#this ended up being a color study really lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lu-dao-writes · 4 months

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— 𝐀 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐎𝐟 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 (𝘼𝙡𝙥𝙝𝙖!𝘾𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙤 𝙆𝙖𝙢𝙤)

꒰ྀི ᥫ᭡ 𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 Despite being semi aware of his and his siblings existence, that’s all he knows. Choso not only has to navigate being fully alive, but he has to understand his role as the older brother, and understand his role as an alpha.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) Omegaverse/ABO dynamics, SPOILERS, scenting, nesting, Kenjaku and him being a questionable dad, Mahito being… himself really, mentions of sex/ heats and ruts, mentions of porn watching, gn!reader, reader is Gojo’s sibling (you decide if biological or not), reader’s dynamic is not specified but hinted you’re either an alpha or omega, angst, bittersweet ending, vague threat alluding to sa not made by Choso but Kenjaku, grief.

𝘼/𝙉 It’s finally here (on my tumblr anyway lol)! This is more of a character study for Choso that I wanted to do, and because I also wanted to do an omegaverse piece. Reader and Choso interact later down the line, and the last bit is just the Reader’s perspective. Not too confident with the last bit but I’m ready to be done lol. Idk if I should have the minors dni warning cause there’s nothing super explicit here, but I’d say this is probably for a mature audience? I’ll be lenient but I’d rather not see a 13 year old like this🤣. But I hope y’all enjoy this! Also thank you for your patience!𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ꒱ྀི

꒰ྀི𝙒𝘾: 5,232 ꒱ྀི

꒰ྀི 𝙏𝙖𝙜(𝙨) 🏷️ ꒱ྀི @staygoldsquatchling02

THE first breath of life is usually a special, momentous moment.

Sometimes it’s the start of a miserable existence where a soul must struggle before finding the sweet taste of… Whatever it is.

But for Chōsō, it’s more disorienting than anything, and the main thing on his mind is his family.

Chōsō and the rest of his siblings have been aware of each other, almost as if they’re connected by a mind link, but there’s no words to be said nor heard. It’s just a faint thrumming, almost like the thin strands of a spider's web being plucked.

The death painting cared not for anything else outside of his siblings.

That is until he had to when he took his first official breath.

Chōsō awakens to two people in front of him; two men with various smiles plastered on their faces. One a mild smile with slight interest in his eyes with ink black hair cascaded down past his shoulders, a scar across his forehead and dressed in some traditional getup.

And the other has giddy, dual colored eyes seemingly bright with.. Something that makes him feel a bit uncomfortable. He’s got dull blue hair and stitches in various spots on his body.

After briefly studying their appearance, scents infiltrate his nose. A wave of multiple things and so overwhelmingly strong that it makes his skin itch and belly clench.

On one hand there’s a mix of spicy, and smoky with hints of sweetness, and on the other hand it’s sour and bittersweet.

Chōsō covers his nose before becoming slightly infatuated with his new appendage. Too pale skin with a few bulging veins. He wiggles his fingers before a voice finally speaks up.

“You’re finally awake, Chōsō,” the dark haired man speaks, his voice giving Chōsō the feeling like something creeps up his spine, but he’s not sure if it’s a pleasant feeling or something dreadful.

Chōsō blinks at him cluelessly, purple eyes mirroring each other as they look at one another, but eventually Chōsō can see a hint of delight in the others eyes, but his face remains composed.

The man with the stitches giggles, the sound being higher pitched compared to the ink haired man.

Chōsō looks at the other with a bit of confusion.

“Ignore him, but I’ll cut to the chase. Your name is Chōsō and you are the oldest of 9 siblings.”

Chōsō finds himself nodding, being aware of this knowledge, but he does not interrupt him.

“Behind you are Esō and Kechizu.”

Chōsō whips his head around, his heart swelling as he watches the vessels slowly morph until they’re at their final shape.

His beloved younger brothers…

The reasons for him to strive to be the best role model and pave the right path for them and them alone, no matter the mistakes he’s bound to make.

His responsibility…

“You are responsible for them and each other,” the man continued from behind him.

The man with dual colored eyes wanders closer, crouching down near Esō and Kechizu. He reaches out and pokes at them carelessly, the action infuriating Chōsō to a high degree. He acts before he could comprehend what he's doing, his hand smacking the other’s away and a rancorous snarl spilling from within his throat, startling himself. His eyes are wide and he touches his throat, the pad of his middle, ring, and index fingers pressing at his Adam’s apple.

The man that was prodding at his brothers only cackles. “Oh, he didn’t like that!”

“Mahito, I suggest not testing him too much. He’s an alpha that doesn’t know how to control himself, and I certainly won’t help if you get hurt because you couldn’t stop running your mouth,” the other man warns, not sounding concerned in the slightest.

The unserious man, Mahito, scoffs. “Oh please, Getō, I’m not scared of some untrained alpha mutt.”

Chōsō is left even more confused, but he’s not insulted, instead he focuses on hovering over his brothers, not wanting Mahito to touch them again.

Now that he’s more present, he can tell who’s smell is who. Mahito’s is the one that smells sour and bittersweet, while Getō is the smoky, sweet and spicy one. It’s still overwhelming to smell them both, the urge to snap at both of them was strong, but he was not going to break composure again unless necessary.

Esō and Kechizu’s scents were slowly coming to life, their scents not being bothersome to Chōsō.

Esō smells faintly of something soft, floral, and sweet, but underneath that it’s death.

And Kechizu’s scent is earthy, metallic, and also smells of death underneath it all, but his scent is not as strong as everyone else’s.

They’re perfect in his eyes.

Chōsō holds their hands as they wake up, his gaze almost blank but there’s a touch of softness there in those dark purple eyes of his.

“Hello younger brothers,” he greets, his voice dull while his hands hold theirs tenderly.

“You’re Esō,” he directs to his brother who looks like an unearthly human.

He then looks to his other brother who looks less human. “And you’re Kechizu.”

Esō and Kechizu smile at him and wrap their arms around him, their scents meshing together and onto each other’s skin like a semi permanent tattoo.

Seeing their smile, and feeling their warmth… Chōsō wants to make sure he keeps them safe and happy.

Mahito scoffs and Chōsō is alerted.

“Chōsō is the only one that looks good. How come the other two look so gross?”

Another cord of uncontrollable anger surges through him, but he restrains himself enough that only a small growl leaves his throat, purple eyes glaring pins and needles into Mahito who looks like he couldn’t care less.

Esō’s scent suddenly grows foul, permeating through the room and alerting everyone.

It further pisses Chōsō off but before he could lose the little amount of control he has, Getō cuts in calmly.

“Where are my manners? I’m Getō Suguru, and I’m sure you heard me address him as Mahito. Before we let the three settle in I have more to discuss with you.”

Chōsō noticed while Getō was talking that he had a way to command his attention even though Chōsō was far more focused on making sure his brothers were okay, especially Esō.

Getō goes on to talk about his plans for the world and wants them to join in his cause. Chōsō frankly does not care, as long as he and his siblings can live peacefully in this “new world”.

“We’ll join under one condition,” Chōsō declared once Getō was finished with his speech.

Said man’s smile grows an inch. “Go on and name your condition.”

Chōsō speaks firmly, never once wavering as he and Getō stare each other in the eyes. “As long as my brothers, as well as our other siblings, can live peacefully in the end of all of this, we’ll cooperate.”

Getō looks like he expected nothing less from the ill looking man. “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

Seeming that it seems to be a deal, he nods before speaking again. “Now then, what is with you calling me an alpha?”

“Ah yes! I will give you books on your biologies and as well as get you and Esō the proper medications you’ll need.”

Mahito gags, toying with his hair. “Those pesky suppressants. Who even needs those when they end up becoming a problem later?”

Chōsō’s eyes fly open with alarm, his purple orbs darting over to Getō and narrowing slightly, silently demanding an explanation.

Getō waves off his gaze, still having that carefree expression of his. “That’s years and years down the line.” Then he suddenly pins Chōsō with a knowing stare, looking a little arrogant now. “Esō is an omega and without them he could get hurt. You wouldn’t want that now would you?”

Chōsō swallows and only gives him a stiff nod, the terms still lost on him, but if the medication can keep Esō stable for now, that’s all he needs to know. He’ll figure out another solution later when he’s more knowledgeable.

Getō then guides the three beings into a room and inside there’s a large bed, small wooden desks beside the bed, light fixtures, a tv, empty bookshelf, a standing mirror, and a fuzzy couch. On the bed there’s a pile of random articles of clothing and some shoes that the siblings wander over to.

“This will be your living space, when you’re able to go outside feel free to buy anything to liven the place up more,” Getō advises, remaining at the doorway. “I’ll let you three get dressed and I’ll be back shortly.”

The siblings don’t acknowledge him, focused on finding the right pieces of clothing for themselves.

And Chōsō finally runs into his first problem as an older brother. When Esō was trying his first set of clothes on, he was absolutely horrified when he saw what was on his back. His scent soured and stunk up the room, drowning Chōsō and Kechizu.

Esō moves away from the standing mirror, keeping his back away from his brothers, his eyes slightly welling up. “I look disgusting!” he gasps, a million thoughts and scenarios passing through his eyes and it makes Chōsō panic and clam up. He wants to help him immediately, but when he takes a step towards him, he’s lost on what to even say.

“Esō don’t be so harsh on yourself. Kechizu nor I even batted an eye on what’s on your back. You’re not disgusting,” Chōsō explains to him, his voice blunt but with a twinge of gentleness.

Esō's expression softens but he looks off to the side, his attention elsewhere again. He shakes his head and moves to the pile of clothes again. “Please.. Don’t look at my back.”

“But-.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Please, Ani…”

Chōsō wants to push, but hearing the pleading in Esō’s voice makes him reluctantly sigh and let it go. He only wants to make his brothers happy, and if Esō doesn’t want to talk about it, fine. He’ll have to trust that whenever Esō’s ready he’ll come talk to him.

“I don’t think I want to wear any of these,” Kechizu chimes in before the silence could swallow them. “It’s not like I’ll be able to walk out in public anyways,” he adds with a shrug and tossing the shirt in his hand, not having a care in the world about that fact.

Chōsō hopes that Kechizu keeps that attitude because he doesn’t even know how to help Esō with his current situation.

“That’s fine,” Chōsō murmurs, admiring some boots that were on the bed.

Once dressed to their liking, Esō’s smell had gradually turned back to normal, easing the other two.

“Are you both comfortable?” Chōsō checks in.

“We’re fine!” Esō replies while Kechizu nods with a smile. “Are you?”

Chōsō nods with a hum. “I want you both to have the bed. The couch will be fine with me.”

They tried to argue and insist that he could also take the bed with them, but Chōsō insisted that he already took a liking to the couch anyways. Since the younger siblings knew there was no way to change Chōsō’s mind, they give up, settling down onto the bed.

“What do you think of all of this?” Esō eventually asks.

“All I care about is my family,” Chōsō answers without hesitation. “We live for each other, and as your older brother I’ll do my best to keep you both happy and safe.”

‘I will set a good example for them like I’m meant to. Even if I stumble along the way..’

“And we’ll keep you safe and happy!” Kechizu declares with Esō nodding with his arms crossed.

“That won’t be necessary but I appreciate it,” he says softly, lips curling up slightly. “Your happiness makes me happy.”

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door before it opens, revealing Getō with books and a bag of medicine in hand like he promised. “Here you all go,” he says, handing them off to Chōsō.

Chōsō stares at the book that was on top: “Alpha Biology 101 For Dummies.”

“Whenever you three are ready the rest of us will be out here,” he says before gliding away once more.

As Chōsō learns to grasp what life is now for him and his brothers, he soon learns the meaning of what are alphas, betas, and omegas.

Kechizu is a beta. People with this dynamic don’t have to take suppressants like alphas and omega have to to regulate sexual urges. Their scent is not as overpowering, and… Well… In simple terms they’re basic.

Not his words.

Now onto omegas. Omegas were highly sought after, spoken of like they’re prized treasures. They have heats that occur and are said to be “submissive” and the “caregivers” of society. Lot of the texts in the books he was given speak of omegas being frail and are made to be infantilized. It was weird, and it made him feel dread in the pit of his gut as he thought of either of his brothers being treated that way.

Chōsō was conflicted about what was being told to him from the books, and his own analysis from being around his brothers, Mahito, and omegas outside the hideout.

Mahito and Esō were not submissive. While Esō is sensitive that does not mean that he’s submissive. He’s clever and likes to dominate the room and anyone that tries to walk over him. Just as long as no one speaks or gazes upon the face on his back he’s fine.

Mahito… He’s playful, sadistic, and dominates the room, especially those he considers inferior. He’s anything but fragile and doesn’t need protection. The world is his playground and he doesn’t care who gets hurt or what gets broken by him.

Chōsō knows there’s not a caring bone in his body.

If anything.. Kechizu, despite being a beta, had what the textbook would describe as “omegan behavior”…

Even while he people watched he could see that what was said in the textbook was so… Wrong. Outdated.

It all just seems to be one big insult to omegas while only slightly uplifting them.

But Chōsō takes the basics so that he’s got a foot to stand on when taking care of Esō's and his omegan needs. And of course he made mistakes along the way, and at first he’s hard on himself when it comes to forgiveness.

Esō likes to nest with minimalistic things, even though he’s somewhat forced too since the brothers don’t have much to begin with. Esō also isn’t a perfectionist when it comes to his nest. He just wants one or two items that belong to his brothers and somewhere comfortable. He’s not big on constant need of physical touch, something he snapped at Chōsō for when he tried to coddle him a little too much. He does however like to wear bracelets that have Chōsō and Kechizu’s scent on them. It’s something he never likes to take off unless they need to be rescented. Those bracelets keep him happy just as much as being in his brother’s presence.

But finally onto alphas…

Alphas seemingly have too much power. They’re viewed as dominant, aggressive, and almost as gods, and the superior beings of the world. Like omegas they have heats, but they’re called ruts.

But once again, Chōsō goes off what he sees amongst Getō, Jōgo, himself, and people outside.

Chōsō has yet to really lose his senses, unless it comes to his family. But he’s not possessive of anything, outwardly aggressive, and he doesn’t even look like a typical alpha, something Jōgo mumbled about once with Mahito also agreeing halfheartedly.

Chōsō also doesn’t bother to assert himself when it comes to Jōgo or Getō.

Jōgo every now and then tries it, but Getō asserts himself elegantly without doing much effort, and he mocks Jōgo when he fails.

There’s also a big aspect on sexual urges and he himself hasn’t crossed that path and neither has his brothers.

Even when he accidentally walked in on Mahito cackling about the porn he was watching- although the obscene noises startled him- it overall did nothing to him.

Briefly he does wonder if something is wrong with him, but in the end he doesn’t care enough. He appreciates that he doesn’t have to deal with it because it’ll just get in his way.

Chōsō believes he has a decent understanding of all the dynamics, but he has no interest in telling anyone how they should behave. It’s not his place and he sees no point in it.

People watching has helped, but soon it starts to take a toll on him. Looking at the humans… He has no hatred towards them, but looking at them constantly reminds him how his other siblings will not be welcomed. Only he can walk around without much problem, and that sucks.

So eventually he stops going out so much, keeping himself at the hideout and leaving only when necessary.

He just hopes that following Getō’s plans doesn't come to bite him in the ass later…

But unfortunately the universe isn’t so kind to him. While playing a silly little board game with the other residents, Chōsō feels like his heart was being gripped so tight while simultaneously being slowly torn apart and beating rapidly, his mind flashing with images. He ignores Mahito’s whining and barely even moved to respond to Getō when he asked if he was okay.

“Both… Both of my brothers just died,” he says, his voice heavy. His scent is sour and oozing from him, causing Mahito to complain more before he’s distracted by something Getō says.

Chōsō breaks through the static when he feels Getō’s hand on his shoulder, gazing at him with a slight look of sympathy. The game board was already cleared up and everyone else was gone, leaving them alone.

“Let’s go retrieve their bodies,” Getō orders lightly.

Chōsō blinks at him, a little stunned he’s willing to even do that for him. He just nods, his throat thick with saliva. Or maybe it’s bile.

As they walk together Getō never once walks ahead, just remains at Chōsō’s side. His scent wraps around him as if to comfort him, and he still doesn’t know what to make of it, but it does keep him grounded and… It feels nice.

But surely he’s not trying to act like a father to him. Getō’s not soft either.

Chōsō pushes it aside for now the moment he sees his dead brothers laid up next to one another. That’s when the tears suddenly came.

Tears continuously drip down his pale cheeks, never ceasing even as he tries to swipe them away. He falls to his knees and hugs their bloodied bodies into him, sobbing and begging for their forgiveness for not being there and saving them.

He felt their fear and it was sickening. He felt everything up until they took their last breaths.

Chōsō whimpers that he’ll avenge them. He’ll slaughter Yūji Itadori and Nobara Kugisaki for what they’ve done.

Getō watches with a soft expression, his lips quirked just slightly with wicked twinkle in his eyes. He reaches over to lightly ruffle Chōsō’s head, comforting him and letting him grieve.

After properly burying his brothers, Chōsō started caring less and less about the plain, the only thing truly fueling him being revenge.

So during the fight with Gojō Satoru in the Shibuya subway he hardly put much effort into it, letting Jōgo and Hanami take the lead and do the heavy lifting.

From Getō, Chōsō has been made aware just how strong he is, and Chōsō has no wish to die by his hands. His quarrel is not with him and he doesn’t want Gojō to be in his way.

Especially not when he’s so close to his brothers’ killers.

Just when Chōsō can find himself falling asleep due to sheer boredom and from his legitimate lack of sleep, a sudden scent wafts in the air and punches him straight in the lungs, his pupils slowly widening. There’s a sudden electricity running through his veins and he’s become alert, head swiveling around.

It’s a scent so alluring and it floats around the subway, slowly becoming stronger, and standing out amongst the gore and sour rot. It comes closer until his head is snapped to the side, a foot quite literally snapping him out of it.

Chōsō grunts as he crashes to the ground, and when he looks at his attacker he’s once again stupefied.

“This right here is Gojō Satoru’s sibling. A special grade just like him. Do be careful if you happen to cross paths,” Getō warns before slipping the photo back into his pocket.

Chōsō only grunts, his disinterested eyes moving off to the side.

The air around them is almost electric and soon enough the light overhead bursts, but neither flinch.

Chōsō assumes it’s the youngest Gojō’s technique, but he’s not certain, nor does he dwell on it for long, his brain becoming inebriated from the scent.

Neither move and the once fierce expression on the other’s face slowly morphs into one of trepidation, scent souring and causing him such great discomfort that he lets out a timorous whine he couldn’t withhold.

Chōsō’s skin suddenly becomes hot, tingling all throughout his limbs, and something stirs to life deep within himself.

Those pretty eyes still have him locked in place before they’re gone within a blink of an eye.

“Satoru!”

The ever thinning bit of control he has is snapping thread by thread, and he’s down to the last few strings.

“Y/N, for once just listen to me and get the hell out of here! Go warn the others, I’ll be fine!”

Dark purple eyes watch as Gojō Y/N struggles for a moment before unwillingly turning tail to leave the scene, effortlessly blasting away any trouble that stood in the way. Chōsō was surprised that Getō even allowed it to happen.

But that’s beside the point. The moment the younger Gojō disappeared, Chōsō felt like everything was going to collapse around him, his mind struggling to stay coherent and rational, his scent unknowingly stinking up the room.

Find Gojō Y/N and cage the sorcerer in his arms.

‘Follow the scent, take Gojō Y/N, keep safe. Don’t let Y/N die like I let my brothers die.’

Despite wanting to give chase, the small, single strand of sanity left in him told him not to do such a thing. He’d be what he’d criticized other Alphas for. He may be half curse but he’s no insatiable animal.

“Woah,” he heard Mahito remark. “Looks like we’ve got a problem. Chōsō seems to have finally hit his rut! Talk about bad timing!”

‘Rut? This is what a rut feels like..?’

“Is that so?” Getō croons, with a wicked look of delight. He studies Chōsō’s panting figure before taking a peek back at a shaken Satoru.

“Pfft, it was all because of Gojō Y/N! That’s hilarious! Are you a masochist, Chōsō since you’re getting all excited from a kick to the face? Priceless!” Mahito giggles.

Chōsō can see Satoru begin to struggle even more despite it being futile, he’s bound up so tight and soon going to be swallowed into the prison realm. He’s snarling furiously and his feet even manage to crack a few tiles underneath him, but Chōsō can tell from his panting there’s a bit of panic.

For a moment Chōsō can get him. His family is possibly in danger and he can do nothing but struggle.

He’s mildly offended though since the last thing he wants to do is hurt the ones he’s drawn to. But he understands so he doesn’t take it to heart.

Chōsō’s attention soon goes back to Getō who throws his head back, laughter spilling his lips. “Oh, this is unexpected!”

The laughter only pisses Satoru off and excites Mahito. And meanwhile Chōsō is left with anticipation along with the others.

After his fit of laughter Getō hums with amusement and turns to look at Chōsō, smiling oh so sweetly with an evil twinkle in his eyes. “Well, go on then, Chōsō.”

Chōsō blinks, hearing his own ragged breathing and the permission granted from Getō.

“Go on and hunt Y/N down if you wish. It’s a shame I couldn’t capture them both, but this can work just as well if you capture—.”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Satoru practically howls, nearly foaming at the mouth.

But Getō ignores him, still staring daggers into Chōsō’s eyes. “Go, Chōsō. Take what’s yours.”

Chōsō feels disgust bubbling in his gut at his words, feeling that the ravenette meant something more sinister when he told him that. But he takes this chance and runs, wanting to find the person that triggered his rut and hope the ache goes away. He also hopes he can keep himself together.

You sprint like you never have before, the wind smacking your face and your lungs beginning to burn. Your heartbeat is like thunderous drums and the air doesn’t seem breathable to you.

That scent.

The scent of elderberries, a pinch of spice, and a touch of blood…

It’s imprinted in your mind no matter how much you try to forget it.

There’s just no way that he’s your fated one.

The universe truly likes to play wicked games…

What’s worse is that it seems like your meeting has brought upon his rut. You just hope to god that your cycle won’t come about from this.

You always take your medication, never missing a beat, but when alphas and omegas typically meet their fated pair or pairs it sometimes doesn’t matter, a cycle may or may not occur.

The best case for you obviously is that if you do hit your cycle, it comes after the battle. If you’re still alive anyways..

So you keep your fingers crossed and push it aside, trying to find the nearest group around.

And thankfully it’s Nanami’s you run into.

Just as you’re about to break the news you’re swiftly cut off by Yūji bellowing out that your brother has been sealed from atop a building.

It makes your chest ache at the news.

“Yeah… S’what I wanted to say,” you pant.

“There’s still hope since we have you here,” Nanami soothes while striding up to you, keeping calm and collected as he typically did.

“There’s just one more problem..”

“And that is?”

“I… I ran into an alpha who’s in a rut,” you explain, leaving out the crucial detail so as to not embarrass yourself. “And he may or may not be coming after me. I didn’t stop to check because Satoru really wanted me out of there,” you continue before gasping, a familiar face appearing in your mind.

“Oh shit! Kento, I just remembered! Suguru— no .. Someone wearing his face is the one behind this.”

Nanami’s eyes widen just a tad and a heavy sigh leaves him. Ino and Megumi both also become alarmed in various degrees.

“That truly is a problem for us all… Here.” The blond alpha rubs his wrist glands against the ones at your neck, dousing you in his comforting scent and slowly muting out yours.

Megumi even comes over and rubs his and your wrists together, not saying a word and not meeting your appreciative stare.

Meanwhile, Yūji is still yodeling.

“Thanks, Gumi. Go ahead and get Yuji,” you tell him softly, ruffling the young alpha’s spiky hair.

The teenager only nods before heading off to get to his friend.

Ino comes over and slings an arm around you for support and to subtly put his own scent on you while Nanami’s nose twitches a few times.

“Your scent should be muted enough, and I’m sure blood and sweat will cover it even more so you should be okay.”

“Thanks, you guys didn’t have to,” you murmur with a weak smile, anxiety still nipping at your heels.

“What did he look like,” asks the blond as you three head up to meet Yuji.

“Dude looks like he’s on death’s doorstep. Like sickly pale looking, dark bags under his eyes, cute spiky space buns, and he’s wearing mostly white and got a purple vest.”

He hums. “Noted. Try to stay with someone if you can.”

You nod. Simple enough but not completely possible.

And as expected you were practically everywhere in Shibuya as the battle ensued, curses swarming the city and people that’s still within the veil being in danger.

You do your best to keep everyone safe, especially the kids, but when the ground underneath you suddenly gets sliced along with a street sign, you throw yourself down the subway where Yūji went not too long ago, slaughtering curses that stood in your way

The underground transit is in complete disarray. Broken glass, walls dented and crumblings, electrical wiring exposed and popping, and blood splattered almost everywhere like it was some art project and the blood is red paint.

Suddenly a wall that connected from the bathroom crumbles away slightly, revealing a bit of pink hair peeking from the other side.

Your feet are already moving, Yūji’s name nearly falling from your lips as dread grips you tight and unforgivingly.

And there’s that smell again, only this time it’s ten times stronger…

Right as you get inside you see the man from before standing over Yūji’s body seemingly about to deliver the killing blow.

Fated person or not, no one was going to hurt the people you care about.

So with your technique you manipulate the water spurting out from the pipes and use it to lock onto the man’s throat, and with an aggravated cry you swing him around and throw him through the wall he made Yuji hit, feeling an immense amount of satisfaction from the pained cry he made.

With him being spat out on the other side seemingly laid out for now and away from Yūji, you rush to cradle the young omega’s bloodied body, fretting over him and trying to figure out how to deal with his shoulder.

You don’t have much to help him and you snap at Sukana to do something, but the bastard for once doesn’t have anything smart to say, the boy still unconscious and bleeding. You pick him up and rush out of the bathroom when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“W-Wait… Please don’t… Don’t go…”

A mixture of anger, stress, and touch of guilt form a cocktail in your gut at his wheezing, panic filled voice.

You hear him dragging his body desperately amongst the rubble to try and get to you.

“You must got a few loose screws in that head of yours,” you spit, turning to look at him.

“N-No, please I—! I had no idea he’s my brother!” he coughs, his pale lips stained with blood.

Your stiffen, your grip on the wounded boy tightening slightly. Either he’s really lost it , or… No, he’s definitely lost it.

“Please I—.”

“ I can’t help you ,” you force out. “Especially when you’re currently the enemy .” And with that, you force your feet to move, leaving him behind.

And Chōsō only watches you with a helpless expression, tears stinging his eyes and a pained noise leaving him as he gives up…

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starlordsandrockets · 1 year

Text

Take a Seat

pairing: Star-Lord/Peter Quill x reader

word count: 2k

summary: You and Peter have some drinks in the Milano's cockpit. This leads to you being strapped into his chair with your legs over his shoulders.

a/n: i'm riding out everyones Star-Lord high for as long as i can. so glad my fics from 4 years ago are finally getting notes lol

(also i didn't proofread so i apologize for any typos)

One of your many playlists hummed through the cockpit of the Milano as you stared out of the ship’s large window. A drink sat in your hand, the glass filled with a comically colored blue liquid, “What’s this again,” You somewhat slur, “Looks like windex, you trying to poison me,”

“And why would I do that, darling?” Peter questioned, “You said you liked blue raspberry, those fruity drinks,”

You turned your head, it spinned as your eyes attempted to focus on Peter, “Mhm,” You hummed, “but why do you get whiskey and I get this,” He made his way towards you, setting his glass down as he passed the low table.

“Because,” Peter spoke quietly before planting a kiss on your lips. His words smelled of whiskey as his rough kiss tasted bitter, “it makes your kisses sweet,”

“Aren’t they always?” You asked. You looked up at the outlaw through your mascara coated lashes, “Shit,” You muttered, realizing it has been another night since you forgot to take off your makeup, “my makeup,” You rubbed your eye, slightly annoyed.

“You look fine,” Peter spoke, “pretty,” He corrected as you stared back at him, “A really pretty girl,” He praised as you took a sip from your glass. A small laugh passed through your lips as you knew how the night would end based on Peter’s behavior, “What?”

“Nothing,” You lied. Focusing on your music, you began to sway to The Eagles as ‘One of These Nights’ hummed off of the metal cockpit. Peter’s hands found their way to your hips, attracting your eyes to your own body. The two of you had been shut away in Peter’s room, waiting for the others to retire to their own rooms. Since you joined the Guardians on sudden notice, there was no room for you on the ship. You did not mind sharing a room with Peter, however sometimes you longed for a space that was not so small and filled with Peter’s dirty laundry.

You were only wearing a large black, band t-shirt, Blue Oyster Cult to be specific, over a pair of black underwear. Peter was not complaining as his fingers slipped underneath the shirt’s rough fabric, falling on your soft skin, “Must feel nice to get out of my room,” Peter spoke, as if reading your mind, “Next stop I’m looking into getting you a seat,” he added, watching your eyes fall on the large seats that surrounded you.

“You mean I won’t be tossed around your room when you’re driving,” You teased, “What a relief,” Walking out of Peter’s hold, you studied his seat that sat in front of the large window before finishing off your drink, retiring the glass.

“Take a seat,” Peter instructed, watching your hands tracing the cold metal, “Might have to get you a smaller size,” He teased, seeing how much larger the chair was than you.

You almost fell into the large seat, the alcohol hitting you more than you thought, “This thing looks like a death trap,” You slurred, hands playing with the buckles that were placed there for safety. You watched as Peter took the buckles from your hands, his palms almost engulfing your fists.

Tossing the buckles to the side, the metal echoed through the pit. You watched as Peter placed his hands on the chair’s arms. His hips swung loosely as he stared down at you. Removing his dominant hand, he took hold of the hem of your shirt, pushing the fabric up over your chest, exposing your skin. The cool air sent a chill up your spine as your nipples hardened at the change of temperature, “Quill-” You stuttered as Peter now proceeded to pull chair’s safety straps across your chest. The thick fabric crossed your body, allowing your breasts to be framed almost artfully. His hands now traveled to your knees, falling behind them, guiding your legs as he spread them apart, slowly, “Quill,” You repeated, watching him kneel before you.

Peter’s lips brushed your skin, barely honoring you with the much needed contact, “What darling?” He felt you squirm in his hold, not wanting to wait any longer for the contact you burned for, “Don’t look so desperate,”

“Shut up,” You pouted as Peter saw right through you, “you’re the one who made me the drink,” You spoke, knowing exactly how you get after a few drinks, “you probably did this on purpose,”

“Well… you get less pissed when you’re drunk,” Peter smiled, taking a sip from his glass, “but you also scream louder,” He added, placing his fingers under the elastic of your underwear.

“S-shut up,” You stuttered, struggling against the fabric straps, “Quill… what if someone comes out here,”

“Then I’ll have to be fast,” Peter spoke, pulling down the black fabric. Watching you struggle in front of him turned Peter on more than he wanted to admit. You were headstrong, always fighting back, so putting you in your place made him want to do so many things to you, “And maybe don’t be too loud then,”

Anxiety pained your chest but it equally excited you. You felt yourself grow wetter as you watched Peter sip on his whiskey between your spread legs. His chair was large, making you feel minuscule and submissive, “Then stop teasing me and hurry up,”

“And do what?” Peter pressed, slowly pulling the fabric down your thighs. Your underwear rolled down your skin in his large hands, “What do you think I’m gonna do to you? Whadda ya’ want me to do?” The whiskey drew out his accent, which went into your ears and straight between your legs.

“I want you to stop teasing me,” You answered before a whimper bubbled past your lips as the cold metal chair cooled the heat between your legs.

“S’no fun that way,” Peter admitted, his hands pulling your hips towards him as best as he could with how you were restrained. Throwing your legs over his shoulders, he stared at the sight before him, “Fine. You’re dripping wet as it is, huh?” With a grin, he moved closer to you. He watched as your hips rocked towards him, begging for any sort of relief, “I think I teased you enough,”

Throwing your head back, it smacked against the heavy metal. Your eyes screwed shut, not only from the pain, but from your restlessness. You felt Peter’s hand trail from your knee, up your inner thigh. You whined at just how painfully slow his touch was as it neared your clit, “Quilllll,” You groaned, “Please,” You sucked in air between your clenched teeth as Peter’s thumb finally began to rub circles on your clit, “s-shit,”

Peter watch as his fingers ran through your wet folds, the slight sounds was orgasmic to him, “Fuck sweetheart,” You wiggled underneath his touch, making a smile curl his lips. A moment later, he brought his smiling lips to your clit. He planted a wet kiss before his tongue began to explore you, it ran through your folds and left wet trails on your inner thighs. His rough hands found hold on your plush skin, calloused fingers digging into your outer thighs. His flat palms snaked to your ass, holding it as his tongue worked you.

Your attempts to hold back the moans that were crawling up your throat failed, whimpers passing through your pressed lips. You were terrified that someone would walk into the cockpit at any moment and see you strapped to Peter’s seat with his skilled tongue working between your spread legs. However, the thought also turned you on slightly.

“Let them hear you,” Peter spoke, realizing your struggling above him, “Maybe if they hear how good I’m making you feel they’ll stay in their rooms,”

“Q-Quill,” You stuttered, however your tone was stern. Your lips returned to a pressed line, afraid a moan would pass through your parted lips. Your attempt did not last long as Peter found the rhythm that you loved, “f-fUck,” You moaned, volume louder than you wished to admit.

“There you go,” Peter coaxed, his tone praising. One of his fingers unexpectedly entered you, pumping in and out at the perfect pace. He paired the slow finger fucking with a faster pace from his tongue, making you grow close to climax without warning.

“I’m… I’m so-so close,” You moaned, struggling behind your restraints but Peter only hummed back in response, the action vibrating against your clit slightly, “Ffffuck,” You moaned, “I’m gonna cum,”

“What was that sweetheart?” Peter questioned, pulling his head out from between your legs, his finger picking up the pace and attempting to keep your orgasm at the brink.

“I’m so close… please,” You studied his expression, knowing exactly what he was waiting for, “S-Star-Lord,”

With an overconfident smile, his lips returned to your clit, planting a wet kiss before he brought you to your climax.

“Fu-fuck- I’m-” You moaned, hips rocking towards his tongue. You matched his pace as your eyes screwed shut, feeling yourself reach the high you had been chasing.

Now comes the part you always dreaded.

You felt Peter keep his pace on your sensitive clit, overstimulating you. You whimpered, unable to flee him as he overworked you.

Once Peter was satisfied, he leaned back onto his heels, “How was that?” He questioned you, watching your eyes slowly open, brows un-furrowing, “Want your own chair? Or do you just like mine?”

Your heated skin was cooled slightly by the chair’s metal as you shifted in the large seat. Your chest rose and fell as you attempted to catch your breath, a small smile curled the ends of your lips, “I… I think I’d like a chair,” You spoke as Peter began to free you, “But only if we can do this again in my own chair,”

“Of course,” Peter laughed slightly, “I’ll make a call in the morning,” His voice echoed off the walls as the two of you realized the music had stopped humming through the Milano.

“I think we should go back to your room,” You spoke, wondering just when the music had stopped and your moans started. Peter shot you a glance, “I think I need a break before we do anything else,” You laughed.

“You can take all the time you need, I can wait,” He took your hands, helping your shaking legs off of the large chair, “So like… twenty minutes?” He somewhat joked as he led you towards his room.

#marvel fic #marvel smut #marvel fanfic #peter quill fic #peter quill smut #peter quill x reader #peter quill fanfiction #peter quill fanfic #star lord smut #star lord x reader #star lord fanfiction #star lord fanfic #star-lord fic #star-lord fanfic #star-lord fanfiction #star-lord smut #star-lord x reader

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ruggiezz · 11 months

Note

soy yo de nuevo 😎😎 digamos que yo soy una persona muy apegada a su cultura y me encanta el baile y la comida tradicional de mi país: la bomba puertorriqueña y los pasteles puertorriqueños. now, it doesn't have to be puerto rican culture (puede ser de cualquier cultura de latam), that's just an example. but, how would the housewardens react to the reader's culture? maybe they see how much the latino! reader loves their culture and they ask to know more about it ((p.d. i know you don't write for some of the housewardens, so exclude those lol))

— LATINO READER THAT LOVES THEIR CULTURE : twisted wonderland

[synopsis] dormleaders with a latino! reader that loves their culture

[characters] dormleaders (except for vil)

[extra] GRACIAS TUVISTE LA MEJOR IDEA EXISTENTE, also, Venezuela, Colombia, Argentina and Peru celebrate their independence this month, so this is perfect for the occasion

★ RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

You two had private study sessions in his room every week, where he would help you with some lessons you couldn't understand, and in return, you would buy him a slice of a strawberry dessert you found at Sam's. (He didn't really need anything in return, but he wasn't going to say no to a dessert, even if he wasn't meant to eat sweets.)

During one of the study sessions, he noticed you were in a gloomy mood and asked what was the matter.

"Today is my country's independence day, and I haven't done anything to celebrate it."

And with that, it somehow went from a study session where he was teaching you about ancient magic to a study session where you were teaching him about your country's history and how it became independent. It was very 'educational', Riddle would say. You also spoke about how they would celebrate in your country, about the festivals and parties they would hold, and most importantly, about the food. Good, now Riddle was hungry.

He offers to celebrate with you in Ramshackle; he and Trey can help you cook some national desserts if you want, and you can tell them and your friends more about your culture and how they do things where you come from. Just don't make him dance; he'll get embarrassed because he doesn't know the steps (and because Ace will make fun of him), and he is good with just watching you dance. But maybe someday you can both dance alone, together.

★ LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

"Herbivore, what pride flag is that?" He said, pointing at a pin you had of your country's flag that you had attached to your backpack.

This probably went two ways: either you almost died of laughter at his question while he looked extremely confused, or you looked at him dead in the eye with the most serious face ever. Whichever option you chose, you both ended up lying on the bed while you told him stories of your country. You told him about how people back in your world celebrated their independence every year, about the dances, the festivals, and how colorful everything was.

If you didn't know Leona well, you would have thought he was uninterested and was falling asleep, but he was listening. Everything you said was important to him; it didn't matter if it was a small thing, like the fact you found a nickel while walking to the store, or if it was a big thing, like an important achievement, he would remember it. And you talking about your culture wasn't the exception. He hummed in agreement while you talked about this one thing you did back in your country to celebrate your country's independence.

Tell him more—about the food, the celebrations, the music—it doesn't matter; he will listen. Tell him about this really popular artist who's also Latino; tell him more about this 'Chayanne' and his achievements. Even if he doesn't completely understand, he can understand the feeling of being proud of where he comes from.

★ AZUL ASHENGROTTO

Azul invited you to Mostro Lounge with the intention of getting innovative material for a new event that will attract more customers out of the kindness of his heart. He sat you down on a couch in his office and offered you a cup of tea.

"Say, prefect, could you tell me more about your country? Is there any food you particularly like? Something we can make here?"

You see, Azul was expecting this meeting to go like this: He asked. You told him about the food. He wrote it down. Everyone was happy.

What he didn't expect was sitting there two hours later and hearing you ramble about your country's food and the history of it. And he was ACTUALLY INVESTED. This wasn't part of the plan at all.

He wrote down a lot on his notepad; every detail you told him was important for him to "use in Mostro Lounge's new event", but he was just really impressed by how rich your country's culture was.

Weeks later, Azul summoned you to Mostro Lounge, surprising you with dishes you told him about. Jade brought a lot of plates with some desserts, and Floyd brought some mocktails. You were so happy, you even felt like hugging Azul, but ended up being squeezed by Floyd (affectionately), who was also happy to be able to taste new food.

The event was a success, with students praising the new dishes, and Azul decided to keep some of the popular dishes on the menu. But if your favorite one didn't make the cut, he will remember the recipe, and will make it for you from time to time, just don't tell anyone about your 'special treatment'.

"This will be our little secret, okay, prefect?"

★ KALIM AL-ASIM

Not surprisingly, Kalim got sick after taking you on a carpet ride with wet hair. Nights at Scarabia are particularly cold, and even when Jamil warned him not to forget to dry his hair when he showered at night, he ignored it that day out of excitement to see you. He just didn't have enough time to dry it, okay?

His throat ached, and he was sneezing a lot. Jamil was in a bad mood that day, and he had a lot to get done, so he left Kalim in your care on the condition that you both didn't do anything stupid.

You brought a small container to Scarabia that had ointment inside. You had it in the backpack you brought from your world; it was small enough to fit in your palm. Kalim looked in curiosity while you approached his bed and opened it to apply it to him.

"What ointment are you applying to me? It smells like mint." Kalim asked while you rubbed some of the ointment on his chest and neck.

"It's 'Vick Vaporub'; it will make you feel better; this thing can even heal a broken leg."

"FOR REAL??"

You had to explain to him what it was and how your family used it on you when you got sick. Sadly, it couldn't cure a broken leg, but it could alleviate colds. And it did work; Kalim felt better the next day, to Jamil's surprise (and relief).

Kalim ran to Ramshackle after you nursed him back to health with the help of 'Vick', asking more about how people did things back in your country. He was fascinated by your stories, and the way you described the food made him want to taste it so badly. Maybe you two could try and make the food in Scarabia's kitchen? Please teach him! If the food from your country makes you happy, then he wants to try and learn how to make it for you!

★ IDIA SHROUD

You and Idia had this routine where you both always spent the afternoon in his room, either playing videogames, doing homework, or just doing whatever in silence. But on this particular day, Idia was playing this one single-player game while you lay on his bed scrolling through your phone.

Suddenly, an idea popped into your mind. A few months ago, Idia repaired your old phone as a birthday gift, and you had a few episodes of this particular show saved on your phone. You started watching, but you had forgotten your earphones back in Ramshackle, so Idia could hear it too.

"What are you watching? It's so loud..."

"I'm watching 'Caso Cerrado'/'Caso Encerrado'. It's the English dub."

"Why is everyone yelling..? What even is that?"

You explained to Idia how it was this show where a lawyer called Ana María Polo sat in a court and heard cases, where she ended up dictating whether they were guilty or not. Idia disregarded it as a 'normie show' and continued what he was doing, but he ended up hearing the whole episode while playing. It was actually very entertaining to hear while playing.

"Wait, SHE'S PREGNANT with her boyfriend's father? WTF???"

He ended up binge-listening to the whole season while playing. Did your world always make such interesting shows? Tell him more.

Even if history was never his favorite subject, you talking about it was just like listening to a podcast—a very interesting one at least. Your routine now is to go to his room and play some video games while you talk about your country, and Idia occasionally makes a comment. And then repeat it daily.

If you couldn't come to Ignihyde, then you both could have a call, and you could talk while Idia played. Wasn't that a good relationship dynamic? You talked while Idia listened. And you were always so excited to talk to him about you where you and where you came from that he just couldn't help himself but smile (just a little) while hearing you.

★ MALLEUS DRACONIA

"This is for you, Malleus." You said as you pulled one of those blankets you used in the winter. You had found one extremely similar to the ones in your world, and you had bought two. Lately, the weather in Twisted Wonderland has been extremely cold, and Diasomnia wasn't any different.

"Thank you, Child of Man; I will treasure it."

The blanket in question:

AND HE DID TREASURE IT, using it as a blanket on his bed for a week and washing it afterwards to continue using it. It was a gift from his partner after all, much to Sebek's dismay. Silver said it looked really comfy, and he wanted one now too, while Lilia just found it amusing how attached Malleus was to a blanket.

The next day after, you gifted it to him, he appeared on your doorstep with the blanket on his hands, asking to sleep over in Ramshackle with both of your blankets. You told him more about your country and the customs over a cup of hot tea, and he listened attentively to every single thing you said. There was a dessert you liked from your country that you couldn't recreate yourself? Don't worry; he will make sure his private chef back in Briar Valley makes it for you. There's this traditional clothing from your country you want? His tailor will get it done; you don't even have to move a finger, just say the word, and he will have it done.

Hearing you talk about how proud you were of your heritage made him giddy inside over the fact that he had such a passionate partner. Tell him more; he's so invested, especially in the history. The history is the best part.

"I only have one question, child of man. Who is this 'Shakira' you talk so highly about?"

#twisted wonderland #riddle x reader #leona x reader #azul x reader #kalim x reader #idia x reader #malleus x reader #twst fluff #latino #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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jakeyt · 5 months

Text

Covet: Chapter 9 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great.

Was.

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home.

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

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

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

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

Chapter Word Count: 22.1k+

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

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

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

-Horace

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 30, 2022

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

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

All pink and white and golden rays of sunshine.

Then, it was gone.

No. Not again.

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

All dark and dirty and ear-piercing screams.

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

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

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

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

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

You studied her quizzically – why was she–?

“Wake up!”

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

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

Life was safe again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the back booth was open!

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck that came out of nowhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, she was sunshine for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very rarely had she been extremely judgemental.

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

“Sis, what’s–?”

“I’m pregnant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Talk, Elsie. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s oka–.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elsie spoke before you could. “What changed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, you took your first sip of orange juice.

Goddamn.

Fuck! Ew. Baby does not like orange juice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure thing! Back in a flash!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not hungry?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Does Jake know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dangerous territory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus, Elsie! I–.”

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

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

“Liiiiike . . .?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to puke on you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not possib–.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

Okay, these hormones can fuck right off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her chest was heaving.

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why in the hell?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait!”

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously? He was stopping your pickle eating for this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you did.

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

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

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

You did not want it going further than a few dates with Theo. Just a little time with Theo would surely be all it took to get your headspace cleared and make it easier to navigate life.

The repercussions to its ending were literally nothing. You’d switch seats in class and force yourself through school with the occasional encouragement from Elsie. Theo was not a necessary addition to your life long-term, but you figured he could help you short-term, while also creating long lasting benefits.

Surely you could divert your thoughts from Jake. Think of the child first, and put its father on the backburner as you weaved through this next chapter in your life. . . No matter how badly you wanted him with you through all of it, experiencing it all first hand with you, it was the wiser decision to keep things separate.

And, as an additional help, Theo would make it obvious to Jake that you were willing to keep your life separate.

So, when you did eventually tell Jake (dear fucking God), there would be an additional party that emphasized you’d moved on and all that mattered now was the baby.

Not the two of you. That ship needed to sail.

Even though the thought made your stomach hurt like hell and tears well in your eyes as you pulled into the nearest Trader Joe’s for pickles. . . you knew it was the truth.

-🌼🌼🌼-

That evening, you took a longer route to work, choosing to listen to a podcast you’d found.

Having listened to the first episode on the way to school that morning, you decided to fill your cup with another episode on the way to work.

It was a magnificent podcast that was all about the ‘ins and outs’ of pregnancy, being a new mother, and how to grow mentally and emotionally during such a unique time.

The second episode was going just as well as the first until you heard one of the moderators’ voices get low and forlorn.

“You know ladies. . . the first time I got pregnant is planted firmer in my memory than any of my other pregnancies,” she said, sighing heavily.

“Oh, yeah, Jen,” another moderator said, voice growing dim with Jen’s, apparently (you were still getting accustomed to their names). “I bet, babe. . . The ones that are lost are the ones that stick so close it fuckin’ hurts and heals at the same time. . .”

“Agreed, Tally,” the third—and last—speaker on the podcast chimed in. “I’ll touch on my story after Jen.”

“Thanks, Molly,” Jen’s voice rang through your speakers again. “Yeah, it’s just a different feeling when they’re there and then suddenly they’re not. . . When you imagine holding them in your arms for God knows how long and then it suddenly becomes impossible to do so,” Jen sniffed, and just as she did, you felt a tear hit your own cheek. God, you were hurting with her. “Every woman is different, but I just hang onto my loss like nothing else. And not necessarily in a bad way— just in an attempt to sort of keep the baby here with me— Give her the life she never got to fully live.”

Dammit, the tears wouldn’t let up. They were trailing down your cheeks steadily. When you got to the next stop light, you had to grab a napkin from your glovebox to blot at your cheeks, already marked with black streaks of mascara. Thankfully you could still wipe them up easily, not dried to your skin quite yet. But you knew the crying wouldn’t be letting up soon. Your emotions had been triggered and you would be seeing this sadness through. (Hello, pregnancy hormones.)

You took turns holding the napkin under each eye, making sure to catch the tears as they continued.

“I’m right there with you, Jenny,” a voice you now recognized as Molly’s said. “Even though my stories are a little different.”

Stories?

God. You kept your eyes on the road as you popped open the glovebox once more, grabbing a fistful of left-over restaurant napkins.

Sitting them on top of your legging-clad thighs, right where you could reach them, you took a right turn towards the B&G.

“I’m sure we have listeners who will relate to all of these stories,” Tally interjected, sniffing. “Both of you girls.”

“I hope we’re able to help someone,” Jen responded, voice still thick, but not so bad as before.

You heard a sigh before Molly started speaking again. “The first time I carried was very similar to Jenny’s. Lost the baby. Early on. The worst loss I’ve ever experienced—I will never understand why we lose them,” her voice shook with sadness. But, it soon transitioned to a hot flash of irate frustration when she spoke next. “I will also never understand the people who invalidate our experiences just because they were lost in the womb or lost as little tiny babies. . . Just because they weren’t full grown people, outside of the womb, when it happened. . . doesn’t make it hurt any less. You have just as much to mourn for the life they completely lost.” And just as soon as she was firm, her voice was soft again. “The life we lost before it was time.”

The other two agreed, voices low out of respect for the moment.

“Then there was my second. . .,” she blew out a breath, as if preparing. She gave a half-laugh. “Strange occurrence. . .”

“But it happens!” One of the other two chimed in.

“Sure as hell does,” Molly said. “The second time I carried, I had a hysterical pregnancy– a case that only 6 women in 22,000 experience. . .”

“I can’t imagine. . .,” Tally breathed a sigh out. “Your body, tricking you like that.”

“Yeah, and it felt completely real– like everything you’d expect,” she replied, thoughtful. “Like everything I experienced with the one I’d lost before. . . And, God, it was so incredibly hard to get through once I found out what my body had done to me. . . I just wanted a healthy baby–especially after the loss. I was still hurting badly from losing the first when it happened. Almost like my body was playing tricks on me just to see how far I could stretch mentally and emotionally,” she laughed under her breath, in spite of it all.

“So fucking cruel, babe. . .”

But you weren’t focusing hard enough to know who was talking anymore. You’d caught on to the stories they’d told and now you were over analyzing your situation. . . Questioning everything. . . Was this real? Was there a baby there? Were you having a hysterical pregnancy? Was your body playing tricks on you?

Or, had you been pregnant, and had now lost the baby like those women had? Were you still carrying the life you’d started planning around? The little life you were becoming more and more attached to by the day?

Had you ever been carrying it?

As you pulled into work, you put one shaking hand on your rounded lower belly.

- 🌼🌼🌼-

Suffice to say, your entire evening shift was spent in over-contemplation and searching miscarriages, hysterical pregnancies, and semi-local OBGYN’s during the lull of customers.

As you’d searched online for a clinic, you were not looking for places too close, as you didn’t want God and everybody seeing you enter the clinic on a regular basis (if you, in fact, were to find out you were carrying a tiny little bean-baby). You sure as hell didn’t need anyone to start questioning you before you were ready to offer up answers.

Once you finally left your longest shift ever, you drove home in deep thought and drowning silence.

Your research over miscarriages and hysterical pregnancies had done you very little good. They’d actually done you no good at all, if you were being honest. Everything you’d read made you question a lot.

Because, everything that could possibly reassure you was also possible in a hysterical pregnancy or a miscarriage.

One: your growing tummy (which could continue growing in both of the sad, unwanted instances). Two: your hurting breasts (which could still hurt in both sad, unwanted instances). And three: your nausea (which could still occur in both sad, unwanted instances).

Once at home, you took a hot second getting ready for bed— lost in thought, you decided to try to tiring yourself with a bath, complete with lavender scented bath salts and bubbles. Once you were finally in bed, cozy in your softest pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, you tried so hard to force yourself to sleep. You didn’t want to have to wait any longer to call the nice little clinic you’d found.

And you sure as hell weren’t hungry. Didn’t want to eat with your stomach spinning with so many nerves.

And, the sooner you fell asleep, the sooner you could call the clinic and schedule an appointment.

- 🌼🌼🌼-

But, after laying there for what felt like hours– the sounds of calming ocean waves playing through your phone and everything– you were still awake.

You were drowning in all of the thoughts. Drown-ing.

One that was flashing brightly at the front of your mind was why you even cared so much. And, the more you thought about it, tossing and turning, you realized you’d found the most unique, fulfilling form of reassurance in carrying the child. You wanted this baby. It had happened without you even meaning it to. . . but you wanted this baby so. fucking. badly. You’d tried damn hard not to want the little thing, but now that you’d spent so much time pondering it and holding your tummy? There was no question about any of it. You just wanted your baby and you couldn’t figure out how to explain it.

After rolling around far too much in bed, you realized you still hadn’t heard the telling sounds of Jake coming home. So, you decided to venture out into the living room to let a TV show distract you. Hopefully distract you enough to go to sleep. Pillow, Stanley, and phone in hand, you grabbed the fluffiest blanket from your blanket basket and nestled into your couch.

Just as you’d turned the TV to Friends–wanting to feel closer to Elsie, but not feeling brave enough to talk to her whilst already being so emotional–, you heard the sound of a key jingling in the locked doorknob. And then the door was opening and you were looking behind you at the sound— for God knows what reason.

Then he was all you saw.

Jake.

Clad in the most handsome black, felt peacoat, the top of his head hidden by a black beanie. . . the chilly evening’s attire suited him so well that it brought a ridiculous tear to your eye.

So devastatingly handsome and not at all mine, your thoughts became enveloped with storm clouds.

Thankfully he didn’t see you staring, as he seemed to be trying to avoid eye contact as he went about setting his keys in the bowl and taking his coat off to hang it on the rack by the door. And, as his actions cemented your thoughts, your eyes became wetter, a tear falling down your cheek for this stupid ass, cruel reality that you’d created. Even if you had done it for a good reason—and you had—it still sucked big ass.

But, just as soon as your eyes were growing teary, your heart was beating erratically in your chest. The sight of the soft, tanned skin between the opened lapels of his shirt— exposed after taking off the coat. And the silver necklaces that clanged against his bare chest were the same he’d worn for Halloween. . . Your mouth watered as you observed the way they fell between his pecs which rose and fell with balanced breaths. . .

Seriously, fuck these hormones.

Before you could get lost in the roundness of his ass through his jeans, he turned to the counter once more. You flipped back to your original spot on the couch. You decided to

feign any knowledge of him being home, curling into a little ball on the couch and closing your eyes to fake sleep.

When you heard him make a stop at his bedroom and then heard the bathroom door click shut, you stayed wrapped in your cocoon on the couch. And before too long, you felt yourself fading to black, one final tear slipping past your closed lids as Rachel and Ross argued over being on a break.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Initially, you weren’t sure what it was that brought you back from such a deep slumber. But, once you heard him, you knew. The deep, raspy laugh that was slightly muffled through you gaining consciousness.

Why was he in the living room? Was he? Was this your imagination? A taunting dream?

You cracked an eye open the slightest bit to allow some adjustment to the light you’d shut your eyes to. But. . . There was no overhead light. It was off. The room would’ve been pitch black, save for your standing lamp’s yellow glow and the blue light from your TV.

More importantly, the warning feeling of a crick in your neck was suddenly catching your attention. So, without worrying about your company, you quickly sat up to attempt getting more comfortable. You didn’t want to feel awkward around him, but you also didn’t want to deal with a hitch in your neck or a migraine in the morning.

The loud yawn that escaped you once you’d sat up couldn’t be helped. You were slightly embarrassed at the obnoxiously loud noise that emitted from your mouth as you stretched. Blushing, you glanced over at your fellow living room occupant to see if he’d even noticed.

And, of course, he had.

He was staring at you—but. . . not judgmentally. Not at all. In fact, his eyes held the natural, reassuring lightness that occupied your sweetest recent memories. And the small grin on his face. . . was shocking, to say the least.

Why was he acting so okay with you? He’d been so distant recently. . .

You knit your eyebrows together, hyper aware of his presence and needing answers as to why he had decided to sit next to you.

“What are you doing here?” You clipped, tone sharp. You brought your blanket all the way up to your chin and around your shoulders, as a way to protect yourself from the (obviously) harmless man.

Although, you instantly regretted it as his expression became apprehensive rather than open like seconds before.

Why do you have to go and ruin everything, y/n?

He leaned back, his eyebrows furrowed as he balanced a bowl of (. . . macaroni and cheese? Fuck, that looked good.) on his knee, holding onto it with one hand. “I live here, y/n.”

And yet another memory was flashing back to you from the night you got high. . . his breath, hot on your neck, your skin erupting in goosebumps as he said similar words then– your skin flaming now, too. Just the sound of his voice could elicit the most from you. Fuck your pregnant feelings.

Or were they just feelings? The fear came rushing back the moment you thought yourself pregnant. . . was there a baby in there? God, fuck. . . you really didn’t want to sit in this train of thought again.

You figured you might as well use your company to distract you. . . .You missed talking to him anyways–missed it so damn bad.

But your tummy interrupted you. The growl that emitted from it was fucking humiliating, honestly, but it had happened. And after eyeing you curiously for a minute, Jake’s lips turned up with a one breathy laugh, his beautiful pearly whites on full display. God, he was handsome.

“You hungry?” He questioned, lifting his mac and cheese. “I made more of this. It’s just the shit Kraft, but it still hits the spot.”

Nodding, you went to hesitantly get up to get some. You really didn’t want to move from under the security of your warm, cozy blanket.

“No, just wait here,” he insisted, standing. His pajama pants were your favorites (the ones he didn’t normally wear underwear with). But you did not watch his crotch for movement. Your eyes were just staring at the wrong place at the wrong time. Really. “I have to wash my bowl anyway. I’ll put the rest in a bowl for you while I’m up.”

Again, why was he being so fucking nice? But you weren’t about to disagree. You were comfy and hungry and he was offering. It felt like old times and you felt like being momentarily delusional.

“Okay,” you quietly agreed, your eyes shifted, unsure to his face. But he was moving before you could look at him. Back to the kitchen. After a few moments, he was back, handing you a little white bowl with a spoon. The scrumptious, cheesy noodles made your eyes light up. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, responding as though elsewhere. This was weird and you hated how it all felt. But he kept talking, filling the air as he sat a beer on the end table beside him, before sitting back down in the chair. “I had to get a beer anyway. Long day with the guys and May–,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shutting briefly as he shook his head.

Fuck. Thanks, Jake, you thought, your eyes on the verge of welling with tears. The moments of silence, hanging in the air, closing in around you. Not fucking now, hormones.

All you wanted to do was ask why it had been a long day. Get more information that might hurt you. Why did you do that to yourself?

Though, before you could say anything, he continued. Awkwardly, his eyes flashing momentarily to the TV to reset as he spoke. “Long day. I should’ve asked if you wanted one.”

Your cheeks heated. . . little did he know. “I’m good,” you mumbled, looking down at your bowl. Stomach sinking with your thoughts from earlier, you decided to eat before you lost your appetite again. Not the time to be sad. “Thanks though.”

The next few minutes went by in a silence you wanted to stab with a fucking knife. It was seriously unpleasant and sucked ass. After you both laughed at a certain thing Joey said, you figured you might as well try to keep some sort of conversation going. Because, god, you missed him.

“I meant in here, by the way,” you motioned with your head to the space around you, mouth full. (Ladylike.)

His brow raised as he looked from the screen to you, setting his gaze on you. “What are you–?”

“My question. Why you were here,” you embarrassingly restated, hearing how it must’ve sounded. “In the living room. With me. Why you were in here, in the living room, with me, of all places.”

He sat further back, but this time going to sit in the armchair comfortably. His feet propped up on the ottoman across from him. “Well,” he covered his mouth, coughing briefly into his fist. “To be fair– you were sleeping when I came to sit down in here.”

Rather than being unnecessarily hurt over him only wanting to be in the same room as a sleeping version of you, you let yourself give in to the temptation and take advantage of him being distracted by his next task. You missed everything about him. . . even such a simple thing as watching him move.

Pathetic. And, because your mind hated you, it felt like you were watching him move in slow motion.

You watched in a daze as he leaned over to the tall lamp’s attached table, his self-cut gray t-shirt rising up at his hips to show his firm abdomen flex with the stretch. It shouldn’t be so fucking hot to watch someone reach for a fucking beer bottle. But, the sight that greeted you next was worse than seeing his side peeking from his shirt. What you saw next were his full, pink lips, wrapping just right around the glass top of his beer bottle as he took a generous sip of his Miller Lite. You admired, mouth open as his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with each gulp of the beer.

But when he went to repeat his action of leaning over the chair to set the bottle back, you decided to look away so as to save yourself from the torture (or, from the possibility of being caught). You took a bite of the mac and cheese, growing cold in your bowl.

Your heart was already hammering much too erratically from glimpsing these ridiculously mundane motions. . . fuck it all. The heat from being so near to him and watching him settled from your head all the way to the pit of your tummy. You swallowed down your bite thickly.

Your tummy.

“Yeah,” you muttered, awkwardly – you just wanted to have a conversation to get your mind off things. Problem was, you didn’t know where to necessarily start with him these days. . . Work? The band? Maya? God, no. . . gag.

Lucky for you, he took the initiative before you had much longer to overthink it. “I’m glad you woke up, though.” He pulled at his plaid pajama bottoms as he scooted up again, going back to get comfortable on the ottoman. Sitting with his legs spread (dammit), he balanced his elbows on his knees as he reached for his phone in his pocket. “I actually wanted to run something past you.”

God, please don’t say you found a place and you’re moving out. . . you thought, suddenly downcast and dreading what he was about to say. Or that you’re moving out to live with her.

You swallowed the thickness in your throat, trying to alleviate the unwarranted nerves before responding. Dispelling them with food, you took one more bite before swallowing it to talk. “And what’s that?”

So what if he wanted to move out? He damn well could. He surely had the money and you two weren’t involved.

He scrolled for a few more moments, your heart thump-thump-thumping without relenting. . . And finally, he found what he was looking for and before you had time to prepare, his eyes were sinking into yours earnestly.

God. . . what is he about to sa–?

“I found a place for you to get therapy,” he stated, tone soft and careful.

Therapy? Safe to say you were not expecting those words.

And rather than being nervous, your emotions shifted to defensiveness. Where did he get off looking into that for you? Why was he . . .? Was he talking about the promise he’d made in his bed? That same night you’d panicked at your grandparents’? He’d remembered to do that? Why did he even care, still? You didn’t deserve for him to care– didn’t want him to care. It felt uncomfortable.

“Why?” You sharply asked, holding your bowl in stiff hands on your lap.

He leveled you with a look that said ‘cut it out.’ Did he really know where your thoughts were trailing? Was he still that in tune with you? Surely not. He was probably just irritated with your tone of voice. “I told you I would look for you, so I’ve been keeping up my end of the deal. I’ve actually asked a few clients if they knew of any nearby therapists worth their salt,” he peeked back at his phone, scrolling on it when he spoke next. “And there are actually quite a few good ones in the area.”

Your heart still beat harshly in your chest as you felt your skin heat with rage. You set your bowl down on the coffee table. And, the blanket, suddenly suffocating you, was flung off without a thought. “So, what is this? Is this you saying I’m a fucking loony, Jake? I’m sure you’ve been desperate as fucking hell to get me help because you think I’m such a nutcase,” you spit. You sounded dramatic (and, admittedly, like a deranged woman). You knew that. If you were thinking sensibly, you’d know he didn’t believe those things. . . but you were embarrassed that he’d been thinking so hard about this. It hurt your feelings that he thought you needed help that badly. “I’m just so broken and damaged and insane that you’ve decided you need to get a damn shrink to fix me.” Your lap was a sudden magnet for your eyes, your hands entangled on your pajama bottoms. Now, the hot teardrop that hit your interlocked hands was not expected and you swiftly swiped at your cheek. “Thanks for thinking so long and hard and asking God and everybody to find the most qualified person to psychoanalyze the shit out of me,” you sniffled, a couple more tears falling before you willed them away and looked in his eyes. “Thank you so much, Jake.”

But he wasn’t flustered. . . no, he actually sat there and took it. The brow that had raised on his face as you spoke was the only indicator that he’d heard you.

The emotions you were experiencing were big and uncalled for. . . but, you were stressed. Over a lot of things. Doubting a lot of things. Your life seemed like one humongous question mark and you were sleepy as fuck and it was all just catching the fuck up with you.

He cleared his throat, glancing once more at his phone before setting it on the arm of the chair. A tiny smirk ghosted briefly over his lips before they were set in a flat line again as he spoke next. His eyes stayed trained on his own hands, now clasped as well. “Y/n. . . Please. You know I don’t fuckin’ think those things,” he tried quietly, slightly testy, but not harsh. Then his irises found yours once more, making your heart rate speed up. You did know that. . . You knew better. He was right. “You agreed to this. I wouldn’t have made a point to look into this if you hadn’t okayed it,” he stretched his hands out and then combed them through his long, chestnut locks.

His jaw flexed and he eyed you once more, digging into the heart of this before going any deeper. “I don’t want to force it on you. I won’t go any further in this conversation if you don’t want it. This is your decision. You know I looked into therapists. That’s it. You choose where you want this to go and then I’ll either leave you alone or tell you what I found out.”

You felt bit by bit of your current guard break down as you slowly relented. Because, well, you did want to know what he’d found out. Absentmindedly, you glanced down at where you’d subconsciously placed your hands over your stomach. It was habit at this point. That one reason underneath your fingertips was pushing you to know what he’d come to know. If you were, in fact, with child, you were desperate to start therapy. Yeah, sure, you wanted to get help for your sake. . . but more-so the child’s sake. Because, honestly, if you were not with child, you weren’t really sure if you’d want to push yourself to do that– go through all of those intense measures and changes and emotions that you knew only therapy could bring.

There was a ginormous sneaking, sinking suspicion in your gut. The one that was telling you there was a helluva lot more simmering, boiling beneath the surface than you knew. There had to be. For all the blaming you’d put on Jake just now, you knew you were a basket case. And there were some good fucking reasons behind it that you had to get to the bottom of.

You had to do it for your child. And, on the off chance that your worst fears would come to light and you weren’t actually pregnant, it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear Jake out. Listen to what he’d found.

You mumbled your next words. “Do you think I need fixing?” Dear God–where had that vulnerability come from? Did you want to know his answer?

Jake brought a thumb and forefinger up to his chin as he scratched it in contemplation, still measuring you with a long look. “I think it’s more complex than that, y/n,” he breathed a sigh out, as if not sure how to say what he was actually thinking.

And dammit– it hurt for him to not just respond with a simple “no, I don’t think you need fixing.” More complex? What the hell did that even mean?

“Do you think I’m brok–?”

“No,” he sighed. Then, he had your heart leaping into your throat when, in one swift motion, he was standing and walking the ottoman closer to where you sat on the couch. When he plopped down, he didn’t touch you. . . but the closer proximity was enough. The way your eyes naturally flitted momentarily to where his chest steadily rose and fell. You breathed with him. He spoke his next words with a low rasp, eyes serious as they pored into yours. “You are not broken.”

Your heart fluttered, making its way back to its home in your chest. “Okay,” you muttered. You needed to hear him say that– more than you’d ever be comfortable admitting. Finally, you responded to his prior offer. You knew what you wanted. “Tell me what you found out.”

Jake watched you for a few more seconds before leaning back a little, reaching back to grab his phone from the arm of the chair he’d been sitting in. You averted your sight to your hands this time, not watching his movements. Your hands, which were still nestled nonchalantly on your tummy.

“So,” he started. Your gaze flickered up to him, a lazy smile fitting to your face. You watched his lips move as he spoke. Honestly, you hated how safe he felt. It wrapped you up cozier than the blanket that’d been around you moments ago. And the sad reality: you couldn’t wrap yourself up in him. You’d have to take what you could get. “I found this place. About 30 minutes from us. It’s a bit of a lengthy drive, but I figured it was worth it. It’s a clinic that’s very well known by many people around here, I’ve found out.”

“Expensive?”

“Eh. Yeah. Pricier than others,” he clicked his tongue, raised his brow. “But– I asked Josh offhandedly the other day what the insurance was like at the B&G to figure out if it was covered by your–.”

“What do you mean offhandedly?” You nudged, hoping he hadn’t divulged that it was about you. “You didn’t tell him–?”

“No. I just asked him as if I was comparing it to mine at the agency that I teach lessons through,” he reassured. You breathed in relief. He snickered. “I wouldn’t tell him anything about. . .,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shifting from your face to the wall behind your head and then to his phone again. “Anyways. . . they’re covered by your insurance.”

At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter if Josh found out. . . he was about to have a massive bomb dropped on him (by you, of course). But. . . you still didn’t really want him finding anything out from Jake. Didn’t want him hearing anything before you were ready.

“Cool,” you grinned, trying to ease the tension. He opened his mouth to continue, but you stopped him before he could. “Thank you, by the way. For looking into this.”

He looked surprised and you hated that he seemed that way. You should have been more appreciative to begin with. . . this was such a selfless thing for him to do and you’d reacted by getting defensive and snapping. When that was the last thing he deserved. God, you were awful sometimes.

He smiled, wide and close-lipped. “Of course. I told you I would.”

You nodded, looking back to your hands, which you’d let move to your lap. Didn’t want him catching on to you holding your stomach. “What’s the next step?”

“Well,” he began, hesitantly. “I called them for a quote and asked about a specific therapist.”

“Why specific?” You questioned, scrunching your brows.

“That leads into the next part, actually. . .,” he slowly continued, “She’s the only one at their practice that specializes in this unique form of therapy. A type I’ve read and researched on a fuck ton. . . I wanted to find the perfect method for your specific traumatic effects. So, I thought of the dreams. . . how you like control. . . I think it’s the type of therapy you could benefit most from.”

Damn. Way to call you out on your need for control. If anyone knew how much you desired control, though, you figured he did. But. . .now you were even more curious. . . because. . . you were venturing into different types? Wouldn’t just be sitting down with a shrink? What did he have in mind?

“And this type is. . .?”

His eyes light up, excitedly, as if he’s been dying to get to this part. “It’s called EMDR,” he voiced with a tinge of apprehension and elated anticipation. As you mouthed the letters under your breath, he clarified further. “Eye, E. Movement, M. Desensitization, D. And Reprocessing, R.”

You blinked a few times and shook your head. “Okay,” you stated slowly, placing your hands in front of you to indicate he needed to slow down. “What the fuck does all of that mean though?”

“Before I continue, I need you to know: I’ve done a shit ton of research and out of all of it, I’ve become really invested and interested in this type of therapy specifically. . . and for good reason. I’m really hopeful that it will help you,” he emphasized, eyes sincere.

Your tummy did somersaults at how invested he’d become in all of this . . . but your mind stuttered momentarily at the flutter. You couldn’t help but get lost in the thought of a little bean in there and how you hoped to feel little kicks someday (obviously not yet, Jesus Christ), not just Jake-induced butterflies. God, you hoped there was a little thing in there. . .

Jake’s steady, soft voice brought you back to the present and to his face that peered down at his phone, reading carefully. “To put it simply: it’s like a form of hypnosis. A way to force you to remember certain things so you can finally move on and heal from them.”

You blanched at that. “I’m going to be hypnotized?” To say you were second guessing this was a massive understatement. This EMDR shit could take a back seat. You were already apprehensive about getting help–even with the traditional approach. “I’m not down for hyp-fucking-nosis. Hell no. And all for the sake of remembering things I don’t really care to remember in the first place? I don’t think so, Jake,” you shook your head, toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your t-shirt. “I’m already taking a hugeass leap by being willing to go to therapy itself. I don’t need the voodoo shit . . . I’ll settle for the traditional approach,” you paused, not wanting to get too far ahead before showing your thanks. “But. . . thank you for–.”

“No, no. Listen,” he said, laying one hand on your knee for a blip of a second, your mind short-circuited at the touch. He damn sure had your attention now. “It’s different. Yes, you’ll remember things. But . . . well. . . Shit, I don’t know how to explain it in my own words.

“Well, just send me a link and I’ll give it a read and we’ll settle–.”

“Quit,” he sternly said. “Quit saying that you’re going to settle. I don’t want you to settle. I want you to get to the root of this. . . so you can heal. Please. Hear me out,” he pleaded, the hand going back to rest on your knee for a few moments longer than last time before he removed it again. “It's–it’s more than remembering. It’s like— like your mind takes you back to the memory. You’re there all over again, living it a second time.”

“Yeah,” you went to stand up, but he moved with you, showing you he would follow you. So, you stayed put. Dear God, Jacob. “I don’t want to live the shit for a second time. Why the hell would I want to do that?“

“Do you want to fucking heal?” He snapped, his eyes searching yours for any sort of bullshit.

You blinked, “Damn,” you began, a sarcastic, irritated smirk on your face when you shook your head. Could he give you a break, maybe? Shit. But, still, you answered him. And his impatient, waiting eyes. Your answer was a no-brainer for you at this point. “Yes, Jake. I want to fucking heal.”

His jaw flexed as he let out a deep breath, through his nose, pinching the bridge of it. “So, please, y/n. . . just listen to me. Hear me out. You don’t have to do it. I just want you to let me explain it first,” he begged, eyes trained on yours, following every flicker of them. The unsureness you communicated through your gaze was balanced by the overwhelming sureness in his. You nodded for him to continue. He reciprocated the action, continuing with a deep breath in and and a deep breath out. “EMDR allows you to heal by letting you be in charge of your healing. You have the power to leave the situation this time. You’re in control of it now. It’s the past. But you have to face it. . . That’s part of it. . . The cool thing is, though. . . you can control whether you stay or leave a memory; you control how you move on from it.”

Well, goddammit. . . Of course he’d know just what to say to get you to finally listen to him.

Control. That single word finally flicked the lightbulb on in your stubborn, jaded head.

You paused heavily in your opposition, taking note of his far too sincere features. Perhaps he truly was just trying to help you, a sentiment that had always felt utterly foreign to you throughout your life. You’d held all of your guards up so high for so indescribably long. It took a lot for you to dare let anyone in aside from your sister (who, if you had to be honest, simply didn’t have a choice being your own flesh and blood. . .And given the fact that she lived it, too).

But the harsh reality of the matter was, you had let Jake in. Too much. If it weren’t for the seriousness of the moment, you could’ve smirked at the irony of just how much– the possible little life in your tummy, a constant reminder in recent times. And, well, you’d definitely let him in enough that he knew you came with some serious trauma.

You watched him carefully, suddenly beginning to realize that the only reason you’d felt so reluctant to heed his guidance with this bizarre form of therapy. The reason you always doubted him– you couldn’t fathom the fact that he truly wanted to help you.

But, time and again he seemed to prove you wrong. Even after you’d bitched him out to kingdom come in the kitchen months ago. There was no reason for him to want to help you. But here he was. With his research, his beautiful and honest eyes, the phone that he gripped with purpose with explanation after explanation, as if a lifeline. . .

He cared. Whether you could accept it or not. . .it didn’t change the fact that he actually cared.

“I’ll go talk to the therapist,” you finally offered, relenting as much as you could at that moment. “I’ll feel it all out after I talk to her about it. . .,” you leveled, feeling fair in that decision.

And he didn’t question, just shook his head with a lip stuck out. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.”

“How do I schedule the appointment?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next day was spent making strides towards your future. You scheduled the OBGYN appointment as soon as the clinic opened— being as that was the first, major priority. Setting that up had been simple. A date and time. The insurance you’d be using. Then, you’d hung up.

But, as soon as you’d set that up (and felt utter relief at having that panned out), you called the counseling practice Jake had told you about. And, you set up a therapy session with the woman Jake had given you the name of for the day before your first OB appointment. . .

The counseling appointment was set up for the upcoming Monday. . . For some reason, when you’d been on the phone, scheduling for the nearest date available had seemed like the only logical option. But, it hadn’t been as cut and dry as your scheduling for the doctor’s appointment. There’d been a form. They’d informed you that they would email it for you to fill out with some general information (and a picture) before your first appointment. It was slightly daunting, but not totally unexpected, the more you’d thought about it. It was an understandably reasonable precursor to your first session. Just a few minor things to assist in your therapist knowing the most basic things about you before beginning.

Doing it before the OB appointment had also seemed like a good idea. Talking to someone about the newfound worries to help you wade through the days to seeing the obstetrician. . . It seemed like a good plan of action. Made you feel more peace for the whole situation, honestly.

So, that Friday, as you settled into your seat for a stupid ass writing course, you didn’t even care as you felt like other things were on the move. Honestly, at this point, you wanted to say fuck school and your distaste for the major you’d chosen. . . As they didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of it all. Bigger things were about to start happening.

And you could only hope that what awaited you would be positive. . . Positive bigger things ahead.

Bigger things that looked like real healing and a baby with Jake’s eyes.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The couch was leather and a little cold, even through your leggings. . . and the small office-room smelled like essential oils. It was reminiscent of a spa without the ambience music.

The place didn’t need the music, though. . . the oils and general atmosphere were the perfect, calming mixture. . . Well thought out combination of smells and colors to ease the mind.

But no therapist. Not yet. You’d been led by the secretary into a room where you now sat by yourself. She’d offered tea, coffee, and water, with a large, welcoming smile on her freckled face. You couldn’t refuse the offer, so you’d accepted the option of water.

It had been in a bottle, and you clutched it tightly, opened only for the tiniest sip as you let your body relax as much as it could, leaning the slightest bit back into the couch.

And you continued to wait.

You watched the closed wooden door, your eyes wandering every now and then to the artwork that depicted gardens and fresh flowers. . . Some were beautiful paintings, while others were simple little drawings, or even real flowers, pressed in a glass frame.

The walls were tinged with a light sage—the color, oddly easing to the mind.

Then the knob was twisting open, matching the feeling of your nervous tummy. The muscles at the pit of your stomach flexed and flinched at the prospect of the therapist. What was she going to be like? Would she match the cool, relaxing environment of her office? You could only fucking hope. . .

Looking down at your hands to avoid any awkward eye contact, you took note of how badly you needed a manicure. . . damn.

“Y/n?” A reposeful, gentle voice interrupted your nail critique. You looked up to acknowledge your long-awaited company. . . and man, was she completely different from your last therapist. The first thing you noticed was that she was. . . young. Mid-thirties at the very oldest. She was much younger than your aging counselor from the past. How long had she been doing this? “I’m Gianna. But all of my clients and closest friends call me Gia.”

“Gia,” you tried it out, letting a small smile fit to your face. It was a genuine smile– you were relieved. Without even really knowing her, you already felt so at ease with her. She was one of those people–like Elsie or Josh–who just carried a naturally empathetic, calming air. Made you feel like you were standing in the breeze on a warm spring day. “Nice to meet you.”

Her hair, naturally dark, but dyed beautifully to be a blonde-gray, was up in a styled messy bun. Lips, painted in the most beautiful naturally red tint. . . and the round, wire-framed glasses that sat on the bridge of her nose complimented her soft features so incredibly well. The freckles on her pale face, visible through the circular frames. Her cheeks were tinged with a perfectly rosy blush, and they swelled with your greeting.

She adjusted her loose, beige overalls over her off-white, long-sleeved mock neck. The overalls were the fabric ones that’d gone viral (which helped you to note how incredibly trendy she was, if you hadn’t already been able to guess that). She inhaled and exhaled easily, her lips quirking even more than before. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n,” she repeated back to you. “I’m sorry it took me a bit to make my entrance. I like to give my people some time to adjust to the space before they’re bombarded with all of the therapy stuff. It’s an important thing to me.” Then her leg was being bent to balance her white, platform converse on the seat of her pale pink rolling chair. “Before we begin. . . I also need you to know that my office has a completely open door policy. If, at any moment, you start feeling uncomfortable, please let me know and you may leave to take a break, or simply leave the practice to adjust your thoughts before the next session. Won’t charge you for the whole time or anything. . .,” she added the last part, surely as another financially conscientious adult. “I just know that sometimes this shit gets tough–baring all of it and having to get through it. . . it’s rarely easy, and I want to be able to foster a healthy, resting environment for you as you wade through all of it.”

“Wow,” you blinked, your heart warm in your chest as you let yourself sink a little further into the couch, shoulders loosening just a bit. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”

Winking, she brought the mug up to her lips that she’d carried in with her. After taking a sip, she sat it on her desk and then wrapped both arms around her bent leg. “Is there anything you’d like to know about me and my profession before we begin?”

You pondered that, always having questions swirling in your head. “Just general things,” you snorted, playing it off. “Stupid, basic shit that I don’t need answered.”

“Nothing is stupid in here, sweets,” she said firmly, her eyes communicating more than the words she’d said. “Sometimes misguided and confused, yes, but never stupid.” She used the foot on the ground to swing the chair from side to side, ever-so-slightly. “Sooo, shoot. Ask anything you’d like–basic or not.”

Blinking at her again, you let your grip on your water bottle ease up. “Oh, um,” you quietly began. You scrambled for the right words. “Well, I guess I was wondering how long you’ve been doing this?”

She giggled. “Oh, sure. . . I’ve been practicing for about five years. Administered EMDR for the past two or so. . .” Her cheeks were still rosy with a gentle smile when she spoke next. “I will ask, though. . . did you not check out the website prior to this?”

Fuck. You hadn’t thought to do that. That was strange. . . usually you’d jump at the chance of looking into anything and everything before diving head first into something. Especially something as serious as a life-changing thing like therapy and the person you’d be inevitably baring your soul to. What in the fuck? Why hadn’t you thought to do that?

“I– um,” you searched her eyes, as if they held your answer. “I didn’t. Which is strange for me.”

“It’s not a big deal, really,” she said, grabbing her mug from her desk again. But before taking a sip, she continued. “I just noted on your form that you like having control over the things that transpire in your life. And checking the website to do some solid research seems like just the way to do that.” She took a sip, humming as she took it away from her full lips. “But there’s my thoughts going to crazy places based primarily on black and white principles. And we’re definitely not here to do that,” she shook her body as if shaking it off, putting her leg down and nestling her mug between her hands. “I don’t look at shit in black and white. That’s something that, as your therapist, I need you to know. There’s a lot of healing properties found in the gray.”

You couldn’t explain it, but the last sentence left you feeling this overwhelming sense of hope and understanding. Without even knowing you, she seemed to get the fact that you came with a lot of fuckin’ gray. All kinds of shades of the color. Had you been that transparent on your form? Not able to remember it, you just pushed it to the side as you figured it didn’t really matter. Because even if you had been open on the form, you were about to get much more transparent.

“Thank you,” was all you said, the water bottle held in loose hands as you comfortably crossed your legs. “My life has left me pretty fucking gray, so that’s a relief.”

“There’s beauty in the gray, love,” she noted, leaning forward as if engaging even further in the conversation (as if she wasn’t already remarkably with-it). She held her tea steady in her hands, and you couldn’t help but look down at the mug to see what it looked like. And, of course, it was covered in pale flowers, just like her office. “I’m down for any more questions you may have.”

“Family?”

“Just a fiancé, but other than her, I’m pretty estranged from much more family. Boundaries are a specialty of mine, and I’ve had to set a few in my life,” she said, assured and confident. “No kids yet. We aren’t quite sure if we want them or not.”

You nodded. But, you were not able to hold back the wetness that gathered in your eyes. The tears settled at your ducts and if you blinked, you knew they’d fall. The way you were feeling at the moment was unexplainable. So many things at once. But, most importantly, you were thankful. Thankful for people like Gia. The woman exuded peace and you weren’t sure why you’d ever questioned trying therapy again when there were women like her in this profession.

“Thank you,” you said again, as if you were a manufactured robot. Then you shook your head, embarrassed at your currently tiny vocabulary. “I’m sorry I keep saying that. I’m just grateful there’s people like you in this world.”

Wow. Okay. So we’re getting real honest and sentimental now, huh? A good-humored voice asked you. Here for it.

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said quietly, respecting the new emotions in the room. “Are you ready to tell me a bit about you?”

Letting the tears fall with a blink, you wiped at them with a breathy laugh. She grabbed the nearest tissue box and handed it to you. You wiped under your eyes and dabbed at your cheeks. “Chose to not wear makeup for a reason,” you chuckled, internally thanking past-you. She laughed with you, placing the Kleenex on the couch next to you for proper access, then sat back, balancing her elbows on her thighs as she held her face up with open palms.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said once you’d settled. “We’ve got the next hour and a half.”

“How much do you wanna know?” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you placed your locked hands over your tummy. “I’m a basket case.”

Her eyes sparkled. “As much as you’re willing to tell me,” she affirmed with a wink behind her glasses. “I’m all ears.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

So, as you left that day, you were absolutely confident in saying Gia knew about as much of your life as Elsie did. And that was saying something.

She’d just been so receptive, and had kept encouraging you– as you cried and laughed and sighed and growled. She kept reminding you that she wanted to ‘hear as much as you’d give her’. That she was ‘in your corner’ and that she was ‘there for you.’ And her words and kind eyes were enough to spur you on. Continue to the point of her knowing nearly everything there was to know about your life.

From your childhood to now, Gia was now totally knowledgeable in the realm of Y/n.

Thankfully, there’d been no EMDR, as she informed you that next session you’d begin talking about the intricacies of the practice and whether or not you wanted to begin with it the session after your next. She wanted to take time to adjust and ‘simply be’ before introducing the innovative method of therapy.

She’d given a couple of tidbits about it, just for you to think about before the next session, but not too much, since the next session was dedicated to her actually breaking it down for you.

“Now, before you leave, I want you to know that we can locate your safe place next time. The place in your mind where you’ll return when you need a breath of fresh air amidst the memories,” she’d offered, hands in her pockets, tea cup abandoned as you stood up alongside her to follow her out of the office. But before you two left the office space, she took the time to assure you once more. “But only if that is what you decide you want. This is your life, sweets, and I’m just here to help you through it.”

And, for the eighty-millionth time that day, you’d told her ‘thank you.’ You were going to take a bit of time to consider it.

She’d also given you a few nuggets of wisdom.

They’d specifically followed the end of your session, when you’d broken down about the unsureness of your pregnancy (but easily applied to the rest of your messy ass life).

One thing she said to do: “Slow down your thoughts. Do not let them take control. Slow them down and figure them out with what you know. Piece by piece, break them down before they get too astronomically crazy.”

Another being: “Let yourself feel peace. Just every once in a while, let yourself feel it and don’t let guilt eat you alive for it.” (When you’d laughed sarcastically, she’d nodded, agreeing that it was “most definitely easier said than done.”)

She had been wonderful at assuring you that it was most definitely a product of your trauma to react so preposterously. How you thought certain decisions and thoughts might give you peace, yet always resulted in the opposite. But, she’d also told you that you’d “figure it out bit by bit” as you move along and to “give yourself grace” as you navigate it all on your own, in your day-to-day life.

But, there was one singular, specific piece of advice she’d offered that was sticking out more than much else.

Of course, you’d filled her in all the way up to your appointment tomorrow and Elsie’s idea for Josh to attend with you. You wanted her opinion on it, asking for as much, and she’d been firm in her opinion. Her words rang in your head as you navigated the late afternoon New York traffic on your way back home.

“Your sister is a genius,” she’d said astonishingly, blowing out a breath from between her naturally full lips. “Everything she said is exactly what I’d tell you, too, sweets. And if it helps to hear this, even as an outside party, Josh sounds like the type of person to receive it in a non-traumatizing manner. He will, most definitely, be sensitive to your feelings. And, having him there will help you feel less alone and calm in your worries. . . and it will help him feel needed–like Elsie said. So, truly, it’s a win-win. If I had my way, I’d make sure Josh is there tomorrow. But, again, it’s your life and it’s up to you.”

“How do I even ask, though?” You asked pathetically, pulling your sleeves down over your hands as you began to get nervous at the prospect.

“Take a deep breath,” she calmly recited (as she’d done a time or two during your life lament). After doing it with you, she settled you with an understanding gaze. “Just text him. Tell him you have an important appointment tomorrow and that you need him there with you.”

“And if he asks what it’s for?”

“I’d say you tell him that you’ll tell him when you see him or when you get there,” she advised. “But, I don’t think he’s the type of person to question when you’re being vulnerable like that. I’d bet you he just agrees to it, no questions asked– if he’s free, that is,” she winked.

So, with her sitting there, you’d texted him and asked exactly what she’d told you to. The thing about having an “important appointment.”

And even though he hadn’t responded, you tried to not overthink it as you calmed down from telling your entire life story to your therapist.

When you’d pulled into the apartment complex, your stomach sank at the sight that greeted you. Your space was awaiting you, but Jake’s, next to yours, was empty. Per usual these days, his new purchase of a used car was not at home at the same time as you. Really, you’d gotten used to his lack of presence. But it always made you sadder than you wanted to admit. Because, well, you knew if he wasn’t at the studio or some rehearsal, he was most likely with Maya (you were awfully glad he didn’t bring her around the apartment too much, but still. . .your mind went crazy at the other prospects of what they were doing).

But today, it was worse. You were sad for more than your assumptions about his whereabouts. Today, you desperately wanted to tell him thank you– wanted to fill him in on how it had gone so great. But he wasn’t there. Because you’d pushed him away (something that Gia told you you’d ‘navigate the reasoning for’).

So, as you trudged up the steps, instead of walking in to tell Jake, you just took time to relax as much as you could. And you figured a good way to do that was to give yourself a long ‘everything shower,’ with your most favorite R&B playlist playing as background noise.

And when you’d gotten out, the screen that you opened your phone to was something that brought a swarm of anxiously joyous butterflies. Under his name, there was a ‘Yes, of course!’ from Josh. And below his text, was a notification for your next appointment with Gia. One week from today.

Everything would be okay. It would. You recited this as you responded to him, deciding to try your best not to think of telling him until you absolutely had to tomorrow, after hitting send with a simple ‘thank you :)’.

You kept reciting that everything would ‘be okay’ as you put a hand to the firm little bump, growing steadily at the bottom of your tummy. And you contemplated as much as you were willing to, without reducing yourself to any more tears (you’d cried enough already for one day). Because now all you were going to be plagued with for the next several hours until your OB appointment was whether there was actually a baby in your growing belly.

You then ate a giant salad (everything else you wanted to eat had made you feel nauseous as hell), as you’d watched Friends. Your thoughts were subdued, but still spiraled a tad. . .though, you took Gia’s advice and tried to slow them down to navigate each one with what you genuinely knew. There was nothing telling you that you weren’t with child besides your own convoluted mess of negative thought. More signs were pointing to that you still were. One piece of truth keeping you going was your growing belly. And even though bellies could still grow after miscarriage or in the case of hysterical pregnancy, the probability of that being your situation was very, very slim. Right?

You knew that.

Before too long, you were standing in front of your vanity, braiding your wet hair and laying down to find rest much easier than many nights in recent times. . . the only thing that kept you up for a bit longer than you wanted was wondering why Jake hadn’t come home yet.

But, again, you knew it was none of your fucking business.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next afternoon had you waiting outside of your apartment as soon as Josh said he was about five minutes away. Your apartment had started to feel absolutely insufferable, closing in around you as your mind went crazy with scenarios.

The autumn day was lovely, sun shining, but warmer today than it’d been yet this season. With no breeze. And, the lack of breeze was not aiding in your already-sweaty palms, wet with nerves. Or your upset stomach—your current nausea induced by your anxiety more than the (hopeful) baby in your tummy.

Your stomach was fucking rolling as you waited for Josh to pull up to the complex.

Dramatic as it may have sounded, you felt as if you were on the verge of a heatstroke when he eventually showed up in his little car, which was literally squeaking and creaking as it sat still. The exhaust emitted from the back of the car was enough to make you feel like you were actually going to blow chunks, and you instantly decided you could not ride thirty minutes to the clinic in his little hunk of metal.

Sending a quick text, you made up an excuse to take your car. To emphasize the text, you went ahead and started walking to your Jetta, parked in its usual spot.

You, 11:49 p.m.: I need to get gas… Can we take my car?

Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Of course.

Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Are you ready?

You smiled, looking over to where he was still parked in his visitor space. His eyebrows crinkled in concentration to the device in his hand as he watched the screen, waiting for you to respond.

You, 11:51 p.m.: Yes, Joshua. I’m at my car and staring right at you.

As soon as he got the text, you waited for what you knew was coming. He looked up from his phone, through his windshield, and at you with a giant grin painted across his features. It didn’t take him long to get out of his car, lightly jogging as he came over to you.

“You creep,” he smiled, slightly out of breath. “Peeking through my windows.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach started aching, yet again, at the prospect of what you were about to tell him. Honestly, at this point, you were just ready to get it over. The longer you kept it to yourself, the more you were worrying about it and his possible reaction. And the sooner you could just tell him, you’d see his honest, real reaction. . . and then you could deal with the rest from there.

It also helped that his girlfriend and your certified therapist thought that it would go okay. They were the practical thinkers in this situation, whereas you were an overthinker to the highest degree. And, if you could just get it out–just fucking tell him–you could (hopefully) validate their predictions of how the situation would play out.

“Am I driving or are you?” He asked, bringing your thoughts back to the present.

To current Josh. Josh who didn’t know anything yet. Completely ignorant Josh. . . fuck. The last moments of keeping him in the dark.

“You,” was all you said before you unlocked the car and made your way to the passenger side. Once you were both inside, you handed him the keys as he started the engine.

Your stomach fucking dropped as he backed out of the space. . . what was about to come out would literally change you and Josh forever.

Would it be for good? Would it be for bad? If he was going to be mad at you, how long would he stay that way?

You couldn’t be upset with him if he got angry. For everything. Like distracting Jake when Josh had specifically told you he didn’t want that for his twin. Or for simply keeping this giant ass secret from him about it all. The more you thought about it, you thought that perhaps the reason you were so scared was because of how completely validated he would be if he did end up being pissed as hell with you. . .

But. . . you just couldn’t stand losing him. Especially at such a time as this. . . you needed him.

And that’s why you just needed to fucking tell him. It was inevitable for him to find out, and the sooner it was out, the sooner you weren’t lying to him anymore. Because that’s exactly what you’d been doing. You’d been fucking lying. For months. To your best friend.

“So,” he began, excited–the complete opposite of how you were feeling. “Where are we going?”

Plugging your phone into the CarPlay, you turned off Siri’s voice before you did anything since you didn’t want her blurting out your destination before you were ready to tell him. Once she was silenced, you pulled up the directions to the clinic you’d carefully chosen.

You sat back slowly after entering it, your stomach spinning as your thoughts went insane and your nerves continued to set on white-hot fire.

You spared a glance over at him through your lashes to see him looking out the corner of his eye at you, coming up to a stoplight. The look he was giving you made you sure that your face was morphed to show utter terror and worry. “What’s wrong, mama?”

Fuck. You turned to face the front again and squeezed your eyes shut at the nickname, bringing two clenched, sweaty fists up to your eyes as your skin began to feel like it was quite actually peeling off of you in nervous jitters. Your eyes couldn’t stand being squeezed shut any longer as you felt the tears forming behind your lids.

He continued driving, but with the occasional nervous glance in your direction.

Then, he laid a comforting palm on your shoulder, his thumb soothing circles over your arm.

And, once he’d done that, it was no longer in your control to keep the tears at bay. You tried to fight them back, but it was to no avail.

So, there you were, face becoming drenched in tears as you couldn’t stop sputtering little sobs.

In your peripheral, you saw Josh looking at you as he came to one last light before the highway, face surely painted with distress. “Y/n?” He checked, careful and concerned. “I’m sorry if I said some–.”

And what came out of your mouth next was not at all expected. But, it blurted through your lips with zero fucking warning. You did not know which part of your brain had decided to communicate with your mouth to say it.

“I’m pregnant,” you sobbed.

The car lurched to a stop, cars honking furiously behind you at Josh’s abrupt action. Your stomach, already thick with nerves, couldn’t handle it. You quickly slapped an open palm over your mouth to conceal any projectile vomiting. Thankfully none came, but you had to clench your eyes shut once again as Josh made a wide, sloppy U-turn off of the street that was leading to the highway.

And when he’d finally come to a stop again, you opened your eyes to see he’d pulled the car over into the nearest McDonald’s.

Focusing too hard on trying not to vomit helped you to stop the outrageous weeping for a few minutes. You finally peeled the hand from your mouth as you took several deep breaths, in and out, to calm yourself and your stomach.

Before you even knew what was happening, Josh was getting out, running to the door of the establishment. You watched in the mirror to your right as he simultaneously got his wallet out of his back pocket.

Choosing not to worry about it, you shut your eyes once more to ease your tummy. But it did not help and you felt the puke coming in just enough time to unlock your door, open it, and puke all over a piece of the yellow line that boxed the car into its space.

You groaned as you leaned back up into the car and into your seat, letting your hair fall from the impromptu ponytail that you were holding at the back of your neck. Popping open the glovebox, you grabbed a few napkins to wipe your face (these days, between the incessant crying and vomiting, you were fucking constantly thanking God for the years-accumulated collection).

And then the driver’s side door was opening once more, this time Josh’s khakis making the first appearance as he climbed back in. He had two cups, one balanced between his bicep, clad in a white, long-sleeved tee and his chest and one in his hand. He quickly placed both in the center cup holders and popped a straw in each.

Your brows lifted, wondering. “What did you–?”

“Sprite,” he pointed to the one at the front. “And water,” the one in the second holder.

“How did you–?”

“There’s a part of my brain permanently cemented with what it was like to watch my mom be pregnant with Sammy,” he explained, eyes soft with a smile gracing his handsome features. “I was too young to remember watching her pregnancy with Ron, but Sammy. . . he’s always been tough–even in the fuckin’ womb.”

You gave a small giggle, stomach spinning when your hand went to grab the Sprite. The carbonation sounded perfect, and Sprite had been a go-to in a few cases of your recent nausea.

The cool drink had been just what you’d needed, sighing as soon as you brought the straw away from your lips with the first sip. You kept it clutched in your hands as a lifeline when you looked at Josh next, eyes wet. “Thank you, Joshy,” you croaked, tone exuding gratefulness.

“Yeah, always,” he affirmed, his eyebrows dipped in. The next few minutes were spent in silence, your thoughts finally quieted a little with the initial confession to him. You took a few quiet sips of your drink, the sound of you swallowing the loudest sound in the small car.

Knowing he most likely wasn’t wanting to pressure you to talk, you took the initiative. “I–I’m sorry for not– I’m–,” you choked, shaking your head. The tears were beginning to gather once fucking more. Yet, even with eyes wet and throat tight, you persevered. You had to get the rest of it said before you continued to the appointment–you were going to be late if you didn’t get going soon. And you weren’t about to tell him the rest afterwards. “I have to tell you the rest.”

His jaw clenched in preparation for it as he nodded, his body turning to better face you for what was left. “Lay it on me.”

You gulped, mimicking his movement so you could see him better. Your throat was so tight it nearly suffocated you with nerves. “The–the father,” you started, looking into the eyes that looked so eerily similar to his brother’s. Very much like the ones you hoped your baby would wind up having–yet, not entirely the same. “Do you want to know?”

Of course you’ll want to, you thought at your ridiculous question. And I’m going to tell you anyway, but I’m stalling like a pussy.

His lips quirked, but only the slightest, tiniest bit. “Only if you want to tell me.”

I have to.

“I–I do,” you said, your eyes darting down to your hands which wrung at your waist, itching to touch your tummy. So, you did, settling them on the small bump. And instantly, you felt better. You were beginning to find it slightly crazy what one simple touch could do.

Choosing to watch your hands lace at your tummy instead of him, you took the last jump with two words. “It’s Jake.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: i promise you won't be waiting a month for Josh's reaction ;) see you very, very soon <3

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts!

Fill this form out if you'd like to join my taglist! <3 (i am slowly but surely adding these users to the taglist! :) life is busy as hell and i haven't been updating my doc w the tags like i should :/)

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#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake fic #jake kiszka #covet #my fics

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creedslove · 1 year

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STUDYING

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

A/N: I got the inspiration for this piece during my own spanish class this week, I was supposed to be paying attention but I was thinking of him and my upcoming test and got distracted. Also, it's worth to mention that reader studies Spanish in a language school that teaches adults foreign languages just like I do in real life (and I'm 26) which means there's NOTHING to do with highschool or underage reader at all. If this kind of school isn't a thing in your country then it's too bad, lol!

Summary: Pedro helps you study and get your Spanish essay done on time but you get distracted by your personal tutor at home

Warnings: fluff, sweet boyfriend Pedro and a tiny bit of smut towards the end

1.2k words

It was about your third or fourth sigh that caught Pedro's attention. He knew you were having your moment of studying and he always made sure to give you your space, so you could focus, do your tasks, spread all your pens and papers with endless notes across the table and finish everything on time.

However, this time he could tell by the times you ripped pages off your notebook and crumpled it things weren't going so smoothly. He'd borrowed one of your highlighters to highlight his lines in the new script he was engaging into, being comfortable in the living room when he heard you mumbling something about 'fucking that shit'

He frowned curiously as he knew you absolutely adored studying Spanish, you enjoyed it so much you often spent hours making cute and colorful vocabulary summaries you'd learned in class, and you were nerdy to the point of writing essays without the teacher requesting them, just for fun, writing about random topics you enjoyed.

And Pedro was also aware you didn't study Spanish because of him. You'd been studying it for at least a year before you two met, knowing it had to do with the possibility of getting a better position, or a new job, or a nice trip abroad or even understanding movies and series. As he knew, you loved studying languages and that was one of the things he loved about you. And also the fact he could practice it at home with you, enjoying the fact you very often got his internal jokes or pet names you called each other.

In reality, he knew he wasn't the reason why you started learning Spanish, but he knew he was the reason why you kept studying it and made sure to get good results. And he loved it.

One thing you really enjoyed about Pedro was that he never intruded in your business. He knew you were smart enough to learn it by yourself and only if you needed help he would offer some. You avoided asking him for help as much as you could, you just wanted to do things on your own and you also loved his proud face when you were able to carry full conversations on different topics or understand a whole movie without having to rely on subtitles. But that essay was driving you insane.

Your test was coming up and it made you nervous. For the first time, you began feeling the difficulties in the language as the grammar was becoming harder and harder and you didn't know what else you could do to memorize that. Your essay, or composición as your boyfriend would say, was stressing you out, as nothing seemed good enough, you've written better, hell, even Pedro had told you many times how good your writing was and he wouldn't lie to you, that's for sure. But yet, you weren't convinced and when you finished that piece of shit you called a text you were already exhausted.

You began collecting your pens and pencils and organizing them back into the case and cleaning up the table when Pedro walked towards you. He had a sweet smile on his face and gently stroked your cheek, his curious brown eyes scanned the place until they fell onto your work.

"¿Qué pasa mi amor?" He asked in his beautiful, sexy accent and pulled a chair, sitting next to you. "I know you can do everything, but if you want, I can help you" he offered gently, not really thinking you'd agree with it, but when you handed him your text he grabbed his reading glasses, those black ones you loved and that always distracted you. At that point, you didn't give one single shit about tests, grades or evaluations, you would love to climb his lap and ride your handsome boyfriend while he dirty talked in spanish into your ear until exhaustion.

You barely noticed him talking to you, you were too busy looking at him, his tight sweater looking great on him, his messy soft hair, the way he softly bit his lips unconsciously when he focused on reading and those damn glasses.

"Y/N? Princesa? Are you listening to me?" He raised his brow and stared at you, waiting for you to reply. You swallowed hard and looked at him, feeling your cheeks flushing as you were caught fantasizing about your boyfriend.

"Y-yeah, I am, sorry cariño, I was just thinking of the test" you lied and looked at what he was pointing out in the paper. Pedro had taken a red pen and circled some words, you had either misspelled those or just put them in the wrong place, but overall your text was pretty decent. He gently explained you what you got wrong and how you could fix it better, though he could also tell you weren't really caring about that at the moment and knowing his sweet little puta very well, he knew whatever was on your mind had nothing to do with tests or school.

"Are you having wet dreams about your Spanish teacher, Y/N?" He folded his arms and looked at you "because I can just tell your mind is miles away from your studies and by the way you are clenching your thighs together you are probably very wet now" he smirked and loved how red you got. You knew there was no way you could fight that and lying would be just stupid. You bit your lips and chuckled, placing your hand on his thigh "I would have these if they fired that annoying cunt and hired you instead, though I can't complain about my private tutor" you whispered and leaned into his body, kissing his exposed neck gently and before he had any other action, you got up and immediately sat on his lap, facing him and pecking his soft lips gently, feeling his facial hair tickling you. His hands immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, at the same time you raised your ass lifting your skirt up and feeling the contact of his rough jeans against your thin panties, moving your hips slowly against his, the friction on your core sending shivers down your spine just as Pedro felt his pants tightening at how hard he got.

"I know you want to help me, but we both agree this isn't my best work, so I can even rewrite it later if you want, but now…" you kissed him deeper this time and you felt how Pedro bucked his hips against yours, looking for more touch, more exposure of your skin on his.

"Y/N… you're teasing me" he groaned and only got a smirk as a reply

"Lo que quiero decir és que podríamos hacer otras cosas ahora, papi… ¿Qué te parece?" You whispered against his ear knowing it drove him insane when you spoke with him like that.

Pedro pulled your panties to the side and ran his thumb up and down your hard clit, feeling how wet you were and nodded.

"Sí, pero si no te vayas bien and la prueba, voy a darte un castigo" he whispered back against your lips and slapped your ass hard, making you whimper and feel your cheek burn, as you definitely knew what kind of punishment he'd give you.

______

A/N: this is my first one shot after years of not writing. I hope it wasn't so bad and there might be a second part to it because I still have many Spanish tasks to carry out which means there might be more ideas, hopefully a little bit more smut this time. Also I posted it through the app and it somehow got worse when it comes to editing posts 🤌

Anyway, feedback = life

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal works #actor #hot actors #male actors #pedro pascal headcanons

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greenteaandtattoos · 1 year

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A very popular theory that Marisha really likes is that Maya - Cerrit’s daughter who had been gifted Patia’s orb that held all of her memories - helped build the Cobalt Reserve, a branch of the Cobalt Soul. The Cobalt Reserve’s mission, as we know, is to accumulate and preserve knowledge.

She thinks that Maya and Cerrit, or at least Patia’s orb, ended up with the Cobalt Reserve, and that it was Cerrit's job to specifically influence the work that all future expositors would have to do.

Beauregard’s an Expositor of the Cobalt Reserve.

One of the archives of the Cobalt Reserve is in Marquet, known as The Temple of the Mentor, specifically in Ank'Harel. The city was visited by Vox Machina. Granted, Beau isn’t a member of that branch, but as a member, I’m sure she could access it.

As we learn in Call of the Netherdeep, the branch and archive of the Cobalt Reserve in Marquet was particularly dedicated to bringing down the Consortium of the Vermilion Dream, a cult dedicated to studying Rudius. Who, let’s be real now, is probably connected to the Ruby Vanguard.

The Cobalt Reserve Marquet branch discovered ruidium, a red mineral, which was named by the Consortium of Vermillion Dream because of the red color and their belief that it is connected to Ruidus, which they use in weapons.

Ruidium was created during the Calamity, and is imbued with magical properties that emits the power of Alyxian, the Apotheon. Also known as The Paragon as well as being a ruidusborn. He was blessed by three Prime Deities during the Calamity, one of them being the Changebringer.

Ank’Harel has a temple dedicated to the Duskmaven - also known as the Matron of Raven or the Raven Queen - known as the Crossings of Eventide.

I know I’m repeating myself, but the Raven Queen is suspected to be ruidiusborn and is also a personal acquaintance of Patia before she ascended, whose orb may have ended up with the Cobalt Reserve.

Evidently, Matt has decided to say “fuck it with the subtle Calamity references” (as if they were ever subtle lol) and just straight-up reference the Ring of Brass.

The B Team - Laudna, Orym, and Ashton - ended up in Marquet. What if they learn of and go to the Cobalt Reserve in hopes to find some information? I should remind everyone that Eshteross said he’d reach out to contacts in Ank'Harel, (c3 ep 11) naming some of them being part of the Temple of the Mentor. What if the B Team follows up on that?

AND what if Caleb and Beauregard also ended up in Marquet and the B Team finds them. Then, they lead and help the B Team gain access to the Cobalt Reserve’s Ank’Harel library?

What if they find Patia’s orb? What if they meet some of Maya and Cerrit’s descendants, or they’re referenced in some way, since they were the ones who brought the orb there? What if that is how they learn of Avalir, of the truth of Calamity, and through that, come up with some way to stop/seal Predathos?

I know that Aabria thinks that Maya and Cerrit ended up in Niirdal-Poc instead but... well, not that Matt plays favorites but... Marisha is part of the B Team lol

TL;DR:

Marisha likes the theory that Cerrit helped build the Cobalt Soul and Cobalt Reserve with the help of Patia’s orb, specifically training future Expositors

Beauregard is an Expositor of the Cobalt Reserve

There’s a Marquet branch of the Cobalt Soul in Ank’Harel called the Temple of the Mentor

Team B is in Marquet

Eshteross said he’d reach out to some contacts in Marquet, specifically in the Temple of the Mentor

The Temple of the Mentor is dedicated to stopping the The Consortium of Vermillion Dream

The Consortium of Vermillion Dream likely being a part of the Ruby Vanguard based on its studies of Ruidus

The Temple of the Mentor discovered a precious mineral which was named ruidium by the Consortium of Vermillion Dream

Ruidium emits powers of Alyxian

Alyxian was Ruidusborn

Alyxian was known as the Paragon

The Paragon’s Call being a part of the Ruby Vanguard

The Paragon’s Call worships the Raven Queen

The Raven Queen suspected to be Ruidusborn

There’s a temple in Ank’Harel dedicated to the Raven Queen

Patia personally knew the Raven Queen before she ascended

Patia’s orb possibly ending up with the Cobalt Reserve

B Team finds the orb and learns about Avalir

Team B also meet Maya and Cerrit’s descendants thanks to their role in using the orb to create the Cobalt Reserve

They all come up with a way to defeat Predathos using the information from the orb

The orb was given to Maya in the first place by Patia

Patia was Marisha’s character

Laudna is part of the B Team in Marquet

Matt loves his wife lol

Matt makes the theory canon because Marisha likes it lol

#critical role #cr c3 #exu calamity #bells hells #ring of brass #cerrit agrupnin #maya agrupnin #patia por'co #beauregard lionett #ariks eshteross #the raven queen #laudna #orym #ashton greymoore #orringinal rambles #i am looking way way way too much into this #but fuck it if thats not an analyst's job than i don't know what is

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newtthetranswriter · 10 months

Note

could you write yuta x reader, just a cute college au with maybe a jealous juts at or party or a study session in the dorms fluff? please and thank you if you want lol

Pairing: Yuta x gn!reader

Word count: 2076

A/n: Hey thank you for requesting this. I had fun writing it. Yuta is one of my favorites so it was nice writing for him again. I hope this is what you were hoping for, I’m not sure if I really captured the Jealous Yuta but I tried. Also the college part is implied, it worked best for me to leave them in the normal jjk world with curses and stuff but I tend to write with the mindset of everyone is aged up to college age, so hopefully it works for you, Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

It’s the Friday before exams which typically means a weekend long study session. Each time we do this a different member of our group is chosen to host in their dorm, this time I’m the lucky one to host our crazy group. Study sessions with this group always go wrong in some way, be it because someone ends up spilling something over everyone's books while being dumb cough Panda cough, or if anyone falls asleep they get a lovely drawing on their face courtesy of Toge. But I'm determined to make this session go on without anything going wrong.

You see, I have a foolproof plan to make everything go well. No drinks near books, no dips or sauces, and definitely no pens or markers. I gathered all the supplies we would need, that also wouldn’t pose a problem to our study session. Colored pencils instead of highlighters and pens, flash cards, chips, drinks in spill proof containers and an abundance of paper towels just in case.

“Welcome to my room, now put every pen and marker or anything that can be used for vandalism in this box. Take a seat on the floor and then I will go over the rules.” I said holding out a lock box as I greeted my four friends as they entered. I received a disgruntled look from Toge as he begrudgingly placed all his writing utensils in the box.

As everyone took a seat in a circle on the floor getting out their books, Panda paused for a second before piping up, “Hey wait what do you mean rules, and why are the pens and markers being locked up.” Toge nodded in agreement, being upset about having his favorite weapons taken from him.

“Well you see, everytime we have a study session someone causes trouble. There are three rules for this weekend. One, if a drink can not be sealed with a lid, is to stay on the table. Two, no dip or sauces around the books or note pads, if you want to snack it has to be at the table. And finally all the pens and markers are locked in this box which only I know the code to, as no one here needs a temporary tattoo on their face.” I said with a slight glare at the cursed speech user.

“Makes perfect sense but what are we supposed to use for color coding if all the markers are locked up?” Yuta asked, looking at me with confusion.

“Colored pencils, I picked up a bunch and there’s a pencil sharpener in the middle if its needed.” I responded while sitting down between him and Toge so we could start our study session.

We were currently all studying for our math exam, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to look at Toge who was writing something down in one of his notebooks after confirming that he had my attention. He had a slight look of confusion on his face as he wrote out his question.

How do you solve this equation again, letters in math don’t make sense at all. I smiled gently before grabbing my own set of notes to explain how to solve the problem. What I failed to notice was a certain sword user was looking at us. I didn’t see the hint of envy in his eyes as I leaned close to our friend to teach him the math problem.

After about another hour of studying math we all decided to take a short break, we all moved to the small table I had in my room to eat some chips and drink some energy drinks cause we all knew it was going to be a long night. While drinking my rockstar I started a conversation with Toge, just checking to make sure he understood the material we were studying after I had helped with his previous question. I once again failed to pay attention to the other things happening around me, as Yuta was once again watching the interaction between me and our friend.

It seemed that even though I missed the look of jealousy flash across his face, a certain green haired woman definitely saw it and decided now would be the perfect time to have some fun.

P.O.V switch (3rd person)

Maki wasn’t normally the kind of person to meddle in other people's lives but when it came to embarrassing Yuta, that was fair game in her mind. He just made it so easy. Watching the look of jealousy flash across his face as two of their friends talked about math two feet away just lite a fire in her mind and she just wanted to poke the bear.

“Hey Yuta” she said, tapping his shoulder pulling his attention away from the two friends. “You think Inumaki and Y/L/N would make a good couple? I mean they get along so well, and Y/n seems to understand Toge perfectly despite his limited vocabulary.” She asked, trying to get a reaction out of the shy boy.

“Ummm- I- I’m not sure, I mean maybe, I don’t see why not” Yuta hesitated as he scratched the back of his head nervously. Maki could hear the slight sadness in his voice as he forced himself to agree.

“I mean I wouldn’t be surprised if they were secretly dating already, he’s had their attention all night, They have barely even spoken to any of us but him.” Maki continued trying to get more of a reaction out of the poor boy.

Hearing the conversation Panda also decided it was time to poke fun at Yuta. “Maki’s right Yuta, I haven’t seen Y/n this focused since Gojo let us pick anything in the mall for him to buy.”

Yuta turned back towards his two friends who were now chuckling about something he hadn’t heard. “You guys are probably right, they look really happy together.” He said with a frown before moving back to his seat in the circle of textbooks and notes. After everyone had got done snacking they all moved back to the floor to keep studying.

P.O.V back to first person

After another couple hours almost everyone had passed out on the floor of my dorm. It was getting close to three in the morning so it was understandable, but what shocked me most was that me and Yuta are the last two awake. Normally Yuta is the first one to fall asleep and fall victim to Toges trash doodling, but I guess having his weapons taken made the light haired boy not care about being the last one awake. I’m still confused as to why Yuta was awake but I brushed it off as him just wanting to study longer.

I was almost done with a note card for our history exams when I heard Yuta clear his throat. I looked up at him prompting him to say what he was going to as the look on his face said he wanted to say something.

“I- Is- urgh- Is there anything going on between you and Inumaki?” I stared confused at my friend as he asked one of the weirdest questions I’ve heard in awhile.

Finally gaining the ability to process thoughts again. “What do you mean, Me and Toge are just friends, where is this coming from anyway?” I asked, really confused as to why yuta would think I liked Toge that way. Sure he was a great friend but that’s all he is to me, a friend. If I liked anyone it’d be Yuta, he’s sweet, caring and always knows how to cheer people up.

“W- well you guys seem really close, and you’ve spent most of the night chatting with him, and it’s like you can understand everything he says even though he doesn't speak normally.” I watched as Yuta started to get flustered. “I-i just assumed you liked him, and I mean it’s fine if you do, I was just curious.”

“Yuta there is nothing going on between me and Toge. I’ve been chatting with him all night because he’s dyslexic and was having trouble with the fact that some math problems have letters in them.” I said, trying to explain myself. “And as for understanding him, I’ve known him for a long time, I’ve learned to use context clues when talking to him. If everyone is having a happy conversation, he’s probably also trying to share in the joy. He also will text or write down stuff he has to say that he can’t express properly with onigiri ingredients.”

“Okay that makes sense, but when everyone was eating you guys were laughing there’s no way you were laughing about an algebra problem?” Yuta responded, still trying to figure everything out.

I blushed slightly, I know exactly what he’s talking about. When we were all up getting snacks, Toge had written a message in his book about the fact that he thought Yuta had a crush on me because he keeps staring at me; I was laughing because I thought it was absurd, there’s no way Yuta likes me. I mean yeah it’s weird that he seems so concerned about the status of mine and Toge’s friendship but he’s probably just being protective.

“Oh, Toge was just telling me about something stupid that he watched one of the first years do earlier.” I said, trying to brush it off. But I guess I failed at hiding the blush on my cheeks because Yuta didn’t drop it.

He looked at me skeptically before grabbing the abandoned notebook that sat by Toge’s sleeping face, Flipping through to the most recent pages. I tried to reach for his hand to stop him but I was too late. He was already reading one half of my previous conversation.

“Yuta, you shouldn’t be doing that, it's Toge’s book, put it back.” I tried to reason with him as I watched his eyes widen as he continued reading Toge’s comments to me about finally confessing my feelings to the boy with cursed power that was only second to that of Satoru Gojo.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting for his reaction Yuta just set the notebook down and smiled at me. “You know, he was right, you should have just told me sooner. It would have saved us both some trouble and I would have been able to do this a lot sooner.” He said leaning closer to me. I was about to ask what he meant but I was cut off by the feeling of his soft lips meeting mine. It was quick but still conveyed every emotion neither of us had the courage to put into words.

As we pulled apart Yuta looked into my eyes, “I’ve liked you for a while now, if you don’t mind after exams are done I would love to take you out for lunch some time. I-if you want to t-that is.” And just like that he was back to the stuttering mess I fell in love with.

“Yuta, I would love to go out with you.” I responded standing up and grabbing his hand. I pulled him up and stepped over our three friends, passed out on the floor and moved to my bed. Normally when these study sessions turned into sleep overs, everyone would sleep on the floor except the person who’s room it was, but I figured fuck it. This is my room and if I want to cuddle with my new boyfriend, I will. “Come on we should really get some sleep” I said as i sat down on my bed sliding towards the wall to give him space to lay down with me.

“A-are you sure, I mean I'm fine sleeping on the floor. Plus won’t they think it’s weird if they wake up and we’re sharing your bed?” Yuta asked, a massive blush on his face as he slowly sat down on the edge of my.

“Oh stop worrying about it, just lay down and sleep. We’ll deal with them tomorrow, they’ll find out one way or another. Also it’s my room. I make the rules, if they don’t like it, well sucks to suck.” I said pulling him to lay next to me. Realizing I’m serious, Yuta finally relaxes. I let out a relaxed sigh as I cuddled up to him and finally let sleep take over.

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #jujutsu yuta #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu #answering requests

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lunchtimebedamned1997 · 1 month

Text

Vee's Studies!

(scroll to the end for timelapse :3)

I'm like, kind of obsessed with them lmao. While I've drawn Vox quite a lot (I've been working on a Vox animation thing over the last month-ish) I hadn't done much of anything when it came to Val and Vel. I knew I'd want to do something with them all later on, but I wanted to get a good understanding of their designs, shape language, and the differences between the three of them so I can play a lot more when it comes to doing them (heh) in my own style.

So, since I was most familiar (and most obsessed with out of the three lol), I started with Vox :3

While I've been working on the animation project, it had kind of been an 'adjust-as-I-go'/'let's-bullshit-this' process, rather than doing the work of understanding why certain things looked more correct than others, so I still learned a LOT from this one study. (Plus the scene makes me wheeze and I happily took the excuse to use that moment as his study reference haha)

Obviously Val is... an asshole, to really undersell it. But this is hell, his character is interesting and his design is immaculate. I think I had the most fun with studying him tbh. Without his santa wings-coat he- *coughs* - yeah. Uh. Good design. I can actually believe that Angel fell for him at one point. Manipulative bastard - sorry tangents. ANYWAY! XD

VERY fun to draw, and a very good balance within these designs of showing off character attributes but also not taking themselves too seriously (The HATS these boys wear! *wheeze* did Velvette just give up fighting them on it? I've gotta know haha)

I missed color too much by this point to make them all match perfectly, and frankly - trying to draw canon Velvette without hue differentiation is AWFUL she has so many details and overlapping elements. If I ever have to draw Vel from 1x03 again I might cry.

Something about her 1x03 look actually makes me feel viseral irritation just by seeing it (like, even b4 I made myself draw it), but then I see her in 1x08 and I wanna draw her forever???? She's so fucking cool? So fucking cute????? The duality of man ig lmao

Anyway, the TLDR is that actually being conscious of how things are represented when drawing a character can lead to surprisingly immense insight... I feel like I not only understand so much more about how to represent their characters, but also a much firmer grasp about how the shape language in the show works.

These designs are immaculate and I had so much fun. I actually have a lot more I could say about this, but my period came today and I'm tired and this post is already massive so I'll leave things here for now! But yeah! Hopefully more Vee's in the future bc I love them!

Wishing you all well! <3

#my art #digital art #fanart #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #hellaverse fanart #hazbin hotel vox #valentino hazbin hotel #velvette hazbin hotel #vox fanart #valentino fanart #val fanart #velvette fanart #character studies #vees fanart #the vees #the vees hazbin hotel

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theteasetwrites · 2 years

Text

The Other Brother

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 3 (The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning series) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mild swearing, Merle being slightly annoying/sexist (are we surprised really) ❧ Word Count: 5.1k

❧ Summary: Merle has just made a home for himself in the prison, and though you aren't happy about it, you're trying to keep cool. When a conversation breaks out between you and Merle, you realize the one thing you have in common—you both love Daryl.

❧ A/N: This is another oneshot from my series, The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning (and yes I do regret naming it that because the title is so long lol). I wanted to capture a scene we didn't see in the series, which is another conversation between the reader and Merle (see Chapter 20 for a refresher on the last conversation they had... it didn't go well). I didn't want to make Merle redeemable in this scene, but I did want to have him have another talk with reader because their dynamic is interesting to me. I also wanted to get some more Daryl backstory (that's always fun) and to see that from Merle's perspective. I do think Merle cares about Daryl deep down, he's just a shitty brother (and person). Also cute Daryl and reader moments, of course.

Morning light poured through the tall, paned windows of the cafeteria. It was still early, but you were up, about to start your watch in the guard tower. With tensions rising between your people and the Governor, it was becoming all the more necessary to keep alert. Even Rick, Michonne, and Carl had embarked on a mission just a few hours ago, in the hopes of bringing back a cache of weapons.

You’d hoped that Andrea’s efforts to make peace last night weren’t in vain. For your part, you would try to help any way you could, but there was no way of reconciling the truth—Merle had captured Glenn and Maggie, and Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and Oscar had killed several of the Governor’s people in order to get them back. There wasn’t going to be any peace made from that.

But that wasn’t of any consequence for the moment. There were other things to worry about, too.

First there was the matter of checking on little Judith, who had just begun to stir awake in her makeshift crib (just a box with blankets and towels for cushioning, and Beth’s handwriting scrawled “Lil’ Asskicker” on the side).

You couldn’t help but peer into the box to look at her, and, thinking you were completely alone, you set down your axe and your pack to transition into your baby voice.

“Well, hello there,” you cooed to the newborn. She was only about a week or so old now, but she’d already been through so much. The baby’s hazel colored eyes opened sleepily, her pink lips opening in curiosity as she studied your face, albeit with not much going on inside that little head.

You curled your fingers gently but firmly around her sides to lift her into your arms. Her legs wrapped around your side as you bounced her softly. “You’re just a little angel, aren’t you? Yes, you are. Judith. J-U-D-I-T-H. That’s your name. My name is (Y/N).”

You continued to spell out your name, laughing at the final letter when Judith drooled a little, with spit dripping down her chin as she, too, laughed.

“Oh, great,” you said. “Silly goose. Here, let me wipe your chin.”

You turned to the kitchen sink where a roll of paper towels was propped on the side. After sitting yourself down at the table, holding Judith as you wiped her chin, you felt a pair of cold, beady blue eyes boring into your back.

Merle was standing in the middle of the stairs leading up the window perch, one leg obnoxiously propped on the railing, and his amputated arm sporting the homemade blade attachment that you found quite unsettling.

He stepped down slower now, mustering a small smile. As best as you could, you ignored him, not bothering to look his way, though you recognized the feeling of that stare anywhere—it wasn’t unlike Daryl’s in its intensity, though his always felt much more affectionate.

You hadn’t said a word to him since yesterday afternoon, when he’d made a point to say that his brother could never love you. As much as you tried not to let it get to you, you couldn’t forget those words. They seared and stung and oozed.

Merle had touched on an insecurity deep within you, one that had never truly gone away. You feared he was right—Daryl couldn’t love you.

There was no rationalization to it, but rational thought didn’t exist in that part of your mind. Daryl loved you. He wouldn’t have come back to the prison the other day if he didn’t. But if he did, maybe he wouldn’t have left in the first place.

You just couldn’t grapple with Merle. He frightened you, even disturbed you. He represented everything that Daryl had left behind, every bad thing he’d experienced in his life before you. If you could put all of Daryl’s trauma and anger and sadness into one person, that person would be Merle.

You only hoped he’d leave you alone, since the last time you talked to him in this room, you nearly splashed boiling water at his face.

“Early bird gets the worm,” he said. How could Daryl’s brother have such a grating, annoying voice, while Daryl had the softest, sweetest, albeit a little gravelly, voice you could imagine? “You tryin’ to catch any worms today, sweetheart?”

Give me strength.

You shook your head, still looking down at baby Judith as you cleaned her.

You heard Merle’s steps come closer as he trudged down the stairs, until finally setting himself down at the same table. His face was directly across from you now, so you had no choice but to see him.

You held Judith closer to your chest, as if instinctively keeping her as far away from Merle as possible. After all, he did have a very sharp, long blade jutting out of his arm.

“Do you need something?” you asked curtly.

He raised an eyebrow, and perhaps you should’ve known better than to say that, since he looked like he was about to reply with something rather crass.

“You could tell me where my baby brother is,” he said.

That was a bit of a relief. “He’s in bed,” you said. “Sleeping in.”

Merle knew his brother, and that wasn’t something Daryl had ever cared to do before. Well, maybe he didn’t know his brother as well as he thought.

“Sleeping in?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as a wry smirk curled onto his face. “You wear him out, girl?” There it is. “Too much hanky panky? Ya know, my brother ain’t no spring chicken. How old are you, anyway?”

He looked you up and down, as if trying to figure it out on his own.

“Twenty-six,” you replied, trying to avoid eye contact as you prepared Judith’s baby formula on the table.

He let out a whistle, much to your annoyance. “Well, shit.”

You rolled your eyes as you replaced the lid of Judith’s bottle, now filled with liquid formula. “I’m a grown woman,” you assured him.

“Ain’t no disputin’ that,” he agreed. “Just still a little… shocked, s’all.”

It took every fiber of your being not to engage, but there was always that part of you that just couldn’t let people like Merle walk all over you. It took you a long time to figure out how to stand up for yourself, and though sometimes it was still a struggle, people like Merle reminded you of why you couldn’t be quiet anymore.

So to change the subject, at the very least, you asked him a question, one that had been on your mind since you learned that Merle was alive.

“What do you want?” you asked.

“What d’ya mean, Bambi?”

“I mean… why are you here? Just to mess with Daryl’s head?”

Perhaps you were going too far again. You had already developed mild regrets about telling Merle off yesterday, though it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. After all, he offended you, and you’d held your tongue for long enough. Still, a part of you wanted to get along with Merle as much as you could, though you knew there would never be anything better than vague ambivalence towards each other.

“Funny,” he scoffed. “I was gonna ask you the same question.”

Asshole.

“You think I’m messing with Daryl’s head?”

“That’s what women do,” Merle replied simply. “Complicate things. A real sweet, pretty one like you can make a man weak, turn him into jelly. Evil. No wonder the Garden of Eden fell. That damn woman.” His voice turned into a sharp hiss as he spoke, his facial features tightening as he continued. There was vitriol there, like he was spitting acid at you. “Daryl’s always been… sensitive.” He spoke the word like it burned his tongue as it slipped out. “Shoulda known a woman like you would come along and sweet talk your way into his heart. Ya know, since I got here, I wonder if my brother is even the same guy from last time I saw him.”

You couldn’t count how many times you rolled your eyes during his little rant about women. You’d heard it all before in one way or another, how women are so “complex” and have some kind of nefarious plan to get men to do their bidding. All rooted in misogyny, of course. You always found it rather funny how men could say such things about the wickedness of women, and yet sexualize them in the same breath.

“He’s the same man,” you said. “He just changed. This world changes people, some for the better.” You propped the baby’s head up a little higher in the crook of your arm to begin feeding her from the bottle. “Daryl stepped up. Sophia, Carol’s little girl, she got lost in the woods, and Daryl led the search. He almost got himself killed trying to find her. And on the road, he hunted for everyone, protected everyone.” Judith caught your attention when she coughed a little, having drunk her formula too fast. You patted her back softly until she stopped. “Daryl loves this baby, too. He calls her Little Ass-Kicker. He’s so good with her.”

Merle’s eyes narrowed at you, investigating you. Some woman he’d once thought to be insignificant and not long for this world was suddenly more knowledgeable of his brother than he was. In fact, he was starting to wonder if you knew more about him than he ever did.

“Well, shit,” he said. “Looks like little Daryl’s made himself into a regular Prince Charming. Seems like just yesterday he was gettin’ wasted off moonshine and pissin’ himself in the drunk tank. Had to bail his drunk ass out with my drug money. Little shit.”

You blinked in confusion. That didn’t sound like your Daryl, but he always said he got into trouble when he was younger. “When was that?” you asked, curious to hear any stories Daryl hadn’t told you.

Merle smiled at your intrigue. “Kid was about… seventeen.”

You shifted your shoulders as you adjusted Judith in your arms, then stood again to gently put her back in her crib. “If I engage in conversation with you,” you started to say, “do you promise not to be an asshole?”

“Depends what ya mean by ‘asshole.’”

“I mean… don’t say offensive things.”

“Depends what you mean by ‘offensive.’”

You sighed and shook your head as you sat back down. Ignoring his last comment, you asked, “What was Daryl like growing up?”

Merle’s eyes widened at that, and he broke out into a boisterous chuckle. “What was Daryl like?” You nodded. “Oh, man… Well, sweetheart, Daryl was somethin’ else.”

“What does that mean?”

Merle’s laugh subsided, and he could tell by the curiosity on your face that you were serious. You wanted to know about Daryl’s life from Merle’s perspective. After all, he was the only family from the world before Daryl had left, and as much as you hated to admit it, you still occasionally clung to that world. You found yourself wishing you’d met Daryl before all this, though ultimately, you were happy to have met him at all. In any case, the past fascinated you, and your curiosity was always a force to be reckoned with.

In a matter of moments, Merle began to straighten as he cleared his throat, preparing himself to dust off the old memories that had lain dormant in the derelict attic of his mind.

“See, Daryl’s ten years younger than me. Hell, I remember the day he was born… He was a mistake. My mom, she wanted to, ya know, get rid of him ‘fore he was born, but that kinda thing wasn’t looked upon kindly. Matter of fact, she was hopin’ for a girl. She was so sure it was gonna be a girl. Then Daryl popped out. Imagine how surprised she was. ‘That ain’t no damn girl,’ she said.”

You smiled at the way Merle told the story. Imagining baby Daryl was quite amusing, too. You were sure he was adorable.

“When I held him for the first time, he squirmed and cried… He was so little.” Merle’s eyes trailed to baby Judith in her crib, who was nodding off to the sound of Merle’s voice, much softer than usual. In a way, it reminded you of Daryl’s, and once again you were reminded that they were brothers. “I think it was that same year, this Hall & Oates song came out. I dunno, but Mom named him Daryl, ‘cause she liked it so much.”

Your eyes widened, as did your smile. “Daryl Hall? He’s named after Daryl Hall?”

“Mhm… And my dad liked Merle Haggard.”

You laughed as you stored that information, fully intending to tease Daryl later on.

“First thing I knew about Daryl was that he was a baby. Mom babied him, made him all soft. Daryl could do no wrong… She loved him. Dad didn’t love no one. Cold son of a bitch. Barely looked ya in the eye ‘less it was to smack ya. Started drinkin’ a lot more when Mom died. Daryl was about… five, I was fifteen, off stealin’ whiskey and cigarettes.”

He paused for a moment, shifting in his seat uncomfortably as his face muscles began to tighten. A palpable shift in his demeanor began to manifest itself, and he averted his eyes from you.

“Daryl was a good kid,” he said. “He got into trouble, but he didn’t know nothin’ else. He was a lot younger when Dad started hurtin’ him. I mean, I was gone. I was always gone. Barely knew. It was easier for me to leave, to avoid it. He hurt me, but I was older. I could jus’ leave… Daryl jus’ dealt with it for a while. A long time…”

You knew what Daryl’s father had done to him, how he slashed the skin on his back with a switch from a birch tree. It was hard not to know about it. Daryl’s back was evidence, etched with thick, raised scar tissue. On the rare occasions Daryl talked about it, he would pass it off as if it were nothing, despite your attempts to comfort him in the wake of these traumatic memories. Sometimes you felt that he was too reluctant to let himself feel the weight of his emotions, but you couldn’t say that to him. He needed to come to terms with his past in his own time, his own way.

“He beat me too,” he continued, “but Daryl got it worse. I know that now. Kinda funny, I left ‘fore things got real bad, and yet Daryl turned out better than me. How the hell does that happen?”

You shrugged. “Well, Daryl has a good head on his shoulders.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Knows a good thing when he sees it.”

You looked at him curiously, innocently. “Hm?”

“Talkin’ ‘bout you, Bambi.”

“Oh.”

Me? If you didn’t know any better, it seemed as though Merle was… complimenting you. Not in a crass sexual way, or with a sarcastic remark—it was genuine. You could tell.

“Mhm… You’re good for him.”

You were taken aback, bewildered. Wasn’t this the very same man who accused you of being nothing but a “passing fancy” and “a hole for Daryl to put his dick in” not twenty-four hours ago? Surely you were speaking to a different man.

“Where is that coming from?” you asked, genuinely confused. “I thought you hated me.”

Merle chewed his bottom lip in thought. Another little habit similar to Daryl’s. It was quite surreal. “I don’t know my brother half as well as you do,” he began, “but I knew him ‘fore all this… ‘Fore the world went to shit. He was lost for a real long time, followed me around not knowin’ what else to do. Yesterday, you said he didn’t think for himself, that he was like a puppet. Maybe you’re right. Maybe… maybe that’s what I did to him.”

You lowered your head, slightly ashamed of your words, though you meant every bit of them. From what Daryl had told you, you had always gleaned that Merle manipulated him, taking advantage of Daryl’s sensitivity and leading him down paths that weren’t good for him. You might not have known Daryl for as long as Merle, but you knew that Daryl was much more emotionally fragile than he seemed at the outset, and that people like Merle could easily take advantage of him. Of course, Daryl wasn’t completely innocent in his actions, but you always felt that he was much more himself these days, without the influence of his brother. You only hoped that Merle being here wouldn’t deter his progress.

“But you,” he continued, “you brought somethin’ outta him.”

You shook your head in denial. “No, it was all of us. This group, we’re family. We all changed each other. But Daryl… he’s always been good. I believe that. When he saved me from that walker in the woods, that day I took you both to our camp, I knew he was good. It wasn’t me, he just needed the opportunity to be good.” He needed to get away from you, was what you really wanted to say, but perhaps that would be a little too harsh for the moment.

He chuckled under his breath, amused by the thought of his kid brother being so good. “You really love my brother, don’t you, girl?”

Your cheeks became flushed with red, despite your confidence in that answer. You loved him so much it scared you. You loved his heart, his mind, his body, his soul… Beautiful didn’t even begin to describe him. The short time you’d been together in this world felt like centuries, though time moved faster these days—a year was like a decade. That year you spent with him was fraught with fear and blood and death and every other unholy thing you could think of, but all that paled in comparison to the deep, profound love you had for him. It kept you going on particularly dark days, and held your hand when the light seemed so far away that you couldn’t see in front of you.

His love was the last beautiful relic of a time when love was all too often taken for granted. His love was unending and unwavering, even when death loomed at every corner and threatened to rid the world of every last ounce of happiness. His love was sweet, pure, sincere, almost unfathomable in its depth.

When your love met with his, it was the closest thing you could get to a dream in this terrible nightmare of a world. So yes, you did love him. Very, very much.

“Yes,” you said clearly, not wanting to be mistaken. “I love Daryl very much.”

He was silent for a while, as if processing the information. He knew you loved him, though, just as much as he knew Daryl loved you. What disturbed him was a newfound kind of protectiveness for his little brother, which he hadn’t felt so much since the little boy was born.

“Would ya hurt him?” he finally asked, eyes boring deep into yours. “Would ya break his heart?”

The man continued to bewilder you, and for a few moments, you had no idea what to say, though you knew exactly what the answer was.

“No,” you said. “No, never. I’d never hurt him.”

Merle nodded solemnly, though with a vague sense of trust. “He’s been hurt a lot. By my dad, by me… See the way he looks at ya, Bambi. Nothin’s ever made him this happy. Tell ya the truth, I don’t think he’s ever been happy. Not till you. Saw it at the quarry, too. You had him in the palm of your little hand since the moment he saw ya, I knew it. Jus’ didn’t think you’d last long enough for him to realize it.”

You thought for a moment, still trying to fully process Merle’s words. “Well,” you finally said, “Daryl means everything to me. Breaking his heart would break mine.”

“So we got ourselves an understanding then?”

“Understanding?”

“Yeah. You hurt my little brother, you answer to me.”

Your slight fear of Merle kicked in, sending a brief shiver up your spine. Though you wondered if Merle really cared about Daryl, you couldn’t help but take his warning seriously.

“I still don’t like you, Merle,” you said abruptly, trying to regain your confidence. “If you’re going to live here, and hang around Daryl, I have a few ground rules, too.”

He leaned back in his chair, folding his hand and his blade hand behind his head. “Lay ‘em on me, sugar tits.”

You scoffed, glowering at him. “First of all, don’t call me that. And you need to stop sexualizing everything. It makes me and Daryl very uncomfortable.”

“Damn, you’re no fun at all.”

“Just be respectful,” you said. “Boundaries.”

Merle shook his head, and you could tell he hardly knew the meaning of that word. “You done usin’ those big college words now? Think I liked you better when you didn’t talk so much.”

Your lip tightened as you pulled a mean glare, rising from your seat to return your axe to its place on the loop of your belt. You then picked up Judith, planning on taking her to Beth before your watch shift started. “Get used to it.”

It was an uneventful shift, with no signs of the Governor or his army on the horizon, giving you time to think about the new situation. Merle wasn’t going anywhere for the time being, and you had to accept that. Everyone did. No one liked him, and you were sure even Daryl didn’t particularly like him, but that was Daryl’s brother, and the only part of his family he had left. You found it hard to understand Daryl’s devotion to him, considering Merle had abandoned him as a child, but you didn’t need to understand—the point was that Daryl wanted him here, and you loved Daryl.

Relationships sometimes require sacrifice, you knew that. Perhaps this was the first sacrifice you’d have to make for Daryl, and though it came with being irritated by Merle’s bigoted presence, you told yourself that from now on, you would pick your battles wisely, only fighting with Merle when you deemed it necessary. Perhaps Daryl himself would soon grow tired of Merle, but until that time, you’d stick it out for him. Only for him.

You hadn’t even seen Daryl yet that day, except for a few times from a distance as you stood in the guard tower. In a running joke, you raised your binoculars to spy on him, watching him help Glenn with the reinforcements to ensure the prison was strong against any threat, namely the Governor.

When he felt your eyes on him, he raised his hand to his forehead, blocking the sunlight from his sensitive blue eyes. “Get back to work, woman!” he yelled up at you from the ground.

“You first!” you called back, still watching him through your binoculars. “That barricade isn’t going to make itself, Dixon!”

He scoffed and shook his head, though his slight smirk betrayed his amusement at your teasing. Fully intending on getting you back in some way, he paused to remove his jacket and vest, revealing his bare arms. With narrowed eyes, you adjusted your binoculars to more clearly display his toned muscles, gleaming with sweat in the afternoon sunlight. As he lifted the large wooden pallet, you studied the flexed tendons and bulging muscles all along his tan, impossibly large arms.

When he finished moving it to block the entrance to D Block, he dusted off his gloved hands and shook the dark caramel bangs from his face, looking back up at you with a subtle, teasing wink, and a slight purse of his lips as he sent you a little kiss. Maybe you were still a little mad with him for going off with Merle, but how could you really be mad at him?

“Baby,” you quietly giggled to yourself, dangling your legs playfully over the edge of the guard tower. “Mm… You’re such a tease, baby.”

Your shift ended shortly thereafter, and when Maggie relieved you of your post, you helped Beth take care of the baby, teaching her how to properly get the little one to sleep. After helping Carol with dinner, you retreated to a small patch of wild blue violets, where you sat cross-legged against the wall of the prison, watching the begin to set.

Spring afternoons were pleasant in Georgia. The air was still cool from winter, but not unbearable, not at all. Overgrown violets and weeds surrounded you, and the dead were far off somewhere else, behind that chain-link fence upon which you relied so heavily. The Governor had torn down the furthest fence, but the one closest to the prison still remained, and though the future remained uncertain, you felt yourself let go for a moment, leaning your head back against the brick wall and letting out a deep sigh.

The silent moment was broken by the snap of a twig, sending your eyes wide open as your gaze whipped towards the sound. Daryl stood peering around the corner, his hand curled around the edge of the brick wall. His lip quirked upwards in a slight smile, which you returned.

“Hi,” you said quietly.

“Hi…” He looked towards the setting sun for a moment, then slowly made his way to you, careful not to trample over the delicate purple flowers. “Ain’t ya gonna have dinner?” He slid down the wall to sit beside you, tucking his knees to his chest.

“Later,” you replied. “You know I like watching the sunset.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And I like watchin’ you watch it.” You laughed under your breath and bumped his shoulder with yours. “S’true. Beautiful…”

“Me?”

“Mhm. You.”

“Aren’t you a charmer?”

“I try to be.”

“Hm, well, that’s more than I can say for your brother…” You trailed off, palming your forehead when you realized what you’d said. “God, sorry. I, um… I talked to him today.”

He nodded solemnly, though with affirmative confidence. “I know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Told me so, while you were in the tower. Told me a lot of things.”

“Great,” you sighed. “What did he tell you?”

“Told me that ya love me,” he said. “But I already knew that.”

You smiled with rosy cheeks, a little embarrassed that Daryl now knew you told Merle you loved him. After all, Daryl was quite private with that kind of thing, and you knew he liked to maintain a certain image, especially with his brother, who would have no qualms with calling him “Darylina” if the occasion called for it.

“Did he tell you anything else?”

He scoffed as he recalled Merle’s words. “Said I oughtta take real good care of you, ‘cause you’re special.”

“He did not,” you laughed. “You’re so making that up.”

“I’m not,” he replied. “Well, he also said you got a big mouth.”

“Pfft,” you scoffed. “Asshole.”

“Yeah… but I think he’s startin’ to like you,” he said. “I know you don’t like him, and I don’t expect ya to, but what matters to me is that he likes you.”

You furrowed your brow and smiled in your amused curiosity. “Why does that matter?”

He shrugged, and of course he had a very practical reason for wanting Merle to like you. “‘Cause I need to know he’ll keep ya safe if somethin’ happens to me.”

Your face softened into a quivering pout, yet your eyes smiled at his sweet words. “Oh, baby,” you laughed, scooting closer to grab his hand and place it in your lap. “That’s sweet… But nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let it.”

He tilted his head while reaching out to hold your cheek in the rough palm of his worn hand. You leaned into his touch almost immediately, closing your eyes as you rubbed your cheek against him. His body was always so warm, every single part of it. When he held your cheek, you always felt particularly adored, like that was the greatest kind of physical affection a human being was capable of showing. Of course, you had known much greater, more intimate pleasures with him, but that gentle caress of your cheek was something else entirely.

“But if somethin’ does happen,” he said, “I told Merle that he better take care of you, make sure nothin’ happens to you. S’all I really need from him, just to know you’d be all right.”

“And what did he say when you told him that?”

Daryl shook his head. “You really wanna know?”

“Mhm.”

“He said he’d be sure to take real good care of you…” Daryl repeated the sentence much in the same way Merle would, so you knew exactly what he meant.

“Oh,” you frowned, shaking your head. “He’s such a pervert. How are you even related to a guy like that?”

Daryl’s other hand came around you, gripping your shoulder and pulling you closer until his lips could connect to the space where your neck and your shoulders meet. When his tongue lapped at your skin, his lips suctioning sloppily in between licks, you let out a boisterous laugh. “Daryl! Mm… You’re a pervert, too…”

Your hand came up to lace through his hair, massaging his scalp as his mouth pampered you, inching up your neck until his outstretched tongue slid along your jawline, tickling you with his stubble.

He pulled away slowly, then nuzzled his nose against your heated cheek. You felt his breath near your lips, and all you wanted was to feel his mouth on yours, for as long as possible. Forever, ideally.

“Also told him to cool it. He says shit like that to you, you tell me. I’ll kick his ass,” he said. “I aint tryin’ to make excuses for him, but Merle… he only really knows how to talk to prostitutes.”

“Oh, that makes me feel better,” you laughed. “Are you saying I’m a prostitute, Daryl?”

“Nah,” he replied, shaking his head, and by extension rubbing his nose side-to-side against your cheek, making you giggle. “You’re just a beautiful woman, and Merle ain’t ever seen a woman like you.”

You rolled your eyes and snorted at the assumption that you were anything special, but you knew Daryl thought you were special, and apparently Merle did, too. “Well, he better get used to me,” you said, turning to match your lips up to his. “Because I’m going to be around for a long time.”

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