#i’m tired of green no more green i want a warm color again

[goldensunset]

i need a new blog theme

#i’m tired of green no more green i want a warm color again #i will find a new suitable okami gif and i will recall the original artist and i will get permission and give credit this time!!! #but it’s proving near impossible to find a good one again #there’s also the issue of… do i keep or ditch my current profile picture #i really like the pink tinted anniversary art strelitzia i’ve got now… #it’s been nearly 6 months of it which is kind of a long time but at the same time that’s not really a problem #but if i want to change my background color and header i have to make them suit my profile picture #’hurr durr it’s not like the green goes with the orange for what you’ve got now’ well I like it #i think it works #but i am getting tired of it kinda #before this i had black/white/pink vibes + shoka #hm #anyway it’s not like i have another icon lined up anyways so what could i even change it to if i wanted to #peach rambles

[gripefroot]

Sleepy Law?

For once, he doesn’t wake when the sun hits his face. 

For all his pretending and blustering and attitude, he’d been tired. Of course. The more he protested something, the more it was true. Something about a man that saw danger around every corner if he lowered his guard for even a moment, even with you. 

There was something comedic about the juxtaposition. His barking from the afternoon before: “No, I’m not tired! I’m fine!” compared to the sun rising long past dawn after he’d been out cold for nearly fourteen hours. But it was less amusing when the dark lines beneath his eyes were so visible, when the bright sun cleared his face into something almost boyish. 

He pushes himself too hard. He always did. 

The sun warms the bed, too, making it too hot for this time of year. But rather than get up and disturb Law’s rare rest, you stick a foot out of the blankets for some coolness and move closer to him. 

Every moment is precious. Every stolen evening, every late morning pried from the clutches of fate and time. “I’ll be back in three days,” or “I’ll try to be back by summer solstice.” Sometimes he made it, sometimes he didn’t. When he was late, the nights he should have been there were spent at the window, watching weather roll across the sea. Each blot was his ship returning - until it wasn’t. Anger and resentment broiled like hurricanes, then, but by the time he eventually came, gratitude that he was alive and safe and present overwhelmed everything else. Besides, greeting him by throwing a pot at his head wouldn’t guarantee he’d ever come again. 

This parting had been the longest yet. A year at sea, with only two headlines months apart to prove he had drowned or been killed or wasted away from some disease. No, he was whole, relatively healthy (if thinner than before) and walking up the crooked steps to your house, he’d even smiled. 

“I was worried you’d moved away,” he’d said. His sword balanced on his shoulder, which was unusual. Before, he’d left it on his ship.

“How would you find me then?” you’d teased back. Clay dried on your hands from a half-finished project, but it could be completed later. Law could only be greeted now. 

“I’d follow the dead greenery.” He nodded at the yard; yellow patches now outnumbered green, the first victim in dumping leftover glaze that didn’t fire the right color or scraps of impure clay. He hoisted the sword from his shoulder to set by the doorframe, where you stood, and that was when he’d smiled. 

It was fortunate he’d never minded mud on his clothes. 

He smelled of brine and fresh air. Not the most pleasant, but beneath it was him, and difficult to pull away. 

“Mind if I stay over?” he’d asked between kisses. Your foot had caught on the lip of the door, stumbling backwards, but his arms had kept you upright and squashed against his chest. 

“Have I ever?” The words came out strained. His kisses stole breath as much as they stole sanity. Rugged as his worn coat, harsh as the tattoos long-memorized. 

“There’s a first for everything.” 

“Well, not today.” Your hands on his chest, feeling him like you would mounds of fresh clay. Something he’d joked about before: his lips twisted, ready to joke again. “Do you want to wash up first?” 

“Yes. Then I have a present for you.”

Surely not the sword. What use would you have for a sword? Spending days and nights with clay, turning pots and glazing and firing them in the tiny hut nearby wasn’t the life of a warrior, and living alone in a rickety cottage on a bluff above a port town so small it could scarcely be called a port not the prime target of pirates. 

Law had ducked his head beneath the water pump in the yard, not even waiting for you to fetch a bar of soap, and yelped at how freezing cold the water was. 

He had, miraculously, survived. 

But no present came. Dinner had been eaten early between yawns and crabby remarks about how he wasn’t tired. Then he’d gone straight to your bed, knocking into tables on his way, and halfway through what had sounded like a salacious invitation he’d started snoring. Pants still on and everything. 

So you’d smiled and washed up quietly before crawling into bed next to him. It was easier to sleep when he was there…

He clutches a worn pillow to his face, stretched out on his belly with his torso bare. Lingering flakes from a sunburn grace his shoulders, and a new scar stretched over his ribs. Your fingers want to trace it, but you don’t, hovering in the air above the graceful shape. You’ll learn it better soon enough. 

“Were you going to say anything or just keep staring?” 

Oops. His even breathing had ceased. Lifting your head, you see his eyes slitted open, glinting beneath his long lashes. 

“You have a new one,” you say. 

“Of course you noticed.” His voice is a rumble, fresh from slumber. 

“Of course I noticed,” you repeat, cheeks warming with embarrassment. But the corners of his mouth lift in a lazy smile. “It’s huge.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Can I?” A vague request, but he understands. Law responds with a grunt. His kind of affirmation. 

The new skin is smooth beneath your practiced fingertips, but where new meets old a thick, calloused rope of skin rivers around his ribs. Like a snake of clay to be shaped into a handle or a spigot. A handsome scar, to add to his others. Your fingers trace back up around his waist and to his back, to the very end of the scar. His skin breaks out in goosebumps, his ragged inhale breaking your concentration. 

Immediately you pull your hand away. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” He rolls onto his side, taking the interest of the scar away to face you. His eyes are more open now, but not by much, his hair sticking out every which way. Law props his head on his hand, surveying you with just as much scrutiny as you had him. But why? You have no scars, no discernable differences to clock from last year. 

The bed is small, not really built for two, but it has never bothered you or him. He can never be outside of arm’s reach. Instinctively your hand traces over his chest, finding comfort in the pattern of him. Patterns that find their way onto cups and mugs and bowls whenever missing him hurts too much. Most sold, some kept. You stop over his heart. 

He’s smiling again. 

“How long can you stay?” you ask. 

His smile disappears. It takes your contentment with it. 

“I have time,” Law says. 

Time. The only thing that could give you enough of him, and the only thing he couldn’t give. He gave his attention, his company, his loyalty, and his affection. Your hand rises to his face, stroking over old whiskers on his cheek with your thumb. He catches your wrist, holding it to nuzzle your palm with his nose, and then his lips. 

“You smell the same,” Law mutters, eyes closed. “Like the earth.” 

“You smell the same,” you whisper back. The effect of his nuzzle is the same as you touching his scar: goosebumps race up your arm and down your back. “Like freedom.” 

His eyes open. Dark and assuring, and always a little sad. “C’mere,” he grunts, and reaches for you. 

It was like he’d never been away. Nothing forgotten, nothing misremembered. His mouth finds the right places on your throat, your shoulders; skillfully he thumbs away the sleeves of your shirt to bare more skin to him. If anything proves his absence, it's how quickly the heat between your bodies becomes unbearable, how your blood pulses almost painfully. With a whimper of a sigh, your fingers hook into the waistband of his pants, his hair tickling your chin. 

“All in good time,” he promises your breasts, hand coming up to cup one. If you weren’t already so dizzy from the prelude, you’d tease him for addressing them rather than you. It had been an excellent joke for so long…

Soon the only noises are your soft pants, his quiet groans as the reacquaintion became clumsy. Clothes hit the floor, blankets pushed away, the awkward patters of skin-on-skin. No matter how bright the morning light through the window, there is no time to feel shamefully naked: only wonderfully so, and perfectly worshipped. His hair is thick between your fingers, his mouth hot on your sternum, and then your belly button. 

“But,” you lick your lips, wishing your throat wasn’t so dry and creaky. “But, we just - ”

“Just what?” Law kisses the inside of your thigh, eyes darting up to your face with a quirk of his brow. “Don’t want me to?” 

“I do, it’s only - ”

“Only what?” He prompts when words fail you. His hands cradle your hips, lifting and straightening them before him like a treasure map. 

“I want you,” you manage to whisper. The sun makes his black hair red at the edges, a trick of the light. 

“You’re getting me,” Law says. “And I’m getting you. Let’s start slow, huh?” 

As if you could refuse him when you aren’t a puddle on the bed. Slow is the last thing you want, but he made it sound like a dream. It is a dream; fast or slow or hurried or lazy. Always enough to make the little time you have sweeter. And never enough. Always and never, always and never. 

“Let me know,” his voice is as jagged as his scar, his hands shaking until he digs his fingers into your thighs. “Let me know…if you want me to stop.” 

He doesn't look like a man who could stop. And the pounding, the rushing - you couldn’t have asked him to stop for anything. 

His knees hit the floor with a thunk. Yours go over his shoulder as he sucked in a trembling breath, his shoulders twitching enough to make the dark lines look like they were convulsing. 

“Oh…” is all he says, and it’s the same noise you make when his lips touch yours, his tongue barely a hint of a caress. Your spine arches, pushing yourself closer to his mouth. He takes the hint, delving in with less ‘slow’ and more ‘I-haven’t-seen-you-in-a-year.’ He remembers. He remembers; every bit that makes your head spin and he does it like a conqueror, until the sheets are fisted in your hands and your breathing has gone frantic. 

“Law.” Your head twists to the side, air growing scarce and body feeling out of control. Wild and frenzied like an animal, jumping at every stroke of his tongue. “Please, oh - ”

He knows. He knows, he remembers. With a reverberating grunt that you can feel through your legs and belly, his fingers grip your thighs. It doesn’t feel possible, but the intensity swells and grows like the waves of the sea. 

“Stop biting your lip.” Law’s pause is enough to bring you down enough to comprehend his words. “Stop that. I wanna hear you. Here.” 

One of your fists is unclenched from the sheets, to weave your fingers between his, instead. A grip on reality, an anchor while sensation crashes through you. It’s only a moment later the wave hits: the force of pleasure battering through your body again and again. He doesn’t stop. He never does, not while each of your cries echo to the roof and back down again. 

When it becomes too much you gasp, and he stops. 

He knows. 

Law lifts his head, kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed and wiping his mouth on his discarded shirt. He smirks. “If nothing else,” he says casually, as if he hadn’t just made you climax with more fervor than a hurricane, “that makes me want to take you with me.”

Take you? With him? Where? Not on his ship, surely. 

Your expression must betray your bafflement, because he gives a rough laugh, tossing his shirt back down. 

“Oh, come on,” he says. “Surely you’ve thought of it yourself.” 

You hadn’t. 

His head tilts to the side, smirk fading. 

“You don’t want to come with me,” Law says. 

“No!” you blurt. “I mean - yes! I mean…that’s not what I’m saying. I’ve just never thought of it before. I hadn’t thought it was…possible.”

“And if it is?” 

Your heart hammers, from the aftershocks of orgasm and his question. “Possible?”

“Yeah. If I asked you to come with me.” He climbs over the bed on all fours. Normally you admire him; his tattoos and sculpted muscles. But your eyes are riveted on his face, on the strange sincerity shining in his eyes. 

“What would I do?” you ask. 

Law stops, hovering above you. You’re effectively trapped, but rather than confining, it’s comforting. Boundaries to bump up against, walls to keep you safe. His hair flops over his forehead, shadowing his features from the sun.

“Let me lick you anytime I want,” he jokes. 

So maybe it wasn’t sincerity after all. But you laugh, anyway, because laughing with him is always delicious, despite the heavy disappointment in your stomach. Reading into his joke would only hurt more. So you wind your arms around his neck, bringing him down for a languid, salty kiss. The weight of his body resting on yours transcends everything else, the craving for him lighting through your veins like popping fireworks. 

“How do you want me?” he asks before his teeth sink into the side of your neck. With his erection jabbing into your leg, the idea of options is surprising. 

“Like this,” you say. “Just like this.” 

Law releases your neck, his hips tucking between yours with familiarity. When his forehead rests against yours, his eyes are deep and bottomless for a moment before he closes them. 

“I mean it,” he murmurs. His hands unwrap your arms from his neck, bringing them down to the pillow to pin in place. “I’ll take you with me. You don’t have to do anything.” 

Does he mean that? Would he take you to sea just to…to what? Is he tired of coming back to this small island? Are you no longer worth it? 

Where is this going? A question flung into the stars, night after night, when Law is there and when he isn’t. Hope is difficult to cultivate year after year, but it blooms all the same at times like this. 

Where will you take me? 

A few thrusts gets him inside, enough to keep going. A few more have you moaning, tense in his grip as you move your hips to take him further. He groans, the further he gets, adding his own noises to yours. If this is where time stopped, if this could be forever, this is what you’d choose. Time and time again you’d choose. The sense of fullness, of complete joining - nothing has ever, ever, compared.

Law stops when he’s fully sheathed, panting for breath as his grip loosens on your wrists. Then his eyes open again; a mix of fierceness and tenderness that makes your heart want to explode. 

“Hey,” you say softly, wriggling your arms free to cup his face. He blinks several times. 

“Hey,” he says back, uncertain.  

“Thank you for coming back.” 

He huffs a laugh, a hint of a smile bringing more brightness than the sun. Resting his elbow by your head, he dips his to kiss your mouth. “I can’t stay away,” he says between that kiss and the next. 

His thrusts start slow, almost teasing. But they build fast, soon stroking a speed that breaks free as his kisses turn biting and his fingers find your hair. However he did it, each touch is a thousand starbursts at once, deepening the sensation in your core to spread across every limb, every muscle, every cell. Each stroke brings a small gasp from your lips to spill between his. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg at a higher-pitch than normal. Fingernails dig into his shoulders, hanging on for purchase as the legs of the bed scrape across the floor. Not the first time he’s done that, but it makes you want to laugh, all the same. 

“I’m not gonna!” His tongue is heavy against yours, his taste filling your senses. Touch, smell, all of it. With a shudder the bed hits the wall, and your shriek of unconstrained laughter has Law dragging himself away from you with a glare. But who wants to glare in the middle of sex? With another laugh you pull his head back down, lifting your hips against his for an angle that turns that kiss into a careening gasp. 

He knows. He knows, and remembers. He doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t slow. Your climax springs without warning, unable to continue the kissing in this condition. He doesn’t seem to mind, his head lowering to rest by yours as his groans start with a rumble. 

He continues long enough after the end of your orgasm for the delicious sensation to begin again before he jerks to a stop. A few more thrusts break his voice into a shivering bleat. 

The battering against the wall stops. And aren’t you so glad you have no neighbors? 

Your fingers run up and down his damp back, noting every rise and fall of muscle as he catches his breath. Even now, his weight isn’t uncomfortable. Because it’s him. It’s him and he’ll never be too much or too heavy. Blissfully your eyes drift shut, blocking out the morning light the tufts of black hair trying to cover it up. 

Law litters kisses along your hairline. Behind your ear, above it, and to your forehead, which must be as sweaty as his back. It doesn’t stop him. 

Then he kisses your eyes; first one, then the other. 

“Look at me?” A soft-spoken request. 

Look at him. And see what you don’t want. 

Your eyes open, hating that time brought this back. 

But Law smiles. He smiles as he gently smooths down your hair, his eyes skating over your face as if to memorize every pore. “Do you love me?” he asks. 

Now that is a question! Tempting you laugh, but you don’t. 

“Do the stars love one another?” you ask back, not quite hiding the bitterness in your voice. “Tracing and chasing their paths across the sky, never to touch except in dreams?” 

Law says nothing to that, but waits. 

“I love you,” you say. 

“That’s all I need,” he says. 

“What about what I need?” 

His face untwists from his smile into something confused, something a little belligerent. “I asked if you want to sail with me,” he says. “But I…”

“Didn’t mean it,” you finish. These conversations were like walking on broken glass. Delicate. Tentative. Someone was always bound to be hurt if rushed through. “The sea isn’t for me,” you tell him, hoping it will prevent a shard from breaking skin. 

But it seems to, anyway. Law frowns. “I wish it was,” he says.

So do I. But more than that, I wish you were for me. Not just sometimes, but always. 

He peels away at last, though if you had your way, he’d be in your bed forever. But he doesn’t go far: striding to the side of the bed where his pants had been tossed irreverently, scooping them up to rifle through the pockets. He pulled out something glinting, concealing it in his fist as he grins, returning to bed. Curious, you prop yourself onto an elbow. 

“Hold out your hand,” Law says. 

Dubiously you look for deception in his face, and see none. You put out your hand. 

Something cool and clinking drops into it. When he moves his hand away you see gold. Gold coins, strung together on a gold chain. A small one. 

“I can’t wear bracelets,” you say, bubbling into laughter. “Law! It’ll get covered in clay in ten seconds!” 

“It’s not a bracelet, you menace.” Law laughs, too, seizing your hand to pull your arm straight. He takes the bracelet-not-a-bracelet back. Evidently you’ve been judged too nonsensical to appreciate the gift yourself: he loops the chain around your upper arm, securing it with warm fingers. 

Oh. Not a bracelet. 

“I’m not stupid enough to get you a bracelet,” he says, quirking a brow in your direction. “Or a necklace. You’ve complained about those hanging into your work too. This won’t fall or dangle, so I thought it was the best option.” 

“You know what else doesn’t dangle?” Your fingers trace the gold coins. They’re hammered for texture; thin and delicate, reflecting the sunlight beautifully. “A crown. Next time, I want a crown.” 

Law’s laugh breaks into a bellow, filling every corner of the room with his mirth. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve heard that noise coming from him, and it prickles your skin with pleasure. 

“Fine,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Next time, a crown.” 

“Thank you,” you tell him. “For the gift. I mean it. I’m sorry for teasing.” 

“Don’t be. I love it.” 

“Do you love me?” The question blurts out without thinking. He jolts in surprise, eyes widening. “It’s only fair,” you say, trying to soften the abruptness of it. “You asked me. I get to ask you.” 

But his answer doesn’t come. Not right away. 

“Well, I’m not bringing jewelry for every woman in town,” Law says at last. 

“I hope you’re not licking them, either.”

He glares. You smirk. 

“I’ll answer your question,” he says. “But not today.” 

“When?” 

“When I return.” 

“Is there a reason you’re delaying?” you ask. “Do you need to break a prior engagement first? Let down any other lovers?” 

“No,” Law says. “None of that.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip. Something your teeth would like to do. He runs his fingers through his hair, sticking it on end. “If I tell you I love you,” he starts. Pauses. Takes a deep breath. “If I tell you I love you then I can’t leave. I wouldn’t.” Another pause, one that sinks his words past dread and into misery. “And I can’t…I can’t stay. Not yet.” 

“So,” you say. Your voice cracks a little. “You get to know I love you, but I have to wait in suspense for however?” 

His smile returns like the dawn. He leans over to kiss your forehead, wafting his manly scent over you. Inhaling deeply, the scent brands itself on your lungs. Never enough. “Luckily I know you like surprises. Besides, I thought you’d figure it out by now.”

Figure what out? Could he be any more vague? It was like searching for answers from a squirrel. A handsome, generous squirrel, but a squirrel all the same. 

“Oh, stop pouting,” Law laughs, attempting to smooth out your frown with a thumb. “Does the stream out back still have fish in it? I’ll catch breakfast.” He rises before you can answer, grabbing his pants once more. This time to pull them on. 

Ugh. Pants are the worst. 

“I’ll cook them too, if you want,” he says, buttoning the waistband with nimble fingers. You drag your eyes from his navel up to his face, with a very intelligent, 

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” He smiles. “You have clay beneath your fingernails.” 

Law disappears out the door before you can retort, and the view of his backside in his tight pants erases all thoughts from your head.

#trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece #drabble requests

[superhero--imagines]

A/N: So I am weak, here is the first part of the Waking up in PJO Series, I drew inspiration from a lot of different series and I’ll credit them all at the end. I hope you enjoy this and if you want to be added to the tag list please drop a comment :)

* Your first thought when you wake up is:

* Oh geez, not again

* ‘What is this, the thirtieth world?’

* You’re starting to get tired of this

* To make matters worse you’re never the same age

* One day you’re nineteen, the next time you’re twelve, the time after you’re twenty-one —

* And this time you’re an infant, a handful of months old at most.

* You’re swaddled in a thick blanket, held against a woman’s pillowy chest.

* ‘What kind of backwater system am I going to have to fix this time.’ You wonder, bitterness ringing through your thoughts.

* You aren’t allowed to be bitter for long, the gentle sensation of a warm chest and familiar scent lull you back to sleep again.

* ‘I have an entire life in this body this time, I should do it right.’ You think

* You’re three years old the next time you’re able to process cognitive thoughts.

* ‘Well this hardly seems fair.’

* You look straight ahead, staring into the abyss, and your father looks back at you.

* He doesn’t look like your original dad, but that’s hardly surprising. You’ve been in a dozen or so worlds where your parents don’t look like your parents—

* ‘At least I always look like myself though.’

* This time your father is a younger man, in his early twenties, he has jet black hair that seems to stick in every direction, skin the color of pale moonlight, and heterochromic eyes; one amber and the other green, both remind you of swirling galaxies.

* But the most noteworthy thing about him is that he seems to be tinged in red. The hue saturates his knuckles, flushes across the bridge of his nose, and stains the whites of his eyes.

* ‘He doesn’t look angry though,’

* “Daddy what’s wrong?” You ask, your small hand resting on his face.

* ‘Just sad.’

* His large, calloused hand, covers your own.

* “Nothing baby, I’m just so happy you’re here.”

* You’re four when you realize you’re stuck in Percy Jackson

* Your teacher is crouched on the ground, her blue apron soiled with the playground dirt

* That much wouldn’t be all that surprising, the power of despair always stays with you regardless of what body you’re in, radiating from you like an aura to everyone around you if you let it.

* Even more unsurprising is that this small body can’t handle your emotions very well yet. Small outbursts are to be expected.

* What is surprising is the snake strangled in your small fist.

* ‘Normal four year olds can’t strangle snakes.’ You think numbly as your pre-school teacher fluctuates between hysterics and crippling despair.

* You calm yourself down enough after loosening your hold, soothing your teacher the best you can.

* “It’s okay see, we’re both okay.”

* You doubt this is some anime world where even children are overpowered and people seem to heal in a couple of minutes.

* And it doesn’t seem like an original world either, this is a very American landscape.

* ‘What city is this again?’

* New York, Manhattan to be exact

* Something about strangling a snake felt awfully familiar, not to mention that warm golden hue when you were a baby.

* Think about this objectively, your mom is not around, you’re strong but not anime or video game overpowered, and you’re in an American setting.

* You’re about to fall asleep for your afternoon nap when it hits you

* ‘Oh shit, I’m in Percy Jackson.’

* It seems unlikely, but wilder things have happened

* ‘Maybe it was only a matter of time. Still there’s only one way to confirm it.’

* “Hey Daddy,” your father glances at you from the rear view mirror in the car. “Why don’t I have a mommy?”

* You feel bad asking your father a question you know will bring him pain, especially when you see hurt flash in his eyes.

* Your father is a handsome man, well built with beautiful eyes, you wouldn’t be surprised if a goddess found him appealing.

* “Your mother went somewhere far away, somewhere you and I can’t follow for a long time.”

* On one hand he makes it sound like she passed away

* On the other hand this is a very vague statement, for all you know your mother is in Olympus or seducing her next victim.

* “What was she like?” Your legs swing underneath you.

* “Your mother was, is, the love of my life.” He reaffirms. “She brought warmth with her into every room she entered, and she was the kindest soul I ever encountered.”

* Even now he looks positively dazzled when he speaks about her.

* ‘So my mom is a goddess, great.’

* His description doesn’t help either, at best it’s a vague description and at worst they’re the words of an unreliable narrator.

* ‘So his love sickness aside, maybe my mom is a minor goddess like Hestia, or maybe Nike or Themis.’

* Though who knows, maybe his description’s completely off and your mom is someone like Athena or Artemis.

* Regardless of who your mom is,

* “Come on baby, I heard you had a bad day at preschool today, I’ll make you something yummy to make up for it.” Your father promises, holding you tenderly against his chest as you make your way up to your familiar Apartment in Manhattan, waving hello to the doorman of your building.

* You’re glad you have your dad

* He may not be a parent your recognize from a previous life, but the way he holds you so gently, the familiar scent that wafts over you — like spring and amber mixed together — has your eyes drooping close

* “I love you daddy.” You yawn against his neck

* “I love you too baby.”

* You’re seven years old when you meet the black dog for the first time.

* You’re walking home from elementary school, sighing as you cross the street.

* ‘I have to be more careful, Dad practically had a heart attack last night when he saw me reading the book about Greek mythology.’

* “W-why are you reading that book sweetie?”

* “The pictures looked pretty.”

* “W-w-well what about this one? Don’t you think these pictures are prettier?”

* You’re going to have to start handling your research with more tact.

* ‘I get about 30 minutes a day for silent reading, but if I choose a book about Greek mythology everyday my teacher will mention it to my dad, I’ll need to limit myself to one day a week.’

* You’re thinking of making a schedule of things to study every day so you might just appear like a very organized child, instead of the freak you are.

* That’s when you see it.

* On appearance alone it doesn’t seem like anything all that special, the dog is large, a black Great Dane with big brown eyes and a tail wagging a mile a minute.

* And in its mouth is a bright red ball.

* Despite yourself a smile twitches on your lips as you get closer, you’ve seen dog body language enough to know when an animal is uncomfortable

* “Hey boy, what are you doing out here all alone?” You hold out your hand expecting to receive an introspective sniff, but instead the dog placed his whole face on your hand.

* You laugh as you pat his head

* “Why’d your owner leave you alone like this?” You wonder aloud, the dog looks like a purebred, and he’s friendly and social too — it doesn’t appear to be abandonment, but he doesn’t have a leash, just a collar with blue gemstones embedded into luxurious leather.

* ‘Whoever’s dog this is, they must be rich.’

* Not that your father seemed to be hurting for money either considering he’s sending you to all the best schools in Manhattan

* The dog drops the ball into your hand when you still

* Does he want to play fetch?

* It’s only when you look down you see it’s not a ball at all.

* “A pomegranate?”

* Before you can think about what kind of person gives a dog a pomegranate to play with, the dog gives you one final lick before leaping away, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the street.

* “Well that was weird.”

* You meet her when you’re eight years old

* She’s adorned in a varsity jacket, a flip phone in one hand and a dog leash in the other

* The black dog from earlier wags it’s tail

* ‘So this is the bad owner.’

* She looks like a college student, maybe twenty at most. With jet black hair and bright green eyes.

* ‘She looks familiar’

* There’s a certain tint to her though, a gold tint that lingers on her skin, gold flecks in her eyes, a golden sheen to her hair, you don’t know what to make of it.

* “Hey kid, do you know me?”

* “Yeah you’re the lady I’m going to report to my teacher when I get to school.”

* The woman sputters with laughter, her hand covering her mouth as her dog shuffled towards you, pressing its nose against your hand. You pet instinctively.

* ‘You really deserve a better owner. How hard would it be to incapacitate this woman and steal her dog?’ You muse.

* “Looks like Cerb has taken a liking to you.” She states, the dogs practically curled around you it’s head in your small hands.

* “You named your dog Cerb? Like Cerberus?” You feel like the name fits a Rottweiler better than a soft hearted Great Dane.

* “I didn’t pick the name, I inherited him from a distant family member recently.” She shrugs, patting her side, the dog pouts but obediently returns to her side.

* “I’ll see you around kid.”

* ‘This is starting to get weird.’

* You wonder for a second if that was your mother but dispel the thought.

* ‘Dad could do better.’

* You stumble into adolescence without a hitch, running into the college student and her Greek mythology named dog.

* You learn her name is Maki and she’s a sophomore at a local university.

* “So are you in college?” You ask.

* “I guess you could say that, I’m getting a degree in architecture at NYU.” You nod.

* You mainly put up with her to pet her dog.

* And you continue your research into the gods, hoping you might find a clue about who your mother is.

* “They seem very interested in Mythology, they even have a schedule on what type to learn more about everyday, it’s still early but archeology may be a good field of study for them.” Your teacher tells your father during the semi-annual parent teacher conference.

* Your father can barely contain his joy, a wobbly smile over his mouth as he ruffles your hair.

* “They’ve always been fairly independent, but if there’s anything I can do to support them as a parent please let me know.”

* ‘I wonder what dad does to be able to afford all this.’

* It’s something you’ve never really thought of much until now, but the penthouse apartment in Manhattan, the elite private schools, even the designer clothes you wear — the money has to come from somewhere.

* ‘He does seem to work a lot.’

* Your dad is always there for you before school and after school, but you’ve seen him mulling over a stack of paperwork a handful of times when you woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, a heavy sigh heaving from his lips as he leaded through the documents.

* ‘Maybe he’s an executive and he just has really good boundaries.’ You think to yourself.

* You’re also growing fairly certain that your mother was a minor goddess, for one you don’t seem to have any special powers aside from your usual despair aura, and second…

* The monsters are few and far-between. There’s been the odd occasion naturally, a snake that tried to poison you, an Eagle that latched onto your arm and refused to let go, a man with only one eye that eyed you from outside the playground, but one look from you was enough to make them scamper away.

* ‘I must not be worth the trouble to them.’

* Besides it’s not like you need protecting, as long as you have your despair no monster on earth can harm you.

* As you walk home, slightly disappointed that Maki and her dog aren’t at the park today, you think maybe this is okay.

* You don’t need to know who your mother is, your blood is weak enough that you won’t need to go to camp half-blood, you can live a nice long life with your father.

* You smile at the doorman as you walk into the marble lobby of your apartment building.

* ‘Maybe this time there aren’t any problems I need to fix.’ You think as you step onto the elevator.

* ‘Maybe this time I can live a nice peaceful life with my super rich dad.’ You decide, tapping the key code into your door before turning the handle.

* You’re greeted with the usual sight of your father, but instead of his usual place on his favorite armchair, he’s seated on the sofa, his mouth stretched in a tense fine line.

* Across from him is a woman, if you had to describe her you’d say she resembled a peony. Everything about her felt like a blossoming flower, pink cheeks, perfectly well manicured pink fingernails. She has long brown hair the color of tree bark, and bright green eyes.

* She’s adorned in a white pantsuit, and stares at you with an amused smile twitching on her lips.

* “(Y/N), come sit by me very quickly.” Your fathers words are strained and tinged in urgency, the woman rolls her eyes.

* “Oh come now Zagreus, you think I would hurt my own grandchild?”

* “It’s never seemed to stop you before.” He grumbles.

* Your eyes flick from the woman to your father.

* The last puzzle piece fits into place.

* All this time you’ve been fixated on your mother, believing her to be of godly lineage.

* ‘But that’s Persephone, and if she’s my grandmother—‘

* ‘Then I’ve been looking at this wrong the whole time.’

* “It was just the one time Zagreus, and I already told you I don’t approve of Thanatos as a son in law, naturally I wouldn’t approve of their children either.”

* ‘Because that means my dad is Zagreus.’

* This entire time your godly parent has been right under your nose, a mere hallway across from you in your own home.

* “Well shit.”

A/N: Thanks for reading! I wanted to credit a few series that I drew a lot of inspiration from which include Hades, Circe by Madeline Miller, and Lore Olympus.

Also a shout out to the anon who guessed it below, hope it was still a surprise! As always if you want to be added to the tag list please COMMENT and I’ll add you until it’s full! 💖

#percy jackson and the lightning thief #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson x reader #Percy Jackson x you #hades game #hades x reader #Zagreus x reader #lore olympus #lore Olympus x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson fanfiction #pjo imagine #percy pjo #pjo x you #pjo x y/n #pjo x reader #Luke castellan x reader #Luke castellan imagine #jason grace #Jason grace x reader #waking up in percy jackson #waking up in Percy Jackson series #superhero—imagines

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 9 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

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

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

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

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

Chapter Word Count: 22.1k+

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

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

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

-Horace

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 30, 2022

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

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

All pink and white and golden rays of sunshine.

Then, it was gone. 

No. Not again.

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

All dark and dirty and ear-piercing screams. 

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

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

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

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

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

You studied her quizzically – why was she–?

“Wake up!”

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

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

Life was safe again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the back booth was open! 

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck that came out of nowhere. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, she was sunshine for you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very rarely had she been extremely judgemental. 

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

“Sis, what’s–?”

“I’m pregnant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Talk, Elsie. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s oka–.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elsie spoke before you could. “What changed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, you took your first sip of orange juice. 

Goddamn.

Fuck! Ew. Baby does not like orange juice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure thing! Back in a flash!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not hungry?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Does Jake know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dangerous territory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus, Elsie! I–.”

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

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

“Liiiiike . . .?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to puke on you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not possib–.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

Okay, these hormones can fuck right off. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her chest was heaving. 

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why in the hell? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait!”

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously? He was stopping your pickle eating for this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stories? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking cruel, babe. . .”

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

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

Had you ever been carrying it? 

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

- 🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- 🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

Then he was all you saw.

Jake.

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

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

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

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

Seriously, fuck these hormones.

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

And, of course, he had. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your tummy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

God. . . what is he about to sa–?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think I’m brok–?”

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

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

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

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

“Expensive?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And this type is. . .?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do I schedule the appointment?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

And you continued to wait. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Family?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if he asks what it’s for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knew that. 

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sat back slowly after entering it, your stomach spinning as your thoughts went insane and your nerves continued to set on white-hot fire.

You spared a glance over at him through your lashes to see him looking out the corner of his eye at you, coming up to a stoplight. The look he was giving you made you sure that your face was morphed to show utter terror and worry. “What’s wrong, mama?”

Fuck. You turned to face the front again and squeezed your eyes shut at the nickname, bringing two clenched, sweaty fists up to your eyes as your skin began to feel like it was quite actually peeling off of you in nervous jitters. Your eyes couldn’t stand being squeezed shut any longer as you felt the tears forming behind your lids.

He continued driving, but with the occasional nervous glance in your direction. 

Then, he laid a comforting palm on your shoulder, his thumb soothing circles over your arm. 

And, once he’d done that, it was no longer in your control to keep the tears at bay. You tried to fight them back, but it was to no avail. 

So, there you were, face becoming drenched in tears as you couldn’t stop sputtering little sobs. 

In your peripheral, you saw Josh looking at you as he came to one last light before the highway, face surely painted with distress. “Y/n?” He checked, careful and concerned. “I’m sorry if I said some–.”

And what came out of your mouth next was not at all expected. But, it blurted through your lips with zero fucking warning. You did not know which part of your brain had decided to communicate with your mouth to say it.

“I’m pregnant,” you sobbed.

The car lurched to a stop, cars honking furiously behind you at Josh’s abrupt action. Your stomach, already thick with nerves, couldn’t handle it. You quickly slapped an open palm over your mouth to conceal any projectile vomiting. Thankfully none came, but you had to clench your eyes shut once again as Josh made a wide, sloppy U-turn off of the street that was leading to the highway. 

And when he’d finally come to a stop again, you opened your eyes to see he’d pulled the car over into the nearest McDonald’s.

Focusing too hard on trying not to vomit helped you to stop the outrageous weeping for a few minutes. You finally peeled the hand from your mouth as you took several deep breaths, in and out, to calm yourself and your stomach. 

Before you even knew what was happening, Josh was getting out, running to the door of the establishment. You watched in the mirror to your right as he simultaneously got his wallet out of his back pocket. 

Choosing not to worry about it, you shut your eyes once more to ease your tummy. But it did not help and you felt the puke coming in just enough time to unlock your door, open it, and puke all over a piece of the yellow line that boxed the car into its space.

You groaned as you leaned back up into the car and into your seat, letting your hair fall from the impromptu ponytail that you were holding at the back of your neck. Popping open the glovebox, you grabbed a few napkins to wipe your face (these days, between the incessant crying and vomiting, you were fucking constantly thanking God for the years-accumulated collection).

And then the driver’s side door was opening once more, this time Josh’s khakis making the first appearance as he climbed back in. He had two cups, one balanced between his bicep, clad in a white, long-sleeved tee and his chest and one in his hand. He quickly placed both in the center cup holders and popped a straw in each. 

Your brows lifted, wondering. “What did you–?” 

“Sprite,” he pointed to the one at the front. “And water,” the one in the second holder. 

“How did you–?”

“There’s a part of my brain permanently cemented with what it was like to watch my mom be pregnant with Sammy,” he explained, eyes soft with a smile gracing his handsome features. “I was too young to remember watching her pregnancy with Ron, but Sammy. . . he’s always been tough–even in the fuckin’ womb.”

You gave a small giggle, stomach spinning when your hand went to grab the Sprite. The carbonation sounded perfect, and Sprite had been a go-to in a few cases of your recent nausea. 

The cool drink had been just what you’d needed, sighing as soon as you brought the straw away from your lips with the first sip. You kept it clutched in your hands as a lifeline when you looked at Josh next, eyes wet. “Thank you, Joshy,” you croaked, tone exuding gratefulness. 

“Yeah, always,” he affirmed, his eyebrows dipped in. The next few minutes were spent in silence, your thoughts finally quieted a little with the initial confession to him. You took a few quiet sips of your drink, the sound of you swallowing the loudest sound in the small car.

Knowing he most likely wasn’t wanting to pressure you to talk, you took the initiative. “I–I’m sorry for not– I’m–,” you choked, shaking your head. The tears were beginning to gather once fucking more. Yet, even with eyes wet and throat tight, you persevered. You had to get the rest of it said before you continued to the appointment–you were going to be late if you didn’t get going soon. And you weren’t about to tell him the rest afterwards. “I have to tell you the rest.”

His jaw clenched in preparation for it as he nodded, his body turning to better face you for what was left. “Lay it on me.”

You gulped, mimicking his movement so you could see him better. Your throat was so tight it nearly suffocated you with nerves. “The–the father,” you started, looking into the eyes that looked so eerily similar to his brother’s. Very much like the ones you hoped your baby would wind up having–yet, not entirely the same. “Do you want to know?”

Of course you’ll want to, you thought at your ridiculous question. And I’m going to tell you anyway, but I’m stalling like a pussy.

His lips quirked, but only the slightest, tiniest bit. “Only if you want to tell me.”

I have to.

“I–I do,” you said, your eyes darting down to your hands which wrung at your waist, itching to touch your tummy. So, you did, settling them on the small bump. And instantly, you felt better. You were beginning to find it slightly crazy what one simple touch could do. 

Choosing to watch your hands lace at your tummy instead of him, you took the last jump with two words. “It’s Jake.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: i promise you won't be waiting a month for Josh's reaction ;) see you very, very soon <3

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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Taglist: @joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssoloud, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend, @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon , @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule

#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

[yoimix]

𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚

series: yoimix christmas event !! (๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)

pairing: thoma x reader

synopsis: someone should’ve told thoma that knitting matching heart sweaters for you and taroumaru doesn’t exactly express the massive crush he has on you.

prompt: thoma + dressing pets in festive wear

genre: fluff, f2l, idiots to lovers (once again)

wc: 2.1k

warnings: language, yn is down BADDD, childish tactics

a/n: sorry for pushing back the schedule guys :( stuff happened and apparently i’m going to hawaii

“No, no, no, (name).” Thoma waves frantically at you to stop.

You stiffen, unsure of what to do next. He places his hands over yours in a flash, guiding your movement gently. With skin warm as ever, you sigh at the contact. 

“You loop it like this, and then do that… So, y’know, it doesn’t fall apart.”

He grins at you, prompting a pointed look from you. “Are you making fun of me, Thoma?” 

You’re not sure why the two of you snuck out of the Christmas party just to knit tiny sweaters for the litter of kittens you found outside Komore Teahouse. But you’re here now, and it’s your self-appointed job to get on Thoma’s nerves in any way possible. 

The problem is that he’s the nicest man in Teyvat, and nothing you do can make him shake. It started out as a bet you made with Ayaka, but then it progressed into more of a personal challenge. However, Thoma might as well be a log of wood with the lack of emotion he greets your shenanigans with. 

So, instead of getting mad at you, he’s patiently teaching you how to knit.

“Oh dear.”

Thoma stops your hands with his again, blissfully unaware of the effect it has on you. No matter how many times you tell yourself that he’s nice to everyone, every action of his seems to have a detrimental effect on you.

“It’s like this…”

Like you give a shit about how to knit. You just want to be close enough to feel his warmth all the time. Somewhere along the way, you blurred the line between friends and something more with your stupid tactics. Now, it’s on you to figure it out. 

But it’s Thoma.

This man is so horribly perfect that even the ‘ugly’ Christmas sweaters he knitted turned out pretty. Carefully woven with a heart against a baby blue background, it’s lined with pine trees at the base and a star at the center. He even made sure of the color variations, with a red heart for him, a yellow one for you and an orange one for Taroumaru. 

“You’re not listening,” he tuts, a small smile on his face. 

You roll your eyes. “It’s hard. Not everyone is as gifted as you.”

“That’s alright,” he laughs. “You should take a break anyway. Things done tired lead to injuries and I wouldn’t want scars on your hands.”

There he goes again, caring for you more than he does for himself. The chatter of the party continues in the next room but you can only rest your eyes on Thoma, so focused on getting the sweaters right. The litter of kittens sleep peacefully in the box at the corner of the room, a watchful Taroumaru lying beside them. Peace brims in the atmosphere; you nearly forget it’s a winter night with the warmth radiating inside this room.

And yet, the lack of intimacy between you and Thoma is driving you insane. It’s so hard to remain calm with him in proximity. Either he stops being nice to everyone, or he kisses you till you can’t recall your name. You’re so touch-starved, you have to battle your brain chemistry every night.

“You know…” You smile slyly as another plan hatches in your mind. 

“Hm?”

“Ayato said he’s hosting some event soon. Isn’t he so cool to be able to find time amidst all that work? A man of the house, eh?”

Maybe talking about other men will get the fabled rise out of him. Yae novels can never go wrong. But then again, your friends are horrified by your reading taste.

Thoma laughs. “Of course he is! It takes a lot of determination to do what he does.”

“W-well… I was uh- talking to Detective Heizou! The… other day…and… do you think we could be more than friends?”

Thoma blinks, confused. Hah! Maybe you’ll finally get to see that green shade of jealousy.

“Well, you could start with a date if you’re into him.”

Of course, that shade of green is very different from the one coloring his eyes.

“No!” You blurt. “I mean, not really. I heard he’s flirty with everyone anyway…”

“Oh, that he is,” Thoma sighs before grinning at you. “I didn’t want to discourage you, that’s all.”

“Well, he’s on my mind now,” you mutter begrudgingly. “I didn’t need that image of him.”

“You’re on my mind for longer than that,” he mumbles, followed by a soft chuckle. “And you’re fine.”

Thoma keeps complicating things like this and there’s nothing more you want than to kiss him silly.

Another brilliant thought strikes. 

“Aha!” You snap your fingers, startling Thoma. 

“Uh, (name)?”

“We’re missing alcohol!” You complain, placing your hands on your hips. “What kind of a Christmas party is this?”

Thoma pauses before breaking into laughter.

“You sound more and more like a Mondstadter every day.”

You pout. “Well, you talk about it so often…”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he smiles, finishing up the last of the batch of sweaters. “I love Mondstadt but my heart lies here.”

With me? You can’t possibly say something that embarrassing out loud.

“With you…” You perk up. “...guys.”

Of fucking course.

You hold back a groan. This isn’t meant to be so frustrating. You could be saying it aloud, you could be holding him closer, you could be anything but miserable and lovesick. If you could, you’d blow on those Mondstadt dandelions and wish for Thoma’s smile against the sun. What if you love him and he loves you not?

There’s a reason you only buy cheap things—you’ll lose them or break them. As much as Thoma helps you haggle the prices in Ritou, he couldn’t possibly help you with this. You can’t keep anything, much less someone as perfect as Thoma. It’s not just the idea of rejection holding you back, it’s your own heart. 

“You’re not good with alcohol either,” you chuckle.

“Hey, don’t laugh.” Thoma pouts. “I’m sure I could down it better with some food.”

“Mhm.” You roll your eyes. You should give up now. There is no possible way in Teyvat you can make Thoma yours. Might as well make peace with it.

“Oh, fruitcake!” He declares.

“Fruitcake?” You blink.

“Yes, dear?”

You feel a rush of blood to your face. “H-huh? That- that was so stupid, Thoma!”

Thoma laughs uncontrollably, squishing your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger fondly. “Gosh, I was only kidding but you look so cute.”

“I change my mind. You’re the most horrible man in Teyvat.”

“Even though I baked fruitcake for you?” He offers a small grin. “With no fruit pieces because I know you hate fruit pieces.”

“So, it’s just a cake.”

“Well, yes… but it’s your favorite flavor!”

You shake your head, a smile fighting its way onto your face anyway. 

“Oh, and I have some dog cookies for Taroumaru,” he continues, “And milk for the cats because I don’t think they can have solid food yet.”

“And for you?”

Thoma pauses, clearly confused. “Right… Well, I don’t need much more than this for Christmas. I have a roof over my head, my friends around me, and… kittens! What more could a man ask for?”

You frown. It’s not worth getting upset over but his attitude is infuriating.

“You always look more tired than happy at these parties, Thoma,” you say. “You don’t always have to overwork yourself for everyone.”

“It’s alright,” he laughs awkwardly. “You’re having fun, right? That’s good enough.”

It seems that even if you never get on his nerves, he gets on yours. How many times has he let himself suffer just to keep you in check? He will risk his life for his friends and family—excessive loyalty is not a virtue. Even when he washed ashore with no mora or a name to him, he offered the strays his food every day. It’s irrational; and it could’ve killed him. Just thinking about it makes you unbearably angry. He’s lucky you found him. 

Then why is it that you still feel luckier of the two?

“I hate it when you do that, Thoma.”

This is why you can’t have nice things. Because you break them. 

Thoma looks genuinely remorseful, and you immediately regret saying it.

“I-…I’m sorry, (name),” he whispers. “I would never do anything to upset you.”

God, you wish you weren’t such a problem child. You wish he was meaner. You wish you’d stop falling for him every day.

“It’s like you care for me more than I do,” you mutter, upset. “I don’t know how to act.”

Thoma blinks. “I- That’s not what I…”

Placing his hand over the upper half of his face, he sighs. “It’s only half-true. You bring out the best in me, (name).”

You scoff. “You’re already the best I could ever find in a man, Thoma.”

Quick flames erupt from his ears at your comment, startling both him and you. You blink at him, his cheeks and ears as scarlet as fire, before bursting into laughter.

“You’re the same as ever,” you manage to say in between laughs. “You once set the bouquet on fire before you could give it to your crush.”

“That was way back when!” He furrows his brows. “It was a schoolboy crush and it lasted three weeks.”

“Don’t get defensive on me,” you tease. “You’re just such a clown when you’re in love.”

“Does that mean you’ll keep smiling at me?”

“Huh.” You blink. “Well, if that’s your party trick, sure.”

“(Name), I’m not sure you understand,” he breathes. “I’m erupting like this because you’re here.”

“Then would you spew fire if I kiss you?” You lean towards him, a playful lilt in your voice.

“Stop teasing me, (name),” he murmurs, leaning further into you, arms on either side. It’s hard to be mean to his puppy dog eyes and plush pout. 

Before you can think it through, you close the gap between your lips, a soft sound of surprise leaving Thoma. But your senses return before he can kiss you back, his lips chasing yours when you pull away.

“Oh!” You gasp, eyes wide as your hands fly to your mouth. “I can’t believe I just did that, oh my god. What have you done?”

“M-me?” He fumbles, cherry red. “You kissed me. Why are you shocked?”

“I didn’t think I’d actually do it!” You exclaim. “That was too impulsive for me to act normal.”

“I like it when you’re impulsive.” His fern green eyes seem to melt at your gaze, an almost pleading look laced with quiet mischief.

You bite back a smile, and he leans in to press his lips against yours. Why haven’t you done this before? You giggle into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you tighter. Christmas has never tasted sweeter.

Suddenly—

“Woof!”

You separate yourself from each other, jumping at the sound. Looking down, you found a rather angry Taroumaru glaring at you from beside the stack of kitten sweaters.

Thoma is the first to laugh. “Sorry there, buddy. I didn’t mean to make things awkward for you.”

“Awoof!”

“Oh, yeah! I’m done with the sweaters.” Thoma nods. “We’ll try them on tomorrow morning.”

You furrow your brows. “Are you… communicating?”

“No, I’m just assuming what he means.”

“Arrrrooof!”

“Okay, I have no idea what that means.”

Taroumaru leaps onto your lap, snuggling his face onto your collarbone.

Thoma knits his brows, almost offended. You don’t get to see that expression often, and you wouldn’t have expected Taroumaru to prompt it. “Oh, so you’re here to steal my (name), is it?”

“I wouldn’t mind Taroumaru stealing me,” you declare. “Isn’t that right?”

You floof up Taroumaru’s face, scratching the  back of his ears as he gives you a joyous yip.

Thoma rolls his eyes, a smile begging to take over his lips. “You’re taking it too far, (name).”

“Really now?” 

You feel warm lips press against yours again, eliciting a soft laugh from you. However, it’s cut short by Taroumaru’s angry headbutt against Thoma’s chin, a grunt of pain following as he’s pushed back. However, it’s soon replaced with laughter, the sound resonating across the room. Only Thoma could laugh so full, even on an empty stomach.

“Alright, you win.” He raises his arms in defeat. 

“We should take a family picture,” you suggest, looking around for the kamera.

“But we’re not married?” Thoma tilts his head to the side.

You smack his arm. “We don’t have to be married for one!”

“Ah, pre-marital photographs. Scandalous.”

And so, stands the pre-marital photograph of you, Thoma and Taroumaru in matching sweaters, by your dresser—you’re clutching your stomach as you laugh while Thoma’s turned red (in true Christmas spirit) trying to hold in his laughter. Taroumaru is the only one photogenic enough to make it work, his head tilted to the side and eyes closed in joy. You should’ve known then, that only the sweetest of fruitcakes could top that photograph (and Thoma’s came pretty damn close).

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact imagines #genshin fluff #thoma x reader #thoma x you #thoma scenarios #Genshin Thoma x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact fluff #thoma fluff #yoimix.fic #yoimix.event #ya idk whats going on thoma is dense as shit #sorry it's not very fruity #i didnt mean to be heteronormative

[elementary-my-dear-daddy]

A lil request, if you're feeling up for it!

sub Logan, who really needs to take a break from working. Mr. Self-Care (dom Janus) catches wind of his precious nerd not caring for himself, and thus decides to help him.

Cue some combination of edging, sounding, and demeaning praise that makes Logan beg and whine and cum so hard he cannot think anymore. Maybe Janus helps clean them both up and some aftercare happens?

Kinda long ask, sorry. Hope you have fun with this!

- 🥒

Safe and Sound(ed)

Lociet (Logan and Janus)

Warnings: Edging, Sounding, Dom!Janus, Sub!Logan, degradation, praise, butt plugs

Read it on A03!

Summary: Logan needs to take better care of himself, Janus knows just how to make him.

“Lo?”

Logan snapped awake at the sound of his name. His neck ached as he lifted his head from its previous resting position on his desk. He glanced at the doorway, noticing Janus leaning forward on his cane and analyzing him with a worried stare.

“You fell asleep?” He hummed.

Logan rubbed the side of his face as he gradually adjusted to his sudden consciousness, “Yes, just for a bit. I was editing-”

“Do you know how long you were asleep for?”

“What?”

“Certainly more than a little nap, judging by the fact that you were still up at 4 in the morning, and that it’s now almost 11. I’d say someone hasn’t been taking care of himself.” Janus teased the last part in a sing-song rhythm as he walked in the room and shut the door behind him.

“How did you know I was up that late?”

“Remus tattled on you,” He pulled Logan’s desk chair out from his desk and spun him around to face him, “Don’t worry, he’s already been suitably punished for waking me up at that hour to tell me.”

Logan was still processing waking up. He stared up at the deceitful side with exhausted eyes behind slightly crooked glasses. His hands twitched to get back to his task, but the thought of having to work through yet another unfinished idea made him want to collapse on his bed. Janus saw this and tutted, going to sit down on the edge of Logan’s bed.

“Logan. You know better. Come here.” He patted the spot on the bed next to him.

Logan didn’t have it in him to argue. Accepting his fate, he stood and slumped into Janus’ side on the bed. The other side was warm and inviting to his too tired body, and when he was guided down to rest his head in his lap, he couldn’t resist.

“Awake at such an hour. You know, I’m starting to think maybe you’d want to be punished. You know your rules, darling.”

Right, his rules. Janus loved to use their power dynamic as a way to get the others to take better care of themselves, his argument being that if his toys didn’t take care of themselves he wouldn't want to play with them. This more or less led to an improvement in self-care across the sides, but Logan was the most stubborn in breaking these rules. He would avoid sleep and meals in favor of his work, and his dom was sick of it. Janus was going to make sure the lesson stuck this time.

Logan shifted so he was sitting up, staring at Janus with a tired expression again, “Jan-”

“Uh-uh, Color?”

“Green.”

“Good. You’ll nap until you’re completely rested and when you wake up we’ll begin, understood?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Good boy, now rest.” Janus hummed and pressed a kiss to his cheek, right before sinking his teeth into the skin of Logan’s neck and injecting a sleep-inducing venom from his fangs. Logan gasped from the pain, before his vision dimmed and he fell unconscious on his bed. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Logan woke up to the sound of someone flipping a page in a book. He opened his eyes and saw Janus sitting at his desk flipping through a novel and tilting his chair back and forth as he waited. He went to sit up, but found himself unable to get his arms underneath him since his hands had been cuffed to the bed frame. He pulled at his restraints, earning Janus’ attention when the chain connecting the cuffs made a loud clang as he tugged them against the metal of the frame.

“Well,” Janus peered at him, setting his book down on the desk, “How did you sleep?”

“Why am I handcuffed?” Logan asked. Now that he was awake, he also realized his lack of clothing underneath the blanket that was covering up his body, “And naked?”

“Don’t you remember dear? It’s time for your punishment for breaking my rules. You know you shouldn’t be staying up so late to work, and now you’ll have to pay for it.”

Logan blushed, “I didn’t mean to, I just-”

“Save me your excuses.” Janus said as he stood, “No matter how many times I punish you for it, you still seem to disobey me. Just last week I had to edge you for skipping a meal. Two days ago, I had to spank you for working for 4 hours straight with no breaks. Now this.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Logan said, embarrassed by his own behavior. He casts his eyes down to avoid Janus’ judgmental glare.

“We’ll see about that.” He sat down on the bed and pulled the blanket off Logan, exposing his naked form. He ran his hand over the other’s chest, earning a shiver from him.

“How am I being punished?” Logan questioned, biting the inside of his cheek as Janus’ thumb rolled over one of his nipples.

“A little edging.” Janus teased.

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’ ?”

“Your tone indicates something else.”

“Well I don’t want to ruin the surprise!” Janus hummed, “You know that’s half the fun.”

“For you.” He muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Janus removed his hands and conjured up a bag full of all kinds of devices he loved to torture his subs with, pulling out a small bottle of lube that Logan hadn’t seen before. He wasted no time removing his gloves and putting a dollop into his palm. A cool sensation enveloped Logan’s cock as he stroked it, but it was quickly turning into a pleasantly warm heat as he moved his hand over his length. Logan let out a soft moan at the touch.

“How does that feel, love?” Janus asked, teasing the head of his dick

“Ah, good, sir.”

He chuckled darkly, “Good. Enjoy it while you can, slut.”

Logan sighed at the pleasure he was given. Janus managed to work him up easily, but once he was completely hard, the hand was removed. He thrust his hips up in an attempt to chase the feeling until Janus pressed him down into the bed with his forearm.

“Ah ah, just wait, no moving.”

Even with Janus stopping, the warm tingling sensation still enveloped Logan’s cock. He moaned softly at the sensation still stimulating him while the other prevented him from writhing around on the bed. He desperately needed more and let his desires be revealed with a soft plea.

“Sir, please, I’m sorry just- fuck- please touch me!” He whined.

Janus simply watched him, “But you look so needy! You’re so agreeable when I edge you, I could make you do anything if it meant I touched your cock after, hm?”

“Yes, anything, please.”

“So you’ll let me plug you up, use you however I want?”

“Yes.”

Janus shrugged and rifled through the bag again, “If you insist, I think I might do just that then.”

Logan looked over at what items the other planned on torturing him with, noticing some of their more frequently used toys like the butt plug he’d been made to wear most of the day last week. He didn’t recognize the thin metal rod Janus twirled between his fingers elegantly before setting it down beside him on the bed, nor its exact purpose. He would've asked if not for the warmth that still surrounded his cock and kept him hard and needy.

Janus vanished the bag once he had everything he needed and turned to see Logan writhing in his arousal.

“Sir, fuck, please use me!” 

“Why don’t we stretch you first?” He offered. Grabbing the same bottle of lube as before once the sub nodded at him to go ahead. He moved to kneel in between Logan’s legs before pouring out more of the liquid onto his fingers and dipping them down to his entrance. Logan whined pitifully at this, begging for Janus to hurry up. He was soon rewarded with a single digit entering his hole, slowly stretching him. He added a second and third before replacing them with the plug. Logan hummed once it had been inserted, feeling full and content for the time being.

Janus smiled at the satisfied look on the other’s face, “Does that feel good?”

Logan nodded, his tired mind lost in the feeling. 

“I bet. We’re halfway done, then.”

Logan’s mind wasn’t exactly able to fully process the comment, but he knew something was off. Was Janus about to gag him? Use his mouth for his own means? What else could that mean?

He soon found out as Janus pulled out that long metal rod again. It looked something akin to a medical instrument, but in his state he couldn’t exactly determine the use. When the other put a dollop of lube and ran it along the shaft he started to vaguely put the pieces together.

“S-Sir?”

“Hm?” Janus hummed.

“What is that?”

“This?” He held up the rod, a bit of excess lube threatening to pool at the end and drip off as he displayed it, “This is a sounding rod. It plugs you up all nice so you can’t fully come until I take it out.”

“It’s going in my cock?”

“Doesn’t that sound so delightfully torturous?” Janus responded with a big smile on his face. He touched the end of it to Logan’s tip, dancing it around the sensitive skin, “Color, Lo?”

“Fuck, green.”

“Good boy. Now just stay still and take your punishment like a good slut.”

Janus teased the sounding rod across his dripping slit, eliciting a soft moan from Logan once again. When he actually lined it up and began to press it in, the other let out a cry at the oddly arousing feeling. Little by little, Janus let his cock swallow down the length, allowing him to adjust to the feeling before making him take more and more. Logan felt so incredibly full just when he’d taken about half of it, he didn’t know if it was possible for him to take the whole thing. That was until Janus started to stroke and massage his dick as he moved the rod in further. He became lost in the overwhelming sensations, only able to let out weak gasps and groans occasionally. Finally, the base rested against his head as Janus slowly stroked him.

“Just look at you, taking your punishment so well!” Janus cooed, “How does that feel?”

“S-so full, ah~!” Logan gasped.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes! Yes, feels good!”

“I know, sweetheart, so nice to be full. I think I’ll just toy with you a little bit longer before I let you come from this.” Janus said. He did exactly that, teasing Logan by toying with both plugs at once. He’d pull out the rod half-way before letting go, allowing it to sink back down on its own, which drew out a long mewl from Logan. Then he’d play with the butt plug keeping his hole stretched, rocking it in and out repeatedly, just barely giving the other enough stimulation.

Janus reveled in the power he held over Logan, the other completely at his mercy and taking what he had to give. He gave yet another grin knowing that he was the only one who could properly reduce him to the mess laid out before him. He didn’t keep him this way for too long, just enough to properly tire him out and make him regret his actions from before. Perhaps he’d repeat his mistake, as he so often did (much to Janus’ disappointment), but for the time being, he’d be satisfied with his temporary repentance.

“Please please please Sir please let me come- ah- I… I need to!!! “ Logan screamed as the sound rod sunk into his cock once again, preventing his release.

“Hmm.” Janus hummed in deliberation, “I could…”

“PLEASE.”

He shrugged, gripping Logan’s dick in a tight hold, “If you absolutely insist.”

He pumped his shaft with the hand currently holding it while easing out the rod bit by bit. As he did, Logan felt his orgasm bubbling up. Janus waited, resting the tip of the instrument just at the head of his cock, preventing him from tipping over just yet. Logan whined, high pitched and needy, begging the other for his release.

“I just wanted to see you squirm one last time. Come. Now.” Janus pulled the rest of the rod out and watched as Logan’s orgasm crashed over him. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through his body as he came over the hand that stroked his length. His muscles tensed from a well earned climax, little aborted thrusts into the other’s hand the only control he had over it. He pulled at the cuffs until the pleasure, as well as Janus’ touch subsided. When his orgasm finally ended, he was left panting from exhaustion.

“Such a good boy, Logan. Very well done.” Janus said, leaning over to press a kiss to Logan’s forehead, “Let’s clean up and let you make up for all that spent energy.”

The aftercare between the two lasted hours. Once Janus had the two of them cleaned up, he conjured up soft pillows and blankets for them to nap on, praising Logan for how well he did the whole time until he fell fast asleep. He stayed by his side the entire time, making sure he stayed as comfortable as possible. When Logan woke up, Janus forced him to drink his fill of water and have a snack to replenish his energy. And when all his physical needs were cared for, Janus put on a documentary that Logan had seemed interested in. 

Logan smiled to himself as Janus wrapped an arm around him. He’d have to fall asleep at his desk more often.

#jamming out #not safe for sanders #nsfs lociet #fics #asks #requests

[all-timelee]

Because I wanted to || Dream

//I literally have not been able to get this man out of my head since his face reveal. This is just a quick little fluffy piece I cooked up, hope you enjoy!!\\

Warnings: None (I think??)

Word Count: 759

Masterlist

You huffed, attempting to gain the upper hand as Clay’s hands poked into your sides, forcing a loud laugh to slip past your lips. Soon he stopped tickling you and was looking down at you with a shit eating grin on his face. “Told you I was stronger,” he spoke, his eyes sparkling with mischief that had you rolling you eyes in mock annoyance.

“Fight me.” He let out a chuckle, making no move to get off of you. You were stubborn, refusing to accept that you had lost. “I’m starting to think you just like me pinning you against things, darling.” His voice was teasing but there was an underlying truth to it; Clay enjoyed being close to you.

You choked on your breath, cheeks heating up as you looked anywhere except for the dark green eyes boring into yours. “You wish.” You couldn’t keep eye contact, shifting uncomfortably as he laughed once more.

You heard him sigh deeply above you before his hands left you, moving up to cup your cheek. Your body seemed frozen in place as he leaned forward, bringing his head down slowly until his forehead met yours. His breath brushed across your skin causing goosebumps to appear over your whole body.

“Can’t win this one, huh?” he whispered, his thumb running along the line of your jawline. Your lips parted slightly as you felt his warm breath hit your cheek, your heart pounding faster than ever. When he finally closed the distance between the two of you your eyes fluttered shut, feeling the soft press of his lips against your own.

His mouth tasted sweet with honey and mint; everything about him was so soft, and you craved even more of his touch. It wasn’t long before he pulled back with a small smile on his face, leaning his forehead once again against yours.

“Why did you do that?,” you complained softly, trying to catch your breath from the short kiss.

Clay hummed thoughtfully, pressing another quick peck to your lips before pulling away completely. You could feel yourself blushing madly, trying to hide it in hopes that Clay wouldn’t see how embarrassed you actually were.

“Because I wanted to.” He chuckled lightly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and brushing his thumb across your cheek. He took note of the slight pink color spreading across your cheeks, smiling when he realized he had done something you hadn’t expected.

He had captured you perfectly, capturing every part of you and keeping it all for himself. “W-what does that mean?” You were sure you knew the answer, but you’d give anything to hear him say it.

“It means… that I want to be with you,” he replied, a gentle smile playing on his face. You tired to fight the wide grin that pulled at your lips, but you ultimately lost, beaming up at the man. His eyes fell to your lips momentarily, admiring your happy expression.

“Really?” Clay rolled his eyes fondly, giving another small smirk before cupping your face once again.

“Yes. Now come here,” He murmured, his lips pushing against yours once more. Your fingers moved to grab onto his shirt, holding onto him as he pressed further into the kiss. Your breathing was heavy, your heart racing. You couldn't believe that all this time, he'd been thinking about you too.

Eventually the two of you broke apart, resting your foreheads together once more, both smiling uncontrollably at each other. The tension that had built up between the two of you finally melted away, replaced by the love you’d been longing for.

You let out a surpised shriek as he rolled the two of you over, his arms holding your body against his with your head resting against his chest.

His chin rested atop your head as he wrapped an arm around you securely. He pressed one last kiss to your temple before settling himself, enjoying the closeness between the two of you.

“What are you thinking about?” You breathed out quietly, trying to calm your racing heart.

He hummed softly, his grip tightening around you slightly, as if sensing what was going through your mind.

“Just wondering why we didn’t do this sooner,” He admitted, his voice low. “I’m just glad it happened,” you replied, taking one of his hands in yours.

He hummed in response. “Me too,” he said after a few moments. Neither of you talked for awhile, enjoying the silence of the moment and enjoying the way you fit perfectly next to him.

#dreamwastaken #Dream #dream smp #dream was taken imagine #Dream imagine #Dream x reader #dreamsmp imagine #dsmp fic #dsmp dream #dsmp x reader #imagine #fanfic #Dream team #Dream team imagine #sapnap #George not found #feral boys #feral boys imagine #feral boys imagines #clay dream #dream fic #dream face reveal #dreamnotfound

[satans-helper]

Reaching for Stardust - Part XIV

Read Looking for Space here / Playlists / Read RFS on Wattpad

Word Count: ~3000

Warnings: sexy time ;)

<3

---

Indeed Josh was desperate–though thankfully not literally dying–to get home. With the green light from his doctor given that his heart rate improved and the antibiotics were in full swing, I gathered him into my car and we headed back to the apartment where his brothers still were. My tires crunched over salt and leftover snow as we drove into the monochromatic gray of our little world, the heat blasting over both of us but really so high just to keep Josh warm. He looked better–warm color had returned to his face and he actually appeared to be pretty well-rested despite not having slept in his own bed. 

“You’re feeling better?” I asked when we hit a red light. 

“Yes, mama. Certainly better,” Josh told me, then sniffed a little. “Thanks for doing all of this.”

“Anything for you.” I reached over to squeeze his knee. “I’m so glad you’re on the mend. I don’t want to bring you to the hospital ever again. Not for an illness, anyway.”

“I’ll do my best. What about you? I don’t want you to get sick either.”

“So far, so good.” I hit the gas again. “Maybe the universe knows both of us can’t be sick at the same time. But the boys are gonna stay today and tonight to help out and keep us company. They were coming up Thursday anyway. Might as well stick around now, right?”

“That’s good that they spent the night.”

“It helped. As soon as I got home without you, it felt intolerable.”

Josh let out a dry laugh. “I love you.”

I looked at him for a moment before I had to make a turn. “I love you more.”

In my peripheral vision, I could see Josh stare out the window at the snowy streets and say, “Impossible.”

Back home we were greeted by loud, excited jeers of triumph over Josh’s road to recovery as well as a few bags of sick staples–more soup and broth, more Gatorade, a package of those little boxes of fruit juice, some zinc, cough drops and a big box of Rocket Pops, which Josh immediately tore into. He plopped himself down on the couch with the Rocket Pop in his mouth while Jake sat down next to him, Sam paced the living room while monologuing about how disgusting hospitals were and Danny helped me put everything away. 

“You sure you guys wanna crash here again?” I asked him while he shoved the box of popsicles next to our other half-empty box of popsicles. “Don’t get me wrong–I love it. But I bet it feels pretty cramped. You should all be sleeping in beds.”

“We’ve agreed to stay here tonight,” Danny told me, balling up one of the empty plastic bags. “After that we’re gonna go back home.”

“Aw. Sam will miss you.”

“We live like, three blocks away from each other,” Danny replied with a little laugh. “So do you think Josh will be able to go to Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t know. Guess we’ll see.” I lifted a can of chicken noodle soup. “For now, this will have to do.” 

Jake ended up playing nurse more than I did–he spent the entire day doting on his twin, making sure he was taking his meds, feeding him, keeping him hydrated and comfortable. That gave me a chance to catch up on work, though Sam and Danny were distracting in their own right no matter what I did to try and carve out my own space. It was nice though, the coming together of everyone again for a prolonged period of time in a home base, even if that had been instigated by Josh getting sick. What mattered was that he was fully on the mend and we were all spending time together, and I found myself no longer thinking about death but rather thinking about how it might be possible to have this all the time. A commune was always sort of a joke idea, but couldn’t it be real? Why couldn’t we be tied together like one big, happy family? The boys had had that for many years. I was a newer addition. I wanted it to stay like that. I was pretty sure they all did too. Being apart made no sense and I got caught up in this fantasy while I tried to stay tied to my computer screen. Ultimately, no other place in the world felt as good as home did.

Things winded down even further after we all watched a movie. Jake, Danny and Sam took their respective couch and sleeping bag beds in the living room while I got some long-awaited alone time with Josh, who seemed absolutely delighted to be back in our bed. He snuggled back against the pillows in a clean set of pajamas–the fleece set patterned with puppies in Santa hats that I’d bought him two Christmases prior–looking cherubic and adorable and more healthy than he had at the hospital. 

Then he wiggled ferociously, hips shimmying on the mattress with an abundance of suppressed energy that finally could resurface. I smirked, standing in front of our dresser with my own pair of clean pajama pants waiting in my hands, and asked, “What’s up, buttercup?”

“I feel,” Josh began, bringing one hand down to his crotch. He grabbed himself, groping in a very uncharacteristic way that completely captured my attention. “Pent up.”

“Yeah, I bet,” I said, my attention drifting from changing my clothes to getting Josh out of his. “It’s been days since you…got off. Right?”

Josh nodded, palming himself through those silly fleece pants. It was one of those times where his almost innocent-seeming, unfathomably adorable nature butted up against the more robust biological male sex drive; how fascinating it was to see the mingling of those sides as often as I did. 

“Yeah. Days,” he said. “I think I need some help.”

I stepped over to the side of the bed, bending down to pet back the curls that had fallen down past his ears. His hair was growing out just a little bit. I secretly wished he’d let it all grow out completely and return to the wild, messy free set of long, sunkissed curls that I just loved running my fingers through. He looked up at me with the softest eyes, the dark, shiny irises reflecting the dim night table lamp, and I thought back briefly to the bachelorette party. 

“I have an idea,” I told him, already retreating to grab one of the gift bags that was still sitting in the corner of our bedroom. One peek inside allowed me to see that bottle of edible body oil–raspberry-vanilla flavored. Questionable, but certainly worth trying. With that now in my hand, I swiveled to face Josh again: “You should get naked.”

Josh gave me his best puppy dog eyes. “No foreplay?”

I shook the bottle, the wet, gloopy sound making him perk up. “This is all foreplay, baby.” Before I got ahead of myself, I paused. “I should get a towel.” 

I slipped out of the bedroom to the hall to grab one of our least desirable towels from the linen closet, then peered further down the hall to check on the boys–Danny and Sam were chatting, the TV blinking in front of them, and Jake was lounging beneath one of our extra throw blankets, the book in front of his face illuminated by the end table lamp. We were all basking in different lights tonight, I thought as I crept back to the bedroom, but I thought my Starshine was by far the brightest.

But he could also be the loudest. I grabbed the little fan from our closet and set it up on the dresser next to the humidifier for some extra white noise, pointing it away from the bed, and motioned for Josh to move to the side so I could lay the towel down. He got up entirely and stripped down to nothing, and I watched, soaking him up with my eyes. True aging hadn’t exactly hit either of us yet–sure, a few new, at first odd-looking lines had grown into our faces, our tolerance for certain foods had changed, hair grew differently–more slowly, it seemed–metabolism slowed down just a touch. More than anything, I could see that some of his juvenile, boyish looks had developed. But true aging was far off, I felt, and it was even further away for Josh, who continued to embody such youth and vitality despite getting older that it sometimes felt as though getting old would never touch him. 

Again, I thought as I dropped to my knees in front of him while he laid back on the bed, almost like he was immortal. That’s a big part of why him being in the hospital was so scary–because until that moment, Josh had seemed completely, totally untouched and eternal. 

I almost asked if he really felt up for a “full release,” but he was already hard and looking very eager, thighs spread and his erection firmly pressed against his belly. But I did remind him of one thing after I squeezed a bit of the oil into my hands: “You’ll need a shower after this. This stuff feels sort of sticky.”

“That’s okay,” he said, voice still a little hoarse but still an improvement from a few days prior. He laid back, propped up on his elbows, watching while I brought my hands to his calves. When my hands slid up to his thighs, he laid back flat, stretching his arms up over his head. “Nice and slow seems right. I’m beat.”

“I bet you are.” I broke contact to get more oil–it smelled okay, like the artificial raspberry I was used to from candy and a touch of sugary-sweet fake vanilla, but I was still a bit apprehensive about the taste. I worked my hands around his thighs, massaging gently and intentionally ignoring his most sensitive part; his quads were strong, perpetually taut, and his inner thighs were delightfully soft, his skin pliable as I worked my hands over them. I leaned forward to lick–mostly to try the taste, really, which ended up being a primarily bitter, fake fruit flavor. It made me pause for a second, which Josh noticed, looking down curiously. I slid my tongue between my teeth, making a sour face, but the after-taste was actually less unpleasant. 

“How is it?” he asked, still keeping his hands behind his head. I wasn’t sure everyone got to see it in action, but there were plenty of instances in which Josh could exhibit impressive patience.

“Not terrible?” I replied, then finally wrapped my hand around his cock, hot and hard within my palm, and Josh laid his head back down. The oil did serve as a solid lubricant, I could give it all the credit there–the slide was slick and easy but I went slow, massaging his thigh and up to his hip with my other slippery hand. I ran my thumb over the little slant of bone, fingers splayed over his side, then back down and around to squeeze his ass as best I could. It didn’t take much effort until Josh was whimpering–a little too loudly. I squeezed a little harder in warning and said, “Best to be quiet, babe. They’re not asleep out there.” 

“I’m too pent up!” Josh replied in a frenzied yet hushed huff, thrashing his arms. The whole thing made me laugh but I slid my hand back to his inner thigh, massaging again, and he stilled with a silent nod, pressing his lips together tight. So I carried on, petting his leg and up to his side while I stroked him, studying the slight curves of his body and the heat that was radiating from everywhere. Thankfully, however, it wasn’t a fever anymore. It was pure arousal, all those hormones festering for too long in that beautiful form. 

“You’re still the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” I told him with complete intention, my eyes grazing from his tense neck down to the quivering belly. “Even when you have pneumonia.”

“You don’t get to talk if I can’t,” Josh replied, abs tightening while his cock twitched in my hand.

I laughed softly. “Fine, fine.” I brought my face lower while I pushed one of his legs to the side a bit. “Fair’s fair, I guess,” I added before I pressed my mouth to his inner thigh, beginning with a kiss, carrying on with a long lick and ending with a bite. With Josh holding back another whimper that I could see caught in his throat, I decided to go all in, swiping my tongue up his length while I gently squeezed his balls.

It still caught me by surprise how abruptly he came. I pulled back just in time to let Josh’s abdomen catch a bit of the release, the rest caught in my fist while I kept pumping him and, throughout it, he was biting his lip to keep himself as quiet as possible. His fists clenched the sheets until his knuckles were white, every muscle in his body visibly tightening and then contracting. He thrashed a bit to tell me no more, so I released him and wiped my hand on the towel beneath him.

I sat by his side, placing my cleaner hand atop his chest. “You should really breathe, though. For the sake of your lungs.” His heartbeat was strong, though–I could feel it beneath my palm.

Josh let out a long breath through his nose, then covered his mouth with his arm to cough a bit. “Sorry,” he said, sounding more spent than he did earlier, but in a good way. “Wow. Alright, darling, I definitely needed that.” He looked down at himself and groaned. “But now I do need to hop in the shower again and I really don’t feel like moving.” 

“If I could carry you, I totally would,” I told him, bending down to give him a long kiss, sickness be damned. “Want me to run you a bath?”

Josh’s hand gently clasped the back of my head, keeping me pinned in front of his face. “Only if you take the bath with me.”

I suddenly remembered the three other people in our apartment. “Maybe we should just make it a quick shower,” I said to Josh, looking behind myself at the bedroom door. “We’re not the only ones here tonight.”

Josh huffed dramatically. “They can hold their piss for a little while.” He rolled out from beneath me and got on his feet, taking the dirty towel and tossing it into our laundry basket, then planted his hands on his hips as he stood in front of the door. “Come on, love.”

I relented and, in the bath, I leaned back against the tub and held Josh between my legs. “I hate to say it, but you might need to skip Thanksgiving this year,” I told him as I rubbed soap beneath his armpits. “Do you think your parents will be really upset?”

“They completely expected me to miss it. My mom cried more than you did.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. It’s gotta be hard to see her baby in the hospital, even if you’ve been there like a hundred times before.” 

“Not a hundred.”

“Close enough. Too many times.” I ran one hand up to the back of his neck, massaging a little, and gave him the reminder of, “You’re not allowed to go back to the hospital ever again.” 

Josh laughed, turning his head to look over his shoulder at me. “What if I need to?”

“You won’t. This was enough for a lifetime.” I plunged my hands down in front of him before bringing the soapy water up to his chest, running them over his pecs and shoulders; he hummed contently and I moved my touch beneath his arms. The scrubbing motion of my fingers and palms made him start to laugh and wiggle, water splashing around us. I put my chin on his shoulder, turning to nibble at his ear: “Ticklish?”

Through more uncontrollable laughter, Josh said, “Yes, you know this!” He wiggled some more, slippery hands flying to my wrists. “Play nice.”

“But I love hearing you laugh like that,” I told him, although I did, after another second, cease the torment. I nuzzled into his neck, closing my eyes. “Even though I’m sure the boys have a very clear idea of what we’re doing now.”

“Spooning in the bath? They’re imaginations could never,” Josh said, flicking water away from himself to let it splash against the tiled wall. “So, doll–what’s next on our list for the wedding? I have to admit I haven’t been thinking about it much these past few days.”

I resumed rubbing his shoulders and up to the nape of his neck. “Me either. That’s been weirdly kind of nice. But I think we’re settled for a while. We finalized the cake order so that’s good to go. Everything else is set.”

“Except the ‘couple’s shower,’” Josh reminded me, tilting his head back to try and meet my eyes. 

“Yes, that. I’m glad we’re not just doing a bridal shower. So lame,” I said with a chuckle, twirling a damp curl between my fingers. “Not everything has to be so separate and weird. I need you there for that for sure.” 

A brisk knock on the door made us both turn our heads. “Hey, lovebirds,” Sam called out. “Danny’s gotta piss so can you wrap up whatever it is you’re doing in there?”

“He can’t ask us himself, Sammy?” Josh asked with a laugh.

“He’s shy,” I reminded him, patting his shoulder. “Okay. Let’s get up.”

---

Tagging: @sparrowofrhiannon @starbuggie @lightsofthe-living-gvf @sanguinebats @gvfrry @clairesjointshurt @bizzielisteningtogreta @jjwasneverhere

If you'd like to be tagged in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me :)

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #josh kiszka x reader #gvf fan fiction #jake kiszka #jake gvf #sam kiszka #sam gvf #danny wagner #danny gvf #rfs

[dewdewick]

Shadows in the dust | Chapter 2

Pairing/s: Finnick Odair x fem reader

Summary: At the age of 18 you thought you’d soon be free of the hunger games, unfortunately fate has a different plan. You are picked as a tribute for district 2 and thrust into capitol life.

Warning/s: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Trust issues, Death, Torture, Mental illnesses, manipulation tactics, Weapons, Swearing, Canon typical violence, Mentions of psychological distress, Use of Y/N, Fem reader, descriptions of clothing reader wears, explicit descriptions of weapon use, poison use

A/N: Thanks for waiting so long! This chapter was a bit tricky but I’m finally happy with how it’s turned out. My ask box is open if anyone has any suggestions or requests while I work on the next chapter.

Word count: 5.4K

****************************************

Dark.

All she can see is dark.

Her hands come up in front of her, feeling for her surroundings. Nothing can be found, all she can perceive is the immense blackness surrounding her. All at once the world explodes into color, white light invading her senses and making her eyes burn. Colors assault her eyes, stinging alongside the bright light.

She squints, first looking at her hands. Crimson covers her from fingers to elbows, thick and sticky. The smell of iron hits her nose, making her mouth taste metallic. She takes in a sharp breath, the sight making her stumble back. She trips over a blunt object, falling back onto the ground.

She is met with the face of her sister, face pale with cloudy eyes. Blood splattered across her once warm body, lying cold on the white tile. She chokes out a strangled noise, trying her best to crawl her way backwards but stops suddenly as she comes into contact with a slimy substance. Her head whips around, her hand lying in a mix of vomit and coagulated blood. The smell of bile mixes with iron, a sweet scent of death in the air.

Her brother's body lies behind her, a broken neck with those same white eyes staring at her. strangulation marks on his neck and stab wounds littering his torso. She screams, her own voice only further startling her and sending her into the clutches of panic.

A voice loudly shouts to her, she immediately recognizes it as her mother. “Male and Female, only one can remain”

Both her siblings sit up at that moment, screaming simultaneously in pain in sorrow at the utterance of the words. Her mother wails in union with her two children, screaming the same words over and over again. In the distance she sees the woman, rushing towards them in the empty white space. She too is pale and covered with blood, a gaping hole in her stomach.

“ONLY ONE” She shrieks as she finally reaches her living daughter.

Y/N sits up in bed, screaming in horror. She hugs herself with her knees pulled up to her chest and her body erupting in shakes. Tears stream down her cheeks as she sobs into the darkness. “What in the hell was that?!” She manages to think to herself.

An Avox woman opens the door, poking her head in and staring at the panic stricken girl. Quiet as a mouse before then she retreats as suddenly as she had arrived, the door closing behind her. Y/N lets her head rest on her knees as she tries to mentally recover from the horrific nightmare.

A moment later a knock raps on her door, causing her to tense. “‘M fine! Just a nightmare!” She calls out with a shaking voice. The door opens anyway, Finch peeking in with tired eyes and a bed head that could rival the best. “Heard you next door” He explains “you ok? Wanna talk?” He asks, stepping into the room a bit more.

She can only let out a shuddering breath, giving him a shrug. “I don’t know-“ she gets out, cutting herself off with a sharp intake of breath. Finch frowns, walking over to the large bed and sitting on the edge, grabbing the familiar green book from her nightstand. “How about we just try this hm?” He asks gently, moving to sit next to her. He sets an arm around her back in case she wants comfort, and starts to read.

“Chia sage or (Salvia Columbariae) are seeds collected from the spikey, dried seed heads of the aforementioned plant. They are incredibly nutritious and eaten in addition to large meals or as a snack for short term energy.” He speaks softly, looking over at her every other paragraph to try and glimpse her face.

She peeks up at him with teary eyes, doing her best to listen to his words. She tries to take deep breaths, hiccuping every other inhale. His eyes return to the page as he reads more, daring to bring his hand down to rest on her shoulder.

“Certain plants can help lead to water, most can’t grow without a source nearby. These include Willows (Salix spp.) cottonwoods (populus fremontii and other populus spp.) and desert fan palm (Washingtonia filifera).” He reads, nodding along to the book as he runs his thumb along her shoulder.

“Saguaro cacti can also have water in them, and food too.” She remembers quietly, another hiccup escaping her lips. He only smiles, continuing to read as she slowly leans into him.

“Juniper (Juniperus spp.) is a small group of evergreens that can produce wood and fiber for fire. The bushes can also produce wood for hunting bows and a distinct smell to hide one from prey. There are over 45 different types of juniper, all juniper berries containing a powerful oil (Thujone.) These oils can cause upset stomach, diarrhea, and kidney damage when ingested in large amounts. The safest berry to eat is from the most common variety of the bush, (Juniperus communis) and is used to make Gin, medicine and flavor food.”

Her head hits his chest as he continues to read, his breaths and vibrations of his voice quickly lulling her to a tired state. He only continues to read, his body settling deeper into the bed as his arm tightens around the girl. He can't help but melt as the girl cuddles up to him. It’s not long before she falls asleep on his chest, and he follows soon after.

Only a few hours later the two are awoken by the sudden and loud explosion of knocking on the door, Furisha calling them for breakfast. “Training day 2 my lovelies! You mustn’t be late!” She calls into the room, the groggy teens all but groaning at her words.

Y/N sits up first, stretching until her back releases a satisfying popping noise. “Weak” Finch laughs to himself, twisting his body until his spine cracks loudly. She only laughs tiredly, calling him gross and putting a pair of slippers on her feet.

The tributes walk out to breakfast, no longer caring about appearances at that meal. Each was served the hot chocolate they had come to expect, along with an assortment of other delicacies. Y/N picked at her breakfast while Finch devoured everything he could. Their mentors didn’t seem to have much to say at that particular meal, a few comments thrown in for sure but as usual most talking was done by Furisha.

The day was once again gruesome, A few fights breaking out between tributes over puny things like weapons or fire making. The female tribute Dutchess from district 1 continued to glare at Y/N throughout the day, especially hating when her partner Ammo chatted with the girl. Y/N tried to ignore the glares but found it a bit harder as a few more tributes joined in. The girl from district 5 didn’t seem to like her or Finch much either, along with both the tributes from 12.

Tension was high by the end of the day, the tributes all returning to their quarters to eat a quick dinner and prepare for bed. Gamemaker scoring was the next day, and everyone was either much too cocky or terrified.

Dinner consisted of a few roast birds, mostly Turkey, duck and chicken with a few rarities thrown in the mix. Y/N ate white meat Turkey with multicolored caramelized carrots and a dollop of potatoes swirled with orange and white. The dish was served with a dark thick gravy and a sweet red sauce. She ate greedily after the day she had experienced.

After dinner was halfway over Enobaria finally spoke, “So what will you two be doing for your scoring?” She inquired, taking a sip of her red wine. Finch smiled, taking the opportunity to gush about his swordsmanship and ability to throw knives. He had been trained most of his life after all, he had a right to be confident.

Y/N on the other hand bit her lip, she had no idea what to do. What skills did she even have? Maybe show a climbing skill? Or how fast could she run? There wasn’t much of a chance of her getting a great score. “And I’m…deciding?” She said uneasily, giving an uncomfortable smile to the table.

“You have a few skills, it’s just hard to decide what to pick since none can be combined.” Brutus said, taking a bite of a large Turkey leg. Enobaria agreed, “we need to figure out your absolute best skill and market that. Maybe flow with that little princess image Aerith seems to be curating for you.” She said with an almost teasing smile.

Y/N frowned a bit, she hated the portrait that was being painted over her. She wanted to be herself in her last days, not an object for everyone to fawn over. “You’ll do great.” Finch said from next to her, patting her shoulder. Furisha agreed with him quickly, “The doe eyed look can get you some amazing sponsors too! I’ve seen it work plenty.” She mentioned with a bright grin and nod of the head.

That might’ve been the first helpful thing Furisha had said to her, but nevermind that. She had to think of her best skill, a marketable skill. Y/N poked at her dinner as the conversation went on around her. She continued deep in thought as she went to shower and go to bed.

The next morning it came to her, like a message from an oracle. Plants, she was amazing at sorting plants. She could show the game makers her skills with sorting, kindling, edible and poisonous plants. That could be a bit of a salvation when it came to numbers.

She hopped out of bed and put her training suit back on, doing her hair and brushing her teeth before rushing to breakfast to discuss options with her mentors.

The breakfast table was empty as she approached, snatching a cup and downing a glass of juice quickly. She anxiously sat on a couch by the window as she waited for her current companions to arrive. She didn’t have to wait long before footsteps came down the hall, Enobaria walking around the corner.

Y/N perked up, a slight smile on her face. She was excited to share the tiny triumph with her mentor for some reason. “Good morning” she spoke, looking up at the woman who gave a tired smile in response. “I figured out what I can do for the game makers” she blurted out, moving to sit on the edge of her seat.

“You did huh?” Enobaria questioned, pouring a cup of coffee for herself with a raised brow. Y/N nodded, “I’m good with plants, I think I can separate what’s edible from poison.” She revealed a proud smile on her face. Enobaria took a long sip of her coffee, sighing as she looked at the young woman. “You have to do more than that, the games have been going on for a long time and they’ve seen kids exactly like you time and time again.” She explained.

Y/n's brows furrowed a bit as she continued to speak, “You need to really wow the game makers, show them how lethal you can be.” She said, taking another sip of coffee. Y/N frowned at the suggestion “I have no idea what I’m doing, how am I supposed to be lethal if I don’t even want to kill?” She asked, frustrated at the apparent lack of options.

Enobaria looked at her pointedly “You aren't weak and you aren't stupid, you can force yourself to think of it as something other than murder. Think of it as a creation of opportunity rather than the death of a human, it's a way to see your family.” She advised, a hard look on her face. The thought made her sick but she knew to stay alive for more than 10 minutes in the arena she would have to accept the truth of her fate. “Womanhood is survival and you don't have to be particularly strong to do it, you just have to be persistent and when the situation calls for it you need to have venom.”

Y/N unfortunately understood what she was being told, she nodded along as her mentor spoke. She took a sip of her hot chocolate and thought for a moment on the words. “What about poison? I bet I could make something with all the stuff they give us” she thought aloud. Enobaria smiled, all sharp teeth. “That's a start, but we can build on it.” she said, sitting forward in her seat.

The women talked for a few more minutes, strategizing on the best plants and animals for making deathly concoctions. Brutus joined in after a while and gave his thoughts and suggestions, he thought she should rely more on physical strength but Enobaria disagreed. Finch came to breakfast after a few more minutes and as usual most attention was on him, he had a natural charming air about him.

Their breakfast seemed unusual that morning, a mix of fish and rice. Y/N assumed the dishes were common in the fishing districts like 4 or 5, making her mind drift for just a second to that bronze haired mentor with the charming smile and the dimples that could just make her scream. The fish was served with a savory soup, white rice, eggs and sausages. She liked it much more than she thought, the fish was fresh and didnt have too much of a scent and the soup had a certain calming factor with a slight ginger flavor at the end. Finch seemed to enjoy the spicy sauce that was provided, taking a green paste and slathering his fish in the substance.

Breakfast was short but filling, the meal ending with furisha pestering them to get a move on to keep with the day's schedule. The morning seemed to go by quickly as well, Y/N spending most of her time on learning to make fire and studying the plants that were provided. Finch urged her to study with the weapons a bit but her mind was otherwise occupied and she only did a bit of training with the instructors.

By the time lunch had come along she was buzzing with both nervousness and excitement. She ate a simple lunch of sliced meat, cheese and a few pieces of fruit. She felt she could throw up with the amount of excitement bubbling up in her chest. Finally she and the rest of the tributes were led to a large holding room with small numbered benches.She followed Finch and sat on the number 2 bench, directly behind the tributes from district 1. Duchess looked over her shoulder, giving her a displeased tight smile, turning back to her partner and whispering. Y/N chewed her lip, wringing her hands a bit in nervousness.

Finch leaned down to her ear “it's all gonna be ok, they just wanna know what you can do.” he spoke gently. He had turned out to be so much more soft than she imagined, she honestly wondered if he had any bad qualities at all. She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder “Just nervous is all” she muttered. He leaned back into her, warmth radiating off his form. “Surprisingly I'm not, I mean this is what I trained for.” He shrugged lightly. “So you'll be showing your sword and knife skills?” she wondered, glancing up at him. “Most likely, unless I figure out something better in the next 10 minutes,” he joked.

A male voice spoke over the intercom, “Ammo Montgomery, District 1, please report for individual assessment.” Ammo stood up in front of them, patting his companion on the back and heading for the steel gate that opened at the end of the room. How nerve wracking it must've been to go first, to warm up the judges of the group's fate for 23 other people.

Time once again seemed to pass quickly with Dutchess called soon after. Finch did his best to distract Y/N as they waited, telling her a story of how his little sister and the family cat had given him a scar on his wrist. She softly laughed along to the story before once again being interrupted by the voice on the speaker.

“Finch Glenn, District 2, please report for individual assessment” the man said in a monotone voice. She cringed and looked at him, “wish me luck” he said as he stood “ you'll do great too I know it” He encouraged her as he patted her head as he started towards the steel gate. She watched him disappear into what looked like a dark hallway and sat uncomfortably alone. Her eyes searched the group around her and she caught the eye of the girl from district 8, who smiled, the young girl seemed to be nervous as well.

Minutes passed and she felt stuck in her own head, the room was bare with no distractions and it made her feel even more uneasy as she picked at her fingers. Finally her name was called over the intercom as those before her. She stood and looked at the steel gate, making her way over to it quickly.

She made her way down the darkened hallway cautiously, stepping into the light of the empty gymnasium she had trained in earlier that day. She looked up to the skybox where the gamemakers sat, watching her every move. Walking to the center of the room in front of her small audience she stopped, waiting for them to address her in some way. “You have 10 minutes to present your chosen skill.” a man near the center said with a wave of his hand.

“Um Thank you” she said awkwardly, not quite sure what to say to the group of powerful people. She turned to look over the room, spotting a table full of potted plants. That looked like the best place to start, she supposed. Taking stock of the herbs and foliage she noticed quickly that a certain fruit was among them. A Nightchineel was a mix of two extremely deadly plants being Nightlock berries and a Manchineel apple. The fruit constricted the diaphragm muscles, stopping any breathing and setting the nervous system on fire. It also burned the skin badly at one touch of the leaves or juice.

She smiled and took a towel, picking up the fruit and bringing it to a workstation the gamemakers could see. She slipped on a pair of gloves, cutting the fruit and mashing it. She then added a mix of nettles. Ivy, and elderberries to the mix, making a green speckled purple paste. She hollowed out a mango next, careful as possible to avoid breaking the skin and funneled the thick mixture inside.

She stepped up to a test dummy, the ones in the capitol were specifically designed to imitate what a human would do when injured, poisoned or killed. The gamemakers thought it would help give tributes better statistics going into games. She stood back and threw the mango at the dummy, hitting it square in the face. The data showed on a screen next to her, the poison burned the skin and eyes badly. The monitor showed a victim would be disoriented, swollen and have lesions on the skin, if they ingested the liquid the only possible fate would be death.

She looked up to the faces of the gamemakers, hopeful she made an impression. Most remained stoic but she received a few nods from the group at her work. “Thank you” she said once more, awkwardly looking between her observers and the door. “ Is it- am I allowed to go now?” she asked, not wanting to disobey or disrespect the people who held her fate in their hands. One of the men held an open hand towards the door with a nod, signaling it was ok to leave.

She was led by a peacekeeper out of the gymnasium to the arms of her mentors, Furisha and the one she wanted to see most, Finch. He smiled as they saw each other, scooping her up in a friendly hug. “You did it, told you!” he said happily. The hug surprised her and her arms automatically flew around him. She wondered why he seemed to care so much, yes they had known each other as children but he had no real attachment to her after the age of 10. She sank into the hug anyway, his warmth comforting after the anxiety of the presentation.

Furisha looked as if she was about to make a comment but was quickly shut down by a look from Enobaria. The two tributes hugged each other for a moment longer, her face buried in his chest and his cheek resting her head.

They broke away and he held her hand in his own, she looked up at him and he smiled again. Enobaria finally spoke, “Leys get back and get you guys changed, you get to have the night and morning off.” She said with a small smile of her own. Y/N was excited to rest, the days of training had been stressful and she knew she needed a bit of time to lounge before the exhaustion of the games.

The group returned to their quarters and parted ways. Y/N peeled off her training suit, flinging it onto her freshly made bed. She sighed at the small feeling of freedom, rolling her shoulders back and cracking her neck. She opted to throw on a loose grey shirt with a hood attached, stretchy black pants and socks. The outfit was boring compared to some of her previous choices but extremely comfortable.

She walked out to the bookshelves, choosing a book on bugs. She sat on the couch nearby and tucked her legs underneath her, cracking open the red cover. A few pictures littered the pages, anatomical diagrams mostly. The smell of the old paper soothed her and the quiet felt calm.

She read about Arachnids first, the eight legged critters had always made her a bit uncomfortable. She hoped they weren’t too big a part of the games, and if they were she hoped she didn’t encounter them. She heard brutus enter the room, going to rummage about the kitchen before dinner. She kept reading as Enobaria and Furisha entered the room, gossiping about some socialite she didn’t care to remember the name of.

Finch flopped on the couch next to her at some point, turning the television to some channel that talked of betting on the games. He sprawled out with his head laid close to her lap, he doodled in a notebook idly. His need to be close to her was interesting, she didn’t understand it.

Maybe he felt connected because of their shared fate? She thought about it as she stared at the words in her book. He had always been extremely popular in school and around town, his handsome face and kind disposition certainly not hindering the fact. She on the other hand was just a face in the crowd, she had friends yes but people didn’t wave to her on the street like they did for him.

What made her so interesting to him? And was it just friendly interest? Or did he have something more in mind? Was she overthinking or was spark she felt real? She chewed her lip unconsciously, so many questions and possibilities swimming in her head.

“You ok? You’ve been staring at that paragraph and picture of a spider for like…5 minutes now.” Finch asked, interrupting her self interrogation. She blinked rapidly, snapping out of her trance and looking over to him. He looked up at her from his sprawled out position next to her. She nodded, his long lashes and sweet concerned look making a few butterflies flutter around her chest.

“Just got lost in thoughts” she muttered, her eyes meeting his. He suddenly moved upwards and laid his head on her lap, “what about?” He asked. She flushed a bit at the sudden contact “you” she blurred out unintentionally. He smirked and she quickly tried to fix her mistake, “you know like our alliance and how well we do in the arena” she laughed nervously.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night honey” he teased, causing her blush to deepen. She doubled down on her excuses “I mean it! I was thinking about how we could watch each other's backs!” She said defensively. He only smirked, picking her sketchbook back up and running his pencil over the paper again.

She watched the lines he sketched and quickly realized he was drawing her. It wasn’t amazing but it was certainly beautiful in its own way. He drew her the way she looked back home, hair undone and always covered in a light sheen of dust. She smiled at the drawing and gently let her fingers pet his curls. He leaned back into her hand as she did, her nails Scratching along his scalp.

“I wish we could stay like this” he muttered “comfortable and well fed and had time to draw or read when we wanted.” His eyes shifted up once more to meet hers, a soft look in his eye.”Me too” she said with a sad smile, tangling her fingers in his fluffy locks.

He sighed with contentment “You think it’ll be one of us that wins?” He asked. “I hope so” she replied “or that little girl from 8 maybe” she smiled softly and he let out a small chuckle at her optimism. “That’s a sweet thought” he commented, but they both knew the sickening truth deep down.

“I hope it's quick when I go, nothing too painful or drawn out y'know?” she said, setting her book down next to her and focusing both hands in his hair. He nodded, making a sound of agreement “yeah an arrow to the temple would be my first choice.” he said sarcastically. she laughed with a breath through her nose. “Maybe just step off the platform early?” she joked. He offered a small smile, “you and I both know i'll protect you as long as I can sugar” he said looking into her eyes again. “Why though?” she asked, still confused by his fascination with her. He reached a hand up, moving a piece of her hair. “Because you've always been kind to me, even when I didn't deserve it.” He said softly.

“You've always deserved it” she said truthfully, confused by his statement. He simply shook his head, “when I started at the academy I turned into a real jerk for a while, I ignored anyone who didn't offer me some advantage for years but you always just smiled and said hello like normal.” He said with a guilty look on his face. She only laughed softly again, “I just assumed you were busy, and we drifted apart. You were 10 years old, I never thought you were being a jerk.” she smiled, her fingers massaging his scalp.

“And that's why I’ll protect you” he nodded “because after all of that you never stopped being my friend.” The statement made her want to melt, he really was such a softie. She nudged him to sit up and he did, looking at her with a questioning expression. She slowly wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. ‘Thanks,” she whispered “it's nice to have a friend.”

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his head into the crook of her neck, “You smell like summertime.” he said softly and she giggled, “They have peach soap in my shower” she explained. He made a noise of contentment and continued to hug her, “can we stay like this? Just for a minute?” he asked. She simply nodded her head, weaving her fingers through his hair once more. His love language was definitely physical touch, it was just yet another thing she found endearing about him. Her eyes closed and she rested her head atop his, he was so warm and her mind felt fuzzy and relaxed.

After what felt like a few seconds she felt knuckles running over her cheek gently, her eyes opened groggily and she looked around a bit disoriented. Finch held her in his arms, “time to wake up sugar.” he murmured, that slight drawl in his words. “Hmm” she nodded, sitting up and taking her head off his chest. Their mentors and stylists sat on a few couches around them, “welcome back sleeping beauty” , Brutus commented, motioning to the screen in front of them. “It's time for training scores, then dinner ok?” enobaria said, motioning the young women to come sit by her.

Y/N nodded and moved away from Finch to sit by her mentor, sitting straight on the couch and watching Caesar Flickerman prance around the stage she herself would soon be on.”Good evening Panem! Happy Hunger games!” the excitable host began. The crowd cheered for him and he smiled with too white teeth, his hair and eyebrows a shade of pink that resembled plum blossoms. “Why don't we get started with district 1? What do you think?” he asked the crowd, walking over to a desk on the stage. He picked up a stack of cards as he sat and smiled at the crowd once more.

“First on our list, Ammo Montgomery from District 1.” he read off the card, pausing afterwards for dramatic effect. “A score of 10” He grinned as the crowd went wild. “And his counterpart Dutchess Astor, with a score of 9” he continued. The crowd screamed just as they had at the parade, loud and much too heavy on the dramatics. Fans of the tributes from district 1 fanned themselves like they wanted to faint and a few dedicated Actors even pretended to tear up.

Caesar grinned and moved to the next card in the stack “Next is a couple that needs no introduction, our tributes from district 2.” He spoke eyes darting up to the camera. Y/N grabbed Enobaria's hand, suddenly feeling a bit nauseous, Enobaria looked surprised but held her tribute’s hand tightly. “Finch Glenn also with a score of 10” Caesar announced “strong competition from the career districts this year” he commented, wiggling his eyebrows. Furisha let out a small happy shriek at the words, putting a hand on Finch's shoulder and shaking him lightly. Brutus gave a nod of approval and his stylist Hebe gave him a side hug.

“And his lovely counterpart Miss Y/N L/N with a score of 7” The words sent a shiver down her spine and she looked to her mentors. “That's good’ we can work with that” Enobaria assured and Furisha clapped for them. “Oh I am so proud of you both!” she cheered, a genuine smile on her face.Y/N felt happy to at least get an average score, nothing that could put a target on her back. Finch would definitely need to be wary of the other tributes with a high score like that.

The other tributes in the lineup received scores similar to hers, most were given a range of 6 to 8, with the small boy from district 9 receiving a 5 and the girl from 8 getting the same. Her shoulders relaxed a bit when she realized she had done a perfect job at blending into the crowd with her skills. She wondered a bit about the skills others had displayed but was distracted quickly with the smell of food. Finch took her hand once more as they walked to the dining table, sitting next to her and smiling. “I'm really proud of you” he grinned, scooping some food oto his plate. “I'm proud of you too” she replied and he gave her hand a light squeeze before letting go.

Dinner that evening was a Braised chicken dish with grapes and fennel, served on a bed of rice. The sweet cooked grapes melted in her mouth and the wine demi glaze was syrupy and decadent. Dinner was full of high spirits and jokes that somehow got even Aerith to chuckle a bit. In the midst of the chaos and looming thoughts of death, she felt a tiny glimpse of hope.

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #thg series #fanfic #the hunger games #thg fanfiction #x reader #finnick odair x reader #thg #catching fire #hunger games #yn #fanfiction #yes beta we die like cowards

[lunargrapejuice]

okay, so! it was hard picking for them, so many good shades 😩 but anyways. how about st. augustine + inumaki and heart's desire + okkotsu? the only thing i'd like to add is bed cuddles. of course, if you wanna pick only one of them to write, that's totally ok! or only one shade for them both – whatever works for you. thank you luna, hope you have fun with these. ❤️

hi love! i'm so sorry for the wait on this. for now here is inumakis but i do plan on writing yutas soon. i hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting! 💖

toge inumaki x reader with no pronouns used

main masterlist

soft music fills the room around you, a melody of quiet guitars strumming and piano notes that float through the warm, intimate, atmosphere that carry you towards sleep in the arms of your beloved. this playlist often occupied the space of your room, every song was filled with the feelings and words toge couldn’t speak himself, the confessions of his love and adoration echoing in every song he picked when putting it together for you. on nights when he was away, when curses took him far from home and left you in your worried thoughts, the music he had picked to share his love with you brought you comfort and sung you to sleep until he could return to the place he belonged; to your arms, snuggled safely in your sheets as he is now.

in the pale, muted, green led lights that surround your room his blonde locks look silvery, like frost under moonlight and, from your space on the pillow you share at the moment, you can’t help but reach out to touch it. with slow movements, as to not wake him, you move your hand from where it rests on his chest and reach up to his face, brushing his bangs away from his closed eyes and begin to commit every line of his handsome features to memory for the thousandths time. as if you needed more than just the sight of him to take him all in, the tips of your warm fingers linger on his face, tracing over his eyebrows with a feather touch, gingerly moving down to the marks around his mouth, following each dark line against his pale skin until you’re touching his full pink lips. even in his sleep, even under the light green color of the room, you can see his cheeks flush under your considerate and loving touch. the sight makes your chest burst with heat, the love you feel for him seeping from your heart to fill you with the sea of your emotions from your head to your toes until it can’t be contained anymore. 

you didn’t want to wake him, not when he looks this peaceful, but in the overflow of your love you find yourself impossibly close to him, your lips softly littering the proof of your affection onto his cheeks and lips over and over again. as he begins to stir his arms wrapped around your middle begin to flex and the violet eyes you love so much flutter open, half lidded with sleep but as they begin to focus on what's in front of him they flood with adoration.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you,” you whisper, barely audible over the music playing in the background before placing a kiss next to his eye.

the warmth of his breath as he hums sweetly brushes over your jaw, the hand traveling up your spine tickling a bit before his fingers find their way in your hair. with tired movements he pulls your face closer to his so he too can kiss your skin, his lips soft and warm against your jaw and cheek as he guides you to lay your head back on the pillow until you’re laying face to face, your lips finally finding the others. the faint sounds of kisses join the music in the room until both slowly begin to die down and all that’s left is your deep shared breaths, your beating hearts, and the love you have for each other lingering in the air.

#color drabbles #toge inumaki x reader #inumaki toge x reader #inumaki toge #toge inumaki #inumaki toge fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #toge

[ashdreams2023]

Heyyy sorry to be annoying but I just read your old post about missing some requests and idk if you still have mine about Loki confessing to reader on the ship leaving asgard after the explosion in Ragnarok. (Please read this in the nicest way possible I really don't want to sound bitchy) 🤍

Oh not at all, good thing you saw this because I actually can’t find the other one

Sorry though I kinda made them both confess 😀

Because I love you

You sighed waving a goodnight at the Asgardian children running to bed. Everyone was running on adrenaline and a few hours of sleep since the explosion.

Your eyes burned and you desperately wanted something strong to keep you up just a couple of more hours, Thor might be king now but goodness he needed all the help he could get.

"Doing late up checkups again?" Loki’s voice caught your attention, he leaned on the entrance frame with his usual smirk.

"I’m one of the few healers here remember?"

"Of course, it’s impossible to forget your golden hands" you rolled your eyes giggling at his poor attempt to make you lighten up.

Loki wasn’t that better looking himself, his hair look more greasy than usual and his skin desperately needed to face some sunshine to gain some color back because you’re starting to see the dark circles under his eyes clearer.

"Care for a stroll?" he extended his hand to you invitingly, you debated within yourself for few long seconds but finally gave in and took his hand.

His hand felt cool against your warm one which made you tighten your grip on his hand.

The ship had a mix of voices, some coming from sleeping rooms and others the kitchens whole the rest were desperately trying to busy themselves with something in order to pass time.

"Did you get any sleep recently?" You asked.

"As much as you did" which translated to none.

You sighed running your free hand through your messy hair then looking up at him with tired eyes.

"You should rest, it’s not good for you"

"Only if you sleep with me" he chuckled. You blinked at him before leaning your head on his arm "Sure, let’s go to bed" rubbing your eyes.

Loki stopped in his tracks, he looked down at you with big green hopeful eyes "would you now?" He said.

You nodded your head "of course, I mean I would say no to anyone else who suggest it but it’s you" you let go of his hand and walked up a few steps to the front before turning around to face him.

"And before you ask why, it’s because I" you smiled biting your bottom lip "because I love you."

Loki opened his mouth then closed it, watching you closely as his feet carried him closer to you. Warping his arms around your waist and leaning down.

"May I?" He said.

"You may" you replied.

His soft lips touched yours and things just for a minute felt right, the lack of sleep wasn’t bothering you as much and your body didn’t feel as restless.

"Are you sure?" He broke the kiss.

"I’ve never been more sure in my life." then he kissed you again. This one lingered a bit longer than the first and you didn’t want to let go.

"I don’t think I’ve loved anyone the way I love you before" he said. The flesh on your cheeks warmed up and at that you hid your face against his chest.

"Such a romantic, aren’t you?"

Loki smiled lazily at you "that’s nothing my dear, I can make you melt if I want to"

You tilted your head with a mischievous gleam from your eye "oh I’ll like to see that but…I’ll settle for some good sleep at the moment"

"That. I have no disagreement on."

#imagine #mcu #loki laufeyson #loki #loki x reader #loki imagine #fanfic #mcu loki #loki/y/n #loki layfeyson x reader #loki friggason #loki friggachild #loki laufesyon x reader #loki fluff

[the-shattering]

Chapter 13: The Feast

The nap only helped Torvola a little. She woke up slightly less exhausted but very hungry. Her stiff joints protested as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stood up and stretched, several joints popped satisfyingly as she did so. The afternoon sun shone bright and warm through the frosted window and into her room.

She went to her chest by her bed and pulled out a fresh tunic. The gold embroidery on the hems shimmered faintly in the light and the cloth was as red as the day she bought it. It had been a while since she worn it, years really. She pulled it on; it sat loosely on her frame.

There was a gentle knock on her door before Adren entered, “M’lady? We’re to gather for supper. Her Majesty would appreciate your presence, though she would understand if you wish to have your meal in your quarters.”

“Thank you,” Torvola said, “I’ll be down in a bit.”

***

She forgot how crowded the Great Hall got at meal time. It seemed like everyone in the city had gathered in the large room and the air was stuffy and hot. Torvola stood just inside the entrance to the hall, and she hesitated as she examined the scene before her. Most people were already seated at tables laden with food. She spotted Jamen and his mother at one of the tables near the back of the room. He played with a small toy and looked up to beam at his mother from time to time. It was the happiest she had seen him since the disaster.

“Lady Torvola!”

Torvola turned to see an older man dressed in fine green robes. He had a well kept beard and long grey hair tied into a ponytail. She immediately recognized him as one of the lords from the northern provinces. She schooled her expression to hide her disdain, “Lord Breck.”

“I thought the rumors of your arrival to be untrue, and yet here you are,” he said with a cheerful lilt to his voice. His lips had curled into some approximation of a smile but Torvola noted it didn’t reach his eyes. Oh he had always hated her.

“Indeed, here I am,” Torvola said, “Are you well, m’lord? I see the northern winters haven’t been kind to you.”

His smile faltered, “I’m doing well. Better than you it would seem. Did you tire of living in that backwater?”

“Hardly,” Torvola said, “It was much more interesting than here. Better people too.”

She had given up on politeness with him a long time ago; he was never shy about his disapproval of her and she reciprocated the sentiment. His smile was gone, “So are you here for good or will you run off again?”

“That has yet to be determined,” Torvola said. She stepped into the hall and looked around. Guards were posted along the walls and by the doorways. There was the door that she had entered through and a few smaller doors she knew of that were meant as entries for the servants. At the end of the hall, behind the large and elevated table where the queen would sit, were large windows that went practically from floor to ceiling.

If things were to go wrong, she had at least five ways to exit the room. Four if she didn’t want to deal with crashing through a window. Of course, Venera may expect her to eat at the table up front which would mean the window would be to her back. If someone were to attack …

She shook her head to clear it. Why was she thinking like this? They were in the castle, guards were all around them, she didn’t need to be concerned right? She hadn’t had this level of concern in years. Granted: she hadn’t been in such a crowded place in years. She yearned for her quiet solitude with Saxus.

“Torvola?”

Torvola turned to see Venera standing behind her. She looked as regal as ever with a red flowing dress accented with gold and white embroidered roses. Her brow was furrowed in confusion and concern and Torvola wondered how long she had been standing there.

“Your Majesty,” Torvola said with a slight bow and a tinge of red colored her cheeks, “I’m sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”

“I’m glad you felt well enough to attend our meal,” Venera truly looked relieved, “I heard of what happened at the training grounds.”

Torvola ducked her head, feeling like a kid caught doing something wrong, “Is Guin well?”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Venera said, “Her head’s hard enough to break through our walls.”

“So I’ve heard,” Torvola said with a small smile.

Venera studied Torvola’s face, “How are you feeling?”

Torvola looked away from Venera’s scrutinizing gaze and at the room around her, “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a room with this many people.”

Venera’s face fell, “I’m sorry, I should have realized…”

“It’s fine,” Torvola assured her even though it was very much not fine.

Guin made a reappearance at the dinner; she hardly looked bothered by the noise and bustle of the room. Torvola wondered if her headache had gotten better and she felt relief at seeing the captain up and about. She took a steadying breath and approached Guin, “I’m glad to see you well.”

“You’d have to hit me a lot harder than that to cause me harm,” she said with a cocky grin, “How about you? Is your shoulder alright?”

The corner of Torvola’s mouth quirked upward, “I’ve been hit harder by a falling feather.”

Guin guffawed, “Must have been some feather.”

Torvola felt eyes on her and she looked past Guin to see Uthred staring at her, scrutinizing her. He caught her gaze and looked away, returning to his conversation with Breck. She stared at him for a moment longer and wondered if he was angry at her. What could he possibly be angry about? Guin was the one who challenged her, not the other way around. Guin had opened herself up to the risk of injury the moment she had approached Torvola.

‘If you had been in control though, you wouldn’t have hurt her,’ a small voice in the back of her head piped up.

She knew it was right, she had lost focus and it ended up causing them both injuries. She should have had better control over herself, right? Before she could beat herself up anymore about it, Adren approached her.

“I’ll show you to your seat, m’lady.”

She was sat at the end of the table, close to the small door that the kitchen staff went in and out of. Torvola looked at Venera and wondered if she had chosen this place for Torvola on purpose. If she knew of her concerns. It wasn’t exactly like her habit of scoping out every available exit was new. The noise in the room quieted as everyone took their seats but Torvola’s anxiety abated only slightly. At the very least she could scan the room more effectively.

Her hand spasmed and she looked down to see she had been gripping her fork so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Slowly she let out a breath and relaxed her hand.

“… we welcome Lady Torvola, Hero of Irozia and Champion of the Iron Rose back to our castle — our home.”

Torvola looked up to see Venera had stood up and was addressing the room. How long had that been going on? Venera was now looking at Torvola and smiling and Torvola felt her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn’t be here.

She just … couldn’t be here.

She stood up abruptly and made her escape, exiting through the side door and leaving the surprised murmurs behind her. She’d apologize to Venera later — she needed to get out. She stalked past the kitchen staff that looked at her in curiosity and confusion. She wound her way through the halls and out one of the doors to the outside. There she sagged against the cool stone wall of the keep and tried to get her breathing under control.

“Are you alright?”

Torvola looked up to see she wasn’t alone — Rheni had joined her outside.

“I suppose I haven’t quite fully recovered from the day’s … excitement,” Torvola said.

“Only from today?” Rheni asked as she leaned against the wall next to Torvola. At Torvola’s look she continued, “You were not suffering alone after all of our battles were over. Venera noticed it … I had noticed it.”

Torvola crossed her arms and stared straight ahead, “It was harder to come back here than I thought.”

“Why?”

It took a long moment for Torvola to answer as she tried to collect her thoughts. She was so damn tired, “Too many people, too much going on … too many memories.”

She thought she had gotten better, she thought that she had gotten over this by now, but the day’s events had quite brutally proved otherwise. It frustrated and angered her to no end. Fifteen years. Fifteen years she had been far removed from the castle and from the war that she had fought to take it. Fifteen years to heal.

And in the past few weeks every single wound she thought had scarred over was ripped open anew. Her mind wandered back to that night on the hill and the sneering face of the Elder.

She wanted to drive a sword through it.

She took a deep breath to try to calm herself, “I don’t think I’ll be returning to the hall tonight.”

“I understand,” Rheni said, “I’ll have food brought up to your quarters.”

“Thank you, Rheni,” Torvola said as she pushed herself from the wall and stood up, “Let Venera know I’m retiring for the night.”

Rheni nodded and made to leave but hesitated for but a moment. She turned back to Torvola and reached out as if to put a hand on her arm, only to retract her hand when Torvola flinched, “I just want to say to you that you don’t have to fight this alone. Talk to Venera.”

#part 1: fracture #the shattering web novel

[autumnala]

The dog day are over (so you better run)

summary: As Bella prepares for her wedding, she tries desperately to outrun the memory of Jake and that pesky thing tying them inextricably together.

a/n: Inspired by, and composed to the song Dog Days Are Over by Florence + the Machine (linked in case anyone wants to listen while they read, idk)

(Not usually one to post fanfic here. But this is where the Jake and Bella brain worm truly took me over again, so it seems only appropriate. Much love to all the intrepid Jake and Bells shippers out there. )

———

Jacob where have you run off to?

“What do you think of this one? Bella? Bella?”

I pulled my eyes back to Alice guiltily. She was holding up a mass of pale blue and greens and whites.

“Um flowers?”

“For the bouquet?” Alice laughs and it tinkled, lifting my heart like a hymnal.

“Um… I always liked…” Dark green like the forest, sage like the succulents in Arizona, red like the dirt there, red like his fur. Yellow as the sun…

“These will go so well with the wedding colors. You’ve always looked so great in blue.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

I’m focusing everything I can on the wedding now.

I never even wanted a wedding. But it’s what I have to focus on.

In that beautiful meadow, that perfect dream, it felt so right. I would bind myself in every way possible to Edward, because there was nothing else I could do. Our love story is fate, it’s inescapable. It’s destiny.

But now I see Jacob everywhere.

He’s running alongside my old truck, which Edward’s going to replace any day now, as I trundle along the highway.

His long, beautiful hair is disappearing around every corner just at the edge of my sight.

I’m so tired of telling you good-bye.

I love him too much - even if it wasn’t enough.

I let that string tying our two hearts together pull too tight. And now every night I’m running after him in my dreams. I wake up tired.

I can’t hold onto that though. That echoing of emotion and sense of being kindred. I just can’t let it go either. The thought of that thread breaking terrifies me in a way I cannot quite understand.

But Edward is everything. He’s the gravitational force of my life. He’s in my veins and I need him. If nothing else, I’ve learned that, haven’t I?

He’s taken me into his world, his fairytale forever.

How could I ever be sufficiently grateful for the miracle of him choosing me?

It’s all over, with Jacob, with the wolves, with walks on that grey beach, and that shabby- warm house by the sea.

Sometimes, when I’m running in my dreams, I run straight into the sea.

And Edward’s beautiful face is still in front of me, and I’m freezing and sinking.

But I remember now, too. It has to be more than a dream, because I can feel the rightness of it in my bones. Like sunlight.

Jacob’s warm hand, grasping mine. Pulling me upwards into the light. Pushing air back into my lungs.

As easy as breathing.

The dress Alice picks for me is the whitest white I’ve ever seen. Simple, which I like. Clean lines, form fitting. Fashionable, I assume. It doesn’t look like something I would choose at all. But it looks like a good dress for the kind of person Edward should marry.

Edward doesn’t come along with us on the wedding errands, on Alice’s orders, of course. And because that’s the tradition. He wants the magic of this our (first) wedding. For me, of course. I’ll appreciate it later, I know.

Jacob would have gone dress shopping with you, a traitorous voice whispers to me while I’m flipping the idly through a magazine with a hundred glossy photos of wedding things that all blur together. He would have laughed at all the ruffles you hated and told you to get something comfortable. He’d know-

I turn a page sharply, glancing as each car passes by down the street. My cereal is turning to mush next to my magazine.

What am I looking for again?

Oh, right. Hair styles. Charlie hears me sigh and I can feel him looking at me for a long moment.

We had our longest argument ever when I told him I was getting married to Edward.

Now he doesn’t say anything, but I feel him watching me as I try to project happiness.

Edward is everything I want. He’s perfect.

Jacob is in the past.

Edward is kind and understanding. Only he hates my truck, and he’s baffled when I don’t want to listen to music, even his. He wishes I’d let him replace the truck, and all my shabby things with better ones. I should appreciate that.

I forgot that it was Jacob who always knew how I worked without me telling him. Who knew things I never told anyone. I never knew how that would feel (like coming home after a long day).

But Edward loves how I always surprise him, how he doesn’t know what I’m thinking. I’m a mystery to him. The only one in the whole world. A miracle. I’ve never been a miracle before. It seems important.

Will I still be a mystery when I’m not human anymore? If he heard my thoughts, would they live up to the me that he loves?

I’m so so happy, so ready to be perfected. Finally, Edward and I will be on equal footing.

He kisses me so chastely and so sweetly - like I might shatter. And I can feel that feeling, sinking into my bones. I feel fragile and delicate and quiet now.

I glance up quickly when I hear a boisterous laugh in the market, then glance to where Edward’s face is tilted, as he looks at me, just ever so slightly, his expression mild and tender. I can feel my face flushing and a thousand expressions battling on my face. He shakes his head lightly, and guilt flashes through me.

Not Jacob. Did he know I hoped it might be Jacob, just for a second?

How can I stop looking for him though?

He’s everywhere. Around every corner. Every growl of an engine.

He’s every sunrise.

But as long as I keep moving I can forget that he’s gone. I’m moving into the future. With Edward. My perfect forever.

And Jacob and that cozy, ramshackle garage, and warm sodas, and motorcycles, and jokes about getting old are in the past. They have to be.

I’ll run so far and so fast as a vampire that that cord will surely break.

It’s what I should want, of course.

But the thought fills me with dread.

Until your heart stops beating.

“Bella? Bella?” Alice’s voice trills, exasperated.

I realize I am running my finger slowly over the little carved wolf hanging from my wrist. Petting it.

When I open my eyes, light reflecting off the diamond heart blinds me for a second.

“Sorry,” I say. My finger hasn’t moved from the little wooden figure.

I look up and Alice looks concerned, confused, hopeful. She’s only trying to help. I wish I could forget, like her. Forget my human life, forget everything but the perfect, sparkling future.

Rosalie is looking at me too, with pity. I can’t hold her eyes.

I could never be sufficiently grateful to Edward for him choosing me. I could never choose him enough to make up for everything he went through for me.

For the miracle of snatching him back when it seemed hopeless.

Vampires don’t sleep, so soon I won’t have to worry about dreaming anyway.

I wake up gasping, again, and I know immediately that Edward is there.

But he’s not the one I am chasing after in my dreams.

Despite myself I think of the spring, when I told Jacob we could run away together.

Just the two of us, driving toward the sun.

I could have saved him, my Jacob.

One day he won’t be your Jacob anymore.

I can’t bear that thought; I just can’t.

“Bella,” Edward says, still the most beautiful voice in existence, a pleasant, intoxicating anesthetic. “Why are you crying?”

I didn’t notice I was, but it’s true. Soft round teardrops are dropping onto my bedspread.

“I don’t know,” I tell him, honestly. What else can I say?

He comes to my bedside and crouches down, pushing my sleep mussed hair back from my face.

His eyes look dark to me, in my dark room. Despite the darkness, up close he is so beautiful that it makes me feel like my heart will burst, like my brain is short circuiting. I should trust this. Look how he makes (almost) everything disappear.

“Don’t be scared, my love,” he murmurs to me. His hand ghosts across my hair, gentle as a breeze. I wish he would grab me hard enough that I could feel it. Maybe that would wring these feelings from my bones for good. I lean up to kiss his mouth, trying to pull the honeyed sweetness of him into me. He kisses me back, gently and full of love, and for a moment his hands clasp my shoulders more firmly, hard enough that I feel held together. But only for a moment before he is setting me carefully back, breathing just a little harder.

When he’s kissing me everything is clear, it all makes sense, this path I’ve set myself on. My blood rushes in my ears. But when he sets me away it feels like lead is trickling into my heart. Cold molten dragging me down.

And I’ll sink too fast to swim.

Some nights I think about how he isn’t going to come the next time I fall in the dark.

I think it quietly though, hoping Edward thinks I am asleep.

Why did I never know how to love him when he was here?

One night, when Edward is gone hunting, and I can’t quite bring myself to close the window, I hear it.

A howling wolf.

Have they been howling all this time and I just haven’t heard them?

I hold up my bracelet to look at it over my head. There’s barely any moonlight to glint off of the diamond heart and without that dazzling light I look at the little wolf, head tilted back, rough edges smoothed by the stroke of my fingers.

I can see Jacob carving him in my head. His large hands were always so careful and deft, whatever he was handling. It’s a beautiful little wolf. Not flawless and unchanging, but still perfect, even as I imagine how he’ll be worn smooth by the years, how he’ll eventually turn to dust.

I can’t say what I’m thinking next. I’m not thinking anything at all when I get out of bed, throwing on any clothes I can grab.

I look at my truck for a long moment. But no. If I take the truck everyone will know…know something, it will be a decision, so instead I turn the other way and walk into the woods.

There’s no way I can walk far enough.

But I can’t think about that; I can’t decide. I never could. All I have left is this instinct and this yearning I cannot name.

So I run.

I’m not a graceful runner, I’m not fast. But I run and I run and I don’t stop. Even when my chest aches, then screams.

Everytime I hear a wolf howling I turn and run toward the sound.

It’s so dark, with only the moon overhead, and the stars.

I run until I can’t anymore, until I fall, until I see the sun peaking over the edge of the hill ahead.

I smile at that line of sunrise.

My face is wet, with tears and sweat. Probably blood.

I feel like I’ve been scoured, weak and yet relieved as if I’ve emerged from a long fever.

A large shadow looms over me.

It’d be too perfect if it was him, but I laugh up at the sight anyway. It’s Leah and she looks like she wants to bite me. But all I can feel is happiness. Incandescent joy blooming deep in my chest while I lie there laughing weakly into her golden, furry, face.

I shrug at the wolf, what can I say?

I try to stand but collapse. My legs have run as far as they can.

Leah makes a wolfish grumbling sound and sits and watches me. I fall asleep while the sun is rising and don’t dream of anything. Who knows how long.

I can’t quite come fully awake, but I feel warm arms lifting me up. Familiar arms.

I lift my eyelids for the barest moment before the fall again, fluttering against my effort to lift them.

Jacob, backlit by the sun, is more beautiful than I remember. Maybe he always was.

Not like a dream or a vision. He looks like home.

I sigh, eyes still heavy and closed.

Jacob doesn’t say anything at all.

“There you are. I was looking for you, you know.” I tell him weakly.

He snorts.

“Do you know,” I try again, forcing my eyes open to look into his face. My eyes stream at the sight but I don’t blink to clear them. “If I was going to run away with anyone, I think it’d be you too, Jake.” I think about that, watching a stormy dawn break across his face. “Only, not right now. I don’t think I can run anymore right now. Where are we?”

His smile brightens and I feel my tired mouth struggle to tilt up in response. “We’re just across the treaty line. You were looking for me by running, by yourself, at night?”

“It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

He chokes on a laugh. Or maybe a sob. His hands tighten and then loosen again.

“You’re sure? Really sure? Because dammit Bella, I can’t…”

I think, then, for the first time in hours I search the deepest parts of my mind and heart and everything for an answer.

Inside me, where it was all frantic movement and rushing and fever it is calm now. It’s quiet.

I lean over and kiss his chest, bare of course, and blazingly warm, directly over his heart. I feel like light is filling me up. Pouring into me through this cord nothing I did could ever sever, from his heart to mine. Golden and blazing.

Jacob grins at me then, really grins, and his eyes are shining just for me.

“Until my heart stops beating,” I tell him. He starts to frown but I’m smiling so hard at him it feels like my face will crack. I can see him understand what i’m trying to say. He told me so long ago, but now it’s not an end, not a plea, it’s a promise. A beginning. “Could be a long time. And maybe even longer than that?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah that sounds…it’s enough? You said…”

The sun can’t fight an eclipse he told me. But an eclipse can only hide the sun for so long. It’s the sun that remains in the end.

“It’s enough. More than enough.”

#jacob x bella #bella x jacob #team jacob #jake and bells #otp: as easy as breathing #this is a song fic for ‘dog days are over’ but more in the sense of vibes #inspired by the song #very loose plot with no eclipse/breaking dawn fact checking #fanfiction

[slippinmickeys]

Le Comtesse de Saint-Germain

(TW: major character death)

The basement office was cold, dusty and had a smell redolent of the dry bones of long-dead animals. There were reams of paper, dot-matrix printouts, binders of old expense reports, an antique brass microscope. There were coffee rings on the desk, a paper clip wedged into the roller on one of the drawers, an adjustable date rubber stamp that didn’t go past 1999 sitting in an old styrofoam cup. In one corner, near the floor, a sunflower seed husk had been painted over and was stuck to the wall. A thick layer of dust lay over all.

She moved into the room, leaned forward to observe a picture of the two of them that had been tacked to the wall with a pushpin; glossy, moody, the two of them in FBI windbreakers wearing masks of concentration. It captured something peripheral about them, about their relationship, though she couldn’t put her finger on what. She realized how they had once looked to outsiders; they were cliquish, the two of them. Insular and subterranean. They worked best in the dark.

There was a clearing of a throat behind her — the agent who’d let her in had come to collect her. She had called in several favors for the privilege.

“Right,” she said, and picked up her briefcase. It was light and contained a single file which was probably still classified. She was committing a crime by taking it. She paused and turned back, pulled the push pin out and slipped the photo into her pocket.

XxX

“Excuse me,” said a voice, and she was so in her own head that she didn’t register that it was talking to her until it repeated itself. She looked up to see a handsome man smiling at her with brows raised in friendly anticipation.

“I’m sorry?” she said, looking up from where she was standing, somewhat cemented in place in front of the peaches in the produce aisle at her local market. Mulder had said peaches were the only thing that sounded good.

“I’m wondering,” he said somewhat shyly, “if you have any idea how to tell if an avocado is ripe?” She looked at him a little blankly at first, her head still on the fruit in front of her. “I got voluntold to bring guacamole to this party I’m going to tonight, and I haven’t the foggiest idea how to tell if these are ready.”

“I think the premade stuff is over in the deli,” she said, trying to be helpful, but really not wanting to engage.

“I’m trying to defy expectations, here,” he smiled. He was maybe forty, with dusty blond hair and a strong chin. Wide set eyes. His hands were big and tan where they gripped a medium-sized avocado. She took pity on him and shook herself a bit, put on a friendly smile. Overhead the canned sounds of an oldies station blared Vampire Weekend.

“The stems,” she told him.

“The… stems?” he said, looking a little lost.

“Yes,” she said, walking over the few steps to where he stood. She picked up an avocado and levered her thumbnail under the stem. “If you can get your fingernail under the stem and lift it a little, the color underneath it will tell you whether or not it’s ripe. If it’s brown, it’s likely overripe. If it’s green, it should be good. If the stem won’t lift, it’s not ready yet. This one’s okay.” She handed it over to him, and he accepted the fruit, his palm smooth and warm.

“Huh,” the man said, delighted by the information. “Would you look at that!”

She gave him a small smile and turned to go when he reached out and grabbed at her sleeve. Gently, just a little tug. He let go immediately when she paused.

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely. His eyes, she noticed, were a deep brown, and his gaze was soft. He smiled again, a little flirty. “How did you get to be an avocado queen, anyway?”

“Years of experience,” she said ruefully, and then turned away once more.

“Hey,” he said, and she knew his game – tired of it years ago – but he was nice enough. “You look familiar,” he went on. “Did we go to school together by any chance? Bulldogs, class of ‘25?” he finished, giving the air a little punch.

She wanted to outright laugh, but gave him a forgiving smile instead. “Have fun at your party,” she said as she walked away.

XxX

In the hallway outside Mulder’s door, around a blind corner, she almost collided with an older gentleman. When they both regained their footing, she seemed to recover from the surprise of the moment before he did. The man, well into his seventies, with thinning hair and a paunch that hung over his belt, continued to look at her with a kind of mute shock.

“Sir?” she said, reaching out a hand to steady him. He recoiled slightly, his face still registering mild astonishment. Concerned he may be having some kind of cardiac event, Scully bent toward him. “Sir, are you all right?”

“Uh,” he started, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Yes, thank you.”

They both stepped around each other and he gave her one more odd look before continuing on down the hallway and to the elevator.

It only occurred to her as she inserted her key into Mulder’s lock that the man had to have been coming from her old partner’s apartment. Mulder didn’t get many visitors these days, barring her.

“Mulder?” she called once she had closed the door and had set down her suitcase and coat.

“In here,” he called back, and she made her way to the bedroom.

“Hey,” he said to her with a smile when she walked in, scooting up in the bed.

“Hi,” she said, moving to his side to help him adjust the pillows. “How are you feeling?”

“Like the dog’s breakfast,” he said with a smile. She sat down on the bed next to him and ran her fingers through his hair.

“At least you seem happy about it,” she said.

“Nah, I’m just happy to see you,” he said with a sigh. Scully let her fingers linger in his hair for a beat or two and he went on. “Did you get the file?”

“I did.”

“Is it in the bag?”

Scully turned to look at the small paper bag she’d carried in and left on top of the nearby dresser.

“Oh, no.” She turned back to him. “I got you some peaches.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

“Do you feel up to eating?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t mind seeing the file, though.” He gave her as much of a puppy dog smile he could muster, and she mussed his hair affectionately and stood to get her briefcase from the outer room.

When she came back in, she settled into the chair beside the bed and handed the file over.

“You do know they have digital copies of these Mulder,” she said as he swiped it out of her hands. Getting the file seemed to animate him a bit, and he scooched back in the bed energetically, settling in to read. “They wouldn’t let me sign it out. I had to…” She gestured with her hands, not quite able to bring herself to admit to stealing something out loud.

“Ah, but asking you to commit a felony has always been our thing,” he said, his rapscallion smile bringing about one of her own. “Anyway, I think better when I’ve got something in my hand.”

He opened the file and she watched as his eyes scanned the pages. After a few quiet minutes, she spoke.

“There was someone leaving here when I came in,” she said. Mulder hummed what might have been an affirmation, not looking up from the file. “Who was it?”

He didn’t answer for a long time, eventually setting the file down on his lap. He then turned it slowly toward her and pointed to something on the last page. She stood from the chair and leaned in to look, following his finger with her eye.

Agents of Record, the file read, Dana Scully and Peyton Ritter.

Mulder’s finger stayed on the second name.

“Peyton Ritter,” she read off out loud, and then realization dawned on her. “That was Peyton Ritter in the hallway?” she asked. “Peyton Ritter was just here?”

Mulder nodded silently, his rheumy eyes seeking hers. A low feeling of unease began to wind through her, starting low in her belly where Ritter’s bullet had lodged itself all those years ago.

“Mulder, I’ve been indulging some of your more kooky requests for a while now because you’re-” she fumbled, unable to finish the sentence. From the bed, Mulder gave her a look of tender sympathy, his eyes crinkling with affection. He reached out for her, the skin of his hands liver-spotted and thin as paper. She looked down at her own, smooth as glass, ripe with collagen, and she swallowed thickly, steamrolling ahead. “But you need to tell me right now, why did you want this file? Why was Peyton Ritter here? What are you up to?”

He began coughing before he could answer; deep, rattly hacks. Scully sat forward quickly and grabbed a glass of water that had been sitting on his bedside table, holding it to his lips. Mulder sipped at it and then pushed her hand gently away. The headboard creaked when he leaned back into the pillows.

“Scully,” he said gently, imbuing her name with a thousand different sentiments.

“Mulder, no.” A tear dropped onto her cheek and ran hotly down her skin.

“If I can figure out how Fellig did it-” he started.

“Mulder no!” She stood up quickly, her voice shaky and thin as tissue paper.

“It’s a burden, Scully,” he went on, seeming to have no sympathy for her at all, and yet his every word was suffused with tender understanding. “Your youth–your life will become a burden I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. If I could take it from you… If I could carry it…”

Another series of coughs wracked him and Scully sat back down on the bed, futilely watching his body double over with each seal-like bark. When he finally stopped, he was stooped, his head hanging down, and Scully reached out to pull him to her tightly. She held him there, tears rolling down her cheeks and dropping one by one into his thin white hair.

“I would do anything for you, Scully,” he said, his voice muffled by her body.

“Including living – forever – like this?” she hissed, leaning back so he could sit up, and pointing at him, at his wizened condition.

His smile was weak. “Yes,” he said simply.

He leaned back once again into the pillows. “Being this close to death,” he said, and Scully felt her lower lip wobble with emotion. “There’s a clarity that comes with it. An understanding of what really matters. All the pieces of your life get a bit fuzzy as your focus shifts and narrows.” His eyes softened as they rove over her form. “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love,” he quoted to her, his finger touching her hand gently with each of the three words he cited.

She had to look away from him so her heart wouldn’t break right there in front him. Her immortality wasn’t something they talked about often — they had joked about it in their youth, but as the years passed and it became more and more glaringly in their face, she would shut down when he brought it up. She had accepted her fate. She didn’t think she could take it if he refused to.

Everything in the room took on an indelible importance suddenly. The second hand of the clock in the corner snicked the seconds by and she reveled in the warmth of his hand on hers. The way the sun hit the pill bottles next to his bed and turned them a glowing copper. The loose slippers next to the door, one turned on its side to reveal a tread worn down by his supinated step. Dust in a sunbeam. The whistley sound of his breath.

“The greatest of these is love,” she whispered back. He squeezed her hand and released it, flipping the file closed.

“If I can save you, let me,” he said gently.

“I can’t do that,” she said, sticking to their script.

When he fell asleep, she took the file and laid it where he’d be able to reach it. In her pocket, she felt the crinkle of stiff paper. A pinprick hole in the top where it had been stuck to the wall, she pulled out the rumpled old photograph of the two of them, hale and hearty, a remembrance of a time before she stalled out in Death’s blind spot. She set the photo on top of the file.

He died that winter, and she buried him in the spring.

#it’s bad #but it was a demon that needed exorcising #the x-files #fanfic #my fic #angst #possibly triggering

[vampyrsutton]

Stress Relief

Summary:

Yamaguchi wants to relax after his finals and promises not to distract Tsukishima from studying for his.

Ao3 Tags:

Cock Warming, Aftercare, Deepthroating, Oral Sex, Banter, Teasing

Notes:

For Day 6 of NSFW TsukkiYama Week!

Prompt: Aftercare/Cock Warming

Day 2-5 cannot be posted here, but can be found Here!

"Yams?" Tsukishima questions evenly as he hears shuffling under the table, not once looking away from his schoolwork. "I'm studying. I still have two more finals." 

"But Tsukkiiii~"

"I'm sure you did fine, Yams." The blond sighs, reaching down to pet through the fluffy, green-tinted hair that's resting on his lap. 

“...I actually already got them back,” Yamaguchi mumbles, leaning into the soft touch. “I passed with flying colors but stressed myself out so was hoping we could release each other’s stress a bit?”

Tsukishima pauses to look under the table and gives Yamaguchi one of his rare, soft smiles. “Good job. We told you you had it.”

“Thanks, Tsukki.” He smiles, soaking up the attention.

“But I still have to study.”

Yamaguchi pouts before he gets that look in his eye that spells trouble for Tsukishima’s sanity. 

“Yams-”

“What if I don’t move?” Yamaguchi asks innocently. 

Tsukishima raises a thin brow, knowing he’s going to regret asking. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sure neither of us wants anything crazy when we’re both exhausted from finals, but I still want to feel your cock so if you don’t want to participate, I can just lay here while you study?” Yamaguchi shrugs, playing with the waistband of the blond’s sweats. 

Tsukishima blinks, feeling his ears flush red at the thought. “You want to cockwarm me?”

“Please?” Yamaguchi pleads, giving the blocker puppy dog eyes as he starts pulling the elastic down. 

Another slow blink before Tsukishima sighs as though this is a chore and lifts his hips to help pull his sweats down enough to free his cock. “You’re a menace.”

“Says the one not wearing boxers.” Yamaguchi snorts, getting his hands on Tsukishima’s cock as soon as it’s out. 

“I’m already stressed, no need to be uncomfortable.” Tsukishima shrugs, tossing a pillow on the floor for Yamaguchi as they get comfortable. “Don’t distract me.”

“Yes, sir.” Yamaguchi grins, suckling the head for a second with a content hum before working as much of the blond’s length into his mouth as possible until he can relax his mouth and throat and relax against the blocker’s thighs. 

Tsukishima bites his lip to not react to Yamaguchi swallowing around the head of his cock to get comfortable before going back to trying to focus on his own work.

Keyword is ‘trying’.

Yamaguchi, surprisingly enough, is upholding his end of the deal and not moving or doing anything to distract the blond, just sitting there enjoying the weight in his mouth as Tsukishima absently plays with his hair. 

It’s now, slightly unsurprisingly, Tsukishima that’s having a problem with the current arrangement as he tries to get his brain to absorb any sort of information on the Meian Period…no Heian Period, Meian is one of Hinata’s team members, not a Japanese time period…what was he studying again? Ugh, when does he graduate again? Right, after this shit. 

He must have started spacing off because suddenly Yamaguchi whines around the cock in his mouth and makes him jolt, mumbling an apology when it makes the former captain gag a little. 

“Sorry, tired.” Tsukishima mumbles, picking up the book handed to him to continue trying to study. “I’m fucing your throat when I’m done with these stupid tests.” He decides, cursing when Yamaguchi moans around his cock in response. “Keep it up and I’ll do it now, fail this stupid test, and have to become a house husband or some shit.” 

This is apparently taken as encouragement because Yamaguchi swallows around the head resting almost in his throat while doing his best to tease the blond with his tongue and get another groan. 

“Shit, I promise you, you don’t want me stuck at home all day. Behave.” Tsukishima groans like he wasn’t the one that keeps getting distracted just by having wet heat wrapped around his cock. The raised eyebrow he gets tells him the cock in the greenette’s mouth is the only thing keeping the blonde from getting sassed. “Yeah, I know, shut up.” The blocker huffs, focusing back on his book, mumbling thanks when a highlighter is handed to him.

Oddly, the act of highlighting passages does get him back on track, and if it weren’t for the warm breath against his pelvis and the occasional swallow as the former captain readjust, he’d almost forget the other was even there if his cock wasn’t also responding to the stimulation. 

Luckily for both, he wasn’t far from a stopping point anyway, and Yamaguchi seems happy to just let himself start floating. The next time Tsukishima looks down from otherwise ignoring him, Yamguchi’s eyes are closed and he looks so peaceful despite the cock in his mouth that Tsukishima almost feels bad taking a break. 

“...Yams?” Tsukishima prods gently, unable to help his smile when big, olive green eyes slowly blink open at him. “Break time if you wanna have some fun?”

Yamaguchi blinks again before letting his eyes drift to Tsukishima’s phone next to them. 

“About an hour.”

Yamaguchi seems to take a second to catch up before his eyes light up and he increases the suction around Tsukishima’s cock as he goes to pull off before whining when pale fingers stop him from pulling off entirely. 

“Why don’t I fuck that eager little throat now , hmm?” Tsukishima smirks, letting out a small chuckle when Yamaguchi rolls his eyes as he’s let go.

“Yeah,” Yamaguchi huffs as he works his stiff jaw. “Kinda what I was going for if you hadn't interrupted me.”

Tsukishima shrugs with a light smirk on his face as he leans back to get more comfortable. “Pretty sure that’s deepthroating, but if you insist.”

Yamaguchi gives him an exasperated look, but still eagerly brushes the side pieces of his hair back to take as much of the blonde as possible in one go, exaggerating his moan just to be a brat and make Tsukki curse. 

Tsukishima’s head falls back with a cursed moan as Yamaguchi works himself down to the base, making utterly obscene noises as he works his tongue and hollows his cheeks in his quest to get to his prize as quickly as possible. By the time Tsukishima lifts his head again, he can see the mischief in green eyes but can’t really say much as Yamaguchi pulls back up with a moan that sends vibrations down the blond’s cock and makes him have to bite back a moan of his own. 

Trying not to buck his hips into the tight heat of the former captain's throat is torture, but surprisingly still strong arms…arm? Fuck, arm singular, is keeping his hips pin down and the next attempt to watch lets him catch one of Yamaguchi’s hands moving down and he knows when the greenette gets a hand on himself because another needy moan vibrates around his cock and makes him grip the arms of the chair with a moan.

“Fuck, Yams. Having that much fun getting me off, huh?” Tsukishima can’t help but tease before his head falls back when Yamaguchi takes him down to the base to swallow around the head. “Shit.”

Looking down at him again reveals olive eyes way too smug for someone deepthroating cock, but Tsukishima isn’t about to complain when he’s worked to the edge surprisingly fast, and the blond is once again reminded why he needs to take more breaks during finals because Yamaguchi seems to be on a mission to suck his very soul out of his dick in his enthusiasm.

“Shit, Yams-Wait- Close-” Tsukishima tries to warn the greenette, but is just met with an encouraging moan and Yamaguchi’s throat holding his dick hostage when he tries to pull out. “Fuck!” 

Yamaguchi, for his part, looks rather pleased with himself as Tsukishima cums down his throat and he manages to swallow every drop, finally pulling back to lick the blond clean when he hisses in sensitivity and focuses on his own pleasure as his hand speeds up somewhere out of Tsukishima’s view. 

“Tsu-kki~” Yamaguchi finally whimpers as Tsukishima is just starting to regain his bearings, allowing the blond to watch his brows pinch and his mouth fall open on a soft moan.

This will never not be one of Tsukishima’s favorite sights, seeing the usually shy and reserved greenette falling apart whether it be by the blond’s actions or his own was always a treat and the little whimpers were always adorable. The blond wasted no time gathering the former pinch hitter into his arms once one reached out for him and quickly decided a bath was in order when Yamaaguchi just started trying to lick his hand clean to avoid getting up.

“You’re lucky one of us is still in volleyball.” Tsukishima sighs as though put out as he uses his leg and core muscles to get out of the chair and rearranged them to be able to carry the still tall man without bumping him against everything. This included wrapping freckled legs around his waist and just holding the shorter boy close. “Wipe that on me like last time and I drop you in the tub.” 

“Tsukki~!” Yamaguchi tries to fake pout, but he does an awful job hiding his giggles when it comes out more of a croak and Tsukishia just shakes his head in exasperation, his own fond smile being hidden over the greenette’s shoulder. 

“No arguing…Get the door?” 

“I can walk you know?” Yamaguchi hums, reaching behind himself for the bathroom knob anyway. 

“You were the one that insisted on stress relief.” Tsukishima huffs, setting Yamaguchi down to get their clothes off and turn on the tub before the greenette’s picked up again to get in the tub together.

“Just admit you want cuddles,” Yamaguchi smirks, despite snuggling closer himself.

“And encourage you to interrupt my studying? Never.” Tsukishim deadpans, continuing to hide his smirk in fluffy green hair before wrinkling his nose.”Have you washed your hair at all during finals?”

“I was stressed~!” Yamaguchi whines, ears flushed red at Tsukki noticing. “I remembered to eat this time at least?”

Tsukishima sighs, thumping his head against the wall in exasperation. “Better than last semester. Hand me the shampoo. I’ll get it.”

“Thank you,” Yamaguchi mumbles shyly, rearranging himself as he passes the shampoo back.

“One of these days we’ll get you functioning.” The blond huffs instead, unable to see the greenette’s raised eyebrow.

“So we’re going to ignore Yama and me having to carry you to bed last night after you fell asleep studying?”

“Exactly.” Tsukishima nods resolutely. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

“Hypocrite.” Yamaguchi snorts, melting into the long fingers working the shampoo into his poor hair.

“Yup. Congrats on catching up.”

Yamaguchi just laughs, shaking his head as he allows himself to finally relax, silently promising to return the favor when the blond was done tomorrow. “Shut up.” He sighs without any bite.

Tsukishima takes advantage of the greenette facing away from him to smile fondly. “Never.”

And he truly never will. 

#haikyuu tsukiyama #tsukiyama #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #haikyuu!! #haikyuu!! smut #tsukishima x yamaguchi

[betterthanpekej]

Christmas Festival | SFW

Summary: You and Chifuyu go to a Christmas Festival on the pier. Tags: fluff, drabble, gn!reader, chifuyu x reader, not proof read Word Count: 900

The night was dark and cold, the stars dancing behind the city lights. The annual Christmas festival was happening on the pier, the strings of colorful lights illuminating the rails and along the light poles. The smell of gingerbread cookies, hot chocolate, and candy canes filled the air.

You were walking down the pier, hand in hand together with your favorite person. He was always busy now that you two were older, but he always tried to make time for you. He never wanted you to feel neglected; it was important to him that you knew how much he cared about you. He had mentioned before about the Christmas festival and you had said that you would be willing to go if it was with him.

You looked down at your hand, squeezing his tighter as you looked up to him. His messy black waves in his hair seemed to lay perfectly imperfect on his head. He looked back at you with his loving blue green eyes and gave your hand a squeeze back. The smile he then gave made your heart melt faster than an ice cube on hot pavement in the summer.

You leaned onto his shoulder, wrapping your available arm around his. “Can we get some hot chocolate? It smells soo good~ please, please, please,” you said with a small pout and a tug of his arm. Chifuyu snickered at your pout, “Put that lip away, of course we can get hot chocolate.”

You two were approaching a hot chocolate stand, stopping to see what options were available that night. Chifuyu gestured toward the sign, “Do you see anything you like?” You answered almost immediately, not even looking at the sign he was referring to,”Yes, I’m looking at it.”

Chifuyu laughed at you as he let out a sigh, “You are so silly, what am I supposed to do with you?” You swayed his arm as you gave an innocent smile back to him, “Pick me something, I don’t care what kind you get.” You let Chifuyu’s arm go as he started to walk to the stand to order your hot chocolates.

Chifuyu made his way back over to you with two cups in his hands. He gently handed one to you. “That is the peppermint with-,” he started to say as you eagerly tried to drink some right away. The sweet liquid was hot, but not to the point where you burned your tongue drinking it. You licked your upper lip as you pulled the cup away, letting out a “mmm” as it departed. Chifuyu stared back at you, shaking his head and smiling.

“I’m glad it’s not super hot, then what would you have done,” he laughed. “Lived with my consequences, I guess,” you said sarcastically. He grabbed your hand as you two started to walk down the pier again.

The pier was lit up in so many decorations. Snowflakes, snowmen, angels, Christmas wreaths- all lit up the festival scene. You saw a small bench that overlooked one of the docks, a perfect spot to sit and watch the Christmas lights dance on the surface of the water. You pulled Chifuyu’s arm in the direction you wanted to go, almost making him spill his drink as he took a quick sip.

“Let’s sit down for a sec, I’m tired of walking,” you said as you led him to the bench and planted yourself onto it. Chifuyu was used to your antics, always pulling him around and acting like a spoiled brat. He didn’t mind it though, he enjoyed spoiling you more, only feeding into your brattiness more. He smiled down at you as you adjusted your clothes, trying to not let the cold bench come through your clothes and freeze your delicate skin.

“Sit, sit,” you said, patting the bench beside you. Chifuyu sat down, scooting himself next to you to keep you warm. He looked out to the water, the small waves moving so peacefully. You leaned your head on his shoulder and wrapped your arms around his again. You closed your eyes as you soaked in the time you were sharing together, you wanted nothing more than to live in this moment forever.

The warm cup in your hand was nothing in comparison to the amount of warmth Chifuyu made your heart fill. He was caring, kind, always there for you. You just wished that the two of you had more time to spend together. The winter days always brought a slow pace in business, so he could pursue more leisure activity. Chifuyu kissed your forehead, taking a sip of his hot chocolate afterwards.

“How is your hot chocolate, my love,” he asked as he leaned his head on yours. “It is good, what flavor is this, peppermint and something else,” you said as you took another sip from yours. Chifuyu kissed the top of your head again. “It is peppermint with a white chocolate cocoa bomb in it,” he said. “I figured you would like it ♥”

You snuggled his arm, not able to stop the grin coming across your face. Chifuyu was the perfect boyfriend. You sat together in silence, quietly watching the waves move up and down. “Can we come back again tomorrow night?” you asked coyly. “I think I can cancel a few things for that. Anything for you, my love,” he responded back with a sweet smile.

#$.chifuyu matsuno #$.betterthanpekej #chifuyu tokyo revengers #chifuyu matsuno #chifuyu x reader #chifuyu x gn!reader #chifuyu drabble