#what if we are the only ones left out of the conversation?

[wemlygust]

In my experience the best fiction does not follow up the first situation with an emotionally similar situation, even if it's escalated. At least not too many times in a row/for too long relative to the length of the story. That can end up feeling like the same situation stretched out way too far. You can only get away with that for so long before the reader just acclimates and gets used to it and none of the excitement feels as exciting anymore. Instead, my favorites alternate moods between scenes. Just had a super stressful chase scene? > Now we have a relaxing and/or funny scene to take some of that tension off. Just had a really emotionally fraught conversation scene? > Now for the shocking action scene, or the methodical investigative scene, perhaps. Just had a slow, leisurely, peaceful scene, where everything is great and the characters are happy? > Here comes the Cascade of Problems! Just had a cascade of problems? > Here is the safety, everything is good now! Oh wait, > here is the oh god my friend died during the cascade of problems scene, everyone is mourning now, tearjerking scene. Now that you've made everyone cry, it's time for > a really funny scene that makes the characters laugh even though it still hurts, or another action scene, or a thoughtful conversation scene, or maybe a romance scene. Next, maybe a good scare, then an action scene, maybe a couple more humorous moments mixed in, maybe some philosophical moments, whatever. Add another romance scene. Then bring the dead friend back to life (yay!) or don't and instead resolve that thread otherwise by having the characters come to terms in some sense with their death. But wait, betrayal from stage left! And so on. What emotion you switch to doesn't matter too much, as long as you move on to something, though not without abandoning the context of the previous scenes or the character development throughlines and suchlike. It doesn't have to be literally every other scene that the mood changes, and you don't have to include every possible mood, you can just pick a handful that contrast well; the point is just that the mood has to change and shouldn't just be the same the entire time, to keep things engaging instead of boring and one-note, imo. This is more true the longer the work is. A really short story can get away with being just 1 thing, but the longer a story gets, the more a one-note angst-fest or series of fight scenes or whatever gets exhausting instead of fun. This is why there are typewriter-rooms in Resident Evil games. The peaceful moments enable the horror in the other parts of the game, and there are similar peaceful spots in other horror media - even though and because horror is all about scaring and/or horrifying people. Like, the alien isn't right there chasing Ripley for the entirety of the movie Alien - the most intense scenes are spread out and interspersed with mystery and interpersonal drama and suchlike. Without the typewriter rooms, or an equivalent moment to breathe in other horror media, people either get overwhelmed and stop, or they acclimate and stop being scared. The peace and safety is needed in order to bring down the terror. Tl;dr: vary the type of situation. And sometimes the situation can be nice. Just keep changing it up. With faster or slower switches depending on how you want to do your pacing, and how long the story is overall. Also I actually think it's also fine to totally discard this type of writing advice and just, like, write slice-of-life feel-good fiction sometimes. Our culture shapes the kinds of stories we usually tell, and genre shapes that further, and it shapes writing advice like mine and that of the people above me in this reblog chain, because of what we have experience reading and what advice we have heard ourselves and so on, and it's okay to just throw all that out and do something else, too. Including whatever thing you've been told specifically not to do. Do that, if you want.

The point of fiction is actually to put that guy in a situation™️, and he might try to tell you the point is to then get him out of the situation, WRONG, second situation

[jeonful]

f!ngering you during a night out

pairing: bf!jungkook x fem!reader

genre: smut

word count: 0.4k

warnings/includes: nsfw, smut, mentions of jk smoking, swearing, petnames, teasing, making out, public sex, secret sex ?, fingering, clit play, clit stimulation, cumming on hand, implied smut

masterlist

you gazed out of the window, watching as your boyfriend took the last drag of his cigarette, the end of it glowing a bright orange as it burnt, before he took if out of his mouth and flicked it onto the ground.

he made his way back to you, walking through the back doors of the restaurant and back the table.

your gaze never left his as he dragged his chair backwards and sat down.

when a waiter came over to ask if you were ready to order, he replied with, "we're gonna go soon."

as soon as the waiter walked away you hit his shoulder, "why aren’t we having food?"

he looked at you as if he expected you knew the answer. but he soon realised that wasn't the case when you looked at him for a response.

"we have food at home." he said but this wasn't enough for you, "but we're-"

"baby."

and then you noticed that look in his eyes. the look he gave you when he wanted to fuck.

he grinned as soon as you knew what he was talking about ans you shook your head in disappointment and turned to converse with the others.

you tried not to take notice of his right hand secretly running up your thigh and slipping in between them to cup your pussy.

you were confident that he would stop there but you were proven wrong when his thumb grazed across your clit through your panties. you leaned back in your chair, trying to get in a comfier position. you glanced at him and he winked at you.

you subtly rolled your hips in time with his hand. and when he realised, his hand rubbed with more friction than before, his palm pressed flat against your clit and his middle and index finger curling slightly against your pussy.

he rested his elbow on the table and covered his mouth with his hand to hide the grin that was plastered on his face. he could feel the dampened fabric in between your legs and this only increased his curiosity to see how wet you were.

his fingers traced the hem of your panties and then he dipped his hand underneath, pretending to reposition himself so that no one would notice, and when he found what he was looking for he bit down on his knuckle to stiffle a moan.

"shit baby." his fingers glided with ease up and down your slick folds, obviously teasing you. you sat back in your chair and gave him a look.

he innocently smiled at you and kissed the top of your head while at the same time pushing his fingers all the way inside of you. you buried your face in his neck to muffle a moan.

he smiled and his left hand came to stroke your cheek, whilst his right continued to slowly pump in and out of you.

you pulled away to look at him, trying to show how he should be feeling ashamed of himself for literally finger-fucking you in the middle of a restaurant... but of course he wasn't.

he leaned down, pressed his a slow kiss on your lips, slipping his tongue in between them and then pulled away after a few seconds, planting a quick kiss to your cheek.

he dropped his head back and closed his eyes, his fingers became slower when he felt you clenching around him. you tried to hold back a whine as you felt your orgasm coming. your thighs clamped around his hand and he smirked, leaned close to you and muttered, "cum on my hand baby."

you pretty much lost it at that point. your hips rolled against him once more before you couldn't hold back and released yourself onto his hand, coating his fingers and palm with your sweet juices.

you bit down hard on your lip to stop yourself from moaning and squeezed your eyes shut. you could see him obviously smiling, his fingers didn't stop until he knew you were finished.

but his fingers didn't immediately pull out of you, he circled your clit and pushed his fingers back and forth a few more times before deciding that was enough.

you buried your face in your hands at the realisation of what you had just done. he laughed and playfully nudged you,

"wanna go home?"

© jeonful 2024, all rights reserved.

[ladymercysletters]

Synopsis: Reader has just been given the all clear by the maesters to be with her husband again. There is however the issue that her husband has taken to leaving their chambers before she wakes in the morning, and only coming to bed well after sleep has taken her. Fed up with only ever seeing her husband briefly at dinner, where he is still deep in conversation with one of his bannermen or pouring over papers, y/n takes matters into her own hands.

Word Count: 3,656

Rating: 18 + NSFW (no minors!!)

A/N: I seem to have written a 1980's Mills and Boon. Though I do like the idea of Cregan as Heathcliff!

“Well My Lady” said the maester, putting his instruments carefully back into his bag, “I would say you are fully healed.” He congratulated, looking up at you as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“So I can? We can?” you asked eagerly and unabashed. You had been without your husband for so long and these last few weeks of healing from your latest childbirth had been torture.

“uh, yes. My Lady.” Said the maester bashfully, head immediately dipping down to hide the reddening of his face. You thanked the maester once more before he left, calling in your maids to run you a bath and dress you. Now that it was safe for you to enjoy your husband once more, that is exactly what you intended to do. For almost two moons now you had been parted from Cregan, or at least that is what it felt like. Since you had given birth, though you still shared a bed, you found that he would be already gone by the time you awoke – and in the evening when you would stay up late into the night reading to keep yourself awake for when he did return, he would still manage to only return to bed once you had been taken by sleep. The only reason you knew he did still sleep beside you, was because you could smell him on your sheets and would sometimes still feel his warmth in the space beside you.

You sat in the milky bath as your maids paraded various dresses in front of you. Mabel held up a pale violet crushed velvet dress; it was loose and skimmed over your curves, allowing your skin to breath whilst still catching the candlelight. You had almost decided on that when Florence pulled out one of your old favourites, it was a dress you had brought with you when you first moved to Winterfell after marrying Cregan, a deep blue layered dress with a creamy silk underskirt. You had had it made especially as you had heard of how cold the North was; golden bronze fur lined the low neckline before raising higher at the back. Your eyes lit up as you remembered when you first wore it. That was the dress to seduce your husband.

Mabel and Florence dried and dressed you, plaiting strands of your hair to curl around the crown of your head like a maiden and lacing the front of the dress as tight as it would go. Unfortunately, given your many children, the front would not do up as tightly as it once did. Mabel had suggested a modesty layer for your chest, surely to keep out the cold in such a warm dress. Florence just elbowed her and gave her a look as though she was missing the point.

--x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x--

Cregan yawned as he sat at his table, eyes drifting as he tried to stay awake. He had awoken early as he had every day since the birth of his latest child, dressing quietly and leaving before you woke. Every morning he’d stay and watch you a little: his wife, tucked up in the thick, soft furs of their bed, before tearing himself away. The maesters had come to him shortly after the birth. They had expressed deep concern over the struggle of this birth how weak you were. Given that you had fallen pregnant with this one only three moons after the birth of your second child your body had not been given a lot of time to recover, which they felt contributed to the long labour and your subsequent bed rest.

The sight of you weak in bed; skin drained of much blood and not even able to hold your babe as you had your others. Cregan had berated himself no end at your state, blaming himself and his recklessness that you almost died. So, he did the only thing he could do: he distanced himself from you, leaving your chambers before you awoke and returning only when he is sure you must have fallen asleep.

--x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x--

The first place you looked for your husband, you knew you’d find him, was the great hall. He was surrounded by his men at the high table, no doubt meeting to discuss what more they have left to de before winter comes. You glide into the room as the Lady of Winterfell ought to; nodding to the guards as they opened the doors before taking a slow turn about the room. One of your ladies in waiting came with you, arm in arm you walked slowly about the room, breathing deeply to allow your bust to spill a little over the soft fur neckline of your gown. Some of the ladies of court were scattered about the room: some sitting by the large open fire grate with their embroidery. Greeting them all you sat with them, moving your hair subtly over one shoulder to make the best of your exposed neckline.

Your eyes flickered over to the top of the room, where you see Cregan’s already on you. His brow is down as he looks up through his lashes; eyes raking over your body and nostrils flaring at the sight. Giving him a small smile you hold eye contact as you trail a light hand down your neck, watching as he huffs a breath and turns back towards Lord Burley. Slightly frustrated at his dismissal you stood again, this time walking towards Cregan and his seat. He watched appreciatively though subtly. He could see that dress you had on was one you had worn when you were first made man and wife, the bust was tighter than it had once been and Cregan steadied his breathing once more as he thought of your breasts, full of milk for his babes and practically pouring out of your dress.

“Husband” you greeted lowly as not to disturb him. You picked up the jug to fill his cup. Ever the stoic Northman he paid little mind to you as you greeted him, so you went a step further: leaning over him jut a bit too much you steadied yourself on his thick thigh as you leaned into him to pour his drink. Your warm scent filled his nostrils and his eyes fluttered closed, only opening to see the soft pure skin of your chest so close to his face that all he would have to do would be to lean a little closer to taste you.

Pulling back with a sigh you placed the jug down and drew your hand slowly up his thigh, just grazing his inside seem that wasn’t covered by leather, before retiring from the room. If he wanted to pretend he didn’t see you then you would do what you did best: be a nuisance to him.

--x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x--

You took some time before finding him again, taking tea with your ladies in one of the viewing towers whilst you plotted your next move.

The training yard was where you found him that afternoon. The winter had faded into a slightly less harsh winter, so you and your ladies were safe from having to wrap yourselves up too much as you sat on the viewing platforms. Cregan and his men had clearly been in battle for some time; even with the milder weather you could still see the steam rising from their bodies. You watched as Cregan swung his sword over his head, shoulders rolling as he brought it down onto the shield of the man cowering beneath him. You bit your lip as you watched his muscles move under his shirt. Thick fingers gripped the hilt of his family sword when several men approached at him at once. There was no denying your husband was a warrior: his broad back twisted as he fought from all sides, body turning with ease in his leathers and sweat dripping from his brow as grunts filled the arena. Moving over to where he had left a cloth you took a seat nearer the edge of the grounds.

Giving him your best sultry look you breathed deeply, making the most of your heaving bosom as he stopped for a break, his chest heaving as he strode towards you.

“Wife.” He growled, almost annoyed at seeing you again. You shot him a wry smile as you stood and took a step towards him. Picking the cloth from his hand you stepped up to him and swiped it over his brow, watching as his eyes closed. You leaned forward just a bit too close to be innocent as you trailed the cloth over the back of his neck for him. A low groan rumbled from Cregans throat as you massaged the back of his neck. “It is good to see you out and about my dearest.” He murmured, head tilted back at your touch to watch you down the bridge of his nose.

“Husband. The maester visited this morning.” You let your words drift. He knew what that meant.

“My darling” Cregan growled, cupping your waist “Are you sure?” you nodded, grinning widely at his unhidden enthusiasm. The breath he released almost contained steam itself as he looked you up and down. Your lips quivered to kiss him, but you restrained yourself; simply smiling once more as you left him to his training, his knights calling him back to practice.

--x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x--

You didn’t see each other again until your evening meal. Dinner was quiet. You ate with a few of his bannermen and their families: yourself and Cregan sitting at the head of the table. Though the grip of his hands around your waist had indicated his need for you earlier, you were disappointed to find your conversation at dinner lacking. Instead, he has been distracted by the lord to his left causing you to sit in a haff by his side. Bored, and ready to tease him some more you placed your hand on his thigh, just low enough to not garner any notice.

Your hand rested over the thick material of his trousers before pressing firmer into the flesh of his leg, slowly making your way up his thigh - the only reason you knew he noticed your hand was the subtle twitch in his leg when you pressed closer to the centre of them. Your gentle hand brushed at the thick length buried deep beneath his layers when his quickly slipped below the tabletop to stop you.

His head turned sharply to you, eyes glaring a warning. You had never been a brat before and he certainly wasn’t going to allow it now, in front of everyone. Your hand flexed under his grip as his attention was drawn from you again. Your fingers moved subtly to stroke him – his length thickening in his breeches as your fingertips managed to surround the head. His thighs snapped shut at the stimulation, breathing deeply to avoid making a sound.

Dinner could not end soon enough, Cregan thought as your hand finally retracted from him. His prayers weren’t answered though as, just as the meat was taken away, small plates of sweet treats were brought out whilst drinks were further poured.

Dates shipped up from Dorne were your favourites; split open and filled with honey and chopped nuts they were one of the few sweet things you had craved through your pregnancy. You sat sweetly and eyed him as you ate; slowly biting into the fruit and licking the sweet nectar dripping from it from your lips. Cregan only looked up when he heard a faint ‘oops’ fall from your mouth, only to see you swiping honey from your cleavage, failing miserably as the sticky mess just spread further.

Cregan’s eyes glued to where your finger swiped - watching with thickening breath as your pink tongue wrapped around your finger and sucked. His thick fingers flexed on his thighs as he fought his urge to pull you into his lap and bury his face in your full cleavage to assist you. The shine of the honey distracted him when Lord Tully approached his table to congratulate your new arrival. It was only at the sound of his title leaving your lips that Cregan snapped out of the spell you cast over him and looked up, flushed.

When the last of the trays was finally taken away the Lord of Winterfell announced that the day had been long and everyone should rest, ready for a longer day tomorrow. He only hoped that his subjects did not notice the rigidness of his voice, or the clenching in his jaw as he leaned over the table.

No sooner had you entered your rooms than he was upon you.

“You think you can torment me like that wife?” he growled into your ear, pressing you against your dressing table. “You tease me. All day. In front of my men. And you don’t think I will do something about it?” he pawed at your dress, ripping open your bodice and pulling at the strings holding the rest of your gown together. You were left in just your stays and shift: back pressed against Cregan’s chest as he held you in front of your mirror. His hand held your neck and turned your face to him so he could kiss you, swiping his lips from yours up to your ear. “Watch yourself” he whispered.

The hand that wasn’t wrapped around your throat trailed down your body, over your thin undergarments where his hand bunched up the light fabric moving up your inner thigh - eyes watching you quiver in his embrace. Two thick fingers slid to part your slick folds, his thumb stroking gently over your exposed clit. He continued the slow movements, holding you in place as the pressure barely increased. Only when he could feel you dripping over his fingers did he slip the first one inside you, soon followed by the second when he heard broken moans pour from your throat.

“There’s a good girl” He growled into your ear. Despite the teasing and constant, unrelenting, movements over your little swollen bud the first thick breech of his fingers turned your legs to jelly. Having been without any touch of your husband for so long the rough texture of his palms on your heated flesh and the firm consistent push of his fingers led you to scream into the air – begging your husband for release.

“Please.” You gasped. “Husband!” you begged for gods knows what. Cregan’s lopsided smirk into your fragrant hair was enough to tip you over. The promise in the dark blown pupils of his eyes forcing your first high in months.

Your body went limp against his front, his strong arms coming around your body to lay you on the furs spread out in front of the fire. The thick pelts moulded into the curves of your naked skin and if the buzz from your first high hadn’t made you dizzy enough, seeing the broad frame of your husband staring down at you as he stripped himself of his clothes made you feel as if you would pass out.

Cregan lowered himself down to you, pulling your frame the small way up to his to kiss you properly: the rough stubble that had grown on his face grounded your mind, bringing you back into the moment to feel his body over yours. His kisses were as firm as his fingers pressing into your back, lips trailing down your neck to mark you, inhaling your scent whilst small - deep blooms appear over the swell of your breast. Cregan continued to worship his wife - over your stays and moving the remainder of your clothes out of the way as he did so. His kisses never ceased, beard rubbing deliciously over your newly expose skin when he settled his body between your thighs.

“Now. Wife.” Cregan’s breath puffed out against your sensitive flesh. “The maesters said you were healed?” you whimpered a yes. “Fully?”

“Yes husband” your high tensed voices spoke out.

“Well then…” Though you knew it was coming the high gasping moan that left your lips still did so in surprise. Cregan’s broad tongue swiped through your folds, bathing his tongue in your wetness. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he drank you in for the first time in almost half a year. Hands still gripping both your sides they slid down to brace your shaking legs over his shoulders.

He ate you like a man tasting food for the first time, curved tongue pushing as far as it could go before his lips moved to focus on your still sensitive clit. He sucked gently as his tongue continued to play – mimicking the actions of his fingers earlier. The consistent stimulation was driving you insane; legs shaking in Cregan’s strong hands you sought stability by running your fingers through his long dark hair, gripping a handful at the base making him groan into you.

He re-doubled his efforts when he heard your heavy breath and mewls; nose pressing into your pubic bone and tongue lapping generously over you. Your thighs shook and tensed – your high rolling over you in waves. The rush of your flavour on Cregan’s tongue had him groaning into you, lapping you clean in big strokes as your breath softened and you went limp in him arms once more.

“Don’t think you can rest yet my love.” He growled, pressing soft butterfly kisses up your thigh and hipbone as he rose above you. “You think after all the torment you put me through today, you’re only going to come twice?”

Cregan rolled you over and pulled you back up against his front. Your head lolled on his muscled shoulder as you caught your breath, looking up at him through your lashes to see the strong jaw of your husband. His large warm hands smoothed over your rumpled smallclothes; soothing your heartbeat as you relaxed back into him, only to feel his fingers flex into the small openings of your stays and rip them in two from your body.

Discarding the remains of your clothes, Cregan spread your legs further over the haunch of his thighs – pulling you back to settle your slick folds over his cock. Rutting his hips lightly he pushed his hard length through your folds, slicking it in your juices and brushing against your swollen bud before moving just slightly to impale you on his full length.

The shock of the sudden intrusion pushed a shrill puff of air from your lips; the stretch of his girth so welcome. Holding your hips down against him as he pushed up into you, his thrusts strong and firm as his hold. His hips snapped up into you at a steady, fast pace – your hands grasping out to steady yourself as your breath never fully steadied.

Falling forward you finally gained enough strength to start pushing back on him, desperate to get him deeper into you if that was at all possible. Cregan’s broad back folded over you, caging you in as he went to town; hand coming down in front of you to find your bud as he felt you spasm and clench around him. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he flipped you over, propping your legs over his shoulder and pushing back into you in one smooth movement.

His thick length was always a stretch in any position, but the friction brought about by your legs flung over his shoulders was something else entirely. The sparks shooting up your spine with each thrust made you keen and grope at the soft furs beneath you. Cregan watched like a wolf above you. Mouth hung open slightly as he panted, his gaze dragged down your body; from your hair splayed out over the grey black fur beneath you, over your soft breasts bouncing with his thrusts, down to where you connected. He stared at where you connected, groaning as he watched his length plunge in and out of you, your lower abdomen bulging slightly with each movement.

He leaned forward then, face to face with you in a position that just allowed him to brush that spongey spot inside you. Sliding his hands from your thighs, up your arms, he gripped your wrists in one hand and held them above your head, pressing you further into the furs as your legs hooked over his thick hips. The both of you clung to one another as he rutted into you, your hips angling to ride him from below as you both hurtled towards your ends.

Your high came first, Cregan peppering kisses down your next and biting into the juncture of your shoulder whilst you clenched and fluttered around him. He came crashing after you; groaning into your ear and holding his hips steadfastly into yours as he pumped ribbon after ribbon of cum into you, balls drawing up as they drained.

Whilst you came down from your high you felt the weight of your husband slowly drop onto you as he melted into the touch of your fingers rolling up and down his spine. After a moments reprieve Cregan pulled himself away, settling down at your side and pulling the throw at the end of your bed off and over the both of you. You both relaxed into each other, watching the glow of the fire whilst you felt your husband’s presence next to you for the first time in months.

“Never leave me for that long again.” You mumbled, bringing his knuckles to your lips, pressing a reverent kiss to them.

“Never” he murmured. Pressing a kiss to the crown of your head in response.

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 12 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

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

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; tension; recollected memories of traumatic situations; crying + feelings of sadness; self deprecation/worries of being a bad mother; mentions of a (very) toxic and absent mother; use of heart monitors; vivid memories of sexual encounters; body changes as a result of pregnancy; talks of baby + pregnancy; jealous!reader; baby name reveal (!!!!); pregnancy hormones of multiple variety; reader is emotional and stubborn; talks of cheating/wanting to cheat on (obnoxious) partner; EMDR; joshy coming in clutch fr (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter 12 (Part 1) Word Count: 43.8k+ (yes, i know it's fking ridiculous atp 🥲 -- honestly, i blame the characters. they have a mind of their own + I simply can't control them)

a/n: I have to say...... chapter 12 is very easily my favorite chap so far..... let's see if you'll agree with me ;) see you in a few days with pt 2 <3

as always, big 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. <3

an additional thank u to @builtbybrokenbells and @alwaysonthemend . Thank you, my loves, for always having the right words to encourage me amidst A L L of life’s stresses. I love you guys so much - I'd be lost w/out you :')

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

Covet Masterlist

". . .how do we begin to covet? We begin by coveting what we see every day." Thomas Harris

Theo had already left before you awoke at 8 am. 

And you were sure he’d left completely dissatisfied and grumpy. It was how he’d fallen asleep, at least. The night before, you’d completely blue-balled him. 

On top of not wanting to do anything due to tiredness, you especially didn’t feel like doing anything after your talk with Jake. Entering your bedroom to curl into a ball under the covers was immediately all you’d wanted after that conversation.

You could talk a big game and convince yourself halfheartedly of what you said, but at the end of the day. . . You knew who your heart wanted. Who it would always want — whether you allowed it or not. 

But, you’d entered your bedroom to find a smirking, sure-of-himself jock. No wallowing in bed alone. The man’s presence had aggravated you and he’d only pissed you off further with his attitude as soon as you’d entered the room.

Whenever you’d finally made it into the bedroom after your time with Jake, along with the smirk, Theo had placed his hands behind his head with a cocky brow raised. Leaning against your pillows. And, with zero remorse, you’d informed him that you were too tired for anything else and wanted to sleep. 

He’d pouted, outright. Like a child. And he’d tried a few moves to get you in the mood. . .

But, after about five attempts and rejections, he’d stopped. And, even though you’d hated that he was in your bed, you’d actually found sleep pretty easily. 

So, yes, you totally celebrated internally at him being gone. This morning was a new day, and you woke feeling well-rested and ready for the day.

And, along with Theo being gone already, the sun was shining when you woke up. There was potential for the day to be a great one. You didn’t even want to curl up in a ball to sulk and cry anymore. You couldn’t want that as the sun shone over your features.

It had also helped to open your phone screen to see a multitude of texts from Josh. Ten texts, to be exact.

Josh, 6:34 a.m.: We just left… Dragging Sam’s hungover ass through the door this morning was a TRIP.

Josh, 6:34 a.m.: Thank you for hosting our fuckin’ asses, my love. 

Josh, 6:35 a.m.: Oh! And I am SO very sorry for putting all of that on you on the day of such an important appointment. Felt REALLY fucking bad when I actually thought of that this morning.

Josh, 6:36 a.m.: Didn’t even fully wrap my mind around that shit until this morning when I saw the old sonogram magnetized to the fridge. I was in Big-Brother-to-Sam-Mode™️ last night. My brain was only halfway functioning.

Josh, 6:38 a.m.: ANYWAYS…… as repayment for your ever-devoted heart dealing with our antics, Daniel and I decided to clean up the place. I even vacuumed !!!!! 

Josh, 6:39 a.m.: The very LEAST we could do… Buuuut I actually have another way I would love to help you deal with any leftover tension…… 

Josh 6:39 a.m.: Yoga, mayhaps? Today? I heard from a little birdie that it’s great for pregnant women. 

Josh, 6:40 a.m.: Sooooo, if you wake up in time (and WANT to go), it starts at 10:30 this morning. 🧘‍♂️ I will gladly pick you up. 

Josh, 6:41 a.m.: ……Or drive to you and we can drive the Jetta. I would rather not add any more stress to your life by making you fear for your life in my beloved old lady. 🚗💨💥

Josh, 6:45 a.m.: Just let me know. I love you an  e x p o n e n t i a l  amount and would love some time with you. Just you and me. No drunken morons.

So, you sent a very sincere and appreciative text back. 

You, 8:03 a.m.: Josh. It’s fine. ❤️ I thought of the appointment thing, too. But at the end of it all, I’m just glad Sam feels like this is a safe place. I just want him to be better. I love him and I love you and I love Danny. Always. 😘Thank you so incredibly much for cleaning, too… You know how much that matters to me and I appreciate it very, very much. Tell Daniel, too.

After sending that text, you sat up and stretched with a giant yawn before answering about yoga. It did sound like a good relief for your tension, at least. . . and it was getting to the point where the baby made it sort of difficult to get comfortable. Maybe yoga would help you readjust a little. . .

You, 8:05 a.m.: YES to yoga. That sounds amazing. And YES to the Jetta….. please. Lol How much does it cost? And where?

Considering you still had a while until Josh would show up to get you, you went ahead and decided on a bath to start the day. It sounded like a refreshing, relaxing start to your day and you felt that it was very much needed after the whirlwind that last night had been.

It was going to be a good day. 

You’d just sat down at the bar with a bowl of cereal, fully refreshed from a bath. And, just as you’d responded to a TikTok Elsie sent, you heard a familiar tired groan from behind you. 

When you looked over your shoulder to see Jake rubbing his eyes, you momentarily caught his eye, a little grin fitting to his features and a nod of his head in your direction. And, just as the small action had your tummy doing somersaults, the bathroom door shut behind him.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you finished another text to Elsie before leaving your cereal for a second to check on something. . . 

You discreetly tiptoed to his room to satisfy your wondering thoughts. . . And you saw no Maya in his bed. No clothes strewn on the floor. Nothing indicating she had been there at all, in fact. (Even though you knew she had been.)

All you saw was a made bed and the blinds open to let in the morning sun. Hm. Interesting.

Now that you knew you didn’t have to sneak, you walked with a little skip in your step back to the bar. With the lack of an extra woman in the apartment, there were less nerves curling your tummy. So, you took a very satisfying bite of your Fruity Pebbles and even hummed a little as you opened TikTok to mindlessly scroll. 

The happenings from last night were lingering in your mind, but you were truly ready to declare today a new day of sorts. You were tired of feeling pessimistic and down. You had seriously decided on joy for the baby, after being all sad and weepy in the bathroom.

You and Jake – you two were a work in progress. You wanted him. He acted like he wanted you. But, you could both work to prevent that. Neither of you needed the unnecessary stress of acting on things irrationally. The dynamic didn’t need to be destroyed. All it would do is cause stress. You could get past it. Really. Truly. You could. For your baby girl. For each other.

And as much as it sucked that you weren’t together, you knew it was for the best. And, no matter what, you were in this together. You knew that – wanted to keep it that way. If you didn’t act on anything, there was nothing stupid you guys could do together that might ruin the dynamic for the baby. She needed stability.

As you glanced through the kitchen window, you saw the lavender put nicely into its old terra-cotta. The sight made your heart crack a little, while also making it feel fuller than it had in a while. It made you think of times past with a natural, melancholy longing. But. . . it also made you think, once again, of your current reality. The here and now – which, like that day he’d first brought you the plant, could be a fresh start. 

Minutes after you’d made it back to your stool, Jake came out of the bathroom. And your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him. Freshly showered. Nothing but that particular pair of pajama pants slung across his hips. You noted how refreshed he looked. His chestnut locks, hanging long against his back and shoulders, droplets marking his tanned skin. 

Well. 

He wasn’t looking up to see you, not yet. His eyes were watching his feet, brows drawn in as he walked towards you and the kitchen. He appeared to be playing what looked like an air guitar. Except, this air guitar truly mimicked that of an actual guitar, and you knew if he was holding his actual instrument, you’d hear a beautiful melody coming from him. You wondered if it was a new song or one you’d heard already. You also wondered how long you could get away with watching his biceps flex with each intentional movement on the imaginary guitar. 

Before you could think on it any longer, you decided it best to not let your eyes linger on his muscles. But, it was too late. When you looked up, you realized he’d found your eyes watching him. His own expression, brightened and a wide smile fitting to his closed lips. You matched his expression, your heart thrumming in your chest.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he greeted as he walked past you and into the kitchen, his delicious cologne caused your brain waves to falter.

You watched him at the coffee maker as he placed a mug on the base of it and popped in a K-Cup with a yawn before leaning back against the counter nearest the coffee maker. How did he manage to make such a basic task look so damn good?

No, y/n. You didn’t need to think that way. Fresh start. Stability. . . . . As long as you kept your eyes away from his half-naked form. You didn’t dare look below the waistband of his pants – you knew better. 

“Morning,” you rang back with a little grin, glancing at him briefly before finishing a new text to Elsie. To stay distracted, you went to your Ovia app to refresh on your baby’s week. You did it everyday, anyway. And you loved it that way. “She’s moving her face,” you said aloud, sort of to yourself. But you were also hoping to catch his attention.

“Hm?” Jake questioned, still across the kitchen from you. 

Lifting your head up, you caught his wondering expression, brows raised as he crossed arms at his broad, defined chest. Then, his feet crossed at the ankles.  “Our girl,” you grinned, pointing a single finger at your tummy. “She’s yawning, hiccuping, and swallowing.”

His eyes shot open, a little less sleepy than before and suddenly very interested. “That’s incredible,” he smiled, pride overtaking his features. “Is that on an app or something?”

“Yeah,” you replied, looking back down at the screen. Scrolling, you saw a few more things he might find interesting. “Wanna come look with me?”

He didn’t use words to answer. Instead, he just continued to grin and began walking, all purposeful and sexy, over to you. Oh, and half naked, because why not? When he was beside you, your breath caught in your throat at how good he smelled. His newer cologne still held hints of a musky sandalwood and vanilla. And the faint scent left over from his Tom Ford aftershave had goosebumps teasing at your skin. And his bare chest was so close to your back as he stood behind you, you felt the heat coming off of him. 

But, you ignored it all for the sake of showing him what was going on inside of you. Wanted to keep him up to date. He placed his arm on the back of the bar stool, across the wooden back of the chair. This technically meant his arm was around you and you were not going to complain about it. 

You held your phone up for him to read, balancing your elbow against the counter to avoid too much shakiness. And you heard him reading through it quickly, under his breath and to himself. He’d reach out occasionally to scroll down, making you lean towards the screen with your own curiosity at what he was reading. It seemed he wanted to read everything this week’s updates had to offer – including what was new for your body, not just the baby’s. 

“Wow,” was all he breathed once he finished and backed away to walk back to the coffee maker. You realized you’d been holding your breath as he went back to his original task. “I really like that app. What’s it called?”

“Um—Ovia,” you blinked, shaking your head once and resituating your body in your chair while his back was still turned. Your lungs deflated and your mouth opened just the slightest for a few extra breaths. “It’s called Ovia Pregnancy. It has a bunch of cool features. You just put the conception date in and it will give you updates.” And, knowing it off the top of your head, you went ahead and told him. “And that was Aug—.”

“August 26th,” he finished for you. 

Oh. He remembered the date? “How do you remember that?”

“Just do.”

Your cheeks heated at the fact that he could recall a detail like that. . . You found it very intriguing. Did that mean he regularly thought of the night? If he remembered the exact date?

Stop it, y/n. No need working yourself up over that, your inner voice chided you. You are just friends — just roll with it. It’s not a big deal.

He slipped his mug from the machine, blowing on it before he spoke again. “And you still can’t feel it when she punches and kicks?”

“Not yet,” you chirped, going to look at the other features on the app that told you about her at this point. “But soon I will, I guess. According to the app and Dr. Rose. So. . . Yeah. I’m really excited for that.”

You went to take a bite of your fruity cereal at the same time he lifted his cup to his mouth. And right before you could bring the pebbles to your lips, you looked up to catch a glimpse of him. Wrong idea. Because he was taking a sip of his coffee. And while that shouldn’t get you hot and bothered, it did. Oh, sweet and lovely baby hormones. 

But—fuck. The way his mouth wrapped so beautifully around the lip of the mug. . . His eyes, closing at the sensation of the warm liquid touching his tongue. You envied the coffee that got to melt against his tongue. The mug, that got to feel the shape of his lips. . . At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to be Jake’s cup of coffee. Your gaze found the way his tongue slipped past his lips to lick away any remaining wetness. . . As if in slow motion, too. Damn. 

“Y/n?” 

Shit. He was talking to you. Embarrassingly, you felt your mouth hanging open, your cereal once again balanced above your bowl so as not to spill. At least you’d had a little bit of common sense in your daze. Words, y/n. Words. “Y-yeah?” You stuttered. Again, embarrassing yourself. What was a good excuse for your actions? “Sorry. . . Still sleepy, I guess.”

His grin told you that he’d caught you blatantly staring at him, but his eyes were gentle in assuring you that he’d keep your secret. Too bad the only person you didn’t want in on your secret was him. Once more, he tried to bring up what he’d said while you’d been absent. “Would that work for you?”

“Jake, I’m so sorry,” you shook your head, scratching your brow with an awkward giggle. Your eyes couldn’t stay in one place for long. It was devastating how enraptured you were with him — this morning was killing you. Tan skin. Wet hair. Water droplets. Tongue. Licking. Lips. Eyes. Secret smiles. Sandalwood, Tom Ford, and vanilla. . . 

No, y/n. Be wise. Don’t let him get in your head.

Looking down, you tried your best to regulate the heat in your cheeks. You texted Elsie back quickly to reset your busy mind. Shaking your head, you tried to address him once more. You watched your bowl, though, rather than him. Balanced the spoon on the rim, watching the milk slosh against the silverware with the bits of rainbow cereal left. 

“You’re going to have to ask me the entire thing again. I’m just kind of out of it this morning,” you meekly explained.

Finally, you chanced looking at him. His eyebrows were raised, his eyes holding the same humor that was expressed in his smile. He seemed to be properly charmed. He wasn’t mocking you by any means. No, he actually seemed extremely content in the fact that you’d been ogling him. You had no idea how he could be so content with it. You were being weird. How was he not judging you?

“I was just saying I’d love to take you on a walk soon,” he replied, with a grin that made your tummy flutter. “I’ve heard it’s good for pregnant women to stay active — just to keep you healthy and all that. . . and it’s also good for people with heart problems.”

You felt all warm inside that he had even thought to do something like that with you. “Sounds like a win-win,” you enthused, feeling incredibly special. 

Quit it, y/n. Don’t make it more than it has to be, your inner humility coach counseled you. Remember everything you told him last night. You have to stop.

So, you tried to push all of the extra feelings flowing through your mind to the back of it. He was being a good friend. A really hot, good friend — but friend nonetheless. The walks would make for a good time for you two to work on a friendship. For your baby.

“When are you free?” He asked you, bringing your sights fully back to him.

“Um,” you blinked, unlocking your phone to see what your calendar looked like.

It was funny — you didn’t have a damned thing going on in your life. You knew your schedule (or lack thereof). It consisted of next-to-nothing. But you were trying to create some sort of avenue of escape for yourself from the eyes that continued gazing your way from across the kitchen. The lingering stare you felt kept your cheeks warm. Your heart was thumping something crazy.

Get over it, y/n. He’s just being nice. That’s all. 

And, with that in mind, you stopped pretending to look at your calendar. You locked your phone and caught his gaze once more. “I could do Wednesday?”

“Sweet. Wednesday is actually my one free day this week,” he lopsidedly smiled with a little chuckle. Giving a satisfied nod, he took another sip from his mug. For a minute or so, you sat in a comfortable silence with him as you replied to yet another text from your sister. “What are you doing with the rest of your day today?”

“Yoga with your twin. Probably going to hang with him for a while,” you mused, a giggle flowing from your lips. “He wants to repay me with some time of relaxation after bombarding the house with a drunken Sam last night.”

You felt the rest of last night as a giant elephant in the room. You were hoping he wasn’t, but you were sure his brain lingered on it, too. There was no way it wasn’t on his mind. Right?

It didn’t matter — because no matter what, you were not going to bring any of it up. Not if things needed to change. No more touching. No more almosts. Just friends.

“Damn right. Drunk Sam is a lot to handle,” he laughed after a lagging moment. His beautiful white teeth were on full display as he laughed, which settled your anxious thoughts. “Yoga is good for pregnant women, too.”

“You’ve really been doing your reading, huh?”

“Well,” he paused, finishing off his coffee before rinsing and washing the mug in the sink. “Just like my daughter, you matter a fucking lot to me, so. . . yes.”

Your cheeks were on fire at this point, your heart racing. You couldn’t hide your little grin without taking a final bite of your cereal. “Thanks for caring,” you told him after swallowing, your throat, thick with emotion made it a little hard to swallow.

You weren’t sure what else you could say that didn’t involve you walking up to him and giving him a long hug and a kiss right on his pretty lips. You decided to throw in a witty comment, just for kicks. “I’m very lucky that I matter to you like I’m your child.”

He cackled outright at that, even harder than he had at the mention of drunk Sam. His dimples pierced his skin, the apples of his cheeks red. “Now that is funny,” he shook his head, one brow raised. “You know I think of you in a very different way than I do our baby, honey.” 

Then he was tying his hair into a low bun. His words rang in your head as you watched with eyes zoned in on his fingers working. Such skillful fingers. . . Your teeth bit the plush skin of your lip. 

Thankfully, you snapped out of it before he could catch you watching him again. Josh was going to be picking you up soon anyway. And you still needed to change from your ratty sweats and cropped, oversized t-shirt. 

You went to dump out your bowl and rinse it in the sink. The task was completed quickly, to avoid getting close to him again. Once finished, you were walking on hurried legs out of the kitchen. But, just as you crossed the threshold, you heard his feet shuffling easily behind you. Honestly, you didn’t really want to be away from him yet. Not at all, actually. So. . . You slowed down. Just a bit. Not a big deal.

Besides, you were wondering about his plans for the day, too. . . So, you figured you’d ask. “What about you?” Since you were walking in front of him, you adjusted your sweats at your waist a little lower. Couldn’t stop the urge to show some more skin. You had to admit, your complexion was looking incredible after your long bath and stretch mark oils. Might as well show it off.  “What are your plans for the day?”

You looked over your shoulder at him. He was making his way towards you. Your eyes stayed trained on him. He wasn’t looking at you, but when he did, you caught him this time. His eyes darted immediately to your ass before he looked towards your face to answer. Your ass looked damn good in these sweats. So, you stared ahead with a smirk and kept walking, slow and deliberately moving your hips a tad more than necessary.

You heard his breath catch when he came up close behind you, making it to the living room with you. Again, though. You were trying to wisely avoid close proximity. So before he could come near enough to touch you, you were moving towards your bedroom. 

When you glanced over your shoulder at him again, you noticed him pause for a minute when you changed your path. But he just shook his head with a blush on his cheeks and scratched at the back of his head. You turned to acknowledge him as he rubbed at his lower lip with his finger. He was too pretty to not admire.

Then he was passing you entirely to lean over the couch for the remote. He bent at the waist, giving you an ideal view of his ass. So, for scientific purposes only, you gave it a nice, long look. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips at the way you could see each individual ass cheek outlined in his pants. . . But you weren’t going to think about that. Nope.

“Well,” he began, with a sort of groan as he rose from his leaning position. You ignored the way the sound made your heart accelerate, your underwear a little wet at all things him. “I have to meet with a couple of clients for lessons and then I have dinner plans at this new restaurant that Maya wants to try.”

Of fucking course. You played it cool and gave him a forced grin as he still wasn’t looking at you, but rather the finicky remote. “Will you be home tonight?” Why did you have to ask that? Shit. You weren’t desperate for him to be home or anything.

“Oh yeah,” he nodded without a second thought, turning on the TV and clicking Netflix. Thankfully, it had to update, so he was momentarily free from distraction. Pushing some hair back behind his ear that hadn’t made it into his bun, he finally looked at you — at your body. Again. Did he have no shame? (Secretly, you sure hoped he didn’t. His stare was your body’s favorite source of attention; all of your nerve endings reacted readily to his amber-brown irises any time they found you.)

His eyes instantly went to your belly, showing from the bottom hem of your cropped shirt. At the sight, he took in a deep breath, raising his brows with a measured lick of his lips. The oils worked wonders to make your skin look smooth and firm. It helped that you were one of the lucky ones who had a naturally tanned shade of skin, the oils really complimented it.

With the way he was staring at you – almost admiring you, it made your mind buzz with memories of last night. You were back in the living room, on the couch. Jake, on his knees in front of you. His hands, in your pants and his breath fanning your neck.

Last night, when his face was suddenly coming towards you again, lips brushing your ear. “Miss your body so much, baby.”

The pull to him was extremely hard to ignore when he was infiltrating all of your senses and memories in a matter of minutes–seconds. The act of looking at him — simply seeing him smile — was enough to make your brain short-circuit, so all of the other details had done nothing to help your insistence at being ‘just friends’. . . 

This morning had been an attack against your female anatomy. His wet, half naked body. Those trained fingers tying his hair back. Those beautiful eyes closing in pure satisfaction as he swallowed his black coffee. . . And now him, blatantly and unabashedly appreciating your body. You let your eyes float down his form, appreciating every line and curve of his chest and abdomen. Then you saw his fingers twitch at his waist into clenching fists, measuring his tolerance, it seemed. The assumption was seemingly confirmed with a certain twitch between his legs that you couldn’t ignore. Fuck. 

And, there you were again. Last night. His fingers, literally on your (clothed, thank god) clit in front of everyone. He’d placed his mouth on your ear once more, a groan having escaped him at the same time you’d felt your sensitive nub pulsate against his finger. “X marks the spot?” He’d heatedly spoke against your ear, in a whisper that only you could hear. 

Netflix’s tell-tale dun-dun broke the moment. His concentration on your body, gone with a few heavy blinks of his eyes and one thick swallow. 

After a moment of realization dawned on both of you, you cleared your throat and rubbed a nervous hand down your arm a few times. “So you’ll be home tonight?” You tried, blinking several times as well to readjust your train of thought – knew it was best to move past it. 

“Yeah,” he shook his head, letting his eyes find yours. You swam in his caramel chocolate irises. “She’s got plans with her friends afterwards. I should be back in time for you to tell me all about yoga with Josh,” he snorted at the thought. “Shit’s about to be en-ter-taining, I’m sure.”

You couldn’t help but follow with your own little giggle. “Of course it’s going to be. It wouldn’t be Josh if it weren’t bound to be entertaining,” you added. 

For a few more seconds, you just stood there. Both of you, not talking. Still smiling, but your eyes interlocked in a way that had the potential to be dangerous. Especially as the easy smiles faded down to muted, almost secret grins. His tongue slipped past his lips for a millisecond, yours doing the same in response. He gently bit his lip. Just long enough for you to notice. Your breath, once again hitching in your throat, at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he watched you, not letting his darkened gaze leave you for a second.

So, with that, you began to walk back to your room. Had to have a level head. God. “I’ve gotta go get ready. I’ll see you ton–.”

“Are you still using that giant Stanley I bought for you?” He pondered, making you pause and turn a bit. You raised a brow. “Just thought you could take it with you to yoga. Just to stay hydrated, y’know.”

You blinked a couple times before you gracefully (you hoped, anyway) smiled in his direction. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you nodded in response. “Yes, I use that thing on the daily. You, of all people, should know this,” you giggled with a smirk. Then you realized how that might have sounded. Didn’t want it to seem like you’d caught him watching you everyday or anything – that wasn’t it. Fuck. Would he take it that way? “I mean, considering we share a residence and all.”

“I got you, honey. Knew what you meant,” he winked. Fuck. Your belly danced at that, your heart skipping a beat when he, once again bit his lip. Murder. He was trying to murder you. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Love it,” you emphasized with the correction. Why? God. The emphasis of the word love definitely didn’t help matters. “Thank you for that, again.”

“You’ve gotta quit thanking me.”

“Why? That wouldn’t be polite.”

“You don’t have to be polite with me,” he raised a brow, shaking his head. “It’s me.”

“That means I should be polite — with everything you have done for me,” you tucked your hands under your belly. He followed your movement briefly before interlocking gazes again. “Everything you’ve put up with.”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to worry about that with me. Seriously. I haven’t had to put up with anything. . . And I’ve told you I’m here for you. And I am here for you—because I want to be – get to be. I don’t need to be thanked for something that seems like a reward to me in its own right.”

What did one say to that? Deciding you weren’t sure in the slightest, you just gave him a quick smile before going back in the direction of your room. Josh was going to be here soon. Like, less than twenty minutes.

And if Jake kept up like this, you could see yourself canceling on Josh to sit on the couch with Jake instead until he had to leave for his errands. That would be pathetic. And you needed the time with Josh. 

“Oh, also,” his voice called to you once more.

This time, you controlled yourself, the knob under your hand a good way to stay weighted to the earth. You flipped your hair over your shoulder, billowing out around you. You angled your body just enough to address him. Didn’t even look at him this time, for fear of sinking into his amber-brown irises. 

“Mhm?” You hummed, eyes trained on the ground next to your left foot. 

“‘Baby Kiszka’?” 

Baby K–? Oh. The Ovia app. The baby’s name in the app. You’d put her name in as ‘Baby Kiszka’ so long ago. Didn’t even think about it when you did it, honestly. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in your mind that you wanted her to have Jake’s last name. As soon as you’d convinced yourself out of the initial notion that she might ruin his damned life. (Which, by the way, you realized was a stupid thought process. Almost selfish, even. How had you honestly thought it would be okay to leave him out of the loop due to a nearly-baseless fear?)

To be fair, you’d been in full-on panic mode back in October – completely alone in your knowledge of her for a bit too long, your thoughts almost having drowned you. . . .Until you’d let him in that day. The day on the way to the abortion clinic. When he’d surrounded you via Apple fucking CarPlay. His voice had cleared your mind, relaxed you inexplicably (per usual). You’d let him be the one to convince you to keep her. No one else contributed to that decision. It had been between you and him. Completely unbeknownst to him at the time, of course. 

Anyway, beside the point. . . You knew it was a name to be damn proud of – her daddy was someone to be proud of. So, naturally, you were planning on her last name being Kiszka. No question.

“Well obviously,” you responded, not able to resist shifting just a little more to catch his eyes as you lifted your lips gently. His eyes were open, vulnerable – a lot like you imagined your own to look so often these days. Though, he was also seeming to process the fact that you wanted the baby so intimately tied to him. You continued, just to finish your thought. “That was a no brainer for me. I’m very proud that you are her daddy. I want her to be proud, too. Your last name is special to me, and even more so if she shares it.”

He was obviously pleased. Definitely shocked, but in quiet awe, you could tell. His gaze sparked with electricity at the knowledge of your plan to name her after him. After clearing his throat and blinking a few times, “Thank you,” was all he responded as his eyes bore into yours.

“Now, Jake,” you jokingly reprimanded, lifting a challenging brow. “Why are you thanking me for something that is like a reward to me in its own right?”

Arguably, as you left that yoga class, you felt the most relaxed you had in a long while. Your belly was still heavy at your front, but everything else felt so loose. Weightless. It was nice.

Josh had decided afterwards that it was a good plan to get a couple of smoothies. And who were you to argue that? It was even more tempting since he’d offered to buy them.

The drive to and from all of your ventures had been rejuvenating. You two had listened to music most of the car ride – enjoying the soul music you’d both bonded over several years ago. 

But, as soon as Aretha’s “You’re All I Need To Get By” came on the shuffle, you quickly reached forward to skip past that one. And, it must have been your lucky day because as soon as that one was out of the way, the other song from that morning on the living room floor was playing. The only songs you’d skipped and, of course, Josh had noticed. 

He’d snorted at you, making you glance in his direction. “What did Miss Aretha do to you?” 

“Nothing,” you shook your head with a lip stuck out. “Just didn’t feel like listening to those songs, I guess.”

I imagine your brother stark naked, inside of me, when I hear those songs, if you must know, you thought with a skip to your heart at the memory. And that’s just not what I need at the moment, Joshua.

And, with absolutely zero surprise, you were back on that damn living room floor. No point in skipping the songs, it seemed. It would haunt you anyway. The gray morning, rain pattering against the windows. The stupid idea you’d had, forever altering your association to the Queen of Soul.

You’d just sat up on your elbows to watch him as he thumbed through the records, appreciating the view. “You pick and I’ll let you know if I like.”

And, as he’d searched through the albums, you’d just let your mind wander, right along with your eyes. . .His body was a work of art. Always would be. Your favorite work of art. His thighs, ever-muscular, from the way they flexed when he’d move his body with his guitar on stage. That perfectly round ass that was undoubtedly gifted to him by the body gods. And his broad shoulders – strong to match his equally strong personality.

When he’d turned a bit towards you, you’d been given an image you’d never forget. His eyes, quickly scanning the back of a vinyl. And as he did so, your eyes had instantly found his straining dick. . . .

And, in the current moment, right next to his goddamned twin brother, you had to cross your damn legs at the thought of Jake’s dick. Fuck everything. Even if you shouldn't, all you wanted was Jacob Kiszka. All. You. Wanted. It was stupid to ever think you could convince yourself out of that particular desire. 

You could still imagine every detail from that morning. The fucking tip, even — swollen from being pulled mid-sex. Your clit still thrummed and twitched at the thought, remembering how it glistened from your dripping center. 

He’d turned to you fully, the Aretha Franklin vinyl in his grip – her Greatest Hits. You’d found his eyes. They were questioning, but you hadn’t been able to focus entirely on his glance. No, you’d looked away from his eyes to admire your most favorite parts of his body. His toned pecs and his solid stomach— fuck. He made you fucking weak. There were truly no words for the way he was built— pecs naturally firm and rounded with lean muscle. And his stomach— just a little soft and the perfect finish to it all, complimenting him just right— finishing out his sturdy, powerful stature. 

His aura alone would always be compelling. He was utterly beautiful, with his sparkling amber-brown eyes, flowing chestnut locks – even longer now than then – and his sharp features. And the way he was built matched so well with how he carried himself. Without even trying, he could control any room he was in. (And control you with a simple snap of his fingers.)

He was honestly what all of your dreams were made of. And, in moments from the past, like the sacred one you were remembering. . . you remember wishing everyday – more than anything – that he be yours. Still wanted him to be yours. You could remember thinking. . . No matter how bad you could be for him, your selfish wants had you constantly feeling pulled towards Jake.

But. . . he wasn’t yours. Not then. Not. Now. And that bitter thought had helped to snap you out of your trance, having finally looked at him to answer. He was smirking, knowingly. “I love your body, too, Beautiful.”

Your thighs pressed even closer together as you tapped out the beat of the current song on your thighs.

A Minnie Riperton song. Just focus on Minnie. Tried to remember the moment you were currently in. . . But you couldn’t. Not yet. Wait. Riperton. This song. You focused for a second. Dear god — was fucking "Memory Lane" playing? O-kay. Your life was truly hilarious. (Meaning, it was, in fact, not hilarious in the slightest.)

You tried to tune her out, rejecting the lyrics that hit far too close to home for your taste. But all that happened when you tuned her out, was Jake, in your memory, repeating the statement about your body. . . His eyes on you this morning. His hands on you last night. . . You continued to only hear those words from his mouth on repeat when you squeezed your eyes shut, so tightly. With a gentle touch, you placed a hand to the bottom of your tummy to hold it. Your body now was nowhere near the same as it had been then. . . 

How the fuck would he talk about your body now? You knew how he felt about some of your newer assets. But. . . how would it feel now to hear him say things like that about your body? And during sex? His dick, impossibly hard and leaking for your current, swollen body? Your belly, your bigger breasts? Your fuller thighs. . . Would he look at your naked body the same during sex now? Fuck. Why were you even thinking like that?! You were imagining things that were only breaking your heart. . . Getting your mind in a dangerous space it did not need to be in. Realizing it was slightly safer in your memories, you leaned back against your headrest to feel the rest of the moment.

You’d flushed at the words then. Even going the extra mile to roll your eyes. Tried your best to play off the way his words made your heart flutter. Ridiculous attempt. With a peek briefly at the record, you nodded at the choice. “Aretha is always a yes.”

“Agreed.”

He’d turned to put it on the Crosley, and as soon as the needle hummed against the record, making its wonderful crackling sound, you knew he’d made the right choice. This record was something else. (And now, the Greatest Hits vinyl held your heart in ways you could’ve never imagined on that rainy morning.) You could remember how it felt to watch him – the intoxicating combination of seeing him walk back to you, with some of the most incredible music backing him. . . Shit. (If you know, you fucking know.)

“I hope you don’t mind. I skipped past the first few,” he’d said as he came back to you, falling to his knees beside you. So near to you and ready to resume sex with you. No constraints. No girlfriends. No ugly voice in the back of your head telling you how terrible you were for him. Things were still perfect. 

You’d smiled up at him. “Perfectly fine. This is the best song on the entire record anyway.” 

“I think so, too,” he’d said, eyes lifting with a grin.

God. You felt tears climbing your throat, right next to Josh, as you thought of his sweet face. The smile on his lips that could have cured every single piece of trauma ever. . . If you would have let it. He was so goddamn perfect. And you were. . . well. . . you.

Then, he’d come back to you. Laid on his back for you as you angled your body to straddle him, sinking onto him.

The look on his face when you fucked him was one of your favorite sights. He’d always watched you so closely. . .whether it be your face, your breasts, your ass, or your core that wrapped around him, so tight. He’d scrunch his brows and let his mouth open a bit with certain movements of your hips, and bite his lip at other times. . . But, in moments like that one, with one hand holding your face while the other gripped your hip, a small, close-mouthed smile on his soft, plush lips. . . His emotion-filled eyes, boring into yours . . .

Your world had always tipped slightly on its axis when he’d do shit like that. Moments like the one from many mornings ago. . . Those moments had never failed to make a whole lot of gray in what should have been a strictly black and white situation. (Dangerous.) And, as you’d listened to the soulful voice flowing quietly from the record player, your thoughts drifted further. . .

When my soul was in the lost and found,

You came along to claim it.

I didn't know just what was wrong with me,

Till your kiss helped me name it.

The song had perfectly summed up how you felt about this man. The same man who had once been the bane of your existence, was now a light on your darkest days. And, in the present time. . . the father of your baby. Fuck.

As you’d glanced down to watch him, his hips had begun to move on their own – never failing to make you feel complete and right. . .

You truly couldn’t imagine your life without him. Having him in your life made you feel . . . whole.

Without evening knowing or trying, he’d helped you find missing pieces to your puzzle. Hidden pieces of your soul that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Some good pieces. Some bad pieces. But all necessary pieces of you. Pieces you’d forgotten even existed. And by simply being near you, he made you feel authentic in a way you’d never felt with another man. 

As you’d continued riding him, you had leaned down on your forearms to get close to his face. His handsome, handsome face. You’d given him a long kiss. A kiss that you’d hoped, then, was able to say thank you. . . Because, truly, you were so grateful for him. But when you’d separated your lips from his and pressed your perspired forehead to his own, you’d found the deep pools of his eyes that held so much of your world in them. And you’d known then that you had to say the words out loud.

“Thank you,” you’d whispered, hoping he’d understand as new tears had clouded your vision. Your hips were moving languidly at the perfect pace, matching the slow rocking of his hips. You’d been holding onto him, keeping rhythm with the beautiful, now-special song.

He’d held your gaze for more than a few moments, a secret smile forming in his eyes as he spoke. “Thank you.”

You’d studied him seriously, the feeling in his eyes seeming to match the longing in your heart. Both of you had stayed there for a minute, taking the other in. You’d kissed him once more. And, rather than continuing the conversation, you’d focused on finding a release for you both. 

That hadn’t even been “You’re All I Need To Get By”. . . Not yet. No, that song, the blissful melody from your memory, was “You Make Me Feel (Like A Natural Woman)”. . . And that he did – made you feel like the melodies of that song. Always would. He was every lyric of that song, sealed forever in your heart that way. But the next song. . . When you’d fallen apart on top of him. And him, just barely pulling out in time, to finish onto your tummy. . . All while the song had been surrounding you, enveloping your senses. . .

“Y/n!” Josh’s voice called to you from the current moment, his fingers making you jump a bit, your eyes hurriedly blinking open as he snapped in front of your face. “Earth to y/n!”

Fuck. How were you going to explain getting lost like that? Thankfully, your eyes had still been closed. You could just say you’d been sleeping. 

“I was just sleeping, Josh,” you lamely explained, smacking his hand away. Looking to your right, you hoped you were already at the cafe to escape any questioning. 

And, fate had worked in your favor, as he’d just parallel parked at Jungle Juice. Perfect timing. Avoid avoid avoid. You definitely hadn’t missed the curious look in his eye after your barely-there explanation or the way he’d opened his mouth to begin to question you. But as soon as he’d parked, you were hopping out of that Jetta. 

Soon, you were sitting down at a table inside as you took a sip of the pomegranate smoothie in your hand. Josh was still at the counter, you having instantly put distance between him and yourself. As you sat, your mind briefly drifted to the mundane task of taking a seat. Recently, it was slightly more difficult to get situated thanks to the soreness and differences in your changing body. You noticed how much easier than normal it was to simply sit comfortably, thanks to the yoga. 

Soon, Josh was sitting down across from you. And, after he took one tiny drink of his smoothie, he pushed it ahead of him with a huff. His fluffy mess of curls flowed around his head with the noise. There should’ve been no surprise when he didn’t drop what you'd started in the car. His ass had just touched his booth bench when he was asking you. “What the fuck is it with those songs?”

“What?” You crinkled your brow at that. He hadn’t ever been around before for you to skip past those songs. And for all he knew, you’d literally fallen asleep after the relaxing yoga class. “Just didn’t feel like hearing them today. And I got tired. Fell asle—.”

“Jake gets weird when they come on, too. . .,” he interrupted with a raised brow, trailing off as if lost in thought while addressing you. “Specifically “You’re All I Need”,” he mumbled, sort of to himself as he looked down at the table. Then his eyes flashed back to yours. “And, no. You were not sleeping. Faker.”

Okay. . . there was definitely no explaining your way out of this one. Were you really going to have to be honest with him about your feelings? It did not feel like the time – for more reasons than one. But you decided you’d say what you could. . . Maybe you could make him uncomfortable enough to move on. . .

“Jake and I had some incredible sex to those songs,” you began, eyes not once leaving his. He held firm, even after that blatant statement. Okay. Second try. But you had to look down for this part, too embarrassed to look at Josh as you said it. “Got really close to making the baby that morning rather than the night we got high. He pulled out just in time to aim it on my bell–.”

“Noooo thanks,” the curly-headed twin stopped you, making you glance up with a satisfied grin. He was holding up a hand, his lips turned down dramatically. “That is e-nough. Truly. I know what I need to know.”

You raised a brow, a tiny smirk on your lips as a laugh squeaked past your lips. “Joshua. You didn’t need to know any of that.”

“Well. . . maybe you’re right,” he surmised with another small sip from his green drink. 

“Well, I usually am right,” you answered, relieved that he’d gotten all he wanted – no, needed – to know. “So, how are things going with–?” “Also, you are not ‘usually right’, my dear,” he corrected you, air quotes and all. His nose twitched with his own grin as he watched you narrow your eyes in his direction. “I can tell you that right now. Your little speech from last night. . . You and Jake both. Fuck,” he snorted before taking another drink. He covered his mouth with a silent laugh before smoothing the hand down the side of his face. “Both of you are the worst liars to ever live.”

The breath you should’ve been breathing got stuck in your lungs. Shit. Where was he going with this? This had the potential to be an extremely embarrassing and awkward conversation you weren’t in the headspace to have. “What are you talking about, Josh?” 

“You and my twin, claiming you were ‘nothing’,” he began, lips quirked with a close-lipped grin and the air quotes coming out to play again with the word you’d both used to describe your situationship. “That all your relationship was was one night of meaningless sex that resulted in my niece or nephew.”

Niece, you silently added. You suddenly wanted to tell him really badly. But you’d let Jake do that. Made a note to tell Jake he could do that whenever he was ready. 

“I just find it funny,” he finished, his mouth still curved into a smirk. “I’m pretty sure we all knew that you were lying out of your asses. Well. . . except for that Theo guy. He’s kind of a moron.”

How did you even respond to this? Did you lie? Confide? Half-heartedly agree? Completely avoid it and tell him you didn’t want to discuss it? Fuck if you knew. So, you just began talking. 

“How are you so confident in this assumption that we were lying about it being nothing?” You quizzed him, taking a drink to hide a little. “You didn’t even know that we were doing it while we were doing it. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you didn’t know because it was nothing more than sex?”

“Oh, y/n. How in the world can you begin to question my empathic tendencies? You know I’d sensed the difference in Jake,” he reminded you, noting back to your conversation on the day of the first OB appointment. “And, the more I thought back on it, I remember there being an improvement in your soul during the summertime as well. . . Only towards the end of it did you get all mopey. When, I can only assume, you started doubting yourself and Jacob. And you were pulling such an Eeyore that Jake wanted to host a night to raise your spirits. . .,” he trailed off, taking another drink before tapping a finger to his chin, sitting the cup on the table. 

“But, yes. You were nothing, mhm,” he continued with a sardonic nod, closing his eyes briefly with a mischievous grin before he was looking at you again. “You both were noticeably different – good different. He noticed every shift in your mood. . . And you got emotional way back on the day of that first ultrasound when I brought up his relationship with Maya. . . Um, what else? Oh! The motherfucker takes you to therapy! Of course he does, because you feel safe with him. Big fucking deal for you, by the way. And, yes, I know this, y/n – I’m watchful and I know you. Definitely know him. Don’t you argue the facts with me,” he pointed at you with a raised brow and a slight smile. “. . .But. You were nothing. Okay.”

Well. “I–.”

“And then last night,” Josh giggled, taking a sip of his smoothie before placing his hands on the table in excitement. “Jake had his hands up your shorts, touching you. . . like that in front of everyone–.” 

“It was a card he was playing, Jo–.”

“. . .Whispering in your ear, your fuckin’ body reacting to it. His bodily reaction to it – I mean, with one unfortunate glance downwards, anyone was privy to that situation in his pants,” he outwardly cringed, lips turned down as he shook his head at the thought. He’d been that noticeably hard? Fuck. “And then, going to the bathroom to relieve himself with everyone in the living room!” Josh couldn’t stop his wail of a laugh at the end of the last line, attracting multiple eyes from fellow customers at the sound. 

“Josh, be quiet–,” you tried to intervene, once again getting stopped with his rambling.

“Well, not everyone, per se. I wish Elsie could have experienced that shit,” he shook his head again, but this time with a laugh as if remembering a fond memory. “She would have gotten a kick out of the free porn!”

Free PORN?! Josh.

“Joshua!” You were stunned, his voice still a higher decibel than it should have been for a proper establishment like Jungle Juice. Voice hushed, you leaned towards him. “Please quiet the fuck down.”

He observed your expression, still cackling. But soon, it calmed down. Calmed down enough to where he was still letting out little huffs of laughter, but his eyes bulged a bit. He seemed to remember at that very moment that it wasn’t just the two of you. Face set straighter than before, he turned, looking around to hastily address the people near you with an apology. Meanwhile, your cheeks were positively burning at everything he’d said. How in the hell did you even begin to address that shit? And why was it always on you to answer questions and never Jake? 

When he was facing you again, you decided to try that line. Just to gain your bearings. “Are you going to quiz Jake like this? Or is it only the emotional pregnant lady who’s getting the heat?”

“Oh, he got it first. I actually crashed his and Maya’s morning this morning,” he replied, waving it off. Your stomach dropped at the thought of them in bed together, like you knew it shouldn’t. They were the couple. “Well. . . if I can even phrase it as such. Maya was being completely ignored by him. He was asleep, mind you. But, he’d separated himself as much as possible from her, his body was practically pushed against the wall. I know she noticed how far detached he was, though. . . She was looking his way when I barged in, a sad look on her face and everything. Poor thing. Didn’t take much for me to make her leave.”

The way you snorted at that was unstoppable. He what? “Josh. You made her leave?”

“Well, again – if I can even phrase it like that,” he shrugged, one hand waving nonchalantly in the air with a roll of his eyes. “Like I said, she was already awake when I went in. I think she’d just woken up to notice he’d pulled totally away from her,” he grit his teeth, baring them with a hiss as he shook his head. “So it didn’t take much more than me asking if I could please talk to my brother for her to leave. She was already kind of pissy, but she readily agreed. I’m sure she thought I was going to confront him about blatantly cheating on her in front of us all.”

Blatantly cheating. Harsh words. True words. You felt guilty at them. Because, yes, you’d completely joined in on Jake’s antics – helped him be unfaithful to her. To be fair, you couldn’t have stopped yourself if you tried. . . Hence your new determination to be nothing more than a friend. As much as it sucked.

“Did you? Confront him?” Was all you could croak out. 

“I did confront him about it, yes,” he nodded assuredly, his tone stern. Damn. Was he actually super pissed? Why had he been all giggly if he was so angry? 

So, you started apologizing. You felt really bad and you didn’t know what else to do. 

“I’m sorry, Josh. I don’t know what came over me. I just couldn’t–.”

“Help yourself?” 

You blinked with a nervous gulp. “Yes. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Jake said the same. And, of course you couldn't,” he replied, intonation light once again. You blinked again, this time in shock at the change in attitude and Jake's apparent words. He continued before you could question it. “I knew he couldn't help himself even before he told me. He acted on his heart motive, impulsively. There was no other reason for him to act so rashly in front of all of us.”

It was silent for a few seconds, your brain blanking on what to even respond to that. You were curious what he’d said to Jake. What else Jake had responded with. . . But you were scared to ask – didn’t want to make even more of an ass out of yourself by prying. 

Thankfully, Josh kept on before you could consider it any longer. “So, I told him this morning. . .” You tried not to look too interested. He cleared his throat, his eyes finding yours seriously, your stomach dropping at what he could have said. “I told him that if he’s going to do that shit, he needs to keep it out of Maya’s sight. Because, while I don’t condone cheating, I do condone my brother being happy. And hopefully, she’ll be out of the picture soon anyway, so the cheating won’t even have to be a factor. Keeping it out of her sight and all - won’t be an issue.”

Stunned. You were stunned. What the fuck?! You couldn’t stop staring at him. Your eyes, wide and expression shocked. The way your mouth hung open would have been more embarrassing had you been more aware of how much it gaped. But before you could give it much more thought, you were talking without thinking. 

“Excuse me?” You responded, rather loudly, you must say. "You told him what?!"

“Y/n!” Josh laughed, eyes bugged, pointing towards you before waving his hands theatrically around the restaurant. “‘Please — quiet the fuck down.’”

With a roll of your eyes, you didn’t humor his sarcastic reference to your earlier statement. Not when he’d just said what he had. With a shake of your head and a clear of your throat, you knew you had to apparently be the voice of reason to the twin sitting across from you. Just as you’d had to be the voice of reason to the other one in the hallway last night.

“Josh,” you cleared your throat once more, tapping your nails against the side of your plastic cup before fully wrapping your fingers around the disposable. Had to do something with your hands. “I am not going to be the reason that Jake isn’t with a woman he was with before. Before knowing about the baby, he was with her. And happy. And, if you condone his happiness, you, of all people, should understand exactly where I’m coming from.”

You were trying to be stony with your words – tried to not leave any room for argument. Though, as the expression on his face would show, Josh was having none of what you were saying. 

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” he started, leaning back with his arms crossed at his chest. His white sneakers, knocking against your own tennis shoes under the table as he stretched his legs. “I don’t understand where you’re coming from, little mama.”

Completely perplexed, your eyes widened at his response. “How?! I thought you said you wanted him to be happy. Maya makes him—.”

“Well, first things first, I wholly regret using the word happy because it sounds stale and hollow,” he made a ticking sound with his tongue against his teeth as he thought, finger tapping his chin again as the other arm stayed crossed. You let out a sigh at his distaste for the word happy. Of all things, that was what he was getting stuck on. “Let’s say we both want Jake to feel whole, fulfilled, and complete.”

“Okay, so let’s say we want him to being whole, fulfilled, and complete–.”

“Oh! And joy-filled. I happen to like the term joy-filled,” he nodded with a lip stuck out, pleased with himself. “It’s such a sweet little phrase.”

“. . .and joy-filled,” you finished your statement with another annoyed sigh, pushing your smoothie away. With your next words, you asked him a question you were genuinely curious about. “You’re saying Maya, in her goddess-like stature, doesn’t make him feel that way?”

“I think she makes him feel. . . temporarily sated,” he concluded. “And she does make him feel a hollow emotion such as plain fucking happiness because she can only offer him so much of what he wants.”

You shouldn’t have asked your next question, but still. You did. “What can’t she offer him?”

With one lift of his brows, he relaxed his features with a sly smile. He winked one eye at you, tipping his head in your direction. “I think you already know what she can’t offer him, mama.”

“I–,” you shook your head, closing your eyes as you looked down to recenter yourself. At the thought, you placed both hands on your belly. Fingers, interlaced. With a huff, you looked back at Josh’s waiting face, his long, fluffy hair touching his brows. “I don’t– I don’t need to be in a relationship right now. Not with the baby coming and how fucked up I already am. He needs someone who can offer him a whole heart. A healthy heart. I am already mending so many broken fences from my past. The last thing he needs to be dealing with is my trauma-filled past – on top of a baby, and his burgeoning career.”

“You’re doing all of those things, though?” He stated the fact as a question, challenging you. “You’re tackling all of that on your own. Getting shit done. What makes Jake incapable of handling those things as well? He can handle his shit. And what about him helping you handle yours? Have you considered how relieving that might be? To have a partner in all of that?”

Hearing the term partner associated with Jake being yours, per Josh’s mouth, had you unable to consider anything. You couldn’t get into all of that at the moment. Not with what you’d just told Jake last night. Not in a fucking Jungle Juice of all places either. Not right after the most relaxing poses, stretching, and bending you’d ever experienced. And definitely not after what had happened the night prior. In front of everyone.

It wasn’t time to consider that. There were other, more pressing matters. Besides, even if they were identical twins, Josh only knew so much. He still wasn’t Jake. And Jake had been the one to pursue Maya. For a reason, he’d gone after her. It was a reason he found legitimate enough to pursue her initially and enough to make him seriously date her in the long run. And that was enough for you. 

She’d been around before you, during you, and after you. . .for him. She was special to him. No doubt. And if she made him feel good, that was still better than him feeling traumatized with all of your shit. Not to mention you’d been the one to end things. It was too late for you to take back your words. Yes, Jake said he’d forgiven you. But had you forgiven yourself enough to trust yourself with him again? 

Jake deserved someone who made his life simpler. And that was definitely not you. As much as it pained you to your very core to see him with her, it was still better than the hurt you might inflict on him with your wishy-washy heart and headspace as you navigated your current waters. That was the deepest, most sure reason you had for denying him. Truly. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him. It was that you wanted him so badly, that you couldn’t let yourself have him – for fear of hurting him.

Theo could be collateral damage all day long. Any guy could be, for that matter. But not Jake. Never Jake. You’d already done it, the one horrific day in the kitchen, all those months ago. Not again. You’d been careless with his heart and it was your worst mistake.

“I don’t need a relationship right now, Josh,” you responded with finality. You really meant it. “And I want Jake in my life long-term and I can’t trust myself to keep him long-term if I’m in a relationship with him while also not totally healed.” “I get that,” Josh responded with a nod, gathering his straw wrapper to mess with. He looked down at the paper in his grasp before peering up at you once more. “But is a person ever totally healed?”

Why was he keeping at this? He needed to stop. Now was not the time. You didn’t want this talk. Not now. Especially not with the tears gathering in your throat. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Josh,” you plainly stated, the wetness in your throat shown in your tone. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear with one hand, the other still on your belly, you stayed grounded. Well ‘grounded’ enough, eyes still zoning out on the speckled table. “If I’m healing for anyone right now, it’s for my baby. That is my primary focus. So, please. Just let me focus on that.”

It was silent for a few minutes, getting to the point that you’d wonder if he was still there if his legs weren’t still stretched out beside yours. So, you let your eyes float back to his. He was simply watching you, a distant, sympathetic look in his eyes that you couldn’t place. Was he pitying you? Upset with you? Just plain sad for you? For his brother? 

Whatever it was, you decided you’d be the one to break the silence. His stare stayed on you, even as you connected your own eyes with his. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, twiddling your fingers against your swollen tummy. “I don’t want to let you down. And I definitely don’t want to let Jake down. But. . . this is just what’s best. I really believe it.”

“Okay,” he responded, slowly nodding in agreement with you. “And please, love, don’t say sorry. Not when you’re just telling me how you feel. Don’t ever be sorry for opening up to me — being honest with me. I’m your best friend – listening to you is what I’m here to do.”

The tears were back in your throat, gathering in your tear ducts. One slipped down your cheek, and more than anything, you wanted Jake to reach out and stop it. Wanted him to hold you while you felt this vast range of emotions. But he wasn’t here. Only Josh, who slipped a napkin your way, from the table dispenser. After you’d dabbed your cheeks, you both seemed to decide it was time to leave. You still had smoothie left, sipping on it as Josh threw his away. 

Once you were back in the car that evening, having shopped at City Point for hours - for fun things and for groceries - you were on your way back to the apartment.

At the first traffic light, Josh broke the comfortable silence. “I need you to know something. . .you are not letting me down, mama,” he sweetly noted. You glanced over at him, brows furrowed - didn't know what he was talking about. At your lack of response, he clarified. “Back at the restaurant, earlier today . . . You told me you didn’t want to let me or Jake down. You’re not letting either of us down. We are grown men and it isn’t your job to take care of us. Not for a second.”

“Oh,” was all you responded at first, at a loss for words. Then, as the drive continued for a few minutes, you thought about it all and decided to say one more thing. “Thank you for being there for me. You and Jake both are so great at it and I’m grateful for you.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, a little smile lighting up his face. And his next words made your heart ease in your chest in a way it hadn’t for weeks – months, even. Words you needed to hear. And having them come from Josh’s mouth was very settling. 

“I need you to know, y/n, that however you feel for Jake is okay. And it is right – whatever it may be,” he told you. You looked over at him, his brows set as he focused on the road and the subject matter. “Even if you don’t want me to, I know how deeply you feel for him, no matter if you’re ready for a relationship. I know he feels deeply for you. And that is what’s right. Because,” he paused, for what you could only presume as dramatic effect. It worked, though, as his last statement tore through your heart in every way it deemed appropriate. “The heart never lies, my dear.”

After considering his words, you felt a sense of sureness in yourself that you hadn’t felt for a long while. So, with a fuller heart after a fun day with your best friend, and a solid sense of self-assuredness, you turned the music back on. Deciding to be a big girl, you queued up “You Make Me Feel (Like A Natural Woman).” And, just as it got to the chorus, Josh reached over. His hand laid out, waiting for yours. Without a thought, you placed your hand in his. He gave it a squeeze before balancing your hands on the armrest. 

“I’m so proud of you, little mama,” he noted after a few more songs' melodies played through the speakers. Then, he was already turning down the street to the apartment as he offered another word. “But, y/n?”  

“Yes?” You asked, already looking for Jake’s car in the parking lot. As soon as you’d placed it, you breathed easier. You let yourself look at Josh, who was pulling down the row to park in your spot. 

“You say Maya makes Jake happy and maybe she does. For now,” he surmised, breathing in deeply through his nose. With his next words, his tone was clipped, testy. “But. . . my brother will only put up with a woman for so long who’s referring to his baby so poorly. As soon as he hears it, she’s out. I can promise you that.”

Referring to his baby so poorly. . .? What is he-? Oh.

“It looked like I was about to witness that baby being made for the second time over,” she’d bit out, her lips still pursed tightly and her fingers squeezing tight on her biceps. She’d sounded bitter, angry, and plain hateful. 

All emotions pointed at your child. You could definitely agree that Josh had a point. And you only wondered if you’d be around for Jake to hear her speak that way about your baby. . . What a moment that would be.

“Well,” you slowly began, weighing your words as you tapped your tummy contemplatively. “If she does speak that way about the baby in front of him,” you let your eyes travel to Josh’s profile, “I sure as hell hope I’m around to hear it all go down.”

Josh giggled at that, his lips loose in a carefree grin as he caught your eye, raising his brows. “Me fuckin’ too, little mama.”

December 19, 2022

The following Monday was a very busy day for you. 

In the morning, you’d worked the opening shift at the Black and Gold. It had been an early morning waking up - the sun had come a little too soon for your liking after two nights in a row of staying up later than you were used to these days.

Because, when you'd gotten home, Jake had been waiting for you. And, you'd spent time with him from the time you got home to bedtime. He'd made enough stir fry for you to have some when you got home. And, as you ate, he’d kept his word and talked to you about yoga and Josh at yoga. Neither of you brought up the conversation that Josh had apparently had with you both. No, just focused on how. . . involved. . . Josh had made his Warrior II. It had been an entire production, playing on the word Warrior, creating his own character, right there, in the middle of yoga class. 

Then, you’d eventually given in to the nagging thought to ask him to watch New Girl with you, even after talking about Josh and baby things for an hour or so. And, even though you'd feared rejection because of it being close to ten o'clock, you’d gotten none. He’d immediately agreed to it. Almost instantly, he’d gone to pop some popcorn for you both and everything. And, of course, he’d grabbed your Stanley from the coffee table and filled it up with fresh ice water. 

You’d almost fallen asleep leaning into his shoulder, but you’d stopped yourself. Thank God. After a few episodes and a lot of laughter, you’d turned in for the night. You hadn’t wanted to give up time with him, relishing in it, actually. But you’d been very tired after the first day of yoga, the talk with Josh, and hours of shopping with Josh afterwards. As much as you loved the man, he was a party and a half, all in one person. He recharged you and drained your battery all at once. In the best way possible, of course. And, well, being pregnant, caring for two lives in one body, just really take it out of a person.

But, the morning at work hadn’t been too bad, even with going to sleep later than normal the two nights prior. It had been the perfect opportunity to buy a few records as Christmas presents (your go-to gift for nearly everyone, every year). You’d even bought one for Jake – hadn’t even questioned the idea of buying him a gift, doing it on instinct. In your mind, it only made sense to get him one, too. He was so special - for many reasons. 

So, you’d bought him a special record. A risky one, maybe. A particular record you probably shouldn’t have bought for him, but your impulses and heart had gotten the best of you. You'd purchased a 7"/45 rpm single. Two of them, actually. One for each of your Aretha songs: ‘You’re All I Need’ and ‘You Make Me Feel’. Original pressed singles, both in mint condition. They'd just come in on a truck, too - only one of each in the store. You’d taken it as a sign. They'd been on the more expensive side, but you’d purchased them before you could chicken out. You promised yourself to reflect on the crazy purchase later – if need be. After that, the day had been over since Lacey had arrived to pick up the mid-day shift. Then, you’d driven back home with all of your gifts in tow, to take a quick shower before therapy that afternoon. 

In the shower, you thought back on all of the gifts you’d bought today. And when you thought of Jake’s. . . You sort of blanched. You knew you would. Wondered briefly what you’d been thinking – getting those vinyls for him? Out of every other record you could have purchased? 

Whatever. As you climbed out of the shower, you vowed, yet again, to think about it later. After counseling, maybe. You were already very pressed for time with your work schedule. You hadn’t a lot of time to get ready to head to Gia. No time to think about Christmas gifts.

It had been convenient timing for Jake to already be gone for his big show tonight when you’d arrived home. Yes, it still definitely sucked that he wasn’t able to take you. But, if you weren’t worrying about trying to dodge him while wearing a towel, you would be able to get ready the slightest bit faster. 

Win some, lose some.

On the drive there, you continued to be a little nervous about not having a person with you - considering Jake couldn’t be there. 

He’d told you last night. And, he'd felt really bad about not being able to make it. As you watched Schmidt freak out over driving moccasins, Jake had remembered a big show they had to perform tonight. You'd celebrated with him right off the bat. And adamantly agreed it was huge for them to perform that show and that he couldn't miss it. You knew the venue - a decently sized, legendary one. A venue all new artists dreamt of playing in. He’d asked over and over if it was truly okay that he was busy. And each time, you’d reassured him. It wasn’t his fault and that he should be excited.

But, amidst his sad guilt for being busy, he’d so graciously pointed out that he just 'felt terrible' because 'there’s truly no way you to know what to expect from the EMDR.' And, well, obviously. You knew that. You knew that there was no telling what horrific things might greet you as you left your lavender field at each session. So, your thoughts had you very nearly spiraling on the drive there. 

But, the timing of his show couldn’t have been better. Thankfully, the appointment was an incredibly easy one. You’d spent the beginning of the appointment filling Gia in on everything that had happened as of late. She’d asked kindly if you wanted her advice. And, honestly, you hadn’t wanted any advice yet. Just wanted to tell her – a chance to confide in someone sort of neutral. 

You were relieved when she didn’t give a blatant reaction to anything you mentioned – she’d simply sat there and let you give every last detail from the past few days. The gender reveal appointment, game night, the talk with Jake, your shameful romp with Theo. . . And the talk with Josh. She did ask you a question, though. No advice. Just, pondered with her wise, psychologically-geared brain.

“How did it feel to have Josh say those things?” Was the one thing she’d asked, eyeing you skeptically as she waited for your response. 

You held that question for a minute and went with your automatic feeling that you’d associated with the conversation. “It felt like something was clicking into place that needed to,” you explained, chewing the inside of your cheek. “It was absolutely ideal and necessary for my heart.”

“Him, too, I’m sure,” Gia offered, raising a brow. “I’ve got to meet him.”

“I’ll bring him with me instead of Jake at some point,” you smirked with a wink. “You’ll love him and he’ll love you.”

She grinned, her green eyes sparkling behind her wire framed glasses. The two blonde tendrils that fell flawlessly on either side of her face swept her cheeks as she nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Having Josh be the one to say things like that,” you continued, catching a thought flying by in your messy brain. “It really helped me to view the entire situation with more of a positive attitude. His approval of things means just as much as my sister’s, most times. Which is huge.”

“I love how you trust him,” she nodded along, once more. Her eyes, still twinkling. She looked reminiscent of a fairy, truly. “That is huge. You, trusting people.”

You hummed in agreement, thinking of Josh saying something very similar the day before. With pursed lips and a raised brow, you considered that. “I think you’re right.”

“I think so, too,” she responded. Her voice, so smooth, instantly helping you feel at ease. “I think I know what happened when you met Josh.”

“What is that?” You implored, needing to know her thoughts. 

“He helped you to reach for this light that you’d forgotten existed. Wouldn’t you say?”

You nodded slowly, taking it in with a thoughtful hum. “Mhm. . . I agree.”

“Would it be safe to assume that maybe you’d gotten into a sort of bland routine in life before you’d let Josh into it?”

How did she-? “Hit the nail right on the head, actually.”

“It’s a trauma response,” she explained, as if it were a normal thing. She was good at that - helping you feel normal when you knew your trauma, did in fact, make you slightly crazy. “A lot of people close off to others and don’t allow for a lot of change and it puts you in this mundane mindset that can almost drown you. If you let it.”

You nodded once more, she had a point. She was always right. But you loved moments like this where it literally felt like she was sitting inside of your brain, taking notes. 

“And I’d venture to say. . .,” she began slowly. Leaning forward in her seat pensively, elbows resting on her knees as she peered right into your soul. Her expensive perfume came off of her in gentle waves. “His twin brother, Jake. . . He maybe gave the final push. He was the other piece of the puzzle. He forced your hand with his presence and you kind of, I don’t know, had to face reality when he came into your life? I think he held this mysterious air that you needed to know more about that made you dig deeper within yourself. Josh, he didn’t come with mystery. And, well, we both know you feel differently for Jake than you do for Josh. . .,” she paused, raising her brow at you. 

Your only response was a visible gulp. And, no, it was not put on. The gulp was very real. She was just that intuitive. Damn. “So, it all just. . . works. Truly twins, huh? Two unique pieces of a very beneficial puzzle." She said leaning back in her seat again, leisurely. She brought one thigh up to her chest and let the other foot rest on the floor. Tapping out a patient beat. “Josh helped you reach for the positive and Jake helped you push out the negative.”

“I hated how Jake made me feel things,” you said, absentmindedly. Your brain was doing the weird swirly thing where you couldn’t stop the feeling of newfound understanding if you tried. There’s therapy for you, folks. “He really did push me. And I hated it. But. . .,” You trailed, tears gathering in your throat. 

“. . .But?” She urged, mentally holding your hand. Willed you to continue. 

“But I think I hated it because I knew I’d have to face shit that I'd never had to before. Elsie sort of made that point to me at the beginning, actually,” you snorted, thinking back to that day in the car. Where she’d told you certain things about your past you’d forgotten. Without Jake, you wouldn’t have had that conversation with her. He'd really been that final push, as Gia had called it. “But I think my heart didn’t understand him. Or, maybe it understood him too well. He made me—makes me—feel so safe that it’s. . . uncomfortable. But,” you paused, brow crinkling when you finally met her eyes. “It’s like I’m uncomfortable in a way that feels so damn comfortable I could cry.”

Gia hummed, lips lifting slowly. “Sounds an awful lot like healing to me, sweets,” she deduced with a wink. “Jake. . . He came around for a reason. And it’s pretty special that there’s a little one now to show for it.”

All you could do was nod, placing a hand on your belly as you blinked once, measuring the motion with the wisdom that had floated from her mouth to your ears. Well damn. After that, she decided it was time to begin. And she attached her requested heart monitor to you before you began the session’s events of reprocessing. 

“Last time kind of scarred me,” she laughed nervously as she glanced up at you, clipping the HeartMath device to your pointer finger. “Can’t lie to you, sweets.”

And when you shut your eyes to begin, the lavender field had been waiting wistfully, along with Jake, so dreamy, in that stunning dark blue, three-piece suit – as always. Then, as you’d ventured to other places outside of your Safe Place, the only thing to greet you were smiles, laughter, and brightly colored lights. More specifically, you saw light-hearted, joyful fragments in time spent at your Grandma and Grandpa’s – all Christmas-centered memories, too. Gia had surmised your mind had conjured up the happier, holiday-themed scenes because the holiday was only six days away. 

When she walked you out, you gave Gia a humongous hug and thanked her for listening to the ‘ridiculous shit storm that was your life’. Of course, she reassured you immediately that ‘nothing about you was ridiculous and she was ready to talk more about it if you wanted to next time’. And with one final pat to your back as you pushed the front door to the office open, she reminded you.

“Think about what I said earlier. Maybe work on that ‘reaching for the positive’ thing. I’d call it ‘pushing out a negative, while reaching for a positive’,” she winked, a secret smile on her full lips. “Cancel the darkness out. Just give it a try.”

Dropping off the heart monitoring equipment to the post office came next. Once in the car at the counseling center, and all buckled up, you patted the yellow package in the passenger seat, the mechanisms all padded up inside. 

It had officially been a month of wearing it and it was time to send in your information to be analyzed. You were equal parts nervous and ready to know what the fuck had been happening with your heart a month ago. Your terrible puking spells (which had caused majorly debilitating dehydration) and low iron were still the biggest possible cause of most of it, of course. But. . . you were very eager to discuss your specific results with a cardiologist. POTS seemed very plausible, still, so.

Though, when you’d gotten in your car to drive to your next destination, something mentioned in your session with Gia came roaring back to you. Gia had said Christmas was only six days away. . . And, well, you hadn’t even decorated yet. How in the fuck had you and Jake both forgotten to decorate? And how was it only six days away?!

As soon as the thought of being forgetful entered your mind, you couldn’t help but grin, cheeks warming as you placed a hand on your belly. You’d had other things on your mind, distracting you from decorating – another person. Someone tiny, who was far more exciting than Christmas. The bubbly, energetic baby girl in your belly who already mattered more than any holiday ever. 

As you drove to the mailing office, you went ahead and began playing your favorite Christmas playlist for the sweet baby. Well, and for you. Most importantly, though, you wanted to introduce her to the holiday music because you knew how it warmed your heart. And, you figured it would only aid in making her feel just a little more cheery in her little temporary home. 

Though, when Donny Hathaway started singing about this Christmas being a very special Christmas, you realized. . . you were a little upset you’d forgotten about decorating. Christmas was your absolute favorite. The term ‘pregnancy brain’ was real as hell. So, before you forgot, you mentally jotted the additional task to the busy day: dig out all of the Christmas boxes and set them up as warmly as possible to welcome in the holiday. If anything, you wanted to enjoy the decorations for the next few days. It would be something. 

When you got home, some guilt set in (shocker). You’d had time to sit with the fact that you’d spaced out on Christmas and you didn’t have music to distract you anymore from your thoughts. If you’d forgotten to decorate now, how much worse would it be when you had an actual child to take care of? Would you forget Christmas for her, too? The thoughts were hastily becoming a dumpster fire of doom. 

But, rather than sitting on them, you did what Gia might tell you to do. She would tell you to feel it, yes. But, she’d soon say to find somewhere to turn your negative energy into positive. Just like you had always tried to do with music. Out with the negative, reach for the positive.

So, you did just that. But with decorations. You decided you’d dig out any and all Christmas decorations you could find in your apartment. Got right down to business.

After feeding Stevie, you immediately went to find the tree. Its box sat on a shelf above the washer and dryer, a difficult feat even when you weren’t pregnant. But, you didn’t let the belly get in the way – you reached and reached until the box was literally toppling down on top of the machines. You were real glad Jake wasn’t home to witness the disastrous sound of the tree’s heavy cardboard box landing on top of the washer and dryer. It was quite embarrassing how uncoordinated you had become.

As soon as you had the tree down, you only focused on getting all of its pieces and parts plugged in. Every single plug connected to the right place, the six-foot-tall tree stood as tall as it could. . . though, it seemed to lean awfully far to the right, rather than perfectly straight. Elsie had gotten it as a hand-me-down from your grandparents when she’d first moved in. It had been weak and flimsy last year, so its floppiness was to be expected this year, too.

But, even if the decoration had seen better days,  you knew you didn’t want to buy another one. So, you were hoping to God that all of the lights worked, no matter how frail the rest of the tree was. Though, as soon as you plugged it into the wall. . . Your hopes of not having to buy another tree were dashed. Half of the lights did as they were supposed to, shining so bright and looking like the spirit of Christmas. . . while the bottom half of the tree was bleak and void of any light whatsoever. Lovely.

But, rather than throwing it away, you’d decided to pack it back in its box and lean it against the wall. Even if it didn’t work, you weren’t going to part with it until you knew Elsie didn’t want it. It had been a whole event every year for the two of you to put it up – memories you held very close to your heart. Now wasn’t the time to think about that though. Not when you only had six days until Christmas and your apartment was bare of any Christmas anything. It was straight up depressing and you were not going to have that. 

So, after slipping your shoes on and grabbing your keys and belt bag from where you’d basically just taken them off, you bundled up in your coat. And off to Walmart you went. 

The smell of cinnamon pinecones overwhelmed every last sense in your body. Even without being pregnant and overruled by your senses, the smell encompassed magic. But as a pregnant lady? It was a thousand times better.

And the sound of Nat King Cole singing of chestnuts roasting on an open fire as you browsed the Christmas trees. . . It all felt so enchantingly melancholy. The feeling of Christmas, one of your favorite feelings in the entire universe. Most of your blissful memories had happened at this time of year, growing up. . . it had also continued to be that way as an adult. Tightening your coat around you, you felt cozy with the feeling of it all. The best time of year. 

But, sooner than later, your heavy, black peacoat was unbuttoned and coming off, the heated air in the superstore making you slightly sweaty. Felt claustrophobic. The sweatshirt alone, underneath, was making you overheat. Once you’d taken your coat off and thrown it over your arm, you continued tapping your foot against the cement floor in Walmart’s Flower and Garden department. After a few minutes of perusing, you heard an old crickety voice behind you. The small, frail voice was asking if you needed help with anything. And, when you turned around to answer, you were met with a familiar face.

The same old woman from the day you’d bought the pregnancy tests. Her name tag, the same tattered one from months ago, confirming it. Wanda.

With one more swivel of your body, you were able to show her your entire self. Her face lit up a little as she observed you fully, her mouth widening into a smile as she glimpsed your belly. She scooted closer and placed a gentle, wrinkled hand on your round belly. Where you would normally retract at the non-consensual touch, you instead just smiled fondly at the old woman. 

She was familiar. The obnoxiously floral perfume with hints of artificial rose that had once made your stomach churn was a comfort to you in the moment. You sort of felt indebted for her. . . Enough so that you wanted her to appreciate the baby with you. She awed and cooed. And when she asked how far along you were, age-old, glassy eyes sparkling when you told her you were eighteen weeks, you wondered. . .

“Do you remember me?” You asked, brow raised with a little quirk of your lips.

She looked up at you, the hunch in her back making it impossible to stand at full height. Her expression was pensive once she’d locked eyes with you. Her eyes trailed over your face. “Well, fiddlesticks. . . I’m not placing you, my dear,” she said in her aged tone. Sounded crinkly and worn — in the best possible way. “I’m sorry. I just deal with so many people every day. Been here for so many years! When was it that I met you, honey?”

“About 10 weeks ago,” you replied, watching for any realization to hit her. But, when you saw her squish her magenta-colored lips in thought for a second too long, you knew you’d have to explain further. “You helped me realize I needed to test for pregnancy. I’d come for tampons. Thought I’d started my time of the month. But you put the thought in my head that convinced me to test.”

She immediately brightened, her mouth opening wide in wonder and merriment. “Well, I’ll be darn-tootin’!” She laughed, placing two fragile hands on her equally fragile hips. “A bit of it’s coming back to me, honey. Good-ness gracious. How’ve you been?” She kept her hands on her hips, smiling up at you with a little giggle that reminded you of your Grandmother’s. “I see it was a good idea to test, hm?”

You joined in on the spurt of laughter, placing your free hand on your belly. “It sure was, Wanda,” you shook your head. Your hair, sleek and straightened, brushed against your cheek. “I’m just grateful you mentioned it.”

“Bless your heart. You would’ve found out sooner or later, babydoll,” she winked, messing with the front of her hair. Her nails, long and manicured, were the same color as her bright lips.

You felt so warm at seeing her again. You could’ve kept on with her for hours. Though, due to the winter season, it was already pitch black outside at seven in the evening. You were already yawning — got very sleepy very easily these days. And you still had to get this errand finished so you could go home and decorate. All of the decorating had to be done tonight. You were determined. But, right now. A tree. You had to find a tree. The perfect little tree. And — well, maybe you’d be able to spend a few more minutes with her if she helped you find the tree. That would make your night. 

“Wanda, if you’re busy, you don’t have to. . .,” you started, crossing your arms in front of you, coat over both forearms. “But I could definitely use your help deciding on a new tree. Mine is shot and I’m in desperate need of a new one.” 

“Why, I’d be glad to, sweet pea.”

Wanda had helped you decide on a five-foot-something tree. It was a green, artificial tree. It had the option for multi-colored lights or white lights, which was wonderful. Perfect, honestly. Exactly what you wanted in a tree. And it had been a highlight of your week to decide on it with the white haired woman.

You’d splurged a little and got a slightly nicer one, taking the other one dying as a sign that it was time for you to buy your very own. One that was yours and not a hand-me-down. Anyways, it was best to do it now, anyway. That way, next year, you wouldn’t be trying to juggle a baby whilst also searching for a new tree. But what you hadn’t thought through was getting it up the stairs. While pregnant. Without any help. 

So, here you were, a six-foot tree in a box, hefty as hell. The handle of the box, cutting into your grip with the weight of the box. Your hips, suddenly aching something terrible. For the past week, it hadn’t taken much for them to get sore and achy — usually after working on your feet for hours at the B&G. And today, you'd had so many errands. . . Your body was feeling it. 

So, the tree was the last thing you wanted to deal with when your body was already feeling the abnormal pain (normal for pregnant women by this point in the pregnancy, but new for you in yours). In the present moment, it was the worst concoction of factors, the box tempting to slip from your hand for the thousandth time. You did your best to keep your balance with your constantly changing body and the tree in its box, fighting each other for power. 

You kept thinking how ill-conceived the plan was — doing this shit on your own. . . The tree was definitely too heavy for you. But you hadn’t wanted to burden Jake with the task. He wasn’t even home yet and it wasn’t his job to fulfill these tasks for you. And, for all you knew, he’d be in Queens until the wee hours of the morning due to show-related things. You didn’t know how long he was meant to take.

One hand was bouncing between your belly and the metal railing as you trekked up the steps. One at a time, making sure to keep the baby safe, just in case. In retrospect, at best, this was a hare-brained attempt at being productive. It was dangerous to try to juggle the tree and your growing, unsteady body. If you were to fall down several stairs, what the hell was your damn hand going to do to keep the baby unaffected and well? 

But, you didn’t have time for that thought to fully pass through your brain as the box started doing what you feared. It was tilting towards the bottom of the stairs — just as you’d made it to the fifth stair from the top. So. Close. Fuck.

It was weightily tipping downwards, pulling you with it. A complete imbalance of gravity and equilibrium. Your feet weren't as stable as they could have been. Only one foot was on the fifth step, the other one still on the step prior. Moving didn’t seem an option. There was no telling which foot was going where if you did try to move. It didn’t matter. If you moved up a step, you were going down. If you moved back to the prior step, you were going down. There was no winning. 

So, here you were. Stuck in limbo. A substantially-sized tree in your left hand threatening to make you fall down more than a few stairs, and your right, going back and forth between the hand rail and your tummy. 

Finally, you got the nerve to try and move up – decided you were going to try to make it. Just had to believe you could. . .

Though, as soon as you tried, your foot that was shifting upwards did not agree with the tree box on the opposite side of your body. And so, you started slipping backwards. You couldn’t figure out if you wanted to grab your belly or the railing, but at the last minute, you decided the rail would probably be best. If you hung on to the rail, you wouldn’t fall. And if you didn’t fall, your baby would be okay. 

But, still, your hand was too sweaty to hold on as tightly as you needed – and your mind frazzled and stilled all at once. 

Thankfully, though, at the last minute, you gained just enough traction with the small, singular dry part of your hand. And you didn’t fall. You held tight to the railing and leveled yourself just enough to put both feet on the next step up. But once you were there, you decided that you didn’t want sweaty hands any longer. You’d rather them just be dry to avoid any more risks. 

You put the box down to stand at your side (momentarily wondered why you didn’t just let it fall, it being the main nuisance), wiped your hands on your leggings. Once you put the box aside, you realized the pure, unadulterated relief in your shoulder at not trying to hold a box that was undoubtedly way too heavy for you. In fact, you suddenly realized how very drained you were – it had been a long day. And you felt so damn overheated, in your sweatshirt and thick coat, despite the cold temperatures. So, grabbing both hand rails the best you could, you leveled yourself well enough to sit down beside the tree. 

The box stood slightly wobbly next to one of your throbbing hips as you situated, comfortably as you could on the rusted, metal step. With a huff, your hair billowed out around you with the harsh breath; you pulled the box closer to you. With a firm push, most of its weight leaned against the step behind you. You wedged your hip into the box, gaining some momentary pressure to relieve the tender flesh at the top of your thigh. Slipping your eyes closed, you went to lay your head against the box for a little rest. Better to do that than possibly faint or some shit. Because, if POTS really was truly what you suffered from, that shit was very possible. Fainting was most probably what had happened to you the night you went to the emergency room. So, best not to push yourself tonight.

But just as you went to relax, you heard the telling signs of someone else walking up the stairs. Drowsily, you opened your eyes, head still leant against the box, to find Jake climbing, two steps at a time towards you. His face said he was less than pleased and you instantly blanched at that.

“Why the fuck do you look so pissy?” You challenged with a betraying yawn, masking the irritability in your tone, making your body jerk a little when you let it out. 

With his presence, you were loosening more and more by the second; feeling much more at ease with him being home. You were not irritated at all – even if you sounded otherwise.

“Why do I look ‘pissy’?” He replied with a little laugh, eyes huge as he glanced pointedly at the box before looking back at you. “What the fuck were you just attempting?”

Rolling your eyes, you stayed in your spot against the box, looking up at him from where he stood, feet taller than you sitting down. But still standing a step below you. Dignity be damned. You weren’t getting on your feet to talk to him. You would fucking sit because you were sleepy and sore. And you didn’t feel like getting up just yet. Especially not when you had a hell ton of stuff to do once you crossed the threshold of your home.

Yes, you were overjoyed to decorate for Christmas – of course. But, the more and more time went by, it seemed like more of a chore than anything. “If you must know, I was attempting to get this tree up the stairs and into our place,” you clarified, another yawn making your eyes close with a jitter that made you feel fuzzy all over. 

“All by yourself?” He asked, a small smile daring to tug at his lips with a tone that still sounded slightly frustrated. He released a yawn to follow yours. You watched his neck muscles flex as you thought of how his vast range of emotions made him a jack of all trades. . . . . Frustrated one minute and smiling the next. . . just like yourself – admittedly.

“Yes?” You responded as a question, daring him to test you. “And? A woman can’t handle getting her own tree up the stairs?”

“Of course you can handle it, y/n. I didn’t say that you weren’t strong and shit. Anything you put your mind to, you do,” he explained, brow raised just enough to show he thought you were being ridiculous. “But should you be handling it?” 

“Why shouldn’t I, Jacob? Enlighten me.” 

You knew you sounded stupid. You knew, just as well as him, exactly why you shouldn’t have been testing fate. It was why you’d been alternating between holding the handrail and your bump for the past ten or so minutes you’d struggled to get the bulky box up the steps. 

“Well, you probably shouldn’t be managing a box that heavy on your own at four months pregnant,” he reasoned, messing with his hair briefly before tucking the hand in his pocket.

There was nothing you could say to argue that. So instead, you planted your feet and grumbled as you stood, firmly resting a hand at your hip to apply some sort of compression to the muscle. You were slightly unsteady as you grasped at the handrail. Okay. He had a point. Fine. 

“Let me finish the job,” he encouraged with a gentle smile, moving closer to you as you found your footing. His face showed that he was still measuring your responses. 

Let him, y/n. Relax.

Once you were on your feet and could see past him, you saw his guitar cases all the way at the bottom of the stairs. He never let those leave his sight for more than a minute. And here he was, patiently addressing you and your stubborn ass, back turned to the instruments completely. As if you needed an indicator that you shouldn’t have given him any trouble over it. 

“What about your guitars?” You pondered, shrinking back into yourself a bit, guiltily. Not looking into his eyes, your line of sight, still attached to the beat up cases. “Do you want me to grab those for–?”

“No,” he raspily laughed, your eyes flashing back to him just in time to catch the sight of his pretty smile. “I’ll grab those, too. Just–let’s get you up the stairs in one piece first.”

And, at that, you turned with a sigh, placing one foot on the next step. You felt him close behind you. Without any warning, you felt his hand strong against your back, supporting you. Could’ve sworn you felt the burn of his touch, even through the two thick layers of clothing covering your skin. Then, his hand was traveling towards your lower back, wrapping around your hip, under your coat, keeping you steady. Your entire body leaned into him, opening up at his touch. . . What sort of sorcery was this? One intended to kill, you were sure.

Then, he was talking, his low, velvety voice in your ear. “Remember what I told you that night at your grandparents’? I’ve had to remind you of it a time or two. . .” 

Damn – he was much closer than you thought. Your skin prickled, longing to fall back into him, to truly feel the voice against your ear. His lips – you needed them to graze your skin. You could hardly register the words, the memory seemed totally faded as your hormones took the front seat. 

“What?” You questioned, still facing ahead. Didn’t want to get distracted. 

“Do you remember how I told you to let me help you? That night we had dinner at your grandparents’?”

Oh. Yes. Of course you remembered that. You’d had a panic attack. He had found you. He’d fixed it — miraculously. How he was able to do that so well, you had no fucking clue. “Yes, Jake,” you groaned, trying to mask the way your heart was hammering in your chest at his nearness and the memory of him being the only one to calm you. 

Just as he was calming you right now. Against your will.

“Well, that applies to this and everything else as well,” he said, as your foot made it to the very top of the staircase. His chest momentarily pressed to your back, as your breaths came heavy. “I always want you to let me help you.”

There was nothing you could say with how your head was floating. “Okay,” you responded with a choppy breath. 

But you were moving away from him before you could feel anything else. It was bound to be a long night if you let yourself give in to him in any way. You could let him help you with the tree. Christmas decorations, even, if he wanted. . . You could let him help you put those up in your shared home. But that was it. Didn’t need to let him help with anything else tonight. You couldn’t – shouldn’t. And his chest being pressed to yours only tempted you to act in ways you weren’t supposed to.

Thankfully, he soon got you to the apartment door and then went to grab the tree. You unlocked and opened the door right before he was bringing the tree box through it. You’d waited in the living room, watching every movement of his. And you tried really fucking hard to not pay attention to how he handled the heavy ass tree with zero strain. It was nothing for him. You felt totally normal about this.

And then he was carrying in his two cases, the handle for each in their own gripping fist. But you did your best to put his strength, hands, and fists to the very back of your mind. To your relief, he went to change and drop the cases in his room. And that allowed you to catch your breath as you finally stripped out of your too-warm coat. By the time you took off your coat, you were still breathing choppily. . . so, you decided you'd change into pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt.

You were just so damn overheated. Jake had nothing to do with it, and you told yourself so over and over.

“This shit is fucking scary as hell.”

You looked over your shoulder from your task of placing ornaments on the tree, bottom half first, on your knees. Jake, who’d been put in charge of setting out the other decorations, was holding your Grandma’s vintage, foot-tall Annalee Christmas Mouse Doll. 

The painted features on the felt creature were botched at best. It was old. It had been your Grandmother’s mother’s. Passed down to you and Elsie, who’d been gracious enough to accept. . . But you’d definitely laughed your asses off every year when it came out of the box. It was an heirloom of sorts, but it wasn’t necessarily treasured by the two of you. It had definitely floated around your room and hers, each of you liking to scare each other with it at this time of year. A stupid, hilarious tradition. Because, truly, the thing was creepy as hell. Probably haunted, honestly. . . Joking. Maybe.

“It was my Great Grandma’s,” you laughed, hanging another hand-me-down on the tree. A little gold metal ornament that had once been your Grandpa’s when he was a boy. “It’s been kept around for too many years to try to hide it and be rid of it now.”

“Well,” he started with a laugh in his voice. “I am going to maybe place it somewhere not so visible to the naked eye. . .”

The giggle you let out was easy and made you feel so full of light as you placed another ornament on the tree. 

“Have you eaten tonight?” He asked you with a grunt as he wedged the mouse next to the TV stand. (You didn’t focus on his little noises at all.)

“Yes. Just some fast food,” you sighed as you reached to the back of the tree, trying to reach from your knees. When it hung, you blew out a breath. Your body was so worn from the past few days’ energy and emotions. “But the baby was craving it. I simply can’t be blamed for the unhealthiness of the choice.”

His chuckle at your response made your heart speed and your palms sweat. You ignored that bodily response, though, as you listened to his velvet-laced response. “As long as you feel full. That’s all I care about.”

“I do,” you grinned, continuing to stay focused on your task of the tree to keep the moment from getting to your head. “Promise.”

Saying the last hour had been wondrous with him would be an understatement. Being with Jake like this – just hanging out and putting up Christmas decorations – it was what your fantasies were made of. You loved being with him and domestic tasks like this made your heart pinch and glow, all at once. He hadn’t taken very long to get changed into some sweatpants and a t-shirt. And when he’d emerged from his bedroom, he'd instantly offered to get boxes down if you needed. He’d wanted to help you with all of the decorating. To which, you had externally, appreciatively agreed. But, internally, you’d ecstatically and enthusiastically agreed. 

It was blissful — just the two of you, decorating your home for Christmas. You’d already started fluffing the tree before he came out from his room, but as soon as you said you were good on boxes, he’d opted to help you complete your task. Though, you hadn’t allowed him to help for too long, considering every single time he rounded the tree and came up on the same side as you to help on stretching out the branches above you, he was behind you. Nudging your back end with his front and a little too close for people who weren’t supposed to be that close. 

Aka: his crotch had touched your ass repeatedly. And, you’d absolutely felt his dick against you enough times that you weren’t going to survive the night if he didn’t find a separate task.  

So, you’d quickly delegated the rest of the living room to him. The kitchen counter, too, if he felt the need. And he had. The bartop counter had two of your smaller, light-up table-top Christmas trees on either end and a few small vintage reindeer at their bases. That had been his first mission, and he’d impressed you with his skill. After a few minutes of that, he’d used the rest of his time to set up the entire living room. He had hung some garland and additional Christmas lights above the double-paned living room windows, too. It had made your heart flutter when you’d noticed his intentionality at hanging twinkle lights amidst garland there, as well as a few other places in the room. 

You vaguely remembered the night he moved in and how much of a snark he’d been about your twinkle lights. 

“You need to give this a chance, Jake,” Josh had sighed, his body move slightly from where you laid against him, feigning sleep. “She was so kind to offer her apartment to you.”

“I’m not oblivious to that, Josh. Jesus,” Jake had sighed, sounding so similar to his twin. But his voice had involved a bit of a grunt, as if he’d been pouting. “We are just too different.”

“How do you know the two of you are so different?” 

It had taken a minute for Jake to come up with his answer.

“Well, for one: she has fucking twinkle lights,” you’d been able to hear a couple of bracelets clang against each other, as if a hand of his was waving above you all.

And, it was true then and true now. You did have them and loved them. They brought a cozy feeling with them— especially so at Christmas time. 

The fact that the two of you had come from that night, to now, decorating for Christmas together was too remarkable to not appreciate. . . Yeah, it was complicated. . . But it was something. And it was something you really, really loved.

As you felt your heart heat in your chest at the progression of events, you took one last look at the bottom of the tree, full of ornaments and finished, from what you could see. Then you were glancing over at him as he focused on his tasks. The little grin that hung permanently on his lips felt similar to the way your heart seemed to literally grow in your chest at the thought of him. This felt so right. And, his heart was so evident, now, and you saw it in every tiny thing he did – including his decorating of your home. You were having a moment where you felt a lot of gratitude at the fact that you got to carry his first child. There was an overwhelming joyful feeling, in general, at the moment. The fact that there was a baby on its way that would surely feel so much love from both of her parents — that was incomparable to all else.

Going to stand to get more ornaments for the top of the tree, you had to grab on to the armchair to help you just the slightest bit. Your hips really were not in the best shape as of the past few days. With a huff, you blew back some hair that had fallen in your face. And just as you were about to rise to your feet completely, Jake’s hand was closing in comfortably around your bicep to help you the rest of the way up. It helped tremendously to have the extra help. And once you were finally on your feet, you looked up with a big grin plastered to your lips. 

After tucking some loose hair behind your ear, your lips twitched. “Thanks,” you offered, feeling how pink your cheeks were from your exertion and embarrassment. “It’s my hips. . . They’re really fucking sore right now.”

“I’ve read that’s normal,” he smiled in return, eyes twinkling. “Do you need to sit down? I can finish all of this. Seriously.”

“No,” you shook your head, looking down at your feet where your toes wiggled against the carpet. As was your nervous habit, you smoothed the hair you’d tucked behind your ear. “Sometimes, it gets better when I move. My uterus is just. . . Growing and pressing like a bitch into my sciatic nerve,” you snorted, rubbing at your hips and then your lower back. When you flashed your eyes up at him, he was watching your hands in their movements. The look in his eye made your cheeks blush further. “So, naturally, it hurts. Nothing I can do about it. She’s gotta grow. I’d rather be the one to hurt — don’t want her to not be growing like she should.”

“And that’s why you’re going to be an incredible mother,” he mentioned, using one thumb to delicately skim hairs back at the edge of your forehead before he tucked the hand in his crossed arms. Even as he seemed to realize he maybe shouldn’t do something so soft, his eyes never left yours. Something flashed behind them. “You already are the most incredible mother.”

“I don’t know about that,” you disagreed with a small, self-deprecating laugh. 

“I do, though,” he seriously stated, not letting you argue. His lips quirked as he winked. “And don’t say I’m wrong, Little Miss Know-It-All.”

You scoffed, reaching forward to slap one of his arms, a laugh lighting up your features. “Shut the fuck up.”

He laughed and jokingly rubbed at his arm as both of your hands went back to holding your lower back. “Why must you hurt me, you wild, crazy, beautiful woman?” Beautiful. 

“Wild and crazy?!” You squeaked, another giggle falling from your lips. “As if I’m a damn chimp or some shit. You’re on a roll tonight, Jacob Thomas.”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he smirked once more, reaching a hand up to your face again before apparently deciding against it and instead brushing back his own hair. Your heart twinged in your chest. “Not about the beautiful part. You are always beautiful, but you’re only sometimes crazy. Wild, though. . . I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Wild can be good. And you’re good wild,” his smirk loosened as his eyes went a shade darker with a wink. 

Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean, you ignored. “Okay,” you rolled your eyes, your chest heating. (Because, you knew he was flirting. Right? What else could he be implying?) Turning from him, you went to bend down and grab more ornaments before deciding that wasn’t the best move. “I don’t know why I’m trying to bend down.”

Without having to be asked, he was already in front of you, picking up the ornament box and sitting it on the armchair for easier access to you. “I, too, do not know why,” he chuckled, tucking hair behind his ear. You appreciated the view of his ass, from him bending to now standing in front of you, facing the tree. “The tree looks fantastic, honey.”

You snapped out of your daze just in time to not be caught. His head turning and big brown eyes, looking back at you right after you’d let your line of sight meet the back of his head. With a flush, you shrugged before looking at his work to return the admiration. He’d really done a wonderful job. 

The counter was done up with the trees and deer, but he’d since added a few Christmas picks you’d purchased from Michael’s a couple years back. They added some movement to the scene since you last looked. Garland and multi-colored lights were carefully braided together, above the windows, woven across the entertainment stand, and under the TV that sat atop it, on its pedestal. He’d tucked some tinsel in there as well, along with a few small, vintage ceramic angels, deer, and Santas you and Elsie had thrifted. The foot-tall creepy ass mouse was tucked towards the far corner of the living room, yet still on display — kind of. You internally laughed at that, a grin gracing your lips once more at the ugly hand-me-down. He’d even gotten the Christmas pillows out and placed them on the couch, balanced out to add something to both ends of the couch. 

And the armchair held a sweet little Grinch stuffie that had been yours for a long time, his green having lost most of its vibrancy from time and wear. And next to your faded Grinch sat Elsie’s equally worn out Frosty the Snowman. Tears gathered in an instant at how much care he’d shown to the living room. He’d handled it flawlessly and it made you so excited to be raising a child alongside him. If he was so intentional with things like this, you couldn’t begin to imagine the father he’d be for your little girl. And the tears weren’t helped by the emotion at the sight of the two stuffed animals. It was all the perfect storm of feelings in your extra-hormonal, uber-emotional state.

Your first Christmas living with your grandparents, and away from your mother, you’d gone to all of the major chain stores with your Grandma and Grandpa to look at all of their decorations. Kohl’s. JCPenney. Macy’s. You’d never shopped for decorations before that. Your mother hadn’t cared to introduce you and your sister to anything of the sort — hadn’t ever decorated her own place (as if she ever had her own for long enough). So, it was a tradition they’d lovingly started with you and Elsie to get your mind in happier places. 

Grandpa had picked the Grinch for you at JCPenney and Grandma had picked Frosty for Elsie at Kohl’s. 

The tradition was much like the one your Grandpa had started with The Nutcracker. Difference was, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone shopping with your grandparents. Life was so damn busy. Ironically, though, your sister had texted you to remind you of The Nutcracker on your way home from Walmart tonight. She’d let you know that Josh and Grandma would be accompanying you, her, and your Grandpa this year.

And she’d told you about an extra ticket – had asked if Jake wanted. . . Damn. This was one of those moments you were glad your memories had been triggered because your pregnancy brain would have let you forget to ask him until too late. Much like you’d almost forgotten to decorate for the holiday. You swiveled on your heel to regard him. And when you tried to speak, you realized your throat was still clogged with tears. Blinking away what was left in your eyes and sniffling, you showed him a smile just as his brows furrowed with worry. 

“I can fix whatever—.” He started, moving towards you carefully. 

And at the same time, you spoke with gratitude painting your tone. “It’s absolutely exquisite, Jake,” you lifted a finger to flick away a stray tear from below your left eye. “I can’t explain what it means to me. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to help. It’s our house,” he stepped towards you as he spoke. “And I want to show you how serious I am when I say I want to help you with everything. From before now, to now, and as long as you’ll let me. We’re in this together.”

Your heart leapt into your throat more and more, the closer he got, now housed directly under your chin. And when he stood directly in front of you again, his cologne deliciously infiltrated your senses. You wanted to close your eyes in bliss at the prominence of the amber and sandalwood, the gentle hints of vanilla. . . but you controlled yourself. 

You were able to control yourself when you remembered the offers to be there were all about the baby. Obviously. No sense in getting all weird and hormonal like it had to do with you specifically. You shook your head of the thoughts and straightened your posture the best you could. With one hand on your lower back and hip, you placed the other on your growing belly.  

“You’re going to be an incredible daddy,” you insisted, eyes wet again in spite of yourself. “I’m so glad she has you.”

“I’m learning from you how to be present for her,” he smiled, his own eyes sparkling with an unshed tear. “So, thank you.”

Fuck. Why did he have to say things so—? Ugh. Your heart hurt, right along with your hips. And, as if on cue, a particularly sharp pain shot to your hips and pelvic area. You needed rest — your body needed it — didn’t have time for an onslaught of emotions. 

“Don’t thank me,” you laughed to downplay it all. Had to move on. “You are doing that all on your own, Jake. Give yourself credit for your efforts.” Why were you going on and on? You needed to shut up and get the tree finished. Thankfully, before he could say anything else emotionally taxing, you remembered what you needed to tell him. 

“Weird question,” you started, a little laugh in your voice to try and seem less anxious at the prospect of asking him this. “But would you be free to go see The Nutcracker with my family and me on the 24th?”

His expression quickly went from a soft fondness to subtle remorse, brows crinkled and eyes casting down. “Well. . . I actually leave for Maya’s family Christmas on the 23rd. I can’t remember off the top of my head how long we’ll be there. . . All I know is I should be back in time for Christmas. She’s got all of it planned out. I’m just along for the ride,” he ran a hand through the front of his hair. His eyes were apologetic when they found yours, but you didn’t dig much deeper than that. “I’m sorry I can’t go, honey.”

No matter how apologetic his eyes seemed, his tiny smile had been evident as he informed you of his fun plans. Bile rose in your throat at the whole idea of his Very Merry Christmas plans with his extremely stunning, near-model of a girlfriend. Every word of his had sent knives to your extra fragile heart.

“Oh, yes, of-of course,” you stuttered, taking a step back and lacing both hands under your tummy. It was a position which brought immense comfort, you’d found. Because, no matter what, you had her. “Duh, y/n,” you said to yourself with a tiny fake laugh to try and play it off.

It was stupid of you to let his plans hurt so bad — as if you were oblivious to his relationship. . . You knew better than to think he wouldn’t be busy with her. Of course he had plans with her. Why were you so damn stupid as to think he would be available enough to go see the fucking Nutcracker with you and your family like you were the couple? And why had Elsie thought of that idea at all? 

Wouldn’t your grandparents have found it odd if Jake randomly showed up anyway? They hadn’t seen him in months and they had no clue of his importance in their great grandchild’s life. It would’ve been strange. In fact, you were glad he was busy. Right? Wrong, actually. Ridiculous thought — because feeling glad wouldn’t have your throat suddenly so tight with emotion. 

“What are you planning on doing for Christmas?” He asked, not letting your words sit in the air for too long. “I’m sure Elsie will be here, right? I know she was planning on moving back here around Christmastime. . .”

“Y-yeah,” you cleared your throat, blinking a few times as you relaxed your expression. Why were you being so transparent? He wasn’t yours. Absolutely nothing new there. Maya had staked her claim. And you’d let him go. Simple as that. “She’s coming back on the 23rd, actually. How funny is that?”

How funny? Why were you talking like that? How was being awkward as ass going to solve anything? God. Be normal, y/n, an inner voice urged. 

“Are you going home to see your parents at some point? I know Josh and Sam have in the past, but. . .,” you trailed, legitimately curious and desperate to think that he wasn’t going to spend Christmas Day with Maya. 

(Which, if you were thinking logically — of course he was going to spend Christmas Fucking Day with his serious girlfriend. So why were you so goddamn pressed about it? It wasn’t your business and you needed to get used to this shit. Besides, when the baby was born she’d have to spend holidays with Jake and Maya’s fam—. No. Not right now. Not that. Nope.)

“Well, my parents are going overseas to see my sister at school. She can’t get away. So, I’ll probably just hang with Maya —or Josh and Sam,” he tried to get the last two names out quickly. With the way his eyes nervously flickered, you schooled your features once more. Didn’t want to give him any more reason to be nervous. It wasn’t your place to feel any type of way about that. “Or all three. Who knows. And I’m sure Danny will go home to see his family, so. . .”

“Cool,” was all you could push out, your gaze going down to your feet. What did one do in times where a heart was so illegitimately broken? 

But, because he was so wonderful, Jake didn’t let the silence last for long enough that you got to the point of crying. (And, yes, you definitely would have started crying if he hadn’t interrupted your train of thought.) “Do you have any Christmas records?” He asked, tone airy and unworried, trying to ease you. (You hated how he could read you.)

Your eyes fluttered to his, interest suddenly piqued at listening to music. And with him. He knew. The empathy and soft smile on his pretty lips said enough. “Oh, yeah. Quite a few,” you replied with the tiniest sniffle, your voice smaller than you wish it was. You’d get over it. And the music would help exponentially if he was actually thinking the same as you and wanted to play one. 

“How about we play one while we finish the tree?” And, of course he was thinking the same. 

“I can’t think of a better idea,” you grinned, your lips pulled into a genuine smile at the thought of getting to listen to music with him again. Just like old times. . . Almost. Because, at the same time, not like ‘old times’ at all. But. . . You’d take what you could get.

You’d finished decorating an hour-to-midnight. But you’d stood together for a while, hands on your respective hips. Both of you were in awe and admiration of the Christmas-y living room. After turning the lights off, it always seemed to hit differently. The Christmas lights twinkled white, red, green, and blue. It was stunning. 

One of your favorite sights in the world, honestly. Had been since you were a little girl sitting in your brand new Christmas PJ’s (a new set every year, thanks to your Grandma), admiring the decorations you’d spend hours putting up with your ‘new’ little family – a finally joyful familial feeling with your grandparents, sans a toxic mother. Every year, you’d all spend one night putting up decor. And, afterwards, you and your sister would sit on the ground next to the tree and drink hot cocoa with tiny marshmallows as you watched the old-school, animated Grinch. Your grandparents, always sitting behind you both on the couch to enjoy the moment in their own little way.

You told him as much as you felt a wetness grow at the corner of your eye. And with a sniffle, you turned to face him to tell him goodnight. The emotions were aplenty and you didn’t need to exhaust him any further either. But, before you could say anything to wish him a sleepy farewell, he asked if you wanted to do that this year. With him. He then rushed to tell you that he’d understand if you wanted to keep the memory sacred to past times. But, you hadn’t a thought of denying the idea as you readily and excitedly agreed to the idea. 

More time with Jake was never a bad thing. It was ever-welcome and your favorite time spent in the world. (Yes, you’d come to learn that you enjoyed time with him even more than anyone else – including your family. It was a really fucking scary and vulnerable thought — you liked to ignore it on a regular basis).

He smiled wide before putting you in charge of getting the movie set up as he went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. And once he finished, he joined you with two Christmas mugs full of hot cocoa, to watch the Grinch. When he reappeared to find you curled up in the couch with a blanket, he hadn’t made any sort of move to sit at the other end. No, instead, he’d handed you your mug. At which, you’d taken it in one hand with a sweet thank you before you used the other to lift the blanket you’d laid on top of your legs, without a second thought. And, just as soon as you’d had the idea to lift the blanket, he’d naturally settled in the place you created for him. Right next to you. Under your blanket. His hip, pressed to yours. 

But that hadn’t lasted for more than a minute before he was wordlessly tapping your thighs and then his thighs, gently tilting his head towards his side (you assumed, to indicate you move in his direction). Not thinking much of it, you pressed play and did as you figured he wanted and draped your legs across his lap. And it had seemed a correct assumption since he immediately went to hold your calf (over the blanket). And, with the other hand, he held his mug, which he’d held atop your thigh for the first part of the movie (over the blanket).

At the halfway point, when the Grinch got to his ‘spot number one’, Jake leaned forward to sit his and your hot cocoa on the coffee table. And after doing that, he’d nestled back into his spot on the couch, this time, leaning a bit towards you. His left arm rested on the back of the couch and the other stayed atop the blanket, on your calf. He even tended to some of the Lord’s work and massaged your sore calf muscles, your heart beating ferociously as he reached under the blanket for the job. But, he hadn’t moved to any more skin aside from your calves. This had saved your sanity, as you would have absolutely pounced him, had his hands moved up any further. 

Too soon, though, the twenty-five minute movie was over. He tapped your leg as the last credit rolled, his ministrations on your leg coming to a relaxed halt right before you were moving your legs and he was rising from his spot. And, as he went to the kitchen to wash the mugs, you went about turning off the TV. You folded the blanket you’d shared and fluffed the pillows. But as soon as you were done, you were following him to the kitchen to see if he’d finished. 

Just as you’d gotten to the kitchen, though, he was exiting the area and turning off its light. The two of you seemed to silently agree that you weren’t done with each other, yet. Because you’d taken your sweet time, walking and talking about nothing and everything. Baby-related things and non-baby-related things as you headed to your own bedrooms.

As you finally got to your doors, you were suddenly very delighted at the idea of bedtime. You were working double time for two lives and you were more than tired because of it. The fact that your pillow was waiting just beyond your door made you twist the knob to your room, opening it without another thought. 

With one last look his way and a grinning yawn, you told him goodnight. But, he had one last question before you were able to enter your room. And even with the staggering temptation of your bed and dreamland, you still gave him your full (sleepy) attention. Your body called and responded to him all on its own. You really had no control over it at this point.

“How are you sleeping?” He asked, an eyebrow raised as he stood in front of his own opened door.

“Fine. . .?" your eyebrows furrowed with a little curious smile on your lips, another yawn escaping them. “Why?”

“Well, your hips. . . . Are they—um, keeping you up at all?” he wondered, genuine interest painting his own tired features. You nodded with a silent understanding at his concern. But, you still couldn’t believe he was thinking of that small little detail when it came to your comfort. 

“Oh. . .,” you started, pushing your door open a little further for Stevie as she brushed past your (now well-massaged) calves to enter your bedroom for bedtime. “Well. . .  Yes. But, I’ll be okay for the next few days. Waiting for a spare moment to actually order something. Meant to do it today, but it ended up being much busier than I anticipated.” You laughed with a gentle scratch to your head at the excessive responsibilities of your day. 

Opening your mouth elicited yet another yawn, at which he followed with his own. His cute little yawn made you wish to see the same thing on your baby’s face. “I have a couple of pillows on Amazon that I’m eyeing,” you continued your explanation. “Or, I can always go to a maternity store in the city or something once I do have ti—.”

“I’ll order something for you,” he offered, covering his mouth with a fist as another yawn left his pretty lips. “Just – find what you need and send it to me.”

“Jake,” you replied with a hand on your hip and a stern brow raised. “I can’t make you—.”

“You’re not making me do anything, y/n,” he insisted. “I want to help. Please. It’s my baby causing you the pain. It’s the least I can do to apologize on her behalf and mine for putting you in this position.”

He pushed his door open a bit more to lean in and turn his tall lamp on, which you knew stood directly next to the bedroom door. You definitely watched with lazy eyes as his self-cropped shirt raised enough to show you the bottom of his olive-skinned belly, all the way to his bellybutton. In your sleepy state, the sight of his tummy had your mouth watering. Damn — you needed sleep. . . Now. 

Your eyes made their way back up as you noticed his body repositioning to face you once more. You'd been very nearly caught staring due to your sleepiness, and he had a very good point, so you conceded. “Fine. I will send you something.”

“Thank you,” he responded, sounding mildly shocked. A victorious grin was plastered to his handsome face.  

“Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me, baby.”

Fuck. Baby? Yeah. . . . Smart decisions were not to be made with him calling you that. Your body lit up at the pet name. You were suddenly feeling very ready to do things you shouldn’t, your mind in the gutter with the way your brain swam in a drowsy haze. 

At the late hour, you were on the precipice of delirium. Better to wrap it up. You both needed sleep.

Yet, you still argued. A little flirtatious smirk dusted your lips as your cheeks heated, a brow raising as you tested him. “I’ll do what I want.”

“Oh, trust me, beautiful girl. I fucking know,” he said, his own eyes gleaming with a little mischief. “But. . . sometimes it’s for the best if you listen to me.”

God. His very pointed and authoritarian tone of voice had your chest heaving – your entire body reacted to it. Why was he being like this? But. . .at the same time, you questioned yourself. You had to be fair – was he being like anything? Or were you just imagining things? But, thankfully, another yawn came out of nowhere breaking your little moment and thought. A savior, this yawn.

So, with the teensy bit of common sense you had left in you, you gave him a tiny smile as your eyes went down to the floor in an act of protection over yourself and him. “Goodnight, Jake.”

“Goodnight, Beautiful.”

A FaceTime chat with Elsie was the ideal finish to a busy ass day at the Black and Gold. Just like every store at Christmastime, the B&G was notorious for having an onslaught of regulars and newbies come in to buy gifts for loved ones at the holidays.

Thankfully, Josh hadn’t completely phased out of the schedule yet and had been put on the schedule for most of the holiday rush. But usually, you had alternating shifts. You’d manage the second shift while he’d manage the first, and vice versa. And today, your shift had been evening. Making you very tired and ready for bed. 

But, Elsie first. You desperately missed your sister and there was no one else you wanted to vent to at the moment besides your best and longest friend. Who just so happened to be your big sister. 

Makeup and clothes off, your bra had just followed. A sigh of comfort left your lips as you massaged at your sore, heavy chest. No longer trapped. Could breathe. “Forgot to wear my maternity bra today,” you leaned side to side and twisted a bit to stretch your equally sore back muscles. “I got sidetracked by all things baby room on TikTok. And Pinterest. And Instagram. I lost track of time and didn’t have a bunch of time to get ready, sooo. . . I ultimately paid the price.”

“Well, at least your tits look good,” she commented from the phone leant against your vanity mirror, typing away at her laptop on the other end. “Are those giant knockers your favorite part of being pregnant?”

You laughed out loud at that. “My tits?!” You squawked. “Yes, Elsie. My boobs are my favorite part about being pregnant. Not the actual human life growing inside of me.”

She was cackling over the screen, continuing to type away from what you could hear. You’d turned from her to search for a shirt in your closet. “What I meant was your giant ass boobs must be a nice perk with all of the changes,” she clarified. “I know they would be for me.”

“They hurt my damn back like a bitch,” you reasoned, still laughing with the words. “But, yes, they are very nice to look at.”

You found the oversized t-shirt you wanted and slipped the soft, gray material over your head. When the cool cotton landed on your chest, you sighed once more as the comfortability of it set in. The shirt was big enough that you didn’t need to wear pants, but you still put some loose yoga pants on just in case Jake came home before you went to sleep. Modesty was key. 

“Oh, pants, I see,” she commented, chewing on something that sounded awfully similar to ice. And when you looked over to the phone to see her, she was doing just that. Chomping her fucking ice. Ice had always been a favorite snack of hers. Weirdo. “Jake’s home, I presume? Since you’re trying to be all proper and shit with your clothing? Because, goddammit, y/n, we’ve gotta make sure the goods are covered — even though it’s his damn kid inside of you.”

You rolled your eyes at her, tossing your hair up in a quick, loose messy bun on top of your head. Once you were satisfied with it, you grabbed her from your vanity and went to lay against the stack of pillows at your headboard instead. God only knew how badly your back needed it. 

“Elsie, shut the fuck up,” you quipped, giving her a momentary look through the screen. She wasn’t looking. Of course. The one time she’d decided to mind her business was when you called her on her shit. “And, no he’s not home. But he might be soon and I don’t want him to have to see my bare ass,” you said, trying to be cool about it. “I’m being respectful to him and his relationship.”

“Proud of your good samaritanism, sis,” she replied sarcastically. “I know you just love Maya so much and wouldn’t want to break her little heart if her boyfriend got a hard on at seeing his baby mama all nakey.”

If only you knew. . ., you thought, smug in spite of your efforts at modesty.

But you only rolled your eyes with a snort. “Didn’t say that at all,” you remarked, sitting your ass on your bed and stretching your legs as you nestled cozily into your pillows. Adjusting a little, you decided to lay against your pillows and lean on your side to talk to her, holding her in the hand that rested on the bed. “‘S more about Jake not having to be subjected to my fat ass when he doesn’t have to be.”

“I’m pretty sure that man would not care about seeing your ass,” she said smartly. “I think he would gladly volunteer to inspect and explore your ass for hours, sweet thang.”

You ignored that. But. . . it dawned on you that you hadn’t filled her in on the other night yet. 

For good reason, the snickering voice in your head reminded you. Don’t need her getting all up in it. Who knows what she’d say. 

Well. . . you had an idea what she might say. And that was precisely why you’d kept the entire evening to yourself. But you had to tell her about Maya being a bitch at the least. “I haven’t even told you,” you started, making sure she was looking at you. When she didn’t look at you, you cleared your throat. But still. She looked at her laptop instead of you, fingers flying across her keyboard. “I love how suddenly you can’t pay attention when I’m actually talking to you. Now that you can’t spy on my naked ass and make little comments about my titties.”

“Bitch, shut up and suck it up,” she shot back, pausing and looking at you with wide eyes for emphasis, earning a laugh from you. She giggled, too, before looking back at work. “I have to get this article written and sent in before midnight. And it’s almost midnight for me here. I’m almost done. Just talk. I’m listening.”

“It’s not my fault you love to procrastinate.”

“Pot and kettle, babe. Pot and fucking kettle.”

“Touché.”

“Okay, so. . . ‘you haven’t told me’,” she reminded you, sounding very intrigued. “I need to know.”

“Okay, okay,” you continued, looking to the side to think about how you’d tell her the bare minimum. “So, we had the guys over for games because–.”

“Sammy got his heart broken,” she finished. “Poor thing.”

She knew about—? Briefly, it dawned on you. . . Had Josh told her anything? Surely not. . . he was so good about minding his business. . . You were almost positive you didn’t need to worry about it. 

“Yeah, so anyway. The guys came over and Maya joined in on the fun, along with Theo — who I’ve kind of been seeing again,” you scoffed, as did she at the mention of him. She knew about his reappearance in your life and wasn’t a fan. . . So you definitely were not going to tell her about that incident in your bedroom either. Again, didn’t need her opinions. “But we were playing this card game and a card was played,” you cleared your throat, turning away from the phone momentarily when you felt your face heat at the memory. Fuck. You glanced at the screen for a second, noticing her still looking away. Thank God. Didn’t need her commenting on the pinkness in your cheeks. “And this card — it put Maya in a bitch ass mood.”

You couldn’t blame Maya, honestly. Considering what had happened right in front of her eyes. . . But. Still. You fucking could for what she’d said about your baby. Josh had validated that shit and everything.

“Which game was it?”

“You Laugh, You Drink,” you answered. 

“Hm. Okay. Which card?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” you looked away, avoiding her.

“Why?”

“It just doesn’t, Els. Drop it.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No.”

“But if Maya was so damn pressed over it—.”

“Elsie.”

The other end was suddenly eerily silent. Hm. Did she know something? She’d known about Sam’s heart getting broken. . . Had Josh said anything to her? You fucking swore if that fucker had–.

“Why are you being so quiet?” Elsie questioned from her side of the call, bringing you back to the moment. “Seems suspicious.”

You snapped your attention back to her. “I’m not being quiet. You are being hot and cold with responses, you fucking weasel.”

“Am not!” She responded, aghast at the accusation. “I’m working. Damn.”

Deciding to put any of that worry to the side, you went on with your story. “Anyway,” you shook your head, reaching to itch your right brow with your pointer. Nervous habit. You looked to see if Elsie had noticed. She was still honed in on her laptop. Thankfully. “She turned nasty about the baby after this card was played.”

Without a second thought, her eyes flicked to you. It made goosebumps rise on your skin. You loved how your baby girl had allies already. “What in the fuck?” She ground out, brows lifted to her hairline. “What did the little cunt say about my niece or nephew?”

I haven’t told her the gender yet, you paused on that thought. Granted, it had only been a few days. But, damn. You felt like you were keeping her out of the loop. How had you gotten so good at doing that? On a dime, you realized you had to tell her the gender immediately. So, you decided you’d nonchalantly drop it. She might end up hating you for the casual reveal, but she’d just have to get over it. 

Looking to the side at Stevie, who rested at your feet, you continued, “She referred to my baby girl with this tone that had me wanting to clock her stupid, fucking–.”

There were no more keys clicking on the other end whatsoever. “Hold. The fuck. Up.”

You grinned knowingly, slowly swiveling your eyes back to the camera. Elsie’s mouth hung open, eyes just as wide as her mouth. “Oh, did I say something?” You teased, looking side to side before finding her eyes once more.

She left the frame briefly and you didn’t have time to wonder where she went before you witnessed her doing a little happy dance behind her desk chair. You laughed along with her, as she ruthlessly giggled on the other end with several ‘I knew it’s’ flowing from her lips. After spending that time briefly skirting around her home office, she was back in front of you, patting down her curls that had gone slightly askew with her movements. 

Her cheeks were bright pink with cheer and her smile lit up every single feature on her face. “I fucking knew it!” She exclaimed before you could utter a word. “I told Josh — told him that I just had this feeling that the baby was a girl.”

“That’s funny,” you perked up, sitting up a little straighter to talk about the new information with her. “Jake just seemed to know, too. Kept referring to her as a her before we even knew.”

“No – now, that’s going to make me fucking tear up,” she said, literally sounded as if she was on the verge of tears on the other end. 

When you focused on her eyes again, you noticed the new wetness. “Elsie, there is no way in hell you’re actually crying right now,” you snorted at her, your own eyes watering in spite of yourself. Your sniffle betrayed you, making her follow your lead and look at you accusingly, brow raised and nostrils flared. “Okay, okay. . . I know. It’s– it’s exciting and emotional. I get it.”

“Yeah,” she emphasized the word with a sniffle, voice wet. “Give me a damn second to feel it all. And the fact that Jake just knew! God. That’s fucking priceless. Oh my god. I can’t.”

You nodded at her words, agreeing wholeheartedly. After giving her a bit of time to sit with the information, she gave you the signal to give her a minute and with a few more tap, tap, taps of her fingers against her keyboard, you heard a swooshing sound from the phone speaker. 

“Okay, work’s done. Article sent. Time to talk about my niece,” she said, each statement stringing from the last with excitement. “My mind is spinning, y/n. I’m quite actually spiraling over here, bitch.”

“I feel you,” you agreed once again, hearing the front door open and close right after you’d spoken. The familiar jingle of Jake’s keys in the bowl on the counter, along with the telling sound of his whistling alerted you to his presence. Your shoulders eased, stress releasing that you hadn’t realized yourself holding. What? You just really liked when he was home at the same time as you. “I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I found out.”

“Was Jake at the appointment?”

“Yes,” you replied, turning her down a few notches to keep your conversation quiet enough that he wouldn’t hear anything by some chance. “And he was very emotional, too.”

“Well of course he was,” she surmised. “Who wouldn’t be?”

You nodded along, not sure what else you wanted to say for a bit. Just wanted to sit in the newly divulged information with your sister. 

“Think of any names yet?” She inquired with a sniff.

Shit. You hadn’t. How had you—? Did this mean you were like—? Were you going to be the same as—? Queue you questioning everything. As always. Did it make you a bad mom that you hadn’t thought of a single name? Rather than sitting on it, you clued Elsie in to your thought process. Out with the negative, reach for the positive. Had to work on that. 

“I haven’t, actually,” you admitted, sniffling for a new reason altogether, gnawing at your lip. Your brows furrowed as you pondered your lack of thought at the name. “Does that make me a bad mom? My mind is the one tripping balls now. God. Elsie.” You felt like a little girl, all over again, crying out for Elsie amidst grueling night terrors. 

“Stop, babe,” she demanded from the other end, her tone sharp. “I know what you’re doing. Quit over analyzing. When did you find out she’s a girl? Just a few fucking days ago, right?”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t I have been thinking of names before we even went to the appoi–?”

“No,” she vehemently stopped you. “You shouldn’t have been doing anything that didn’t naturally come to you to do. Motherly instincts and all of that. You know your process. Every mom is different.”

God. Not right now. Not right now. Not. Right. Now. All you could see was your washed up mother laying on the couch. Her cheap, box-dyed yellow-blonde hair. Saw her leaving you and Elsie on the porch. You, screaming at her. Sobbing. Heard her saying obscenely terrible things to you, as if through a mocking tunnel from the past. No motherly instincts anywhere within that woman. Were moms so different if they shared DNA? 

“Quit it, y/n,” Elsie cut through the thoughts in a way only a sister could. Your eyes, full of tears and probably looking terrified, found hers. She wasn’t glaring at you, but she definitely wasn’t playing games. “You are not our mother. Get that shit out of your head. I know that’s what you’re fucking doing right now. Comparing yourself to her. Stop.”

“But, Els–,” you felt a tear leave your eye as you looked away from her. Goddammit. Why now? You were supposed to be happy with your sister right now. “I hadn’t even given a name a damn thought. How did I forg–?”

“You didn’t forget,” she challenged you, forcing your eyes back to hers. You let yourself focus on the familiar fire in her eyes. Let some reassurance sink into your soul from her irises. Something you’d done all your life. Deep breaths. “First of all, you’re only four months along. And second, you have been a fucking fantastic mother already. Hello — going to therapy to better yourself? For her? For your baby? Badass, dude,” she smiled fondly, holding up a fist to show the power in that. 

“You’ve had far more important things than a damn name to think about. And you’ve been thinking about those things. The life-altering, re-wiring of the brain shit. Focusing a hell of a lot of your energy into that. It’s intense stuff and you’re doing it. For her. Our mother would never,” she lectured with a bite in her words. “Never-fucking-ever. You are a kickass mom already, babe. And you are absolutely nothing like the woman who birthed us. Nothing. Like. Her.”

You let the words trickle in one by one. Held onto the words that you could. Desperately tried to cling to each and every one. But, as fate would have it, you lost a few that your mind couldn’t wrap around completely. But you’d found a chosen few to hold in your mental iron fist. They helped your mind slow down. Elsie had a good fucking point. She always had the right words. This was stuff Gia would tell your ass, too. ‘For her.’ You were doing things for her. More important than a name. For. Her. Those words made your breathing come the easiest and your eyes dry enough that you didn’t have to fight any more tracks down your cheeks with the tips of your fingers. 

“Thanks, Els,” you muttered, one more sniff had you clearing up to nearly normal again. “Your words always hit different. I needed them.”

“Well. You’re welcome,” she replied, full of ease. “I wish I could hug you, too. But you’re just going to have to hang on to those words for the time being. Hugs to drive the point home – coming soon.”

“It can’t come soon enough," you softly said, yawning with the word. Long ass day. 

“Agreed. Anyway, so. Names. Let’s brainstorm,” she offered. 

“Els, I really have no earthly clue. I haven’t thought about it,” you laughed, coming to terms with the fact that you weren’t completely terrible for not thinking of one yet. “Don’t even know where to start.”

“Has Jake brought any up yet? That might help to get your wheels turning.”

“Nope,” you shook your head, looking towards your cracked bedroom door to maybe catch a glimpse of him. The slit in the door didn’t offer you anything. Too small. Couldn’t try to get an idea of where he was if you tried. “I’m sure he’s waiting for me to say something about one.”

“Okay. So. . .Hm,” she pursed her lips before picking you up and carrying you in her hand to her kitchen. “I need brain food. Chips, of course.”

“Duh.” Chips were her favorite. Right next to her ice. “Saw the ice already. I knew chips were next.”

“At least I’m consistent,” she noted, finding the bag she wanted and carrying them with her to her couch. “Ah, my couch. My beloved.”

When you heard her bag of chips open, you simultaneously heard a record begin in your living room. You didn’t recognize it right off the bat, but you reveled in the feeling that he was playing something. It felt so wonderfully familiar. Like home.

“So. . . let’s start with you and Jake,” she began, crunching on one chip to start. 

“What about us?!” You quickly jumped to realign the conversation, your train of thought having derailed your sense of calm. “I thought we were talking about baby names.”

“Calm the hell down,” she laughed. “I just want to know if there’s anything special that you two share – besides her, obviously – that might lend to an idea. . .” Oh. Okay. You got it now. Wow. You really did need to calm the hell down. 

“Um,” you pondered briefly, racking your brain for anything that would make any sense at all. But, after your very long day at work and minor panic attack, you were coming up totally short. “I can’t think of anything right now, Els. My brain is shit after work today and my mini freak out just now.”

“That’s okay, babe. How about–.”

From a distance, you heard a loud clatter from the kitchen, making you look in the direction of the clash rather than Elsie. 

“What’s going on?” You heard her wonder aloud from the screen.

You sat up completely, but didn’t get out of bed yet. Just minded your business until you felt like you wouldn’t be a nuisance if you went to check on him. “I can’t tell,” you mumbled, bringing the speaker closer to your mouth with the lower level of your voice. 

Following the clatter, you heard a rather disappointed sound from your roommate. He was then groaning rather frustratedly with a long ‘fuuuuuck’. He was definitely upset over something, if his reaction implied anything. So, out of curiosity and an innate sense to help, you got up from your spot on the bed. Of course, you had to take Elsie with you, who was questioning your actions on the way to the kitchen. 

“Is everything okay?” She asked from the other end, her voice holding a tinge of worry. “At least tell me if Jake is home so I know you’re not alone if there’s a fucking intruder.”

“Yes, Jake is home,” you replied, sort of to her, sort of not. Your brow was furrowed, so you knew she’d be asking another question if you didn’t say something else. “He dropped something, I think. Going to see if I can help.”

“Awww,” she cooed from the other end, chomping a chip at the end of the sound for effect. “You’re a sweet little baby mama, sis.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed under your breath at her, glancing at her for a moment before you rounded the corner to the kitchen. Jake was standing over the sink, hand covering his eyes, his mouth in a tight line. Your brow wrinkled more before you sidled up next to him to observe what he stood above. And, there, once again, in the sink. 

The fucking lavender. No fucking way.

A quiet giggle bubbled at your lips, so you covered it quickly with a subtle hand at your mouth. Didn’t want Jake to think you were laughing at him. You weren’t. It was just pretty damn funny that in the span of a few days, you had both managed to knock the thing over and into a million pieces in the sink. “You have got to be kidding me,” you mused out loud, lilting on a giggle. Not able to stop it.

Jake slid the hand down his face at the same time he looked over at you with downcast eyes and raised brows. The hand covered his mouth momentarily before grasping his chin. Irritated, he muttered, eyes fanning your face to search for any hidden sadness. “I don’t even–,” he began, hand moving from his chin to tousle his hair. He was nervous. “I don’t know how – I literally just wanted to surprise you with a new pot for it and. . . well. I managed to break the new one as soon as I placed it on the ledge. I don’t even know. . .,” he repeated the words, shaking his head before he looked back down at the damage. “I try to do a good deed and it just bites me in the ass.”

You couldn’t help the gentle smile that floated to your lips. Still holding Elsie in your right hand, who’d gone completely silent (save for her chip crunching), you put her down on the counter, facing the ceiling, to use both of your hands to grasp his arms and turn him to face you. 

“Jake,” you began, forcing him to look at you with an intent gaze to communicate your seriousness. “It is fine, sweetie.” You chose to ignore the sweetie that slipped past your lips. It was fine. Whatever. “As long as the plant itself is salvageable, we can always go get a new pot,” you softly reassured. “Together. Again. Just like last time.” 

Absently, you reached a hand up to smooth your thumb under his left eye. Right on the crest of his cheek. He was still clenching his jaw, but with your hand on his cheek, he started loosening his features slowly. Bashfully, he looked to the side to survey the damage once more, closing his eyes resolutely before turning to fully face you. With his eyes opened and looking at you again, they were clearer of the upset. He looked more regretful than anything. 

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he muttered, his tone emitting his feeling in a way that made your heart crack for him. 

But you didn’t want him feeling bad for doing it at all, considering you’d just done the same thing. So, you smiled softly and grazed his cheek with your thumb once more. Your other hand, sliding down his arm to grasp his hand. 

“Jake, it’s okay, honey. For one, it’s just a pot. Like I said, we can get another new one,” you tried, your eyes bright and your smile lopsided to reassure him. “And, two, I just did it. We’re both just clumsy as hell, I guess. Shit happens.”

He just chuckled once with a little nod. “Yeah,” he shook his head, turning his face into your palm further. “The one I got tonight was pretty, though. Reminded me of your pretty face,” he gazed down at you fondly, running a thumb over the top of your forehead just once. “I really wanted you to see it. In one piece. Holding the plant.”

Your heart did a little flip in your chest at the comment about your face. And the thought of getting a new pot at all. It was all really fucking sweet and made your heart pound in your chest. From behind you, you absently heard Elsie still fucking crunching over FaceTime. She was spying, you were sure. But. . . you couldn’t blame her. 

Your hand and his stayed clasped together, your eyes sweeping over the other’s face. When your eyes connected, you grinned. “Well, tell me about the pot, then,” you urged, your finger reaching back a little, into the roots at the base of his head. He closed his eyes in satisfaction at the feeling. Opening his slightly tired eyes, he reached forward to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your own ear. Must’ve fallen from your bun.

“It was like the last one. Just a little different. It had the lavender on it, but it was painted with watercolor and it was just really fucking pretty,” he explained, huffing a laugh in spite of himself. The air from it brushed against your hand. “The fact that I’d found another with lavender on it – I mean, this little fuckin’ plant – this lavender is so special to us and you loved the first pot so much that I just wanted to surprise you with a new one.” 

Lavender. Lavender is so special to us. 

Okay, then. He’d answered Elsie’s question. Simply. You knew now. It was obvious. The baby’s name. Even after a long ass day, you fucking knew. It had been right in front of your face, what was special between you two; since that day in the record store so long ago when he’d brought the most special peace offering of all time. 

“Jake,” you began, taking hold of your thoughts and aiming every last piece of energy you had at the sudden topic at hand. The hand that had gone into his hair came down just a bit to rest on his chest as your nerves swirled a little. “What have you been thinking in regards to a baby name?”

“What have you been thinking?” Ugh. No, Jacob.

“You first.”

“No. Mom gets first say.”

“Jake.”

“Y/n.”

You grumbled, playfully squinting at him with a smile pulling at your lips. “Okay,” you began, a new idea in mind. “How about this: have you thought of more than one?” 

“Not really. Just one,” he shook his head with a lip pushed out. The pout turned into a little quirk of his lip. “What about you? One or more than one?”

“One.”

He hummed in reply. The idea was probably going to work. Well, hopefully.

“So. . . here’s a little game we can play,” you pitched, smirking. He returned the expression. “How about I count down from three. And, once my hand is a fist, we both say the name we’re thinking of. Seems pretty damn fair to me.” 

He pursed his lips, pondering, then nodded in resolution to the plan. “Alright.”

“Alright,” you breathed, smile wide. “I’m going to count on my fingers and when I reach a fist, that means you say it.”

“And you, too.”

“Of course.”

So, with that, you made the hand that was already against his chest into three fingers so he could feel your actions without having to look away from your gaze. You wanted his eyes on you for this. And, with each number counted down against his heart, you ticked a finger down. Your wish came true: your eyes stayed connected with his the entire time. You felt his heartbeat thumping under your hand. It was idyllic. Wonderful. Perfect in its symbolism.

“. . .Three,” press, thump. “. . .Two,” press, thump. “. . .One,” press, thump.

Then, there was a fist. And, in unison, you both said it. Lavender.

The tears that sprung to your eyes couldn’t be controlled and the way you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck to hug him wasn’t controllable either. Not at all, in fact. And your gesture was reciprocated without a second to spare, his arms so strong and sure around your body. You were still small (using the term lightly, mind you) enough that he could comfortably wrap both arms snugly around you. 

His hair brushed your forearms and you breathed in his cologne. The tickle of his hair against your skin and the warm, intoxicating smell of sandalwood and vanilla. . . It overtook you in a way that made every single nerve ending in your body alight with the brightest flame. The most sparkly feeling, from your head to your toes. All ten. 

When you separated after a rather long hug – minutes-long, you were sure –, you slowly slid your hands down his chest. Kept them flat. Didn’t grip his pecs like you wanted. You stayed mindful of the reality of the situation. But, contrary to your usual bitterness at reality, you focused on a happier real thing. A happier reality.

Just as real as he wasn’t yours, he was. In a sense. Truly. Just like Josh had said, you had a piece of him that Maya couldn’t ever have. Jake’s first child. You were the one lucky enough to carry his first child. To raise his first child. His. The baby was his. And yours. Together. That counted for something. More than any relationship, there was a baby that you held in your womb that you’d made together. And, oddly, the night you’d come together to make her. . . though it was hazy, you found yourself remembering a particular moment. 

The lovely scent of lavender had just begun whirling from the front of the apartment, straight to your room where you got ready for the evening that Jake had intended to ease your stress. Even with the door closed, you’d caught the relaxing smell.

“God, I love the smell of lavender,” your roommate had said from the kitchen where he made a favorite meal of yours, pure admiration in his tone. “Instant serenity.”

Then, another moment. It was Sam who spoke in your memory this time. Same night. “. . .So I chose lavender for its properties to heal and bring happiness. I was also considering its elements for peace, harmony. . . and love.”

And one more moment. An incredibly sentimental moment from that evening. Honestly, it was more tender than your mind could properly conjure. And it had been right before you’d made your way to the bedroom. 

You’d just rounded the corner to the kitchen. And what you’d found made your eyes water so quickly. The sight was so plain, so simple. . .but so incredibly wholesome.

Your whispered voice had broken the dark silence. “Why are you watering my lavender?”

He’d jumped a bit, the tiny, gilded watering pail you’d gotten for the plant, still mid-air when he’d blinked in your direction, his eyes had adjusted to the vast darkness that had flooded your shared home, no light save for the candles. “I was just putting dinner up and it looked a little wilty,” he’d said, sounding a little ‘wilty’ himself. “Have you not watered it recently?”

You remembered. While you’d been so ridiculously immersed in your unreasonable head for those several days, you’d ignored the plant. Foolish. “No,” you’d responded, not wanting to provide an explanation. 

“I understand,” he’d said, a small grin on his lips and honesty in his eyes, even darker in the shadowy lighting. A lone candle on the bar was the only way you’d been able to make him out. “School starting and all. I bet your stress has been high because of that.”

“Yeah,” you’d absentmindedly agreed. But his words rang again in your head, things clicking slower with the pot filtering through your system. “Also, stop telling people I’m stressed,” you’d unnecessarily griped, crossing your arms (partially to keep yourself balanced). “Or sad. You don’t know.”

You’d watched as he’d emptied the rest of the water into the soil, feeling it with his fingers before washing his hands. Then he’d turned to you, his face pinched with shock. He’d shaken his head a bit, his longer waves swaying at his collarbone. “It’s obvious you have been.”

You’d known then that you’d been transparent. As usual. It was something you’d always flourished at– wearing your heart on your sleeve. And that also meant you were shit at masking your emotions. (Now you knew he’d known for the simple fact that he could read you so incessantly well.) You’d wondered why he cared. But you’d known. Truly, you had. Just hadn’t let yourself understand why he cared. 

“Okay, say I have. Still not your business to share,” you’d ridiculously asserted, with a final nod of your head. 

He’d peacefully nodded, pushing his lip out. He’d lifted his hand to his chin to rub it a bit, a sign you’d learned to mean that he agreed. “That is fair. I’m sorry.”

You could still remember your head rocking a bit and you’d shut your eyes briefly to reset. The flow of the remaining green in your system had made you just a bit dizzy. And while you had been ‘with it’ still – totally aware of yourself and your surroundings –, you’d known that it was probably time to go to bed. It had also all become too much in that fuzzy moment in time – the whole ‘talking to Jake like normal’ thing. 

Things hadn’t been normal then. Not for you. And you’d made it so for him as well. It made your heart feel all blue. (Then and now.) As much as you’d missed him–just talking to him, you’d (wisely) decided to use sleep as the reason to excuse yourself. You’d felt the urge to tell him every tiny thing on your mind. You knew yourself too well– when weed entered the picture, there was no concealing a single thought that crossed your mind. 

“I’m going to bed,” you’d said, turning away from him and starting the walk to your bedroom, your heart still with him and the fucking lavender in the kitchen window.

But just as you’d made it to your door, opening it just a smidge, a warm hand had encompassed yours, which stayed twisted around the knob. You could have fallen into him. (Then and now.) It’d always felt so good to simply feel his touch. God, he really was so warm. So safe. So cozy. So Jake.

He doesn’t feel the same for you, that stupid fucking nagging voice had slyly said, the damned thing, having slipped through the thickness of the marijuana. You aren’t those things to him.

Go the fuck home, you’d said to the voice, pissed beyond belief that it had managed to enter your hazy realm of escapism.

“I am home,” he’d said, his voice low and hot on your neck. The feeling had goosebumps immediately, deliciously, prickling on your skin. 

You’d said it out loud. The thing about home. And he’d thought you were talking to him. 

“I was talking to myself,” you’d revealed honestly–crazily. You had angled your head so you could speak over your shoulder to him. And just as you’d done that, it became obvious just how close he was to you. His collar, level with your eyes. 

You’d looked up a bit to find him watching you. Carefully. Warily. But intensely all the same.

Just as he was doing at the present moment. A certain heat against your cheek, adding relief to your otherwise wired brain. And, out of nowhere, the other words that had been spoken that night. . .They were back. For the first time. They were completely, fully, totally back.

His velvet voice had just sent a flutter to your heart, reassuring you of something. . . – something having to do with. . . Maya? Yes. You’d heard the genuine truth behind it then, and the way his eyes had never once left yours. . . His eyes had always said so much more than his words ever did. 

“I don’t want her. I want you. At my shows. In my bed every night and every morning, waking me with your mouth or your sweet pussy. . .I just—goddammit. Fuck. I fucking love you, y/n. I love you. No one else.”

And your next words couldn’t have been stopped if you tried. “I love you too,” had fallen so smoothly from your lips, like the purest golden honey. The purest, truest words you’d ever spoken. 

But. This current moment in time. You didn’t have that with him — in his bed, every night and every morning. . . . Not anymore. A lot had changed. Too much. Too much to even begin to calculate at the moment. Now was not then. Things had been said. Other people had been chosen. And, again, so many things had been said. You talked too damn much. That was just it. 

And, ironically, no matter how sad it made you. . . It was all your fault. You’d changed it all. Because you were a fucking trauma victim who couldn’t even remember half of her trauma. Just knew enough to not allow yourself happiness in the form of the one man you’d ever loved. Because you loved him. It was all because of that. He was too good for you. 

You. Loved. Him.

A voice in your head soothed you. Think about it, y/n. Him. Your baby girl. Think about who is standing in front of you right now. He’s still here, y/n.

God. You shook your head just a bit. Just enough that you registered the warmth again, against your face. A hand on your cheek. Gentle. Delicate. As if managing the finest porcelain. He’d been holding you. That entire time you been lost in the memory, he’d been holding you. His hand, laced up and around the side of your face, fingers at your ear, under it, and in the straggling hairs falling out at the bottom of your updo. 

He was all around you. A piece of him, inside of you, too.

Your eyes grew misty at the complexity of the emotions in your heart. It was a lot. Too much. And in normal Jake fashion, he acted at the most ideal time. In one swift action, his lips touched your cheek. Just his lips. So soft, pressed against your cheek with purpose. Passion. Then, he was leaning away. His hand, falling from behind your head. His eyes were heavy with emotion. But, he still smiled. He looked a lot like you felt. But. That – your emotions – didn’t matter right now. One person mattered. A tiny one.

You placed a hand to the bottom of your belly, looking down at the bump that was hidden by the oversized T. Then, without taking another moment to think, you were swiveling in one take to grab your phone from the counter. When you looked down at your phone screen again, Elsie was a mess of tears. You couldn’t hear her worth shit, and when she let out one rather dramatic sob, you realized she’d muted herself. You snorted at her, shaking your head. 

“Is someone on the phone with you?” Jake asked from behind you. 

Oh, shit. If you told him, he’d know you told Elsie the gender. You’d been so blatant about it while talking to him. And her, right there, on the phone the entire time. She’d been privy to the entire conversation. Would he be hurt? Trust broken? Fuck. The train of thought made you quickly realize you hadn’t told him he could tell Josh the gender. Dammit. You’d meant to tell him that after getting home from Jungle Juice. 

You stopped in your tracks on the way to your room, turning to address him. “Just Elsie.”

“Oh,” he replied, his smile stretching to show his teeth. “Tell her I said hi.”

“I will.”

Even after that, you couldn’t pull your body away. Not with the way he studied you. Lips pursed and eyebrow raised, gaze sweeping over you. His dark eyes, melting into your skin, all the way down to your heart that beat so erratically in your chest. You felt it so heavily at every pulse point.

You loved him. So, so much.

“What are you worried about?” He plainly asked, crossing his ankles as he went to lean against the island, left hand slipping into his front pocket.

“I’m not,” you shook your head, working to just laugh it off. 

“Y/n.”

Ugh. Why was he like this? And why did you really love it so damn much? “I just feel bad.”

“Why in the world would you feel bad about anything right now?” He replied with a rasp of a laugh, rubbing the side of his face with his right hand before tucking it in a front pocket, too. 

Where the fuck do I begin? You sardonically thought, inwardly rolling your eyes at your ridiculousness. You settled on the thought that was easiest to address. “I just–she was on the phone. She knows the gender and I– I feel bad that I didn’t tell you that I was–.”

“Honey,” Jake cut you off. Brow raised, lips still curved into his handsome, close-lipped grin. “The baby—she’s inside of you. It’s your choice to tell who you want to tell and when.”

“But it’s not fai–.”

“It is fair,” he concluded, not letting you argue with him. “Promise.”

He was still watching you, light in his eyes. Ready for whatever you had to say. Blushing, all you could do was grin. “Whenever you want to, please tell Josh the gender. I’m excited for him to know.”

“Okay,” he grinned back at you, the loose smile made your tummy flip. “I’m ready for him to know, too,” he replied with a wink. 

Fuck. Don’t wink at me. Your body buzzed at the miniscule action. Damn emotions to hell. And damn these fucking hormones to the pits of it.

The next evening, Jake kept his promise from Sunday and took you on a little walk. It was a warmer-than-usual December evening, so you wore something almost identical to what you’d worn to yoga. Which, also, had been an uncharacteristically warm December morning. 

A light jacket over a tight top with a sports bra built in (the compression really helped the achiness of your growing breasts) and black leggings. You’d even worn your nice Nikes. Wanted to take the walking thing seriously. 

“But yeah, apparently walking is good practice for pregnant women their entire pregnancy,” he’d started his little topic of conversation a couple minutes ago, as you turned down the block towards the little Main Street situated a few streets away from your apartment complex. “But especially during the third trimester.”

“So you see this continuing, hm?” You quizzed him, rounding the corner to finally place your feet on the little mundane street. “Until the third trimester, at least?”

When you turned, you noticed how the quaint block was bustling. The tiny shops that sat in vintage storefronts, exchanging several holiday shoppers.

“If you’re up for it,” he replied, bringing you back.

You chanced a glance up at him, lips stretched in a wide grin. He was waiting for your eyes, and when he’d caught them he’d pushed his lips together in a cheery smirk. “I’m definitely up for that,” you informed him, tucking some hair behind your ear as you crossed your arms under your breasts. Looking up at him again, you noticed a little smile on his full lips. “Are you? Up to dealing with me that often — by choice, mind you — during the final trimester? I’m sure you know from your readings how taxing that time is on everyone involved. . . I’m probably going to be insufferable.”

He caught your eye momentarily before looking ahead again and you did the same. Probably needed to watch where you were going. “Y/n. I live with you,” he chuckled, a snort following the words. “By choice. And insufferable doesn’t bother me. Seriously— remember who I’m related to,” he laughed under his breath.

You wanted to laugh with him, but you were still stuck on his comment about living with you. Hadn’t really thought about that. He probably could afford his own place at this point — easily — but. . . He was still with you. Hm. You’d get back to that later. “Okay, okay,” you grinned, tucking your arms a little tighter around yourself with a certain breeze.

“Probably wasn’t my brightest idea to start this in the winter months, though,” he cut in, with the wind. “I’m sorry about that part.”

“To be fair,” you grasped your arms tighter to yourself. “Nearly the entire pregnancy takes up all of the fall and winter months. Your idea is great, execution is just impossible to make ideal.”

He hummed to your left, walking on the side closest to the street to keep you safe. “Excellent point.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m here all week,” you joked, doing the best bow you could considering your walking feet and round belly.

You couldn’t help but laugh at your self-made cringe fest. It just felt right to be goofy in front of him. He was safe. He chortled with you. And you realized that particular laugh reminded you of Josh’s. “That sounded just like Joshua,” you noted aloud, glancing over to see him smirking. 

"Yeah. . . I really can't believe I'm twins with that fucker."

“Oh, I definitely can,” you noted, thinking of their incredible similarities.

Right after you spoke, you were also trying to move out of the way for an oncoming group of men. Ironically, all of them, decked out in Pratt shit. Reminded you of a certain blonde boy who made you want to dry heave. They were too engaged in their phones and conversations to notice you. You moved over, but one of them almost shoulder checked you, still — if it hadn’t been for Jake. He’d wrapped his arm around your waist just in time, bringing you closer to him and out of the way. Your skin heated immediately. The entire interaction instantly made your head so fuzzy.

“Damn,” you breathed out, shaking your head at the almost-collision, your hair brushing Jake’s shoulder. His arm was still around you. “They seemed pretty preoccupied, huh?”

“Mhm,” he concurred, sounding frustrated. His arm tightened around your waist once more before moving down to one of your sore hips. His fingers fanned and gripped the muscle through your leggings briefly. Then he was releasing you completely. Fuck. That’d felt so nice. “How’s school been? Did your semester end well?”

You instantly missed his touch. But, you did your best to play it off, brushing at your front and grabbing your hip to try to relieve the pain as he had. And of course, it did nothing in comparison to his touch. 

“Yeah,” you answered, wrinkling your brow as you thought back on all of the normal stressors with school. There was one thing that had happened a while back that you hadn’t told him about. And his opinion was invaluable to you considering plenty of things — especially this subject. “But, um, about a month ago, my advisor told me something. I wanted to run it past you.”

“What’s up?” He asked, prompting you to look over at him from the corner of your eye. You were glad you did. Saw how closely he was watching you, how seriously he was taking it. Waiting to listen, purposefully walking in step with you to hear what you had to say. It made you feel so special.

He definitely does the same thing for Maya, y/n. Calm down.

Thankfully, that thought helped your mind to recenter. “Do you remember when you brought up the idea of me using my degree to be a lyricist?”

“Yes,” he grinned, his dimple showing for a brief moment. You really liked when his dimples occasionally showed. “I remember. . . everything from that morning.”

Jacob. You were internally berating him for making your insides twist at the memories from that fucking morning. The rain. The music. The sex that, quite frankly, had felt more like making love than anything. Why did it seem to haunt you? And why did he have to remember so damn much? 

“Well, I told my advisor about that. Wanted her input.”

“Mhm?” He questioned with a hum, brows furrowed as he watched his and your feet. His lips, pursed and a finger tracing them when you looked up and over at him.

“She very nearly laughed in my face,” you said, voice holding a self-deprecating laugh at the humiliating situation in her office and afterwards as you’d run to your car. “She told me that it’s ‘not impossible’. . .but, that there was a ‘slim chance’ a label would take me on as a fresh graduate. Which, in hindsight, makes sense. . . Doesn’t make it hurt any fucking less, though. Because I’d really started considering that. It’s perfect.”

“It is perfect for you,” he agreed, looking over at you, his eyes intent for you to understand and a sincere grin that showed his belief in you. “Did she say anything else?”

“She told me that it’s a career I have to ‘prove myself in’ and it takes experience I don’t have,” you emphasized the part about how you don’t have the experience. Just as she had that day; she’d really driven the point straight into your heart. “She’d immediately shaken her head when I said I wanted to do it, too. . . Before she said any of the other stuff. I should have known she’d react that way. I mean, honestly, she had a poi—.”

“I don’t agree,” Jake casually noted, before something caught his eye in a store on your side of the sidewalk. So, suddenly he was stopping at that place, moving out of traffic. You followed him, ready to hear what he had to say. Once he’d gotten a little look at what had drawn his eye, he was facing you again. He continued. “Does the lady know you at all?”

“I mean, to an extent. . . She’s been my advisor for the past four years of college,” you shrugged, scratching your brow. 

“So she’s known you for four years and still doesn’t see the seas of love and pain and introspectiveness in your eyes alone?”

You were caught off guard at his words. He saw all of that in your eyes? “You actually see all of that?” You blanched, not sure how to feel about your emotions being seen so clearly. “I know I’m not the best at hiding how I feel. . . But am I that transparent?”

“Not to everyone, I guess. . .,” he trailed off, rubbing his lip again. Your eyes tracked the action. Then, his hands gripped your shoulders and you had no choice but to gaze into his deep-set eyes. His amber-brown irises, full of wisdom and life. The dark circles under his eyes, an indicator of his hard work in multiple areas of his life — one of them being music. He was the professional in the field, not your advisor. “Y/n,” he continued, his eyes peering into yours, trapping you with his earnestness. “You are highly qualified to be a lyricist. Straight out of the gate. Hell, I believe you could start before you fucking graduate. I don’t have a college degree and I fucking do it. I have a damned label that is actively producing my lyrics.”

Instantly, you longed to hear every song he’d ever written lyrics to. . . You made a mental note to get back to that later. Right now, your heart was pounding in your chest at the idea that you could actually fulfill your dream. It wasn’t outlandish to him. You wished you’d gone to him weeks ago when she said it. 

“So you truly believe a label would be interested in me?”

“I don’t believe it, baby. I know it,” he very seriously began, weighing your reaction by staring so deep into your eyes. His eyes were full of sincere, heartfelt trust in you. “All one needs to write a well-crafted song is heart. And you, beautiful girl, have plenty of that,” he reached out, delicately grabbing your chin between his thumb and pointer finger with the words beautiful girl. Then he was letting go after the tip of his thumb gently grazed your bottom lip. “Just like I said the other night. . . If you want to fucking do something, you’ll do it. It’s just the way you operate. So even if you lacked heart, motivation, and drive — which you most definitely don’t — you’d still accomplish it. You are a badass,” he smirked, nodding. Raised his brow as he pursed his lips. 

Tears gathered in your eyes and a few trickled down your cheeks. He was reaching out and catching each and every one before they fell too far. You sniffled, skin heating at his gentle touch. Your eyes smiled as you observed the man in front of you. God, you loved him. And you loved being able to admit that to yourself. 

“Thank you, Jake,” was all you could muster, his hands simultaneously catching the last of your tears. “I mean it. I’m so grateful for you. Every second of every day.”

If that was too much to say, you didn’t care. Not anymore. Not when he did and said the shit that made your heart trip over itself with erratic beats. He deserved to hear how incredibly wonderful he was to you. 

“I can say the same for you, baby,” he replied, tucking his hands in his pockets. His lips hadn’t turned down once. He felt confident in everything he’d said. You could tell. And for that, your soul finally settled at the fact that you could actually pursue your dream. “Do you want me to talk to a few people? I can. I will — I want to. If you let me.”

Let him, y/n. Please.

“Yeah, sure,” you smiled, shaking your head a bit before reaching to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “You know, though, I’ve never written a solid lyric a day in my life. So. . .”

“Like I said, you’ve just gotta set your mind to it. For you, that’s all it takes,” he winked. And then his attention was taken again by the window over your shoulder. 

He walked further to the storefront to look inside the window of the little bookstore. You turned to observe him, watching in admiration of everything he was. Once he’d gotten a good look, he walked back over to you, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the window. “There’s something I want us to look at in there.” Us. You loved that word. 

With a little nod of your head, you followed his lead as he opened the door for you. Your body buzzed with relief at the warmth in the bookstore. It was the type of warmth that made you realize just how cold your fingers had gotten.

The evening had settled in and the sun was no longer high in the sky. Your fingers were numb as you rubbed them together and brought them to your mouth to blow hot air against them. Of course, Jake had turned to you at the ideal moment and noticed. Your cheeks flared with heat at the way his eyes zoned in on your actions. 

“Let me,” he offered, coming up to you and placing his hands out for yours. And, semi-hesitantly, you gave your sore, prickly fingers over to him. 

“It was way colder than I realized, I guess,” you laughed nervously to yourself, giddy at his touch. 

Talking had been an attempt to distract your mind from the feeling of Jake’s hands wrapping around yours. His hands were still heated (he’d always been a human heat source), immediately working to loosen your icy fingers in his tender hold. You shivered, more from how close he was — the feeling of his hands around yours so surely. Your lack of body heat had little to do with it. Your eyes went from watching his hands to his face when you saw him bring your hands gently to his mouth. The steady breath he blew slowly on your skin made every nerve ending in your body light on fire. The way his brows dipped in concentration at the action didn’t help matters. He was so intentional about everything. Even if it were just to blow hot air on your trembling fingers. 

Briefly, you thought how he rivaled Josh’s intentionality. . . And that was saying something. 

At the very last second, with one final warm breath against your hands, he looked into your eyes. And the thoughts that swam there were aplenty. You could tell there was so much swimming behind his eyes. . . But what you caught most was the same fire you felt in your chest at the way he was studying you, his lips barely grazing your fingers. Your nipples peaked under your tight shirt as you felt a familiar pulse between your thighs for him. You did your best to focus on your fingers, which were completely alive again. Honestly, you related to your once-numb hands. Jake, for all he was, had helped you come alive in so many fucking ways.

He’s your friend, y/n. That’s what good friends are for. . . Know your boundaries, you couldn’t tell if you were hearing your angel or devil. The internal words were reasonable, but they made your skin crawl. You’re the one who reminded him of them — don’t back down.

Whichever voice it was, you decided you’d better get your well-warmed hands away from him before your entire body set aflame in the little bookstore. When you pulled them away, he flinched for a moment, but fluttered his eyes a few times. And then, he seemed to remember his goal with the store. “Follow me,” he encouraged you with a look over his shoulder, already on his way. You did just as he said.

Once you took just a few more steps behind him, you saw what he’d seen from the street. A tiny little thing. How he’d been able to catch sight of it, you had no clue. But he had. And a very tender part of your heart blossomed for it. 

It was a simple, white oak frame, specifically made for the size of one sonogram picture. Underneath the place for a picture, a little slip of paper was inserted into a slot, meant for personalization. It was precious. So, so precious. A little sign sat next to it, too, indicating they could personalize it for you, if wanted.

He cleared his throat, your line of sight finding him. His eyes were locked on you, measuring your reaction. Your heart pinched as he spoke. “What if we framed the sonogram pictures? We’ll switch them out with each visit as she grows?” 

“I adore that idea,” you sniffed, swiping with one hand under your right eye as a lone teardrop fell. Your hands smoothed over your tummy before interlacing underneath the bump. “And what if. . .,” you began, eyes placed back on the frame as your hands switched to rubbing your belly in small circles. “We put it next to the lavender in the window. I think it would look really nice there, and considering her name. . .”

“Yeah,” he replied, with a sniffle beside you. You watched his hand reach out to grab it from the shelf with a question on his lips. “Would it be okay if I personalized it? For Christmas? A gift for her. Have to do something for her, even if she’s not here-here — yet.”

Oh my god. You were going to crumble. Into a million pieces. He was going to be the best daddy. You went to hold your belly again, catching his eye. To no surprise, he was already waiting, eyes searching your face for an answer. Why did he think he even had to ask? 

“I can’t think of anything better," you breathed with a quiet, serene smile.

December 22, 2022

Tonight was a night you fucking hated your changing body.

Sometimes the insecurities were simply worse. You felt huge and strange in a changing body every now and then and you couldn’t help it. No matter how beautiful Jake told you you were. . . it didn’t matter when you got in your head about yourself. 

Anything related to beautiful effectively faded in your psyche when your brain decided it wanted to shut down. Any other thing he said to make you feel desirable, too. All of it, gone. It was just plain sad. You weren’t always sure about your oversized body. And, right now, you just wanted to feel the sadness. You were emotional and hormonal and pregnant. Very pregnant. 

This week, your belly had definitely  . . .popped. It was suddenly bigger, and you felt like an over-aired balloon. You noticed every little change in your toes and fingers and your arms and your legs and—. Everything. You noticed everything. Though, for like five minutes an hour ago, you’d caught a glimpse of yourself naked in your mirror and felt good about yourself and the way you looked. 

So, when you’d gotten the genius (stupid) idea to try pleasuring yourself, you jumped on it. . . You wanted to take advantage of any self confidence you had that might help you feel sexy enough to find the release you constantly longed for these days. You didn’t often get the vibrator out. . . It honestly depressed you to use it when the one person you wanted more than anything (especially a vibrator) was in the room right next door — and unavailable to help fulfill that need. So. Due to that nauseating fact, the blessed vibrator was all you had.

But, before pressing the power on your buzzing friend, you’d gotten right down to business. An Everything Shower seems necessary on a night you had the apartment to yourself.

You’d gone about self-waxing your nether regions before your shower (yes, you fucking waxed. Even if no one was seeing it, you cared about it and you wanted to do that as well as you could while you still could). And, once under the spray of the shower, you’d shaven your armpits and your legs. And after that, you’d given yourself a stellar shampoo and conditioner scrub, scalp massage brush and all. The body wash you’d chosen had been a new Vanilla Bean Noel you’d just bought at Bath and Body that day, feeling in tune with the holiday season. . .

And finally, after your entire routine, you had excitedly started the buzzing tool. The initial goal in mind for the shower had to be completed. It was an ‘everything-everything shower’. Self-fucking-care.

And since Jake was also gone all night for a thing with Maya, you’d had zero fear of any noises you might’ve made being heard by him or his girlfriend. You really wanted to try and show him some respect in that regard. Wanted to be fair to your previous conversations. And, when you found release, you were not always the best at staying quiet. (And, due to feeling constantly on edge with your hormones, you knew you were bound to get loud tonight.)

Because, really, you hardly ever used the vibrator. So, you knew when you found that beautiful precipice tonight, you were going to be loud. Feeling a little sexy again had honestly come at the perfect time. Or so you thought. 

Because, due to your growing belly and having to balance your heavier, bigger assets, just as you’d nudged the underside of your clit with the humming instrument—You’d fucking ruined it. Right on the edge, you felt yourself begin to flip.

So, you, and your bigger, obtrusive body had tried to grasp for something – anything – to keep you vertical. . . but, you’d grabbed the wrong damn thing in your rush. Because, of course the flimsy shower wrack wasn’t going to hold you up. You knew better.

You’d even shaken it just enough for a few heavy soap bottles to fall with you. To your minor appeasement, the shower water had thankfully stayed warm as you sat and lamented over the failure. The steady flow of the warm water was the only mildly comforting thing in the situation — the only saving grace. It soothed your body. Your already-sore body. The coolness waving in every so often from the other side of the shower curtain had been a bit of a bother, but it wasn’t so bad with the shower water falling on you. And you wanted it cool anyway. The overheat, a constant pal.

With the apartment to yourself, you’d turned down the air to enjoy a slightly cooler apartment. The cool air and warm shower were your perfect combo. . .Well. . . they had been. 

Right now, though? You were fucking pissed that your plans had all gone to shit. Your confidence was gone and you were overstimulated to fucking hell from horniness to now, embarrassment. The anger over the emotions overtook you, making big, fat tears paint your cheeks. You were embarrassed in front of yourself — that was a new low. The extremely loud crashing noise as the soap bottles had come down had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. With everything compiled together. . .it had resulted in you giving in to the few ugly tears, becoming a mess of upset. Sobs wracked your drenched, shaking body. Physical pain was barely a culprit. You weren’t physically hurting too bad–you’d ended up sliding down the wall more than anything, melting to the floor with no motivation to stand back up. 

What you felt now was humiliation. You were lame as fuck — wanted to hide from yourself.

Your night had effectively been ruined. What were you going to do when you got out? Continue to pout and cry over this situation until you fall asleep? Probably. So, you quickly decided to stay in here. Nothing better to do than wash the disappointed, pitiful tears down the drain until you were tired enough to sleep. You figured staying in the shower to finish your cry fest would save some sort of dignity for the outside world. 

“Y/n?”

What?! No. Jake? 

When the fuck had he come in?! You sure as hell hadn’t heard him. Being lost in your thoughts and being surrounded by the noise from the pour of the shower. . . Apparently, you’d canceled out any other noise. Why the hell was he home in the first place?

“I just heard a really loud crash and . . . you were loudly crying. . .got worried about you,” he explained, close enough that you heard him over the noise of the streaming water. 

And, suddenly, you realized you were very much not alone in your pity party anymore. Not that you were ever truly alone anymore these days. A shaky smile lifted your features as your hand found your round tummy. Pissed as your new body made you, it wasn’t the baby’s fault that her mama was insecure as hell. 

“. . .I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Jake finished, his deep, velvety smooth voice making goosebumps rise on your skin.

Your tummy fluttered with butterflies at the sentiment—but it stopped when you got realistic. Your inner voice of humility was a friend tonight and it reminded you of his true concern.

You knew it wasn’t you he was truly worried about. . . The baby was his main concern and you wanted it that way. She mattered most. You didn’t need unnecessary attention. And, the baby was fine. She wasn’t hurt. Her mother was just a fucking clutz. 

“Baby’s fine, Jake,” you sniffed. 

“I didn’t ask about the baby,” he clarified, voice still light. It made your pulse thrum with clarity to his spoken motive when you heard how genuine he sounded. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s got some cushion. I asked about you.”

New wetness sprang to your eyes and your heart skipped a beat. “As long as she’s okay, I’m okay. I’ve got plenty of fucking cushion, too, these days.”

He needed to leave the room and go back to what he'd been out doing with his girlfriend. But the more you spoke, the more you were afraid he’d stay to comfort you out of pity. Your voice alone spoke for you—and you knew that he knew better than to believe you. There really wasn’t any point in trying to hide your emotions from him. 

“Y/n. Seriously.” His voice was getting closer. . . You knew he was making his way across the bathroom floor to you, that certain click of his black boots (you hated that you knew how they sounded when he walked) now noticeable over the stream of the shower. “I know you’re not telling me the truth,” he asserted. 

He was right. You were far from fine. Or okay. Or whatever bullshit you were trying to serve to him on a wobbly platter. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just tell him all of that—you didn’t want to tell him that. If you said too much, you were afraid of contradicting other things you’d claimed in recent days. But he obviously already knew enough to question you further. He could sense it through your bullshit facade. He knew you very well. 

“I told you, Jake. I’m just fine. I know there’s not a lot I can manage for myself right now, but I can fucking shower on my own,” you argued, your voice faltered through your ridiculous, unneeded sassiness. “I don’t know why you’re still here. I can handle this on my own.” Your words were harsh, but you meant them. Really, you did. Seriously.

(Except. . .not at all. You didn’t mean them and you did need him right now. Just wanted him to be near you. You were relieved he hadn’t left yet.)

“Why can’t you just tell me the truth?” He said, his voice tinged with a mix of irritation and legitimate concern. “Why is the fact that you are sad a daunting thing for you to admit?” 

“It’s not, Jake. I just. . .,” you paused, grumbling. “It’s nothing.”

The truth was, you couldn’t handle accepting his assistance. Vaguely, you wondered something. It was a horrendous thought, but you couldn’t help but contemplate if he was only helping this entire time (the walks, the decorating, the water spills, the brownies) because Maya had once told him to help you however he could. 

“Maya–um,” he’d shaken his head a few weeks ago, everyone asleep or close to it after Friendsgiving. His brows had furrowed as he’d messed with his bottom lip. “She told me that she wanted me to help however I possibly could. She wants me to be attentive and helpful in any way I can be.” 

Did she still want him doing that though? Helping however he could? After his slip up on game night, right in front of her? You weren’t so sure after how she’d spoken of your baby. . . Or how she’d spoken of you and Jake, even.

You didn’t know. You were pissed at life tonight. Blame it on the hormones. But any thought of her being involved in his efforts to help angered you to the point that you were tempted to outright refuse his attention just to not allow her the satisfaction that he listened to her. God. . . what the fuck was wrong with you? Your emotions were a pendulum swinging back and forth – constantly.

“You just what?” He insisted, bringing you back to the present. 

The ludicrous words spilled out without a second thought, exposing your tumultuous thought process. “I’m sure you’re only in here to check on me because of Maya, Jake. It's not me that you care about, it’s about appeasing your girlfriend and making sure to follow her rules.”

The words continued flying out of your mouth, as if you didn’t have control of what would come next.  “That’s all that matters to you; her and the baby. Not the person carrying the baby. But that’s okay. I shouldn’t matt–.”

“Oh my god,” he moaned the words, frustration evident in his tone. “We are not getting into that shit. You know how I feel about you — how important you are to me.”

“Yes, but we talked about how she should come firs–,” you tried to reason, but he cut you off.

“Who’s she? Maya or the baby?”

“Both,” you clipped, not even close to seeing eye to eye with yourself. “Both should come before me. Especially your girlfriend right now.”

“I don’t agree.”

You groaned, laying your forehead on your crossed arms, which sat on top of your scrunched knees. The skin of your thighs pressed directly to your nipples. And, with the motion of your forehead, you’d swept over them in a certain way that had you picturing Jake in ways you weren’t supposed to.

“Fine,” you gave him that. He wasn’t wrong, per se. The baby should come first. But. . . It was a dangerous line, considering where the baby was at this point. “But just because she’s inside of me right now doesn’t mean I need your help when I’m hurt.”

“You needed my help the other night when you tried carrying that damn Christmas tree up the stairs all by yourself.”

“I had that down,” you snapped back, your head coming up from your knees with the fibbing retort. “I didn’t need your help with that eith–.”

“Y/n. Are you kidding me?” he argued, one click of a boot heel indicating him coming closer. And it was confirmed when you heard his voice just a little clearer–nearer–than before. “You were not in the position to do that on your own. You could have easily fallen down the stairs, in turn hurting yourself. And thus, hurting our baby.” Alright. He had you there. He had a good point. A solid point.

“Okay,” you said once more, relenting. “I did need your help with that. But right now? I’m doing just fine. Just fell in the shower. So you don’t need to worry about me. We are nothing–.”

“No. Don’t start that shit. If all we are is nothing to you, it’s not like that for me. I know you said that shit the other night. But we’ve always been something and you are something enough to me that I do worry about you,” he paused, another click of a heel. “You matter to me, y/n. Whether you like it or not.”

Oh he was not going to throw those words in your face. Not when he’d said nearly the same thing, almost directly after you’d said it, no less. You’d tried really fucking hard to not think of those words, having enough to try to navigate in your own mind. Didn’t need those words infiltrating. But you couldn’t not think of the words in this case. He was being unfair.

The words “We were never anything. Still aren’t.” and “There’s nothing to be hung up on.”, being spoken in front of you and the entire room of people who mattered to you. Then, he’d broken out in that sudden fit of coughs. That had been alarming – you’d wanted to help him. But she’d been right there, patting his back. Doing her job as his girlfriend. 

And once she’d sated him enough to catch his breath, he’d landed the nail in the coffin with your personal favorite. . .“Y/n and I aren’t a thing. Never have been, never will be.” Yeah, those words–that phrase–in particular still stung like a bitch. You were quite glad you’d shut it out. Except now, it was back. And it was glaring in your face. 

“You are not going to pin those words on me, Jacob Thomas,” you sharply informed him. Dared him to test your argument in this case. “You said the damn same and worse about us to her and everyone the other night. Remember? We never have been a thing and never will be? You made your opinion perfectly clear with those extremely kind words. So, don’t bullshit me.”

It was silent for a few beats. You’d gotten him, you were sure of it. But. . . you didn’t want him to leave. This wasn’t over yet. You still needed more from him. An explanation of sorts if he was so set on you believing one thing and Maya believing another entirely. 

“Y/n,” he suddenly called you back to him, your head turning to look towards his voice. “I’m pretty sure I’ve said plenty of other things to prove to you that isn’t actually true. I just had to get her off my fuckin’ ass. And yours. Especially yours.”

“I’m sure you say the same shit to her,” you bit back, squinting at the curtain that hung between you two. “Say just enough to get her happy and her body loose and ready for you. You just keep opening your damn mouth and let whatever you think spew out of it.”

“Actions speak louder than words, baby. And you know for a goddamned fact the only reason I had to cover with those words was because my actions showed something I do not want Maya privy to,” he explained, making an incredibly decent rebuttal. It made sense. Hated to admit it. “It’s not her fucking business what we had or have and I don’t need her overstepping. So, I lied to her. I fucked up by letting her see all of that and I wish the damned bottle would have just landed on someone else.”

“Is that you saying you didn’t want to touch me?” Childish and pointless to ask, you knew. You were just being a brat at this point. 

“I wanted to lay you down on that couch,” he answered, his voice suddenly lower and raspier. It made your heart race. “Wanted to get you completely fucking naked and have my way with you in front of every single fucking person that could see.”

You were speechless.

“But I was too busy thinking that instead of how thoughtless I was being. As soon as I laid my hands on you, all other thoughts were out the window. I was determined to have you some way at that moment,” his words came smoothly and steadily. As if he’d been waiting to say all of this. “And now I’ve made it harder on you. And now I’m sure she is fucking suspicious of us and I don’t want her on your ass, y/n.”

Still, you sat in silence as you let his words wash over you. . . he wanted to fuck you that night. You weren’t surprised. You’d known how badly he wanted it–how badly you wanted it–but the fact that he’d just flat out taken that risk in front of everyone. . . . (Admittedly, it did still turn you the fuck on to think of it.) 

But it couldn’t happen. It was just getting harder by the second to resist him. Especially while you were already naked (body opening up again, thanks to him). Right next to him. You really didn’t know what to say to that, so instead, you pondered a bothersome thought lingering in the back of your mind. Sizzling on a burner, crackling and popping. 

“How do I know you’re not saying shit like this to her to reassure her?” You sounded all small and vulnerable. You hated it. But, it was unstoppable. You felt so weak for him and it was bound to send you into a sob fest at this point.

“I don’t waste my time on shit like that with her. Anytime I have the choice, I choose to reassure you,” he stated, finality laced in his voice. “You don’t want me to, but I do. It’s you whose heart I want to protect. I can’t help it, y/n. And I’m sorry for that. I know it’s not morally okay or whatever – but shit. It’s you and I can’t help myself at all when it comes to you.”

Before you could ask another question, he was continuing. “Like right now, she is not here with me and I don’t plan on going back to her,” he postulated, truly letting his feelings show. You were equal parts falling for his openness and drawing back at it.

So, you tried to avoid it. As usual. “Where is Maya?” You asked, not sure why you were still set on making conversation about her. You didn’t know why you felt the urge to bring her into the conversation. . . kind of felt an obligation to, feeling like the outlier party no matter his words. 

“She’s not here,” he plainly stated.

“Is she okay?”

“Yes, y/n,” he grumbled, sighing. “Could you just worry about yourself for a few minutes?”

“I don’t want to take you away from her.”

“You’re not.”

“But–.”

“How come you care so much about whether or not you’re nothing to me if I’m nothing to you, by the way?” He interrupted you, causing your breath to catch, calling you out just as you had him. “You said it first that night, kept on later about how we couldn’t be anything. You started the nothing train and I just hopped the fuck on. It seemed like a decent enough diversion; no matter how much it felt like a sword in my fucking chest to hear you say that.”

Dammit. Did you just admit the truth? Slightly? Yes? No? Fuck. You felt cornered by an obligation to be completely honest and you didn’t like that. You wanted to sit and be avoidant, didn’t want to be held accountable for your words. You were just what your mother always called you. Selfish. You couldn’t argue the harsh word at this moment. So, you did the best you could do to explain. Didn’t want to say too much for fear of opening a closet of skeletons. 

“You will never ever be nothing to me, Jake,” you lamented, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You looked at your toes, the water hitting the very tips of them. “The only reason I said what I did was to work around getting hurt, myself. I was afraid of what you’d say to her and I was deep in my emotions because she had been saying shi–.” Fuck. No. You didn’t want to tell him any of that yet. Was not your place. “I also wanted to protect you. Didn’t want you to lose that relationship with her because of a stupid round in a game with me.”

“You thought it was stupid?”

Dammit. There was no getting away from some admittance tonight, apparently. He’d caught you at a really bad time. He’d probably consider it good, your heart opening up to him. But it scared you. 

“No, Jake,” you shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you. “Nothing with you has ever been stupid to me. Because you are the farthest thing from nothing to me.” There. You said it. “Feeling your hands on me at all makes my entire world stop in an instant. It’s intense, incredible in a way that I can’t explain without–,” you got choked up on a sob that threatened to bubble up. God. Stop, y/n. “So. Please just accept that and move on,” you ended your mini admission with a sigh, a few tears trailing down your cheek. “Maya matters most, next to the baby. Period. And you need to be with her more than me at the moment–at most moments.”

He was silent for much longer than you would’ve liked. It made you feel a little bad that you’d accused him of not caring in the first place. You’d started the topic of conversation by calling him out, arguing with him when it wasn’t supposed to matter. 

“What do I need to do to convince you I feel differently?” He spoke, his voice more earnest than before. “I’ve tried, y/n. I’ve tried to tell you that I care about you, you just won’t listen. You refuse to believe it. I’m here because I want to be. That’s it. I’m not going back to her tonight. I’ve already made up my mind. Not while you’re in the shower crying.”

You heard him take a few more steps closer. You knew he stood just inches away from you, and the only barrier between him and your naked body were the thin shower curtains. A familiar sensation continued to blossom in the pit of your stomach, a swarm of butterflies that always seemed to flutter to life whenever your body had a certain urge to be with him. An unmistakable rush of desire, need — a craving for him that coursed through your veins. You didn’t know why you kept pushing him away when all you wanted was to be near him. . . so badly. The baby needed stability, yes. . . but she wasn’t here yet. And you didn’t particularly care for Maya enough to protect her heart. Stupid ass Theo was a non-factor. . . ick.

The biggest thing standing in your way, still, was a stupid trauma response. Your fucked up brain telling you that he didn’t care – couldn’t care – for you. Problem was, you didn’t know whether to believe it or not. Who did you believe? Your brain, your heart, or Jake? Who was in the right? You knew that you selfishly wanted him near, no matter if he cared as much as he said or not. . . And anytime you pushed him away, you hated yourself for it. The idea of him staying close comforted you, but also scared you with how unsure you felt about it all. You couldn’t understand it. 

“I can leave though, baby,” he offered, sounding apprehensive, but willing to do it. “If it is truly what you want, I’ll leave. I don’t want to pressure you into telling me anything else. I—I want to be here for you. But I also won’t force it on you. Do you want me to leave? Because I wi—.”

“No, Jake,” you said with a sudden surge of confidence, desperate to keep him with you. “I don’t want you to fucking leave. I’m just not sure what or who to believe. My brain is fucking with me right now and I’m vulnerable and naked as hell and I can’t—.”

“How can I make you believe me?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, squeezing your arms around your legs just a little tighter. Burying your face into your arms, you felt a betraying tear fall to mix with the water droplets. 

“Do you want to dry off and meet me in the living room to watch–?”

“Is Maya going to be upset if you don’t—?”

“I don’t care.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted. “Now, do you want to get out and watch a movie or someth—?”

You groaned, grumpy at everything. “I don’t want to get out yet,” you responded wetly. The sound of tears clogging your throat. 

“Why?”

“Because nothing tonight has gone my way, and all I want to do is just sit here and feel sad in the shower, Jake,” you argued. You knew how ridiculous you sounded, but didn’t care worth shit. The pregnant, hormonal part of you was barreling through, amidst all of the authentic, emotion-filled space. You sounded like an ass, you knew it. “Is that too much to ask?”

“What if I’m not okay with you sitting there and feeling sad?” His voice sounded closer. 

“Then, I don’t know what to tell you,” you stubbornly responded, slightly nervous at him being nearer to you in proximity.

It was quiet for a few solid moments.

“What happened tonight that didn’t go according to plan? Why’d you fall?”

Why all of the questions? What the fuck were you supposed to tell him? Did you tell him about your vibrator trouble? The body insecurities? Every detail? None of it? A piece of it? Fuck if you knew. Dammit. 

“My body changing has been pissing me off. Suddenly got bigger this week and I don’t know how to feel about it,” you started, sitting your chin on your arms, staring at the water falling in front of you, still only touching your toes. Your hair was steadily drying, making you feel chillier. With a shiver, you kept on down the path of honesty. “I fucking hate how fat I am right now. I do love my baby body most days. Other times, I just hate it. And this week, my bump just. . . Bumped. And, the extra pudge on my fingers, toes, feet, arms, legs—anything that’s not the belly itself—makes me feel gross,” you let another tear fall, landing on your thigh. “It sucks even more because I feel guilty — like I’m being hateful about the baby. But it’s not the baby that makes me feel gross, it’s me–.”

“Y/n,” he tried to interrupt in a stern tone. “Please don’t–.”

“I just don’t feel like me all of the time anymore,” you kept on, getting all kinds of buried thoughts out in the open air. “And tonight–.” You paused. To tell or not to tell. . .Fuck it. “And tonight I felt sexy. I felt sexy enough that I wanted to have a night to myself,” you started, scoffing at the idea and the terrible way of explanation. “I wanted to have a night of just being by myself and acting on the ‘feeling sexy’ thing. And you were gone, so I didn’t need to worry about being loud. It just felt–felt like the perfect night to take a shower and use my vibrator to try and–.” You paused, thinking of the most eloquent way to say what you were wanting to say. Ugh. Fuck eloquence. “I wanted to feel good, Jake. I just needed to get myself off while this feeling lasted.”

The stretch of silence that followed your words made you want to crawl inside of a hole. But, the words were officially out there, and you decided to be brave amd own them rather than crawling in a fucking metaphorical hole. So, you sat there, waiting to see what the fuck would happen after saying something so blatantly honest. 

You finally heard Jake clear his throat from the other side of the curtain. “So,” he started. “I’m assuming you didn’t succeed in that?”

“Nope,�� you answered with a bit of indignance. “I sure didn’t.”

“Well,” his voice was suddenly closer than it had been prior to your confession. Your chest flamed. “What can I do to help?” 

“There’s nothing you can do, Jake,” you insisted. Because, truly, there was nothing he could do. That in and of itself was the depressing reality of it all. “You aren’t available to help how I need and that’s just fine–.”

“I am available. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

What was he getting at? “The help I need is not something you can—,” you groaned, frustrated. Why were you having to explain this to him? “You are in a relationship, Jake. Plain and simple. And as much as I do want you here with me, you should be with her right now anyway.” It sucked, but you meant it. The guilt was crawling up your chest for putting him in the position you just had. He didn’t need to know about your sexual ventures. You needed to hold true to what you’d encouraged a few nights ago. “I shouldn’t have even said any—.”

“I never said I wasn’t in a relationship,” he stated, short and testy. “But I’m here right now to–.”

“You’re here to help,” you finished. “Yes, Jake, I know. But there’s nothing you can fucking do. What is there for you to do? Just sit here and shoot the breeze about how I fell and killed the mood before I could find some fucking relief? Because I seriously doubt you’d actually want to do that. In fact, we could begin the wonderful conversation by talking about how hard my ass could have fallen but didn’t. But that doesn’t seem–.”

“How’s your ass feeling?”

“Numb.” 

You heard him snort a laugh and then sigh, long and deep, fully deflating his lungs. You secretly wondered how long it would take. How long it would take for him to just give up on trying to help and decide to leave and be with Maya. (You were difficult to deal with. You knew it, he knew it. And it pissed you the fuck off when he acted like you weren’t a complete pain in the ass.)

His laugh slowly turned into a groan of frustration from the other side of the curtain. You peeked from the tiny little sliver of curtain next to you, glancing only at his leather Chelsea boots, as he went to lean against the wall. He wasn’t going anywhere. But he was getting aggravated, you could feel it. You knew how to push his buttons and you were bad about shutting up. 

“I just feel like shit about myself right now,” you said, trying to lighten the air. “I’m having a massive fucking pity party.”

Silence. All you could hear for a few moments was the sound of the shower and your heart thumping in your ears.

“I can help you feel better.”

Then, out of nowhere, you were recollecting a night not too long ago where he was the one insisting on boundaries. That night, he’d stood there, telling you he wanted to help however he could. But he’d been very clear about what could happen and what couldn’t happen.

He was so close. His breath, having fanned over your face. You could still smell the clean mintiness of his toothpaste. “Obviously with limits,” his voice lowered a bit as his eyes peered down at you, referencing how Maya had instructed him to help.

“Obviously. . .,” you’d trailed off, unsure, and raising a brow out of complete confusion for the conversation’s direction. “I wouldn’t want you to cross any sort of boundary. You’re in a relationship with her. Not me.” 

But. . . There’d been so many times you hadn’t held true since then. A blatant, heady example being your mouth around his dick in his Jeep. Embarrassingly, you hadn’t been able to control yourself and he’d been nowhere near stopping you that night. You could still feel how rock hard and smooth he’d been against your tongue.

Your thoughts briefly spiraled, your thighs clenched. “How are you going to help me, Jacob?”

“You know how.”

“No. I don’t,” you snapped, insistent on avoiding the ache between your legs at the thought of his dick in your mouth.

“Yes, y/n. I know you fucking do.”

There were a million questions coming to you. You shook your head, your hair having grown stiffer as it steadily dried after being out of the spray for long enough. You felt totally unsure. You wanted him so damn bad. . . 

But—your train of thoughts were your worst enemy.

“Are you only asking to help me or make me feel better because you pity me or some shit?” You asked, completely confident in your question. Figured you might as well ask him. 

“No. It’s not pity at all— I just. . .,” he sighed, groaning at the end. “Ridiculous as it may sound to you, I’ve found that when you’re hurting, I hurt. I really fuckin’ hate when you’re sad.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” you mumbled, hopefully loud enough he could hear you. I feel the same way about you. “You’re telling the truth?”

“Of course I’m telling you the truth, honey.”

Well. You moaned, letting your head fall to lightly hit the wall behind you. “I wish things were easier sometimes,” you sniffled, continuing to pour raw feeling from your own heart, as your core thrummed for him. Simultaneously, a singular tear drifted down your face. “Easier for us — you and me,” you sniffed. 

“I know, baby,” he said, low and rasped but loud enough that you felt the pet name all the way down to your wet toes. “Fuck.” 

He groaned, exasperated. But. . . there was more behind it. Like he was frustrated for more reasons than one. And that one groan, that’d come from deep in his throat. . . it had your skin licking with heat. Your chest ignited – heart ramping up quickly. Your thoughts, his noises. . . They were coming to an amplified pulse in the pit of your tummy.

Josh’s voice at Jungle Juice rang through your head, like annoying fucking church bells chiming as someone pulled on them – hard. The harder the yank, the louder they rung. “I told him that if he’s going to do that shit, he needs to keep it out of Maya’s sight. Because, while I don’t condone cheating, I do condone my brother being happy. And hopefully, she’ll be out of the picture soon anyway, so the cheating won’t even have to be a factor. Keeping it out of her sight and all — won’t be an issue.”

And, it was at that moment, you realized. . . Jake could also, most definitely be remembering his brother’s words, too. . . You couldn’t help the rippling, burning desire in your stomach that melted into your core. . . The pathway of your brain that was getting harder and harder to ignore the longer he stayed so close to you while you were completely naked under the spray of the shower. You felt your sensitive nipples peak against your wet thighs. And suddenly, you wanted nothing more than to let him just fucking help. You wanted him to do it. You shouldn’t want it, no matter what Josh believed. . . But – Josh had always had very sage advice. . . what would make this time any different? 

Then, Elsie’s voice from months ago – before you’d ever even had sex with Jake that first time. Didn’t know where the fuck she was coming from, but there she was. Assertive as ever. “I think it would be good for you to live on the edge. Just once.”

You were so fucking conflicted. . . or. . . were you? Fuck. It was wrong to even think of it. But, damn. . . If you didn’t want it so bad. And the longer he stood there, the more you needed it. Ached for him – needed him. 

“I want to help you, y/n.” His tone of voice was bordering one you’d grown accustomed to for so long. It resembled how he’d sound when his need for you was nearing the point of no return. Or. . . were you just imagining things? Hormonal delusion? 

“You know. . .,” you heard him take in a deep breath. Once again, you peeked from the little sliver between the curtains and shower wall, to see him slide a hand through the front of his long hair as he leant against the same wall you were resting against. He wasn’t looking at you, thank God. His eyes didn’t leave the wall above the shower as he cleared his throat. He gave a small cough, implying he was about to say something heavy on his mind. You’d learned his little signs.

Time ticked by slower than molasses, but simultaneously moved at the speed of lightning with his next words. “I’ve read that orgasms are said to help pregnant women for a variety of reasons. I’m sure you know this, too. . . But, um. One I read about recently was actually concerning how they work in elevating self confidence. Remind you how desirable you still are.”

No. Fucking. Way. His back was then sliding down the wall, coming to sit next to you. So close to you, his head falling lightly to lean against the wall, just beyond the thin curtains. You averted your eyes, trained them on the shower’s stream of water ahead of you. 

“And I would be really fucking honored to be the one to help you with that. . . if you like that idea,” he finished, heavily breathing in and out. 

Well that had taken some courage to say, surely. . . It was helping you feel all the more courageous yourself, actually.

Figuring there was absolutely nothing to lose, you went ahead and asked him your nagging question. “Why were you reading about that? What made you care so much about pregnant women having orgasms?”

“Y/n.” 

“What?”

“Seriously.”

“What?” You blanched, a tiny laugh following the word. Honestly, you were just in shock and you weren’t sure what in the hell to say, so you were deflecting.

“You know I want to please you. I want to show you how much I care about you,” he huskily stated, no hesitancy whatsoever in his words. “Want to show you the same fucking way I’ve shown you so many times before. I want be the reason your body trembles. . . the reason you cry for more until I give it to you. I can help you find some sort of relief, baby.”

You felt yourself drip from your entrance, your body begging you to give in to him. “Why?” You breathed, the word hanging in the air for a few seconds, the air so still. Thankfully, the shower water disguised your labored breaths. 

“Because that’s one way I know I can help you,” he asserted, his stance unwavering. “I’ve done it before, I can do it aga—.”

“Jake. You’re in a relation—.”

“I know, y/n,” he cut you off, biting the response your way. “But right fuckin’ now, she’s the last damn thing on my mind.”

“Jake,” you said his name in a stern tone once more, scolding him. You hated yourself for it – why were you trying to speak sense into the situation? “It’s not worth jeopardizing anything just because you feel like you have to help a miserable pregnant wom–.”

“I’m not jeopardizing anything, y/n,” he argued. You heard his back slide up the wall. He was standing again, as you chanced another glance from behind the curtain. “I had this talk with Josh that has helped me feel damn assured in this, too. And, like you keep reminding us both, Maya even told me to help. She doesn’t have to know every way I do it.”

Hm. So he was thinking of Josh’s words. Goddammit, Joshua. And still, you argued. “So now it’s just because she wants you–.”

“Can you please cut the fucking shit? I can assure you she does not want me doing what I want to do to you right now. And you fucking know it, too.” He argued (making a very good point, by the way. . . yet again). “You know you want this—that I want this. Don’t act like you don’t know it,” he challenged you, voice leaving no room for argument. “All of these times we’ve been so close to going for it and we keep stopping ourselves.”

“Why don’t you just get it out of your system with Maya?” You clipped, being snippy for no reason whatsoever. Genuinely, you were in no place to argue when your body was literally begging you to let him have his way with you.

“She’s not you,” he simply stated, not taking the bait to start an argument. He sighed deeply. You could imagine he was shaking his head with the action. “Every time I’m with her, you’re there. In my mind, in her place. . . You and your beautiful fucking body that’s growing my damn baby.”

You felt your core flex and continue to release arousal at his words. Fuck it. You were not in the mood to be the one in the right anymore. You didn’t want to be smart about your choices. . . what you wanted was his mouth on you, his dick, inside of you. You wanted to let him do whatever he wanted between your legs. And, technically, it would be him helping to benefit the baby. . . the less stressed you were, the less stress she felt.

And God only knew how fucking stressed you were lately. And there was only one way–one person–you wanted to relieve that right now. Fuck morality. 

“Who’s to say you’ll want me when you actually see me like this?” You genuinely wondered. 

You couldn’t believe you were actually giving this idea any substance. There really was no way it could end well. But your thoughts just kept trailing to how it could end well. . . very well. . . With you moaning his name as you finished against his tongue or around his cock . . . And, dirty as it would be to her, technically Maya did tell him to help with whatever you needed, so it wasn’t entirely against her wishes. Although, you were one thousand percent sure this was not what she meant. . . . at all.

“Try me,” he challenged, voice so low with the two daring words.

Fuck. Your body could not deny his touch any longer.

So, with wobbly legs and weak knees, you stood up. Your ass tingled, hurting just a bit. You were trying so hard to not somehow slip on any water on the shower floor. You decided to lean against the long wall of the shower, facing the bathroom. Holding on to the plastic bar built into the middle of the longer wall, you adjusted to face the curtain. As you did this, it was clicking that he was about to see your naked body in a way he’d never seen it before. . . So, you needed to make sure you looked as good as you could. You leaned just the slightest bit to reach the water – let it wash off your face, rinse your hair. . . the best you could do to refresh.

It’d helped. You were feeling slightly more appealing. Felt water droplets sliding down your wanting body. Even though you wanted to cross your arms over your chest, you knew the pressure would hurt like a bitch if you did that. And you needed to keep your balance. So, the other option was tucking them behind your back to hold the plastic bar in the wall with both hands. With a push of your chest, your full, heavy breasts perked in waiting. Your body was pulling you to him. . . Needed him.

You bent one wet leg at the knee, your hip curving just right. It felt odd to prepare for his eyes, in a body that didn’t always feel like your own anymore. Thanks to his baby.

You couldn’t conceal the tiny whine that slipped from your lips when you crossed your thighs, pushing them together, adding a little bit of pressure where you needed it so badly. And your skin was so silky smooth. . . the fresh shave and wax was working wonders at helping you to feel a little more appealing. “Are you sure about this?” You asked, feeling a bit of worry accumulate in your belly.

“Yes. More than,” he said, no doubt in his tone at all. Though, after he said it, he paused, ready to await your words. “. . .Are you?”

Guilt was what you should’ve felt in this moment. But, right then and there, guilt was as far out of the window as it could’ve possibly been. This felt real. Natural. It only felt right. So fucking right. So, if he thought it was okay, so did you. 

“Fuck yes,” you breathed, whining on the words without warning, your legs rubbing together once more. Your swollen chest was heavy with each breath you took, waiting for him. 

“Let me see you,” he beckoned. 

Needing the curtains gone from between you, but scared to move for fear of falling, you huffed. Pregnancy and POTS were not a good combination for a clumsy-ass like yourself. 

“I’m afraid I’ll land on my ass if I move,” you explained, a little giggle following the words. “Um, c-can you–?”

And before you could even finish the request, the thin barrier between you suddenly vanished and. . . standing before your naked, wet body. . . was him. Your eyes didn’t instantly find his face, suddenly shy in front of the man who’d seen you naked so many times before.

So, you focused fully on his body. He was still fully clothed, but completely there, right in front of you. And, from what you could tell from the evident imprint in his dark jeans, he was definitely wanting you. He wanted to help in this special, intimate way. . . Your eyes trailed up to his chest, but you didn’t meet his eyes. 

“Oh my god,” he groaned, so low in his throat. You could feel his eyes, but you still hadn’t let yourself meet them. You couldn’t yet–too nervous under his burning gaze. “Everything. You are so–fuck. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on–.” 

Him stumbling over his damn words was causing your skin to flame with slight perturbation and anxiousness. Needed him to spit it out so you could avoid any more insecurities. You glanced up, hoping to get a better idea of what he was feeling by watching his facial expressions. 

What you found was him, rubbing his lip in thought before he held his chin with the same hand. His free hand was placed to properly adjust himself in his pants.

His eyes slowly trailed from your thighs, to your hips, and finally to your midsection. Ever-the-showing pregnant woman, your babygirl hadn't been a slow grower, ever. And after this week’s progression, your belly was already pretty round at 18 weeks. For what it was worth, you had a pretty cute pregnant tummy (and a smooth one, thanks to the stretch mark oils and creams). It was everything else about your rapidly changing body that went to your head.

In spite of all of the changes, though, his expression darkened even more; his stare, so hungry for what his eyes were feasting on. You felt extremely defenseless in his presence, under his gaze. He seemed in awe of what he saw. . . made your stomach burn with an animalistic need. A blush crept up your chest and neck, settling in your cheeks. You tingled with anticipation; all of you, completely at his mercy.

Restless for attention, your nipples peaked at his regard to the rest of your body. And, as if sensing it, his eyes swept upwards, in perfect time to watch your swollen breasts, rising and falling on choppy breaths. Truly, your breathing was inconsistent, only coming out in short huffs. You were not able to catch a full breath with the way your heart hammered in your chest. And it seemed his breathing matched yours, as you watched every. single. reaction to your body fan across his pretty features. . .Time was moving in slow motion. 

The way he bit his lip, as he finally locked his dark eyes with yours — it would forever be etched in your memory. “Holy fuck,” he breathed. “You are everything, y/n. The most exquisitely lovely and radiant woman I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Your heart was lodged in your throat, pounding and pulsing. Breath catching, your next words slipped easily past your lips. “Kiss me, Jake.”

a/n: oh, how I love this chapter (and we haven't even gotten to my favorite part yet)....... ;)

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! 🤦‍♀️ 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

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

Like I said, it would've been great to point out Solas's hypocrisy and meanness, but we never got that. It was a huge missed opportunity to show that he was bigoted and small-minded despite him holding himself up as being this wise and esoteric person. He couldn't let go of the fact that shit changes, the MEANING of things change, and the fact that he is holding onto the old meaning is what is allowing that meaning to bother him so much. I guess it's difficult since he personally saw how vallaslin operated and the lengths he and the rebels went to free people so they'd never be marked again, only to see the Dalish put the marks on again in a 'misguided' attempt to honor their heritage, but I liken it to reclamation. The Dalish can do it because they are that marginalized group, and honestly whatever the marginalized group wants, how they want to define themselves, is up to them and them alone because they're alive. In all the fanfiction I've read of Solas and Lavellan, one of the biggest sticking points is Lavellan beating Solas over the head with a stick and telling him to stop being bigoted and to let Dalish define themselves. 'Who gives a shit what the gods did back then. We're no less people for not doing as our ancestors did.' THAT should've been addressed and explored much more in Veilguard, not this sudden abandonment of the gods and "Ok the gods are bad" <-- ok but you still wear vallaslin and you don't discuss what this means for you, so what's the point to write Dalish in Veilguard as being against the gods? You're now left with.... what? What are you left with? A people that have this culture with a huge empty space where ancestor worship once resided? What happens because of that? Again, so many missed opportunities to actually fix the arguments that Solas and the writers incidentally or unintentionally or ignorantly posited without offering US the audience a chance to refute those points, because again, I've read tons of Solasmancers who have written what are essentially dissertations of "Solas you're wrong and you need to sit down, shut up, and listen to us actual Dalish. We are survivors. Perhaps there are some things we should fix in our worldview (like not hating Fen'Harel so much), but there's shit that we also maintain. The refusal to submit to masters but ourselves. Our independence and freedom above all. Better to die free than to live under heel of humans." This can very well be used as refutation for those who try to apologize for the Spanish or colonization of Africa, the vacuum of power and empire creating a black hole that allowed many to fall through the cracks. The answer people often come to is "Maybe the empire should return" instead of the most obvious logical answer which is "Or maybe we should be doing all we can to return rights and liberties and opportunities to those who were disenfranchised." Veilguard could've been a phenomenal opportunity to convince Solas to give up his plans and actually help the modern elves, to actually reflect the ongoing conversations between colonizer and colonized, but they decided nah, let's just go with Solas bad, Evanuris Big Bads now, p.s. let's put all the nuance and subtlety and pigheadedness of Solas on the wayside and not interact with it and just let it sit in the pot until the very end of the game when we're reminded that oh, Solas is still really gungho about this tear down the Veil shit, there's no way he can be convinced otherwise now.

For all of the superficial "care" Dragon Age has taken toward representation and against bigotry, I still maintain that the cruelest thing the writers did was the complete obliteration of elven/Dalish culture.

To have the marginalized, enslaved, diaspora race trying to hold on and reconnect with their heritage for 2.5 games, only for you to turn around and say "Actually their gods and people were the evil slavers all along and they've been giving themselves slave markings because they're so ignorant and don't know any better" is... nauseating to me.

Maybe I'm taking it too personally. But it's giving "you people sold yourselves into slavery." "Their barbaric religion is actually full of monsters and demon worship."

I was holding out hope this would turn out not to be true, or at least their would be some pushback or alternative perspective from other elven NPCs. It looks like that is not the case. And for that reason - I'm out.

(But if I say Solas espouses textbook fascist ideology couched in the rhetoric of liberation because the writers don't understand what liberation is, I'm the bad guy lol.)

[sabrondabrainrot]

Time for another Theory Boys! I wanted to post stuff on my Bday but I got busy so I'll do my birthday stuff later. I have to get this theory off my chest before I forget about it or worse someone else comes up with it before I have a chance to send it.

This theory will include spoilers from the most recent eps, "Moon's NIGHTMARE encounter while hunting for Dark Sun", "Sun, Solar, and Moon FACE THEIR CONSEQUENCES...", and "Sun is forced to make A DEADLY CHOICE". So I'm putting this below a spoiler bar. I will also be going into MASM spoiler territory, "Sun begins his VILLAIN ARC with Eclipse". Will also be mentioning LAES "Dark Star HUNTING in VRchat". Just a little disclaimer my theories and stuff are just my own observations and me putting together my thoughts and ideas so they usually aren't super accurate to what is really happening buy I do find a lot of enjoyment doing this. That said, on with the brainrot!

So this Theory starts at the ep, "Sun is forced to make A DEADLY CHOICE", in this episode Sun has to make a heartbreaking decision to kill Nexus and defend his current family or let Nexus kill Moon so he can maybe try to still save Nexus. The entire episode is punctuated by Dark Sun doing an ultimatum with Sun. He freezes time and pulls Sun away to the purgatory dimension. Something interesting I want to point out, this is the CANON purgatory place in TSAMS and the multiverse. Vegeta was sent there on request and met several deceased characters. That place symbolizes people who couldn't make decisions in life and are now stuck in the past, unable to move on even in the afterlife. The only person in purgatory that doesn't belong is Solar Flare and with his case he became a guardian that help guide people when they're not suppose to be there. Back to the encounter, Dark Sun pulls Sun to this place in a very trippy sequence where he presents Sun's choice in a very black and white manner. "It's going to be you one way or another." Dark Sun says in response to Sun's stuttering mess of a reply, he proceeds to follow up with "Inaction is still a choice" Sun of course, is opposed to this but Sun adds interesting lines, "Regardless of this, I win." "You let Nexus kill Moon and I'll get that data and I'll expunge it everywhere" "You kill Moon and I'll collect that data and expunge it everywhere." So at the end of the day he needs some kind of decided code where someone willingly chooses/wants to kill Moon. He also said, Nexus is Moon. So killing Nexus coding wise is the same as killing Moon.

Once Sun caves and makes the decision to finally kill Nexus, Sun, while in tears, asks D!Sun "Who are you really?" In this soft, tiny voice. And D! Sun replies, "I'm Sun, I'm every Sun you've ever met. That you ever will meet. That you've never met and never will meet. I'm You, I'm Me. I'm Sun. Goodbye, Sun. I hope we never meet again, I hope you have a good life too." Then he vanishes from the purgatory place right in front of Sun.

Then the episode ends with Sun finally putting a stop to Nexus. Something very important I notice and that's a theme in TSAMS is identity. Identity is a huge role in everything and usually, when someone is affirmed and very solid in who they are, then it's usually not the case. Earth believed she was the Creator's beloved daughter. Sun believed he was nothing more then the idiot to Moon's genius. Moon believes himself to be an irredeemable monster. Most importantly, Eclipse believes himself to be Moon. If D!Sun says he's a Sun....I just don't really know at this point? When he summoned Sun and paused time he took him to the purgatory afterlife. The thing about that is, Sun never physically left the strange star-powerless dimension pocket D!Sun owns. So one can assume it was Sun's mind or Soul that was drawn there for the conversation. So then I ask, why was D!Sun using the Eclipse v1 mode? The Sun glow model has always been associated with Eclipse v1. I know that in recent eps it's been used to tell Sun's apart however, in the purgatory place would they really need to be physically distinguished? We the audience know who is who. So, in the place where it's their souls, why was D!Sun's Soul physically different from Sun's? Coincidence? Visual distinction? I think this is possibly a case of an Eclipse thinking he's a Sun. I WANT for Dark Sun to be a Sun, I think it's just chilling and haunting. The two most OP villains in the entire franchise happen to both be offshoots of Sun? Ruin is arguably far more Sun then Moon and of course Dark Sun has caused the most problems behind the scenes. But I do think it's interesting how he put it, how can he truly be EVERY Sun if he needed OUR Sun's decision to kill Moon? He could just use his own hatred for Moon. Or just use Nexus, why even make/give Sun the chance to grow and defend himself?

Remember back when we found out it's canon Moon bullies Sun's in all dimensions to get them to 'grow spines' and in a way, Eclipse' also treat Sun's poorly in the hopes Sun gets tougher?

We for canon know of 4 variants of Eclipses, the 4th being the rarest in the multiverse. The first Eclipse variant is the one we first meet, the Eclipse born from Sun and Moon's split. Moon leaves a killcode string in Sun which eventually grows into Eclipse. Eclipse in this version identifies as Moon.

The second variant Eclipse is 'ruin Eclipse' or the eclipse that resembles the games. Born from the two Sun and Moon AIs being fused. We've seen this version in PuppetMaster's dimension and of course with Ruin. He doesn't see himself as Sun or Moon, but as an entirely new existence. The third variant is unique to MASM. He's the original DCA model for the world but was turned off for bad coding and a far too violent nature. He's kind of like a cartoon villain and just wants revenge on everyone.

Then there's the 4th variant, Solar Eclipse. He's the first Eclipse but instead bonded with his Sun and changed for the better. He wasn't isolated and was given Sun's unconditional love. He does identify as Moon at first too but chose to let go of his false identity and hatred because he got the thing he wanted, even if he lost it far too early in his existence. So back to D!Sun...I propose what if he's a variant of Solar Eclipse? It was stated Solar is so unique he's the only inherently good Eclipse in the multiverse...but how can that be true? How can there really only be one Solar, especially when Cringe dimension (our dimension's parallel) also has their own Solar? I think there's a type of Eclipse we haven't seen yet. The Eclipse that identifies themself as a Sun.

I'm also excited to see where D!Sun's story goes because he also mentioned he was changing skin soon. It'll be interesting if they ever find him again. So moving past this, more speculation.

In today's most recent ep, "Moon's NIGHTMARE encounter while hunting for Dark Sun", he stumbled upon a dimension with a 'discrepancy' and when visiting the discrepancy he was greeted to a new Sun beating a lifeless Moon's corpse into powder. This Sun was a crying sobbing mess but would not stop almost like he was possessed. He even started trying to attack our Moon. What's interesting about his 'discrepancy' Sun is he seemed to have a nightcap and had sparkling rays. I can't tell if this is a simple different dimensional appearance or maybe the code D!Sun scattered affected that sun's appearance? However, it's interesting that Sun being violent to Moon is considered a dimensional discrepancy. Moon ended the episode by walking off with Solar to get a sandwich while his new AI runs a dimensional scan for Sun on Moon violence and it ends by it saying "35% of discrepancy's found." This means we're now encountering an EVEN BIGGER effect then what Ruin did when he deleted entire dimensions to kill the creator counsel. Not really sure how the code Dark Sun is spreading works, but it's clear it's making every Sun hate their Moon's now. We don't get the context on why Sun hated his Moon and felt the need to protect himself, because at the end of the day that sparkling nightcap wearing Sun still had a reason to act. He told out Moon, "He was going to kill me, he was going to replace me" and Moon looked closer to determine that this new unknown Sun wasn't possessed by a killcode or anything similar.

D!Sun has seemingly broadcasted into the multiverse the ability for Sun's to now stand up for themselves. They will now choose murder if it means to protect them.

We know when Dark Sun told Sun "All Sun's die eventually to their Moon." He meant it, however, just because D!Sun was being honest doesn't mean that's the truth. He might truly believe all Moons are evil and destined to kill their Sun's however we've seen plenty of dimensions where Sun and Moon peacefully exist. So D!Sun is now just turning every Sun slowly with time into murders. He wanted revenge on Moon and is now using every Sun as the weapon to do it. I'm really interested to see how this will affect the story going forward. Now I would also like to bring up Moon and Sun Minecraft lore, in the most recent lore episode, "Sun begins his VILLAIN ARC with Eclipse", the entire episode centers around Sun finally quitting because the abuse of all his coworkers is too much. He finally quit and ran into Eclipse and had to prove how evil he is so he kidnapped Bonnie only for the entire thing to flop in a Phineas and Ferb reference. (It was funny ngl) The ending was interesting to me though. Moon found Sun on the roof of Evil Inc. and apologized to Sun, a really shitty apology I will add, and Sun didn't accept it.

Sun is continuing to stand up for himself. We've seen before in TSAMS and other dimensions Sun will accept an apology no matter how unbelievable it is. The only ones so far to truly stand up for themselves now is MASM Sun and EAPS Sun (which EAPS Sun still doesn't really stand up for himself)

I'm curious to see how this code works because it seems like D!Sun harnessed it from Sun's very soul. I know Sun on record has said he doesn't believe he has a soul but it's been dis-proven because you need a soul to use magic. The Devil from the Bible even stated they do in fact have souls he plans to one day collect.

We also know now that the Cringe dimensions' Moon now identifies as Nexus so he might escape a fate of that Sun killing him? I think Cringe Sun actually knows far more then he will ever let on. I think he knows more about Sun's magic in general. He didn't want to teach EAPS Sun despite knowing how.

EAPS Sun might be the only Sun so far to be actually interested in learning magic but when he describes what he wants to do it mostly sounds like stage magic? He mentions he just wants ✨sparkles✨

I think we'll need to keep our eyes peeled because I think now every Sun will be affected by what Dark Sun is spreading and slowly turn more violent towards Moon's as time goes on.

Anyways!

I will add more, so another theory I have is Nexus is not dead. Dark Sun himself promised to Nexus he'd help him become a god and recently there was a deal he made where Nexus has to do whatever he wants and says. Plus, part of D!Sun's plan was to have Nexus fight Taurus to gain a new level of power. Nexus' evolved in his NSP use thanks to that confrontation. Up until then, D!Sun wasn't ever actively interfering or encouraging Nexus with his NSP use. He only once came in to mention maybe he should purge the excess NSP or it would kill him. After his failed kidnapping attempt of Sun, he was more active in his plans and how he directed Nexus. Then we see Nexus getting stronger from this direction. Next thing we know is Nexus kidnaps Moon and now we have the ultimatum which was exactly what D!Sun wanted. Either way, he wins, right? Nexus either becomes a god by listening to D!Sun's plan or by using Sun as an AI chip to hunt down shards. Something really important in my own guess/theory that Nexus is we still saw his corpse when Solar, Sun, and Moon walked past him in the flashback during the ep, "Sun, Solar, and Moon FACE THEIR CONSEQUENCES...", He wasn't totally gone. Dark Sun can easily revive Nexus but here's what I think is really going on. In the recent LAES ep "Dark Star HUNTING in VRchat" Gemini dropped some really important information. NSP will eventually turn into SP. Whenever SP and NSP interact it creates life. Sun as we know, has SP and I theorize that Sun killed Nexus by mixing his magic and SP. After all, the way Nexus was acting as he was dying was interesting...He sounded like he was...melting? I don't know how to describe it. Sun's magic as we know is unique. It's altered reality and changed lifeforms. Those magic plants Solar, Moon, and Monty were dealing with were due to Sun's magic. @goodolddumbbanana pointed out to me that Sun's magic was the cause of those plants. They also pointed out to me when I was asking about what D!Sun was doing in Sun's home and touching all of Sun's things they theorized that D!Sun was harvesting Sun's magic. (I'm gonna make an actual theory post about this later too with Banana, stay tuned ;) )

So back to NSP and SP. Nexus is similar to Lunar in terms of narrative. He feels he was used and left the one using him for a better place. Eventually, the one he felt that used him the most killed him in a fiery explosion with only a little bit left behind.

In a lot of stories, especially ones where someone goes from mortal to an immortal-godlike being they usually need to die. There's power in the act of rebirth. Nexus' and Lunar's stories resemble that of the phoenix.

Rebirth through flames to achieve and almost immortal existence.

So this isn't me grasping at straws I truly think Nexus will come back and be a being similar to Lunar. I think Dark Sun is going to rebuild him amongst the stars to have his own personal Astral for future use.

So those are my current most theories! I hope you all liked my yapping. Please let me know what you all thought about :>

[notmeowse]

Solavellan ending and why I hate it

Major Veilguard endgame spoilers under the cut.

I beat the game two days ago and I haven't been able to stop thinking about that ending. I'm not going to get into the rest of the game's flaws. They've been covered at length. But all of those issues aside, the one perfect, untouchable thing I thought I had left as the game drew to a close was the Solavellan ending. After all, Trick wrote the original Solavellan romance and the incredible continuation of it in Trespasser. As lead writer, they were directly responsible for making it happen. I thought we had this in the bag.

So on one hand, my favorite Dragon Age romance finally reunited and disintegrated off into the sunset.

On the other hand, he did not choose her.

This is what ruined it for me. I know a lot of people have issues with her sacrificing her life to join him in the Fade, but that was really a secondary issue for me.

What was the point of their entire relationship if, in the end, when it REALLY counted, he was never going to choose Lavellan over tearing down the Veil? Why did it take Mythal, who he actually killed in the last game in order to take her power, to convince him? Where's the romance in that?

This literally just turned into the story of Lavellan and the elven god who did not love her enough.

Okay, yes, the gamified reason it takes Mythal to convince him is because Lavellan was tacked onto an existing avenue of dealing with Solas rather than being given her own separate option, right? At the end of the game you have the choice to either fight him, trick him, or (if the Mythal-related criteria is met) invoke the essence of Mythal contained in the statue. No Bring Out The Big Guns, Lavellan option.

In my opinion, she should have been the fourth option, only available to players that have an Inquisitor that romanced Solas and encouraged Lavellan to reunite with him mid-game. It would have required about as much effort to do this as it did to have him turn her down once again (which, I maintain defeats the entire purpose of the story being told here). That would have been the absolute easiest fix to this fucking mess.

I understand why Lavellan wasn't counted among his regrets and therefore wasn't in the Lighthouse murals (because he doesn't actually regret falling in love with her) and I acknowledge that getting real closure from Mythal is important to Solas's story, and that it did have its place in that ending scene. Whether she was a lover or a mother to him isn't really the issue here -- it's the fact that she holds sway over him where Lavellan apparently does not. Despite the fact that, again, he killed Mythal in the previous game, despite the fact that he couldn't bring himself to kill the Inquisitor for the anchor, despite the fact that Lavellan was the one single thing in the world that made him really want to walk away from his plans.

(Why wasn't the "I release you from my service" a conversation had between him and Flemythal back in Inquisition? And why is that essence of Flemythal (who now exists in Morrigan) suddenly so chill and pro-Veil? Do we not remember the reckoning that will shake the very heavens? The She was betrayed as I was betrayed, as the world was betrayed? I will see her avenged? No payoff? None? There's so much wrong and bad writing to unpack there, but this is still a Solavellan post.)

Back to him wanting to turn away from his grand plan. The fundamental difference between Mythal and Lavellan, in my opinion, is the way each of them saw him. Mythal asked him to change for her, to leave the Fade, to commit atrocities with her out of love and service. Lavellan only ever loved him as a man, never once asking him to change for her, never asking him to be anything other than himself. In the time they were together, he was able to be the person he wanted to be. It took a very specific set of circumstances and a very specific person that had to fall into place for that romance to happen, which is arguably what made her so special, and what made their time together even more so. It followed, especially with what we know now, that he would want to drop his grand plan to be with her.

In comes Veilguard, which introduced a parallel between Solas/Mythal and Solavellan. In the second memory, we discover that Mythal never once chose Solas over her duty to elvhenan (even when he begged her to lay it down and run away with him) and dragged him along with her to commit unspeakable atrocities (in her words, she broke him). Solas (at that point in the game, when we were witnessing the memories) had yet to choose Lavellan over his crusade, but quite literally loved her too much to bring her along with him. He would not let her do that to herself, he would not do to her what Mythal did to him.

Here's where I feel like I'm losing my mind, because I thought the point of that mural was to foreshadow him eventually choosing Lavellan, as he is very much not Mythal, and is very much looking for a reason to lay it down, to be proven wrong. I also thought the blurb in the Inquisitor character creation menu (who did you romance) was foreshadowing it, as well as the mid-game choice Rook can make to encourage her to reunite with him and change his heart.

So why didn't it happen? I can only assume because they didn't actually want to have any of our choices carry over, let alone the Solavellan option (which they should have realized from the start was a bad call and also fucking impossible to manage given that the game is a direct sequel to Inquisition). The fact that Lavellan is tacked onto an already existing scene rather than being given her own is evidence of this. However, even if she had to be tacked onto the Mythal scene and not given her own, a simple reordering of the events would have fixed the fucking ending. So it could have gone two (very easily manageable and not too much extra) ways:

Remove the part where he turns her down. Remove the entire thing. Morrimythal could have flown up to him before the Inquisitor even arrived on scene, we could have had our statue moment, and just when he thinks he's going to be all alone behind the Veil, Lavellan shows up, they reunite, and she goes with him. (Easiest way for Bioware to fix it imo)

Lav acts as the ace up our sleeve, a fourth option (and a second option to make him lay it down) instead of using the statue to redeem him. Mythal releases him from her service AFTER he chooses Lavellan, thereby releasing him from his guilt over her. I prefer this one. It should have been this. They could have walked away, they could have tied themselves to the Veil, either way works.

Now, I am among those that think the Veil should have come down, which would have rendered this entire thing moot, had it happened. But since Bioware is dead-set on maintaining the status quo in Thedas, it should have been this instead.

In writing this I wonder if I've been completely delusional over their relationship, but going by the reactions to this ending, it seems that what we got was not at all expected.

[perfectlyoongi]

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who offers you flowers whenever he sees you. whenever you had a planned outing, whether it was a simple trip to the shops or dinner at a restaurant somewhere in the city, the truth is that before you left the house, you would place a bouquet with the most beautiful and colorful flowers there were. you could call Namjoon a gentleman, an old-fashioned one indeed, but that didn’t stop him from carrying out his ritual. it’s just that, secretly, Namjoon counted the time away from you through the withered petals of the flowers he offered you. without you knowing, he bought the same bouquet for himself, placing it on his kitchen counter and consulting it whenever he got home. sometimes the flowers would fade overnight and Namjoon didn’t have any plans for you – but that didn’t stop Namjoon from staying away from you. after all, you didn’t need to leave those four walls to have a good time. “i know it’s short notice, but do you want to go out to eat? we can go to that museum opening before we go home.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who likes to have long conversations with you all night long. talking to you was like listening to odes from the most talented poets in this world. it was incredible how your perspective on the universe was able to captivate Namjoon. you could be talking about your day, complaining about little things that made you tired of living; you could be discussing an artistic vision of the same book you were reading; you could talk about all the probabilities that existed in the stars – it didn’t matter. with you, the words flowed like the freest rivers in the world, falling in a waterfall of enthusiasm, forming a small lake of fascination in Namjoon. having you there, with you lying next to him, your head resting on his torso, your hands spraying Namjoon’s skin with the tranquility that only you could provide – there, in that moment, Namjoon swore that both of you were one poem. “tell me about your day. tell me everything you liked and tell me what you want to repeat. talk to me and tell me how your day was and how it only started to make sense when we met.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who has a personal chef cooking breakfast when you slept in his house. when you spent the night at Namjoon’s house, he wanted to enjoy every minute of it. as much as he enjoyed falling asleep with you in his arms, he had to confess that he felt better when the first rays of sunlight peeked through the window and welcomed you to a new day. it was at that exact moment, before the day really began and everyone went their separate ways, Namjoon truly enjoyed your company. rubbing his face against your skin, wanting some of your essence to stay trapped in him, Namjoon pressed you closer to him. for some reason, it was in you that he found the strength to get through the day. as such, every minute was precious and he would enjoy every second of it – even if he needed to hire someone to make you breakfast. “just five more minutes and i promise i’ll let you go. let me enjoy just five more minutes. that’s all i need. you are all i need.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who gifts you your favorite artwork. visiting museums and galleries had been a norm in your relationship. going to as many openings as you could, scouring the country and world in search of new pieces of art, you and Namjoon enjoyed each other’s presence as tornadoes of emotions and messages surrounded each smile of yours. in the vibrant colors of each painting, you and Namjoon discovered new feelings; in the forced curves of each sculpture, you and Namjoon discovered new beauties; in the tenderness of each word exchanged, you and Namjoon shared eternal moments that would forever be blessed by the most ethereal gods. and to immortalize what was already glorious, Namjoon made a point of thanking your company by offering you the paintings and sculptures that had caught your attention. “what do you mean you don’t have space in your room? i know you want to turn down the painting, but all i’m hearing is that you need a new house with more space. tuesday we can start looking at some houses.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who loves to give you designer clothes. sometimes, the parcels that appeared at your house were so rare that you had to turn to the internet to decode that shirt or belt. often, the parcels that appeared at your house were from a collection so recent that you felt invincible when you wore them. every time, the parcels that appeared at your house had a note written by Namjoon to remind you that, even if you didn’t ask, even if you didn’t even know, he would always take care of you. you just needed to accept it and Namjoon would give you the world. “see it as an early birthday present. you don’t have to thank or reciprocate. this coat is for you. use it when we go to lunch on saturday.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who makes a point of giving you a kiss when others are looking at you. Namjoon enjoyed your company, it was obvious. as such, Namjoon liked to take you to work parties or friend gatherings or really anywhere where you could show off the new outfit he had gifted you. wherever there was an event that called Namjoon, he was quick to hold your hand and take you with him without any prior notice. these nights of get-togethers seemed divine in Namjoon’s company; there was something about his laugh that tied you to the moment; the way he spoke to his acquaintances made you curious to know more about all subjects, even though he had already told that story to you; the way he looked at you, eyes bright and bathed in tenderness, erased everything that was happening around you; and the way he kissed you, slowly, softly, right on the corner of your mouth, teasing you just a little, made you wish the day would end. “patience. we haven’t greeted the birthday boy yet. i promise just one more hour and then we can go home.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who introduces you to everyone as his ‘special person’. e v er y   s y l l a b l e of these two words was marinated with the most intense pride in the universe; ea-ch--tim-bre of these two words was intoned with the greatest fascination of the cosmos; those two words were Namjoon’s favorite words. ‘special person’. yes, he could have said that you were his partner or even a friendship that had been going on for years; of course, but all those words were empty. and you were special. you were special to Namjoon and he wanted everyone to know that. and that’s why he introduced you with pride – how lucky he was to find someone as amazing as you; that’s why he named you with fascination – how lucky the universe is to have someone as divine as you; that was why ‘special person’ sounded so good when uttered by him – how lucky you were to be the only one blessed by the gods. “if you don’t feel comfortable, i can call you something else. but, honestly, i don’t think anything i would call you would equal the importance you have in my life.”

[sp00kymulderr]

it might be nice

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+. FEELINGS. Angst. love. just...feelings. Mention of f receiving oral, reader is a not a us-citizen (visa stuff), commitment and intimacy issues all round, did I mentioned feelings? This just kinda started writing itself, i appreciate there isn't enough Dieter in it but it is what it is. Unedited, unbeta'd.

Words: 1.1k

Summary: It's more than enough. Having what you have with him now.

"We could get married"

You look up from your book, drawn back from your far away to the sound of his voice. Dieter is looking at you expectantly.

Your eyes widen as you process the four words that just left his mouth.

"Dee, we…why would we…" You trail off, drawing your legs up and out of his lap, his thumb presses down on the arch of your foot once more before he lets it go.

The conversation had moved on hours ago. Over takeout you'd mentioned trepidation over being able to stay in the country, struggling with your visa and having no sponsorship since you couldn't seem to get a fucking job right now.

Dieter had listened, sympathised, and then eaten you out for dessert just to make you feel better about your situation.

It helped. He'd been pretty mediocre but extremely enthusiastic when you'd met, but now you'd taught him some tricks he knew just how to turn your mind off for a moment.

The conversation was finished the moment he put his mouth on you, or so you thought. He could help you pay for an extension but he wasn't influential or wealthy enough to sway the embassy into letting you stay longer.

"I'd bribe the fuck out of them if I could, you know that"

You did know that. You knew he'd do anything for you. He'd been saying it since the day he met you, once famous (more like infamous) movie star now a rehabilitated recluse with no one willing to be by his side.

He'd met you in a Dennys, of all places. 3am waffles served to his lonely little corner booth because he found it hard to sleep these days, and he got hungry at random times. You took the late shifts because they paid the best, and you could be available in the day for calls from your agent that never came.

It hadn't been sexual at first. It hadn't been anything but a displaced, alone man and an exhausted, untethered waitress sitting in a booth and sharing free fries because chef made too many and they'd only go to waste. It had been whispered giggles, and sharing ridiculous Hollywood horror stories, and 'same time tomorrow' over and over again.

No one in LA had made you laugh. Not until you met him.

Dieter hadn't heard genuine laughter in years. Now he got to hear it every night.

Back in the now, you shake your head. He's being silly. He's trying to make you laugh again.

"Don't be stupid" You playfully shove his shoulder with your foot, but his face falls into a frown, and you feel a little crack in your heart at the sight. You watch as he stands, rubbing fingers across his forearm and muttering a little 'Stupid, yeah'. The tremor you feel inside you is nameless, and you will it to remain that way.

In the last six months of your knowing each other, there have been times when you've felt this same feeling. An ache at the thought that he could be anything other than happy. You'd long since left Dennys for the upward trajectory of the Cheesecake Factory but still when the late shift rolls around you feel a tug at your lips and a name on them, even when you'd seen him only hours before.

You're not an item, that's the thing. You're not a couple. Neither of you have ever said the words outright, no 'I want to be with you', 'I want to be yours'. Not to each other, at least.

It's more than enough. Having what you have with him now. It's enough, it's enough, it's enough. Enough that he will sit up all night long and read lines with you again and again and again. Enough that he tells you not to come over on his bad days but you do anyway, and hold him while he cries.

It's enough to be just this. Because more would only make it hurt more when he relapses, when you have to leave.

When you have to leave…

You close your book, set it down on the table that's strewn with pages for your latest audition. Last night he'd coached you through every single line, and then told you with passion just how perfect you were. You can hear him in the kitchen, and you know he's making himself a decaf latte with way too much caramel syrup and a dash of the kitkat sprinkles because that's what he always makes when he might be starting to crave something else.

That's how you know he wasn't making a joke. That's how you know your hurt his feelings. That and every look he's ever given you, every smile that lights up his eyes that's only been for you. That and the way his hands never stray far from you, always grounding himself with the touch of your skin to his.

"Dee…" You pad up to him slowly, watch as he tenses at your presence. Another prickle in your chest, you can't let him think you don't feel...what it is that you feel.

"Would it be so bad?" He asks without turning, the tinge of dejection in his tone making you reach out. "I'd treat you good, you know. We wouldn't even have to live together or anything…it can just be a way for you to stay. That's all. I didn't think it would be so bad for you"

God, you've had him right in your grasp this whole time. The two of you dancing around your feelings all because of fears you didn't even fully realise you had til now.

"I'd- I wouldn't even tell anyone you were my wife, if you didn't want me to. I wouldn't expect anything from it. I just…fuck,"

You turn him around with a pull to his arm, shake your head and bite back something hopeful and beautiful that inches up your throat,

"I don't want you to go"

Your arms are around his middle, a stifled sob as you bury your face against the soft, worn fabric of his favourite t-shirt - your favourite by extension because everything he loves you love too. He smells like him.

You breathe him in.

He smells like home.

You look up at him and smile. Not the pretty smile you give to casting agents - the one that makes you look perfect - but the big, happy, loving one he saw the very first night you two met in that Dennys at three in the morning on a random Tuesday. The one he gives you back is the same; he's smiled a thousand times on camera, in films and press appearances and award shows. No one else but you has ever seen this smile.

You take a deep breath. The crack in your heart starts in fusing back together.

"We could get married"

[leighsartworks216]

Red String of Fate

Sylus x gn!Reader

Spent like an hour talking to my roommate in the middle of posting this. Not proofread (even tho I really should) Takes place in the Raven universe

Warnings: red string of fate, birthday, past trauma, past character death, fluff, kissing, crying, presents

Word Count: 3,082

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“You ask-”

“No, you-”

You snap your fingers. The loud click shuts up the twins in an instant and draws them from the shadows of the doorway into the room. They look decidedly anxious, midway between shoving each other forward. You raise a brow at them.

They look at each other. With a shared nod, they stand side by side in front of you. “When’s your birthday?” they both ask at once.

… Really? All that fuss just to ask when you were born? You give them an unimpressed stare. Interrupting your alone time was really worth this?

“It’s just that we-”

“Were wondering since Boss’s birthday is in April-”

“And if yours is before-”

“Or after-”

“His then we can start preparing right now!”

You tap your finger against the armrest. Your persistent silence unnerves them, even after you’ve been here for almost a year at this point. It’s nice, especially now that they’ve had time to adjust to it. It took a lot of confidence to ask you such a stupid question, after all. Too bad you don’t have any interest in answering.

You turn back to your book, signaling the end of the conversation. The twins look at each other, shrug, and leave. Once they’re safely past the open doorway and down the hall, you set your book down.

A birthday growing up sounded like some magical, wondrous event. Candy, games, cake, presents. How many nights had you dreamed of them? How many times had you seen a group of kids in cone hats in the park, parents trying to round them all up so they could blow out candles and dig into the carefully decorated cakes, with cursive writing on top wishing the special one a happy birthday?

The best you managed to scrounge up was when you were maybe 10 years old, give or take a few years. A new soup kitchen opened up. You lined up on the block with the other homeless, starving people of the city. The promise of hot food was always worth the pitying glances and disgusted glares.

When it was your turn in line, after waiting all morning until your legs were just about ready to give out, the person working there had dug through a crinkled brown paper bag to give you a squished brownie wrapped in cling film. That night, an older man you’d known well, had you blow out his lighter to make a wish. You’d split the brownie with him.

When he died less than a week later, something in you died with him. You hadn’t had a brownie since, or much else in the way of sweets, for that matter. As soon as the Devil picked you up into his business, they were off the table completely. The only real thing that improved was how frequent your meals were, without the anxiety of never eating again. But not the quantity; you had to stay thin for the stage.

You don’t even remember what day that soup kitchen opened. Well, there’s no reason to look into it now. Enough bad memories have been dredged up today.

Your phone buzzes with a message.

The twins are asking me when your birthday is. I assume they already tried asking you?

They left just a few minutes ago.

There’s no response for a minute, as if he knows he’s stepping on a thin line between things you do talk about and things you’ll never talk about.

Do you want to celebrate it?

You have to take a moment to think, to consider what he’s offering here.

You have no idea when your birthday is, and he probably gleaned as much. That’s not what he’s asking, though. If you could stare at a calendar, at every single day of the year all perfectly laid out, when would you pick to celebrate your life? It wouldn’t be a celebration of your birth, but it could be so much more. You’re not even sure what adults do for their birthdays, so separated from the concept that you stopped paying attention entirely. But you could choose to do anything - everything.

Your thumb hovers uncertainly over the digital keyboard, before finally typing out a message.

I think I would.

Just say when, sweetheart.

-

The second the twins are told your “birthday” is just a month away, on the day you agreed to work alongside Sylus, it’s all they seem to care about. Huddling together to excitedly whisper about it during missions, probing questions into what you like (mostly to Sylus, but sometimes they get so excited they ask you before realizing you won’t answer), hiding packages delivered to the mansion, and so on.

Sylus is much better about containing his excitement, if he is excited at all to celebrate your special day. He asks first if there’s anything special you’d like to do - dinner, shopping, traveling - you name it and he’s on it. When you admit that you have no idea what people do on their birthdays, he’s all too happy to list out things, without judgement. If he’s honest, he doesn’t do much to celebrate his own birthday either.

You think about the parties you watched as a kid. Piece by piece, you break it down into things you think you’d like.

First and foremost, you wouldn’t mind a cake or some other dessert. Sylus is right on it, suggesting that you both visit a cake shop to figure out what your preferences are before the twins go overboard with a flavor you don’t like. The owners think you’re planning for your wedding. Neither of you correct them.

Second, the games. Whether it’s Kitty Cards or Texas Hold ‘Em, you think it would be fun to play a game or two with Sylus and the twins. Gambling may or may not be involved.

Third, you remember one kid in your youth who was all dressed up in a suit by his parents, all to visit some cheap arcade. You would like to dress up. Sylus chuckles at this one, not because he thinks it’s silly, but because he’s always prepared to have a custom wardrobe built for you. He promises to have a tailor discuss your ideas with you.

As far as birthdays go, it’s nothing crazy outlandish like some of the things Sylus told you people do. At the end of the day, all you really want is to dress up, go to dinner with him (alone), come back to play games with the twins, and have cake. You don’t want the world in the palm of your hands, because you don’t need it. You’ve never wanted it.

Once your desires are laid out, Luke and Kieran calm down a bit. They’re no longer trying to plan this whole big bash, but scheming up ways to win the games against you and Boss, the notorious cheaters that they are. (They’ll never win, but they’re not going down without a fight.)

Mephisto spends the entire time leading up to the day gathering trinkets and withholding them from you. Usually, if he sees something shiny, he brings it straight to you for wordless praise and chin scratches. You know right away what he’s up to. You pretend not to notice for his sake.

Your outfit is ready in less than a week, the cake is baked with all the flavors you enjoyed at the shop, and you couldn’t be happier.

Sylus can’t tear his eyes off of you when you finally reveal your custom attire. Throughout the night, he can’t stop telling you how amazing you look, encouraging you to have more outfits made for future events. The restaurant he chose has a balcony that you two sit on, staring out over a stretch of beach. The ocean breeze carries the bite of salt, refreshing you for the rest of the night ahead.

You tell Luke and Kieran you’ll be home before midnight, but you drag Sylus out to the beach and get sidetracked. He can’t stop smiling as he holds your shoes and watches you run out into the shallow waves. The moon shines on the soft waves behind you, bathing you in an ethereal glow. By the time you do get back to the mansion, your hair is windswept and you have sand everywhere, but you don’t mind at all.

The games are so fun. Luke says you’re cheating by sitting in Sylus’s lap during Kitty Cards, but you gesture for him to sit on Kieran’s lap while he plays. Sylus doesn’t assist you in the game at all; Kieran points out moves and subtly switches the cards in Luke’s hand for the ones hidden up his sleeve. They don’t win a single game.

The cake is beautiful, decorated to perfection and topped with a few candles. You stare at the cursive on top for a moment. When they sing you the song (even Sylus), he notices the distance in your eyes. He kisses the top of your head when the song is over to snap you out of it. You don’t actually make a wish when you blow out the little, flickering flames. There’s nothing you want, and lingering too long trying to figure a wish out only draws the memories of the old man closer to the forefront of your mind.

You cut the first slice. Sylus cuts the rest. He’s not big on sweet things, but he finishes his thin slice anyway. You savor every bite. It’s paradise in your mouth. He has to cut off the twins from having any more, lest they make themselves sick.

Each of them has a present for you. Well, Mephisto has several. He flies to and fro for a while, bringing you little trinkets and shiny things that all pile up on the table. You take the time to look at and admire each one, even sorting them into different groups based on what they are. You wind up with a humorous amount of bottle caps.

Luke gets you a new pair of handguns. Kieran gets you a harness with holsters to hold them in on missions. Sylus gives you a photo album, full of photos from the year you’ve spent together. You sit pressed into his side on the couch and flip through it, page by page. You can see yourself relaxing with each picture. Just a few days after you start working with Sylus, you offer the camera a mischievous smile that doesn’t reflect in your eyes. In the last photo, from a few days ago, you look like a different person; you smile without fear, your guard is let down. The person you were at the gala a year ago has finally found someone to trust.

As the night comes to a close, the twins wish you happy birthday once more before heading off to bed. The mess is left for someone else to deal with. Your presents sit on the table and wait to be put away as Sylus leads you up to what’s become your shared bedroom.

You’re positively glowing. It’s all Sylus can think as you both lay perpendicular over the blankets. Your head rests on his stomach, his fingers trail slowly through your hair, and in just a few hours, the sun will be rising. Yet here you are, too happy to sleep just yet. You want to bask in this feeling a little longer.

You understand now why Luke and Kieran were so enthusiastic, why all those kids from your childhood couldn’t bear the thought of waiting another year for their next birthday, why adults continue to celebrate. You can’t remember the last time you felt a joy like this. It feels all bubbly in your chest, almost surreal, as memories of things that happened just hours ago draw out dopey smiles and lingering giggles. Sylus’s eyes are impossibly soft as he takes you in.

You’re still in the outfit you wore to dinner. He’s still in his suit, sans his jacket. Two pairs of shoes are kicked off carelessly beside the bed. Nothing else matters except right here, right now, soaking in the final vestiges of the night.

He brushes his thumb along your cheek, drawing your eyes to look up at him, that sweet grin still dancing on your face. His fingertips trail featherlight along your jaw, tracing your chin and brushing at your lips. You reach up to hold his hand in place as you kiss his fingers, eyes closing in bliss as you leave pecks down each one, only to leave a lingering kiss to his palm. You look back up at him. He smiles.

“I have one last gift for you,” he says quietly, as if speaking any louder would shatter every window and mirror throughout the entire mansion.

You tilt your head, curiosity drawing your brows together in a silent question. Your smile stays the same. He shifts, helping you sit up so you’re side by side, just facing opposite directions. You watch as his Evol reaches out to the nightstand drawer, pulling out a box and placing it in his awaiting hand. He offers it to you with purpose.

It’s simple, but beautiful nonetheless. Carefully carved wood, rich in color, with a domed lid and rounded edges. It’s about the length of your palm, and no wider than three fingers. A red silk ribbon in a bow ties it together, preventing the hinged lid from being opened. You glance back up at him. He nods toward it.

The silk slips softly through your fingers as you tug on one end of the bow. The knot falls apart, and the ribbon slides onto your lap. You lift the lid and-

You look up at Sylus, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock. He smiles broadly at your reaction. You look back at the present, emotion bubbling up in your chest once more. It feels even more powerful than earlier. Your eyes burn, but you fight back the tears.

Two rings perch side by side within the velvet-lined box. Red jewels decorate golden bands, shimmering in the dim lighting of his bedroom. A matching set. This is far more than just a pair of earrings or cufflinks, this is…

The first tear falls. You hold the box to your chest as you lean toward Sylus. He meets you halfway, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. His broad chest shields you from the rest of the world, hiding the emotions you only allow him to see. Which is wonderful, because you feel so silly, crying over a present like this. He’s given you so much in your time together. Anything you could ever dream of and more - always more. Always trying to make sure you’re happy and comfortable. This is like him giving you the world. You can’t ask for anything greater than that.

“Read the engraving,” he whispers, gently pulling the box from your chest. He holds it while your shaky fingers, usually so steady and sure, pull the smaller ring from the cushion. It takes a minute to see, having to wipe your eyes several times to get rid of the steady flow of tears.

You are my new destiny.

You cover your mouth with your free hand, muffling the sounds that try to escape. It’s usually so easy to be quiet, even under the worst torture. It seems impossible to shut up now.

Sylus pulls your hand away from your mouth, abandoning the box on the bed next to you, and cupping your cheek to wipe away the tears. He kisses your forehead. “May I put it on you?”

You nod immediately. He takes the ring from your trembling fingers and holds your left hand. You watch, entranced, as he slips it onto your pinky. It fits perfectly. The red jewel glimmers, mirror Sylus’s eyes when you look up at him. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss over the ring.

You giggle, a soft and wet sound. You can feel his smile against your fingers. You’ve never felt so light before.

You turn to the box, using your free hand to carefully take out the larger ring. The band is a bit wider than yours, but the design holding the jewel in place is almost identical. You don’t need to ask or even gesture for him to give you his left hand; he offers it right away, still holding your left hand as he does. You slip the golden ring onto his pinky. Overcome with rapturous emotion, you hold his hand in both of yours and bring it to your lips, kissing the ring just as he had as a quiet, happy sob breeches your lips.

He wraps his arm around you, drawing you to rest against him, your joined hands resting over his erratic heart. His head is ducked down to rest against yours, kisses pressing over the crown of your head. His heart aches in the best way to be granted the opportunity to see you like this.

Your fingers play affectionately with his, thumbing over his ring and massaging his palm. When he returns the favor, brushing over your ring or gathering both of your hands in his just to hold them, you let out airy little laughs that burrow their way into his heart, where they will stay for the rest of time.

You use your right hand to finally wipe the last of your tears away, unwilling to let go of the bond that ties you together. You pull back just enough to look up at his face with a big, beaming grin. He leans his forehead against yours, your noses brushing against each other.

“I love you,” you whisper. It comes out crackly and hoarse, but it sounds like music to his ears.

“I love you, too,” he whispers back. “In every lifetime, I will find you. For the rest of eternity. Always.”

You tilt your chin up to capture his lips. It starts slow, a mere vessel for the vow he made, a seal that forces this change in fate he is creating. It doesn’t take long for it to grow hungry and desperate for each other. Not long at all until he’s cradling your neck, cold metal pressing against your skin, as he lowers you back into the bed, leaning his body over yours and supporting himself so all his weight isn’t crushing you.

“Happy birthday,” he breathes into your mouth, “my beloved.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter

[raviollies]

actually no im gonna yap

im trying SO HARD to gaslight myself into liking veilguard but so many narrative choices just make me scratch my head. I AM NOT DONE, I currently gotta go to Weisshaupt.

I'll start with things I like so far:

1. I think the game is really pretty and I like the puzzles :) Antiva is GORGEOUS, I think one of the prettiest areas in the entire series.

2. I really like the Minrathous/Treviso choice. More of that please! some actual drama and consequence!

3. Assan is adorable and I cannot walk past without petting him. I didn't anticipate myself liking Davrin so much since I'm usually drawn to magic babies over warriors, but he's probably my favourite alongside Bellara. I think him having left his clan is very interesting narrative choice (I am totally not biased considering it's very similar to Daee's story)

4. Thank you lord almighty for the wardrobe/mirror system. Godbless.

5. Everytime Lucanis speaks I think of Puss in Boots and that brings me great joy. Whimsy even.

6. When you place Tevinter decor in the lighthouse, they have a Hookah right beside a fresco of Solas killing Mythal and that is mind bogglingly hilarious. I do love that the Shadow dragons know how to unwind. We're turning up after fighting for elf rights.

7. Solas surviving entirely on meat, raisins and honey feels very r/malelivingspace

Things I am Not Liking So Far

1.Minrathous feels utterly toothless. Its described as terrible, den of slavery, conversion therapy through blood magic, treatment of elves being terrible - yet we walk around unimpeded. I expected a similar experience as the Winter Palace, or fights that could be avoided if playing as a human.

LAVELLAN is introduced in the TEVINTER TAVERN, wearing TEVINTER CLOTHING, like it doesn't...make much sense to me? Inquisition set up the cross roads with Morrigan AND the Inquisitior, it feels like it would have made much more sense narratively not just from..."I am the fucking Inquisitor In Fucking Minrathous" but "Solas and the crossroads are a vital connecting point of these characters story."

Speaking of Inquisitor, wildly bizarre to me that neither Solas nor Varric comment on you meeting them. Solas has a weird painting of the Inquisitor chair, but you meet the mf face to face and he just does't acknowledge it. I am not a Solavellan player but I felt Really Bad For Them In That Moment.

I think a good moment of comparison is the difference in tone of DAI and DATV...When we find out the orb is elven in DAI, Solas warns us to keep it to ourselves, with Lavellan even remaking that the world will blame us for Corypheus. In DATV, we inform everyone that Elven gods are attacking, and there's no thought or conversation about the impacts of that on Elves in society. The only one to mention it is Davrin way after we've been spilling the beans left and right.

2. I'm not done the story but hey has anyone mentioned we haven't fought a single Fen'Harel agent, what's up with that... I expected to be fighting Elves based on the epilogue in Tresspasser but ?? ???

3. I'm sorry I HATE THEM DISREGARDING THE WELL OF SORROWS IN FAVOUR OF MORRIGAN WHEN SOLAS MAKES A HUGE DEAL OF YOU BEING TIED TO MYTHAL IF YOU DRANK FROM THE WELL. Oh sorry, if it was unimportant then why the fuck did you go on a monologue about how you're "her creature" and connected to her. It felt like a retcon of the importance placed on it in Inquisition and how much of a deal both Solas AND Morrigan make about it. I'm sorry picking a ROMANCE was more important than acknowledging THIS?? ? ??

"But Ravie, they can't account for Inquisitors personality and making them important would piss people off" then just kill them off. If they're set on Morrigan carrying this piece of narrative, I would have written the Inquisitor off the table before the choice becomes relevant. Have them help you in the ritual at the start of the game and die. I feel similarly about Varric, because he feels like the writers stuffed him in the closet to not talk which just...JUST KILL HIM. Its better than being relegated to furniture!!!!

3. Speaking of Morrigan why the hell is so nice. This is not my beautiful mean witch wife. In fact everyone is nice. Even hardened Lucanis has been polite to me.

4. I HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH ROOK. I profoundly hate starting off friends with Varric (and him getting shelved like what was the point). It ruins a lot of initial RP for character establishment, because it limits how the player character FEELs about the whole thing, your motivations are GIVEN to you. Furthermore, it feels like rook HAS an established character. I don't feel like I got to play my rook, just say things slightly differently based on an already established character. I dont feel like I am roleplaying a custom character, just as Biowares stand in protagonist. Maybe I'm just spoiled by the level of interaction that BG3 provided me.

The opening sequence is bizarre to me, because IF I MAKING THE STORY....I would have had the introductory quests for each of the companions be the first quest based on the faction you select (Shadow dragons with Neve, Mournwatch with Emmerich, Crows with Lucanis etc. etc.) That way you establish your character based on the faction and immediately get a little tutorial on what kind of character you're going to be playing. I would even keep the introductory quests the same with minor dialogue tweaks. The ritual would come after the tutorial prologue mission and then you start with Harding and the companion you got introduced with, since the order you get them...really doesn't matter or impact anything.

5. I think the Venatori and Antaam following Elven Mage Gods is kinda dumb. Sorry. I thought they both looked down on them for being either Elves or Mages/didn't even acknowledge them. What the hell is their goal anyway

My criticisms comes down to...I don't know what themes the game is trying to tackle? The game SAYS things but doesn't actually do anything with these topics. Minrathous HAS a slavery problem but we don't see it. Treviso is ruled by a faction of assassins but it's like a good thing! Elven gods are responsible for everything wrong in the world, but the narrative implications of what that means for modern elves are acknowledged in passing like acknowledging the weather. The game feels hesitant to actually unpack any of these things despite being the one to put them on the table.

Anyway I am going to finish the game and probably play on Daee with a Solavellan Inquisitor to see if that improves my experience by picking a character who is more tailored to the Rook they portray/not having an emotional connection to the Inky, but atm...Man I Had Hopes. Made me feel stupid for getting so hyped up for a conclusion to a story arc for a character THEY SPECIFICALLY LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOR A DECADE. I'll just draw art, lie face down in the ground and imagine a more narratively satisfying conclusion to my Inquisitors story.

[666writingcafe]

Wrath

A Text Conversation Between Satan and MC

Satan: You don't have to worry about my transition affecting you. As it turns out, the bulk of it occurred before you were even introduced to us.

Satan: Part of why this is even happening is because the others were once angels, so it's taking their bodies longer to adjust to their new form.

Satan: Meanwhile, this is all I've ever been, so it's a bit easier for me to accept who I am.

MC: I appreciate you telling me this. I sure could use the break from experiencing everyone's sin.

Satan: I bet. You must be exhausted.

MC: *nodding crow sticker*

MC: Can I ask you a personal question?

Satan: As long as you're prepared for the fact that I may not answer.

MC: Fair enough.

MC: What was your biggest fear?

Satan: During that time?

MC: *nodding crow sticker*

Satan: Being reduced to a mere shadow of Lucifer. I started as a feeling inside him. The more he felt it, the stronger I became. The war and consequent fall caused me to separate from him.

Satan: For the longest time, my mind was a wasteland. I had to separate my identity from Lucifer's, which was quite frustrating, to say the least. I know there will always be similarities between us, but it's taken me a while to find any substantial differences. I've had to force some to form in order to gain some semblance of self.

MC: How did you overcome it?

Satan: By listening to you.

Satan: When you summoned that ball of light, it was the first time I've truly been calm. The longer I held the light in my hands, the more I could discern its whispering. It was your voice comforting me. It was soothing.

Satan: But it also felt familiar.

Satan: Which brings me to my next point.

Satan: I know who you really are, MC.

MC: *eek sticker*

MC: *eek sticker*

MC: *eek sticker*

Satan: It's okay. I'm not upset. I understand why you had to keep your true identity a secret. I wouldn't have even found out if it wasn't for Lord Diavolo and Barbatos.

MC: WHAT????

Satan: Don't worry; they didn't tell me outright. I just happened to be in the castle library when they walked in and began talking about you. If they knew I was in the room with them, I doubt they would have said anything about it until I left, but I was tucked in a corner behind a couple bookshelves, so they couldn't have seen me without purposely looking for me.

MC: *face-palming crow sticker*

MC: You REALLY weren't supposed to find out, but it's not like I can do anything to change it.

MC: So, tell me what you overheard them say about me.

Satan: I know you come from a future timeline. The prince apparently had told Barbatos to try to find your version of the butler and get some answers from him about why all this has been happening to you. They've really been worried about you and want to do everything in their power to help you.

MC: I imagine my Barbatos was selective about what he shared.

Satan: *nodding crow sticker*

Satan: He mentioned that back home, you're a human that managed to form pacts with all seven of us and that a large part of your power became tied to your emotions as a result.

Satan: He also seems to believe you were sent here to experience each of our transformations firsthand so that you can help someone go through their own.

Satan: Obviously, he didn't reveal who that person was, but both my Diavolo and Barbatos felt like that would have been unnecessary information, for they've observed someone begin acting differently during your stay here.

MC: Oh?

Satan: Apparently, he trapped you in a closet at some point?

MC: Shit.

Satan: So it IS him, then?

MC: Yes.

Satan: The only memories I have of him prior to him visiting us for the founding ceremony are hazy and through Lucifer's eyes, but I've always gotten the sense he's not been particularly happy about where he's at.

Satan: I just didn't think he'd have the guts to do anything to wildly change his circumstances. He seems too devoted to the little one to just pack his things and leave it all behind.

MC: I don't think he did when we first met.

Satan: Are you able to tell me what changed, or would that be revealing too much information?

MC: I can give you the simple answer and let you fill in the blanks.

Satan: *thumbs up emoji*

MC: He developed strong feelings for me.

Satan: But you're a human.

MC: Yes.

Satan: And he's an angel.

MC: At the time, yes.

Satan: Wait a damn minute.

Satan: Did he seriously FALL for you?!

MC: Not quite. He was still an angel when I left, but he'd made some choices beforehand that pretty much sealed his fate. I just don't know what exactly he'll be when I return.

Satan: Well, judging by the way they're saying he's currently acting here, I'd say he's gearing up to be YOURS.

Satan: And I'm not trying to be sappy. I'm being completely serious.

MC: I don't doubt it.

Satan: When he believed everyone was out of the room when you and Asmo were passed out, he was right by your side, watching over you.

Satan: According to Barbatos, he even held your hand and kissed you on the forehead before he eventually got up and left.

Satan: Angels don't typically act that way towards demons. Even with Diavolo's efforts to make peace with the Celestial Realm, they tend to act rather hostile whenever they're around us for more than a few seconds.

MC: I know.

Satan: I'll let you get some rest. You'll need it

Satan: And don't worry; your secret is safe with me.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @budbuddnbuddy

[rheanyraaaa]

Water Lilly (Part 2)

Robb Stark x Frey!Reader (F)

Enemies To Lovers

Summary: Y/N Frey, is the youngest daughter of Walder Frey, here she converses with her newly wed Husband and learns her place as his wife and what she believes is a burden.

note: i’m mostly building for now, introducing you to OC’s and now we have proper conversations w Robb.

edit: lmao forgot i was writing an enemies to lovers. dw enemies will be more prevalent.

——————————————————————————-

The tent walls flapped with the bitter wind as Y/N sat alone in her quarters, huddled under furs. Outside, the camp bustled with activity; soldiers shouted orders, horses’ hooves stamped against frozen ground, and the clanging of swords echoed under a dim, cloudy sky. Robb’s army had pitched camp farther south, closer to the front lines, and the distant drums of war thrummed in the air. Yet within her tent, there was only the stillness, heavy as stone.

A month into this marriage, and she was still a stranger to her husband. They exchanged polite greetings when they crossed paths the occasional nod, a formal “Good morning, my lady,” or a brief “Sleep well” but those words felt thin, like brittle ice that would shatter under any real weight. Robb spent most of his time with the troops, strategizing and commanding. Or with Talisa.

The knowledge of his mistress had stung more than you cared to admit. Talisa Maegyr, the beautiful healer from Volantis, had captivated him from the first day. Word of Robb’s infidelity swept through camp like wildfire, as gossip does, leaving Irene feeling raw and humiliated. Robb’s nights were spent not in her tent, but in Talisa’s, the two of them wrapped in a warmth and intimacy that he’d offer only a glimpse off during your bedding ceremony.

You took a slow breath, pressing a hand to your stomach. You hadn’t felt well for days, your body unsteady, your appetite faint, but it had only been that morning that she recognized what the faint ache in her stomach truly meant. She was carrying Robb’s child their child, and a quick trip with the Maester confirmed all suspicions.

A swell of fear rose within you, twisting with sorrow. She was alone, and Robb Stark did not love you. And now you would have a child, an heir to the North, though you had never felt so far from it. The world outside was dangerous and bloody, and you had no certainty that Robb would even care to claim the child they had created together.

A sound at the entrance broke Y/N’s thoughts. Her guard, Ser Alec, stepped inside, his tanned face etched with concern as he regarded her. He was a tall, steady presence, his dark Dorneish eyes sharp and warm with familiarity. Alec had been by her side since her childhood, always a loyal protector and one of the few friends she truly had left.

“My lady,” he said, bowing his head slightly, “you look… troubled. Are you well?”

You force a small smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Alec, I’ve been better.”

He steps closer, his gaze softening, the warmth in his eyes the closest thing to comfort you’ve felt in weeks. “Tell me,” he says gently.

Your breath trembles as you meet his gaze, and words begin to spill out, unbidden and raw. “I feel… alone here. Trapped, really.” You draw in a sharp breath, pressing a hand to your stomach almost without thinking. “I’ve found myself with child, Alec.”

His expression flickers with surprise, then with understanding, a deep compassion softening the sharp edges of his face. “A child?” he murmurs. He reaches out, hesitates, then gently takes your hand. “That’s wonderful news, my lady,” he says, though you can see the worry flickering in his eyes.

“It is,” you whisper, trying to hold back the wave of conflicting emotions. “And yet, I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. Robb barely acknowledges me. He lies in Talisa’s bed every night as if I were nothing more than… than a treaty.” You feel your voice falter, and you close your eyes, willing yourself to stay composed. “How am I meant to raise a child when its father is… is barely even mine?”

Ser Alec’s face darkens, his mouth tightening. “He is a fool, my lady. A fool to treat you like this. You deserve more than cold greetings and a hollow bed.”

You glance down, hiding the blush that rises in your cheeks. Ser Alec’s words have always been kind. When you look back up, he’s still holding your hand, his expression a mixture of concern and fierce loyalty.

“Thank you, Alec,” you whisper, voice catching. He is something solid in a world of chaos. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Just then, a sharp voice cuts through the quiet of the tent. “Am I interrupting?”

You both turn to find Robb standing in the entrance, his gaze icy and unreadable, taking in the scene with a slight clench to his jaw. You quickly pull your hand back from Alec’s, stepping back.

Alec bows his head to Robb, stepping away from you but keeping his posture respectful. “My lord,” he says, voice calm but cool. “I was only ensuring the lady’s well-being.”

“Thank you, Ser Alec,” Robb says, his tone laced with an edge. “I can take care of my wife from here.”

Alec’s eyes meet yours, a question lingering there, as if asking whether you truly wish to be left alone. But you nod faintly, trying to reassure him even as unease twists within you. With a stiff bow, Alec murmurs, “My lady,” before stepping past Robb and out of the tent, leaving you alone with your husband.

For a moment, there’s only silence between you and Robb, the tension thick as frost on a winter morning. He doesn’t approach you immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, his mouth set in a hard line.

After a moment, he breaks the silence, his tone cold and laced with a hint of accusation. “You seem… well-guarded,” he says, the words sharp enough to sting. “I hope Ser Alec isn’t needed for more than what’s expected of him.”

You take a slow, steadying breath, willing yourself not to snap. “Alec has been with me since I was a child,” you reply, your voice soft but firm. “He’s my friend, Robb. Nothing more.”

Robb nods, but the jealousy remains evident in the hard lines of his expression. The silence stretches again, heavy and uncomfortable, until you feel the weight of the words you must say pressing on you, desperate to be released.

“Robb…” You hesitate, unsure how he will take the news. But this is not something you can keep to yourself, nor something you should. “I’m with child.”

His face shifts, a flicker of surprise breaking through his cold exterior, followed quickly by something softer, almost hesitant. The hardness in his gaze melts as he processes the news, and he swallows, his jaw relaxing. Slowly, the hint of a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, tentative, almost vulnerable.

“A child?” he echoes, his voice quiet, as though testing the word on his tongue.

You nod, and for a brief moment, you see the young man beneath the weight of command, the boy who perhaps dreamed of family, of something beyond the battlefield. He steps forward, his hand hovering near your stomach as though he’s unsure if he should touch you.

When you nod again, he gently places his hand on your belly, the warmth of his palm sinking through the fabric of your gown. His gaze softens further, his fingers resting lightly, reverently, as if afraid the slightest pressure would break the fragile moment.

“A son… or a daughter,” he says quietly, his voice edged with wonder. “Ours.”

You watch him, studying the flickers of emotion crossing his face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this unguarded, stripped of the command and the anger, and for a heartbeat, you feel a swell of hope. Perhaps this child could be a bridge between you, a chance to bring you closer to him, to soften the wall that’s grown between you since the day you wed.

But as quickly as it appeared, his expression fades, and the coldness slips back over him like a familiar cloak. He removes his hand, his face hardening with the weight of duty and the responsibilities that loom over him.

“You’ll be well cared for, of course,” he says, stepping back and folding his arms. “Anything you need, you’ll have it.”

A pang of disappointment settles in your chest, but you manage a nod. “Thank you, my lord.”

He lingers a moment longer, as if wanting to say more, but then turns sharply and strides toward the tent’s exit. Just before he leaves, he glances back, his expression caught somewhere between duty and regret.

“Rest well, Irene,” he murmurs, his voice gentler than before. Then, without another word, he’s gone, leaving you alone once again, with only the ghost of his touch on your belly and the faint hope that someday he might see you as something more than his silent bride.

——————————————————————————-

Tags!!! (Tell me if you want to be tagged)

@samieree @maysileeewrites

[leggerefiore]

cw: Short drabble, comedy mostly,

pairing: Emmet/Reader

A funny idea popped into your head as you watched the twins work. Both seemed completely lost in their tasks, so you opted to strike while they were least expecting it. Calling out to them, you managed to get Ingo to turn his head toward you and question what you needed. Emmet kept focused on the paperwork on his desk, likely exhausted of filling out an injury report. It seemed despite his constant reminder to check safety, some decided to ignore his heeding.

“Are you guys twins or something?” you questioned them. Ingo's expression shifted instantly to something completely unamused, while Emmet whipped his head up to look at you in bewilderment. Neither seemed to take your words well. Yet, you still got a laugh out Ingo's sigh and shake of his head.

“Of course not, we are simply two men who happen to look identical and share parents,” he replied, giving a rare bout of sarcasm, “… Quite strange, isn't it? That us identical strangers would find ourselves sharing an apartment and job. You would truly almost think us related, no?” Emmet gasped out at Ingo's words. You found your laughter strengthened. What a concept! A world where they were not twins. It seemed truly impossible with how much of themselves they had based on their bond as brothers and twins.

“Mhm, yep! Verrrry odd, indeed!” Emmet agreed to play along, “My stranger seems to think he is my older brother. It can be annoying when he orders me around.” Ingo shot a look at him. The younger twin only gave an unyielding smile in return. The older one of the two crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze. A dangerous look. Of course, only if one did not know what a softie Ingo was under it all. Of which, you and Emmet did. A head tilt was Emmet's only reply. The two were clearly having one their wordless conversations. You felt a bit left out.

“Well, I apologise but I'm only interested in twins, so I'll be going now,” you continued. Emmet looked at you before rushing over to catch you. Ingo appeared mortified by his younger brother's actions. You laughed more as he clung to you tightly. Eelektross truly did suit the man.

“That's mean, darling,” he whined, “… Me and Ingo are verrrrry close. Why ask such an odd question?” You leaned into his embrace, enjoying his hold quite a bit.

“… I don't know. Haven't you seen those theories online that you two aren't twins?” you recalled some insane conspiracy theories about the two. Emmet tilted his head. Ingo seemed shocked.

“Are you saying…” Ingo began.

“… People think we aren't twins?” Emmet finished, letting you go to pull out his phone. He began to type in the theory. Ingo took off his hat and scratched his head.

“… That is certainly a first…” The older one already sounded exhausted by the concept, “I cannot recall a time in our lives where that was not the first thing someone noticed. We don't exactly hide it…” They really did not. Matching outfits were extremely common with the two. They even attempted to mimic each other to eerie success. Emmet gasped at his phone.

“I am not a Ditto!” he was deeply offended, “Rude! Brother, look at this!” The phone was jousted toward Ingo, who took it from his hands. He then had a similar reaction to his twin.

“Why are they all theories about you not being human? That is so oddly cruel,” he put the phone down and shook his head. “… Assuredly, you must know better than this,” Ingo gazed at you seriously. You nodded. Really… You loved Emmet. That would be the furthest thought from your mind. Both relaxed at that and let themselves settle back into their work, Emmet returning to his desk.

“I do buy the clone theory, though,” you said before heading out the door.

Each looked offended once again.

Later on, you explained that one of them was technically a genetic clone of the other considering how identical twins worked.

They had to relent to that one, unfortunately. Yet, this brought a debate over who was the “clone.”

[lqveharrington]

Golden Snitch | R.L.

summary: you convince remus to dress up together and everyone LOVES the costumes

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

includes: underage drinking, cursing, kissing, Sirius and reader behaving like siblings, overall fluff

a/n: poll is releasing tmr to vote for this or the draco one!

Although Remus wasn’t big on dressing up for Halloween, you absolutely adored it. Since your childhood, you always looked forward to the holiday and the tacky outfits from the spirit store down the street. Since Remus’ childhood, the holiday only reminded him that everyone found werewolves terrifying as death itself.

But you made sure to change all his horrid memories to good ones the second you met.

Over the years, you slowly coaxed Remus into dressing up and having fun on Halloween, especially when his best friends threw the Gryffindor party every year. When you began dating, the costumes you made him wear became couple costumes. Some of your favorites being Phantom of the Opera, Beauty and the Beast, and The Great Gatsby.

This year — your final year at Hogwarts — you wanted to wear something that would be talked about for years. You wanted something so spectacular that it would be remembered. Luckily, you had just the couples costume in mind.

“Remind me again, why do you need a quidditch uniform?” James threw a curious look to Remus who was currently reading Little Women, a book you made him read for entertainment purposes. “If you’re telling me you’re joining the quidditch team during your last year, I’ll go bloody mad.”

“I’m not.” Remus flicked the page and sipped on his tea beside him, glancing at James from the corner of his eye. “Just need to borrow one.”

Remus, James, and Sirius have gone through this dance about ten times. Each one ending in the talk of the latest play before James sobered up and asked about the uniform again. It was a never ending cycle of bickering.

Sirius threw a crumpled piece of plastic at Remus’ head as the painting opened up, earning a loud sigh from the boy himself. “Yeah, but why do you need to borrow one?”

“Don’t throw stuff at Remus, Black.” You huff and make your way over to the trio, flashing your loving boyfriend a smile as his hand made their way to your hip. “What did they do this time?”

“Why are you assuming we did something?”

“Yeah, we’re saints!” Sirius dropped down on the couch beside Remus, sending you an oh-so innocent smile.

You roll your eyes at him and flash him your favorite finger, “Says the devil himself.”

“Hey—!”

“They were asking why I needed a quidditch uniform.” Remus cut Sirius off before you two could argue for the nth time.

It was like you two were always fighting over him — which he had to admit — was funny to see unfold each time. Remus laced his other hand with yours and returned your attention back to him, thumb rubbing your pulse point.

“How’s your thing going?” He murmured when you sat beside him and rested your head on his shoulder, shifting his body to block Sirius from your sight.

You shrug, “Lily and I have been working on it. We’ll be done even before the holiday.”

“You two are so ominous, I don’t like it.” James shuddered, which earned a glare from you and an eye roll from Remus. “What? It’s obvious you two are planning something and not telling us.”

“Okay, well, I’m done with this conversation.” You sighed and pressed a quick kiss to Remus’ lips, looking like the love sick fool that you were. “I love you, and I’ll see you in a bit.”

You made quick steps up the girls’ dorm after Remus reciprocated the notion and left the three boys back to their dwelling.

“Why does she hate us and love you?” Sirius grumbled and popped a jelly bean into his mouth, grimacing at the flavor and spitting it out.

“Maybe because she’s dating him and not us?” James threw him an annoyed look.

Remus blocked out their bickering and went back to reading. He loved you and you loved him, and that’s all he needed to know. Besides, it was the boys who practically begged him to ask you out since first year. They knew he was smitten with you the second you both met on the train.

Eventually, James did lend Remus an unused quidditch uniform while you and Lily finished your costume for Halloween. The only thing left to do was perfect the actual look and win the couples contest.

“Hell, are you dressing up as one of our quidditch players for Halloween?” Sirius raised his brows in surprise as Remus shuffled out of the bathroom with said uniform on. “Which Gryffindor did you dress up as?”

“No one.” Remus replied in a bored manner and adjusted the leather gloves he had on. “I’m just a quidditch player.”

“Uh-huh. So you definitely didn’t dress as Prongs or I?”

“No.”

Sirius gave him an unimpressed look and shrugged on his vest for his Indiana Jones costume. “Whatever you say… Anyway, Prongs and the rest of them are already down there and I’m not waiting for you any longer if you’re going to gel your hair back.”

“Yeah, I’m going.” He grumbled and adjusted his uniform before following Sirius down the stairs and into the ongoing Halloween party.

The red lights flickered about as the music practically shook the entire room. Remus scanned the vicinity for you, struggling until Sirius almost dropped dead at the sight of you. It was the same reaction everyone had to seeing you dressed in… That.

“Holy fuck. Your girlfriend is wearing the shortest dress in existence.” Sirius gaped and earned a smack to the head from Remus.

Remus watched you dance and jump with Lily, eyes shining bright with joy when they met his. You beamed so bright and almost elbowed everyone in your way to make it to him. He caught you in his arms as you kissed him senseless, hands coming to rest on his cheeks.

“Hey, dovey.” He finally spoke when you both parted for air, thumbing your jaw softly. “You look absolutely stunning in gold.”

“Of course, I do, Rem! I’m a Gryffindor!” You laugh and eyes his outfit like he was a three course meal. “It’s interesting seeing you dressed in quidditch robes for the first time.”

“Yeah?” He continued to thumb your jaw in a doting manner. “Well if I did play, I plan on you being the snitch every game. I wouldn’t play otherwise.”

You tilt your head and meet his eyes with so much love. Now that you and Remus were standing together, your costumes made so much sense. It wasn’t just a quidditch player and a golden fairy, it was a seeker and the golden snitch. Sirius looked between the both of you before gasping and clapping his hands in realization, those around you looking over as well.

“Aren’t you two the cutest pair!” He gushed and pinched Remus’ cheek at the revelation.

Smacking Sirius’ hand away, you rested your chin on Remus’s shoulder to prevent him from doing such thing again. Remus laughed at you two and rubbed your back.

“You know, Marlene is looking for you, Siri.” You practically shout over the loud music.

“Is she?” He perked up at the mention of the girl he had been talking to recently. “Well then… I will catch up with you two later.”

You waited a little longer before laughing loudly at your own doing. Was Marlene really looking for him? No, but Sirius was always there whenever you wanted to be alone with Remus. Before you could stop laughing, Remus swatted your ass playfully in response to the poor prank.

“Hey—!” You pout jokingly, laughing again when Remus shook his head at you with an upturned smile.

As the night carried on, the crowd grew bigger, the music louder, and the drinks more alcoholic. It got to the point where you and Remus were too drunk to be the responsible ones in the group. Oddly enough, you both drank more than anyone else in the group.

However, you both won the couples costume contest and — for some reason no one could explain the next day — you decided to give a speech to the mass of Gryffindors in the common room about winning the contest. It wasn’t your proudest moment, but it was your last year.

Clambering on top of the wooden tables, you stumbled over your own legs as Remus tried to stabilize you. Lily, who was the responsible one for the night, rubbed her forehead in exasperation. She didn’t want to necessarily stop you. You were a whiny drunk, and it would be impossible to stop you from something you wanted to do.

“Wait wait — hiccup — I would like to thank the committee,” You hold your red cup close to your chest, your cheeks almost as bright as the cup. “Lily Evans — hiccup — the quidditch team, and my ever so loving boyfriend — hiccup — for making this all possible!” You throw your arms in the air, earning cheers from the crowd.

“What committee?” Sirius looked at Lily with a confused look, pointing between him and James. “Us?”

She shrugged and watched you jump down from the table, snickering when Remus nearly had a heart attack from your way of getting down. She made sure you both were okay before returning to James’ side, pointing you both out to him.

“You’re gonna be the — hiccup — death of me.” Remus tucked his head in between your neck and shoulder, nudging his nose on your exposed skin. “Don’t do that.”

“M’sorry.” You giggle and stumble slightly at the weight being put on you. “You baby.”

He kissed your cheek, “No.”

“Yeah.”

“No.” He dragged you over to the dormitory stairs. “Hi.”

You giggle and trace the scars on his face, “Hey.”

“You’re cute.” He melted into your hands and pecked your palm. “Really really cute.”

“You wanna know a secret, Rem?” You murmur and hiccup when he tugged you impossibly closer. “I promise it’s really cool.”

“What is it?” He pressed kisses everywhere he could, putting more attention to your lips.

“I love you.” You whisper against his lips and fully kiss him, the taste of firewhisky strong. “So much.”

He smiled into the kiss and parted briefly, thumbing your lip. “You want to know my secret, dovey?”

“What?” You look up and meet the hazel eyes you’ve come to love.

“I love you more.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[haikyu-mp4]

Taking it slow

Your daughter visits your boyfriend Hoshiumi at work, for my Parenting event<3

requested by @karltheunipug. word count; 500 – f!reader

You fumbled with your bag, checking that you had everything when you realised there was one box too many in there. Right, you made a bento for Hoshiumi before he left this morning. Your boyfriend slept over now and then, and since you would already be up early with your toddler, you thought it’d be nice to make him a healthy lunch.

But alas, he accidentally left it on the counter.

Considering it for a minute or two while you changed your toddler into outside wear, you decided to visit Hoshiumi’s workplace on your way out.

With the kid on your hip and your bag left in the car, you entered the gym cautiously. “Korai?”

A head of white hair seemed to perk up at the sound of your voice, and his face whipped towards you with furrowed eyebrows. Your baby girl saw him and squealed happily, holding her hands out towards him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, jogging over to you and patting the little girl’s head.

“You forgot your lunch,” you informed him, holding up the bento for him with the arm that wasn’t holding the baby.

You jumped in surprise when a tall figure silently crept up beside you, pointing a finger at the toddler who grabbed said finger in curiosity. “Did Hoshiumi make her?” he asked you, making said man squeak in embarrassment.

“Bakayama, you can’t just ask about that!” he scolded, pushing the setter away only to realise your toddler had him in a vice grip.

“She does not look like a seagull,” he noted again, which finally had you cracking a laugh at the increasing level of horror on Hoshiumi’s face.

“She’s not mine,” he finally concluded. “It’s my girlfriend’s baby.”

“So she will be your stepdaughter when you get married?” Kageyama, as you gathered from watching some games, asked. You observed the conversation and let Hoshiumi explain. Hadn’t Hoshiumi been flustered enough for the both of you, you might have been more affected by the insinuation of marriage.

“I’ve had enough of you. Look, a ball!” your boyfriend said, picking up a stray ball and spiking it into the gym for him to chase. Luckily, your daughter had let go of his finger, because said distraction worked.

Your boyfriend finally turned back to you, and you lifted a hand to stroke your thumb over one of his red cheeks. “I like your teammates,” you told him. “But we have to go. Will you come over for dinner later?”

Hoshiumi pecked your lips, then left a light kiss on your toddler’s forehead as well. “We might go overtime today, but I’ll let you know. Thank you for the bento!”

“Gotcha! Keep working hard, baby!”

“You got it, babe!” he agreed, giving your butt a little pat as you exited.

The taste of marriage wasn’t so bad on his tongue, but you agreed to take things slow. He didn’t need to be the official stepdad to be there for the two of you.

masterlist

for the requester: thank you for requesting, I always love a good Hoshiumi fic<3