really coming then?”

“Yep,” he handed her back the folder.

“Goody for us,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. Tommy grunted in response. Lucy tucked the folder back under her arm. Her brown eyes swept over him, carefully. “Are you alright?”

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just been a long day.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but nodded, heading back towards the door. “I’ll go get these filed.”

He watched her disappear out the door. “Thank you.” 

He remained reclined back in his chair for a few more minutes, until his breathing had fully evened out and he felt a little less like if someone touched him he might collapse. He glanced back towards the door that led to Lucy and Adam’s office area. When this business was done and the mess between them straightened out, he needed to do something nice for her. He tried to think back to the last time they had done something, just the two of them, that didn’t have anything to do with work in the past several weeks. His brow furrowed at the conclusion that he couldn’t think of anything outside of stolen kisses and touches in dark corners or in her room at Arrow House. Tommy frowned, lips pursing together, another wave of guilt slicing through his being at the way he had been unintentionally neglecting his lover. He realized, with a shuddering of utter horror, that he could not remember the last time he had even simply held her.     

Shaking his head, Tommy reached into his pocket to check the time on his watch. It was getting late. He stood from his chair, locking up the drawers in his desk that housed sensitive documents, stuffing a few files into his briefcase, and heading out the door, locking that too behind him. Lucy was sitting at her desk, riffling through some papers. He gently touched her shoulder.           

“It’s getting late,” he said softly. “We should lock up.”

She looked up at him, nodding wordlessly and beginning to stack the papers she had been working on, slipping them into a folder and locking them away in the filing cabinet kept in the corner. Tommy watched her cautiously. He reached out a hand to wrap around her wrist, brow furrowing at how cold her skin felt. 

“We could go to the apartment tonight,” he offered. He knew it wasn’t much. Certainly not enough considering what he was putting her through. But it was the best he could think to offer at the moment. 

Lucy looked down at the floor for a moment, and when she looked up at him those dark brown eyes were shiny. 

“Lizzie’s bringing Charlie and Ruby up to visit the office tomorrow,” she reminded him gently. Tommy blinked. He had forgotten. He’d promised to show them around Westminster and then take them all out to lunch.

“So?” he asked, fingers remaining wrapped around her wrist. Lucy gave him a look.

“I’m assuming that you’d like to be able to hold your daughter’s hand while you show her around?” 

Alright, he definitely deserved that one. 

“And you have an appointment this evening with Dr. Brooke.”

“I remember,” he sighed, letting go of her wrist and shoving his hands deep into his pockets, eyes glancing out the window while he frowned. “It’ll be too late after I'm done to go back to Birmingham.”

“I was thinking that while you’re at your appointment I’d follow up on some research on Mosley’s associates,” Lucy added. “And I need to pick up Lizzie’s birthday presents.”  

“And what did I get her this year?”

“A diamond necklace she’s been eyeing in the magazines. Part of the same collection as those earrings you got her in Paris that she likes so much.” 

He touched her face lightly. “Whatever would I do without you?”  

Her lips twitched upwards into a small smile, though her eyes still looked sad. Tommy let his thumb stroke over her bottom lip. He just wanted to see her smile again. A real smile. The kind that she would often shoot at him from across the room at family meetings or during the workday. Mischievous and bright and warm enough to thaw even his ice cold heart.

“Alright, I’ll go to my appointment and run some errands in town. You go pick up the gifts, do your work. We’ll meet back at the apartment.” At her raised eyebrow he held up his hands. “We just won’t fuck. I promise that I won’t try to maul you.”

That earned him a small, amused snort. “You think Lizzie will believe that?”

He sighed deeply. “Let me worry about Lizzie.”

Lucy nodded. “Okay,” she went to grab her coat from its hook. Tommy wetted his lips as he watched her, reaching out again to touch her arm lightly.

“Maybe…maybe after Lizzie and the kids have gone back home…”

“A day on either side, remember?”

“Yes, but we could still plan on the day after…”

“Why does it matter so much?” she asked, voice suddenly sharpening. “It’s not like you’re not still getting any.”

Tommy had to suppress a flinch. “It’s not the same…” he tried to argue softly. Lucy sighed and looked away, fiddling with her rings. He cocked his head, taking a cautious step towards her. “And what about you, eh?”

Her breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not…”

“Can we talk about this later, please?” she looked around the office, shifting uncomfortably. “Not here.”

Tommy wanted to argue, because not speaking of it was driving him mad. But he held his tongue. He was worried that if he pushed her too hard on it, she’d just retreat even further away inside herself. Besides, it would give him the opportunity to keep working on Lizzie and coming up with his own solutions to the problem. Any conversation that they had about it was surely to go better if he came to her with a potential fix already in hand. 

“Okay.”

She gave him a grateful look, shoulders relaxing at the reprieve. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he cocked his head. 

“What time do you think you’ll be back?” 

“Late. Probably around midnight. Maybe one.” That wasn’t uncommon when she was doing her spy work for him. 

“Be careful.”

She smiled another smile that still did not quite meet her eyes. “Always.”

He watched her leave with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, worried frown set like stone onto his face.

∗ ∗ ∗

Lizzie sighed, flopping down onto the couch in one of the large sitting rooms in Arrow House, the children playing in front of her on the rug near the fireplace. She smiled softly as she watched them, appreciating the way Charlie played so gently with his half-sister. Such a sweet kid. She wondered, sometimes, if that was what Tommy was like. Before the war.

Long fingers adjusting on her cigarette, Lizzie’s eyes caught on the chessboard sitting on the table, the little pieces all arranged into their starting positions. A memory of Lucy sitting down unceremoniously in front of her one evening, chessboard clutched in her hands, played within her mind.

“Play with me, Lizzie?” she had asked, widening those big brown eyes at her. Lizzie had shifted uncomfortably, suddenly embarrassed.

“I don’t know how to play,” she admitted. Lucy shrugged.

“That’s alright. I’ll teach you,” she spoke without missing a beat. At Lizzie’s apprehensive look she groaned dramatically. “C’mon Lizzie, please? I’m bored. Tommy’s busy. No one else will play with me,” she had flashed her that teasing, mischievous smile. “I’ll be your best friend.” 

It had been hard not to relent, when Lucy was looking at her so hopefully, eyes dancing and playful. One game turned into several, and soon it had become a sort of tradition between the two of them.

Lizzie frowned at the sharp ache of missing the little redhead that throbbed in her chest. 

Her absence felt like a gaping hole had been ripped open in the middle of the house. Everyone’s moods–even the staffs’--had taken a turn towards melancholy. The children weren’t as joyful when they played. Cyril was depressed and barely eating. Trouble paced the halls while crying, but hissed and scratched at anyone who so much as tried to come near her. The horses in the stables were gloomy.

A chill seemed to have swept over the entire house. Even the fires lit in the hearths at night didn’t seem as warm. Tommy spent most of his time holed up in his office, his mood somehow even darker than it had been before. He yelled at everyone more often. And one evening, when she couldn’t sleep and had wandered down to the library for a book, she was pretty sure that she heard him weeping. 

What the fuck have I done?

Head falling back against the couch, Lizzie breathed out an exhale of smoke tiredly. Her glazed over eyes watched Ruby play with one of her dolls, raising her cigarette to her lips for another drag. 

Ever since Lucy had moved out, she had been considering what she wanted to do. 

When she had put the phone down after calling the solicitor in London, she had made the decision to stay. But not for Tommy. Not really. It had been for the children. For the house. For the luxury and money and status that Tommy had gifted her when he signed their marriage license. All he’d asked for in exchange was that she care for his home and children, and allow him to be with his lover. 

She had made a promise, when she married Tommy. She had swore to him that his relationship with Lucy would be allowed to stand. That she wouldn’t interfere, or make things difficult for them to be together. She had promised the same thing to Lucy.

Poor Lucy, who had only ever tried to be her friend.

Christ, she hadn’t even realized how big of a presence Lucy had in the house, in all their lives–in her life–until she was gone. 

She fucking missed her. Missed the way she always seemed to sense when Lizzie needed a break from the kids and was happy to take them off her hands for a few hours. Missed the way she’d always make her an extra cup of tea whenever she fixed one for herself. And how she would help her during her horse riding lessons when she was able. Or when she would fold over the pages in the catalogs that they got of the things that she thought Lizzie might like. 

She missed how she’d cover her over with a blanket every time that she fell asleep on the couch because she worried about her getting cold. And the way that she urged for Tommy to do things with her on their own every once in a while, be it just them or with the kids, even though Lizzie knew that it hurt her to see them all together like that. 

Yes, they had clashed a lot. Even more so than usual, as of late. But they did have some good times mixed in there. 

She passed a hand over her eyes, swallowing down tears. Tommy had said that he probably wouldn’t be home tonight. She hadn’t been able to muster any disappointment at the news. Only deep relief. He had become unbearable to be around. But in a different way than he had been before. Prior, they had always been fighting. But now, he just seemed so…sad. With Lucy around he was still Tommy, with his closed off expressions and gruff words, but his eyes were a bit softer. And he smiled more, even if they were just subtle little quirking upwards of his lips. 

“Mommy?” Ruby asked, glancing up at Lizzie from where she was seated on the floor. Lizzie looked down at her.

“Yes, my darling?”

“Where’s Lucy?”

Her throat went dry. The children had asked her several times where Lucy was, and she had never been able to give them a straight answer, unable to bring herself to tell them that she likely was never coming back.

“She’s away at work, sweetheart, remember?”

“Is she coming back?”

Lizzie hesitated. “I don’t know, honey.”

Ruby returned her gaze to her doll. “I hope she comes back.”

Lizzie cocked her head. “Why’s that?”

When Ruby looked up at her, her wide dark eyes were filled with wisdom far beyond her age.

“Because Daddy’s happy when she’s here.”

∗ ∗ ∗

“Hey, do me a favor?” he asked Ada. “When that kid of yours arrives, keep it away from me,” he turned before he could really see Ada’s reaction from her place seated on the steps, heading for the door.

“Tommy,” Ada called out. He turned back. She was worrying at her bottom lip nervously, eyes darting about a moment before focusing back up at him. “I heard that Lucy left you.”

“She didn’t…leave me,” Tommy said, hoping that he was successfully able to hide his wince at the word. “She’s just not living at Arrow House anymore.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you?”

“Arthur mentioned it.”

He shook his head. Looked down at his feet. Arthur and his big fucking mouth. “You can say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say that you’re surprised that it took me this long to fuck things up with her.”

“That wasn't what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, well, then you’d be the only one,” it came out bitter, the taste unpleasant on his tongue.

“Tommy…” his sister started and then just sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry.”

“Mm. Good-night, Ada.” 

He walked back to the apartment miserably, opening the door to be greeted with a dark entryway and an equally dimmed sitting room. He pulled off his cap and stuffed it into his pocket, taking off his coat and hanging it up on the hook next to Lucy’s. 

He found her curled up on her side in bed, already asleep. He changed out of his clothes in a daze, sliding into the open space beside her. For a moment he just stared at her. Taking in the soft material of her silk maroon negligee, red hair spread out on the white pillow. 

He wanted very badly to wrap his arms around her. To hold her against his chest like he had almost every other night they had shared a bed. But he didn’t know if she wanted that. Any attempt he had made over the last few days to bridge the growing gap between them had only seemed to succeed in her pushing him even further away. He didn’t know what to do.

He wasn’t sure what it was Lucy really wanted anymore. It had been her idea to leave. Perhaps she had finally realized what he was: a monster that corrupted and ruined everything he’d ever touched. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

When he woke up, it was to find that Lucy was no longer beside him. 

He reached out, half asleep, only to find her side of the bed cool to the touch. Frowning, he raised his head, blinking open his heavy eyelids and squinting in the dark of the room. No light was sneaking in through the curtains. It was still night outside.  

“Luce?” he mumbled. The ensuite washroom door was open, the light off. No Lucy there. 

Pushing himself up, he felt a frown twist his lips downwards. Did she so badly want to get away from him that she’d gone and slept in the other room?

His eyes finally landed on the sliver of golden light sneaking in through the crack under the door. Head cocking, he climbed out of bed, snatching up one of his white henley’s and pulling it on over his naked torso. The fuck was she doing out in the sitting room in the middle of the night?

He found her sitting on the couch, the lamp on the end table flicked on. For a moment, he didn’t entirely understand what she was doing. Her back was curved forward, both arms bent so that her hands were reaching backwards towards her shoulder blades. As he watched, her hands flexed, scratching and pressing at her skin, as if trying to massage it. A little whimper emitted from her throat. 

Then he understood. 

He should have guessed that this would happen. It had been raining pretty hard when he visited Ada’s, and the cold and wet always seemed to make Lucy’s shoulders act up. Plus he had to figure that the mattress she was sleeping on at Charlie’s wasn’t all that good for her back, either.

He wished she would let him at least get her a suite at the Midland to stay at. Even if just for herself. 

Hurrying around the couch, he sat down beside her, hands reaching for her shoulders to try to help. 

But at the first brush of his palms across her back, she jumped and jerked away. 

“N-no…” Her face whipped around to stare at him, and he was met with distraught, teary dark eyes. The very sight was enough to hurt him to his core. 

“I can help,” he said, half begging. 

She sniffled and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “I can handle it–”

“I know you can,” he told her gently. “But you don’t have to.” He saw something waver across her face, his hands reaching tentatively out for her again. “Please, let me help you.” Don’t make me sit by and watch you suffer through this on your own too.

Her bottom lip trembled a little, eyes searching his, and then her shoulders slumped, face angling towards the ground while she nodded in consent. Moving slowly, half afraid she would spook again, Tommy rested both hands on her back. He started up rubbing at her skin slowly, searching out the spots that he knew always gave her the most trouble. 

Lucy let out a deep breath, and he felt her relax a little under his hands. 

At least I can do this for her.

“There you go,” he said quietly. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

She let out another little hiccupping sob. He wasn’t sure if it was in relief over the pain being lessened, or from his words. Either way, he shifted a little closer to her. 

“Did you take your pain killers?” The doctor had given her a prescription to use in the event that the pains ever got especially bad. 

She nodded. “Haven’t kicked in yet.”

He sat there rubbing her shoulders for a good thirty minutes, until her spasmed muscles had relaxed and the pain medications started to do their job.

“Let’s go back to bed, eh?”

Lucy wiped at her eyes. “Okay.” 

She let him shepherd her back into the bedroom, curling up on top of the mattress, watching him flick off the lights and get in next to her, pulling the blanket up to tuck around her. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, after they’d both been still for a moment. Tommy stared at the outline of her next to him in the dark. Tentatively, he reached out, stroking his hand through her hair.

“It’s alright.”

∗ ∗ ∗ 

“Lucy!” 

She turned, smiling and scrunching her nose at the two little figures running towards her. She stooped, bending down to press a kiss to Charlie and Ruby’s foreheads.

“Hey kiddos,” she squatted down to their level. “How’ve you been? Have you been good?”

Ruby nodded her head as her voice chirped out a sweet little, “yes.” 

At the same time, Charlie cast her a mischievous look. “No.”

“No!? What do you mean, no!?” Lucy cried playfully, reaching around to tickle the boy's sides while he squealed. He looked so much like Tommy when he laughed, it was almost frightening. She pulled the two children in for a hug. “I gotta get back to work, okay? But you two have fun with your mum and dad, alright?”

The children whined but relented, Ruby shuffling back to grab onto Tommy’s hand while he smiled softly down at her. Lizzie ruffled Charlie’s hair affectionately, expression loving as she looked at her step-son. Lucy smiled at her awkwardly.

“Good to see you.”

Lizzie nodded, eyes not quite meeting hers. “You too.”

“Right,” she looked at Tommy. “I gotta go help Adam with paperwork.”

He nodded, expression difficult to read, though she thought that she could see a regretful glimmer enter his eyes when he looked at her. “Alright.”

She nodded in return, waving and flashing a smile at Charlie and Ruby before ducking away. Watching from her desk, she looked on as Tommy ushered his children and Lizzie out of the office. He and Lizzie were both sporting wide smiles. Lucy huffed out a breath, nodding to herself. Good. That was good. They were happier now. Finally at peace with their little family.

Now if only her heart would stop hurting. 

∗ ∗ ∗   

They met with McCavern that evening along with Uncle Charlie to confirm the plan for distribution of the opium.

“Now who’s this fine lady?” McCavern asked when he spotted her, eyes shining in the lights of the lanterns as he looked her over. 

Lucy smiled thinly, taking his hand and shaking it when Tommy introduced them. What the fuck was it with these fascists and their constant leering?

She took a seat next to Charlie, listening to Tommy deal with McCavern. He was bad, that much was obvious to her, even without taking into account what he’d done to Bonnie. But he didn’t make her skin crawl as much as Mosley did. So that was something. Unlike Mosley he was just loud and obnoxious.

Tommy and McCavern shook on their deal, and Tommy poured them all a drink.

“In the firelight, your hair looks like the color of blood, love,” McCavern whispered in her ear, breath tickling her neck as he leaned down to pick up his cup. Lucy tensed, fingers tightening around her own mug. McCavern chuckled and pulled away. From across the table, Tommy’s jaw tightened, clearly having taken notice of the encounter.

But he said nothing. 

She understood why. McCavern was volatile; their peace pact fragile. He couldn’t be risking upending that all just over a half flirtatious remark.  

But still, it stung. 

Maybe he didn’t really see her as someone worth expending the effort to protect anymore. 

“You’ll use the cheque guarantee from Mosley to officially connect him to McCavern,” she guessed after McCavern and his men had left. 

“Yeah.”

She nodded, raising her drink to her lips.

“I’m going inside,” Charlie announced, standing. He gave Lucy a pat on the shoulder as he passed her and they said their goodnights. And then it was just her and Tommy again. 

Tommy cleared his throat. “Are you still coming to the ballet tomorrow evening?”

She swiped a hand across her face. It was Lizzie’s birthday tomorrow, and in celebration, he was having a private ballet company come to his house to put on a production of Swan Lake. A ballet about love, apparently.

A particularly paranoid part of her brain wondered if they’d chosen a romantic ballet specifically to rub her nose in it. 

Jealousy pulsed through her. Lizzie always got the big, grand public displays of love and affection. She got to go to fancy theater productions with him, and expensive restaurants. When he won awards and made speeches, she often got mentioned by name in his thanks towards those who had helped him get where he had in life. And at every lavish function, she got to be on his arm.

Even before she’d moved out, Lucy had always been relegated to the shadows. Their relationship could never be known publicly. Their dinner dates were at home, where no one could see them. Or maybe the rare picnic out in the wilderness. Assuming they had the time for dates at all. He’d never be able to throw an extravagant party in her honor.

Looking down at her hands, she frowned. “Wasn’t sure if I was still invited.”

Tommy looked at her sharply. “Of course you're invited.”

“I’d hate to ruin Lizzie’s birthday with my presence.”

“You won’t. She knows you’re invited.” His brows pinched. “She made sure that an invitation got sent to you herself.”

The furrow in Lucy’s brow only deepened. Why the fuck would she do that? Maybe she was trying to remind her of her place. To make sure that she saw the massive effort that Tommy had gone to for her.  

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to come if you really don’t want to, but…” Tommy wetted his lips, looking uncomfortable. 

“Mosley’s coming,” she finished for him. 

“Yes.”

“And you want me to come babysit him.”

“Not…babysit. But I might need you for any business we may conduct while he’s there.”

Of course. He didn’t want her there to enjoy herself. He wanted her there to work. Silly her. 

God, when did you get so bitter? she asked herself, cringing at her thoughts.

“I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”

Tommy exhaled. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“I might not be able to come pick you up with all the preparations that need to happen, but I’ll send a driver.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll ask Polly if she can drive me.”

His brows shot up nearly to his hairline. “You want to ride to Warwickshire with Polly?”

“Want is a strong word. But it’ll free up one of your drivers to go pick up some of the other guests. Besides, she’s been a little nicer to me lately. I think Aberama’s been putting in a good word for me.”

He examined her for a long time. “If that’s what you're comfortable with.”

She nodded. 

They stayed there for a while, both looking out towards the darkness of the canal. 

“I need to be getting back,” Tommy sighed. His hands had slipped into his pockets at some point. 

“Okay.” 

He made a move as if to approach her, then stopped. The soft glow of the lanterns cast sharp shadows across his face. She could just barely make out the reflection in his eyes. 

“Good night, then.”

Before she could reply, he started to walk away, the darkness that surrounded them seeming to swallow him up once he passed the touch of the lanterns. 

She stared out into the dark. 

No kiss. No I love you. No touch.

“Good night,” she whispered. Even though he was already gone.

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[aristaspark]

Notice how Darius didn't look at Brooklynn's arm?

It's not me who's saying this. That's a conversation that's happening in the fandom that I wanted to talk about because I find it truly...idk, kind of icky, and of bad taste.

I decided to speak about it after having stumbled once again upon a post using Darius' lack of "notice" of Brooklynn's arm as an argument for the ship, but it's far from being the first time I've seen people bring it up.

Don't get me wrong, my problem isn't that they're supporting the ship, even though I believe Kenlynn to be endgame, I can admit that there are elements that could point towards dinostar possibly being endgame, my problem is with this argument specifically, because it looks like the ones using it are purposefully being obtuse, and are missing the point. To me it's a really disrespectful outlook on the work of the writers and their handling of Brooklynn's disability.

For context, Brooklynn explains to Soyona that she doesn't like the way people look at her ever since she has lost her arm. I love this scene. We get an insight into Brooklynn and her struggles, into how she is still adapting to the way people perceive her now that she's "different". The loss of her arm isn't brushed aside, it has lasting consequences that the writers don't shy away from. They consulted people with limb differences to make sure that they'd show an authentic representation of their expericences, and you can see the care that they put into telling that aspect of Brooklynn's story.

Now that we established that, yes, Brooklynn is struggling with the way she is perceived, let's talk about why I hate what the fandom makes of it.

There are two characters who react to Brooklynn's arm: Ben and Kenji. And from Brooklynn's reaction, we see that she feels some type of way about it, even though she has very different reactions to the two of them, because the two interactions are VERY different.

During the scene with Ben, we can see that Ben's gaze, despite himself, is drawn to her arm. That's mainly because he had no idea that she'd lost it, but since they were both very stressed and there were millions of other more "pressing" matters he should have focused on, it hurt Brooklynn that his eyes kept ogling at her arm. Neither of them were in the right mindset. He was slightly insensitive in the way he approached the subject, which caused Brooklynn to react negatively. But it's never shown as a black and white thing. Ben apologizes and afterwards, Brooklynn is able to focus on something else because she's an actual intelligent and social being who's aware that simply because Ben looked at her arm didn't mean that he thought of her as less than. It was a human interaction, realistic, and in no way was it implanted to say something about Ben and Brooklynn's relationship, to imply that Ben having a reaction made him a bad friend somehow. This is simply realistic.

Now, Kenji. He first notices her arm when she's talking to Ben, and we can see that he focuses on it for a hot second, before looking up at her face. Needless to say that in that moment there's a million things going through his mind. Brooklynn is alive, she's there, Ben knew Brooklynn was alive, she has lost a limb... We can see he is hit by all these informations which are way too much for him to process. It's NORMAL, EXCPECTED that he'd have a reaction to seeing her missing arm. Any other reaction would have been stupid. It's as if your lover left for a few days, came back with a missing limb and you said nothing. This doesn't happen. Them writing this into the show says nothing about Kenji's status as a love interest, he shouldn't have to ignore it to be considered a suitable partner and I find it kind of disgusting that people imply this. His lover has lost a limb, of course it will have an impact on him.

Now, the second time he looks at her arm is when he's finally reunited with Brooklynn. But simply reducing this interaction to "Kenji looks at Brooklynn arm -> Brooklynn scared -> Bad = Darius better" is a thought process I'd expect from a pre-schooler.

Kenji spends a very long moment staring only at Brooklynn, at HER FACE, expressing his emotions (beautiful scene by the way). Then he WILLINGLY looks at her arm. Kenji's aware that she's looking at him and he has already seen her arm, the only reason he looks down at her arm is because he wants HER to be aware that he has seen it, and one shouldn't have to be a genius to understand this. And he looks incredibly sad because, I know that's crazy, but as someone who love(d)s her, this impacts him. And Brooklynn has a reaction, I know that's crazy. But unlike with Ben, she looks scared, not mad. I won't spend too much time on this because I already did a brief "analysis" of this scene, but I took it as either she was scared that he'd see her differently, either it was the manifestation of all the hurt she's suffered (yk, often when you open up about something, you feel the emotions as you tell the story, and to me this could be Brooklynn allowing herself to show someone she's suffering for the first time, as if a silent conversation had taken place. Kenji asks what happened to her arm with his eyes, and all the hurt comes flooding back as she's reminded of everything she's been through).

Now, some people use the fact that Darius didn't even glance at her arm as, idk, a good thing, patting him on the back for it (which, on its own, is incredibly weird to me). Yasmina and Sammy didn't look at it either, but since they're not shipped with Brooklynn most don't care, it's not about disability but about somehow gaining points in the battle for Brooklynn.

But I'm like, you have to purposely being obtuse to use this as an argument. If I was Brooklynn and I was presumed dead for a long time, and when I came back I had a limb missing (implying an immense amount of suffering) I would absolutely want my partner and my friends to notice it ??? ESPECIALLY the person I love?? Actually, if he didn't notice I would straight up hate him because that would just mean that he DOESN'T CARE.

Implying that strangers looking at Brooklynn's arm and her loved ones reacting to her evident trauma are the same thing is wild, but using it as an argument for shipping is worse and, to me, an insult to all the work the writers have done to tackle the subject of disability. There isn't some checklist of people who looked at her arm and people who didn't, Darius (as well as Yaz and Sammy) don't deserve a cookie (or Brooklynn's love for that matter 🙃) because they didn't look at it. Ben and Kenji reacting to her arm doesn't mean that they somehow care less about the fact that Brooklynn's alive or that they love her less than the others, and Darius isn't "special" for not having looked at her arm, because Sammy and Yaz also didn't. It simply means that they are well written characters who react to things in their own, sometimes clumsy way.

What bothers me is that these scenes clearly weren't implanted for shipping matters, but are part of the characters' journeys with Brooklynn's disability, and her own journey. Them being present doesn't somehow put a definitive stain on Brooklynn's relationships with Kenji and Ben, things don't work like that. If anything I find Kenji's scene with her to be very touching, because you can just see how devastated he is for her, and how frightened she is.

It's not the fact that people look at her that hurts Brooklynn, it's the reason and the manner in which they look at her.

Idk to me it's kind of disrespectful to the work the writers did because it's implying that they tried to say Darius was the one for Brooklynn simply because he didn't care for his friend's severed limb. I think there are better arguments to make for dinostar, and less insensitive, than to reduce this very important topic to shipping.

Anyway, thanks for coming to my ted talk 😭

[bandsandwristbands]

Howdy, erm, sorry, but I thought since you know Abt mha more than me, you would make this better.

So, the idea is: gaalee, but mha teachers (Lee is teaching orientation on the terrain, and Gaara more like hero activity moderator which mission, who and how should do it, smth like it. Dunno if in bnha verse they have such organ, but I think it would be neat). Like. Gaara and Lee are their adult versions with kids, but Lee is divorced. So, they like meet after loooong time and be like: remember our battle arc, when I almost killed you? Wanna do that again, just to see our progress? - Gaara said.

Since Lee is a teacher he has stadium pass.

So, they end up repeating all the steps like on manga until Lee jump on higher place (tribune or smth), Gaara would think like 'he is abt dropping his weights', but Lee actually just jumps down SUPER CLOSE TO GAARA'S FACE. He could feel warm breath in his forehead, Lee band a lil to his lips, Gaara in shock he just can't move sand at all (Lee still doesn't have quirk, that just pure shock). Then Lee just slide his hand in gourt, grab some sand and pour it on the flore through his fist and then like 'any new tricks from this dawg, cause I learned some'

I am sorry but this stupidity was rooting my brain too damn fast.

Is it gay enough to discuss? :p

Have a good Day!

Taz I do hope you know what you've done here, you have smashed together my two favorite ships of all time and now my brain is broken forever.

I'm obsessed and I will be drawing this fight scene you've written as soon as I have the energy for something complicated. For now, I only offer a lil flashback and Gaara being the New Teacher lol

They are being so polite for introductions lol

Close up and transcriptions under the cut

Sports Festival:

-Lee loses to Gaara and is unable to join the hero program- flunks out of general studies- gets license from different school (Lee is quirkless)

-Rumors that Gaara is definitely going to be a villain- seen as a nepo baby- Father is a business man with ties to hero corruption/working with villains

Years Later @UA

-New Teacher Gaara- Reformed attitude+ therapy- wants to fix hero corruption from inside

-Established Teacher Lee- explaining to his students how his wraps are reinforced to withstand his full punches- thanks support!

G: "Sorry for almost killing you." (thinking: Tall, cute, strong.. Wonder if he hates me now)

L: "Oh! It is all in the past! You are forgiven! Please let me know if you need help with anything! I look forward to working with you!" (Thinking: omg he's so cool now! He's barely even scary! Its been so long! Maybe he'll spar with me! So pretty..)

G: "Likewise."

[enemiestolovershoe]

I just found your blog now and holy crap am I glad I did !!! Your JJ fics are seriously so AMAZING 🤩.

Could I pls request JJ x fem where she convinces her parents to let her boyfriend come with them on their annual lake house vacation, Her mom is a sweetie pie and instantly gives approval but her dad very reluctantly agrees hoping their relationship is a just a brief summer love fling because God forbid her daughter is in love with a pogue. He tries to break them up one night and she’s (reader) is not having it all… Angsty with some smut cause it’s JJ 😜 happy ending perhaps with him proposing to her as a nice touch🩵.

Somewhat inspired by the movie “Endless Love”

Tysm hope it’s not too long/confusing explanation 🫣.

Summer Heat

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summary: The request explains it.

Words: 1k

Warnings: some fighting between y/n and her dad.

A/N: I haven’t seen Endless Love but I read a few summaries and tried to capture what you were looking for. I didn’t include any smut bc I wasn’t in the mood to write it that day. I’m sorry about that, but I still hope you enjoy it! :)

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of your bedroom as you packed the last of your bags for the annual lake house vacation. You were practically buzzing with excitement, knowing that this year was different. For the first time, JJ Maybank—your boyfriend of the past year—would be joining you and your family.

You had spent weeks convincing your parents to let him come along. Your mom was on board from the beginning, always quick to support you and, in her words, “happy to meet the boy who makes my daughter glow.” Your dad, on the other hand, wasn’t as easily swayed. His protective nature amplified when it came to your relationship with JJ, whom he viewed as reckless and irresponsible—a “pogue,” in his words, who wasn’t good enough for you.

Despite his reluctance, you finally got him to agree after promising JJ would sleep in the guest cabin and be on his best behavior. But you knew that was only half the battle. You were determined to show your dad how wrong he was about JJ.

“Are you sure about this?” JJ asked as he carried your suitcase to the back of your car. His trademark smirk softened into a more nervous expression.

“Yes,” you said firmly, reaching up to cup his face. “I want you there with me. Don’t let my dad get in your head, okay?”

JJ exhaled and nodded. “Alright, but if he challenges me to a duel or something, you’re stepping in.”

You laughed, leaning up to kiss him briefly. “Deal.”

The lake house was as picturesque as ever, surrounded by towering pines and a crystal-clear lake that sparkled under the afternoon sun. Your mom greeted JJ with open arms the moment he stepped out of the car, pulling him into a hug and exclaiming, “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, JJ! Y/N talks about you all the time.”

“Good things, I hope,” JJ said, his easy charm shining through.

“Of course, sweetie!” your mom said, giving you a knowing smile.

Your dad stood off to the side, arms crossed as he surveyed JJ with a critical eye. “Let’s get the bags inside,” he said gruffly, brushing past without offering a greeting.

JJ’s shoulders tensed, but he covered it with a grin directed at you. “Fun times already,” he muttered under his breath.

You sighed, silently vowing to make this trip work.

The first few days went smoothly. JJ fit in effortlessly with your mom, helping her cook dinner and making her laugh with his endless stories. He spent hours swimming and kayaking with you on the lake, his carefree energy infectious.

But your dad remained distant, watching JJ like a hawk and making snide comments whenever he got the chance. “So, JJ,” your dad said one evening during dinner. “What’s your plan for the future? Or do you just plan to drift through life?”

JJ set his fork down and met your dad’s gaze. “I’m working at the marina right now, saving up for a boat of my own. I’d like to start a charter business someday.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow. “A charter business? Sounds...ambitious.”

“Dad,” you interjected, your tone sharp.

“It’s alright, Y/N,” JJ said, squeezing your hand under the table. “It’s not easy, but I’m willing to put in the work. I’ve got goals, even if they don’t look like the ones you might expect.”

Your mom quickly changed the subject, but the tension lingered.

It all came to a head on the fourth night. You were sitting on the dock with JJ, your feet dangling in the water as the sun set. It was peaceful, just the two of you laughing and talking in the warm evening air.

But when you returned to the house, your dad was waiting in the living room. “Y/N, can I talk to you for a minute?” he said, his voice clipped.

JJ started to follow, but your dad held up a hand. “Alone.”

You exchanged a glance with JJ, who nodded reluctantly.

“What is it, Dad?” you asked once you were in the kitchen.

“I’ve been patient,” he began, pacing the room. “I’ve given JJ a chance, even though I don’t think he’s right for you. But this...this thing between you two—it’s a summer fling, Y/N. It’s not real.”

Your jaw dropped. “Not real? Are you serious? JJ and I have been together for a year.”

“He’s not good enough for you,” your dad said bluntly. “He doesn’t have a stable job or a secure future. What happens when this little romance fizzles out, and you’re left picking up the pieces?”

“Wow,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “You don’t even know him, Dad. You’ve already decided he’s not worth anything because he doesn’t fit into your perfect little box.”

“I just want what’s best for you,” he said, his tone softening.

“No,” you snapped. “You want what you think is best for me. But guess what? I’m an adult. I get to choose who I love, and I choose JJ.”

Your dad’s face hardened. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Then it’s my mistake to make,” you said fiercely, tears stinging your eyes.

You turned on your heel and stormed out, finding JJ waiting on the porch. His expression was a mix of concern and determination. “I heard yelling. Are you okay?”

“Not really,” you admitted, throwing your arms around him. “But I don’t care what he says. I love you, JJ. I’m not letting him come between us.”

JJ pulled back to look at you, his blue eyes searching yours. “You mean that?”

“Of course I mean that,” you said.

He smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box. “Because I was hoping you’d say that.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he dropped to one knee. “Y/N, I know this isn’t the most romantic timing, but I’ve been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the right moment. I love you more than anything, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you nodded. “Yes! A thousand times yes!”

JJ slipped the ring onto your finger and stood, pulling you into a deep kiss.

Inside the house, your mom was watching through the window, a wide smile on her face. Your dad stood behind her, his expression unreadable. But for the first time, he didn’t say a word.

A/N: This will be my last JJ fic for a while. I’m just not feeling the same connection to him and Rafe as I used to. I’m sorry, and I hope you understand.

Taglist: @courta13

[adumbratrapedme]

sugawara koushi x reader | teen pregnancy pt.1 the news

Synopsis. a teen pregnancy storie between suga baby and reader.

wc. idk | genre. angst to fluff | cw/tags. angst to fluff, teen pregnancy mentions, etc.

links: tsukishima | kenma | yamaguchi | hinata | kageyama teen pregnancy series masterlists here!

General Headcanons:

╭⋅ He would likely experience a moment of disbelief or concern upon hearing the news, but he’d quickly compose himself, asking questions like, “Are you okay?” or “How are you feeling about this?” ╭⋅ His empathetic nature would kick in, and he’d prioritize understanding and support over his own fear ╭⋅ “No matter what, you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together.” ╭⋅ After thje initial shock he would shift into practical problem-solving mode. He’d calmly discuss the next steps, such as how to talk to u guys parents, handle school, and plan for the future, all while being mindful not to overwhelm you. ╭⋅ He’d make sure you felt cared for, offering small gestures like walking u to school, bringing you snacks, or simply listening when you needs to vent. ╭⋅ Though he’d stay calm on the outside, Sugawara would privately wrestle with feelings of fear and inadequacy. He’d wonder if he could really take on such a big responsibility, but he’d never let Y/N see him falter. ╭⋅ Sugawara would quietly seek advice from trusted people, like Takeda-sensei, Ukai, or even Daichi. He’d want to make sure he’s doing the right thing for Y/N and their future. ╭⋅ Despite the challenges, he would remain committed to his responsibilities—both in volleyball and as a partner. He’d work harder than ever, determined to provide stability and show you that you can rely on him.

Sugawara stared at Y/N, his mouth slightly agape as her words sank in.

“I’m pregnant.” you repeated

His mind reeled. For a moment, it was as if the world had gone silent, save for the pounding of his heart. Y/N’s hands trembled in her lap, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

He blinked, forcing himself to breathe. Then, gently, he reached out and took your hands in his.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Y/N’s lip quivered. “Koushi, I—what if we can’t? What about school? Your future? Volleyball?”

His heart clenched at the fear in her voice, but he didn’t waver. “My future isn’t just about volleyball or school darling" he said firmly. “It’s about us. About you. And if this is happening now… then we’ll make it work. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I was so scared to tell you…”

Sugawara pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you protectively. “I’m scared too,” he admitted quietly. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do this. You’re not alone in this, okay? We’ll talk to our parents. We’ll figure out what’s best for us and for…” He hesitated, his voice softening even more. “For the baby.”

Y/N nodded against his chest, your own grip on him tightening.

That evening, after walking u home, Sugawara sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The reality of their situation was sinking in, and the weight of it was almost overwhelming. He thought about the team, his studies, and the expectations everyone had for him.

But then he thought about Y/N’s smile, the way you usually looked at him with trust, and the tiny life you guys were now responsible for.

“I can do this,” he whispered to himself. “We can do this.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next day, he approached Daichi after practice, pulling him aside.

“Da(d)ichi, I need your advice,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

(sorry about the dadichi thing idk why i find it hilarious, bear with me ok.)

Daichi raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Of course. What’s going on?”

Sugawara hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath. “It’s… about something big. Something I need to be ready for.”

As he began to explain, Sugawara felt a sense of determination take root in his heart. He didn’t have all the answers yet, but he knew one thing for certain—he wouldn’t let Y/N down.

Their future was going to be different than they’d planned, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t still be bright.

TAGLIST:

@chilichopsticks @dreadnoughtus101 @starykari