sacredthethreadgvf

[sacredthethreadgvf]

DISSONANCE || (UNRAVEL Pt. 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

UNRAVEL (Series) Summary: The night of that first lesson, you were not expecting someone to show up who embodied your every desire.

But, of course, that was exactly who you got.

Enter Jake Kiszka.

A locally known guitar god, who looked like but sin, smelled like fantasy, and dripped in silver jewelry. . . and pressed on your last nerve so hard you couldn't help but want more.

—||—

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); guitar instructor!jake (drooling); instructor x student (BOTH ARE IN THEIR TWENTIES); strangers-to-friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; angst; slow burn; language; a lot of sexual tension + tense themes; self deprecation; mentions of grief; mentions of broken bones; jealous!reader; angry!jake; yearning (!!!); touching; kissing; (very mild) dry humping; jake's hands = on ur boobs; don't u dare call him 'tutor' (PLEASE lmk if i missed anything at all AND/OR anything that is triggering to you!)

DISSONANCE (Unravel Pt. 1) Word Count: 18.3k+

—||—

a/n: this was supposed to be a silly little drabble -- a *cough cough* ~thoughtful~ text sent to the group chat...... but...... um. plans changed. lol

the idea for this came from a conversation fueled by a lot of ~~feelings~~ the group chat had about Jake at Gibson Garage......

aaaand it's directly inspired by this lovely (devastating) video. <3

enjoyyyy ;)

If you want, you may listen to the playlist as you read 🖤

—||— | —||—

|| UNRAVEL || 

PART I: DISSONANCE 

—||— | —||—

D I S S O N A N C E: a lack of harmony (among musical notes).

—||— 

It was late. 

Later than you’d anticipated and planned for this. 

You had heard raving reviews from your peers about his teaching. . . Mostly along the lines of:

“He’s intense, y/n. . . like. . . really intense. In a way that definitely intimidates you, but forces you to want to be the best you can be.”

“I thought I knew how to play until one lesson with him and by the end of it, I wondered how the fuck I’d even called myself a guitarist before learning from him.”

“He won’t let you give up. He won’t stop until he knows you see your ability as clearly as he does. He’s just a little. . . extreme while you’re getting there. But, y/n, I promise it’s worth it by the end.”

But. . . so far, he wasn’t even here to teach you yet.

Mr. Jacob Kiszka, guitar god amongst your Juilliard peers, was running late for your first lesson with him. 

And, you were not impressed. 

When the knock finally occurred, the temptation was too strong to roll your eyes. Couldn’t help it as you stood with a huff from your couch. 

As you made your way over to the door, you checked the time on the wall on your way there. Just to be sure.

Yep. Late. Late as hell.

5:20 p.m. 

It was 5:20 p-fucking-m, and the lesson you’d scheduled had been for 5:00 p.m.

He was twenty minutes late.

The massive white tea and eucalyptus candle that sat in the middle of your coffee table wafted towards you. It was the only thing calming you, momentarily. 

You took a deep breath, opening the door in one mildly aggravated swoop.

And what met you on the other side. . . 

Was not the type of person you expected.

Based on how well-renowned this man’s teaching was, you expected an older guy. 

Like, old. Until now, you’d pictured a wise, wrinkled tutor who’d been playing and teaching for years. That had been your assumption. The guys in your music appreciation class had fangirled over his ability and skill, as if he were Jimmy fucking Page, reincarnate. 

So, you were expecting someone who looked old and worn like Jimmy looked now. 

This man was not that.

Nope. 

He was young. Likely close to your age. Maybe slightly older. You’d guess he was closer to thirty than you, but definitely not any older than that. 

Tan, glowing skin. Yes, glowing — even in the light gray, overcast, gloomy dusk of this fall evening. His skin was immaculate. Every detail caught your eye. How dewy it was. The freckle on his cheek. A little cut in his bottom lip. . . 

And not a wrinkle in sight — only some crows feet at the corners of his eyes, peeking out from the blue-tinted sunglasses he wore. 

The eyes behind the sunglasses weren’t perfectly visible due to the tint, but you could tell his eyes were pretty. What color, you weren’t sure. However, you did notice his pretty hair. Chestnut brown — long, wavy. . . Thick. Slightly damp in places — like he’d just showered. 

Your eyes trailed to his neck, where his Adam’s Apple bobbed. His neck was strong and you definitely felt your mouth water at how pronounced the muscle there was. Your eyes continued, straight to his toned chest. . . The expanse of skin there was golden. And the black satin button down shirt that hung over his frame, loose and halfway unbuttoned over his chest?. . . Fuck. 

Silver chains around his neck. One slightly thicker silver chain stopped at the base of his neck, right at the dip in his throat. 

The chains and shirt were a devastating combination. 

And as you let your gaze wander down his body further, you found a well-worn pair of Levi’s hugging his hips. 

Your line of sight had just caught the worn holes in the knees of his jeans and his scuffed black boots sticking out from beneath the bootcut blue. Your gaze flickered back to his upper half, just as his hand pulled at the waistband of them. . . 

Long fingers, a ring on three out of the five on the hand that messed with his jeans. The veins in the back of his hand caught your eye. These hands, already tragic in appearance — and apparently skilled in guitar. . .?

He was sin.

Fuck.

You couldn’t help it when you licked your lips, your lips dry. 

Double fuck.

Has my mouth been hanging open? And how long have I been making him stand outside my door as I’ve ogled him? 

God. 

Time moved in slow motion as your cheeks heated and you let your gaze rest on his face once again. 

Professional. Be professional, y/n.

He was your tutor. You were his student. This was a motherfucking guitar lesson. That was it.

Briefly, your mind thought of how he’d been twenty minutes late. And, your Type A triggers outweighed everything else. Thankfully. It helped to clear your brain a bit — the fact that he hadn’t been a professional so far. He’d been late. 

Your gawking was the least of anyone’s concern right now when you had a night class starting on campus at 7:00. Less than two hours from now. 

And this lesson hadn’t even started yet. 

The second you focused on his face again, you noticed how his eyes were now wider behind his glasses — both of his brows were raised. Surely he wasn’t judging you when he’d been twenty minutes—. 

“I’m Jake. Jake Kiszka,” he suddenly stated, a nod of his head indicating acknowledgement. His cheeks were slightly pink, the tiniest grin wavered on his lips. “Your instructor.”

The little nod was sexy for reasons it should not have been. You rubbed at your bicep, giving your own little head bob. You felt as awkward as Bella-fucking-Swan when she interacted with Edward Cullen throughout the entire clusterfuck that was the first Twilight movie.

Cringe. 

“I’m—I—,” you choked on your spit a bit. 

Fucking embarrassing. 

You willed your head to clear, closing your eyes. Again with the ‘Bella Swan’ act. Pull yourself together, y/n. 

At that, you opened your eyes before giving him a wider grin. “I’m y/n,” you offered. “Your student.”

His breath caught for a moment before he was blinking a few times, looking down at his boots before his gaze was finding you once more.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said next with a shake of his head as he tousled with the front of his hair. “I’ve had a packed day.”

The low rasp on the word ‘packed’ was enough to make you want to keel over and submit to whatever he wanted, however he wanted it. And the silver hoop earrings that you caught, peeking out from his waves that swept past his shoulders. . . They made it even worse.

And, for a second, any frustration you’d had at his late arrival was gone. . . . .

But. 

Only for a second. You had to cling to his mistake to remind yourself that he was human.

Because, everything else about him screamed god or sexy ass fictional vampire. 

Though, even with the sensual, gravelly timbre of his voice — it wasn’t enough to make you forget you had class on campus sooner than later. It had your internal clock ticking faster by the minute. 

“I have class at 7:00,” you blurted, your frustration blatant in your response. You flinched slightly at the way you snapped the words. “We need to get started.”

He blinked at you a couple of times, his head drew back — seemingly in shock — at your sharp tone. 

But, he didn’t let any other emotion show as he quickly nodded, pursing his lips that you noticed were carved so beautifully, against the pretty structure of his face. The Cupid’s bow in his upper lip, catching you off guard as he briefly puckered his lips. 

You’d never met a man that was an equal balance of the textbook definition of ‘pretty’ and ‘handsome’ until this man.

“Let’s get started, then,” he replied, already making his way closer to your door, wiping his feet on the welcome mat outside. “Luckily, we’re only covering the basics tonight.”

— || —

‘The Basics’ were not as basic for beginners as you’d originally anticipated. 

You’d gone through A minor already. It was the first one he taught and it had gone fine. 

Then, you’d learned A major, C major, D major. . . No problem at all.

Now, you were on G major. And, somehow, Little Miss G major was about to make you cry.

Even though you were a music major, knowing thousands of melodies and solfège like the back of your hand, you were not well well-versed in the ways of guitar. 

He, on the other hand, was. Very much so. 

In fact, he was past the term ‘well-versed’ — that seemed too light a phrase for him. He’d performed efficient tuning, simply by ear – in no time at all. . . . two minutes, tops. 

Meanwhile, he had to take twenty minutes with you to simply show you how to work a tuning app on your phone. Then, as you’d tuned (or, tried), his fingers hadn’t been able to hold still on his own guitar and he’d quietly played a variety of melodies every genuine music lover knew by heart. . . but, he’d picked and strummed them as if they were his own. All the while, jumping in to help you when you needed it — before then going back to his own instrument to pick up a song exactly where he’d left it. 

You’d never witnessed another person play so effortlessly, right in front of your face.

And, you’d sat there with your barely-played guitar on your lap, acting like a dunce with a motherfucking tuning app.

His acoustic guitar, you’d noticed, was so utterly worn with years of love. The body of the instrument, rubbed raw where his hand rested to play. And his strings, manipulated so easily under his fingers — like all guitar strings were made for his fingers, and his fingers alone. 

Your acoustic, on the other hand, was brand new. And still shiny from having just picked it off the shelf at the nearest guitar store two days prior. Your scholarship had come in handy with the purchase, as your College Student Funds™️ were seeming to dwindle daily. Scholarships and waitressing part time were your only means of survival at this point.

But you’d needed to do this. It was a requirement for your career path of choice. You needed to know one instrument to progress into teaching music. 

And, for very personal reasons, you’d always wanted to play guitar. 

So, here you were.

The harsh metal of the strings, though, were trying desperately to convince you that you were not cut out for this. And the way you seemed to strum a bit too hard on the body. . . Your hand was, apparently, not light enough for this.

But, god. . . you really didn’t want to learn the piano. So, you just kept trying. . .

. . .and failing.

“I’m not sure if my hands were built to handle an instrument of this. . . complexity. I’m fumbling these basics,” you said, not hiding the quiet sense of disappointment in your tone. “I’m sure I’m easily the worst student you’ve had all week.”

“Not even close to the worst,” he said easily. Gently. “Don’t worry. Just. . . keep with it. It’s your first day. You’re still in your first hour. Don’t beat yourself up.”

Your face flushed as his cologne took over your senses; he shifted just a little closer to you on the couch. 

“That’s terrifying that you’ve had worse than me this week,” you joked, halfway, looking up from under your lashes. 

He was already looking at you – through those blue lenses – in a way that made you feel special. You didn���t know why it made you feel so special. . . it just did. 

With a gentle shake of his head in response, his eyes were open and soft as he looked down at you. “And. . . your fingers are made for this instrument. . . I believe it and I’ve taught a hellton of people, so. . . please, believe me,” he said, blinking once at you in a way that you think was supposed to be a wink. It was so cute. “The fingers just don’t know the truth quite yet. You will get the hang of it, though. . . I promise.”

“My fingers. . .they’re too delicate on it and too hard, all at once,” you argued, raising a brow at him. “You have to see that.”

“Well,” he said, gaze flicking down to your hands, softly and thoughtfully. 

He reached over with one deliberate and calloused digit and his thumb, gently grabbing your pointer finger. He moved it up just a bit higher on the fret board to be situated correctly on the string. 

And, God. . . Even grabbing your finger with one of his made you feel. . .things. His touch was calculated in the sexiest way. His intelligence made you feel weak in a way that you wished it didn’t. 

He continued, “I happen to think your fingers are. . .exquisite. They’re just right for it. They will know how to work the guitar,” he coughed once, briefly, before continuing. “They will play well. Just. . . trust me.”

The words had hardly any time to linger before he was averting his gaze and you were looking down at the wood under your hands once more. 

Your fucking thighs were suddenly sweating. 

“Let’s keep going.”

–||–

Slowly, you were truly giving up hope that this had been the correct instrument choice for you.

“Can you show me that one more time?” You warily asked, worried that you were becoming annoying with how many times you’d asked him to repeat certain actions. “I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t help the apology. 

But his smile reassured you, loose and easy on his lips as he nodded. “Absolutely,” he replied, voice smooth as the satin of his shirt. “And don’t apologize, y/n. It’s your first lesson. I get it.”

You grinned back, appreciatively as he placed his fingers on the strings of his guitar to produce E major.  

He did it once, then looked at you, with a gentle nod and a real wink you could see just beyond the tinted blue frames. (Fuck.) 

“Alright,” he began with a gentle chuckle. The dimple in his cheek caused your brain to lapse. “Now, do you want me to do it with you once more, too? And then you can try on your own again? What would be best for you?”

“Both,” you replied, your cheeks surely pink under the care and concern woven through his stare. You felt the flush in your cheeks as your fingers slipped a bit on the harsh metal of the strings. 

You knew the sweat accumulating everywhere on your body was from embarrassment. . . But you also knew it was from something else you did not want to name. 

—||—

Once you’d finally gotten E major down, you looked at the clock. 

Just to gauge the time. 

It was 5:45. You could spare five minutes. Right?

Water was a necessity — your mouth was dry as fuck from the way you felt under the watch of this man. 

And you knew that the longer you stayed in one spot, the worse it was going to get. So, with one wary glance towards Jake, you chose to put your guitar to the side. He seemed to be in no rush. 

As you rose, placing your guitar on the couch in your spot, he continued to strum something on his guitar. “You do not seem like the type of woman to give up when things get hard,” he noted, raising a brow at you. “Please tell me I’m correct in my assumption.”

“Yes,” you replied, softly. “You are definitely correct. Giving up isn’t something I like to do. Which is why I need a glass of water to keep me going. You?”

“Sure,” he murmured, already moving to put his guitar in its case to stand with you. 

Quickly, you placed a hand out to stop him. “No, no. You stay,” you shook your head, he scrunched a brow, ass still rising from the sofa. “Seriously. I’ll be fast. . . And, honestly, I need you to keep strumming those heavenly melodies because it is truly helping me stay calm.”

At those words, he lowered himself back down to the couch. “You’re sure that’s all you need from me?”

God, why did he care? It was so considerate of him to want to help however he could, but. . . You couldn’t figure it out. You’d been nothing but a hot damn mess of no-talent, and still he wanted to do whatever he could. Your chest lit up at the idea of him wanting to help you in any circumstance. It felt. . .comforting. 

You hadn’t felt this sort of safety, away from your Mom, since you’d moved to New York for Juilliard. You’d made great friends, of course, but the genuinity behind his eyes was. . . Different.

“Yes,” you said again, nodding smoothly, already turning. As you walked towards this kitchen, you continued speaking, over your shoulder. “You could play some soft rock if you really want me to relax.”

“Any specific decade?”

Your answer was instantaneous, your favorite was, “1970’s — its acoustics are arguably the most hauntingly intimate of any decade.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” he agreed, re-tuning the instrument to fit the favored keys from the time. 

And just as you turned into the kitchen, you saw a little close-mouthed grin from him. The expression that took over his features made you feel a unique sense of security. 

It was strange, and you didn’t give it much thought. . . But you did feel your shoulders ease just a bit. 

—||—

He’d been playing through snippets of John Denver’s catalogue for the past few minutes, before then switching to some James Taylor, to now settling on some Bread. It was hotter than you wanted to admit that he knew so much music. 

(You went to Juilliard, of course music-lovers were naturally appealing to you. . . And when they looked like Jake? Yeah, damn near titillating to watch his musical knowledge take shape right in front of your eyes. . . You were just being honest.) 

As you’d gone about getting the drinks, he’d kept on with his melodies, making the smallest bit of small talk with you from the other room as he played. 

And, as you’d sat down beside him, he’d only momentarily paused to say ‘thank you’ and take a drink. It took him almost no time before he was continuing, nodding his head to the beat. Your breath had caught when his eyes had stayed on you, as he’d picked it back up flawlessly. 

After having sat in contented quietness as he went back to watching his guitar as he played, you took a few generous gulps of your water. But, once you’d set the glass down, you’d decided you had to watch his fingers. 

Probably a little dangerous, yes, but. . . His talent was prodigious. 

Though, when you let your eyes focus on the fluidity and grace of his touch on the fretboard, you noticed something. 

A significantly long, white scar on his left forearm. 

Offhandedly, you heard yourself asking before you could consider it being an invasion of personal information. “What’s the scar from?”

It might have surprised him, with the way his brows raised with curiosity at your question. But, he flowed with the question just as he did with the instrument. 

“I broke it wrestling in eighth grade,” he replied with a little snort of a laugh, watching you. “Or so the story goes. . .”

“You wrestled?” You asked next, not able to help how you enjoyed hearing that little tidbit about him. “No offense, but I can’t really see you as the wrestler type. . .,” you smirked at him from under your lashes.

His own smile remained, then he continued to explain. “Oh fuck no,” he said, letting his fingers move a little quicker on a new song. “I wasn’t on the wrestling team or anything. . . I was just messing around with a friend and fucked myself over.”

“Damn,” you breathed a little laugh, sitting your chin in your hand to watch him. Your fingers ticked against your chin, watching him as he watched his instrument. “Were you already playing guitar?”

“I’ve been playing since I was three,” he replied with a smile, as if talking about his first love. And, it only made sense. . . you were sure guitar had to be his first love. “Started crawling to my dad’s guitars early on.”

“Wow,” you breathed, completely enraptured with the man sitting beside you. With every word he spoke, he became more of a dream. “Three?”

“Yup,” he chuckled, his eyes seeming to sparkle through his blue lense. “What was your first instrument?”

He hadn’t stopped his alternating style of strumming, then picking. And his current current song of choice was a favorite of yours: “It Don’t Matter To Me.”

“I’ve been singing since before I could string together full sentences,” you said, catching his look of respect. 

“Child prodigy,” he commented with a knowing look. “I can appreciate that.”

“Takes one to know one,” you replied smoothly. 

“Not always,” he said with a little laugh and a shake of his head. “. . .but in this case. . .,” he trailed off.

“Exactly my point,” you giggled, going back to watching him. You were still curious about one thing. “So, if you were playing guitar already. . . How in the hell did you cope with not being able to play — with your broken arm, and all?”

“I didn’t stop,” he said with a mischievous grin. You raised a brow at him, silently asking him to continue. “Well, I guess technically I did. Just for a little bit. I got surgery like three days after I broke it, had that goddamn cast on for six months. . . But. . . The durability of the cast was no match for my middle of the night trip to my dad’s power sander in the shed.”

“What?!” You gasped, mouth hanging open on a laugh. “No way.”

“Oh, of course,” he said, nodding with a scrunch of his brow as he picked up a Clapton song out of thin air. “I couldn’t let a damn cast get in the way. I kept the cast on, but shaved it down on the underside of my hand.”

“And the doctors. . .?”

“Were impressed,” he chuckled, eyes looking in the distance as if remembering the exact moment he had to show the medical professionals. “They told me it would help to strengthen the muscle. Let me keep the cast that way. Gained an entire fret that way.”

“Incredible,” you sighed, more to yourself than him. You were in awe of him. “So you basically forced a weakness to become one of your greatest strengths?”

“You could say that,” he said with a smile, eyes finding yours with a softness in his gaze you couldn’t shake. Your heart fluttered. “Watch this.”

And, right there, before your eyes, you watched as he stretched his thumb and pinky finger inexplicably higher on the fretboard. You hadn’t ever seen someone do it. 

“That’s your superpower,” you giggled, trying not to think of what else he could do with the extended range. 

“One of them,” he smugly replied, his sly smirk, making your cheeks pink. 

Fuck.

After a moment of silence, he surprised you by continuing the conversation with another question. “So. . . Why’d you choose to learn guitar?” 

Your cheeks were hot as he put you on the spot. 

But. . . You were okay with answering any question he had at this point. Even when you glanced at the clock, nearing 5:55, and decided you could keep talking until 6:00. 

“My mom always wanted me to learn piano,” you began, nail picking at a loose thread on your leggings as you looked down to observe the motion. But you could still feel his eyes on you. “But I never wanted to. Just wanted to focus on singing.”

He continued playing, filling the space with sweet sounds as you decided how to explain the next part without getting too sappy. 

“My cousin Jill, she always played the guitar, though. . . And I admired her greatly. She was ten years older than me and I honestly always looked at her as someone I wanted to be like when I got older,” you explained, suddenly feeling his stare against the side of your head. Your throat clogged a little before you continued. But. You kept going. “When I was eighteen, Jill died in a freak accident. No will. All of her things, sold.” 

Abruptly, he stopped playing and it caused your heart to skip a beat. You needed his music. 

“You can keep playing. Please,” you huffed a laugh in spite of the story. “It helps me to focus.”

As he picked back up, you kept going.

“All I have left of her are memories and photos,” you sniffed, willing the tears to go away so as to not make him pity you. “It was easily the most traumatic thing I’ve ever had to heal from. . .  And, as I watched at her family’s auction as they sold her guitar, I decided I had to do right by her. Somehow. I told myself that day that if I could just do it without breaking down, I wanted — had — to someday honor her by playing the guitar.”

“Wow. . .,” he breathed, letting your words linger in the air. You didn’t know Jake well, but you had zero doubt he was the type of person to not let someone have their moment. He just gave off that energy. “Well. . . For one, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t ever know how to respond to that,” you genuinely laughed, swiping at the one stray tear that had leaked from the corner of your eye. “Because I’m sorry, too. Grief is weird.”

“I lost my Grandpa a few months back. Greatest man I’ve ever known. . . So. . . Yeah. . . I—um. I understand how weird it can feel,” he responded, fingers never letting up on the Jim Croce song he was now playing. 

“It sucks,” was all you said, before realizing you needed to respond a little more emotionally. You peeked over at him, your eyes waiting for him to look at you. “I hate that you lost your Grandpa.”

“I hate that you lost your cousin,” he said in solidarity, his irises finally meeting yours. “But I’m going to do everything I can to help you honor her.”

Those words were some of the most kind-hearted and caring that you’d ever heard. You didn’t know how to respond to them, so all you could do was say ‘thanks.’

You felt lighter, now, than you had fifteen minutes ago. Talking with him, hearing him play. . . It had made the tension easily dissipate from you, a fresh smile stuck on your lips as you went to pick up your own guitar again. 

And when you glanced over at him again, you caught him watching you, fingers now strumming “You’ve Got A Friend” by James Taylor. . . His eyes were shadowed by the lenses, sure, but you could see every bit of feeling in his irises as he strummed the familiar tune.

The song was a gesture that made a grin light up your features. A real one. It was the brightest smile you could muster at the moment. The apples of your cheeks blushed, and your eyes squinted just a bit more than a normal smile would have them. 

And in response, his eyes seemed to shine all the more bright from behind those lenses, a wide, close-lipped smile lifting his own lips.

—||—

Now that you had left the quiet moment, you were on to the next chord.

E minor. Shouldn’t have been hard. But, for you, of course, it was.

And you were struggling. . . Again. 

Shocker.

He was sitting next to you on your couch. Not too close, but close enough to teach you the way of the instrument in a way you wouldn’t want anyone else to. 

And your body was feeling hotter by the second. Because, you’d spent the last several minutes, before and after your moment, watching his fingers — closely. 

He was teaching you guitar, for God’s sake — you had to memorize and track their movements.

You’d paid attention to their example as well as you could, but you were a warm-blooded woman. And his fingers were so strong and purposeful against the strings — it had been almost erotic to watch them. You hated that you were objectifying the man to such an extent, but who could blame you? He was so pretty, skilled, and kind? 

His proximity was making it a little more than difficult to focus, but you knew it was necessary to learn. 

(You’d also made the tragic realization when he’d first sat down with you — his body moving just enough, closer to yours than you were prepared for — that he smelled delicious. The perfect mix of spicy, sweet, and sandalwood.)

The weight of the strings was making your fingertips throb in pain with how he’d instructed you to press down on them. But, nonetheless, you placed your fingers just like his. 

You tried the current chord again, with him, looking up at him to see what he thought of the way your guitar rang with his. It sounded better than it had. . . But now, it was time for you to play it on your own. 

You really wanted to see his eyes to gather reassurance that you were playing decently. But, his eyes were still mostly hidden behind his glasses. The fact that he hadn’t taken them off yet sort of rubbed you the wrong way, as you liked being able to look someone in the eyes when speaking to them. 

And learning from someone made it even more necessary, as you could feel so much more emotion when connecting eyes with someone. 

The sunglasses made it harder than you would’ve liked to not feel like an utter moron in front of this man. 

(You were not going to admit that you mostly just really wanted to see the genuine color of his eyes.)

With a healthy amount of nerves and slipping fingers, you placed your grip exactly as he’d instructed for E minor. The press of the strings felt like needles against your skin. But, when you strummed the chord and it rang out perfectly, you were so damn relieved.

He let out an appreciative hum that you felt in the pit of your tummy, and when you looked up to gauge his reaction, his smile was wide. It was the first time all night you’d seen his full smile. 

“That’s it, y/n,” he stated, pride painting his features. “You are doing a damn good job.”

Those words. Why were they making your chest heat? 

And god. . . his teeth. That smile.

Even it was sin. A smile, sculpted to perfectly match any female gaze. White, shiny, impeccably straight — fitting the shape of his mouth unlike any other set of teeth you’d ever seen. And the pronunciation of his canines made your heart skip. 

He was impossibly handsome. 

You forced yourself to get back on track, your eyes glancing at the clock when you noticed that it was nearing 6:10. 

His voice brought you back to the present, your gaze flickering back over to his face. 

“Alright. One more chord. This one will be a bit trickier. . . But I always throw it in at the end of my basic chord instruction,” he smirked, and you felt it all the way down to your toes. “And then, our first lesson can wrap up,” he stated, lips in an easy close-lipped grin again. “You ready?”

— || — 

Turned out, the next chord was even more impossible than the one prior. 

And by 6:23, you still hadn’t gotten it down and you missed the simplicity of the others, compared to this one.

D minor. Your official worst nemesis. 

It had been minutes of you watching, playing with him, and attempting on your own. Over and over again. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d asked him to repeat the finger placement and strum. You didn’t know why you couldn’t just get. it. down.

And, even if he’d seemed very patient so far, you had a feeling he was starting to wear thin. 

Nearly fifteen minutes of someone fighting for their life to get a not even mildly complex chord down? Yeah, that was not anyone’s idea of a good time. You were sure of that. 

By what seemed like the hundredth try, he was sighing heavily. Still smiling, but you felt the weight of being watched by an incredibly attractive and talented man as you continuously striked out. 

You wanted to shrivel up in a hole.

But, when you heaved a defeated sigh after trying once more and the sound still mimicking that of a cat getting its tail stepped on, the tiniest whimper fell from your lips in agony. 

When your head fell to your chest, you felt the couch dip further in your direction. And when you looked up, he was. . .closer. The end of his thigh nearest to his knee, pressing to the side of your thigh. Your heart raced and your fingers slipped off the strings for another reason altogether. 

You felt his nearness in the pit of your tummy, like butterflies frolicking in a daze. 

He smelled like every woman’s dream. And his hair looked so soft and healthy, the waves that made up the texture of his hair, complimenting him. 

“Hey, hey. . . It’s okay,” he softly murmured, breath dusting the side of your face. He placed his fingers on your shoulder with a gentle press, before he was gesturing towards your red and aching fingers. “Mind if I. . .?”

All you could do was nod, curious as to what he was about to do. 

And, as if in slow motion, his hand came up slowly – cautious and confidently steady in his action. Your body thrummed at his next action, head light and dizzy as his hand grasped yours completely in a knowledgeable grasp. His hand was warm and knowing. Your body felt weightless as you watched him mold your hand with his own to make the shape needed for the sound. 

“Alright, keep them like that while we move,” he said, looking at you briefly from behind the lenses. His eyes were comforting and promising as he held your fingers apart with one of his – the muscle and strength in his fingers was making you slowly lose sanity. 

The words, ‘while we move’, on repeat in your brain as your hand finally found its home, on the neck. The firm grip of the palm of his hand, still holding the back of yours. 

“There,” he murmured, so close to your ear you felt his breath as it swooshed the long bangs that hung beside your face. “Let the string throb under your nail. . . you’ll be able to feel it when it settles.”

You knew he didn’t mean anything by it and you were simply touch starved after months of no one in your bed (Juilliard classes didn’t allow time for that), but. . . the word ‘throb’ was possibly the worst thing he could have said at that moment. (Or possibly the best.)

It was difficult – trying to take note of all of his teachings, while also feeling like a woman in the Victorian era who’d never known the touch of a man. (God, you were a loser. . . And he just wasn’t — like. . . at all.)

You did as he said, his hand still holding yours to keep you in place, and by the grace of a higher power, the note rang out splendidly – flawlessly. 

Even after you’d produced the sound, his hand stayed on yours for a few more beats than necessary. You sneaked a look at him, from the corner of your eye, the pink on your cheeks was impossible to hide. And he was close enough for you to smell the minty freshness of his mouth.  You could also see the detail of that little marr in his lower lip. 

You wondered, briefly, how he’d cut his lip. 

His smile was bright, pretty teeth tempting to show from behind his full lips. 

“Yeah. . .,” he replied, his voice rich and rasping on the single syllable. “That’s it, y/n.” 

You felt his breath fanning over your neck, the words floating across your skin. . . And you couldn’t help wanting to put the guitar down completely and focus on the way he felt against your skin. . .

And that was a problem.

–||–

The time was glaring at you from your phone on the table and the clock on the wall, judging you for attempting the tiniest, simplest chord progression. 

Your eyes had flicked to both displays of time, any time you took a breath to try again. 

Time was ticking.

It was coming up on 6:30, and you had class at 7:00, with a twenty minute drive to campus.

You were also only paying him for an hour. 

And, you’d officially gone past time — ten minutes past the time that he got here, that is. 

You didn’t know what that meant for your bill for this session, but you couldn’t afford much more than the $100 you were already spending on today’s lesson.

(To begin with, the $100 was definitely pricier than all of the others in the area, but your classmates had reassured you that he was ‘worth the extra money’. And, at this point, you had to agree, wholeheartedly. He was a very good teacher and ridiculously patient. . . also, just plain fucking sexy. He was worth every cent.)

After your thousand-and-first failed attempt at the simplest progression known to man, he exhaled deeper and slower than he had so far. He chuckled a bit after the long sigh, but you knew he had to be tired of this. Who wouldn’t be exasperated at this point? 

When you looked up from your sweaty hand, you immediately started apologizing. You couldn’t look at his face. 

“I’m so sorry,” you shook your head, bringing the hand that had been strumming up to your forehead to facepalm. (Your hand smelled like pennies in a way that was oddly satisfying, you had to admit.) 

Though, you couldn’t even feel proud of your hard work because you’d failed many more times than succeeding in the last thirty minutes. You let out your own sigh, letting him know that you understood any tiredness or irritation. You continued, “I know it’s so frustrating that I can’t get this down, and I know how rude it is of me to keep you past your paid time.”

He was silent in response, so you looked up to take in his reaction. Your heart was racing from nerves — embarrassment taking over your entire body. Because, not only did you suck ass, you had a metaphorical hard-on for his appearance alone. And he’d been so kind and willing to help the entire time. . . He’d been so great that he was very nearly a fictitious male character in a romance novel. 

And you were fucking it up.

Great first impression, y/n.

“Please don’t say sorry,” he assured you, the hand that had been on the neck of his guitar reaching out to touch your thigh. His leg hadn’t stopped touching yours since he’d initially placed it there. And the heat of his calloused fingertips on your leggings. . . The warm pressure was seeping through enough to make your brain lag on the four words. “We’ve got nothing but time. No worries. No penalties,” he finished, the smile in his tone, meant to make you feel better. 

But, when you glanced at the time on your phone — again — you noticed it was 6:35. Class. Twenty five minutes. Twenty minute drive. Shit.

“I’ll just show you again how to–,” he began, but your brain was wired at the thought of continuing to fail and your very real, growing probability of being late to class. 

You’d never been late to any class, a day in your life.

You shook your head once again, brushing the metal-smelling hand through your hair to get your long bangs out of your face. “No, actually. We, um – we don’t have time. I’ve gotta wrap it up. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got places to be,” you rushed out, a breathy laugh dropping into the last statement. “I can’t afford to be late like some people can. Don’t have it in me to be rude and disrespect a professor like that, you know?”

You were jittery; your words were coming out faster than you would’ve liked. His touch was making it hard to think. 

But, as soon as you took a breath, you instantly noticed his hand, falling from your leg. Fast. Like you’d burnt him. 

Fuck. 

Your words had tripped over themselves enough to make you sound like a fucking asshole. You knew that. Dammit. And you hadn’t even meant for it to be a target against him. You instantly looked up at him, ready to re-explain.   

But, when you saw his face, it was already stone-cold, his lips set in a hard line, one of his thick brows was raised at you. Your cheeks heated at the seriousness of his stare. It was new — he hadn’t shown you this look yet. 

You felt like you were being chastised with no chance for explanation. And you hated how his stare made your tummy flip over and over.

It all pissed you off just a little more than you felt comfortable with. 

Anyways, his sudden irritation with you was unwarranted for a couple of reasons. 

One: you were paying him. Heftily.

And, two: he had arrived late enough that he owed you some grace. The same you’d given him. 

You tried to bite your tongue. You really did. You didn’t want him to be completely irate with you. You wanted to keep him as an instructor. Because, truly, he’d been wonderful.

But. You weren’t going to let him get all irritable when you had done your very best to be kind when he’d started off on the wrong foot by being late today. 

“It’s not like I wanted to keep you late. I just don’t have time, like you do, to be late,” you hastily explained. Though, yet again, you knew you sounded bitchy. 

And now, it was targeted and he didn’t deserve that. Really. 

So, you began to correct yourself. “Like. Not that I haven’t enjoyed our time. I have. I just don’t have the extra time ton—.”

“If you’re that anxious for the lesson to be over, all you’ve gotta do is let me know,” he insisted, a sense of finality lacing his words. His eyes averted, to his case on the ground beside his feet. “I don’t mind the extra time. However, I do prefer for my clients to be pleased with my help. I’d rather not make you feel anxious to be rid of it. So. . .,” he cleared his throat, the bit of scruff above his upper lip moving as his nose twitched, you watched the little shadow of hair too closely for it to be considered normal. “I will go ahead and get out of here. Don’t want to get in the way.”

And, suddenly, his thigh wasn’t touching yours and he was moving. No longer was he in the hunched position he’d been in for the past hour or so. Without you being able to blink twice, he was sticking his pick in his mouth and putting his guitar back in its case. 

Your thoughts raced, trying to figure out how to explain what you meant without tripping over your words and humiliating yourself further. “Wait—. That’s not what I—. . . Fuck,” you laughed off the awkwardness, your words lingering in the silence of the room. “I’m sorry. Just. . . Yeah.”

Where the fuck were your words?

He didn’t stop to try to listen to your babbling, he just kept putting his instrument away. Before you knew it, he was on his knees, snapping the black case closed. You tried not to watch the curve of ass in his jeans as he squatted. 

But, damn. Every inch of him was made for the female gaze.

You couldn’t appreciate it for too long, though, because that task was soon complete, and he was back on his feet. 

When you connected eyes again, he was staring at you with an expression that resembled a wall. Blank. None of the heart that had been there for the past several minutes existed any longer. As you���d worked on chord after chord for the past hour and a half, that unwavering softness in his gaze. . . was gone.  

He was standing at full height in front of you, his shirt opened just a bit more to show the sharp lines of his chest. Your eye caught the firmness of the muscle in his pecs underneath the satin material. His chains, clinking between the twin muscles of his chest.    

His line of sight had averted to his own wrist watch, checking the time. Your gaze followed his there, admiring the strength in his forearm and the scar that you now knew the story behind. . .

So before he could say anything else, you decided you had to clear the air. 

“It isn’t you,” you hurried out, placing your guitar on the couch next to you. As soon as you could, you were standing up, too, trying to gain his attention. “I just—I have class in like less than thirty minutes and a twenty minute drive to school.”

He nodded, a smile stretched thin on his lips. You caught the tick in his jaw, but didn’t pay it much mind. He’d told you earlier that he’d had a long day. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“I get it,” he replied, the words coming out sharper than you would have liked. His head tilted towards the front door, eyes peeking briefly from the tops of his glasses. “Better get on with it, then, hm?”

It was your turn to raise a brow as he shifted, moving in the direction of the door. You’d seen his eyes. Finally. 

Brown eyes. Dark, brown eyes. Your chest clenched; for some reason beyond you, your heart was beating hard.

What was it that this man brought out in you? 

You had no choice but to follow him to the door. And once you were there, you pulled out your phone. His website had said he could do CashApp, so that was the app you chose to pull up as he was going to reach for the knob. 

Didn’t he want you to pay? Or at least say anything else before he left? Seriously. For being so well-revered, he was beginning to act like a bit of an asshole. Where had the kind-hearted teacher gone?

“Your site said you use CashApp?” You said, watching his broad shoulders bunch underneath his shirt at the sound of your voice. 

“What?” He asked, sharply, only looking over his shoulder to acknowledge you.

Okay, fuck you, too, you thought on a heavy inhale that you could only hope he heard and understood. Get off your high horse, buddy.

“CashApp,” you stated, icily, to match his tone. “Can I pay you with it?”

Shockingly, he was turning on one boot-lifted heel, facing you once again. “Yes,” he began, plainly. “CashApp works. $100. An extra $15 for the fifteen minutes past start time.”

As you clicked through the apps on your phone to the little green icon, you paused. 

No way.

Then, you asked, voice a little sweeter than necessary. A honeydew tone, you’d call it. “You were late. . .,” you said with a sort of giggle, selling the sweet. You were still staring at the screen of your phone.

“And you went past the allotted time slot. Even with my tardiness,” he explained, professionalism evident with a hint of annoyance.

But you were annoyed, too. (Even if his rationale made sense. . . so did yours.)

So, you tested him with your next question, still staring at your thumbs — hovering above your screen. You didn’t know why you chose to ask it. But, you did. “You’re not going to call it even since you showed up so damn late? As the tutor himself?”

“I prefer the term instructor,” he corrected. 

And, in your opinion, the correction was for essentially no reason at all, but to keep the upper hand. Because what the fuck? Why did that even matter?

Suddenly, you remembered something he’d said.

“You said no penalties,” you reminded him, finally looking up at him with fire behind your irises. “For going past time. You said we had nothing but ti—.”

“If you read my site, you’ll find my regulations and policies. And if you do, you’ll come to find that I reserve the right to decide if a client owes me an additional amount of money for any incident or inconvenience,” he recited, as if he were actually looking at the damn webpage.

“What about your inconvenience to the student?” You bit out, keeping his eyes in a vice grip with your own. “Hm?” 

His brows drew together, confused or angry. Probably both. “Excuse me?”

“You caused me an inconvenience when you initially betrayed the ‘allotted time slot’,” you tossed back, using his own words and logic against him. “You showed up late. We ended late. That should be called what it is,” you explained, tone biting just enough to stand your ground. With one step forward to prove your point, you looked up just enough to keep his line of sight with the new proximity. “‘Even’ is what we call that, Mr. Kiszka.”

The term seemed to catch him off guard, his jaw tightening as his eyes became even darker behind his lenses. Your chest heated. You could tell from the way his eyes settled on your face that you were past the point of irking him. His brow raised at you. “I never told you to call me that.”

“You said it yourself. You’re my instructor,” you said, tilting your chin up to emphasize the point. “And we’re all about maintaining professionalism with the damn time slot even when you were also in the wrong. . . so. I don’t know. Makes a whole lot of damn sense to me.”

“Next time you book with me, I’ll remember just how transactional you like for a lesson to be,” he said, tone clipped with a tick of his jaw. “Feels like I’m under a damn microscope.”

You bit back, not about to take it lying down. “Oh. . . I’m the one who’s being ‘transactional’? You’re the one who’s being so meticulous about the ‘policies’ and ‘regulations’, Mr. Kiszka.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You just said it. I’m transactional. I like to keep it professional,” you iterated, taking a step closer to him. It might have been too much, but he didn’t move back when you did it. Win. You were winning. “I wouldn’t have been twenty minutes late to my first session with a student–.”

“Client–.”

“I would have shown up on time to make a halfway-decent first impression,” you continued, unphased by his interruption. Your head was buzzing and your teeth felt tight in your mouth. 

“You know, it’s funny,” he replied, his tone lowering to imply anything but humorous nature. You stilled, your body already rigid for whatever he was planning to say. “For being so hyper focused on my professionalism, you seem to be one to take things a little too personally.”

“Well, I think that you, Mr, Kiszka, are not above criticism just because you have such a big fucking head,” you snapped, not a fan of how he was calling you out so bluntly. Did you take things too personally? Yes. All of the time. But it wasn’t a stranger’s job to point that out. “You, sir, charge too damn much for someone who doesn’t take his time seriously.”

His eyes glazed over with something new — something feral. It made your ears hot and you crossed your arms over your chest, as your breasts attempted to expose your true reaction to the fire in his gaze. The air was significantly warmer. . . You felt the way his eyes settled on your face. . . all the way to the deepest, most hollow part of your belly. 

His stare, settling in your veins like fire as he took one step towards you — where you continued to stand, unmoving. You raised a brow at him to mask the way you felt your entire body catching fire at the power of his presence.

“I don’t know what about that lesson told you, Miss y/n, that I don’t take my time seriously. Yes, I was late, but how much time did we just spend on that couch? With zero complaint from me,” he rushed out, pointing a finger at the sofa in question. “How many times did I repeat those simple fucking chords with you, just to make sure you understood to the best of your damn ability?”

In your mind, you could still see the lesson replaying – on a mocking loop of failure. The tremble in your lip was more from offense than anything, but you knew he was right. . . and that stung. Was this him complaining now?

“I didn’t think you–,” you started, ready to combat his words.

But he wasn’t finished.

“There’s something else that’s, I don’t know, pretty odd. . .,” he laughed, once again, humorlessly. “You want me to be so damn business-like when you couldn’t keep your eyes to yours–. Fuck,” he brought a hand up to his face, his two silver bracelets clinking against each other with the motion. “Never mind.”

Your skin prickled at the idea of what he was about to say. 

All you knew was that you found it pretty damn embarrassing that he had caught you checking him out upon his arrival. At this point, you wanted to forget that any of this had happened at all. . . But, even with the anger, your body flared in a way that craved him. And with the way his chest expanded on every choppy breath, you couldn’t help but let your eyes go to it. 

Your body was betraying you.

When you looked back to him, after catching sight of his heaving chest, you caught him doing the same thing to you. . .It shocked you, that he was looking at you the same way. Your own breaths ragged, making your breasts push up, just a bit, above the v-neck, long sleeved shirt you wore. . . That he’d apparently noticed. 

And you couldn’t keep your eyes to yourself? 

But you weren’t complaining. His eyes felt fucking good on you. So, you looked away, not wanting him to know you’d caught him. Wanted to help him keep that secret. . . But, the air stayed unnecessarily tense between you two for a few measured moments, all harsh breaths and no words. 

The air, humid between your faces. 

When you looked back up towards his face, he was still not looking at your face. His eyes, this time, on your hips. And, as you caught him licking his lips while his stare traveled back up your body, to your breasts, your temperature spiked and your panties drew wetness. Then, he pinched his eyes shut, bringing a pointer and thumb to his lids as he took a deep breath in through his nose. 

His jaw was clenched — hard. 

You looked away once more, not ready to expose that you’d caught him. And, finally, you felt safe to let yourself look at him again. 

When you did, his eyes sank into yours, battling some internal war with you. But, you didn’t back down, staying planted in your spot — you refused to bend.

“You know,” you began, locating the wherewithal to test him — push him — further. “I don’t know if it works on your other clientele, but this little flip to intense, moody, and brooding behavior? It doesn’t intimidate me nearly as much as you want it to.”

The two of you still weren’t close enough to be nose to nose, but you were close enough to feel his breath fan across your face when he exhaled. His nostrils flared in response, chest flexing as fire took hold of your gaze.

You pretended it didn’t cause your tummy to flip. 

“Fine,” he finally bit out, his gaze momentarily fleeting to the bottom of your face. You pretended not to notice as he licked his lips. “$100 and we’ll call it fucking even.”

Before you could have the final word, he was turning on that same heel as before, back to the door. 

It was less than thirty seconds before he was turning the knob and out of your home. 

And, as you grumbled to yourself about him and gathered your things for class — leaving right on time to make it in at 7:00 — you couldn’t help but feel your tummy dip at the very real possibility of not having a lesson with him again. 

But you were sure it was the best idea to not approach that again with the way things had ended tonight. 

Goddammit. 

How had it escalated so quickly? 

—||—

It was a little over a week later, the day after you should have had your second lesson with Jake.

Or, as you’d snarkily referred to him — ‘Mr. Kiszka’. God. What in the fuck had gotten into you?

You couldn’t help but feel ashamed of your little heated debate. But, even a week later, you hadn’t been able to pin the exact moment things had shifted for him.

Your words had obviously hurt his feelings. 

But, after your quiet moment of bonding, you were stuck on why he’d let such a simple thing as a few misspoken words ruin his entire attitude.

If he really had been offended by your lack of thoughtful words, why had he completely shut down — so quickly? When he’d been so different with you — mere moments before your idiotic word-stumble?

It didn’t matter. 

You’d never see the man again. You had already decided to book with another person for lessons. 

And, with this one, he had included a photo of himself on his website. This tutor, looking much more like you’d expected Jacob Kiszka to look. 

Tutor. Maybe you needed to refer to this old man as ‘instructor’ — just like Jake had insisted. 

God. Why had he been like that? 

Why had you been like that? 

Fuck. 

It. Didn’t. Matter.

—||—

A few weeks later, Jake was. . .a little further from your mind. 

You’d hardly thought of him at all. (Almost.)

A mysterious, sexy, near-stranger, who was a talented asshole. 

He was a musician in the truest sense, you had to admit. 

A bit flaky. A bit stubborn. A bit of an asshole. That was based on what you knew of musicians. And you knew musicians well — surrounding yourself with them on a daily basis for the past two and a half years of school at Juilliard.

He was also evanescent. A moment in time. A blur. A brief encounter. 

A musician.

Through-and-fucking-through.

You hated how he’d stuck around in your mind. There was zero point. You knew better.

—||—

It had been a month since the first failed guitar lesson. 

And, since then, you’d become fairly well acquainted with your new, more-than-slightly grouchy, elderly instructor. 

Gideon Cross. 

He was well-known by many of your friends, too. He was a legend of sorts — a few people you knew had referred to him as ‘Ghostfingers’. . . Friends of yours had explained his ‘unbelievably light touch’ and how he ‘basically produces notes out of thin air.’

And, yes, he was massively talented. But, he was also a massive asshole. Not patient. Not nearly as tactful of a teacher as Jake had been. 

But, he had taught you your very first song on the hollow, wooden instrument. 

“Wonderwall” had been your choice of song to learn first. (Corny? No doubt. Predictable? Humiliatingly so. . . .But, it was easy for your mostly inexperienced hands.)

So to celebrate, your friends had decided to get drinks at The Iridium. Your group loved to check out live music in the city (you were music majors, come on). And, one of your professors had mentioned The Iridium was hosting a night for local guitarists to showcase their music. 

A Local Guitarist Exposition, it had been penned.

You would not be performing (no way in hell), but a couple of your friends figured it was the ideal celebration experience for what you’d accomplished. 

—||— 

What you hadn’t expected was to see him at The Iridium.

Jake.

You didn’t know why you hadn’t expected it. He was a local guitarist. Ridiculously talented. Widely known enough amongst your Ivy League classmates and professors to initially recommend him to you for (expensive) lessons. . . . 

And it was fucking guitarist showcase for the locally well known musicians, much like Jake.

It should have dawned on you before he was walking onto the stage, boots clicking enticingly against the stage floor. The same chains that had adorned his neck and chest the night you’d met, the same ones on his body now. His earrings — hoops — that peeked just right through his freshly waved locks. 

And, of course. . . sunglasses. You weren’t surprised. These, though, had a light orange tint instead of blue.

You stood, dumbfounded and awestruck, as your fellow classmates cheered for him. All of them yelled his name. All of them knew who he was — even the ones who hadn’t recommended him. 

In fact, as the stagehands helped him get ready for his set, everyone in The Iridium cheered for him. And, even more of a crowd started to gather from outside the venue. Passersby seemed to quickly notice the name, faces lighting up. . . And, the more noise people made, the larger the crowd became. 

It seemed every person in the place and around the place knew who he was. 

(Your eyes had immediately clocked a group of ten or so women at the two tables nearest to the stage. . . These girls, who held damn hearts in their eyes for him, were wearing outfits that left very little to the imagination. Every last one of them, decked out in black, with their asses and titties on near-full display, all for him, you were sure (the pieces were inherently lingerie, if you were being honest.)

How did everyone on this side of New York seem to know of him? You were very much a part of the music scene (had been for the two and a half years of attending Juilliard) and you hadn’t even known to expect a young male as your instructor that first evening of lessons? 

You were still reeling a little from the shock of seeing him again, right in front of you, as he looped the thin leather guitar strap over his back. 

He did so with his back facing the audience, which you took as an opportunity to appreciate his back in the white satin shirt he now wore. His shoulders, broad and begging to be grabbed. And his pants, a pair of tapered black slacks, hanging on his hips and legs like he was the only man to ever wear a pair of slacks. 

And the boots on his feet, a bit sharper, with a slightly taller heel than the ones he’d shown up in at your house. 

By the time he began, the place was packed. 

You watched with lust clouding your vision as his hands began to manipulate those strings on the worn red Gibson Les Paul, you stood in complete and utter astonishment. You’d known that first day, sitting next to him as he seamlessly played hit after hit, that he was rare in his ability on the instrument. 

His fingers had flown over the strings then, yes.

But at this moment in time? 

It was clear that he was a motherfucking gift to this generation of music. It was no wonder that everyone in the area knew his name. How you’d been oblivious to him was beyond you, but you didn’t care anymore. . . 

Because now? Now, you knew exactly who he was. 

A dark, enigmatic, strikingly gorgeous man who rivaled all other men you knew. . . In more ways than one. And you wanted him. . . . Badly.

But you shouldn’t have wanted him. Not even close to what you should have been feeling. Even if things hadn’t left off the way they had that day, a month ago, the way you knew this man was as your instructor — with strict-ass policies. And ‘regulations’. 

Both of which you were sure outlined how he couldn’t have sexual relations with a student. (Rather, ‘client’, as you knew he’d correct your term.)

God. What was wrong with you? 

Your entire body felt like fire as he continued to demolish Zeppelin’s “Since I’ve Been Loving You” — executing the seductive rhythm of the iconic guitar part on the well-loved instrument under his touch. He took hold of the tune like it was his goddamn song that he was playing for the last time. 

Then, you stood dumbfounded, as he began to sing the song, in a much lower key than Plant’s original. . .and the smokiness of his tone was enough to wreck you. Your body fizzled and burned under the sound of it.

And if you thought his fingers were volatile before in the craft alone, you were well aware now of how much more lethal they were to the wandering, female imagination if he was under stage lights. . . Because, at that moment, as his quick, tough fingers reverently worshipped the neck of that guitar with skilled precision, you felt your core tick with need. He annihilated those strings like they were his goddamn bitch. . . And you could only imagine what else they could work so steadily and deliberately. 

How would those fingers feel against your. . .? Or, inside of your. . .? God. 

You couldn’t even begin to describe how your body reacted to hearing such a classic as “Red House” emitting from his guitar and lips. His guitar, worn and rugged from being handled relentlessly by its possessor. Jake was easily the sexiest, most formidable guitarist you’d ever witnessed in person.

After a couple of songs, sweat had accumulated at his hairline and along his brow, and your entire chest and belly was in knots of starved emotion. And when he came up to the microphone for a break, he waved gently before speaking to the audience. 

The sound of his low, rasping voice sent a rush of flames straight from your head, all the way down to your toes. 

You were wound so goddamn tight.

You hardly paid attention to the words. All you registered him saying, in that low, raspy and lust-filled timbre was, “How you feelin’?” 

The simple phrase. Those three words — slowly drawn out, dark and enveloping like the man who’d said them — sent a warm whisper of heat straight to your panties. 

His eyes landed on the girls to his left, close to the stage, as they bounced and screamed for him. And, the wink he sent towards them, the tiny, knowing smirk that he responded with. . .? It shouldn’t have made you feel jealous. But, you were undoubtedly envious of those women at that very moment. 

But still, you willed him to not look in your direction. Because you knew whatever it was that you were feeling wasn’t right. And, if you had held any chance before, you’d missed any and every opportunity with your bad attitude on that fateful night, one month ago. 

And one fucking class on campus had ruined it. 

You’d compromised any sort of camaraderie with this man for a singular class you’d never missed a day of, for anything. 

Chances were, your prof would have understood anyway — you went to fucking Juilliard, for Christ’s sake. If you’d explained that you’d been in the middle of a guitar lesson for something you needed to hone in on, in order to graduate and be on the path to becoming a damn music teacher in the next year or so, the professor would have understood. 

No fucking doubt.

You could have slapped yourself. 

He continued speaking to the crowd, his eyes scanning the room. . . and, as he did so, you’d come to the conclusion that you were stupid and risked too much by being in the same room as this man you’d insulted so boldly. . . 

. . .But, when he turned, you caught sight of his left, flexing forearm — the long, striped scar. 

And you felt all of the heat in your body rush to the center of you. 

You’d managed to push off how you’d felt in that moment, getting to know him in a serene way, as he’d gently played the guitar for you. . . You, exposing your heart to him with your story about Jill. . .

Fuck. The entire event was back, flashing with red lights, at the front of your mind. 

You had to get out. Leave.

But. . . You’d stalled for too long.

When his eyes did actually on your table, right before he turned to grab his acoustic (the same from your lesson, you noticed by the wear), your breath caught in your chest. 

It was expected for him to look in the direction of your group. Your classmates hadn’t shut the fuck up since he’d walked on stage. They were all salivating over him with you — just not in the same way as you. No, they were simply intensely infatuated with him and his melodic aura — in their own little music-appreciation-enthusiast way. 

Well. . . Save for a few of your classmates who had exchanged those looks, brows raised and pursed lips with little smirks as he’d wiped some sweat with a towel. And, then those same few had shown obvious enchantment when he’d turned to show his sweat drenched back through the thin material of his satin shirt (god, fuck). All of their expressions, you knew all too well. 

His pure and unadulterated sex appeal was evident to any and all naked eyes.

Your interest in him, though, still seemed far different than what any of your friends (or the horny girls a few tables over) were thinking. You couldn’t explain it. But, you knew it had gone far past music appreciation or purely finding him attractive. 

No, it was more. 

And that ‘more’ was confirmed when his gaze found your own, holding your stare with his magnetic irises. His eyes were dark on yours, recognizing you — immediately — and taking you in, in a way that made you feel like the only woman in the room. 

Your outfit was definitely one of your best.  

A practically sheer black, long-sleeved lace top. The material was thin and transparent enough to show your black bra underneath, which held your breasts quite well. It accentuated them in a way that you knew he could see, even from the stage. The way the material of your shirt clung to the natural curve of your flesh, above the bra. And your black skinny jeans, hugging your hips, thighs, and ass (and sadly, he couldn’t see your ass from his view, as you were facing him) in a way that rivaled many other bodies in jeans. And, your favorite tall, black, heeled boots.

His eyes drank you in, in a way you weren’t sure you were imagining at first. . . They started at your face, seeming to take in every detail, then your neck, chest, waist. . . Everything. Lingering on your hips before his eyes came back to yours. 

Though, the softness seemed to dissipate the longer he held your gaze. 

It was soon replaced with a hardness that felt eerily familiar to how you’d left things the day of your fated lesson. 

Your stomach dropped as soon as his jaw clamped shut, the same way it had that first (and only other) day. 

And, you lost the last shred of hope when he turned away, hair flying with the action as if to emphasize the finality of the action. 

Just like his words that day.

“If you’re that anxious for the lesson to be over, all you’ve gotta do is let me know.”

It had been over that instant. He’d seemed more hurt than anything that you wanted to finish the lesson early. 

But, before you could read into it any further, he was getting a harmonica holder looped around his neck by tech, adjusting his acoustic at his hips, and already going back to the mic for the next song (one of his own, as he’d said into the mic).

His stare, now aimed in the opposite direction of the room entirely, back on that blessed group of women. The way he’d angled his body, even, seemed to make a point that said ‘we’re done here.’

Even more than that day of the lesson, you felt utterly humiliated and vulnerable in that dark club. The lights might as well have come on, highlighting each and every secret you’d ever kept close to your chest.

You felt laid bare. 

Exposed. Cut open. Stupid.

So, with a gentle tap, you let your friend Polly know that you were heading home.

Her response was quick, brows shooting up into her blonde hair. “With Jake Kiszka looking at you like that, you’re going to leave?!” 

She’d noticed? 

No, y/n. Don’t even go there, you coached yourself, to avoid feeling any further reduced to a small shell of yourself.

You did your best to ignore her words, only nodding in response to her question. 

And with a hand to your forehead to show your exhaustion, you threw a thumb towards the door and told her you’d text her when you got home. 

—||—

You’d done your best to race to your car, getting as far away from the bar as you could. 

But, unfortunately, it had been too little too late. And, you’d borne witness to another devastating reality before you’d even exited the building. 

His own song was even better than the classics he’d performed.

It was encapsulating. Melancholic. Gutsy. Authentic. Raw. 

Real. 

And it only caused your reality to sink in deeper. 

All the way down to the pit of your tummy, that twisted with sadness at losing something that you weren’t even sure was real.

—||—

That night, you got ready for bed — freshly showered with a body full of overwrought emotion. 

You sat at your vanity and braided your hair, your face glowing and clean — and located his Instagram. And, unashamedly, you spent two hours doing a deep dive stalk, as any person with a crush (because, yes, that was absolutely what you were feeling) in this day and age would.

And you’d found out that he had a whole ass band with a name that could’ve belonged to a Tolkien novel. It wasn’t just him and a couple stand-in musicians as it had been tonight.

The stroll as you scrolled down his page was lengthy; you went all the way down to his earliest post. But, you eventually also got to his band’s page and spent a decent amount of time watching every single video you could. 

Jake, playing the guitar. Jake, singing like he was pouring his entire soul into each individual lyric. And. . . Jake, playing the harmonica. 

It had all left you speechless. . . But the harmonica playing had gotten you.

It made you remember something Polly had said. One time, she’d said it. But you remembered it. She’d said it after another student had presented on and played harmonica for a freshman class based on instrumental anatomy. 

She’d leaned over, whispering smugly in your ear. “You know, I bet he eats pussy like that. I’ve always heard it said that ‘however someone plays the harmonica. . . shows how they eat a woman’ — from the inside and out.”

And you definitely didn’t (did) squirm with an ache in your core, on your vanity seat when you remembered those words. Because, damn, did Jake know how to play it. Those long, drawn out breaths to maintain stability, with his mouth wrapped snugly around the shining, silver metal. . . The sighs and ragged breaths that hit the microphone when he’d pull his mouth away from the instrument. . . . .

It made you feel real fucked up, watching him and imagining that. . . . But, it simply couldn’t be helped.  

Eventually, you landed on a performance of the song you were more than pretty sure you walked out on. And the lyrics? They were romantic in every sense of the word. 

It fucking killed you.

But it didn’t stop you from jumping over to Spotify and adding their one and only (freshly debuted) album to your library. 

Then, just as you’d finished your full listen of the bluesy, piratical, hard-rock masterpiece of an album, you decided it was time for bed.

Though, not before you made one final decision. 

Before you could think better of it, you followed him on Instagram. What was one more follower, in addition to his twenty thousand plus going to do? He probably wouldn’t even see it. 

You deleted the app as soon as you followed him. If he didn’t follow you back (which he probably wouldn’t, and you knew that), you didn’t want to know right away. You needed time to get over the crush.

And, as sleep finally took you in its grasp, you did your damndest to not overthink it.

—||—

A couple of weeks had passed since the night of the show. 

You’d done your very best to forget the night. 

But you’d kind of shot yourself in the ass with that plan, by listening to his band’s album basically nonstop. You couldn’t help it. The sound was gritty and dark and gothic. Bluesy. 

Their music seemed to be tailored to fit, exquisitely, to your taste. It was a cruel joke from the universe.

You were packing your suitcase to visit home for the holiday, their music filtering through your home from your Alexa as you packed. Tomorrow morning you had an early ass flight to leave town to go be with your family for Christmas. 

And the time was nearing 8:00 p.m. So, you knew you had to wrap up the packing as soon as possible. You wanted to have the proper amount of time to sleep before boarding the four-hour flight departing at 5:30 a.m.

When you’d just zipped your big suitcase, one of their more upbeat songs was playing from Alexa’s spot on the kitchen counter.

It was called “Heels of the Hunt” if your memory and repeated listens served you right. 

You’d just slipped off your long sleeve henley, deciding to sleep in your comfiest sports bra and a pair of your softest, gray sleep shorts. 

As you went about shutting off the bathroom light and folding a few pairs of pants from the dryer, you sang along with Jake, as his voice echoed from the Alexa, all throughout your house. Once you were in your kitchen, to take your nighttime meds, you tapped your foot to the beat of the song, before you were walking to turn off the lights in the kitchen to go to bed. 

And, as always when the next song, in particular, came on. . .you mentally kicked yourself over 

being an asshole to him. 

The song Alexa had just begun playing was the song you’d walked out on at the bar. 

This song was your favorite from the album. It was called “Ten Thousand.” And, ironically, you’d come to find that it made you feel ten thousand emotions all at once. 

It had a sort of sound that made you feel like you’d known the song forever. 

It had quickly become your go-to first pick for car rides, house cleaning, homework. . . however, you’d had to cut it off at showers. You could not do that. It felt. . . too wrong (or, maybe it felt unbelievably right in a way you really didn’t want to think about). 

The song was a soul catharsis; Jake’s dynamic and intimate vocals had an insane ability to keep you grounded. You felt every piece of authentic vulnerability he’d weaved into the bluesy track. Anytime his voice crackled on a note, or lowered an octave, you felt it all the way down to your soul. 

(There was also the fact that his tone was so eloquently a mix of gravel and velvet. . . when he sang, he just sounded straight sexy and you couldn’t get enough of it.)

Every time you listened, though, your mind got momentarily stuck on how things ended. The state you’d left things after such a minuscule encounter. . . Everyday, the moment began to feel bigger than it actually had been. . . The further away from the day you got, the more crushing it became that you’d essentially pushed him out of your life. 

A fucking moron, you were.

You’d just rounded the hallway to the living room to turn the light off — just past 8:00 — when there was a knock at the front door. 

The lights in the living room, still bright and casting that warm, golden hue. . . Making it blatantly obvious someone was home. To whomever had decided to grace your front porch at 8:00 at night, you were a very apparent target. 

Your heart leapt into your throat, Alexa keeping the volume loud enough that the knock hadn’t broken quiet to make you jump. But, it had been sharp and intentional. . . and out of nowhere. 

When you checked your phone, you saw no texts or missed calls from friends. So, you were genuinely curious who in the fuck could be at your door. 

You left Alexa on at the same volume she’d been at all night, wanting to stay as normal as possible to scare away anyone who’d come to your house at this time of night. But when the knock occurred two more times, you knew you couldn’t ignore it anymore. Still, you grabbed the baseball bat you kept at the door, edging up to the front door to look through the peephole. 

And what you found on the other side of the peephole. . . 

Was not — in a million years — who you’d expect to see pop up on your doorstep. 

Not again, at least. 

Though, you didn’t even give yourself time to think about the music choice exposing you. You dropped the bat with a clatter and quickly unlocked the door. 

And, the heaviness of it cracked open to reveal. . . 

Jake.

In some sort of poetic symbolism, the man had shown up, at your doorstep, wearing nearly the same exact outfit he’d been wearing almost two months ago when he’d shown up to give you a guitar lesson.

But, this time?

No sunglasses.

Your heart thumped in your chest at your ability to see his eyes.

It took less than point-five seconds for his wide and intensely brown eyes to find your face and soak up every last bit of it. 

And, just as he took you in, you did the same with his pretty face. 

The dark circles under his eyes, one of the first things you noticed. The sight caused a wave of heat to blossom in your chest. 

A hardworking man, this one.

It felt like the day you’d wanted a re-do of, for the past several weeks. Except this time, it was different. You felt it. 

You also got the chance to appreciate the facial hair he’d now let grow just a tad more above his upper lip and at the very bottom of his chin.

While it wasn’t much hair for a man’s face, it suited him. So fucking well.

When your eyes glanced back up to his eyes, you found he was watching you in the same sort of way you’d watched him before. In a daze, almost. 

Stuck in your loop, just as you’d been in his.

But, he had apparently mastered the art of speaking amidst being stunned. 

“You were there,” was all he said, in that sex-laden timbre of his. 

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. You knew. He knew. The night you saw him play at The Iridium. 

“Yes,” you nodded, swallowing thickly to help erase any leftover jitters. It wasn’t helping. Your skin was on fire, your tummy alive with butterflies. “I was.”

“Did you know I’d be playing?”

“No,” you replied softly. “I didn’t.”

“Okay.”

He nodded at that, a finger coming up to rub at his bottom lip before the same hand reached to comb through his long hair. 

You couldn’t get enough of his eyes. So big and brown and full of the same exact heart he poured into the music he taught and played.

Before you could process much else, he was speaking again. 

“You followed me on Instagram,” he stated, taking one miniscule step closer. 

You stayed in place, silently beckoning him forward. Didn’t want to spook him away. “I did.”

“Why?” 

“Because I wanted to,” was all that you could think to say. Until. “You noticed?”

“Of course I did. I followed you back,” he responded on a breath, knitting his brows as if to implicate its common sense. “I looked for you after the show that night.”

Your heart got stuck in the pit of your throat, your chest burning. Perspiration, gathering in your palms as your brain fizzled. He’d followed you back. He’d looked for you. And you’d had zero idea. 

Because you’d run — hid — both times.

“You did?” 

“Yes,” he nodded, taking another tiny step towards you.

Still, you didn’t move.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to,” he breathed, a little grin perking the side of his mouth. You momentarily caught a glimpse of the dimple in his right cheek before he started again. “Why’d you leave?”

“I felt wrong,” you dumbly stated, at a loss. “Weird and wrong. . . Like you didn’t like seeing me there.” 

“Then you were wrong,” he responded, brows once more furrowed as he insisted his words’ truth. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again. And, then. . . There you were. . . .looking so fucking beautiful.”

God. Your belly twirled delightfully as a pink warmth bloomed in your cheeks. . .The blush travelled to your neck — you could feel it. You could feel his words — all over. The way he’d just called you beautiful, along with the piercing stare. . .it was everything you needed and too much — all at once. 

“That first night. . .I barely knew you and I was an asshole to you,” you meekly said, rubbing at your forearm as you glanced down. “I feel like shit that that was your first impression of me.”

“I had my first impression of you long before we even sat on that couch,” he replied, the little throaty chuckle he gave in response had your skin frenzied with heat. “But. . .Touché,” he replied with a tone that had you wanting to catch the smile he’d painted in it. “I was a dick.”

When you glanced up, you saw just that — a lopsided grin that morphed into a gentle, breathy laugh. He tucked a hand into the pocket of his jeans and rubbed at his bottom lip with the pointer on his other hand.  

“Not as bad as I was,” you said, giving your own little half-giggle, trying your best to be casual.

“Nah. . . I don’t think so. I hated how I cut you off . . . too many times,” he explained, insistent that you hear him as his feet brought him just a step closer. “I’m sorry I shut down, y/n. I just. . .— Fuck.”

He bowed his head and it was time for you to step forward, your bare toes, facing the pointed toe of his boots.

“You just what, Jake?” You had to know, you’d been dying to know why he shut down. And he was about to tell you. “Tell me. . .”

His eyes scanned your face for a weighty moment, as if measuring whether or not he should have been saying what he wanted to say. 

“You. . .,” he breathed in, slowly, through his nose. He was measuring his words. You could tell. “You were different, y/n — are different,” he began, taking a deep breath and exhaling it through his nose. “I have never. . . I—. Fuck. I thought I had this down,” he shook and bowed his head. 

His brows were scrunched as his hair fell in front of his handsome features. You watched his lips as he mouthed something to himself, then he looked at you again. Your heart raced. You had no idea what he was about to say and you didn’t want to try to guess. 

Then, it dawned on you. . . . his album. It was still playing in the distance, throughout your home. 

It was like he suddenly noticed it, too, his head tilting toward the sound as his eyes looked in the direction of the Alexa that played the bluesy hard rock. He was still standing outside your door, but he could tell exactly where it was coming from. 

He found your eyes, brow raised in suspicion as his lips lifted into a little smile. “‘S that my band?”

Your cheeks grew warm, but you played off the bit of shyness that crept up your spine by offering him a faux-innocent flutter of your lashes. 

“Oh,” you feigned confusion, cocking a hip and tapping your pointer finger to your chin in thought. “Is that you? Are you the Jake Kiszka? Local rock god?”

The snort that he released was a slight surprise to you, but a welcome one as his smile grew even wider. He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, taking you in. His eyes, creating a blazing trail from your face to your hips. You felt him everywhere. And you really, really liked it. 

His eyes belonged on your body. 

As his eyes travelled up, from the bottom half of your body, you remembered, horrifically. . .

Your sports bra didn’t have cups. 

And your body was very much reacting to his stare — your breasts, perking with a hungry sort of anticipation. . . your nipples, unashamedly stretching the material. . . 

His eyes, dark as dusk, honed in on your chest. He was quite literally devouring you with his stare and you’d never felt so ready for more.

“I don’t know who that is,” he joked, his tone low as he finally looked at you again, tucking a hand into his pocket. “I’m just Jake.”

You allowed your eyes to follow in his lead, taking a moment to appreciate him. 

His sturdy shoulders, that stunningly handsome face, the column of his neck, his strong pectoral muscles. And, you noticed a minute detail you suddenly adored. There, at the top of his sun-warmed abdomen, right below his sternum — a small freckle peeked from above the first button he’d buttoned on the black satin shirt. That being, halfway down his shirt. 

You were finding the way he wore his button downs was consistent and always displayed a generous, lovely portion of his chest (you honestly wished it was socially acceptable for him to forego buttons altogether).

Your eyes continued in their path of yearning down his front. 

A flame ignited within you when you noticed his hand in his pocket. It was a natural draw of your attention, the way he pulled at the fabric on the left side of his jeans. . . It gave you a fantastic view of a part of him that you’d imagined more times than you cared to admit. And, everywhere, Jake appeared to be. . . completely of dreams. 

Fuck. 

You bit your lip as you let your mind go places it shouldn’t have gone. You believed wholeheartedly that if he were to take off his pants right now, he would exemplify the term ‘well endowed.’ With the way his pants held him, you could tell there was a significant heaviness there. 

He cleared his throat.

Your curious irises — most likely completely blown the fuck out — found comfort in the familiar shade of brown that made up his dark eyes.

His mischievous smile said he’d caught you, but it was a secret sort of grin. Like he wasn’t going to expose you. 

And you were very grateful for that.

As he stepped closer, both equally hesitant and confident in the singular step, you felt the breath in your lungs evade you. There was not any part of you that wanted to move — lest you lose the moment. You wanted this.

There was just something about him. He made this specific, addictive heat rise within you. Simply standing there before your eyes, he was threatening to unravel you.

“Y/n. . . I haven’t stopped thinking about how things could have ended, had our circumstances been different,” he spoke, the words brushing over your face with the minty breath he spoke them on. 

Your face flushed as you looked down, avoiding his stare. Knowing, clearly, you were the one who’d caused ‘circumstances’ to be difficult. “I’m still so sorry about cutting us short on time.”

“Don’t be,” he reassured you, bringing the bend of his pointer finger up to tilt your chin up, towards his. “You didn’t ruin anything. . . I was the one who came here tonight, wasn’t I?”

You blinked, still feeling his touch after his finger had fallen. “Yeah, but—.”

“And I never would have allowed myself to come back if I didn’t want to. . .,” he sucked in a breath, his words were stuck again. “Goddammit, you make it hard to focus, y/n.” 

He smiled to himself as he glanced down, finally taking a step closer. Your chest clenched. Your breath was caught in the narrow cave of your chest, you couldn’t breathe as he carried himself another inch or so nearer to you. He was still looking towards the ground, rubbing at his bottom lip again. 

“That night. . .,” he cleared his throat, giving a slight shake of his head. “I couldn’t touch you like I wanted. I couldn’t even think about how wrong it would have been if I did. I would have been betraying every fucking moral I’ve ever had. . . But, you—you were sitting there — across from me — looking more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen. . . As—as my client and I. . .”

“You. . .?” You encouraged, right as he paused. The word, spoken on the smallest breath. 

“I’m not supposed to think about my clients the way I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said, from low in his chest. “Still can’t stop thinking about you like that. . .” 

You breathed in deeply, unsure how to process the fact that he’d wanted you. Jake had wanted you — still wanted you — like you’d been wanting him. 

The next thing he did was unexpected just as much as it wasn’t. You’d have been an idiot to not have guessed it was coming. 

With two more steps, his hand was coming to settle on your waist, his words, low, and trailing the movement. “Is this alright?” 

You let out a sigh of relief, at the feeling of his warm, rough hand wrapping around the skin of your waist. He was close enough for his nose to graze your forehead, and you tilted your eyes upwards to take him in. You could see every freckle. The smallest scars. . . How long his eyelashes were, as they dusted his warm cheeks with each blink. 

“Yes, Jake,” you sighed, not able to lean into his touch. Your chest, ready for his attention, pressed to his. You both exhaled on ragged breaths, shivering at the feeling of your hardened nipples coming into contact with his solid chest. “More than. . .”

His thumb nudged at the bottom of your sports bra, his eyes leaving yours to follow the movement. The digit, coming just beneath the edge of the material to brush against the hidden skin there. But, you careened further into his touch, whimpering as the movement encouraged his thumb to continue up, further. . . Until he was tempting the curve of your breast. 

“Goddammit, y/n. . .,” his breath caught and you watched his pupils dilate at your body’s innate response to him. “I tried telling myself this was only attraction, but. . . It’s more,” he said, eyebrows dipped to show how much he’d been thinking about this. “Because I haven’t been able to. . .— do you want the truth, y/n?” 

“Always.” 

You grinned, waiting for his eyes to meet yours again. And when they did, your heart stuttered in your chest. It was more. You could feel it under the intensity of his stare. 

“I haven’t even thought of touching another woman since that night. Haven’t wanted to. Couldn’t if I wanted,” he murmured, his breath hot against your forehead. 

Then, his hand once again came to rest under your chin, moving your head just enough for his lips to land against the tender skin of your jaw. 

All thought left you. All sense, gone. . .

“Because. . .,” he whispered, “all I could think about was how your body would look under mine. . . how soft you would feel under my hands. . . the sounds I know you would make — wrecked and falling apart. . . for me.”

You squirmed under his touch, desperate to feel him however he’d allow for you to feel him.

“Tell me more,” you sighed, your heart racing as your body thrummed for him. His lips, so plush and gentle against your tingling skin. “Please, Jake. . .”

His lips, barely caressing your skin, continued their torment as he granted your wish. “I’ve thought about it so many times. . .,” he trailed off, his lips gracefully landing behind your ear, where he nipped once, before truly kissing you, behind your ear. Your toes curled in your socks. 

He let his lips slide a bit, continuing his treacherous journey of kissing you, all along the side of your face. “Your legs, wrapped around my hips,” he kissed, once, at the top of your jaw. “That lovely voice, moaning in my ear — begging me for more,” his lips met the flushed skin of your cheek, before going back to your jaw, hovering over the skin there with barely-there kisses, as he continued to speak. “How I’d fuck you. . . so slow,” kiss. “So well,” kiss. “That you wouldn’t be able to hold back. . . not a single,” kiss. “Strangled. . .,” kiss. “Cry. . .” 

His tongue suddenly slipped from his lips, teasing your overheated skin. Your mouth fell open, your back arching as you did, in fact, cry for him. “God,” you whined, pushing further into him. “I need you.”

His thumb was in the same place as before, still only dusting the underside of your breast. Even as he barely touched you, you knew if he went further, he would be able to manipulate the supple skin however he wanted. You wanted him to. 

In the meantime, though, you let your hand travel between the two of you and gripped at the curve of his chest. You heard him hiss, the sound trapped between his teeth. His skin was so warm, smooth as the black satin of his shirt. . . . You let your hand travel over to the side of his chest, cupping his pec carefully. You felt his nipple peak, under the skin of your palm.

You both hummed in satisfaction, his lips finally coming to kiss the corner of your mouth. 

At the slight touch of his lips on the edge of yours, you hastily turned your head towards the feeling, hoping you’d meet his lips with your own. But he only grinned, pulling away just a little to where his lips were now only hovering above your own, that trembled, needing to know his taste.

But, he wasn’t even close to holding back. 

Because, soon, your body was moving — with his help. 

Your back quietly hit the wood of the front door as he placed his other hand on your hip. Delicate and possessive all at once, he was maneuvering your body backwards until he was crossing the threshold and you were flush against the door. You were definitely whimpering — pathetic and needy — as you felt his groin finally meet the soft skin of your exposed belly. 

His hand that had been teasing you under your bra slid up, just a bit, his calloused fingertips grazing your taut nipple. The sensitive skin buzzed under his touch, your body lighting up for him, your knees buckling at the absolute least. The hand on your hip gripped you — tight. 

(Really. It had been a considerably long time since you’d done anything intimate with anyone, and you were certain that it was more than apparent.)

“Mm. . . You like that. . .” He hotly noted; an observation, on a hum.

“What do you think?” You sighed, on a little huffed giggle.

His eyes dropped to your lips, your hand still massaging the golden skin of his chest, using your touch as a way to tell him you needed more, more, more. 

The click of his boot against the hardwood of your living room entryway floor sent a rush of heat through your body. He angled himself to be right in front of you, on top of you. Where he needed to be.

The air was shifting, stifling. All around you, a mix of the sweetness and sandalwood in his cologne — completely clouding your senses. You shifted your hips up to feel more of him, just as he was doing the same to you. And, in unison, both of you released a guttural moan. 

His hand slipped the rest of the way up, fully cupping your right breast, and yours slid up from the muscle in his chest to the side of his neck. 

The sound you made at his touch wasn’t even a sound. It was a mere choked squeak that couldn’t graduate to a breath, catching in your throat. . . . you were trembling. Your mouth, falling open. Your pulse was hammering in your ears, overly aware of all things him. 

Jake. 

He leaned in, slowly. . . the tip of his nose brushed the tip of yours. 

“If I kissed you right now, y/n. . .,” he began, the mintiness of his breath making your skin tingle. You blinked up at him, his next words causing your body to light on fire. “I wouldn’t be able to stop at your mouth.”

You felt him shift, just enough that you felt him. His hips tilted forward, enough to let you fully feel him. He intentionally dragged his front against yours. He was so thick. And hard. And hot. You lifted your hips up towards his, inviting him in with a singular rock of your front. He bent, just enough, so he could mold himself just a bit closer to you. . . to where you both wanted — no, needed — him to be. . . 

A gasp shook from your lips as you bit your bottom lip; you were throbbing. You’d never understood a need like this until this moment. 

He stilled, brow furrowed. His lips were parted, displaying the same need you felt pulsating through every pore on your body. “Say something, y/n. . .,” he breathed, pad of his thumb pressing to your bottom lip. . . His breath ghosted over your mouth. “Tell me if I’ve misread this and I will stop before I can’t.”

God. You felt him. The hard length of him in his jeans, only for you. The rise of his chest, right against yours. The way his hand held your breast, as if it belonged to him. . . 

“Fuck. . .,” was all you could breathe, your lips curling to breathe a laugh, your head swimming with the fact that his face was less than a breath from yours. 

He smiled back, loose — sensual, as the hand that had been on your hip moved to the back of your neck. His fingers, cupping the base of your skull, fingers lacing through your hair. The moan that left your lips was unstoppable. His touch felt so nice, your hair follicles thanking his existence as they tingled deliciously. You could still smell something reminiscent of wintergreen mint on his tongue. 

Then, you said it.

“This must be why you’re so popular amongst women, hm? Do you charge your female clientele extra for this? Or do we get this for free?”

As soon as the ridiculous words left your mouth, you couldn’t fucking believe it. You watched the smile drop from his face as soon as the last word left your mouth. 

“You think I touch just anyone like this?” He asked, face drawing away from yours. 

Nononono. Goddammit.

“Not at all,” you shook your head quickly, unsure of what to say. So, you scrambled in your brain for something. “I just noticed how those other women at the show looked at you — how you looked at them — and it made me think to ask.”

No, y/n, the angel on your shoulder admonished. That’s worse, girl. 

It was true — now you were assuming he entertained groupies like some manwhore. What had you just said? Fuckfuckfuck. That didn’t seem appropriate at all. Sort of degrading, if you were being completely fucking honest. 

Fuck your stupid mouth. 

“Fuck,” you began, the word mirroring the constant loop happening inside of your brain. “I don’t know where that—.”

“You think I’m the type of man who fucks women just because of the way they look at me?” He murmured, voice cracking as you felt his hand fall from the back of your head. “That’s what I’m hearing.”

Before you could try to explain any further, his hand was slipping from your bra and your hand had no choice but to leave his chest. There was a foot’s length of space between you in almost no time at all. Your stomach sank, watching him back up, shaking his head in disbelief. 

You couldn’t blame him — you were in disbelief, too. 

“I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” you rushed, trying to explain your way out of it. 

He was fishing in his back pocket, while also pulling the sunglasses from the front of his shirt, where they hung at the end of the unbuttoned part. Your eyes trailed over the bit of tanned abdomen you could see, the freckle at the top of it caught your eye. The sunglasses were on his face in no time, emphasizing he was finished.

And, even as you watched his actions, walking backwards through the door he’d just walked through, you felt a sense of hope. Hope that you knew was built on a thread of fantasy. Devastated, you felt your shoulders sink as you saw keys get pulled from his back pocket. 

You glimpsed the key he was now holding, noticing it looked. . . different from a car key. Smaller. Thinner. A guitar pick and a silver skull keychain hung from a ring attached to the piece of plastic at the end of the metal. 

“There is nothing else you could have meant by any of that,” he coolly replied, lips in a flat line of contemplation as he grabbed at his feet.

Then you noticed it. An all-black motorcycle helmet, sitting on the ground, next to his worn black boots that now stood upon the concrete of your front porch. He grabbed the helmet in one swoop, the veins in the back of his hand caught your eye in a way you wish they hadn’t.

Goddammit. He rode a damn motorcycle, too? What did this man not do? And here you were, idiot of the century. Ruining things with him not once, but twice now. 

“I keep saying stupid shit,” you admitted, nothing but regret written on your pitiful, downcast features. “I’m so sor—.”

“Yeah, you do. Starting to wonder if you mean these things, deep down. Or, maybe not so deep. Maybe you really view me as poorly as you let on that first day,” he scoffed, raising his brows in a way that blatantly showed his hurt. “Or maybe — just maybe, y/n — I’ll always only be viewed as a man you pay for a damn lesson.”

“No, Jake,” you tried, reaching out a trembling hand to try and touch him. It was to no avail, and you knew it. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized how idiotic you must have appeared to the beautiful man in front of you. “I don’t mean any of it. I just don’t ever stop to think before I speak.”

“You are correct, y/n. You don’t think before you say shit. And you really fucking should,” he advised, sharply. Blunt. His jaw clenched, his neck tight. “I’m starting to wonder if us meeting at all was a mistake made by the universe,” he said, barely letting that sit in the air before he was clenching his jaw. “And for the life of me, I can’t figure out how in the fuck you view me. And I’m not sure I want to know anymore.”

No. 

Your heart crumpled in your chest, flimsy as an old, tattered receipt. You felt like utter shit. He wasn’t wrong. And that was what hurt most. 

You were too stunned to speak. Didn’t know what to say as he turned his back. No waving occurred. No smile. Why would he smile at you? 

As he descended the steps of your front porch, you once again noted how great his ass looked in those jeans. . . Well. Too fucking bad.

Watching his legs spread to mount the motorcycle was torture. Your body ached for him. And, as he slipped on the helmet, and kicked the hunking piece of black, vintage metal into gear, you felt the pit of your stomach hit the top of your toes. 

When would you learn to just let good things happen to you?

You feared the answer was one harsh word. . .

Never.

But. . . 

Even after everything you’d said, you saw him give you one more long glance. He really looked at you, gaze staying on you — where you stood, sullen and defeated at your front door. 

Your chest ignited.

So, as you watched him speed away into the black of the night, you decided. . . 

You couldn’t give up. Not yet.

—||— | —||—

to be continued. . .

—||— | —||—

a/n: ~after~ this graduated from a gc drabble, it was only ever supposed to be a one shot (!!!!!)....... lmao.

see you very soon with reader's plan to get him back, the follow up, and the S M U T (please, please prepare yourselves bc i have been fkn sweating while writing this shit gahDAMN)

TREMOLO: PART 2 of 2 OF UNRAVEL, will be yours very, veryyyyy soon ;))))

—||—

taglist:

@joshym, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @gretavangroupie, @jaketlover, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf

@torniturntomyarrow , @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmarge , @creadliz98, @mackalah , @lek-gvf , @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini , @welllauragvf , @highway-tuna , @dont-go-home-without-me , @sarah-gvf01 , @polemicandcontent , @ageofbajabule , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jennyraye20 , @builtbybrokenbells , @stardustjake, @indigostreaksolo , @tripthelightfantastix, @kiszkas-canvas , @jakebrainrot, @anthemheatwave @chichi610, @freyjalw , @scoreofinfantryvines , @stonecoldmo , @divapadam @hailthegodsong @fleetingjake @demolitiondanchipsversion @stardustsamm @blankvz @mikiepeach, @gretavanmoon, @demolitiondanchipsversion, @lipstickitty, @gracev0609

I always try to tag everyone, buuut you all know how it goes! ughhh. Please make sure you’re filling out my Google Form if you would like to be tagged and aren’t already on the taglist! <3

AND IF I MISSED TAGGING YOU -- PLZ LMK <3

[sacredthethreadgvf]

CASUAL

Pairing: Jake x fem!reader

General Warnings: 18+ minors DNI / angst / pining / smut (depictions of sex acts) / strong language

Summary: You struggle in a “casual” relationship with Jake, who blurs the lines between intimacy and indifference. Hoping for more, you endure heartbreak and humiliation before realizing your worth.

The Beginning of Something (Not) Serious

You spotted Jake across the room, leaning back with that familiar smirk, his eyes scanning the crowd before they landed on you. There was a magnetism about him you couldn’t resist. He was known for his charm and his tendency to keep people at a distance, always slipping away before things got too real. But when he looked at you, it felt different—or maybe that was just your wishful thinking.

You smiled back at Jake, feeling a rush of excitement mixed with nerves as he made his way through the crowd towards you. His voice was low and smooth as he greeted you, "Well, well, if it isn't the most captivating person in the room."

You raised an eyebrow teasingly, replying, "Flattery will get you nowhere, Jake. I'm immune to your charms."

He chuckled softly, his gaze intense as he leaned in closer, "Is that so? We'll see about that." There was a playful challenge in his eyes that set your heart racing.

As the music pulsed around you, the conversation flowed effortlessly between you. Jake's words were laced with wit and sarcasm, keeping you on your toes. You found yourself drawn in by his every word, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

Suddenly, a mischievous glint appeared in Jake's eyes as he suggested, "How about we get out of here? This party is getting a bit dull for my taste."

You arched a brow, feigning nonchalance but secretly thrilled by the proposal. "And where would we go instead?"

Jake smirked, his hand extending towards you invitingly. "Anywhere but here. Let's make our own adventure."

You talked, laughed, and one thing led to another. Soon, you two were in the corner of a bar, lips locked, unaware of anyone else around you. The world around you faded into the background as Jake's lips moved against yours with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. His touch was electric, igniting a fire within you that you couldn't ignore. Every kiss, every caress, fueled the growing desire between you.

Without breaking the kiss, Jake's hand found its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him as if he never wanted to let you go. The heat between your bodies was intoxicating, and you found yourself craving more of him with each passing second.

When you finally pulled away for a moment to catch your breath, Jake's eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

“You know, no attachments, right baby?” He whispered.

You swallowed your disappointment, shrugging it off with a smile. Sure, you thought. You could handle this. Besides, why would you want more from someone like Jake?

The Passenger Seat

One week in, and things between you were a whirlwind. You hadn’t defined anything, but the intensity was undeniable. One night, you went on a late drive, winding through the hills, his music blaring, your laughter spilling out as he cracked jokes and told wild stories about his childhood. Jake pulled over at a spot overlooking the city, and in the quiet, things turned heated.

The car was alive with the sound of both of your breaths, the thud of his heart against your chest, and the squeaking of the leather seats. His palm grasped your hip possessively as he pulled you onto his lap, grinding against you. You gasped, arching into him. He grabbed your ass cheek roughly and squeezed before sliding his hand between your legs, his fingers finding their way to your soaked core. You moaned into his neck, thrusting your hips upward as he began to tease and manipulate you.

"Fuck, you're wet for me," He purred in your ear, nipping at your lobe. "I gotta taste that." With a rough motion, he pulled you off his lap and slid down between your legs until his face was buried in your folds. His tongue darted out to trace your entrance before slowly pushing inside, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

As Jake's tongue delved deeper into your folds, you found yourself unable to suppress your moans of pleasure. You could feel his grin against your sensitive skin as he continued his assault, relishing in the way your body responded to his touch.

"Oh god, Jake," you managed to gasp out, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Don't stop."

He hummed in response, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. His skilled fingers worked in tandem with his tongue, expertly bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Mm that the spot, baby?" he murmured, pausing for a moment to look up at you through hooded eyes with a smirk. "You like it right there?"

You could only nod, biting your bottom lip as you fought back another moan. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, every touch and sensation intensified by the darkness surrounding them.

"Tell me," he commanded, his voice low and commanding. "Tell me how much you want this... need this."

Your breath hitched as you struggled to find the words. "I want... I want you, Jake," you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want all of you."

His smile widened at your confession before he returned his attention to the task at hand. His tongue resumed its rhythmic movements, each stroke sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

You placed your hands on either side of his head, digging your nails into the leather seat as he lapped hungrily at your arousal. You rocked your hips back and forth against his face, eager for more stimulation as he deepened the assault on your senses. The world around you faded away as he focused solely on bringing you to orgasm.

"Go on," he urged, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. "Let it go for me."

With one final roll of your hips, you did just that. Your orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and shaking in its wake. Jake didn't stop until you begged him to, his name tumbling from your lips in a breathless chant. As your body continued to tremble from the aftershocks, Jake's arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you close as he whispered soothing words into your ear.

"That's it, baby. Just let it all go. You're safe with me," he murmured, stroking your hair affectionately.

Despite the wild intensity of the past few moments, this moment with him felt like a cocoon of warmth and safety. A feeling you hadn't expected but appreciated nonetheless. You clung to him, breathing in deeply, savouring his scent, and relishing in the momentary sense of calm that had unexpectedly washed over you.

Slowly, your breathing returned to normal, and you pulled away from him slightly, looking into his eyes. There was a depth there that hadn't been there before - a vulnerability hidden beneath the layers of effortless charm and smooth facade.

In those moments, his hands on your skin and his lips tracing your neck, you let yourself believe there might be something more. The night was silent but electric, your heart pounding as if in sync with his. For the first time in a long time, you felt alive, connected. But you knew better than to let yourself hope, so you brushed off the thought and pushed down the ache in your chest, trying to just be in the moment.

Meeting His Mom

Two weeks in, you found yourself surprised when Jake casually invited you to his mom’s place for a family gathering. You tried not to read into it, but there was a nervous excitement fluttering in your chest. He’s just bringing you as a friend, you reminded yourself. Don’t get carried away.

"Hey, Mom, this is Y/N," Jake introduced you as you stood by his side.

His mother smiled warmly at you, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's so nice to finally meet you, Y/N. Jake has told me so much about you."

You returned her smile, feeling a sense of ease wash over you. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mrs. Kiszka. Thank you for having me."

"Oh, please, call me Karen," she insisted, patting your hand affectionately. "Jake talks about you all the time. I'm glad he's found someone special."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at her words, exchanging a shy glance with Jake. "Well, I think he's pretty special too."

Jake chuckled at your response, wrapping an arm around your waist as he leaned in to kiss your temple. "She's just saying that because she hasn't seen me throw socks all over the living room yet."

Karen laughed at his teasing tone, shaking her head fondly. "Oh, don't mind him. He knows I have a strict 'no socks on the couch' policy."

The easy banter between Jake and his mom made you feel like you were witnessing a special bond between them. It was heartwarming to see the playful dynamic they shared.

As the evening went on, you found yourself drawn into conversations with various family members, feeling included and welcomed into their circle. His sister and brothers shared funny childhood stories about Jake that had you both laughing until tears streamed down your cheeks.

At one point, Karen pulled you aside as you helped with the dishes in the kitchen. "I can see why Jake adores you," she said softly, her gaze kind and knowing. "You bring out a light in him that I haven't seen in a long time."

You were touched by her words, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Thank you, Karen. He means a lot to me too.”

She patted your hand gently before returning to the sink. "Just take care of each other, okay? Family is everything."

Meanwhile Jake and his brother, Josh, sat on the porch together giving Josh an opportunity to have a serious conversation with Jake about his feelings for you.

"You know, I've seen how you are with Y/N. It's different from the way you've been with others."

Jake raised an eyebrow, curious about where this was heading. "How so?"

Josh observed Jake with a pensive expression. "You seem more invested in her. Like you genuinely care about how she feels and her well-being."

Jake scoffed. "Come on, Josh. Y/N and I are just having fun. We're not looking for anything serious."

"You can't fool me, Jake. I've seen the way you look at her. It's obvious to everyone."

"What do you mean? I'm just enjoying her company."

"C’mon, Jake. I've known you your whole life. I know when you're trying to convince yourself of something that's not true. You have feelings for her, whether you want to admit it or not. For god’s sake, you brought her to a family gathering. How do you not see it?"

Jake lets out a heavy sigh, "Maybe you're right, but I can't afford to get attached. It's better this way, trust me."

"Denying your emotions won't make them disappear. You can try to convince yourself it's just a casual thing, but deep down, you know it's more than that." Josh clapped Jake on the shoulder, a concerned look in his eyes. "Just be careful, man. You never know what might happen."

Jake sighed again. He did care for you more than he was willing to admit, but he wasn't ready for all those emotions he felt bubbling up inside him. He had always been cautious with his heart, never wanting to get too attached and potentially get hurt again. But you were different – you had a way of making him feel things he thought he had long forgotten or suppressed. Jake listened to his brother intently, his brows furrowed in thought. "I hear what you're saying, Josh. But it's not that simple," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness.

As the evening drew to a close, Jake found himself standing in the driveway with you, watching as his mom and sister said their goodbyes. He couldn't help but feel a deep sense of contentment – something he hadn't felt in a long time.

"So, what did you think?" he asked you, breaking the silence in the car.

You smiled over at him, eyes warm and inviting. "I had a great time tonight, Jake. Your family is amazing and I can see why they mean so much to you."

Jake squeezed your hand reassuringly, "I'm glad you came tonight. My family clearly adores you."

For a brief moment, you let yourself imagine what it might be like if this were something real—if Jake saw you as more than just someone he bangs on the couch.

You forced a smile, nodding along as if his words didn’t sting. You knew you were setting yourself up for heartbreak, but something kept pulling you back to him, even when you knew it was hopeless.

Trying to Be “Chill”

A few days later, you found yourself on the phone with his sister, chatting about movies and favourite bands. You laughed over some embarrassing story about Jake from high school, and his sister joked about how you’d make a great addition to the family someday. You tried to laugh it off, but your heart skipped a beat at the thought.

After hanging up, you sat in silence, your mind racing. You’d tried so hard to be the “chill girl” Jake wanted, the one who didn’t ask for more or push for a label. But here you were, letting yourself daydream about being part of his life, about being someone who mattered to him. You wanted so badly to call him, to hear him say he felt the same way. But deep down, you knew he’d only brush it off, laugh, and remind you, “It’s just casual, remember?”

The following weekend, Jake invited you over to watch a movie and hang out. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was a good idea to spend more time together. But ultimately, you decided to go. After all, what was the harm in spending a Saturday night with a guy you found attractive and enjoyable to be around?

As the night progressed, you found yourself torn between enjoying his company and grappling with the lingering feelings of uncertainty. He laughed at your jokes, held your hand without prompting, and snuggled close to you on the couch. It was hard not to get lost in the moment and allow yourself to believe that there could be something more.

Despite his assurances that everything was casual, his actions spoke otherwise. Each touch, each glance, each shared moment seemed to be saying something different—that he cared about you in a way that went beyond just physical attraction.

But as the movie ended and the night drew to a close, the same old pattern played out. He walked you to your car, a stars-in-his-eyes look on his face as he pulled you close for a kiss. You felt your heart race, your breath catch in your throat, and for just a moment, you allowed yourself to hope that this time things would be different.

And then he pulled away, his eyes meeting yours, searching for something you didn't quite understand.

You stood there, your hand still clutching the door handle of your car, feeling more confused and hurt than you cared to admit. You wanted to believe him, to tell yourself that it was just a casual hookup and nothing more. But every time his arms wrapped around you, every time his lips found yours, it was harder and harder to ignore the from what was happening between the two of you.

"So, we're still just keeping things casual, right?" you found yourself asking, the words coming out a little more firmly than you intended.

He looked at you for a moment, searching for something in your eyes that he couldn't quite find. "I don't know what to tell you," he said honestly.

You felt your heart sink as you looked into his eyes, seeing the truth hidden there. You didn't know if you could continue on this ride of emotional turmoil, waiting for him to make up his mind. But somehow, you found the strength to smile and say, "Okay."

As you drove home that night, tears streaming down your cheeks, you wondered if this was really what you wanted. But you couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for the connection you shared with Jake, even if he wasn't ready to admit his feelings. Despite the pain, you knew that walking away would be even harder. You told yourself that maybe things would change, maybe he'd realize how much he cared for you. And so, you held on, hoping for a future that might never come.

The Dinner Incident

A few nights later, Jake invited you to dinner with his parents. You were nervous, but hopeful. The evening started out lovely—his parents were warm and welcoming, making you feel like you belonged. You laughed at his dad’s stories, blushing as Jake’s mom complimented you.

But later, when you and Jake found yourselves alone for a moment, Jake slipped his hand under the hem of your skirt, brushing your inner thigh as he pulled you into a tiny bathroom. He whispered sexy promises into your ear, his breath hot against your neck making goosebumps rise on your skin.

Jake's fingers traced the lace edge of your panties before slipping beneath them and teasing your entrance with gentle circular caresses. Your breath hitched as he slowly pressed one long finger inside of you, moving in rhythm with your pulsating desire.

Your nails dug into his forearm as he added another finger, curling them perfectly to find the sensitive spot within that sent shivers down your spine. He held you close to him with his free arm around your back, supporting your weight as your legs began to feel weak from the pleasure.

He released your earlobe from between his teeth and gazed into your eyes, lust pouring from his gaze. "I want more," he whispered huskily.

You nodded breathlessly, eager for more intimate contact. As he unbuttoned his pants with practiced ease, revealing his hardened length, you took in a sharp breath at the sight.

In one smooth movement, Jake lifted you onto the bathroom counter, bunching up your skirt around your waist. Your panties were pushed to the side as he held himself and teasingly slapped his hard length against your wetness. "Is this what you want, darling?" he asked, slowly sliding himself through your slick folds. As he finally aligned himself with your aching entrance, he met your gaze for a moment before easing himself inside of you with a satisfying throb.

"God, nothing compares to how amazing you feel," Jake groaned.

Your body arched in response to his thrusts, meeting his every movement with equal fervor. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small space, echoing off the walls around you and intensifying the already electric atmosphere.

"Yes. Fu—fuck, Jake. Don't stop." You begged in a whisper.

"Do you like it rough?" he murmured against your neck, nipping at your earlobe before pulling back and grabbing your hair roughly. A shiver ran through you at his touch as he exposed your neck to his hungry lips, leaving a mark with his teeth before continuing his relentless assault.

You moaned in response, unable to form words as the pleasure consumed you.

A loud groan escaped from his throat as he reached his peak, thrusting into you one final time. He clutched at you tightly, pulling you close as his release shook through him. The sensation of being claimed by him was unlike anything else you'd ever experienced—raw and intense but also strangely comforting.

As your breathing slowly returned to normal, you looked into his eyes and saw something different—a vulnerability that made you hesitate. But then he pulled away with a smirk and said casually, "Fuck, I needed that...Let's get back to the table before they notice we're missing."

The moment you walked out, he straightened his shirt, shrugged it off, and acted as if nothing had happened. The warmth you’d felt that evening shattered, leaving you feeling used, humiliated. You spent the rest of the night trying to enjoy yourself, but your thoughts were constantly drawn back to the bathroom and the moments shared between you and Jake. It was a bittersweet night—full of laughter and joy, but also tinged with regret and confusion.

That night, something in you snapped. You wanted to confront him, to demand answers. But you were afraid—afraid that he’d tell you, once and for all, that it meant nothing. That you meant nothing.

The Breaking Point

Days passed, and your bitterness festered. You replayed every careless word he’d ever said, every reminder that you were “just” someone he spent time with, someone he didn’t care enough about to commit to. You realized how much you’d been fooling yourself, how much you’d been holding onto a fantasy of what you two could be if he were someone else.

You sat alone, staring at the empty space in your closet where he used to keep a few things at your place. You hated that you’d let it go on this long, hated yourself for clinging to something that was never real. You thought back to his friends, the way they looked at you like you were just another girl on Jake’s arm, temporary and disposable.

With tears in your eyes, you finally reached for your phone, typing a simple message: We’re done. No anger, no plea for an explanation. Just a simple, final end. You felt a weight lift, a newfound clarity you hadn’t felt in months.

The moment you hit send, your heart pounded in your chest. This was it—the end of a chapter that had consumed months of your life. You put down your phone and took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

But the silence was deafening. No angry texts, no pleas for forgiveness. Just the cold emptiness of finality. It felt oddly anticlimactic, like a ghost that had finally been exorcised from your life.

You spent the rest of the night trying to fill the void with work and distractions, but it seemed to grow with each passing minute. The reality of what you'd just done hit you hard, and you found yourself gazing longingly at the empty closet space.

The next day, you avoided your phone, determined not to give in to the temptation of salvaging something that was so clearly broken beyond repair.

—————————

As soon as the notification for your text appears on Jake's phone, his heart starts to race and he panics. His fingers scramble over the screen as he quickly taps on Josh's name in his contacts and hits call. He can feel a knot forming in his stomach, wondering what urgent matter could have prompted you to reach out to him at this moment. Anxiety bubbles up within him as he waits for Josh to pick up on the other end of the line.

"Hey, man, I know it's late but this is really important," Jake stammered as soon as Josh picked up. "It's about Y/N. She just...she sent me a message saying we're done. No explanation, no nothing."

Josh listened intently, his own heart pounding in his chest as he tried to make sense of the situation. "What do you mean, 'we're done?' Did you guys have a fight or something? Did you do something?"

Jake shook his head, still pacing back and forth in his room. "No, man. I have no idea what happened. We haven't talked since the night we went to dinner with mom and dad. And now this...I don't know what to do."

"Well," Josh began cautiously, "first things first: Don't panic. Take a deep breath and think clearly." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Now, do you like her? Really like her? Want something more with her?"

Jake stopped pacing and frowned, thinking hard about the question. "Yes, I do. I just don't know if it's enough. I mean, she deserves better than someone who can't quite commit."

Josh sighed, understanding the weight of the situation. "Okay, so here's what you need to do. Call her. Apologize for your behavior, for not being open and honest with your feelings. Make it clear that you want to be with her and that you are willing to work things out."

"Maybe this is for the best," Jake rationalized to Josh. "Perhaps it was meant to happen this way, in the grand scheme of the universe and all that."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Josh retorted with a hint of sarcasm.

"Josh..." Jake warned.

"Okay, okay. But remember, you were the one who called me in a panic. I just don't want you to regret anything."

Jake let go of Josh and took a few deep breaths before dialing your number... but then stopped. He couldn't bring himself to make the call. Maybe he wouldn't regret this decision, right? He could move on... right?

Moving On

The next morning, you woke up feeling lighter, as if the burden of unspoken words and hidden hopes had finally been lifted. You took a deep breath, promising yourself that you wouldn’t settle for anyone who saw you as less than you deserved. You were done being someone’s secret, someone’s “casual” option. You wanted more, and you were willing to wait until you found it.

With one last look in the mirror, you whispered to yourself, “No more half-measures.” And as you stepped out into the world, you knew you were finally free.

As you near your favourite coffee spot, someone kindly holds the door open for you, and you hear the familiar jingle of the bell as you enter.

"Thank you!" You say, turning your head to meet the friendly stranger's gaze. Upon making eye contact, you realize he is an incredibly attractive gentleman with a warm smile. He is dressed impeccably in business attire and smells heavenly... or perhaps it's just a hint of desire? Either way, his manners are impeccable. You can't help but blush and return his smile.

"The pleasure is certainly all mine," he responds graciously.

.

.

.

.

@edgingthedarkness @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction @katuschka @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep @electric-gold

[sacredthethreadgvf]

I miss him so much wtf

[sacredthethreadgvf]

IM SCREAMING AND CRYING !!!!!

Covet: Chapter 12 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

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

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

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

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

as always, big thank you to @joshym for being the best sister there ever was and supporting me in my writings + pursuits + listening to every time i have anxiety over my writings <3 i love you to the ends of the earth, lis. you're my person. <3

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

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

Covet Masterlist

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

Theo had already left before you awoke at 8 am. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was going to be a good day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“August 26th,” he finished for you. 

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

“Just do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve gotta quit thanking me.”

“Why? That wouldn’t be polite.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Baby Kiszka’?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Agreed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When my soul was in the lost and found,

You came along to claim it.

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

Till your kiss helped me name it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. “I–.”

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

“It was a card he was playing, Jo–.”

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

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

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

Free PORN?! Josh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Help yourself?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

December 19, 2022

The following Monday was a very busy day for you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Win some, lose some.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why, I’d be glad to, sweet pea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let him, y/n. Relax.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This shit is fucking scary as hell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Touché.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which game was it?”

“You Laugh, You Drink,” you answered. 

“Hm. Okay. Which card?” 

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

“Why?”

“It just doesn’t, Els. Drop it.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No.”

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

“Elsie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was Jake at the appointment?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s okay, babe. How about–.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fucking lavender. No fucking way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lavender. Lavender is so special to us. 

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

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

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

“You first.”

“No. Mom gets first say.”

“Jake.”

“Y/n.”

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

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

“One.”

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

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

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

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

“And you, too.”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You. Loved. Him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.”

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

You loved him. So, so much.

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

“But it’s not fai–.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let him, y/n. Please.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

December 22, 2022

Tonight was a night you fucking hated your changing body.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n?”

What?! No. Jake? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby’s fine, Jake,” you sniffed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The truth was, you couldn’t handle accepting his assistance. Vaguely, you wondered something. It was a horrendous thought, but you couldn’t help but contemplate if he was only helping this entire time (the walks, the decorating, the water spills, the brownies) because Maya had once told him to help you however he could. 

“Maya–um,” he’d shaken his head a few weeks ago, everyone asleep or close to it after Friendsgiving. His brows had furrowed as he’d messed with his bottom lip. “She told me that she wanted me to help however I possibly could. She wants me to be attentive and helpful in any way I can be.” 

Did she still want him doing that though? Helping however he could? After his slip up on game night, right in front of her? You weren’t so sure after how she’d spoken of your baby. . . Or how she’d spoken of you and Jake, even.

You didn’t know. You were pissed at life tonight. Blame it on the hormones. But any thought of her being involved in his efforts to help angered you to the point that you were tempted to outright refuse his attention just to not allow her the satisfaction that he listened to her. God. . . what the fuck was wrong with you? Your emotions were a pendulum swinging back and forth – constantly.

“You just what?” He insisted, bringing you back to the present. 

The ludicrous words spilled out without a second thought, exposing your tumultuous thought process. “I’m sure you’re only in here to check on me because of Maya, Jake. It's not me that you care about, it’s about appeasing your girlfriend and making sure to follow her rules.”

The words continued flying out of your mouth, as if you didn’t have control of what would come next.  “That’s all that matters to you; her and the baby. Not the person carrying the baby. But that’s okay. I shouldn’t matt–.”

“Oh my god,” he moaned the words, frustration evident in his tone. “We are not getting into that shit. You know how I feel about you — how important you are to me.”

“Yes, but we talked about how she should come firs–,” you tried to reason, but he cut you off.

“Who’s she? Maya or the baby?”

“Both,” you clipped, not even close to seeing eye to eye with yourself. “Both should come before me. Especially your girlfriend right now.”

“I don’t agree.”

You groaned, laying your forehead on your crossed arms, which sat on top of your scrunched knees. The skin of your thighs pressed directly to your nipples. And, with the motion of your forehead, you’d swept over them in a certain way that had you picturing Jake in ways you weren’t supposed to.

“Fine,” you gave him that. He wasn’t wrong, per se. The baby should come first. But. . . It was a dangerous line, considering where the baby was at this point. “But just because she’s inside of me right now doesn’t mean I need your help when I’m hurt.”

“You needed my help the other night when you tried carrying that damn Christmas tree up the stairs all by yourself.”

“I had that down,” you snapped back, your head coming up from your knees with the fibbing retort. “I didn’t need your help with that eith–.”

“Y/n. Are you kidding me?” he argued, one click of a boot heel indicating him coming closer. And it was confirmed when you heard his voice just a little clearer–nearer–than before. “You were not in the position to do that on your own. You could have easily fallen down the stairs, in turn hurting yourself. And thus, hurting our baby.” Alright. He had you there. He had a good point. A solid point.

“Okay,” you said once more, relenting. “I did need your help with that. But right now? I’m doing just fine. Just fell in the shower. So you don’t need to worry about me. We are nothing–.”

“No. Don’t start that shit. If all we are is nothing to you, it’s not like that for me. I know you said that shit the other night. But we’ve always been something and you are something enough to me that I do worry about you,” he paused, another click of a heel. “You matter to me, y/n. Whether you like it or not.”

Oh he was not going to throw those words in your face. Not when he’d said nearly the same thing, almost directly after you’d said it, no less. You’d tried really fucking hard to not think of those words, having enough to try to navigate in your own mind. Didn’t need those words infiltrating. But you couldn’t not think of the words in this case. He was being unfair.

The words “We were never anything. Still aren’t.” and “There’s nothing to be hung up on.”, being spoken in front of you and the entire room of people who mattered to you. Then, he’d broken out in that sudden fit of coughs. That had been alarming – you’d wanted to help him. But she’d been right there, patting his back. Doing her job as his girlfriend. 

And once she’d sated him enough to catch his breath, he’d landed the nail in the coffin with your personal favorite. . .“Y/n and I aren’t a thing. Never have been, never will be.” Yeah, those words–that phrase–in particular still stung like a bitch. You were quite glad you’d shut it out. Except now, it was back. And it was glaring in your face. 

“You are not going to pin those words on me, Jacob Thomas,” you sharply informed him. Dared him to test your argument in this case. “You said the damn same and worse about us to her and everyone the other night. Remember? We never have been a thing and never will be? You made your opinion perfectly clear with those extremely kind words. So, don’t bullshit me.”

It was silent for a few beats. You’d gotten him, you were sure of it. But. . . you didn’t want him to leave. This wasn’t over yet. You still needed more from him. An explanation of sorts if he was so set on you believing one thing and Maya believing another entirely. 

“Y/n,” he suddenly called you back to him, your head turning to look towards his voice. “I’m pretty sure I’ve said plenty of other things to prove to you that isn’t actually true. I just had to get her off my fuckin’ ass. And yours. Especially yours.”

“I’m sure you say the same shit to her,” you bit back, squinting at the curtain that hung between you two. “Say just enough to get her happy and her body loose and ready for you. You just keep opening your damn mouth and let whatever you think spew out of it.”

“Actions speak louder than words, baby. And you know for a goddamned fact the only reason I had to cover with those words was because my actions showed something I do not want Maya privy to,” he explained, making an incredibly decent rebuttal. It made sense. Hated to admit it. “It’s not her fucking business what we had or have and I don’t need her overstepping. So, I lied to her. I fucked up by letting her see all of that and I wish the damned bottle would have just landed on someone else.”

“Is that you saying you didn’t want to touch me?” Childish and pointless to ask, you knew. You were just being a brat at this point. 

“I wanted to lay you down on that couch,” he answered, his voice suddenly lower and raspier. It made your heart race. “Wanted to get you completely fucking naked and have my way with you in front of every single fucking person that could see.”

You were speechless.

“But I was too busy thinking that instead of how thoughtless I was being. As soon as I laid my hands on you, all other thoughts were out the window. I was determined to have you some way at that moment,” his words came smoothly and steadily. As if he’d been waiting to say all of this. “And now I’ve made it harder on you. And now I’m sure she is fucking suspicious of us and I don’t want her on your ass, y/n.”

Still, you sat in silence as you let his words wash over you. . . he wanted to fuck you that night. You weren’t surprised. You’d known how badly he wanted it–how badly you wanted it–but the fact that he’d just flat out taken that risk in front of everyone. . . . (Admittedly, it did still turn you the fuck on to think of it.) 

But it couldn’t happen. It was just getting harder by the second to resist him. Especially while you were already naked (body opening up again, thanks to him). Right next to him. You really didn’t know what to say to that, so instead, you pondered a bothersome thought lingering in the back of your mind. Sizzling on a burner, crackling and popping. 

“How do I know you’re not saying shit like this to her to reassure her?” You sounded all small and vulnerable. You hated it. But, it was unstoppable. You felt so weak for him and it was bound to send you into a sob fest at this point.

“I don’t waste my time on shit like that with her. Anytime I have the choice, I choose to reassure you,” he stated, finality laced in his voice. “You don’t want me to, but I do. It’s you whose heart I want to protect. I can’t help it, y/n. And I’m sorry for that. I know it’s not morally okay or whatever – but shit. It’s you and I can’t help myself at all when it comes to you.”

Before you could ask another question, he was continuing. “Like right now, she is not here with me and I don’t plan on going back to her,” he postulated, truly letting his feelings show. You were equal parts falling for his openness and drawing back at it.

So, you tried to avoid it. As usual. “Where is Maya?” You asked, not sure why you were still set on making conversation about her. You didn’t know why you felt the urge to bring her into the conversation. . . kind of felt an obligation to, feeling like the outlier party no matter his words. 

“She’s not here,” he plainly stated.

“Is she okay?”

“Yes, y/n,” he grumbled, sighing. “Could you just worry about yourself for a few minutes?”

“I don’t want to take you away from her.”

“You’re not.”

“But–.”

“How come you care so much about whether or not you’re nothing to me if I’m nothing to you, by the way?” He interrupted you, causing your breath to catch, calling you out just as you had him. “You said it first that night, kept on later about how we couldn’t be anything. You started the nothing train and I just hopped the fuck on. It seemed like a decent enough diversion; no matter how much it felt like a sword in my fucking chest to hear you say that.”

Dammit. Did you just admit the truth? Slightly? Yes? No? Fuck. You felt cornered by an obligation to be completely honest and you didn’t like that. You wanted to sit and be avoidant, didn’t want to be held accountable for your words. You were just what your mother always called you. Selfish. You couldn’t argue the harsh word at this moment. So, you did the best you could do to explain. Didn’t want to say too much for fear of opening a closet of skeletons. 

“You will never ever be nothing to me, Jake,” you lamented, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You looked at your toes, the water hitting the very tips of them. “The only reason I said what I did was to work around getting hurt, myself. I was afraid of what you’d say to her and I was deep in my emotions because she had been saying shi–.” Fuck. No. You didn’t want to tell him any of that yet. Was not your place. “I also wanted to protect you. Didn’t want you to lose that relationship with her because of a stupid round in a game with me.”

“You thought it was stupid?”

Dammit. There was no getting away from some admittance tonight, apparently. He’d caught you at a really bad time. He’d probably consider it good, your heart opening up to him. But it scared you. 

“No, Jake,” you shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you. “Nothing with you has ever been stupid to me. Because you are the farthest thing from nothing to me.” There. You said it. “Feeling your hands on me at all makes my entire world stop in an instant. It’s intense, incredible in a way that I can’t explain without–,” you got choked up on a sob that threatened to bubble up. God. Stop, y/n. “So. Please just accept that and move on,” you ended your mini admission with a sigh, a few tears trailing down your cheek. “Maya matters most, next to the baby. Period. And you need to be with her more than me at the moment–at most moments.”

He was silent for much longer than you would’ve liked. It made you feel a little bad that you’d accused him of not caring in the first place. You’d started the topic of conversation by calling him out, arguing with him when it wasn’t supposed to matter. 

“What do I need to do to convince you I feel differently?” He spoke, his voice more earnest than before. “I’ve tried, y/n. I’ve tried to tell you that I care about you, you just won’t listen. You refuse to believe it. I’m here because I want to be. That’s it. I’m not going back to her tonight. I’ve already made up my mind. Not while you’re in the shower crying.”

You heard him take a few more steps closer. You knew he stood just inches away from you, and the only barrier between him and your naked body were the thin shower curtains. A familiar sensation continued to blossom in the pit of your stomach, a swarm of butterflies that always seemed to flutter to life whenever your body had a certain urge to be with him. An unmistakable rush of desire, need — a craving for him that coursed through your veins. You didn’t know why you kept pushing him away when all you wanted was to be near him. . . so badly. The baby needed stability, yes. . . but she wasn’t here yet. And you didn’t particularly care for Maya enough to protect her heart. Stupid ass Theo was a non-factor. . . ick.

The biggest thing standing in your way, still, was a stupid trauma response. Your fucked up brain telling you that he didn’t care – couldn’t care – for you. Problem was, you didn’t know whether to believe it or not. Who did you believe? Your brain, your heart, or Jake? Who was in the right? You knew that you selfishly wanted him near, no matter if he cared as much as he said or not. . . And anytime you pushed him away, you hated yourself for it. The idea of him staying close comforted you, but also scared you with how unsure you felt about it all. You couldn’t understand it. 

“I can leave though, baby,” he offered, sounding apprehensive, but willing to do it. “If it is truly what you want, I’ll leave. I don’t want to pressure you into telling me anything else. I—I want to be here for you. But I also won’t force it on you. Do you want me to leave? Because I wi—.”

“No, Jake,” you said with a sudden surge of confidence, desperate to keep him with you. “I don’t want you to fucking leave. I’m just not sure what or who to believe. My brain is fucking with me right now and I’m vulnerable and naked as hell and I can’t—.”

“How can I make you believe me?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, squeezing your arms around your legs just a little tighter. Burying your face into your arms, you felt a betraying tear fall to mix with the water droplets. 

“Do you want to dry off and meet me in the living room to watch–?”

“Is Maya going to be upset if you don’t—?”

“I don’t care.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted. “Now, do you want to get out and watch a movie or someth—?”

You groaned, grumpy at everything. “I don’t want to get out yet,” you responded wetly. The sound of tears clogging your throat. 

“Why?”

“Because nothing tonight has gone my way, and all I want to do is just sit here and feel sad in the shower, Jake,” you argued. You knew how ridiculous you sounded, but didn’t care worth shit. The pregnant, hormonal part of you was barreling through, amidst all of the authentic, emotion-filled space. You sounded like an ass, you knew it. “Is that too much to ask?”

“What if I’m not okay with you sitting there and feeling sad?” His voice sounded closer. 

“Then, I don’t know what to tell you,” you stubbornly responded, slightly nervous at him being nearer to you in proximity.

It was quiet for a few solid moments.

“What happened tonight that didn’t go according to plan? Why’d you fall?”

Why all of the questions? What the fuck were you supposed to tell him? Did you tell him about your vibrator trouble? The body insecurities? Every detail? None of it? A piece of it? Fuck if you knew. Dammit. 

“My body changing has been pissing me off. Suddenly got bigger this week and I don’t know how to feel about it,” you started, sitting your chin on your arms, staring at the water falling in front of you, still only touching your toes. Your hair was steadily drying, making you feel chillier. With a shiver, you kept on down the path of honesty. “I fucking hate how fat I am right now. I do love my baby body most days. Other times, I just hate it. And this week, my bump just. . . Bumped. And, the extra pudge on my fingers, toes, feet, arms, legs—anything that’s not the belly itself—makes me feel gross,” you let another tear fall, landing on your thigh. “It sucks even more because I feel guilty — like I’m being hateful about the baby. But it’s not the baby that makes me feel gross, it’s me–.”

“Y/n,” he tried to interrupt in a stern tone. “Please don’t–.”

“I just don’t feel like me all of the time anymore,” you kept on, getting all kinds of buried thoughts out in the open air. “And tonight–.” You paused. To tell or not to tell. . .Fuck it. “And tonight I felt sexy. I felt sexy enough that I wanted to have a night to myself,” you started, scoffing at the idea and the terrible way of explanation. “I wanted to have a night of just being by myself and acting on the ‘feeling sexy’ thing. And you were gone, so I didn’t need to worry about being loud. It just felt–felt like the perfect night to take a shower and use my vibrator to try and–.” You paused, thinking of the most eloquent way to say what you were wanting to say. Ugh. Fuck eloquence. “I wanted to feel good, Jake. I just needed to get myself off while this feeling lasted.”

The stretch of silence that followed your words made you want to crawl inside of a hole. But, the words were officially out there, and you decided to be brave amd own them rather than crawling in a fucking metaphorical hole. So, you sat there, waiting to see what the fuck would happen after saying something so blatantly honest. 

You finally heard Jake clear his throat from the other side of the curtain. “So,” he started. “I’m assuming you didn’t succeed in that?”

“Nope,” you answered with a bit of indignance. “I sure didn’t.”

“Well,” his voice was suddenly closer than it had been prior to your confession. Your chest flamed. “What can I do to help?” 

“There’s nothing you can do, Jake,” you insisted. Because, truly, there was nothing he could do. That in and of itself was the depressing reality of it all. “You aren’t available to help how I need and that’s just fine–.”

“I am available. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

What was he getting at? “The help I need is not something you can—,” you groaned, frustrated. Why were you having to explain this to him? “You are in a relationship, Jake. Plain and simple. And as much as I do want you here with me, you should be with her right now anyway.” It sucked, but you meant it. The guilt was crawling up your chest for putting him in the position you just had. He didn’t need to know about your sexual ventures. You needed to hold true to what you’d encouraged a few nights ago. “I shouldn’t have even said any—.”

“I never said I wasn’t in a relationship,” he stated, short and testy. “But I’m here right now to–.”

“You’re here to help,” you finished. “Yes, Jake, I know. But there’s nothing you can fucking do. What is there for you to do? Just sit here and shoot the breeze about how I fell and killed the mood before I could find some fucking relief? Because I seriously doubt you’d actually want to do that. In fact, we could begin the wonderful conversation by talking about how hard my ass could have fallen but didn’t. But that doesn’t seem–.”

“How’s your ass feeling?”

“Numb.” 

You heard him snort a laugh and then sigh, long and deep, fully deflating his lungs. You secretly wondered how long it would take. How long it would take for him to just give up on trying to help and decide to leave and be with Maya. (You were difficult to deal with. You knew it, he knew it. And it pissed you the fuck off when he acted like you weren’t a complete pain in the ass.)

His laugh slowly turned into a groan of frustration from the other side of the curtain. You peeked from the tiny little sliver of curtain next to you, glancing only at his leather Chelsea boots, as he went to lean against the wall. He wasn’t going anywhere. But he was getting aggravated, you could feel it. You knew how to push his buttons and you were bad about shutting up. 

“I just feel like shit about myself right now,” you said, trying to lighten the air. “I’m having a massive fucking pity party.”

Silence. All you could hear for a few moments was the sound of the shower and your heart thumping in your ears.

“I can help you feel better.”

Then, out of nowhere, you were recollecting a night not too long ago where he was the one insisting on boundaries. That night, he’d stood there, telling you he wanted to help however he could. But he’d been very clear about what could happen and what couldn’t happen.

He was so close. His breath, having fanned over your face. You could still smell the clean mintiness of his toothpaste. “Obviously with limits,” his voice lowered a bit as his eyes peered down at you, referencing how Maya had instructed him to help.

“Obviously. . .,” you’d trailed off, unsure, and raising a brow out of complete confusion for the conversation’s direction. “I wouldn’t want you to cross any sort of boundary. You’re in a relationship with her. Not me.” 

But. . . There’d been so many times you hadn’t held true since then. A blatant, heady example being your mouth around his dick in his Jeep. Embarrassingly, you hadn’t been able to control yourself and he’d been nowhere near stopping you that night. You could still feel how rock hard and smooth he’d been against your tongue.

Your thoughts briefly spiraled, your thighs clenched. “How are you going to help me, Jacob?”

“You know how.”

“No. I don’t,” you snapped, insistent on avoiding the ache between your legs at the thought of his dick in your mouth.

“Yes, y/n. I know you fucking do.”

There were a million questions coming to you. You shook your head, your hair having grown stiffer as it steadily dried after being out of the spray for long enough. You felt totally unsure. You wanted him so damn bad. . . 

But—your train of thoughts were your worst enemy.

“Are you only asking to help me or make me feel better because you pity me or some shit?” You asked, completely confident in your question. Figured you might as well ask him. 

“No. It’s not pity at all— I just. . .,” he sighed, groaning at the end. “Ridiculous as it may sound to you, I’ve found that when you’re hurting, I hurt. I really fuckin’ hate when you’re sad.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” you mumbled, hopefully loud enough he could hear you. I feel the same way about you. “You’re telling the truth?”

“Of course I’m telling you the truth, honey.”

Well. You moaned, letting your head fall to lightly hit the wall behind you. “I wish things were easier sometimes,” you sniffled, continuing to pour raw feeling from your own heart, as your core thrummed for him. Simultaneously, a singular tear drifted down your face. “Easier for us — you and me,” you sniffed. 

“I know, baby,” he said, low and rasped but loud enough that you felt the pet name all the way down to your wet toes. “Fuck.” 

He groaned, exasperated. But. . . there was more behind it. Like he was frustrated for more reasons than one. And that one groan, that’d come from deep in his throat. . . it had your skin licking with heat. Your chest ignited – heart ramping up quickly. Your thoughts, his noises. . . They were coming to an amplified pulse in the pit of your tummy.

Josh’s voice at Jungle Juice rang through your head, like annoying fucking church bells chiming as someone pulled on them – hard. The harder the yank, the louder they rung. “I told him that if he’s going to do that shit, he needs to keep it out of Maya’s sight. Because, while I don’t condone cheating, I do condone my brother being happy. And hopefully, she’ll be out of the picture soon anyway, so the cheating won’t even have to be a factor. Keeping it out of her sight and all — won’t be an issue.”

And, it was at that moment, you realized. . . Jake could also, most definitely be remembering his brother’s words, too. . . You couldn’t help the rippling, burning desire in your stomach that melted into your core. . . The pathway of your brain that was getting harder and harder to ignore the longer he stayed so close to you while you were completely naked under the spray of the shower. You felt your sensitive nipples peak against your wet thighs. And suddenly, you wanted nothing more than to let him just fucking help. You wanted him to do it. You shouldn’t want it, no matter what Josh believed. . . But – Josh had always had very sage advice. . . what would make this time any different? 

Then, Elsie’s voice from months ago – before you’d ever even had sex with Jake that first time. Didn’t know where the fuck she was coming from, but there she was. Assertive as ever. “I think it would be good for you to live on the edge. Just once.”

You were so fucking conflicted. . . or. . . were you? Fuck. It was wrong to even think of it. But, damn. . . If you didn’t want it so bad. And the longer he stood there, the more you needed it. Ached for him – needed him. 

“I want to help you, y/n.” His tone of voice was bordering one you’d grown accustomed to for so long. It resembled how he’d sound when his need for you was nearing the point of no return. Or. . . were you just imagining things? Hormonal delusion? 

“You know. . .,” you heard him take in a deep breath. Once again, you peeked from the little sliver between the curtains and shower wall, to see him slide a hand through the front of his long hair as he leant against the same wall you were resting against. He wasn’t looking at you, thank God. His eyes didn’t leave the wall above the shower as he cleared his throat. He gave a small cough, implying he was about to say something heavy on his mind. You’d learned his little signs.

Time ticked by slower than molasses, but simultaneously moved at the speed of lightning with his next words. “I’ve read that orgasms are said to help pregnant women for a variety of reasons. I’m sure you know this, too. . . But, um. One I read about recently was actually concerning how they work in elevating self confidence. Remind you how desirable you still are.”

No. Fucking. Way. His back was then sliding down the wall, coming to sit next to you. So close to you, his head falling lightly to lean against the wall, just beyond the thin curtains. You averted your eyes, trained them on the shower’s stream of water ahead of you. 

“And I would be really fucking honored to be the one to help you with that. . . if you like that idea,” he finished, heavily breathing in and out. 

Well that had taken some courage to say, surely. . . It was helping you feel all the more courageous yourself, actually.

Figuring there was absolutely nothing to lose, you went ahead and asked him your nagging question. “Why were you reading about that? What made you care so much about pregnant women having orgasms?”

“Y/n.” 

“What?”

“Seriously.”

“What?” You blanched, a tiny laugh following the word. Honestly, you were just in shock and you weren’t sure what in the hell to say, so you were deflecting.

“You know I want to please you. I want to show you how much I care about you,” he huskily stated, no hesitancy whatsoever in his words. “Want to show you the same fucking way I’ve shown you so many times before. I want be the reason your body trembles. . . the reason you cry for more until I give it to you. I can help you find some sort of relief, baby.”

You felt yourself drip from your entrance, your body begging you to give in to him. “Why?” You breathed, the word hanging in the air for a few seconds, the air so still. Thankfully, the shower water disguised your labored breaths. 

“Because that’s one way I know I can help you,” he asserted, his stance unwavering. “I’ve done it before, I can do it aga—.”

“Jake. You’re in a relation—.”

“I know, y/n,” he cut you off, biting the response your way. “But right fuckin’ now, she’s the last damn thing on my mind.”

“Jake,” you said his name in a stern tone once more, scolding him. You hated yourself for it – why were you trying to speak sense into the situation? “It’s not worth jeopardizing anything just because you feel like you have to help a miserable pregnant wom–.”

“I’m not jeopardizing anything, y/n,” he argued. You heard his back slide up the wall. He was standing again, as you chanced another glance from behind the curtain. “I had this talk with Josh that has helped me feel damn assured in this, too. And, like you keep reminding us both, Maya even told me to help. She doesn’t have to know every way I do it.”

Hm. So he was thinking of Josh’s words. Goddammit, Joshua. And still, you argued. “So now it’s just because she wants you–.”

“Can you please cut the fucking shit? I can assure you she does not want me doing what I want to do to you right now. And you fucking know it, too.” He argued (making a very good point, by the way. . . yet again). “You know you want this—that I want this. Don’t act like you don’t know it,” he challenged you, voice leaving no room for argument. “All of these times we’ve been so close to going for it and we keep stopping ourselves.”

“Why don’t you just get it out of your system with Maya?” You clipped, being snippy for no reason whatsoever. Genuinely, you were in no place to argue when your body was literally begging you to let him have his way with you.

“She’s not you,” he simply stated, not taking the bait to start an argument. He sighed deeply. You could imagine he was shaking his head with the action. “Every time I’m with her, you’re there. In my mind, in her place. . . You and your beautiful fucking body that’s growing my damn baby.”

You felt your core flex and continue to release arousal at his words. Fuck it. You were not in the mood to be the one in the right anymore. You didn’t want to be smart about your choices. . . what you wanted was his mouth on you, his dick, inside of you. You wanted to let him do whatever he wanted between your legs. And, technically, it would be him helping to benefit the baby. . . the less stressed you were, the less stress she felt.

And God only knew how fucking stressed you were lately. And there was only one way–one person–you wanted to relieve that right now. Fuck morality. 

“Who’s to say you’ll want me when you actually see me like this?” You genuinely wondered. 

You couldn’t believe you were actually giving this idea any substance. There really was no way it could end well. But your thoughts just kept trailing to how it could end well. . . very well. . . With you moaning his name as you finished against his tongue or around his cock . . . And, dirty as it would be to her, technically Maya did tell him to help with whatever you needed, so it wasn’t entirely against her wishes. Although, you were one thousand percent sure this was not what she meant. . . . at all.

“Try me,” he challenged, voice so low with the two daring words.

Fuck. Your body could not deny his touch any longer.

So, with wobbly legs and weak knees, you stood up. Your ass tingled, hurting just a bit. You were trying so hard to not somehow slip on any water on the shower floor. You decided to lean against the long wall of the shower, facing the bathroom. Holding on to the plastic bar built into the middle of the longer wall, you adjusted to face the curtain. As you did this, it was clicking that he was about to see your naked body in a way he’d never seen it before. . . So, you needed to make sure you looked as good as you could. You leaned just the slightest bit to reach the water – let it wash off your face, rinse your hair. . . the best you could do to refresh.

It’d helped. You were feeling slightly more appealing. Felt water droplets sliding down your wanting body. Even though you wanted to cross your arms over your chest, you knew the pressure would hurt like a bitch if you did that. And you needed to keep your balance. So, the other option was tucking them behind your back to hold the plastic bar in the wall with both hands. With a push of your chest, your full, heavy breasts perked in waiting. Your body was pulling you to him. . . Needed him.

You bent one wet leg at the knee, your hip curving just right. It felt odd to prepare for his eyes, in a body that didn’t always feel like your own anymore. Thanks to his baby.

You couldn’t conceal the tiny whine that slipped from your lips when you crossed your thighs, pushing them together, adding a little bit of pressure where you needed it so badly. And your skin was so silky smooth. . . the fresh shave and wax was working wonders at helping you to feel a little more appealing. “Are you sure about this?” You asked, feeling a bit of worry accumulate in your belly.

“Yes. More than,” he said, no doubt in his tone at all. Though, after he said it, he paused, ready to await your words. “. . .Are you?”

Guilt was what you should’ve felt in this moment. But, right then and there, guilt was as far out of the window as it could’ve possibly been. This felt real. Natural. It only felt right. So fucking right. So, if he thought it was okay, so did you. 

“Fuck yes,” you breathed, whining on the words without warning, your legs rubbing together once more. Your swollen chest was heavy with each breath you took, waiting for him. 

“Let me see you,” he beckoned. 

Needing the curtains gone from between you, but scared to move for fear of falling, you huffed. Pregnancy and POTS were not a good combination for a clumsy-ass like yourself. 

“I’m afraid I’ll land on my ass if I move,” you explained, a little giggle following the words. “Um, c-can you–?”

And before you could even finish the request, the thin barrier between you suddenly vanished and. . . standing before your naked, wet body. . . was him. Your eyes didn’t instantly find his face, suddenly shy in front of the man who’d seen you naked so many times before.

So, you focused fully on his body. He was still fully clothed, but completely there, right in front of you. And, from what you could tell from the evident imprint in his dark jeans, he was definitely wanting you. He wanted to help in this special, intimate way. . . Your eyes trailed up to his chest, but you didn’t meet his eyes. 

“Oh my god,” he groaned, so low in his throat. You could feel his eyes, but you still hadn’t let yourself meet them. You couldn’t yet–too nervous under his burning gaze. “Everything. You are so–fuck. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on–.” 

Him stumbling over his damn words was causing your skin to flame with slight perturbation and anxiousness. Needed him to spit it out so you could avoid any more insecurities. You glanced up, hoping to get a better idea of what he was feeling by watching his facial expressions. 

What you found was him, rubbing his lip in thought before he held his chin with the same hand. His free hand was placed to properly adjust himself in his pants.

His eyes slowly trailed from your thighs, to your hips, and finally to your midsection. Ever-the-showing pregnant woman, your babygirl hadn't been a slow grower, ever. And after this week’s progression, your belly was already pretty round at 18 weeks. For what it was worth, you had a pretty cute pregnant tummy (and a smooth one, thanks to the stretch mark oils and creams). It was everything else about your rapidly changing body that went to your head.

In spite of all of the changes, though, his expression darkened even more; his stare, so hungry for what his eyes were feasting on. You felt extremely defenseless in his presence, under his gaze. He seemed in awe of what he saw. . . made your stomach burn with an animalistic need. A blush crept up your chest and neck, settling in your cheeks. You tingled with anticipation; all of you, completely at his mercy.

Restless for attention, your nipples peaked at his regard to the rest of your body. And, as if sensing it, his eyes swept upwards, in perfect time to watch your swollen breasts, rising and falling on choppy breaths. Truly, your breathing was inconsistent, only coming out in short huffs. You were not able to catch a full breath with the way your heart hammered in your chest. And it seemed his breathing matched yours, as you watched every. single. reaction to your body fan across his pretty features. . .Time was moving in slow motion. 

The way he bit his lip, as he finally locked his dark eyes with yours — it would forever be etched in your memory. “Holy fuck,” he breathed. “You are everything, y/n. The most exquisitely lovely and radiant woman I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Your heart was lodged in your throat, pounding and pulsing. Breath catching, your next words slipped easily past your lips. “Kiss me, Jake.”

a/n: oh, how I love this chapter (and we haven't even gotten to my favorite part yet)....... ;)

Taglist (continued in reblog):

@joshym, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlover, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend

@aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf

@torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule, @texas-bbq-pringles, @jennyraye20

I always try to tag everyone, but you all know how it goes! 🤦‍♀️ Please make sure you’re filling out my Google Form if you would like to be tagged and aren’t already on the taglist! <3

[sacredthethreadgvf]

Indifferent - II

a/n: thank you all for your patience! i know this series is heavily anticipated and i’m so glad it’s loved, i appreciate everyone’s support. i did proofread but in case i missed anything, please excuse any spelling/punctuation/grammatical errors. here is part two <3

summary: a friendship has bloomed, but overtime it has grown into something more. feelings and questions can’t be helped when a cabin trip is taken… just the two of you.

word count: 19k+

warnings: smoking, drinking and other paraphernalia usage… angsty, pining, miscommunication, intoxication, etc.

✿ ✿ ✿

Avoiding it was difficult. Admitting it was just as hard.

Sam knows, Josh too, Danny even. They all know, and neither of you will let up. You're both too stubborn.

So incredibly, terribly, stubborn.

So stubborn, you don't even classify each other as friends. A month in, a month of hanging out when you can, looking forward to seeing each other, texting late at night, smiling when you see the messages, and still, “not friends”.

So stubborn, that when you are out with everyone else, you won't talk to each other, you won't let others see you interact like that. There was something mildly awkward about it. Everyone knows and is expecting it, yet you won't give it to them.

Part of you thinks it's nice, wanting to stay private with Jake, not wanting to showcase a friendship like that. But, at the same time, it's weird. Especially when everyone is waiting for it. Because everyone knows.

And you just won't admit it.

"It would be so much easier if you just admitted you're friends."

Jake settles back into his chair, looking out into the evening sky with his beer in hand. It was normal for him to space out, get lost in a thought and think deeply about it. He'd been doing it a lot lately, and his mind often became filled with you.

Josh sits nearby with his cigarette, puffing it and flicking the ash. He noticed early on how smitten Jake had gotten, how he almost seemed to have softened a little. A happier look in his eyes, brighter glow on his face. How he looks on stage sometimes, he looks that way a lot now. Particularly so after a meeting with you.

Josh adjusts his position and sits up, leaning in so his elbows are resting on his knees and looks seriously up at Jake, quietly asking, "Are you two hooking up?"

Immediately he's snapped back to reality, frowning deeply at his brother and fiercely shaking his head, "What the fuck? No?"

Josh leans back with his hands up in defense, "I don't know, sorry I asked. You two seem like an item but refuse to be friends so..."

"Fine, we're friends." Jake mutters, sipping from the can and setting it down, "Just get the 'told you so's over with, please."

He chuckles at that, shaking his head and putting the cigarette out, "Not going to do that. But, if you really are friends, I wanna see you actually talk to her next time we go out. Or do you all have some pact that forces you to stay a certain amount of distance from each other in public settings?"

Come to think of it, there was really no discussion about this with you. No agreement to still avoid each other in front of everyone else. It just sort of happened on its own, and Jake's realizing that it is pretty weird. Are you really friends if you're embarrassed about it? Maybe that's why neither of you will admit it. He frowns to himself, thinking it all over.

Are we even really friends then?

He thinks it over, thinking of all the normal friendship things he can. Talking often, seeing each other, enjoying each other's company, telling each other anything and everything. Maybe that last one is a best friend thing, and you two aren't quite at that level yet. That's where you and Sam are.

Except, you haven't been telling him exactly everything lately. He asks about what you and Jake do and of course you tell him, but certain bits are left out. Like, how when he took you bowling a week back, he made you play in the arcade afterwards and won you Betty Boop plush from the claw machine. Or, at the bar, when you ordered a margarita and the tender was generous with the tequila, so he stole your straw and had a sip. Then there was when you went record shopping and you shared the headset to listen to a Stephen Stills record together. Leant in closely, your hand holding one muff while his held the other, and the backs of them pressed together while Love the One You're With played.

How on earth could you tell Sam any of that? How could you tell anyone any of that?

So you don't.

A tiny secret bubbled up inside of you. All those sparks and butterflies fill it up and sometimes you're certain it will burst. There have been close calls, but you're good at keeping it undercover.

"So, you and Jake." He says and it makes you groan every time, "I'm just wondering..."

"We are friends okay. We get along." You huff, standing in line outside the venue.

He scoffs, "I would have never guessed it from the way you all act in front of everyone."

You both step forward as the line flows in, "What d'you mean?"

"Oh, I mean..." he trails off, crossing his arms and looking away from you before glancing back and looking quickly away again. You get the picture, and it makes you shove his arm lightly.

"Yeah, alright, whatever."

"It's like you all are fuckin’ scared of each other now," he laughs, holding his arm where you hit him, "you're allowed to look at him, at least."

You mumble, "I know." That's the problem. You can never just look at Jake anymore. You know there's a gleam in your eye now, one of admiration. You don't even deny your small liking of him, one that's more than just a friendly like.

"So why don't you?" He asks.

"I don't know." You shrug. "He doesn't look at me."

"That's not true." He frowns and shakes his head, stopping with you when the line pauses. You look up at him as he continues, "If anything, he looks only at you."

You blush, so you look away, and he smirks, but he leaves it at that. No need to downright embarrass you. But, for the rest of the night, you remind yourself of that phrase.

Only at me? Well, that just can't be true. Can it?

That following Friday you meet Jake outside the jazz club he suggested you check out together. The truth is he's been here before, and he likes it, and he has his fingers crossed that you will too. When you walk down the sidewalk, he doesn't recognize you for a second, and his eyebrows raise when he realizes that it's you in the tight, black, midi dress and heels walking towards him.

"Whoa," he holds his hands out, looking you over.

You swat your hand at him teasingly, scrunching your nose at his reaction, "Shut it, no compliments. I got far too many on the walk over here."

He smirks as you move some of your hair out of your eyes, your makeup flawless, and even your nails done. He cleaned up nice for tonight too. A fresh shave and his hair tucked into a neat knot at the base of his head, hidden beneath one of his wide brimmed hats which matches his blazer. Even for a formal event, Jake leaves a few buttons undone to showcase his necklaces, and he's still not too good for a pair of jeans.

However, you both look good. You both look good together.

"We make a pretty pair," he smiles, taking your hand in his and not giving you time to react as he swiftly leads you to the entrance, "a pretty late pair at that. You fashionably late?"

"Traffic," you murmur, adjusting your hold on his hand, letting yourself enjoy the warm yet rough feel of it for a moment, "plus, I can't drive in heels."

"I could have picked you up." He hums, leading you down the dimly lit hall, the sounds of saxophone and bass humming through the walls.

This all feels so casually romantic, like you two have spoken like this, touched like this, forever. Even that tone from him is one you have never heard from him before. Casually romantic. Maybe that's what this is...

"And spoil your surprise?" Well that came out differently than you expected.

He looks back at you with an open mouthed, boyish smile of shock, stopping to turn, repeating back, "Surprise?"

His face gives away his thoughts, which cannot be just friend-friendly.

You swallow thickly, staying as cool as you can while you remove your hand from his and flick your hands down your figure, as if to showcase yourself. You were alluding to your recreation of Sandra Bullock's slow-motion walking in Miss Congeniality for him on the street, and it makes a smirk spread on his lips.

He steps forward, being bold with the few inches that separates you two, and quietly asks, "Did I tell you how lovely you look tonight?"

You almost lick your lips, then remember your lipstick and stop yourself, staring back into his brown eyes as your chest rises and falls with your uneven breaths. Finding your voice, you shake your head and breathe your reminder back, "I said no compliments."

"Right," he nods, biting the inside of his cheek as his eyes study you.

You realize he has the thickest eyelashes and the prettiest pair of lips. He's so close, you can count sun-stained freckles and see faint acne scars from his adolescent years, a time you didn't know Jake Kiszka but you're sure even in your youth you would have dammed yourself by choosing to hate Jake first before loving him. You're so close to him he can see the shimmer on your eyelids, can smell your perfume. It's a new one, he's sure, perfect for the summertime heat. Fresh, citrusy, spicy. It could draw him in if he closed his eyes and forgot that you're standing in the middle of the hall.

And so he continues to lead the way after softly murmuring, "We're already late enough anyway."

Even though he didn't say it, it leaves you blushing. Just the question itself, asking you if he'd told you that you're lovely. In of itself, that's a compliment. He thinks you look lovely tonight; he told you within the question.

But there's nothing else exchanged, he just leads you into the bar and finds a table for two near the back that you claim as yours. Like a gentleman he pulls out your chair and you sit down, and he then softly touches your shoulder and heads over to grab some drinks. You find yourself watching him order rather than the band. Watching isn't the right word though. Your hands clasped and being used as a rest for your chin, a simmering smile on your lips and your chest growing warm. This is admiring.

It isn't until he begins walking back, you stop yourself, and pretend that you've been absorbed in the pianist's solo the entire time. He felt your eyes on him though, and he sets the drink he picked out in front of you. You look at it, then up at him with a raised brow, watching him settle into the chair across the table.

He looks back at you with a smirk as he sips the brown liquor in his glass, undoubtedly whiskey of some sort. You lean forward and ask jokingly through the music, "This isn't spiked, is it?"

"It's literally just an alcoholic beverage, Y/N." He murmurs back into his glass.

You roll your eyes, hand grabbing your glass and bringing it to your lips as you ask, "Well, yeah, but you didn't poison it?"

An older man nearby, with a funny tie and receding hairline, glances back at you with a glare. You sink sheepishly into your chair, silencing yourself with a sip. Jake frowns at the grump as he turns away and then decides to stretch his leg over to hook his ankle around the leg of your chair. Then, effortlessly and silently, he tugs you and your chair over to him and smoothly drapes his arm across the back of it, the two of you facing the small stage together.

"It isn't poisoned, by the way." He speaks low, only loud enough for you to hear.

You smile into your glass and nod, whispering back, "Figured."

You look down at his hand holding the whiskey glass against his inner thigh, his ankle resting on his opposite knee. Then, turning, you look down at where his free hand dangles off the back of your chair. So close to touching you but not. Part of you wishes he would.

"Now we can talk without getting noise complaints." His voice calls you back.

You smile, looking downward at your lap then up to him, "Maybe we should just listen to the music."

He watches you as you look back up to the lit stage, and he doesn't look away for a few seconds. His hand, the one dangling to your left, contemplates touching your shoulder. It lifts and stalls, his fingers stretching then curling into his palm, before he decides to set it back down. He turns his head and looks at the floor, then lifts it up and gazes at the band, doing as you say, and listening to the music with you.

He's been here before, seen this band before, but tonight, for some reason, the music sounds especially good. He decides it's because he's there with you.

From the corner of your eye, you can see him tap his foot to the beat, his head nodding along just barely. It makes you smile, subconsciously tilting your head towards his, leaning closer to him. Jake can never sit still in general, put him in a room with music though and all efforts fly out the window. You can't deny a good beat either though, and your hands clap with the crowd after a mean trumpet solo that leaves you with goosebumps. Jake brings his fingers to his lips and lets out an appreciative whistle before laying his arm back on your chair, his hand brushing your shoulder, before finally resting there.

Like a pair of kids, you both flush and bite back smiles, over the moon that he's just touching you, and you're letting him. And like angsty teens you both act like it's no big deal. And like adults, you slowly look over at each other, and share a smile.

Mature, grown-ups. It's as if there never was a grudge to begin with.

The show comes to an end, and the venue stays open all night with more sets and bands and acts, but the two of you head outside. It's only 9 o'clock, and Jake could stay out all night, but he knows you prefer nights in anyway, how you enjoy yourself better one-on-one rather in a large crowd or a group. Early on he discovered that when he's with you, he likes it just being you and him. No pressure, no eyes, just you with him, and him with you.

"What did you think?" He asks, leaning back against the brick of the building. Jazz enthusiasts make their way inside as he digs into the pocket of his blazer and pulls out a pack.

You nod with a thoughtful smile, "It was cool. Never expected you to be so into jazz."

He shrugs his shoulders, pulling a cigarette out and placing it between his lips. Looking up at you, he raises his brows and shakes the package, silently offering you one which you shake your head at. A smirk appears on his lips, tucking the cigarettes back into his pocket and fishing out a lighter. You watch him silently as he takes a puff and exhales the smoke away from you.

"You know what Josh asked me the other day?" He asks, his eyes looking down at the sidewalk. Your eyes linger on his cigarette, so he extends his two fingers out to you and you hesitantly take it, taking a drag from it.

"What?" You blow the smoke past your lips as you reply, taking another inhale before giving it back.

His lips crack into a grin that makes your stomach flip, voice deep with a chuckle, "He said this, okay? Not me."

"What is it?" You step forward with your own interested smile.

Josh says a lot of things, you wonder what crazy idea or thought popped into his head this time.

He bites his lip, telling you, "He asked if we were hooking up."

Your eyes widen and out of nervousness, you let out an unattractive cackle. Head tilted back, eyes shut, mouth hanging open, you hope that your display of amusement disguises your shock. He breathes out through his nose in a laugh, bringing his cigarette back to his lips and sucking on the end of it, watching you laugh.

When you look back at him, catching your breath, you sigh out the one word, "Never."

Ignoring the gentle pang he feels in his heart, he nods along, "Well that's what I said."

God why does that make your own heart chip?

You go along with it, "Why would he even ask that? I mean, we're friends."

He shrugs, "He doesn't think men and women can just be friends, I guess. Which makes no sense... he also said something about having never seen us interact in public." You stick your hand out, silently asking for the cigarette which he raises his brow at and tilts his head, "Don't get greedy with it now."

Your nose scrunches up and he finally passes it back to you, and you softly mumble, "Why does he have to see us interact?"

"He's a psycho." Jake mumbles, making you giggle and place the cig in your mouth. He watches your lips pucker and the smoke float out past your lips. He wets his own lips with a swipe of his tongue before saying, "I may have also agreed to give him exactly what he wants though."

Your eyebrows pull together, "Which is?"

"An interaction."

"Oh, Jesus Christ..." you mutter, turning away from him with the cigarette.

"Hey," he follows, stepping around you so you're face to face again, his hands reach out and hold your upper arms, "it's not a big deal."

"I know it's not," you sigh, looking down the street at the headlights on cars that pass, "it's not a big deal for us, it's not a big deal in general. It's just the fact that it's a big deal to him."

"I figured if we just go ahead and give him what he wants, we can shut him up," his hands fall from you just as you finish off the cigarette, "he loves to tease."

"So does Sam." You mumble and drop the butt to the sidewalk and like a gentleman he steps on it.

You think back to the night you went out with him, how he looked at you with knowing eyes. So much like Jake's, but so different.

"What does he say?" He asks, and you shrug.

"He's just... very observant." You decide is the best way to describe him, "Your brothers have perceptive eyes."

"And what does he observe?" His voice is low, smooth and soft. Warm. Tender. Sweet. Etcetera.

It makes you cheeks warm and you look to him before away once more, "He says we act like we're scared of each other. At least when we're in a group."

"I'm not scared of you." He shakes his head, stepping forward.

"I know," you hum and finally, actually, look at him, "but apparently that's how we behave."

"So," he steps back, crossing his arms and leaning his weight to the side, "we are terrified of each other while simultaneously sleeping together?"

You laugh, and overhead thunder softly sounds but neither of you notice it, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Apparently."

He smiles and returns closer to you, it's like your laughter is a magnet, and he says with a softened voice, "We don't owe anyone anything, but let's just try next time we all go out together, yeah? Prove them wrong."

"Oh, anything to debunk Samuel."

The two of you end up lingering outside together a little longer. The conversation revolving around how you're going to stage this interaction and when as clouds gather overhead. He makes you laugh, coming up with obnoxious scenarios such as what you should do if Willie Nelson shows up or if perhaps it starts to snow ice cream.

"What flavor?" You joke along.

He pretends to think it over, "Mint chocolate chip."

"Oh right, of course."

"You know," he sighs contentedly as he leans back against the lamppost behind him, "we have really good conversations."

You can't help the laugh that escapes you, "Yes, our talks about ice cream snow are super intelligent."

He rolls his eyes with a smile dangling on his lips and he waves you off, "You know what I mean."

"Do I?" You tease once again.

You do though. You know exactly what he means. You can have these talks with Jake that will leave you buzzing afterward. That will cast a semipermanent smile on your lips for the rest of the day. That will make you get in your car and instead of playing music, you just replay the conversation over and over in your mind.

He grunts as he pushes himself away from the post and comes forward, "I don't know. I feel like when we talk, we talk for hours, even if it's just a few minutes. And when we get done talking, I don't want it to stop."

Your lips part as you look up at him. You'd laugh out of nervousness if you could, but it's those same nerves are causing you to stand there silently. Slow thunder rolls again and it goes ignored just as the first time.

"Oh," you nod, taking in how close he is to you, "yeah. I get that."

His mouth hooks upward as he stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets, "I also wanted to talk to you about something."

You're slightly lost in a Jake Kiszka mist, his eyes making your brain dance all hazy, and you let out a soft, "Mhm?"

"Are you busy next weekend?"

You shake your head.

"You don't have to say yes or anything, but, I've been wanting to go up to the cabin. I remember how much you enjoyed it that one time with all of us, you wanna go again?" He asks, a hopefulness in his voice, his bottom lip caught between his pretty teeth.

You weren't expecting that, honestly, but it makes your eyebrows raise with excitement, and immediately you nod your head, "Yes. Oh my gosh, yes. I love the mountains."

You recall the spring before last, when you made the trip to the smokies with your group and how much fun you had. Despite Jake being there, you two kept your distance that time, but now you're sure it will be even better. With all your friends, him included. You could hardly wait.

"Everyone else will be there?" You ask, watching as he scratches the back of his neck and looks down at his shoes.

He mumbles under his breath, "...No."

"Oh," you speak like a bubble being burst. Quick. Light. Popped. Oh. "Wait, so, just us?"

He shrugs, and slowly nods his head, "If you're okay with that."

"I just," your head moves side to side as you search for the right words to say, "I mean, I am, but what will everyone else think?"

"They don't have to know." His words come out in a hushed whisper, as if to prove his point of this being a secret.

It makes you smile, how impossible this sounds. You both being out of town at the same time. Jake at the cabin and you... where? What will the lie be? And when you get back how will you cover it up? Not to mention, what will occur on this weekend tucked away in a wooden cabin with just Jake?

You tilt your chin up to him, "Do you have a plan?"

"I do, actually." He grins.

"What's your plan, Jake?" You hum.

He likes your voice when you talk like that. Quite a lot.

Sucking in a deep breath, he tells you, "I'll be going to a guitar convention, and you'll be visiting family."

"How convenient we'll both be out of town for the same amount of time." You can't help but giggle at the madness of it all, "And what if we get caught? What if Josh or Sam decides to pay the cabin a little visit? Hm?"

"Then we're caught," he shakes his head as he talks, "they'll catch just two friends spending time together in the mountains. Nothing more."

Nothing more.

He's right. It really is nothing more than that. So you begin to nod in agreement then slowly tilt your head to the side. The eyes you give him make his heart thump, why must you look at him so sweet? You're both so caught up in your conversation that you don't realize raindrops have begun to sprinkle here and there.

"So, if we're friends, we really shouldn't have to come up with a lie then, right?"

Wind passes through you two as he nods and says, "They'd never believe us anyway."

Because who would? People passing by right now probably wouldn't even guess that you two are just friends. Just friends don't dress up and go to jazz bars. Just friends don't stand so close on the sidewalk. Just friends don't look at each other how you're looking right now. And just friends most definitely do not run off to the mountains alone together for a weekend.

So yes, you can claim you and Jake are friends, but are you really?

Yes, we are. You're determined to prove them all wrong. He is a friend that I have a crush on.

He watches your eyes turn. Once starry, full of admiration, now stubborn. He wonders what you're thinking about.

However, all thoughts, both in your mind and his, come to a halt when fat, cold drops of rain splatter on your arm, and by the time you both look up, a downpour has occurred. The two of you start to walk down the sidewalk, but quickly pick up the pace to a jog as lightning flashes and rain soaks you.

He goes to turn into the parking lot behind the building, but you keep going straight, so he stops, "Where are you going?!"

You turn to him, squinting through the thick rain and yelling back over the sound of it, "To my car?"

"Get in mine." He grabs your wet hand in his, pulling you into the parking lot. "You had to park down the block, huh?"

You jog in step with him, hands still interlocked, "Two blocks actually."

He wheezes out a laugh, and you look over at him. His hat helps him out immensely, but everywhere else he's soaked. You on the other hand, have no protection, and your makeup and hair are ruined. The wind picks up, the fabric of your clothes sticks to your bodies, and Jake's hat flies off into a puddle. You let go, and chase after it.

"It's just a hat!" He in turn chases after you now.

"It's your hat!" You laugh, totally unbothered by the fact that your clothes are soaked down to your skin.

You pick it up and turn back, running with him the rest of the way. He quickly unlocks his car and opens the passenger side door for you, slamming it shut once you're sat down. Sitting there in the silence, you listen to your panting breaths and the sound of rain hitting the car's windshield and roof as you watch him jog around the front. You look down at the hat pinched between your fingers and try not to think too hard.

It takes everything in you not to look at your reflection in the sun visor mirror. Takes everything in you to ignore the way your dress hugs you even tighter now.

The sound of rain hitting pavement bursts through the doorway as he gets in and shuts the door behind him, slouching in his seat and sighing out as his eyes shut. You look over at him, subtly admiring his profile. How... sensual he looks. Soaked, hair sticking to his scalp and the side of his face. Water droplets stream down his cheeks and neck, disappearing beneath the material of his shirt. His lips are parted so he can get his heavy breaths in and out easily. The sound of his panting...

You press his hat against his chest, and it makes him open his eyes and look down at it with chuckle. It makes you smile, the deepness of it, and your hand tingles when his fingertips brush over the back of it as he takes the accessory from you. Sitting back, you expect him to place it in the backseat, but instead, he sets it on your head, running his fingertip along the brim of it and sitting back. Taking his time admiring you.

"There we go." He murmurs, looking you over shamelessly.

You know you don't look as put together as you did earlier, but you can tell that he doesn't mind. In fact, maybe he even likes how you look now better. Skin shiny from the water, makeup runny, hair damp beneath his hat, and the slight chill in the air causing goosebumps to rise. His eyes should warm you up, with how they are just blazing over every inch of you, but if anything, it makes a shiver roll up your spine. You notice when they linger at your chest, and of course it's because your nipples have hardened in the cold.

"You don't want your hat?" You whisper, though you don't know why.

You should speak up with the rain clanging against the metal, but you don't. It's as if you don't want to raise your voice in a moment like this. So close to him, yet not close enough. Close enough to whisper, but not for a kiss.

"It kind of suits you." He hums, "Like a crown."

Your lips twist in an effort to hide your flustered smile. What a vague way- or maybe just a Jake way- to call you a princess, or perhaps a queen. Queen is what he's going for, he knows he would have said tiara if he wanted to compare you to a princess. To him though, you look regal. Something close to a fearless leader that just got done with battle. There's a softness to it too, it's your gentle smile and shining eyes.

"Well, I won't steal your finest helmet, Sir Jacob. Perhaps you can loan me an aged one instead." You take it off, much to his dismay, and set it carefully in your lap.

He smirks at your show of a cockney accent, nodding softly, speaking just as soft, "I'll see what I can spare."

While waiting out the rain, the two of you sit and talk about dumb stuff. A new sushi house that opened nearby, how your favorite grocery store rearranged everything so you can't ever find what you need, what eyeliner he's been testing out for the stage. You tell him you'll help him practice and he says he'll hold you to it. You hope he does. Then, the rain lets up, and it slightly disappoints you both, because you know that means your talking time is over.

While he drives you drag out the conversation as much as you can, and he smiles and nods at every word you say until he slows and stops beside your car. You sigh and look over at him.

"I know what you mean, what you said earlier." Your blink softly at him as you lean your head back against the headrest.

"What?" He hums.

"How when we get done talking, I don't want it to stop. I wish I could talk to you forever sometimes." What the confession.

His lips twitch, and he looks at you with half-lidded eyes, "Just me?"

"I said sometimes." You sit up, unbuckling your seatbelt, running a hand through your knotted hair as you joke, "Don't let your ego skyrocket."

"Oh, my heart," he sets his hand on his chest as you open your door with a laugh, "it hurts. You broke it."

You glance over your shoulder as you get out, "Bye, Jake."

"Hey," he says just before you shut the door, making you look back with a confused stare. He leans his elbow on the center console and looks up at you with a toothy grin, slowly saying with his voice deep and soft, "you look beautiful."

You snort, making his grin widen, "I said no complimenting," and add in a teasing, airy voice before shutting the door, "stop hitting on me Kiszka."

He watches you through the rain-streaked window as you get in your car and wave goodbye to him through yours. He smiles and waves back, before driving off. How he's going to last two whole days alone with you? Fuck if he knows.

And these are the moments where you wish someone else knew. You wish you could call someone as soon as you're alone in your car and squeal into the phone with excitement. You wish you could have them sit on your bed as you pack your bag for the weekend in the mountains. To share that excitement with someone, that's all you want.

But this is a secret, and it has been for a while.

So instead you drive home with the biggest grin on your face, listening to your favorite music, and skipping up the steps to your front door. Your neighbors must think you're insane, dancing as you unlock the door in your soaked dress and wet hair. As soon as you're inside, just like in the movies, you close the door, lean back against it and slide down to the floor with a happy sigh.

Next weekend couldn't get here soon enough.

Packing was relatively easy, you imagine you'll go hiking, so comfy clothes is a must. From your sock drawer, you toss a few pairs into your duffel, and then a sports bra before your eyes linger towards the back of the drawer. Silk and lace and chiffon. Tiny scraps of fabric that are strictly reserved for those especially special moments. Is this weekend special?

No. Because he is your friend. This isn't special, this is normal. It feels so wrong to call anything you do with Jake not special, as if it's unimportant. This weekend is so important to you, time with Jake is always important. He is important.

You slam the drawer shut and turn away from it, zipping up your packed bag and setting it on the floor at the foot of your bed. How are you ever going to prove to Josh and Sam that you're just friends if you're contemplating packing a matching set for Jake?

That night you can hardly sleep though, thoughts of Jake and the excitement in your stomach for this weekend keeping you awake. In the morning, you're greeted outside by Jake and his car, and a coffee in your cup holder.

"Thank you." You sigh, sinking into your seat as you click your seatbelt and take a sip.

He grins over at you as he puts the car into drive and starts down the road, "Thanks for agreeing to be locked up with me for a weekend."

"Hmm, you act like we aren't obsessed with each other." Your lip catches against the lid of your to-go cup. "This weekend is going to be fantastic."

He smiles softly as he keeps his eyes ahead of him, both hands on the wheel, careful with you in the passenger seat. You take note of it too, how he obeys all traffic laws, uses his turn signal, slows down at the turns.

"Cross your fingers for good weather," he says pointing a finger towards the overcast sky, "might rain a little."

You shrug, because honestly, you could get snowed in and you'd be fine with it, because you'd be snowed in with Jake. You couldn't think of a more perfect position you'd rather be in honestly. Hours alone with him, ages to just talk and talk and talk. That's all you've ever wanted to do with him, talk late into the night without a worry about having to put it to an end.

In the couple of hours it takes for you all to get there, you do just that: talk. Chatting about whatever has been going on recently, music, work. You point out interesting sights you see out your window, he reads all the weird bumper stickers he sees out loud. Even climbing up the mountain, you softly talk about random things. Then, he pulls onto the gravel driveway outside the log cabin and parks the car.

"Well that was fast." You breathe out a laugh, not even realizing it had been roughly two hours on the road.

"I need to bring you on tour with us," he jokes, opening his door and stepping out, of course jogging around to your door and opening it before you get the chance to do it yourself, "talking with you makes road-trips feel like teleportation."

You scoff as you stand up and he shuts your door. However the thought of you going away, further, with him, it makes your stomach turn. You'd love it, you'd love to see Jake in a new city, out of his element, somewhere far away. You probably wouldn't even feel homesick, as long as he's at your side.

He retrieves both your bags as well as his guitar case, refusing to let you carry your own, because of course he's a gentleman even to his friends, and gives you the honor of unlocking the front door. When you do, you step in and open the door fully for him, and he sets your bags down by the door which swings shut.

The cabin is just as cozy as it's always been. Nothing too extravagant, a quaint little place with the best view. You always took the bedroom off the back of the cabin so when you wake up you would see the mountains, and you plan on dropping your bag off in there later. But right now, the two of you walk towards the back balcony so you can check out the sight together.

He sets his palms on the banister, taking a deep inhale and exhale as he scans the landscape. Mountains for miles, now uncovered from their foggy mist in the afternoon. Normal people would be enjoying the view, you can't take your eyes off him though.

"Is there something on my face?" He asks, catching you in the act of staring.

"No? No." You look away quickly, pretending to absorbed by the range. You should be, this is gorgeous. But Jake Kiszka is gorgeous too, so then again, what makes the mountains so special?

He doesn't really mind your wandering eyes, honestly. Actually, he quite likes the attention.

In the distance, you spot the darkened clouds Jake warned you about earlier, and it makes you straighten your posture and nod towards them. He looks and sees them too, giving you a small nod of acknowledgment.

"Seems like we almost always get rained out." He chides softly.

You nod, looking at the balcony, the rocking chairs out here, the small table for two. You picture yourself drinking coffee out here in the morning, and in the vision, Jake is sitting there with you.

"Maybe it won't last long."

Soon after, you retreat inside, because the torrential downpour begins. While you stare out at the rain, watching the fog roll in with it, Jake steps around in the kitchen, whipping something up for lunch. You get mesmerized by the white clouds that appear, so close you could almost touch them if you stretched your arm out enough. Thunder makes you step away from the glass, and instead join Jake at the counter.

There are worse places you could be, and you honestly couldn't imagine a better situation to be stuck in. Rained in by a storm just with Jake. It makes you think back to last weekend when he grabbed your hand and ran with you to his car, how he looked at you in his passenger seat and watched you through rain-streaked car windows.

Using the back of his finger, he slyly slides a plate in front of you, grabbing your attention that was staring out the window above the sink. Sam had told plenty of times that Jake is a fantastic cook, and Jake himself has prided himself in that too, but always thought they were over exaggerating it. Looking down in front of you though, you're pleasantly surprised by the dish presented.

A neat sandwich on some sort of fancy looking bread, is that brioche? Then beside it, a small, finely cut selection of fruits. Strawberry, kiwi, mango, and grapes. You look over to him with a small smile, and he sheepishly keeps his eyes away from yours.

"You spoil me." You say, hands moving down to grab your plate, "Can we watch the rain while we eat?"

He looks up and nods, grabbing his own, leading the way towards the two chairs by the window with the side table in between them. You both lean over your arm rests as you eat together, eyes trained on the rain. It isn't going to be stopping any time soon, in fact, it's coming down harder and harder. The wind howls, thunder booms, rain pounds against the roof.

"Sorry it's keeping us cooped up." He sighs after finishing off his lunch, slouching into his seat.

You wave it off, "Rain up here is different from rain in Nashville."

He nods, then asks, "You're not tired of me yet?"

You breathe out a quick laugh, shaking your head as you stand and take his plate, setting it on top of yours, "No, are you kidding?"

He sits up, watching you walk away. It was fun being with you here, just with you. It was... interesting watching you walk around. Bare feet padding against the wood floor, in comfy shorts and an oversized t-shirt, talking to him so casual, taking his plate for him after he made lunch for you. He wants to make dinner and breakfast for you too, eat it with you, maybe even surprise you with a tray in bed.

Domesticity, it's something he's never set his sights on for too long. But with you, like this, with him, he doesn't want to imagine life any of their way.

After setting the plates in the sink, you look at him over your shoulder, "I'm gonna go claim my bedroom."

"Claim?" He scoffs, now standing up to grab his own things from the doorway.

"Yeah, I have my favorite room."

"The room off the back."

You look up at him as you bend down to grab the handles of your bag. Then, holding eye contact, you slowly stand up straight and nod your head.

He remembers, because before you came along to their friend group, that was always his room. Josh and Sam teased him relentlessly for it, how Y/N stole his bed, but Jake would never confront you about it. It seemed unnecessary, and honestly you never talked to each other anyway, so he had no idea how to bring it up. However, now, well, now he can do something about it.

"You don't want the master?" He asks.

You shrug, raising a brow at him, "Don't you?"

"Well, I do like the view in that one room..."

Both your eyebrows raise, "Jake, don't tell me you want to take my bedroom."

"Yours?" A grin crawls across his face, the right side of his mouth hitched up higher than the left, "I'm afraid you've got it all wrong, dear."

Your face softens as you come to the realization, that's not your room. It never was, but Jake let you have it for some reason. Now, it seems, he wants it back.

Also, dear? You'd answer why that makes your pulse quicken, but you know why. It's a mixture of his voice and smile and eyes. His eyes, looking at you. His smile, beaming at you. His voice, talking to you.

"You can take it." The way your voice comes out almost breathlessly pitched leaves you embarrassed, but it's a good thing that you're already heading down the hall anyway.

It's convenient that the master bedroom is just across the hall from your usual spot, Jake's old usual spot. When you get inside you shut the door, just needing a half a second of privacy to catching your breath as you flop face down onto the mattress. He let you take his fucking bedroom this whole time, and you didn't even know.

You take your time laying there, assessing it all. How slightly embarrassing it, how slightly irritating it is. Because, yes that's his room but shit you love that view. Hey, at least you have the en-suite bathroom! You lift your head and look over at the door leading to the shower and toilet before dropping it back to the quilt.

How would you feel a year ago, hell even a few months ago, about that? Knowing you got excited to sleep in the room that was deemed Jake's, knowing you slept in that bed that was his. You wonder if all the times they came up here without you, he still took that room, or did he see it as tainted by you?

He walks into his bedroom, setting his bag down and looking around. Immediately, he steps toward the window, placing his hands on the sill and gazing outside. While you lay in contemplation, Jake admires the view without a second thought. It wasn't as big of a deal to him for some reason.

Rolling over onto your back, you reach your hands over your head and stretch, blinking at the ceiling before sitting up. Might as well get a few things tidy in here for the evening, who even knows what the rest of today will hold. When you're finished setting everything away and giving yourself a mini pep talk in the mirror, you head back out to the living area.

The sound of light strumming draws you in close, and as you step into the room, you spot Jake hunched over his acoustic guitar. You approach him from behind as he sits on the couch, playing some melody, you're not sure what. Perhaps a new song, or something that just popped into his head.

As you round the couch, he lifts his head and smiles when he sees you. His strumming doesn't even stumble for a second, keeps playing as though nothing as interrupted him at all, and it nearly puts you in a trance. You sit down at the seat diagonal from him, watching his wrist move up and down, and then flicking your vision over to his left hand. His fingers move skillfully over the strings, not a single flinch from him. You know your fingertips would be screaming, but he does it all so effortlessly.

How? Literally, how?

He grins, "Enjoying the serenade?"

You nod your head, then tilt it with a coy smile, "Don't you have to be singing in order for it to be a serenade?"

He purses his lips to the side with a shake of his head and a shrug, "No, I don't think so. I don't sing."

"Not even for me?" You hum in a teasing tone, but there's a hint of a hopeful lilt in it.

Truth is, you would love to hear Jake sing. Josh of course was blessed with the vocal cords of an angel, but you'd imagine Jake would bestow that talent as well. Even just a little humming, you'd enjoy.

He licks his lips, contemplating it for a second, then shaking his head and wrapping up the guitar playing. You pout softly when it's finished and he sets his guitar aside, you've never seen Jake play like that before. Just for you.

Wondering when you'll get to experience it again leaves you disappointed in its absence, so you get up and join him on the couch.

"What now?" You ask, watching as he glances out the window and back to you.

He smiles softly, "I guess our options are limited."

"What, no hiking in the monsoon?"

He shakes his head at you, grin widening, "I didn't pack my rain boots."

You take a sigh and lay your head back, "Looks like we're stuck." Slowly, you turn to look at him, softly adding, "I don't mind though."

He hopes you can't also feel his heart skip a beat, or maybe he does. Maybe he wants you to know... do you know? Does he... know? His face grows hot, and spreads across his entire body to the point where he's sure he looks a little red.

You notice the blush, and it makes you wonder yourself. Does he?... There's no way. There has to be no way, because you're friends.

The couch is too small. The room is shrinking. Everything is too close, and you can't get away. You're not sure if you necessarily want to, but, it's Jake.

"Do you..." his voice trails off and he finds himself stumbling over his own feet as he stands, walking quickly to the kitchen, "uh, I'm getting water."

"You do that!" You breathe out a laugh before getting up and speed walking down the hall, "I have to use the bathroom! Haha!" You basically slam the door shut behind you, your breathing uneven and your face flushed. "What the fuck?"

With both his hands planted on the counter he stares down the drain in the sink, mind racing. She does, she has to. She... likes me? But then come those other thoughts, the same thoughts you're having now in the bathroom, but what if I'm just overthinking it?

Simultaneously, in an effort to snap out of it, you both splash water onto your faces and gasp for air as you stand up. Thunder rolls, and the lights flicker, once, twice, gone.

"Shit!"

"Hey, hey Josh. I said hi. Hello?" He paces back and forth over the rug in the now dimly lit living room, and you can't help but watch with a smirk. This was all so ridiculous. "Yeah, no. Yeah I can hear you. Wait, no I can't. Hold on..." he looks at you with a frenzied grin and slips out onto the balcony, hoping that he'll get better service there, but it seems to not do the trick. You watch him through the windows as he pulls his phone away and end the call, setting his hands on his hips and taking a deep breath.

So badly, you just want to go out there with him, place your hands in his tense shoulders, and relax them. Wind your arms around his waist from behind and hold him to you, feel his hands touch yours and press your ear to his back, listening to him let out a deep exhale. You want him to tell you all his worries, all his thoughts that stress him. Want to know all his secrets until there are none left and it's just him. Until you just know him and love him for all he is.

Wait, what?

"No connection?" Your voice hardly wavers when he returns, as if you were just daydream of what his love feels like.

He nods and sets his phone down on the coffee table, it being deemed useless now with no service. "Guess we're too far up. It's okay. Electronic free weekend I guess."

Your lips twitch at that, "We're really committed to this mountain people bit, aren't we? No light, no electricity."

He chuckles, sitting with you, rather close. You shift in your spot but try to be discreet about it. It was one thing to like Jake, and know you like him, are attracted to him. But it's a completely separate thing to know he likes you back. You're not even positive about that part, you have no real proof or evidence, just a hunch. Give you an inch and you'll take it a mile though, that flushed face wasn't one of embarrassment or shyness, it was one of liking. Longing.

"Shall I start a fire? Go hunt for our dinner?"

He's grown very fond of the sound of your laugh over the course of your freshly bloomed friendship, but now he loves knowing he's the one that makes that laughter occur. He'd do anything he can to make you laugh. All for that sound, all for knowing he caused it. It's a sense of praise, if you will. Let's him know that you think he's funny. Reminds him that you like him.

You do like him.

It's only early afternoon, you've still got an entire even then another day and a half with Jake. You make the decision rather quickly that you don't want the tension to ruin this trip.

"Fire sounds nice actually," the rain brought a chill with it despite it being summer, "keep ourselves entertained like the cavemen."

It's his turn to laugh, causing pride to bloom in your chest the same way it does for him. So while he gets up and messes with the fireplace, you wander around the cabin a little, looking for something to keep you occupied.

There is the liquor cabinet... it’s pretty sparse though. Plus, you can't justify drinking so early, even locked up with nothing else to do. Old board games with half the cards or pieces missing sit abandoned on a shelf. Books, and lots of them, decorate bookshelves, and you end up spending a good five minutes reading their spines, taking ones down to read the back, and collecting an armful.

You're not sure if Jake is a bookworm like yourself. Surely, he's into biographies or pirate tales, so you grab a novel on John Denver and a fantasy one involving knights and far off kingdoms. However, you take the romance supply, which is slim pickings. One book set in the 1800s about a farmer and a wife having an affair, and the other is Priscilla Presley's Elvis and Me.

Well, there's nothing else to do.

When you return the fireplace is aglow and Jake has taken back to picking his guitar. You walk up to the coffee table with your stack and set them down. He looks up, still mindlessly fingering the strings, and lifts a brow at the tidings you bring.

"Went exploring?"

"Something like that," you sigh, looking between your two options and ultimately deciding to learn more about Elvis and Priscilla's infamous relationship. Coming to the opposite end of the couch, you sit and make yourself comfortable with your novel of choice, "you have a wide range of terrible books here."

He sits up, looking at the selection you brought him, "You think I'm going to read?"

Flipping to the first page you look at him with eyes that make his blood flow race, and shrug softly, "I am. How else are we to stay occupied?"

He could think of a couple of ways.

"I dunno," he looks over his shoulder then back to you, "check the bar cart?"

"I did," you hum, voice so sweet it tempts him to lean over and taste your lips, "decided drinking should be our last resort for entertainment."

He watches you turn the pages and begin reading. Lost in the words, becoming absorbed by this book, despite how random and so not your style it is, you still make an effort to try. He admires that about you, your optimism, willingness.

"How can you even see the words?" He asks, eyes glancing about at the burning fire, "Go sit by the fire, you'll see better."

"I'm good." You say, eyes stuck on the page before you. Truth is, you aren't really reading. It's hard to pay attention with Jake right there, incredibly difficult to even comprehend words at all by his side. Maybe you should go over to the hearth, create some distance between you two.

"You're straining your eyes," his guitar playing slows and softens.

He cares about you and your vision. Awww.

You look up at him and narrow your eyes teasingly, "You're interrupting my reading."

"You really want to read about..." he tilts his head then, reaches over, snatching the book from your hands which earns him a 'hey!' from you as he analyzes the cover, "seriously? Elvis and Me?"

"Like I said-!" You reach forward to get the book back but he tosses it behind him so it lands on the floor. You sit back with a glare and grumble, "terrible book selection."

"Stop reading and talk to me." He says. It's almost whiney.

"What should we talk about?" You ask, crossing your arms, waiting for him to pick a topic.

With your full attention on him, he says and ends up looking away, out the rainy windows. "I don't know."

You scoff, turning your body and laying your head back on the arm rest, stretching your legs across the cushions of the couch. He looks at your long limbs, how soft and smooth they look, wanting to run his fingers over the expanse of them, spread them apart. He sits up straight, trying to push those thoughts out of his brain. That's no way for him to think of a friend, a friend who may or may not like him and think the same thoughts about himself.

Sometimes you wish you could see inside his mind, wander around his thoughts. Jake so often never truly says what he feels, dances around questions with big, fancy words that you look up in dictionaries later. You want to know what he feels.

"Tell me a story," you finally say in the sweetest voice, "one from tour."

"I..." he searches his brain, but it's taken up by you, "uh, in... Atlantic City, I think, Josh got locked out of his hotel room in just a bath towel."

You laugh at that, lifting your head to look at him, "Sammy told me that, I got a long, overly detailed text from him about how you stole his towel?"

His smirk widens, "Chased me naked down the hall."

You laugh some more at the very idea, "Hopefully he doesn't try calling me. If I don't answer... he'll probably assume we're together."

"They already assume that," he looks away, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, "it's unavoidable."

You nod. You wish it was avoidable. It was so... limiting. Pressurizing. This thing you have for Jake, you want it to grow authentically. You want it to bloom naturally. Expectant eyes don't help with it, makes it feel forced in a way.

Like, if you tell Jake how you feel, you'll just be giving the others what they want. But if you don't, they'll think you're lying about being friends anyway. Also, if you don't, you'll be forcing yourself to pretend you don't feel anything for him. And you do, you feel so much.

"Okay," you bend your legs at the knee and claps your hands together, "continue with your storytelling."

"I don't know what else to tell you." He chuckles.

"What are your preshow rituals?"

"Drinking."

"Oh, wow." You let out flatly.

He grins at you, loving the reaction, and defends himself in a pitched-up voice, "Helps with the nerves!"

"But like," you sit up, "do you have a routine? Like what must you do before ever show for good luck?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "I..." there he goes trailing off again. It's hard to get all his thoughts in order, you're his best distractor. Finally, he thinks of it, "I have to walk around the venue. Have to. Of course I walk around the stage but, I gotta go out onto the floor and into the seats, all the way to the furthest one back. I like to sit there and just look at it all. It's weird to think about."

He's really opened up now, and you try to keep your smile undercover as you ask, "About what?"

"That someone would sit in the very last row at our show." His eyes meet yours, "I wouldn't really think we'd be worth it."

Your eyebrows raise and you move to sit on your knees with a gasp, "You're so worth it."

His lips tilt into a surprised, open-mouthed smile. Say it again, he wishes to whisper, but honestly, he's too shocked. Those words from you mean so much to him.

"I know that I, in the past, was a bitch, but, when I went to your shows, I mean it was undeniable even then, Jake," your voice softens and he leans in to hear you better, "you're incredibly talented. You have this insane gift and it's mesmerizing. You capture everyone's attention, tell a story just through your playing, it's captivating."

"Thank you," his voice comes out nearly in a whisper.

"You're welcome." You nod.

All of the sudden, he knows that if he doesn't get away from you now, he might do something regretful. He hates that kissing you might be a poor decision but doesn't want to dwell on it for too long, because you're like a magnet for him. So, he stands up and leans the guitar against the coffee table.

"I need a drink." He turns and begins to make his way to the liquor selection, "You too."

"Not really." You hear him open the cabinet and grab too crystal glasses, "But if you're gonna make me a drink make sure it's not a disgusting one."

"You're not a whisky girl?" He teases.

Only if it's on your lips.

"You know I'm not." You cackle. Whenever you go out for drinks, he pokes you for your choice of sweet cocktails that taste nothing like alcohol.

He knows enough about you, but some things are missing. You want to pour everything out to him. Like a backpack, full of random, miscellaneous items, you just wanna dump it all out for him to flip over and take into his hands and look at. He knows you, but you want him to understand. You want him to know every little thing, just as you want to know every little thing about him.

When he returns, he hands you your glass and watches you take a sip. It's surprisingly delicious, making you give it a thoughtful nod and you look up at him. He extends his glass towards you for a cheers, and you tap yours against his with a grin.

"Wait, before you sit," you stop as he begins to walk around the couch, "we need pen and paper."

"For what?" His brow furrows.

"I have an idea for a game we can play. Are you feeling brave?"

He looks down at the brown liquid in his glass then to you with a shrug, "Probably will in a few. I'll go grab some paper."

When he returns for a second time though, he ends up distracting you with a tour story he thought up while looking for pens. Something about fans wanting an autograph and all four of them ending up signing a bald man's head. It leaves you gasping for air as you laugh, and the conversation takes off from there. More drinks are poured, and by the time you've remembered your game idea, you're on your third glass.

"Wait, the paper." You tap his knee and move to grab the sheets, handing him his which he thanks you for, "You ready?"

"What exactly is this game of yours?" He licks his lips and clicks his pen.

"Write down three questions you've always wanted to know about the other. Make them juicy and bold. The other has to answer truthfully." Your words pop like bubbles with giggles in between.

He smiles questioningly at you and asks, "Okay, well, what if I don't want to answer?"

"Then you need to drink up and then answer." The simple response makes him snort and shake his head at you, watching as you number your paper and begin writing.

"Something tells me you've had this idea for a while now."

"Well, to be fair, I wonder a lot of things about you Jacob, so..."

He glances at you, and now understands why you want to do this. As much as you want to learn about him, you want to know what he wants to learn about you. That's half the fun, finding out what the other desires to know. He makes sure to take another sip before he begins to list his questions.

It takes you both a good ten minutes to make your decisions on what the other will be asked. Three is such a small number, there's so much he wants to ask you, so much you want to ask him. But, the alcohol really begins to catch up as you finish off your drink, and you finish up your questions, waiting for him.

In the quiet, all that can be heard is the rain and the crackling fire, you watch him. He bites the end of his pen, staring at the paper thoughtfully. You wish to peek over and spoil it for yourself, wanting to know what he wants to know so so badly. What's he curious about? What does he wish for you to reveal?

"Okay." He scribbles his last question then sits back, "Who goes first?"

"You."

Your answer comes without hesitation, and he lifts a brow at it, "What if I wanted you to go first?"

You look down at your questions, then to him, "You want me to go first?"

"Yeah."

"Fine," sitting up, you turn to face him on the couch and clutch your paper, "what was Frankenmuth like?"

He looks at your skeptically, unimpressed with your first question, "Really? That's what you're gonna ask me?"

You sigh heavily and raise your hands, palms facing up with a shrug, "Sam never tells me about it. I wanna know, did you like Christmas capital USA?"

"Yes and no," he hums in that deep voice that makes the hair on the back of your neck raise, "yes in the sense that it was a small town that gave me room to grow, no because it was fucking Bavarian Christmas central."

"You kiss a lot of farmers daughters?" You ask.

His smirk widens and he glances at you with a tease in his voice, "Why? Would that make you jealous?"

"Yes and no," you tease back almost scandalously. What a bold response, but you barely give him time to process it, "Your turn," you stretch your leg so you nudge his thigh with your toe. He reaches down and grabs your foot with a smirk, making you quickly pull it free and grin at him.

"Alright, Y/N, tell me your biggest fear." He murmurs.

You take a breath, "Dying alone."

"That's fair," he nods, "nothing you'll have to worry about though, I'm sure."

"Oh you think so highly of me," you sigh, getting up and walking towards the kitchen with your empty glass, "so much faith, I appreciate that."

"I'm serious!" He chuckles, watching you pour another drink, "Tell me, have you been seeing anyone recently?"

You pour the liquor, then you pour a little more. This conversation, this game, even though your idea, is going to require intoxication. You just know Jake's questions are going to be better than yours.

"No," your reply is quietly reassuring for him, and you continue as you finish mixing your drink, "I don't have the time for dating." I'm far too infatuated with you anyway. "It never seems to last in Nashville. Waste of time."

He understands what you mean all too well. The lack of variety. It's either date this wanna-be country singer or the other. Barely any options, everyone's all the same.

"I thought you were seeing that one guy," he says, snapping his fingers to remember his name, "um, Marcus? Max?"

"Matt." You correct and he hums in remembrance, nodding and watching you come back to him. Your face is pink, neither of you can tell if it's from the alcohol, questions, or sitting so close to him. Maybe it's a mixture of all three. "We ended that like, ages ago, Jake. How do you even remember that?"

"Just like my brothers, I'm very perceptive." He crosses his legs at the ankle, eyes on you as you sit, trailing over your legs when you tuck them beside you. "Tell me about that. All I remember was his love for snakeskin boots."

You almost retch at the memory of his very questionable fashion choices, then you fake a gag, and it causes Jake to laugh.

"What do you wanna know? There's so much." You sigh, taking a long swig from your glass. "He always had something to say about my makeup, hair, my outfits. Constantly compared me to other girls to my face. He always let me know I wasn't the prettiest in the room and would point out who was. And when we got home, he'd pretend none of that ever happened, that he loved me, and would guilt trip me into bed."

His eyes harden, frown forming. What do you mean he did all that? His next question is going to be what's his address so he can beat his ass, but you sigh and it pulls him out of his thoughts.

"Basically, he was a dick, and Sam talked me out of seeing him. So I left." You slowly look up to him, slightly embarrassed from the suddenness of your confession, "We're you expecting that?"

"I was not," his voice is low. He rests his arm on the back of couch as he looks at you, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never noticed."

You shake your head at that, "There was no way you could have because I shut you out."

"Yeah but," he shrugs, feeling guilty for something he had no control over. "I still wish I could have helped you."

"Remember the party? When you walked in on me and that one guy?"

His lips press into a firm line as he recalls that night. At the time, he didn't care, you potentially hooking up with someone. That wasn't his business, and as much as he disliked you back then, he could have cared less about you sex life. Now though, looking back on it and hindsight and knowing that's not what you were doing, he hates it. He's glad he helped you then though.

"You saved me then."

"I know I did." He whispers.

"So don't beat yourself up over something you had no idea about." Your voice is firm, "Look at me." He listens, moving his eyes to your face. "Don't burden yourself with regret over it, okay? We came to each other when we did and that's what matters now, right?"

"Right," it's a shaky breath from him.

"And I appreciate you for that."

"I'm so glad," he laughs lightly at himself, "not to get all sentimental or anything, but I'm just so happy we put our differences aside, you know?"

Of course I know. You know I'm literally falling for you, right?

"I know." You nod, staring thoughtfully at him. He stares back, that same fondness in his eyes. "Me too."

God, you love him. You love him so much it hurts almost. The desire to just toss everything aside and crawl over there to him, to curl up next to him, rest your head on his shoulder. This is the perfect time, right? Lights out, fire burning, rain pouring. When will you ever have this opportunity again? If you don't do it, maybe you'll never have the chance.

"Okay," he stretches his arms, "your turn."

Oh, screw this dumb game. You should have suggested spin the bottle instead.

"Um," you look down at your paper, eyesight a little dizzy from the drinks, but once they've focused, you read your second question, "did you ever have any groupies?"

He lets his head drop back with a laugh. How did you guys go from a heart-to-heart to this? You blush from your choice of question, blush from his laughter, and reach over to take another long sip, awaiting his question.

When he catches his breath, he nods and sighs, "Yeah, like right in the beginning of it all. When we openers for the bigger bands, God. There'd be a few, and they'd wait by the back door, pretending to be out there for a smoke. Sam would always find them first, of course, and he'd invite them back to the hotel."

"Wow," you push your jealousy down. They don't exist anymore, why should you care? "Did you ever...?"

"Yeah," he nods, discreetly gauging your reaction. He can tell you don't like the thought of it, and he likes that you don't. Just confirms that you want him to yourself; he likes that. "There was this one time, it was just me and two of them, everyone went back to their own rooms, and they were so insistent on having a threesome-"

"Okay, that's enough." You cough, another long sip from your beverage. Jesus, you're already halfway through it.

"No, let me tell the rest," he snickers, scooting closer, "they kept on asking and asking and I'm like, I think I was 21 at the time, totally down. We go back to my room and they're all over me," he continues and you're hot with envy, hot with hatred for these random girls that only exist in his mind when it comes to this tale, "and I'm down to just my underwear and so are they and when I'm laying back they both just start making out with each other. At first, I thought it was just for show, ya know, but then they don't stop, and they just forget about me. I'm sitting there watching these two girls all over each other, waiting my turn and it never comes." You can't help but smile at the story, raising your hand to cover your lips. He smiles too and shakes his head at the memory, "So I got up and left. They did god knows what in there while I went to the hotel bar."

"You're kidding," you breathe out a quick laugh.

"I'm not. We banned groupies shortly after that, one ended up stealing Sam's wallet."

"Sam's never told that story." You hum, sitting back, your anger cooling off until it's completely gone.

He notices a shift in your attitude, and again, confirms even more for him. "Ask him about it next time you see him."

You nod, "Ok, ask me your next question."

"Speaking of Sam..." he looks at you with half lidded eyes, a little tipsy from his own drink, "plus you said to be bold," you sit up a little straighter, awaiting this next one, "have you guys ever hooked up?"

"No!"

"Okay! Just wondering." He wheezes.

"Oh my god..." you slouch back and cover your face, bringing your knees up to your chin as you shake your head, "please, get that image out of my head. Ew."

"Have you ever thought about doing it with him?" He asks.

"No, Jake!" You keep your face hidden as you answer, "Never."

"Josh?"

"No," you breathe out, uncovering your red face to him and staring into his eyes, telling the truth. Your voice turns smug as you relax back, "I can't speak for them though." You hope your suggestive tone will work him up in one way or another, and it does.

First, that voice. He wants to hear you speak like that all the time, perhaps saying some other types of words. But also, what you're suggesting doesn't necessarily sit well with him. His brothers have come to an agreement that you are quite pretty, beautiful, and he's sure that the thought has probably crossed their minds at least once. The thought crosses his mind, and he pushes it out as quickly as it comes.

He grunts out, "Ok, next."

Concealing your smirk, you check your last question then set the sheet aside, "What do you think of onstage? Like, when you play?"

"I think of the song."

"Ok, maybe I should ask it differently," you sit up, "why do you play like that?"

"Like what?" He raises and eyebrow, avoiding the question.

In a whisper back, you say, "You know how."

You're talking about how it looks like he's fucking onstage.

He smirks to himself, tilting his head to the side, "Well, it's partially because I just get so into it, you know? When the music is too good, you just lose all sense of everything else. Sometimes I forget I'm even onstage until I open my eyes again and I just see them."

You nod and then mock their facial expressions, "Like this?" Your eyes widen and your jaw drops as you look up at him with a dreamy stare.

He grins and nods back, "Yup. That's it too. I know they love it, so why not just give it to them?"

"So you're a tease." You hum.

He shrugs, not agreeing or disagreeing, "Just giving them their money's worth." Running a hand through his hair, he takes a breath then adds, "It's everything, it's the band and the music, it's knowing that I'm playing just right and then hearing all of them cheering me on, watching them go wild. That energy, it builds up."

"So, you have to hump the guitar?" You try to stifle your laugh, but it comes out a bit at the end.

He rolls his eyes at you with a lopsided, shy, smile, "Okay, whatever."

"I guess," you shrug and nod with him, "you'd rather move around than stand up there frozen still."

"Exactly," he gestures a hand out to you with a singular nod before drawing it away to rest on his stomach, "that wouldn't be very much fun. Standing up there, playing but not feeling."

It makes him only that much more attractive. The way he's talking about music, how it's this thing that can be transcribed and understood and felt. How it penetrates the soul and changes lives forever. It's changed his. It's admirable.

"Alright," you huff, "I'm outta questions. Your turn."

He looks doesn't to his page. Technically, he has four written down, but one is crossed out, and for half a second, he considers it. Beneath the scratched-out ink, he reads his first third question. You said bold, and it is, but when his eyes glance at you, you're taking a sip and humming out contentedly, already crossing the line of tipsy to drunk. It's not a question he'd like to ask you when you're in that headspace.

So, he asks the one that isn't scratched out.

"What made you hate me? Like, in the very beginning. What was it that I did?"

Licking your lips, you set the glass away and sigh, "I don't even know. That's stupid, isn't it? That I just decided for no reason to have his opposition against you?"

"There had to be something." He shakes his head.

"Jake," you just shrug, "I can't remember. I think you said something, a punchline to a joke, and I just didn't like it. So I decided from then on out I wasn't going to like you, which is stupid. Childish." You both fall quiet, and you look over at him, hesitantly asking, "What- what about me?"

He shakes his head, "Honestly, I didn't hate you at first, and, again, I don't think I ever truly did. When I first saw you, I was... enamored," your heart beats faster with every word he speaks, "I wanted to impress you so bad because you just seemed so damn cool, Y/N. But you seemed uninterested, and then I realized that you didn't like me, so I should just run with that instead: become someone so unlikable to you."

"It worked there for a while." You tease, making him smile a little bit, "Can I ask then, what made you want to put everything aside?"

"Same reason as you: I was over it." He shrugs, turning his body inward to face you, "We're big kids now, we don't have time for grudges like that anymore."

"Yeah," you chuckle, tucking some of your hair back behind your ear, "but I mean I was ready to give up. I ran off at first and you chased after me. You were more willing."

"We wouldn't be here, right now, if it weren't for both of our cooperation." He leans closer, "Friendship is a team effort."

He's right. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself about this. After all, you ended up working with him and now here you are. If it weren't for that, your willingness to make this work, nothing would have come from it.

"I chased because if I knew I didn't, I'd regret it." He confesses softly, "I didn't want to just let you go."

"Jake..."

You hate that you shut him out for so long. Hate that it took you two forever to finally see eye-to-eye. But this conversation you're having now, well you couldn't be happier having it. This was something you needed to discuss, it was a conversation bound to happen, and it did.

"Okay, no more sappy shit." He laughs, standing up, crumbling his paper into a ball and tossing it onto the coffee table, "Refill? Not sure if you need one but..."

He ends up getting you a new drink, and you're properly drunk as the evening turns to night. Giggly conversations ignite between you too, your laughter booming louder than the thunder, crackling softly like the fire. You're unsurprised when you find yourself laying on the floor in front of the fireplace, Jake sitting nearby on the floor with you.

Your face is turned toward the flames, letting it heat up your skin before it gets to be too much and turning away. He watches you, your hands stretched up your head, hair strewn about beneath you, shirt ridden up just a bit to show off your stomach and navel. What a perfect opportunity to crawl over top of you and press his body against yours.

And truthfully, you want that. From him, right now. You would want that.

But he won't do it. Even when you slowly sit yourself up and crawl over to him, no, he won't. Because he knows you're drunk, and he doesn't want to take advantage of you.

"Oh, don't be like that," you whine, forcing yourself onto his lap, "I want you so bad. You don't have to worry I promise, I need you, Jakey."

"Hey," he cups your face in his hands and shakes his head firmly, "not tonight. You're hammered, Y/N, seriously. I don't want you like this."

You pull your face out of his hands with a pout, slowly removing yourself from his lap, ashamed. Rejection from Jake felt like a puncture to the heart. He takes your hand and stands, helping you into your feet, and hooking his arm around your waist as you walk, or try to, down the hallway to your rooms.

And your dizzy mind can't remember much past that. He helps you into your room, you think, and then into bed. Maybe he helped you change into your comfy shirt, maybe he convinced you to brush your teeth. You just can't remember.

In the morning though, all those memories prior come racing back like a slingshot. You wish you had a hangover, so you would maybe have some sort of excuse to hide away in here, but you feel surprisingly fine. Remembering the little bits of what was said and what you did last night though, it causes you to groan and hide your face away into one of the pillows.

And now you have the whole day that you're going to have to spend with him. Great.

With your face smushed into the pillowcase, you slowly allow yourself to think back to last night's moments. His questions, just talking to him the way you did, the confessions. The floor, crawling onto him, him holding your face and telling you no. It was embarrassing, sure, but, at the same time, reassuring.

Would you have regretted sleeping with Jake last night, or even kissing him in your state? Honestly, yes, and you're glad he kept you in check.

However, even though nothing happened, you're going to have to face Jake today. Either way, it's going to be a shameful morning.

You creep out of bed, tip toeing and pausing every few steps thinking you hear him up. In the bathroom you get ready for the morning, and once you're dressed, you slip out into the hall, down to the kitchen. It's a little messy after last night's activities. Glasses litter the counter, plates sit at the table, your books and papers are scattered in the living room.

Quietly, because you assume Jake is still sleeping, you tidy a few things up and start a pot of coffee. As it brews, you pull two mugs from the cupboard and wander over to the living rooms messy. Picking everything up, you pause a moment as you reach the coffee table, bending over to pick up your sheet. You shake your head at yourself, Re-reading the questions. Your eyes find the crumpled paper ball that Jake left behind, and you pick it up, slowly smoothing it out so you can read his handwriting.

However, footsteps grow louder, and you shove the papers in your pocket just as he walks out into the space.

You turn and smile sheepishly at him, which he returns with a kind smile of his own. Dear god, don't let today be painfully awkward, please.

"Good morning," he says, voice raspy from sleep.

"I made coffee." You reply back softly, and he looks and nods and walks over to the machine where you left the two mugs. You come over to him, trying to make your own cup but he doesn't let you.

"Ah ah ah," he shields the coffee cups with his arm, "go outside to the rocking chairs and wait for me, 'kay?"

It feels like he wants to talk to you about something, like he's sending you away to gather your thoughts, and he's going to meet you there when he's ready. Your eyes meet his, and you stare at each other for moment before you slowly nod your head and break away. You can feel the heat of his stare as you walk away and step out onto the balcony.

Facing the mountains, you close your eyes and take a deep, deep breath. Then, you let it out, and let it go. Nerves explode in your tummy, you're not ready to hear what he has to say. You wish last night never happened. Because now it's tomorrow, and you suffer with the consequences.

At least it's a clear sky. You lean against the rail as you gaze out at the view, admiring its beauty. Lost in the sight, you almost don't hear Jake sneak out onto the balcony, but the click of the door alerts you and makes you turn around. He stands there with your mug and his, he knows just how you like your morning coffee.

"Thanks," you step forward and cup the mug in your hands, bringing it up to your lips for a sip.

"Of course," he watches you and takes a sip of his own before moving over to the rocking chairs. He sits down then beckons you over with a wave of his hand. It's like that wave casts a spell on you, because your feet move without you giving a second though, and you're rocking in the chair next to his. He looks out to the mountains, speaking into his mug, "Look at that view."

You nod, soft in reply, "Wish I could see this every morning. Look at the mist."

He nods, his foot planted firmly on the floor so he can rock his chair evenly. Your eyes end up drifting back over to him. His hair is messy from sleep, his clothes wrinkled, eyes sleepy. Did he even fall asleep last night? Or did he stay up into the early morning hours?

After he closed the door to your bedroom, he stalled out in the hallway, trying to make up his mind. You requested his help in getting ready for bed, aiding you in changing into your sleep shirt and he stayed and watched you brush your teeth because he was scared you'd choke on your toothbrush somehow. But after that, when you were tucked into bed, he didn't want to leave you. He wanted to crawl in beside you, hold you close, wake up with you in the morning. But he can't.

It kept him up, the thought of you. The memory of you on top of him, touching him, whining for him. I need you, Jakey. He laid in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to forget your voice, but it kept ringing in his ears until he trailed a hand down his body and gripped himself through his boxers.

"Sleep well?" You ask quietly.

He turns to look at you and nods his head, "You?"

You shrug with a quick laugh, "I was pretty much knocked out. I guess I drank too much?"

He chuckles softly at that and nods some more, "Yeah, yeah you did." He lowers his eyes, so he doesn't hold your gaze when he says, "About last night..."

"Can I be honest?" Your mouth moves before you can speak, and when looks at you again, you breathe out in a forced laugh, "I don't remember a thing." What a lie. "I apologize for whatever I did, drunk Y/N is a character." A desperately horny one at that. "We can just... forget about it, okay?"

"You don't remember anything?" He asks, slightly unbelieving. Sure you were drunk, but not that far gone, right?

You shrug again, trying to sound as believable as possible, "No. I don't. What, did I do something bad? Commit a crime?"

He doesn't know why his heart falls, no actually, he does. He wanted you to remember, he wanted you to blush and confess first but you don't. You don't remember, does that mean you never meant any of it in the first place?

He shakes his head, but he doesn't laugh or even smile at your joke, "No. It's okay, we can forget it."

He can't just forget about though, and neither can you.

"I'm sorry for whatever happened." You mumble, slowly sitting up and whispering just to sell your lie, "What happened?"

He looks over at you, and he believes you. He really thinks that you don't know. But he wants to save you both from the embarrassment, so he lies right back.

"You," he stalls for just a moment but is quick on his feet, "spilt your drink everywhere and broke a glass."

You most certainly did not, and you know you didn't, and you know he's lying right back to you right now. And for some reason, it makes your stomach uneasy. Like you're going to be sick. Because neither of you are brave enough to acknowledge the truth. It's right in front of you both and neither of you are acknowledging it.

Maybe Jake doesn't actually like you. Maybe you read it wrong, and he doesn't feel the same.

"Oh," you sit back and close your eyes, leaning your head back in hopes of ridding the dizzy feeling. Maybe you are hungover. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he laughs it off, noticing your slight distress, he sits up, "hey listen, it's fine. I'm serious. It's okay, Y/N.”

"Mm-hmm," you nod your head with your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose. It's really not okay to you.

He feels bad for even bringing it up, and now is unsure how to go about the rest of it. Clearly, you're upset. How does he settle that?

"Do you want breakfast?" He asks, "You know the pancake house nearby?"

Slowly you open your eyes and look to him. It seems as if nothing happened, as if he's completely unfazed. As long as you pretend that you don't know anything about the night prior, you should be fine, so you promise to yourself to try to keep the act up for the remainder of the trip.

"Yeah," you weakly smile at him, sitting up, "wanna go?"

"I'm starving." He chuckles, standing and holding his hand out for you to grab.

You take it, and just holding it is enough to make you catapult to last night so when you're steady on your feet you let go. The two of you head inside and freshen up a little so you're presentable for going out, and while you wait for him at the door, your hand twitches to pull out his paper that's tucked away in your pocket still. But, he reunites with you and together, you make your way to the mountainside diner.

The design hasn't been updated probably since the 70s, only slightly renovated to accommodate proper A/C and stay up to date with food regulations. It really just looks like a massive, cartoonish house, a huge sloping roof with a pale yellow exterior. On the inside, it's a classic dinner with cherry red and sky blue booths, a radio jukebox at each table. Jake insists that you all listen to some Johnny Cash that morning, and you say only if Dolly Parton can be played next.

It feels like the way it did at the jazz show, except softer. Almost mundane, but sweet mundanity with Jake is just as special as a scandalous night out on the town. You'd listen to jazz with him, classic country, heavy metal, anything just as long as he stays by your side. Music with Jake is better to you.

"No other pancake compares." He sighs around a mouthful, making you giggle in your spot across from him.

In the thirty minutes that you've been outside of the cabin, your tension has slowly faded away. It has to be beside you're not trapped inside by the rain; it has to be this fresh air and strangers surrounding you. This is exactly what you needed to help with the awkwardness.

"So, what do you wanna do today? It's perfect outside." You bite a piece of bacon and look over to him.

He lifts an eyebrow, "How are you not hungover? I mean we are up in the mountains, that has to get your drunker. The air pressure and all."

"I don't know," you roll your eyes and kick his shoe beneath the table, making him send you a mischievous grin, "but I want us to go out and have fun today, so what are we doing?"

"Wanna hit a few trails?"

You nod, "Yeah. Let's do it."

With perfect timing, his phone begins to vibrate on the tabletop, and Josh's contact flashes on the screen. Your eyes flit up to his face and he presses his lips together, acknowledging that his brother is trying to get ahold of him, but not wanting to answer. Instead of declining the call, he lets it ring until it stops, then looks up to you. You would say something about it, but you don't.

"Ready for a hike?"

After heading back to the cabin and getting changed, you both spend the majority of the afternoon trekking through the wooded mountains. Surprisingly, for a weekend, it isn't crowded while you're out, so you're able to wander leisurely and walk side-by-side. The entirety of your hiking is full of light chatter and jokes. It feels like nothing ever happened between you two, and you love it. You love that feeling of normalcy with Jake, not having to pretend.

In all honesty, you'd rather it stay like this forever. A friendship full of genuineness rather than a pining that leaves things stiff. You'd choose friendship with Jake over a relationship as long as it stays normal, comfortable. Lost in your thoughts, you flinch when Jake gasps softly and places his arm in front of your body to stop you.

Frowning, you look up at him and open your mouth to ask why he stopped you, but lifts a single finger to his lips to silently shush you. Your face relaxes, and you watch him use his finger to point to the right of you, off the trail and into the trees.

Slowly, you turn your head, and it takes you a minute to notice, but then you see what he sees. Two deer nearly blended in with the brush, staring straight back you and him. They stand perfectly still except for their twitching ears, staying alert for any nearby predators.

Your mouth curls into a smile, and Jake lowers his arm so it rests beside his body. The back of his hand brushes over yours softly, and if it weren't for the nature connecting with you right now, you probably would have noticed and looked at your hands. But you don't, because you can't.

They watch you carefully, the one in front taking a few curious steps forward. It's black eyes pierce yours, connecting with you in a way that is deeper than humanly possible. It's like they are trying to tell you something, that they are trying to communicate in a language only they know. What are you try to tell us?

But then, a twig breaks in the distance and echoes through the forest, causing the deer to startle and trot off. You and stand there silently, hoping they'll come back after a few moments of stillness, but they don't.

"Wow," he whispers, looking at you.

You beam up at him, "That was amazing. Did you see it step towards us?"

"Yeah," he nods, "they looked so curious."

"Think they were trying to tell us something."

"Yeah? Like what?"

He's staring down at you so fondly, eyes full of love almost. How are these the eyes that looked at you through the dark last night, in his car, in the pouring rain?

"I don't know," you whisper, licking your lips, "they know something we don't, I guess."

Like your connection. Like the tension you both ignore. But, then again, you both know that, don't you? It's just acknowledging it. Maybe that's what they were telling you, to just accept it. Accept each other.

He lifts his eyes to the branches and leaves above you, how they almost block out the sky. Instead of the blue, all you can see is the lush greenness. The trees tops sway in the wind, and for a moment you can almost hear the whisper it carries. Another secret, something neither of you know. Maybe something not meant to be heard but discovered on your own.

"Wanna keep going?"

"What?" You break out of your thoughts.

"The trail?" He nods ahead of you two, "It's not that much further to the overlook, if you wanna check it out."

"Oh, yeah. Of course, let's go."

You ignore what the mountains trees try to tell you the rest of the way, and when you make it to the clearing, you breath deep. Walking to the edge, right up to the barrier, you close your eyes and breathe out your long exhale.

He watches you as you do, smiling softly at your sense of liberty. Clearly letting go of something as you release that breath. He wonders what. He could ask, but he doesn't want to. Whatever it is, it's yours, it's your feeling, it's your relief. Plus, he doesn't want to speak in a moment like this, when you seem so at peace, so calm. So fucking beautiful.

When you blink your eyes open, you turn and look to him, letting out an awkward giggle he returns it with his own, stepping back before turning to the overlook. He's overcome by a wave of awareness, staring out at the huge mountains, the miles and miles of trees that cover them, all the creatures that live there. He's minuscule in comparison, just one man amongst the thousands of trees. Him and his problems, worries, they cease to exist when there is so much more amongst this place, world, universe.

"Damn..." he mumbles under his breath to his own self-discovery, but also at the beauty of it all, of everything. This revelation, moment, scene.

And you're there with him. He knows some of this comes back to you. In a world so big, with so little time, and some of that time already lost, why are either of you just avoiding this?

"I know right," you chuckle, thinking he's talking about the glorious view, "I can't even look away, it's so beautiful."

He nods, mind still on his other thoughts as he simply replies, "It is."

You're not sure how long the two of you stood there, but you took your time. Soaking it all in, silently beside one another. Reflecting on everything, processing all your thoughts, letting go of a few things. This is the perfect place to do all of that.

"Think there will be an echo?" He asks softly, shifting his weight as he spreads his stance.

"I'm not sure-"

He brings his hands up to cup around his mouth and as loud as he can, shouts, "HELLO!"

The two you lean your ears toward the air and sure enough, the voice faintly echoes back a 'hello... hello... hello...'. He boyishly grins at you, and it makes your smile stretch as he judges you with his elbow.

"You go. Shout something." He says.

You shake your head, "Nah..."

"No, go on. Say something." He insists with a slight whine in his voice.

"Okay, uhhhh," you shrug and shake your head as you cup your mouth and try your best to shout, "hi!"

"That was pitiful," he laughs, and you blush, trying to shove him but he steps away before you can. He mimics your tiny voice, "hi!"

"Ugh," you groan at his teasing, turning back to the overlook with determination as you stand tall and shout, "HELLOOOOOOOO!"

"Yeah! There ya go!" He laughs, quieting down almost instantly to listen your voice echo back.

It makes you both break into little giggles, him slinging an arm over your shoulders, you planting a hand on his chest. When you both calm down, slowly looking to each other, you stand there for a second in each other's embrace. And then, slowly, detach yourselves from the other, much to your shared dismay.

"So," you scratch the back of your arm and look downward at the dirt beneath your shoes, "now what?"

"Hmm," he thinks for a moment, choosing not to make this anymore awkward than it needs to be, and suggests, "late lunch?"

You both end getting to-go orders from a nearby burger shack and he insists on making it a picnic. So, amongst all the mountains have to offer, you both find a picnic table at a park and hunker down for lunch. Who knew hiking and screaming at the top of your lungs and trying to avoid your romantic love for your best friend could work up such an appetite?

"You said this earlier but I gotta repeat it," he moans, taking a bite of his burger, "I just wanna wake up every day and do this. Eat burgers after hiking in the most beautiful mountains with you."

You crack a smile at that, popping a fry into your mouth, "Yeah? What about playing shows and making music?"

"Hmm, you're right. Okay, this is a close second though and when I say close, I mean like," he lifts his hand to showcase his finger and thumb almost pinched together, "this close."

"You're so stupid." You chuckle, picking up another fry and dipping it in ketchup. He grins at you as he continues eating, and you say, "You know, I'd love to go see you on tour again, like, go out and see you in some cities."

He picks up quickly on how you just say him. Not the band, not 'you guys', just you.

"Yeah?" He tries to remain cool about it, but inside, his heart is leaping and doing flips, "Well, you know we are leaving soon for tour."

"I know," you hum, "I was kind of hinting at something there, Jake."

He burns at his lack of awareness, his expression slowly flipping to one of realization, "Oh, well, yeah. Yeah, I can arrange something like that for you."

"I don't want to invite myself though." You find his flustered reaction cute but try your best to bite back a smile.

He shakes his head, "No, I'm inviting you now. You're invited. Just, let me know your schedule and we can get you to a few weekend shows maybe, like..." he wracks his brain for one of the dates, "oh, Vegas. Yeah. You're coming to Vegas."

"Hah," you audibly laugh at that.

"I'm serious. It's a Saturday show I'm pretty sure. Plus, you love Elvis so..." he shimmy's his shoulders as he belts out in a low, Presley-esque register, "vivaaaaaaa Las Vegas."

"Jake Kiszka, you're so stupid." But I love you for it.

He just winks at before quieting down. Your eyes spot his hand resting on the table, how badly you wish you could just reach over and take it in yours. Have him hold your fingers loosely and bring the back of it up to his mouth. Now you're eying is lips how soft and pink they look, you're dying to peck them with your own.

"Did you ever call Josh back?" You try to get your mind off of your friend with the perfect face sitting across from you. It's almost as easy as watching television with your eyes closed.

He sighs and shakes his head, "No. he's been texting me though. I'm pretty sure he knows I'm lying. He always knows when I'm lying."

They are twins after all. Josh knows Jake better than anyone, and vice versa. It would have been so much easier to not keep this trip a secret, but then of course you'd be teased for days. Why that matters so much to either of you, you're still not sure.

"What are you gonna say?" You ask.

He shrugs, "I don't know. What do you think I should say?"

He's asking you, and you know what you want to answer with, but the words are trapped. Just tell them, tell them that we are friends and there's nothing more to it. Or, just tell me. Tell me you like me back. You're adults right? You're big kids? Don't mature grown-ups accept their feelings and talk to one another about it?

No, you're both just as bad as a pair of angsty teenagers.

"I think you should just deny."

He laughs softly. He was kind of hoping you'd tell him to tell everyone the truth.

As the day carries on night begins to fall, and you both reel back into the cabin. It was like you both knew once you went back there, once you were behind closed doors, the mood would shift. So, you avoided going back for as long as you could, until the sun began to sink behind the mountains and you had no other choice.

The power is at least back on now, so you both wind down in the living room in separate chairs, watching some cheesy movie that's on tv. It feels wrong to be sitting in silence with Jake, feels wrong to have your attention on something other than each other.

"This sucks," he groans, grabbing the remote and turning it off, "I mean, what kind of garbage are they making and calling film these days."

"You sound like Josh." You laugh and he shoots a fake glare at you which makes your laughter grow before you quiet down. You're not sure what time it is, but you do know it's late, so you fake a stretch and yawn, "You staying up?"

He shrugs, "Probably. You know me."

"Ok, I'll stay with you."

"No, you don't have to. Get some sleep."

"It's our last night here though." You say, getting up and standing in front of him, "I wanna spend time with you."

He blinks up at you, a look in his eye that says he has an idea. When his smirk grows you get curious and plants your hands on your hips, silently asking what he's up to. He just holds a single finger up and disappears down the hall, before returning with a surprise.

He reveals a little kit, and you look at him skeptically, immediately knowing what it is.

"Wanna get high?" He asks.

Your face twists into a giddy grin and nod, trying to look casual about it. He leads you out onto the balcony, the sun just providing a purple glow in the sky now. He sits and rolls the joint and you watch him, leaning against the railing. His fingers catch you off guard, how agile he is, precise, great at rolling. He holds it up with a proud smile and hands it to you for inspection.

You pinch it between your finger and thumb and thoughtfully examine it with a nod of approval, and when you look at him to hand it back, he's already standing with a lighter in hand. He holds the flame out for you, giving you the honor of starting it off. You lick your lips, glancing to his eyes and he nods for you to go ahead, so you set it in between your lips and let him light it, taking a few puffs before inhaling and exhaling. He pulls the lighter away and watches you when you take a full drag, watches the smoke float out of your mouth and you look down at the paper in your hand.

You hand it back to him, and he takes his own drag. He tries to ignore the way the paper is damp from your lips, tries not to overthink about how this was in your mouth and now it's in his, because how adolescent is that?

"Did you have a good time?" He asks, "This weekend?"

"I did," you smile, taking the joint back when he extends it to you, "thanks for inviting me on this trip. I mean, I love it here."

"I know, I remembered how much you enjoyed the other trips and I'd been meaning to escape Nash for a while so," he shrugs, eyes trained on your lips around the stick, "seemed like a perfect opportunity for both of us."

"Mmhm," you hum with your mouth closed, closing your eyes and tilting your head back as you part your lips and exhale the smoke out. He wants to step forward and kiss the skin of your neck, suck little marks to it, but instead averts his gaze to the moon slowly beginning to rise.

"So you had a good time too?" You ask.

"Yeah," he breathes as the two of you pass the joint back and forth, "I really needed this. Thanks for coming along."

"Anytime." And you mean it. Anytime Jake wants you just to himself, he can have you.

Instead of talking, the two you just watch nightfall. Sometimes words don't need to be said. Right now, here with you by his side in the silence, that's enough for him. It's enough for you too. You wish he'd put his arm around you though. That would make this moment perfect, if you could rest your head on his shoulder and feel his arm around your waist.

Slowly, the weed hits, and you both turn a little giggly and retire to the rocking chairs. Jake is always beautiful but right now, with your watery eyes and foggy brain, you find him especially gorgeous. His eyes are a little red, smile lazy, head tilted to the side. You want to see all versions of Jake, stoned, drunk, happy, sad, mad, confused, all of them. You're sure they're all beautiful. You know you'd love them all even if they aren't.

"God, I'm so glad we are friends." He sighs, letting his head rest back against the wood, "Can we stay friends forever?"

You look over at him, and for a second, you're back on earth, and a tiny lump forms in your throat. Forever and ever, across every lifetime, in every universe no matter what, you'd love to be Jake Kiszka's friend. He's thinking the same thing about you.

"Forever." You whisper back and he smiles over at you.

Then, lost in each other's stares, it's just you two. No one else in the world exists, just the two of you.

You're not sure what time it is when you both filter back inside, but he said something about bears that made you panic slightly and realize you're basically in their territory. So, back to the couch it is, and the movies on television are now slightly better than they were an hour or so ago.

As the credits roll you finally feel slightly centered again instead of drifting around, and Jake seems to be on the same level too. His eyes are droopy though, looking like he could pass out any time now. And of course, you take that as the perfect moment to admit something.

"I know what I did last night." You whisper, loud enough for him to catch and turn his head. His tired eyes look a bit more alert now, and you take a breath before continuing, "I'm sorry about it, Jake. What I did was wrong."

"You were drunk," he brushes it off with a light chuckle, "it's okay, Y/N."

The corner of your mouth twitches, and quietly reply in a pitiful voice, "Okay." He reaches his arm over to you and pats your knee, rubbing it softly before withdrawing his hand. Where he touched you leaves a sting, not because he hit you or anything but because it's him, and Jake has left this mark on you for a while now. And despite everything, literally everything, you can't wipe away his stain. "I'm gonna go to bed."

"That sounds like a good idea, actually." He stretches, glancing at you and noticing your stiffness. "You okay?"

You nod, feeling far away from him and everything else, lost in your thoughts. But he leaves you be, walking with you to your respective bedroom doors and turning to face each other before you call it a night.

"I meant what I said, out there on the balcony," he murmurs, "I never don't want to be your friend, Y/N."

You just feel like you could cry, because you feel the same way but also, there's something more. That longing, yearning for more from Jake, it almost eats you up. But, in an effort to keep your tears away, you step towards him and wrap your arms around his waist in a hug.

"I meant it too." Your tiny voice cracks as you speak into his t-shirt, squeezing your eyes tight. He envelopes you in his arms, rubbing his palm over your back and leaning his head against yours.

You both hesitantly pull away after a minute, looking at each other and noticing that something is definitely different now. Something has changed. But neither of you say anything other than 'goodnight' before slipping into your rooms and shutting the door behind yourselves. Jake stands on the other side of his door, fingertips touch the knob as he stares at the floor with his head hung.

What am I doing?

You walk across the floor to the bathroom, immediately trying to distract yourself with your night routine. Brushing your teeth, washing your face, hair care. Then, you slip on your oversized t-shirt of the night and go to get beneath your covers when you notice it. The tiny, crumbled ball of paper you stuffed in your pocket earlier.

Before you know it, you're picking it up and finally unwrapping it, smoothing out the wrinkled paper and reading Jake's handwriting. Your fingertips brush over the ink as you do so, as if you're touch the hand that wrote them in the first place.

- biggest fear

-Sam?

-What made you hate me?

But in between the bottom two, scratched out and laying beneath black ink, sits one extra question he bailed on last night.

-how do you really feel about me

Your fingers curl into the sheet, hands griping it so hard you might make holes or rip it in half. Your heart picks up, and heat takes over your whole body, across your face, over the top of your head and down your back and chest to your feet. Your mind is racing, unsure of what to do or even what it means but you know one thing. You know for certain exactly how you feel about Jake Kiszka.

And you're ready to ask him that question.

Your feet are moving you before you have the chance to think, and you're stepping across the room, opening your door and walking across to his closed one. You raised your fist, about to knock your knuckles against the grain, but, like he had been standing there the entire time, he opens the door and raises his eyebrows when he sees you there. And the paper in your hands.

Blinking up at him in the silence, you gather your thoughts and steady your breath, eyes wide and wistful, desperate, wishful. Please let this be true, don't lie to me again and I'll never lie to you.

"How do you really feel about me?"

TO BE CONTINUED…

[sacredthethreadgvf]

Oh this 🫠

After Midnight

“‘Cause nothing good comes after midnight…”

Demon!Jake Kiszka x Reader

Authors Note: Hello lovelies!! This was a special request from our dear @gold-mines-melting to get a better look at how our Hatman!Jake was fairing in the world. This was super fun to write and my first official Jake smut!! I hope you enjoy him as much as I do ❤️

Word count: 8.1K

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, Minors DNI, unprotected sex (but he’s a demon so…wrap it up IRL!), oral sex f!receiving, brief discussions of Hell, swearing, but I think that’s it!

For Demons, the time around Halloween was a fun one. The veil was thinner, the air crisper, and humans let their guards down for the off chance of experiencing anything “spooky.” Multiple human cultures acknowledged the thinning of the veil, but very few truly understood what it meant. Not only were Spirits at their most active, but other beings were more abundant as well.  Jake was a Demon who fed on fear. Didn’t matter if it was a glimmer of anxiety, or a massive phobia, the energy of fear was everywhere.

Tonight, a full week before Halloween, the Demon was checking out a new apartment building, one he hadn’t been quite familiar with just yet, when a group of giggles echoed through the ether and met his ears. He followed the sound and found himself in a tiny apartment, dimly lit with only a scattering of candles and strings of orange and purple lights that lined the walls and door frames. A group of young women sat on the floor, surrounding the coffee table, all in different Halloween costumes. Jake’s presence was invisible and undetected, which allowed him to lean against the wall and observe. 

His eyes scanned the group, eventually landing on you in the middle of your friends. Your costume wasn’t much, just a thin white nighty with some cheap Angel wings fixed on your back. The human interpretation of Angels was laughable, given the true nature of such creatures. Always decked out in all white, implying purity and piety, soft feathery wings that rivaled a dove’s. It made the Demon roll his eyes. Out of his brothers, he had had the “pleasure” of interacting with such beings the most over the years. If only humans knew that the creatures they perceived as “nurturing” and “protective” didn’t actually care about them as people but as cogs in the machine known as “The Greater Good.”

Angels were geniuses at marketing. 

However, the sight of you with your Party City set of wings was endearing to Jake. He wished he hadn’t had such a sordid history with Angels so that he could appreciate the aesthetic fully, but he couldn’t help that. But the way your hair fell over your shoulders, bare except for the thin spaghetti strap of your “dress”, and the way the candles lit your face from where you sat, had the Demon’s interest peaked. He pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against and took a few silent steps forward, curious as to what you and your friends were huddled around on the coffee table. 

He almost let out a chuckle when he saw what had the group in such a heated debate: a ouija board. 

“If you even think about using that thing I’m going to leave,” your friend Claire hissed from her spot on the couch while she sipped whatever beverage she had concocted in your kitchen. 

“Bitch please, you are not, it’s a kids game for fucks sake,” your other friend Nora rolled her eyes from the other side of the coffee table while she examined the lid of the box. 

“They just creep me out. Haven’t you heard about them opening doors to things if you’re not careful?” 

“I highly doubt a mass produced piece of cardboard that's sold around the world is a true door to Hell, Claire,” Nora reasoned. 

Claire bristled, “Well you guys can have fun with it, I’m not participating.” 

They were both right in different ways. Inherently the “game” didn’t do much in terms of anything spiritual, but humans had a habit of knocking on doors they aren’t supposed to, and Demons never resisted fucking with them in return. Unfortunately for these girls, a Demon was already in the room with them, and the corners of his mouth were twitching at the thought of giving them a good scare during their party. 

Finally, your wine-induced opinion was heard, “I mean why not? Its October after all. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Very Angelic of you. 

Jake immediately loved the sound of your voice, and sat down in the empty spot across from you and next to Nora. 

His presence didn’t go fully unnoticed, with Nora rubbing her arms through the cheap fabric of her Witches costume, which consisted of a short black dress and a stereotypical pointed hat on her head. 

“Is anyone else cold?” 

She was met with everyone shaking their heads at her. 

“Weird.” 

Jake could feel the anxiety in the room start to build, and he knew it was only going to get better. 

You set your wine glass down on the end table and joined Nora in placing your fingertips on the planchette. The two of you took turns asking random questions, and it was clear to Jake that Nora was trying to move the planchette herself for shits and giggles. 

But now, it was Jake’s turn to start answering. 

“Is there anyone with us, right now?” Nora dramatically asked with her eyes closed. The Demon to her left took the opportunity to nudge the planchette over the “YES” portion of the board. 

“Oh we’re not alone,” you joked and laughed with the girls. 

You had no idea, Jake thought. 

“Are you a ghost, then?” You asked into the air. 

Amused, Jake guided the planchette to the “NO”. 

At that, he saw your fingertips twitch on the plastic surface, and he heard your heart quicken in your chest. 

“I fucking told you to not mess with-” Claire started to protest. 

“If you’re not a ghost, then what are you?” 

Now the fun would really begin. 

Jake slowly moved the planchette around the board, spelling out,

“N-O-T-A-G-H-O-S-T”. 

Nora looked down at the board, “we know that,” she said defiantly. 

“Nora,” you lightly scolded, “don’t be rude to the spirit!”

Nora shrugged, not phased, “Oh spirit of olde, where are you from?”

Jake smirked, 

“H-E-L-L”

Your hands paused as the second L was magnified under the planchette, and looked up at Nora. 

“Oh of course the big bad spirit is from Hell,” your friend was openly mocking whoever it was you were speaking to. 

“Is Hell fun?”

You title your head and narrowed your eyes, “it's Hell, Nora.” 

“What? Maybe it's fun for them?” 

Jake silently nudged your hands to the YES. The mounting anxiety that was oozing off of Claire and the other girls was delicious. 

“Come on, Nora you’re just moving it yourself,” one of your other friends voiced from her spot on the couch next to Claire, unimpressed.

“I am not!” she hissed. The accusation appeared to have shifted her mood and she put her hands in her lap, “whatever, I’m bored and I need a refill.”

She got up in a huff and exited into your tiny kitchen. The rest of the girls followed after her, needing refills themselves. That left you all alone with your fingers still resting on the planchette. 

Softly, you murmured, “sorry about her…she can be a lot.” You had no idea if you were even speaking to anyone, and felt a little dumb, but it was Spooky Season, and you needed some whimsy in your life. 

Jake however, was utterly entranced by you across the coffee table. He sat there, eyes traveling around your face and down your body. The flickering light from the candles lit your features in such a delicate way. He watched as you blushed in embarrassment. You shook your head at yourself, mumbling about how stupid that was to say. You reached for your wine glass and gulped down the little you still had. He studied the way your fingers held the stem of the glass, how your lips fit against the rim, how your eyes fluttered shut as the wine hit your tongue, and how your throat bobbed slightly as you swallowed. 

If you could have seen the Demon in front of you, you would have seen how his soft eyes followed your every movement. You would have seen the dark brown irises he always chose when he wanted to look more human, eyelids heavy and dark circles underneath. He couldn’t look away. 

There wasn’t any fear in the room now, only curiosity from Jake himself. 

But you couldn’t see him. You didn’t know he was truly there. In your eyes, you were tipsy and had just played a slumber party game with your friends. You weren’t talking to a Spirit of any kind, it was just Nora fucking with everyone as she always did. You rolled your eyes at yourself and got up off the floor. In silence you put the ouija board back in the box along with the planchette, ready to move on to other activities you had planned. 

In your buzzed state, you forgot one of the rules to using a Ouija board, which was to always say goodbye to whomever you were speaking to. It was a formality to close any ‘doors’. You hadn’t done that. You simply scooped up your glass and headed into the kitchen to join your friends. That left the Demon alone in your living room. 

Jake contemplated staying around, just to see how the night went, but his ears started ringing, and he could tell his talents were needed elsewhere. It was better for his best interest to head out anyway. The Demon sighed and rose off the floor, giving one last glance through the archway into your kitchen. You and your guests had moved on to tequila shots and arguing over what movie you were going to watch next. Tequila after wine? He knew your human body would be regretting that in the morning. 

He smiled at you one last time before disappearing from your apartment, off to see one of his regulars who had a penchant for Benadryl. 

~!~

In one the many gardens of Hell, the young Demon found himself wandering down a path lined with thick and tangled rose bushes. The petals ranged from bright red to deep purple, all twisting and growing together in ways they couldn’t naturally on earth. He wasn’t in the gardens much, but it was his twin’s turn to pick the meeting place, and this was one of Josh’s favorite places. 

Jake rounded the corner and caught sight of Josh, perched on a stone bench with his newly gifted wings stretched out behind him, face tilted towards the eternally sunset sky, eyes closed. 

“You’re late,” he said as he flexed his wings. 

“You’re the last person to tell anyone they’re late for anything,” Jake replied warmly before sitting down next to him. 

“Sam and Danny can’t make it. Something to do with business they each had Topside,” Josh opened his eyes and looked over at Jake. 

“You’d know all about Topside business, brother. How is she anyway?” 

A toothy grin formed on his brother’s face, “Amazing, as always.” 

Jake had to admit, the situation with Josh and the human hadn’t turned out too bad in the end. He had only met her a few times but he liked seeing how happy his brother was, and he was comforted knowing she had been a big part of that. 

“What about you? Have you been terrorizing humanity with your threatening presence? Even in that ridiculous hat?” Josh nudged Jake’s shoulder. 

Jake rolled his eyes, “you laugh but this hat and my presence are synonymous with nightmares. They blog about it on the internet.” 

“Memes. The height of Demonic achievement.” 

“Shut up,” Jake said with a soft laugh. His thoughts drifted back to you, and how he spied on your party. It had only been a few days since that night, and he couldn’t get you or your little wings out of his head. He’d close his eyes and the sight of how the candles lit your face would flood his thoughts. He had only seen you for less than an hour but he was enamored, besotted, lovestruck. It was such an unfamiliar feeling he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. Humans had never particularly caught his eye in his unnaturally long life. But here he was, stewing over the pretty girl in the Angel wings. 

“Who is it?” Josh asked. He knew something was up with Jake. 

“Who is what?” Jake tried to hide the defensiveness in his voice. 

“Whoever has you zoning out that hard. You haven’t been listening to a thing I’ve said in the last two minutes.” 

“Yes I have.”

“What was I saying?”

Jake’s mouth twisted in a frown, “doesn’t matter. It’s nothing.” 

Josh gave him a knowing look, “Jake…” 

“Ijustfindherfascinating,” he mumbled under his breath. 

“You what? You find who fascinating?” 

“Justhisgirl,” he mumbled once more. 

“A girl?” Josh made an educated guess, “a human, girl?”

Jake refused to look up at him but his face reddened at his brother's words. 

Josh’s wings twitched behind him, “you gave me…so much shit…and here you are…” A laugh escaped him and gradually got louder and louder until he leaned over with his elbows on his knees, shoulders shaking from the force. 

“It’s not funny.” 

“Yes…it is,” Josh said after somewhat composing himself. 

“It’s whatever, I’ll probably never see her again.”

 

“Aww why not?” 

“Like I told you before, humans aren’t a good idea.” 

Josh gave him a look, “you said that and then I ended up having the best year of my life. So…” 

Jake looked down at his watch, “Well I have nightmares to cause, chaos to sew.”

“Yeah, ok,” Josh said with a smile and an eye roll. He couldn’t wait to see how this turned out for his brother. 

~!~

Weeks had gone by, and the Demon had tried his best to keep you out of his mind. He kept himself distracted by staying in other cities, soaking up nightmares far away from you. He was being ‘good’, as far as Demons go. Any trouble he got into had nothing to do with the pretty human in the Angel wings. He had only barely heard your name called out to you before he had left your apartment. 

That didn’t mean the temptation wasn’t there. He could be inside your place in the blink of an eye if he wanted, but he needed to keep his distance. The last thing he needed was to get caught up with a human. It might have worked out for his twin, but that was an anomaly. You would be terrified of him, and while he knew your fear would be delicious, a small part of him didn’t want it. He didn’t want to imagine you afraid, or anxious. The possibility didn’t sit right with him. 

But at the end of the day, Jake was a Demon, and Demons are imperfect creatures. After weeks of denying himself another glimpse of you, he found himself standing in your living room. The lights were still strung around on your walls, but now you had some Christmas decor mixed in. To his surprise, the ouija board was on your coffee table, already set up with the planchette resting in the center. 

You were sitting on your couch, staring at the board, trying to psych yourself up into placing your fingertips on the planchette. Against your better judgment, you had tried a few times to “communicate” with the Spirit you thought you had talked to the night of your party. But you never got an answer, not once. It made you feel a little dumb but you kept randomly trying. Something inside you was curious, and fully believed it wasn’t Nora being an asshole that night. 

Jake saw you reach for the board every so often, before returning your hands to your lap or fiddle with your phone. He raised an eyebrow, what were you doing? But then he remembered, you had left the ‘door’ open that night, never saying goodbye. This could be his chance without scaring the shit out of you by suddenly appearing. 

Instead of sitting across from you like the last time, he took his seat next to you on the couch. As a Demon, he could fully shield his presence from humans, which meant you wouldn’t feel a dip on the seat next to you. Jake could be as quiet as a ghost. 

Finally, you built up the nerve to place your fingertips on the planchette. You looked around the room, and quietly said, “Is anyone here?” 

Jake’s breath caught in his throat, and he moved his hand next to yours. The downside of his shielding meant that he couldn’t actually feel your hand, and he found himself wishing he could. He didn’t want you to give up and put the board away, so he began to move the plastic piece. With ease he slid it over to the YES corner of the board. 

You gasped, “holy shit. Umm…” Suddenly your mind had gone blank, and you stammered out, “are you a ghost?”

Jake smiled at the question, the same one you had that first night, and just like before he spelled out,

“N-O-T-A-G-H-O-S-T”

Taking some measured breaths you continued, “what are you, then?” 

Jake hesitated slightly. He could lie, and tell you he was a completely benevolent being just passing through the ether, but he didn’t want to. But he was worried you’d throw the board if he answered honestly. But fuck it. 

“D-E-M-O-N”

A chill ran up your spine as the word was completed, and your fingers trembled. You could do this. What have you got to lose?

“What kind of Demon?” 

There was only one word he could use for simplicity's sake, 

“F-E-A-R.”

“Well that makes sense, I guess,” you shrugged, “do you like being a Demon?”

Jake slid the planchette a little quicker to the YES corner. 

“Of course you do. What’s your name?”

Names. Knowing a Demon’s name had power. Humans like to say it means you can control said Demon, but that wasn’t entirely true. It meant that a Demon could hear their name being called by the person through time and space. He could be down in Hell and her even whispering his name would have the sound zinging through the ether and for him it would be as if you had said it right into his ear. Demons don’t have to answer calls, but more often than not they do. It was one of their more narcissistic qualities. 

Did he want to give you that kind of hold over him? To be able to cut through realms just to get his attention? To be able to summon him whenever you wanted? Yes. 

You were expecting some ancient, Biblical-esque name to be spelled out. And while it technically was Biblical, you certainly weren’t expecting, 

“J-A-K-E.”

This made you purse your lips and tilt your head.

 

“You’re a Demon…named Jake?” It wasn’t supposed to be funny, but you had to suppress a laugh. 

Jake’s eyebrows knitted together, not understanding why you found that amusing.

The Demon having such a…simple name relaxed you a bit. You didn’t know of many Demonic names, but you were glad the ones you did know weren’t this his. 

You felt a little more bold, “okay, Jake, prove to me you’re actually here.”

Oh, you wanted a show? He still didn’t want to scare you, but he couldn’t help but use one of his usual moves when nightmare hopping. 

The shadows in the room started to move. They grew larger as if they were climbing up the walls, merging together and creeping around the ceiling. The room was suddenly cloaked in darkness. He left the shadows in their altered state for a minute or two before setting them back to where they originally were. 

“Can you show yourself?”

He could, he could and he wanted to. 

“YES”

You swallowed some air, “then do it.” 

Jake stared at you, knowing that there was no going back now. He had been trying to ignore the anxiety that was coursing through your system, but hanging in front of him like bait on a hook. 

He dropped the shield, letting himself be fully visible and very much right next to you. 

The Demon’s sudden appearance started you so much you recoiled against the arm of the couch, with a few expletives rapidly escaping your mouth. He sat stock still, his large dark brown eyes were locked onto yours. He was dressed in fittingly all black, with a wide brim hat sitting atop his head. Long brown hair fell just past his shoulders. He was gorgeous. Fuck. 

“You’re…really sitting here?” 

He shrugged and rested his arm on the back of the couch, maintaining a comfortable distance from you, “I’ve been sitting here, darling.”

Your bottom lip disappeared between your teeth as you continued to take him in. 

“I just…I just can’t believe it was you at my party.”

The corners of his mouth threatened a smile, “Wasn’t even supposed to be there, honestly. I was just passing through and couldn’t resist crashing the party. I also found your…inaccurate costume amusing.” 

Your nose crinkled, “inaccurate?”

His eyes softened slightly, “Angels aren’t meant to be beautiful.” 

Your heart stuttered, and your voice wobbled to match, “th-they aren’t? What’s wrong with them?”

He leaned his side into the back of the couch, “oh, nothing if you like pompous, arrogant hall monitors who make their lack of free will everyone else’s problem.” 

Your eyebrows slowly raised at his words, “that’s easy to say, for a Demon.” 

His features hardened, “I have stories for days about those pricks that would make you understand my opinion of them, darling.” 

You don’t know why you felt emboldened to talk back to a Demon of all beings, but you were enjoying the adrenaline rush. 

“What exactly do you…do…as a Demon?”

“In general I feed off people's fears, mainly through their nightmares but I can do the same if they’re awake as well.” 

He said it so matter of fact. As if he was telling you what the weather was like outside. 

“I also run favors for any of the higher-ups if they need to get people’s…attention.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I just…make my presence known and usually that means that one,” he started counting with his fingers, “they know they’re being monitored and if they owe anything to anyone that they’re not going to get away with not fulfilling their end of the bargain. And two, it frightens them so much that I get a good meal out of it. Everyone wins.”

“How do you…feed…?”

“It’s not really ‘eating’ in the literal sense. It’s more of a one sided energy exchange. Human emotions have insane amounts of energy.”

You shifted in your seat, facing him more directly, “are you feeding off my fear right now?” 

He tilted his head a little, “but you’re not afraid, are you, darling?”

He was right. Apprehensive? Sure. Fascinated? Very. But afraid? Fearful? You couldn’t understand why, but you almost felt calm in front of him. 

“Do you want me to be afraid?” 

He leaned in closer, giving into his bold nature, “fear is the last thing I want to taste from you.” 

Heat flooded your body at his words. Did he want you? You found yourself leaning closer to him, your mind envisioning all sorts of scenarios at the implication. The air around you seemed to shift, and the Demon’s gaze darkened. 

“Why did you come back tonight?”

He stared at you, “You…fascinate me…”

Your eyebrow twitched in confusion, “fascinated?”

“I don’t have a lot of experience interacting with humans outside of when I visit them at night, but when I happened upon your party…I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. Something about you was different, and it was an unfamiliar feeling to me. I regret not staying longer that night.” 

“Oh…”

“But my question for you, darling, is why did you try to communicate again with the board?” He casted a sideways glance at your coffee table, before his dark eyes returned to yours. 

You fiddled with your fingertips, “I don’t know…I had this nagging feeling that what happened that night was actually real, and it wasn’t just typical halloween party bullshit. I tried a few more times, but never got a response until tonight.” 

Something in Jake’s chest tightened at the thought of her trying to reach out but he hadn’t been around to answer, or worse, something with truly malevolent intentions would have been on the other side of that board. 

“I guess we’re both a pair of curious creatures, then,” he said softly. 

He was right, curiosity was all your brain could focus on, besides those brown eyes and velvety-looking lips of his. Because of this, you found yourself scooting closer to the Demon, feeling that the space between you was unnecessarily far. 

  The Demon of course noticed you moving closer, and he shifted in his seat to face you more directly. He silently mapped out your face, taking in every feature, and feeling an itch in his hands to hold your soft cheeks. For once in his long infernal life, the hunger he was feeling wasn’t for fear. 

This wordless communication continued until your faces were inches apart. You fought against the urge to flutter your eyes close and lean in even closer. 

He curled a finger under your chin, “I don’t bite, I promise…” 

You swallowed at his words, shaking off any lasting nerves and leaned forward, brushing your lips with his. 

The Demon nearly froze as you made contact, but he quickly kissed you back, not wanting to risk you pulling away. His hands did as they wanted, and finally slid up your jaw to your cheeks cupping them softly as he tilted his head for a better angle. You melted into the kiss, parting your mouth slightly to allow him access. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, before venturing into your mouth and colliding with your own.

The kiss grew more heated by the second, and you found yourself leaning back on the couch, with your new companion beginning to hover over you. The cool metal from the necklaces he wore grazed your chest as he got closer to you, and you relaxed against the couch cushion, allowing him to get fully on top of you. 

Soon, he was flat on top of you and your hands were buried in his dark locks. The hat that sat upon his head was tilted back from the angle, but it was still getting in the way. You moved your hand up his scalp to fling it out of the way, when your fingers curled around something…hard. As soon as your hand came into contact with the strange texture, the Demon on top of you groaned and bit down on your lower lip. 

Curiosity won and you peeped your eyes open and fully pushed his hat off his head, not caring where it landed on the floor. Your eyes widened when you saw what your fingers were curled around. 

A horn. 

He had a pair of them, fixed parallel with each other and curling backwards slightly into sharp points. They were a deep crimson in color, bordering on oxblood. His thick dark hair parted perfectly around them, making the front pieces of his hair fall beautifully on either side of his face. Your body froze underneath him. 

“Y-you have…horns?”

Through heavy lids, he gazed down at you, “most Demons do, darling.” 

You nodded slightly, of course they did. Your fingertips grazed down the side of one, studying the texture along the way. The more your hand moved, the more his hips squirmed and grinded into yours. You became keenly aware of the growing bulge between you. 

“Does that feel good?” You asked, sliding your fingers up to see how sharp the point was. 

His brown eyes seemed to darken even more, and a low grumble came from his throat, “you have no idea.” Jake couldn’t hold back any longer and crashed his lips back onto yours. You gasped as his tongue lapped at your lips for entrance. He savored and swallowed every sound you made, wanting to memorize them all. His hands reached under the t-shirt you were wearing and you swiftly helped him take it off of you. You hadn’t been wearing a bra, and he immediately cupped both breasts, squeezing and kneading your flesh as you arched up into him. His fingers tweaked your nipples before he lowered his mouth on one, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak.

The Demon’s fingers reached down to the top of your leggings. They slid underneath the fabric slightly before he raised his head and looked to you for permission. You slipped your bottom lip between your teeth and nodded, raising your hips off the couch to help him out. 

You hadn’t bothered with underwear since you were at home,  so when Jake swiftly pulled your leggings down and off your legs, his eyes were immediately met with your core. 

His hands rested on the top of your bent knees, slowly spreading them to get a better look at you. You could feel the heat radiating off of his palms. It wasn’t your typical feeling of body heat. There was a pulse to it that crept up your thighs, and reminded you that he truly wasn’t a human being. 

You remained still, watching him look at you. Your eyes followed his one hand as it traveled along your inner thigh, slowly making its way to where you needed him most. His eyes were locked on your core. Gently, his thumb briefly toyed with some of the curls that resided there, before dipping down into your slit. He dragged it through your arousal, hyper aware of every jump and gasp you made at his touch. 

For a brief moment, you thought you had seen his eyes turn fully black before returning to the dark brown you were familiar with. He started to lower himself down, bringing his face closer and closer to your core. Those same piercing eyes flicked up to your face, silently asking for permission again. Quickly you nodded as your heart started hammering in your chest. 

He licked his lips in anticipation. What he hadn’t revealed to you, was that you were about to be the first human that he’d tasted this way. The Demon knew what fear, anxiety, dread, all of the above tasted like. But this? This was desire, your desire, and he couldn’t stop himself from spreading your swollen lips apart with his fingers lowering his mouth to your flesh. 

The taste had him immediately humming into you, tongue swirling around your folds to gather as much of your arousal onto his tongue as he could. The action had you bucking into his mouth, one hand shaking by your side while the other gripped the back of your couch. 

Jake wrapped his arm around your thigh, resting his hand on your hip bone to hold you in place. His tongue dipped into your entrance before traveling upwards to finally give your clit the attention it desperately needed. You cried out as it made contact, jerking your hips once again towards his mouth. He chuckled slightly against you before taking your clit fully into his mouth and sucking on it harshly enough to elicit a high pitched whine from your throat. 

“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” you gasped into the air. 

The Demon released your clit and gruffly whispered into your core, his lips close enough to brush against you as he spoke “Jesus isn’t the one making you feel like this, darling.” 

You hiccuped a laugh as his lips wrapped around your clit once more. 

His fingers on his unoccupied hand circled your entrance a few times before dipping a single finger inside. Feeling your warmth surround him had the Demon rutting his hips into the couch cushion. 

Your back arched as he added a second finger, and the hand at your side flew to his dark hair, desperate to get him even closer to your core. He groaned into you as your fingernails dug into his scalp.  With every curl of his fingers or swipe of his tongue, you felt your high hurtling towards you. You grinded down onto his fingers while he continued expertly swirling his tongue around your clit. His hair wasn’t enough. You needed something else to hold onto. Blindly, you loosened your grip to move your hand to the left and wrap around the dark ridged horn that grew from his head. 

The second your hand secured itself around his horn, Jake gasped around your clit, breathing out hot hair against your sensitive flesh before he made a low growl in his throat. His teeth nipped at your skin as his mouth closed around your clit, causing you to cry out once again. His fingers sped up inside you, knowing you were close and wanting to desperately know how you felt and what you sounded like when you came. 

With one more harsh curl of his finger against that spot inside you, and the way his tongue flattened out as it swiped up the left side of your clit, the tension in your body broke as your orgasm took over your body. You shouted his name towards your ceiling, not caring if your neighbors heard it through the paper thin walls of your apartment building. 

He worked you through your high, trying to prolong it as long as he could before he slowed his movements to gently guide you back down. 

Eventually, your body went slack underneath him, and your hand left his horn to rub your face as you came back to reality. Jake lightly peppered kisses up your thigh as he slowly withdrew his fingers. You quietly whimpered at the loss, hating how empty you suddenly felt. 

Jake licked his fingers clean, not wanting to waste a drop of you. He couldn’t get enough, and while he wasn’t sure if all humans tasted this good or not, he was certain that none of them could come close to how delicious you were. 

He carefully crawled up your body, admiring how you blissed out you looked with your eyes closed and a small smile on your lips. 

Slowly you opened your eyes, still in disbelief over what had just happened. The two of you stared at each other silently before Jake lowered his mouth onto yours, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. 

The kiss turned heated, and you started to grab at the shirt that he was still wearing. 

He murmured against your lips, “darling, as much fun as we’re having on your couch, if I’m going to have you,” the implication obvious in his tone, “I want to be able to take you properly, on a bed.” 

You stifled a laugh before turning your head towards the open door of your bedroom. Within seconds the Demon had gathered you in his arms as he made his way to the doorway. He crossed the threshold and gently laid you on your bed. 

“You’re wearing far too much,” you boldly observed. 

He smirked at you, “well we can’t have that, can we?” 

You smiled and sat up on your knees and quickly helped him shed the offending layers of clothing, leaving just a pile of black clothing and leather boots next to your bed. Your eyes drank him in, noting every dip and contour of his body. His skin was already glistening slightly with sweat after your activities on the couch. Your gaze lowered and followed the faint trail of hair under his belly button down to thick dark curls that surrounded the base of his cock. 

The way your eyes widened at the sight of him had the Demon fighting back a smirk, and he took his cock in his hand to give himself a few pumps just to tease you even more. Jake crawled up the bed to hover over you. 

If it weren’t for the horns, you wouldn’t have guessed a Demon was looking down at you, with how soft his gaze was. Your chest swelled unexpectedly at the silent emotions swimming behind his dark eyes. You had so many questions for him, and a need to know everything about him and his life. You didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d probably leave after tonight. 

His lips brushed yours with a feather-light softness, as if he was afraid you’d shatter underneath him like glass. The gesture had your heart stuttering in your chest. 

“I know you said you’re not a ghost,” you whispered, calling back to your first interaction, “but promise you won’t disappear like one…afterwards…”

Jake knew what you were asking, and every option weighed heavily on his mind. This was completely uncharted territory for him, and for all of his confidence he was unsure how to navigate it. 

He looked down, focusing on a lone freckle on your stomach before replying, “didn’t anyone tell you that Demons were dangerous?” 

There was a sheepishness to his tone that surprised you, but you countered, “you mean the same people who told me to not fuck with Ouija boards?”

“You never know who you’re talking to…”

“I don’t know you’re not so bad….” you mused. 

His eyes traveled up your body to meet yours, “I’m not an innocent creature, darling.”

Now it was your eyes that darkened, “show me…” 

You felt his thick cock twitch between you in response.

Jake surged forward and captured your lips with his. You wasted no time to return the kiss, cradling his jaw in your hands. Your legs went lax in his hands as he spread them apart to fit himself between them. He reached down to wrap his hand around his cock and dragged it through your slit. You gasped at the contact, and then smiled against his lips. 

“Please…,” you whispered, the need for him taking over your body. 

With a swivel of his hips, his cock plunged inside you, bottoming out as far as he could go. You threw your head back and cried out, relishing how full you felt. 

Jake didn’t even try to hold back the groan in his throat as your velvety heat enveloped him. He tried to give himself a minute to catch his breath. Moreover, he was trying to give you a minute to adjust, but your legs wrapped around his hips, sending the message to move. Happy to oblige you, he reared his hips back nearly all the way, before thrusting forward hard enough that your ankles shook slightly against the small of his back. 

Your mouth hung open and your eyes were screwed shut, and the Demon leaned down to whisper in your ear, “alright there, darling?” 

You tilted your head to reply, “if you don’t start moving…”

He chuckled and whispered something you were sure sounded like a playful, “demanding little thing…” before settling into a steady rhythm. Your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders as he moved, and the feeling of his flesh under your hands sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body. 

Jake buried his face in the crook of your neck, planting kisses along your neck as he gained speed. Soon he was all but slamming into you, making your bed creek to the point where the frame was getting closer and closer to hitting the wall behind it. 

There was only one light on in the room, a small desk light in the corner by your laptop, It wasn’t bright enough to fully illuminate the room, but it cast a warm glow from the side of the room it was on. Your eyes fluttered open briefly as you clung to the Demon inside you, and you noticed that the shadows on the walls and the ceilings looked…different. They were moving in ways that weren’t natural, in fact they shouldn’t have been moving at all given the source of light. But they were wobbling and morphing into different abstract shapes around you. It was then you remembered what Jake had done to prove his presence in your apartment: the trick with the shadows and how he used them to cloak all visible light in the room. 

Your attention on the shadows didn’t last however, as he hiked one of your legs higher on his side, pushing it towards you chest and giving him a new angle to work with. This let him hit even deeper, and the head of his cock was rutting against a spot inside you that had you gasping for air. 

Jake felt you squeezing him harder and more frequently as he continued his pace, and he could tell you were getting close. He smirked against the skin of your shoulder and reached down with his other hand to grab your ass cheek and knead the soft flesh as he worked you towards your second orgasm of the night. 

At this point you were a babbling mess underneath him, holding on for dear life as you hurtled towards the edge. He lifted his head up and greedily crashed his lips into yours, wanting to feel every gasp and reedy sigh coming from you. 

It was all too much, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and a cry flew from your mouth as your orgasm took over, shattering beneath him. 

“Yeah…yeah that's it, darling…doing so well,” he encouraged in a low voice as he continued to piston his hips and work you through your high. 

Jake slowed as you began to come down, and your muscles felt like jello from how tense they had been leading up to your orgasm. His lips pressed sweetly into your cheek, as he felt you relax even further onto the bed. He hoped you weren’t too tired, because he wasn’t through with you. 

Before you could register which way was up, the Demon pulled out of you, hissing at the sudden rush of cold air on his cock. Your eyes opened a bit in curiosity, as you knew he hadn’t came yet. The shadows were still flickering on the walls to their own accord, resembling flames with their movements. 

He sat up on his knees, resting on his haunches and taking your hips in his hands. In one swift motion, he had you on your stomach, yanking your hips backwards before he reared back himself and slammed back into you from behind. 

You cried out into the pillow beneath you, your body still sensitive from your last orgasm. All of her nerve endings were on fire, and lightning bolts of pleasure radiated from your core as he rutted into you at a brutal pace. 

It was a struggle to keep yourself properly on your hands and knees, as every thrust had you lurching forward and nearly off balance. Curse words fell from your mouth, harmonizing with the grunts and heavy breathing from the Demon behind you. His thick hands and long finger were squeezing your hips in such a way you were sure there would be marks left behind, but you didn’t care, you loved how rough he was at that moment. A stark contrast to how he had been in the previous round. 

He slowed his pace slightly to these long and deliberate strokes, wanting to really savor how incredible you felt wrapped around him. But while this angle felt amazing not only for you and for him, he felt a little far away from you, and he didn’t like that at all. 

While maintaining his pace he gathered you up in his arms and pulled you upright, securing your back to his front, and his chin on your shoulder. The new angle had him thrusting upwards into you, and it made your head fall back onto his shoulder. Your legs were starting to shake from the excursion, and instinctively you reached up and took one of his horns in your hand to keep yourself balanced. 

This caused the Demon to growl next to your ear. His hips involuntarily swiveled and pushed his aching deeper inside you at the feeling of your hand on one of his horns. The combined sensations had his own high looming in the distance, but he didn’t want to cross the finish line alone. He slid his hand down your torso to your clit, immediately figuring out the pattern that caused the biggest reaction from you. 

“You got one more for me? Hmm? Do you, darling?” He spoke into your ear and pressed his lips on the shell of it. “I know you do; you can do it. You’re already squeezing me so tight.” 

He was whispering pure filth into your ear as he kept rutting into you and working your clit. He didn’t just want to feel you come again, he needed it. Once around his fingers and another around his cock wasn’t enough for him. He needed more. 

Your body started to tremble in his arms, and he knew you were right on the edge. He wasn’t very far behind you as his cock stiffened even more. Within seconds you were clamping down around him again, throwing your head back and crying out towards the ceiling. As your high slammed into you again, the Demon’s own orgasm course through him. He let out a low groan as his hips stuttered a few times before pushing into you one final time, emptying himself completely. In the midst of it all, the shadows closed in on you both briefly before retreating and settling back in their rightful places, looking completely normal now. 

His hand slowly circled your clit, trying to prolong your orgasm as long as he could, but when your body jolted at the sensitivity he stopped and slowly withdrew from you. Your legs started to give out and he quickly caught you and gently laid you back down on the bed, not wanting you to fall. 

The sight of his release slowly rolling down your thigh distracted him for a second, before he remembered it was the gentlemanly thing to do to clean you up. Thankfully, you had a bathroom attached to your room, so he didn’t have to go too far to get a warm washcloth to clean you both up. The whole time you watched him through heavy lidded eyes, exhausted from the whole evening. 

On his way back from throwing the rag in your hamper, he noted his pile of clothes and his hat in the other room. He turned back to your bed, your eyes were nearly shut and you were under the covers. An intrusive thought flashed through his mind, that it would be so easy for him to gather his things and leave, letting you wake up in the morning and chalk it all up to a wine-induced dream. But then your request from earlier filtered through his thoughts, and a pang shot through his chest. No…he couldn’t do that. Most surprisingly, he didn’t want to. 

He shook his head before crawling into your bed, wrapping his arms around you and letting you rest your head on his chest. 

You didn’t want to fall asleep, and you tried real hard to stay awake. But his lips rested on the crown of your head, while his fingers traced little patterns on your lower back. It wasn’t long before you both drifted off into a restful sleep. 

Hours later, when the sun had fully risen and light was streaming through your window, you were awoken by a low snore near your ear. Blinking your eyes open, you looked up to find Jake’s face inches from yours. His arms were around your waist and he was practically sharing your pillow, but you didn’t mind. Carefully you turned over to face him, trying not to wake him up. His features looked so much softer this way, and you could fully admire the slope of his nose and how his dark eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks. He was one of the most beautiful men you had ever seen. 

The Demon began to stir awake, and his eyes slowly opened to find you laying in the crook of his arm, absently fiddling with his necklaces. 

“Morning…,” he murmured, voice nearly an octave lower from sleep. 

“Morning…,” you replied, unable to hide the smile that slid across your face. 

His hand reached up and cupped your face, tilting it up wards so he could slot his mouth over yours in a languid kiss. 

As you pulled away, you whispered a question against his lips.

“Not a ghost?”

His arms tightened around you and pulled you closer to him. 

“Not a ghost, darling.” 

FIN

Tag List:  @dannyandthekiszkas , @readyforthegarden , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema, @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal , @myownparadise96 , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmelbourne, @twistedmelodies , @that-witchy-pan , @gold-mines-melting , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface , @childinthegardenn , @char289 , @stardustvanfleet , @sunfl0wer-power , @holdingup-fallingsky , @bladenotblaze , @gretavanlace , @lipstickitty , @jjwasneverhere , @josiee-gvf , @peaceloveunitygvf , @musicislove3389 , @gretavanhockey , @gretavanazula

[sacredthethreadgvf]

Eeeeeee!! Clair I need this IMMEDIATELY!!! I’m soooo excited to see how this chapter goes 🫣

Covet: Chapter 12 (Sneak Peek)

a/n:

hi, friends!

yet again, I deliver a 4,000 word 'sneak peek.' l m f a o.

like I've previously mentioned, the monstrosity that is Chapter 12 was initially part of Chapter 11. buuut due to these two being quite the stubborn pair, the chapters continue on their pattern of being much longer than the I anticipated. hopefully they tone down after chapter 12 comes out, but... there is no telling. lmao.

the chapter count has increased by like 2 (? I think.....) chapters, if you check out the masterlist you'll see that. the ideas just keep on coming on my long drives to work everyday, as I blast the playlist to this silly little story.

plz enjoy the cringe manip of Josh... I couldn't help making it. just had to see him in the booth at Jungle Juice for god knows what reason l o l.

Warnings: (as always: MDNI 18+); vivid recollection of unprotected p in v sex; self doubt; body image issues; sadness; heartache; pregnancy; mentions of infidelity (sry not sry, maya); as always, if i missed anything that is triggering to you, PLEASE lmk!

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Arguably, as you left that yoga class, you felt the most relaxed you had in a long while. 

Your belly was still heavy at your front, but everything else felt so loose. Weightless. It was nice.

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

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

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

"(You Make Me Feel Like) A (motherfucking) Natural Woman", to your lovely surprise. Because why not?

The only songs you’d skipped and, of course, Josh had noticed. 

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

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

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

And, with absolutely zero surprise, you were back in that damn living room. No point in skipping the songs, it seemed. The gray morning, rain pittering against the windows. The stupid idea you’d had, forever haunting your association with the Queen of Soul.

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

And, as he’d searched through the albums, you’d just let your mind wander, right along with your eyes. . .

His body was a work of art. Always would be. Your favorite work of art. 

His thighs, ever-muscular, from the way they flexed when he’d move his body with his guitar on stage. 

That perfectly round ass that was undoubtedly gifted to him by the body gods. 

And his broad shoulders – strong to match his equally strong personality.

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

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

You could still imagine every detail from the morning. His tip, swollen from being pulled mid-sex. Your clit thrummed and twitched in current time at the thought, remembering how he'd still glistened from your dripping center. 

He’d turned to you fully, the Aretha Franklin vinyl in his grip – her Greatest Hits. You’d found his eyes. They were questioning, but you hadn’t been able to focus entirely on his glance. No, you’d looked away from his eyes to admire your most favorite parts of his body. 

His toned pecs and his solid stomach— fuck. They made you fucking weak.

There were truly no words for the way he was built— pecs naturally firm and rounded with lean muscle. 

And his stomach— just a little soft and the perfect finish to it all, complimenting him just right— finishing out his sturdy, powerful stature. 

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

(And control you with a simple snap of his fingers.)

He was honestly what all of your dreams were made of.

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

But. . . he wasn’t yours. Not then. Not now. 

And that bitter thought had helped to snap you out of your trance on that simplistic, perfect morning. You'd finally looked at him to answer. 

He was smirking, knowingly. “I love your body, too, Beautiful.”

Your thighs pressed even closer together as you tapped out the beat of the current song on your thighs. A Minnie Riperton song. Just focus on Minnie. Tried to remember the moment you were currently in. . . But you couldn’t. Not yet.

Wait. Minnie. This song. You focused for a second. Was fucking "Memory Lane" playing? O-kay. Your life was truly hilarious. (Meaning, it was, in fact, not hilarious in the slightest.)

You tried to tune her out, rejecting the lyrics that hit far too close to home for your taste. But all that happened when you tuned her out, was Jake repeating the statement about your body. . . You could only hear those words from his mouth on repeat when you squeezed your eyes shut, so tightly.

With a gentle touch, you placed a hand to the bottom of your tummy to hold it. Your body now was nowhere near the same as it had been then. . . 

How the fuck would he talk about your body now? You knew how he felt about some of your newer assets. But. . . how would it feel now to hear him say things like that about your body? During sex? His dick, impossibly hard and leaking for your current, swollen body? Your belly, your bigger breasts? Your fuller thighs. . . Would he look at you the same during sex now? 

Fuck. Why were you even thinking like that?! You were imagining things that were only breaking your heart. . . Getting your mind in a dangerous space it did not need to be in.

Realizing it was slightly safer in your memories, you leaned back against your headrest to feel the rest of the moment.

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

“Agreed.”

He’d turned to put it on the Crosley, and as soon as the needle hummed against the record, making its wonderful crackling sound, you knew he’d made the right choice. This record was something else.

And now, the Greatest Hits vinyl held your heart in ways you could’ve never imagined on that rainy morning.

You could remember how it felt to watch him – the intoxicating combination of seeing him walk back to you, with some of the most incredible music backing him. . . Shit. (If you know, you fucking know.)

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

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

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

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

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

The look on his face when you fucked him was one of your favorite sights. He’d always watched you so closely. . .whether it be your face, your breasts, your ass, or your center that wrapped around him, so tight. He’d scrunch his brows and let his mouth open a bit with certain movements of your hips, and bite his lip at other times. . . 

But, in moments like this one, with one hand holding your face while the other gripped your hip, a small, close-mouthed smile on his soft, plush lips. . . His emotion-filled eyes, boring into yours . . .

Your world had always tipped slightly on its axis when he’d do shit like that. Moments like the one from many mornings ago. . . Those moments had never failed to make a whole lot of gray in what should have been a strictly black and white situation. 

And, as you’d listened to the soulful voice flowing quietly from the record player, your thoughts drifted further. . .

When my soul was in the lost and found,

You came along to claim it.

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

Till your kiss helped me name it.

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

And, in the present time. . . the father of your baby. Fuck.

As you’d glanced down to watch him, his hips had begun to move on their own – never failing to make you feel complete and right. . . You truly couldn’t imagine your life without him. 

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

As you’d continued riding him, you had leaned down on your forearms to get close to his face. His handsome, handsome face. You’d given him a long kiss. A kiss that you’d hoped, then, was able to say thank you. . . Because, truly, you were so grateful for him. 

But when you’d separated your lips from his and pressed your perspired forehead to his own, you’d found the deep pools of his eyes that held so much of your world in them. And you’d known then that you had to say the words out loud.

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

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

You’d studied him seriously, the feeling in his eyes seeming to match the longing in your heart. Both of you had stayed there for a minute, taking the other in. 

You’d kissed him once more. And, rather than continuing the conversation, you’d focused on finding a release for you both. 

That hadn’t even been “You’re All I Need To Get By”. . . Not yet. No, that song, that blissful melody from your memory, was “You Make Me Feel (Like A Natural Woman)”. . . And that he did – he made you feel like the melodies of that song. Always would. He was every lyric of that song, sealed forever in your heart that way.

But the next song. . . When you’d fallen apart on top of him. And him, just barely pulling out in time, to finish onto your tummy. . . All while the song had been surrounding you, enveloping your senses. . .

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

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

“I was just sleeping, Josh,” you lamely explained, looking to your right, hoping you were already at the cafe.

And, for once, fate had worked in your favor, as he’d just parallel parked at Jungle Juice. Perfect timing. Avoid avoid avoid.

You hadn’t missed the curious look in his eye after your barely-there explanation or the way he’d opened his mouth to begin to question you. But as soon as he’d parked, you were hopping out of that Jetta. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

You were just sitting down, pomegranate smoothie in hand, at a table inside. Josh was still at the counter, you having instantly put distance between the two of you. As you sat, your mind briefly drifted to the mundane task of taking a seat. You noticed how much easier than normal it was to simply sit comfortably, thanks to the yoga. 

Soon, Josh was sitting down across from you. And, after he took one tiny drink of his smoothie, he pushed it ahead of him with a huff. His fluffy mess of curls flowed around his head with the noise. 

There should’ve been no surprise when he didn’t drop what you'd started in the car. His ass had practically just touched his booth bench when he was asking you. “What the fuck is it with those songs?”

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

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

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

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

“Noooo thanks,” the curly-headed twin stopped you, holding up a hand with his lips turned down. “That’s enough. Truly. Thank you, I now know what I need to know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you just began talking. 

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

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

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

Well. “I–.”

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

“It was a card he was playing, Jo–.”

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

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

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

Free PORN?! Josh.

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

He observed your expression, still cackling. But soon, it calmed down. Calmed down enough to where he was still letting out little huffs of laughter, but his eyes bulged a bit. He seemed to remember at that very moment that it wasn’t just the two of you. Face set straighter than before, he turned, looking around to hastily address the people near you with an apology. 

Meanwhile, your cheeks were positively burning at everything he’d said. How in the hell did you even begin to address that shit? And why was it always on you and never Jake? 

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

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

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

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

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

As much as it sucked.

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

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

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

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

“Help yourself?” 

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

“Well, of course not,” he replied, intonation light once again. You blinked again, this time in shock at the change in attitude. He continued before you could question it. “He couldn’t either, it seemed. There was no other reason for him to act so rashly in front of all of us.”

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

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

Stunned. You were stunned. What the fuck?! Josh had told him what?!

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: I, personally, value Josh's opinions on the matter...... what about you? ;)

also. free porn. l m a o.

Taglist:

@jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlover, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend

@aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf

@torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule, @texas-bbq-pringles

[sacredthethreadgvf]

OH HOLY FUCK THIS IS GONNA BE SO GOOD

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 6 (teaser)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

here it is, folks. the long-awaited perspective from Jake. this will give us a few hints as to where his head has been since this story began. it's only a glimpse of what's to come, but i hope you enjoy. ♡

*recollection of sexual encounters, jealousy, hurt feelings, brief mention of disordered eating

“I assumed she’d be like every other girl I’d known, but the moment I held her for the first time, I realized just how profoundly wrong I was. From the first touch, the first taste..."

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Jake’s point of view;

I waited far too long. 

I had every intention of telling her—the plan was already in place. 

All I needed was to wait for the perfect moment to ask her to come with me. I knew she wouldn’t say yes right away, so I had to take the time to craft the right words, to convey the way her very essence softened my hardened heart. 

Goddammit. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of what has transpired with her over the last few months was meant to happen. 

But fate would have it otherwise. And I knew mine was sealed when she chose the seat next to mine on the first day of class. I thought I’d never have to see her bewitching face again after I so callously bumped into her in the hallway. But when that very same, beautiful stranger walked in late through the doors of Movack’s lecture hall, I knew I had to take every measure possible to fend off any infatuations that I felt could arise. 

But, as though it were predestined, we were paired on a project she was just as passionate about — if not more — than I was. 

I suppose I thought the film would be the best way to keep my distance from her while also keeping true to our commitments to the project. I surmised the addition of my family would keep us from having to be alone, having any real conversations to get to know one another. 

I didn’t want to get to know her. Not because of her, because of me. I gathered immediately that she was far too wonderful for the likes of me, far too easy to fall for. Her beauty and complexity, the most exquisite and intrusive storm to my hardened heart. 

She truly was too good for me…still is; utter perfection encompassed in the ethos of her femininity. 

That fact was all but confirmed on that first day of class. When she checked my ego over a question I should’ve known the answer to, I knew I was utterly fucked. Intelligent, full of the wit necessary to challenge me. I was a fucking dick to her from the outset. But I had to keep my own feelings in balance. 

Jesus — who the fuck am I kidding? 

I didn’t ask her to help with the film to keep her away — I wanted her to play opposite me. I wanted her to play my fucking wife. I wanted the chance to act on the feelings that were already amassed, without the risk of her thinking they were anything more than for the sake of the film.

But Josh fucked it all up for me. The script wasn’t what we agreed on, no matter how much he’s fought me on that fact. His idea to shift the focus on infidelity, specifically her infidelity with fucking Lancelot was unadulterated bullshit. And when I had to watch her share so many scenes with Sam, scenes that should’ve been with me, the fire it ignited under my crawling skin told me that my attempts at keeping my composure about her were failing. Miserably failing. 

Stacy was my escape. She had wanted me for years, and I knew she would be the perfect distraction from my growing feelings for Y/n — and from the agony of watching my brother touch her in ways I could only dream of.

But, fate wouldn’t hear of it. It didn’t fucking work. Stacy doesn’t hold a candle to Y/n; she’s nothing more than a flicker next to Y/n’s radiance. Wasting my energy with someone as dull-witted and mindless as Stacy only made me yearn for Y/n all the more. 

Y/n’s mystique, her grace, the very aura she strides with…she’s the most captivating woman I’ve ever set my eyes upon. It took only a few weeks to memorize every minute detail of her face. Her sweet nose that crinkles when she laughs, her glittering eyes that hold the weight of a thousand beautiful lifetimes, her eyelashes that are as dark and full as a ravens wings, her crooked smile, succulent lips…she’s more elegant than any painting the most adept artist could ever render. As though her outward beauty wasn’t enough to lure me in, her endearing accent, the one that instantly told me she was miles away from her birthplace, charmed me even further. 

I hadn’t found a single reason to stay here, a reason that made London feel like a poor decision until she infiltrated my existence, when her earthy, vanilla aroma inundated me with lust and desire. 

And though she tried to hide it, I could tell she was looking at me with the very same eyes I saw her through. 

The only thing I could do at that point was push her away, and keep pushing her until she despised her every thought of me. I couldn’t risk what I was afraid it could turn into. 

It felt like knives tore through the inside of my throat when I said some of the most revolting words I could think of to her in class. I felt like the biggest piece of shit when her incredible eyes became glassed over with tears, when her round, rose lips downturned at what I had said…and I didn’t mean any of it. Not a single word of it. She didn’t deserve to hear such horrid things. 

I fucking hurt her. And that was what my thoughtless self wanted. 

I wanted it so I wouldn’t get attached, so she wouldn’t get attached. I’ve needed to get out of this fucking city — this goddamn country — since nearly every person I’ve ever loved died in the places I’ve called home. Other than my brothers, there’s been nothing to keep me here after my time at the U of M is up. And I swore there’d be no way in fucking hell I’d let some girl change that. 

But what my imprudent ass couldn’t accept was that Y/n has never been just some girl. I’ve always known it, and I’ve been utterly terrified by it since I let myself watch her — observe her. All it took was one class period for the horror to sink in that she is different from any other woman I’ve ever beheld. She even surmounts every woman in fucking literature. 

She’s magic.

And she’s broken me. She’s torn down every wall I’ve built since the death of my parents, then proceeded to destroy the ones that came up after I lost my grandparents. No one that isn’t my own twin brother has been able to see me the way she does. 

I mean, Christ, I played guitar for her. Only her. I practically gave her my vulnerability, placed it in the palm of her open hand and closed her delicate fingers over it. I’ve shown her parts of myself, piece by tiny fucking piece, that a mere handful of people have borne witness to. 

I assumed she’d be like every other girl I’d known, but the moment I held her for the first time, I realized just how profoundly wrong I was. From the first touch, the first taste, the first time I fucked her... 

I can’t explain what she does to me, or how she does it. But she brings forth an animalistic side of myself, engulfed with pure desire for everything that she is. 

I knew she was beautiful from the moment I laid my eyes on her, but when I discovered what she was hiding beneath her oversized attire, I felt longing anew. It was a cruel irony for Josh to make my room her dressing quarters. If I knew my brother at all — which I do, better than anyone — the little shit did that on purpose. 

He knew of the risks. I knew them — what might happen if I were to open my bedroom door. And it did happen — the day she was trying on her costumes, and though I knew what I’d possibly be walking in on… I wasn’t the least bit prepared for the sight my eyes would behold. 

As if Josh hadn’t fucked me over enough with the entire ordeal, Malachi added to my misery by choosing costumes for her that only served to enhance her allure that already held me captive. 

That black lace number she was in when I opened my door left my knees weak — my face, numb. I could see every outline of her form, every beautiful part of herself that she’d hidden in my short time of knowing her. The buds of her perfectly shaped breasts were peeking through the embroidered netting, the curve of her exquisite ass was just visible beyond the exaggerated slit of the gown. And her skin, glowing in the dim light, freckled and pristine. 

I stood completely still — in awe of her. I wanted to fall to her feet at that very moment, and I suppose I would’ve if it wasn’t for Natalia. I knew it was wrong to stare at her, but no living mortal would’ve been able to avert their eyes from such an ethereal vision. 

How fitting that she wore that very gown when I at last got to feel her, glide my tongue over every goddamn inch of her sweet skin, mark her so my brother knew who she really wanted…

I’ll surely never forget the way she melted under my touch that night, the way her skin became littered with goosebumps in the wake of my fingers. And when I discovered her little secret, the sexy scarlet colored ink beneath her breast, it left me stunned at first. Yet somehow, it didn't entirely surprise me. It suits her enchantment, her mystery. And it’s enormously tantalizing. 

I simply became intoxicated by her. I needed more, and my futile attempts at withholding my true desires, of delving headfirst into something I knew I’d never be capable of coming back from, would inevitably fail. 

Fuck. She made it so difficult. And it didn’t help when I realized how badly she needed it as well. How could I continue to deny her any further when I myself could no longer resist what we both wanted? 

I chose to tread slowly, to take the time to learn her body and the ways in which she longs to be pleasured. I knew she was losing patience with me, but I had to wait until the perfect occasion. 

I nearly gave in the night she wrapped her gorgeous, velvet mouth around my cock as I drove. I discovered the limitless desires she had been harboring, giving me all she had, keeping her promise of taking care of herself to the thought of me. 

The birthday party felt like the opportune time to at last allow ourselves a true taste of one another, but when I discovered her little lie about the tattoo, my adoration for her burst out of my body like ten foot waves slamming against the oceanside. 

I was angry. But more than that, more than anything, I just wanted her. And I didn’t want to give her a single reason more that she should find herself choosing the affections of Sam over me. 

Fucking her for the first time… nothing in the world could come remotely close to the feeling. And when she’d told me she wished I’d do it — wished I’d fuck her — my heart had catapulted to a place it had never ventured before. Knowing she wanted it so badly… there had been no stopping that shit.

The feeling of her body… No other woman could ever compare — will ever compare. No matter where I venture in the world, there will never be another like her. She's the everlasting dream. My dream. 

Every curve of her body — each time her gorgeous cunt would clench around my dick, her falling apart so gloriously at my touch… I found myself transcending space and time as I knew it.

That night was the one of the most glorious experiences I’ve yet to share with another living being, second only to last night. 

And when I had her in the library…

Jesus Christ. I just need her. In every way that I possibly can. 

And I hate how much I fucking need her. This is a new realm for me. I’ve always been my own unit, seeking the company of others only when it felt necessary. I’ve never known someone who could turn my lonely world upside down and inside out in the ways she has. 

But it wasn’t until Natalia confirmed my fears that Y/n hadn’t been taking proper care of herself that I truly realized the possible breadth of my care for her. Something wholly new to me.

I felt the longing threads of my heart rip to tattered shreds. How could a woman of her magnitudinous beauty be so blind to it? How could she ever doubt the effect she has on unsuspecting souls by simply gracing a room with her charm? It shattered me inexplicably when I learned of the way she views herself. And that—that  was when I truly realized the depths of my affections for her. 

God, the depths… deeper than the vast expanse of the ocean. 

I then sought out ways in which to help her, and the one thing I was certain would bring her peace was having her lend me a hand in preparing a home cooked meal. I had to suppress the rising flood of tears when I watched her eat it, seeming to have no more doubts in her mind as she did so. I saw the very same thing at The Whitney; Not a single burden behind her eyes as she nurtured her beautiful body. 

God. She’s evoked feelings from me that I never thought could be mine to feel.

But I just can’t stay here. I can’t bear it any longer, and she has to understand that. It’s what she did herself when she chose to move here, to say a final farewell to the town that bore her own pain. 

It isn’t her damn job to have to carry my pain, though. By every measure, I’m a failure. In the truest sense of the word. 

I fell for her when I swore to myself I wouldn’t allow for it. I’ve hurt her repeatedly with my pure bullshit. The worthless tries at denying my heart.

And I’ve hurt her yet again by dragging my feet, letting her find out in the most careless of ways by leaving the evidence in her fucking book. And in turn, I’ve hurt my own goddamn self. 

God knows how hard I tried to talk to her this morning, but she had already decided to hell with me. I can’t reproach her for it. I just wish she’d listen to me, I need her to hear me. There’s no reason she wouldn’t be accepted to Oxford. Fuck — her mind, so wondrous and brilliant. I want her there with me. I’ve suddenly found myself unable to take this trek across the sea without her. But I fear my time to present that to her is nearly up. 

And it’s all my fault. Every bit of it. 

But this morning…she chose to twist the metaphoric dagger in my already bleeding chest.

She went to Sam. Immediately chose him, as though no second thought was needed. As soon as I’d betrayed her trust, she’d gone to Sam. She could’ve at least asked Josh to take her home, though her and I both knew that Sam was the more obvious choice. The choice she knew would hurt me just as much as I had hurt her. 

But what she doesn’t know is how much I’m already fucking hurting. By my own hand, no less. I never intended for this, and yet, here I am, feeling things I’ve yet to allow myself to feel over a woman, a woman that walked into my life only months ago. 

And now, thanks to me, she’s held in the arms of my younger brother, shedding her tears into his chest right outside of my bedroom window. 

Is she wearing his fucking slippers? Jesus Christ. 

I could wring his goddamn neck for this. It’s not his fucking place. His bed wasn’t where she laid last night. His body wasn’t the one taking care of hers. 

Though, I suppose I can’t fault him — I wouldn’t be able to gather the strength to turn her away, either. Not ever again, if the truth should be told. 

I just…I’ve wanted so much more with her than this. So much more. But I must now accept the chance that I’ve fucked it all up. Perhaps I fucked it up from the very start; The fact that she ever wanted anything to do with me after the way I treated her is a remarkable wonder. 

My nerves are engulfed in flames as I have to witness her getting into Sam’s car now. Him, shutting the door behind her, racing around to the driver's side so she’s not alone for too long, wiping the last of her tears with the cuff of her sleeve. 

Tears that I fucking caused.

I’ve been through immense pain in my life, the kind of pain that feels like shards of glass slicing at my skin at the reminder. But this kind of pain, watching him drive her away because she couldn’t bear the thought of me doing it, it’s brand new to me.

I’m crossing over into untouched realms of misery, of torment. 

I can’t let things with her end in this way. I won’t stand for it. As much as I wasn’t prepared for this to begin with her in the way it did, I’m not equipped to accept it ending like this. 

I cannot leave for London knowing I was never given the chance to properly fight for her.  

But if she won’t listen to me, I fear the choice will no longer be mine to make.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: do we think he'll be able to talk her into going with him? or, do we think she'll to stay for other reasons? & what do we think will happen with Sam? 🫣

the rest of the chapter will be yours very soon. 🤍

as always, i owe a massive thank you to @jakeyt for being my favorite editor, second set of eyes, & the best advice/idea giver. love you so so so much.

Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelborne @devilat-thedoor @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @ninas-tearsofrain @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraig @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul27

[sacredthethreadgvf]

YES UES YES YES YES IM SCREAMING AND CRYING AND THROWING UP IL SO EXCITED !!!

SHES BACK YALL 😭😭😭😭😭😭🤍

INDIFFERENT JAKE IS BACK TOO BUT THATS NOT AS IMPORTANT !!!

Indifferent - I

a/n: welcome back enemies to lovers jake x reader. i will try to have part II done soon so be patient friends <3 hope u like!

summary: you don’t hate jake you just have an indifference… right?

warnings: partying, alcohol/tobacco consumption, arguments, pining, unreciprocated love, etc. please excuse any spelling/grammatical errors!

word count: 14k+

✿ ✿ ✿

"It would be so much easier if you just admitted that you hate him."

There's definitely some truth to that. Because, if you hated Jake Kiszka, you wouldn't have to deal with his annoying attitude, wouldn't have to constantly ignore him everywhere, wouldn't have to fake pleasantries. But, if you truly hated Jake Kiszka, then you definitely wouldn't be Sam's friend, which is a price you aren't willing to pay.

Everyone thinks you're lying when you say you don't hate the younger Kiszka twin, but it can't be a lie. The two of you are certainly not the biggest fans of each other, maybe he hates you, but you've always told yourself that you're a lover, not a hater. No matter how cheesy it is.

Maybe you do hate him and you just don't know it, then again, you'd still never admit to it. Because admitting that you hate Jake, well he'd just enjoy that too much.

He already loves watching you get irritated by him, loves knowing that he can get under your skin. But as long as you don't feed into it, as long as you fake a smile or pretend nothing is wrong, you have the upper hand.

You wish you could say that you find enjoyment in that, but honestly, it's a bit exhausting.

You chuckle into your plastic cup, sipping the drink he made for you in the makeshift bar of the kitchen of whoever's house this is. Sam has been, for the most part of this year, trying to clear things up between you and Jake. He doesn't even know what started it, this unofficial grudge between you.

For you, it was when he said something about Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks that rubbed you the wrong way. For him, it was when you rolled your eyes at his Stevie Nicks joke and walked away. So basically, since the very first night you met. This turmoil as been persistent since the beginning.

Was it immature? Yes. Do adults act this way? They shouldn't. Will you and Jake ever see eye to eye?... debatable.

"I agree," you shrug, holding your cup between two hands. Sam's eyes peer over at you as you scan the crowded house. He's waiting for you to admit it. A smirk flashes across your features, "but then that would be a lie, wouldn't it?"

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, "Would it make it easier if I told you that he already hates you?"

You frown and shake your head, "I know that, I've known that for a while now. It's like, painfully obvious."

Now, you don't hate him (or so you say) but you do know that he hates you. To be hated by someone so arrogant around you, so proud, so douchebag-y, and to just treat it with nonchalance, in your eyes you've already won.

You don't care that Jake hates you, because you simply don't give a shit about him. You're indifferent towards him.

There's something so sweet about that. Like holding a treat right above his head where he can't reach. I don't hate you, I don't care enough to do that.

You tell yourself it's fulfilling.

Who your eyes are searching the party for, you're not entirely sure. But, when they land on Jake, it's as if a question has been answered. So he is here tonight... you make a mental note to avoid him at all costs.

The thing is, if you really hated Jake, wouldn't you want to argue with him? Wouldn't you go out of your way to bicker and snarl at him, to irritate him back? You never found the idea of that satisfying, so you've never quarreled with him. There have been those moments, after a party or an outing or a dinner you were invited to that he of course was at too, when you're in the shower or the looking in the bathroom mirror or fixing yourself a snack alone in your apartment where you'd play out this scenario in your mind. It consists of just you and Jake, sometimes an audience but most of the time not, and in this scenario you tell him off. You yell and point fingers at him and call him all the names you've never really had the courage or desire to call him in real life to his face. When you exit your daydream and back to reality, there's always this hum in your bones, in your chest. You always ignore it and move on.

You watch Jake, hoping the lights are dim enough to disguise where your line of vision lies. He looks around, over his shoulder, then pulls something out of his back pocket and turns, leaving the room. Your chest deflates. You decide the feeling is relief, but there's something else there. Is it disappointment? No, certainly not. Why would you ever be disappointed by Jake leaving?

You turn to look at Sam, but he stands up straight with his arms widened and steps towards someone he knows. You check their face, and it's a stranger you have never met. He introduces you to him, and you politely nod and smile, then you're excluded entirely from the conversation. Words like 'working on' and 'finishing up' are exchanged, clearly this is someone Sam works with.

Sam has countless work buddies, producers and musicians and lyricists. People who went to Berklee and Belmont, who wear funny clothes with funnier names. You stand back, quiet, not listening to anything they have to say because, honestly, it could be a foreign language. A minute goes past, still ignored. Another minute, and now you're bored. So, you leave.

Down the hall, back to the kitchen, you pour yourself a fresh drink, heavy with the tequila. No one seems to judge, no one seems to really pay attention. With a simper your take your concoction and head out the back door, out onto the back deck.

It's a big house, a nice one. Part of you wonders if the owner is one of those fancy friends of the band, but you take a sip of your drink and the thought fades away. Whoever lives here is lucky. The deck is huge, with warm colored string lights hanging overhead, well manicured yard with beautiful landscaping. You head over to the rail and gaze out into the darkness.

The buzz of the party penetrates the walls. Voices of guests are heard, the music playing is muffled. There are a few stragglers outside, a couple over by the steps, a loner with his cigarette, a drunk group of friends giggling out in the grass. You watch them for a minute, smiling at their shenanigans, then take another sip.

"Well well well..."

You turn at the voice, greeted by a wide, genuine Kiszka smile. Josh comes forward and gives you a hug, his cheek pressed against yours and a happy hum coming from his chest. You hug Josh back, the corners of your lips lifting almost instantly. It was instinct to smile whenever your eyes found Josh, impossible to hate him.

It was so odd, how you could love one twin so much over the other. Sometimes, you forget Josh is a twin at all...

"Hi Josh." You murmur, pulling back with rosy cheeks.

"How are you?" He asks and you just shrug. He shrugs back, "Figured I'd ask since you're playing solo out here."

You chuckle and shake your head, looking down at your boots. When you look back up with a gentle sigh, "I don't fit in with your friends."

He steps backward, looking you over. High waisted blue jeans with a flare at the boot, cute belt with a chunky buckle, a cropped muscle tank top because of the summer heat beginning to set in. It's true, you don't fit in, you stick out in the best of ways.

He waves your words off, "Half of them are colleagues, I wouldn't want to lump you in with them anyway, Y/N."

You have to appreciate that, even just a tad.

"What're you buttering me up for?" You hum under your breath turning so you can look back out into the yard.

He comes up beside you, ignoring your question, and instead taking the conversation in a completely different direction, "Sometimes I wonder how you and Sammy are such good friends when I'm right here. Look at us, sharing a cigarette," he pulls out a pack from his pocket, "talking into the night. And where's he?"

"Talking to whoever Scott is." You shrug.

"Oh fuck," he chuckles, putting the stick between his teeth, "guess I'll be staying out here a little longer.. don't wanna run into him. You know, if I'm at a party, why talk work? I wanna forget about work for an hour of my life, ya know?"

Josh Kiszka, you have maybe the best job in the world...

You just nod, watching him with a smile. Josh was your pick me up, Sam is your rock. Josh keeps things light, Sam stays realistic. You watch him as he lights up, taking a drag and exhaling away from you.

"Thought you quit that." You judge him.

He takes another inhale with a shrug, "Yeah. Turns out vaping only makes me wanna smoke more."

You roll your eyes, holding your fingers out to take the cig. He passes it to you with a smile, watching as you take a drag of it yourself and exhale the smoke. Your eyes catch his, and for a split second all you see is Jake. Imagination takes hold, you wonder what it would be like to smoke with him instead, and then you grimace, giving him the cigarette back.

He chuckles at you with a tilted brows, "What? You don't like Spirits?"

"No, no it's not that," you shake your head with a light laugh, taking a swig from your cup, then mumbling, "it's stupid."

"Now you have to tell me." He gives you a dopey grin, and when you shake your head he persists, "What? I love stupid, tell me."

You sigh, holding the cup against your chest. It feels cold, the cup is sweaty and the condensation leaks through your shirt, dampening the material.

"I just pictured myself sharing a cigarette with Jake."

He looks at you with a tight smile, his cheeks pushed up so his eyes squint slightly, and lets out a laugh that just really sounds like a quick 'hm' before turning and facing the yard himself now. You're both quiet for a moment, and you're about to defend yourself, say something like 'well, you wanted to know' but he speaks first.

"That would be quite the pairing." Is all he says before going quiet again, cigarette in his mouth.

You swallow, watching him and acting like the phrase doesn't bother you. It was full of amusement, pleasure, just a little condescending.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He looks at you from the side of his eye, "You know what it means."

"You're so fucking annoying."

He laughs, loudly and carefree. A little deep, kind of bubbly. He laughs because you know what he's alluding to.

"You all feed off of my irritation, that's it, isn't it?" You shake your head.

He shrugs, his laughter dying down, "I'm annoying?"

"Yeah," you nod.

He scoffs, "You're annoying."

You stop and stare at him, expecting a joking smile, a sarcastic look, but his face is aimed at the yard, and for the most part reads serious. Taking a breath, you look away again and let the silence take over.

You know the turmoil between you and Jake isn't necessarily enjoyable for everyone else. You're constantly annoyed by him but you can only imagine how irritating it is for the people around you two.

He finishes off the cigarette, mumbling, "All that I said was that you and Jake would be an interesting pair because you guys have never once been seen remotely near one another."

"There's a reason for that." You grumble back.

"I wish there wasn't."

You want to roll your eyes, because when you got invited to this party you weren't expecting anything sappy. At parties you're supposed to be happy, right? Why the hell is Josh, of all people, ruining the mood?

A sigh comes from you, and your words come out before you can even think through them, "You want me to make an effort? Want me to talk to him?"

This makes him look to you, eyebrows raised with surprise. There's a sense of disbelief in his eyes, like he doesn't think you will.

His voice is doubtful and flat, "You'd really be willing to do that?"

You just shrug. Willingly talk to Jake? Never. Willing to to just move on and make your friends happy? Sure.

"I..." you shake your head at yourself, lifting your hand before dropping it as if to bring in your thoughts, "I'm over it. I know it bothers you all so, I just want to stop avoiding him constantly."

Josh's lips turn up, softly smiling at you. Suddenly, he looks hopeful, trusting. God, now you really have to follow through with this.

He nods, "I just hate that I can't be in the same room as both of you. It's hard, my twin hating my friend. Vice versa."

"I don't hate Jake." You huff, defensive immediately.

"Yeah yeah yeah, okay." He chuckles, not even bothering to argue with that. He knows what you always says anyway.

We're indifferent.

That's a lie in itself though, isn't it? You claim to be indifferent towards Jake, but you certainly cannot speak for him. You know he doesn't feel indifferent towards you, you know that he hates you. Right?

Your eyes slide over to Josh.

"I'll talk to him tonight, okay?"

"I don't know about that." He shakes his head, "He uh..." Josh chuckles with his head down before continuing, "he was sort of advised by Sam to keep his distance from you."

You frown.

"He didn't want any trouble between you two tonight."

You stand silent for a few seconds, thinking. When was the last time you interacted with Jake anyway? You hardly saw him at last weeks get together at Danny's, he didn't so much as look at you when you joined the group for bowling last month... This feeling of guilt and shame begins to swallow you up.

Jake's basically been the bigger person this entire time.

Your hands start shake, body heating up with anger. Why wouldn't Sam just tell you? Why would he want you to admit something you don't believe instead of having you and Jake make amends? Why is he separating you when what really need to happen is a unification?

"Don't go find him tonight, Y/N, please." Josh sighs, turning so his back is leant on the rail.

"No, no I won't, but if I run into him I can't promise there won't be an apology." You say back, keeping your voice even, "Believe it or not, I really don't want unnecessary malice between me and your twin."

"I never said I didn't believe that." He smiles.

Your eyes meet his, quietly asking, "So, you believe me?"

"I believe in you." He nods once.

You swallow, looking downward, then away from him. The unofficial promise of talking to Jake eventually, not necessarily tonight, and ending this "indifference" was intimidating. You haven't spoken to Jake in forever, the last time you talked could have genuinely been when you first met each other. All words exchanged between the two of you since then have been entirely indirect.

How would you start it? Should you just ignore all past interactions, perhaps start new? Or do you apologize? Oh, the very idea makes your blood boil, apologizing to Jake for nothing you did. You've done nothing wrong.

Josh watches anxiety mixed with fire wash over you, "Don't overthink it."

"M'not."

"You are," he chuckles, "I'd just tell him how you feel."

"What if he doesn't care?" You ask, looking to him then away because fuck is that embarrassing. It sounds like you care. Maybe you do...

He shrugs, "Then that's his own damn fault, and you tried. I can tell you mean well, that you really want to do this. Not for Sam, not for me, for you and Jake. It says a lot."

Your face burns and you try give him a casual nod. It's really just a stiff jerk of your head, your entire body feels tight, mouth is dry, neck is hot. You care, of course you care. You always have unknowingly cared, thats just who you are.

He pats your arms and stands up straight, "Alright, now I gotta go inside and find someone to woo for evening."

You chuckle, dismissing your mortification as swiftly as you can, "What, did I bore you?"

He rolls his eyes with a laugh, "Did I woo you?"

You tilt your head side to side, before shaking it. He laughs once more, turning and heading back inside, not without a wink back at you before the door closes behind him. You stand alone on the deck, thinking about what was just discussed, everything he told you, what you had told him.

The scenario of speaking to Jake turns your stomach into knots. You hate that it does. Why is it doing that? You're not supposed to care. You're supposed to be indifferent.

It shouldn't matter what Jake thinks. It shouldn't matter if he cares or not. This is for you. It's for your own sake, talking to him, hopefully putting an end to this childish behavior. But, the fear of him being unwilling or even worse, dismissive towards patching this up worries you still. You think it's just because it would be extremely embarrassing to be the first one to give in, but deep down you really want it to work.

You look down into your now empty plastic cup.

I need another fucking drink.

Back inside you go, to the counter with the alcohol, mixing yourself your newest drink of the night, and finding yourself getting lost in this house. You try to decide who is the owner. Is it the man wearing the wild, neon colored button down? Surely not, this place is so... industrial, farmhouse, slightly bohemian. Your eyes find a girl in harem pants giggling with a guy who has a long beard and thick glasses, perhaps they live here. She keeps twirling her car keys in her left hand though, telling you otherwise.

Either way, your feet lead you to the outskirts of the crowd, beside the walls. You analyze the decor, the books. So much about music and travel. Band biographies, thick guides about the French countryside. You reach the staircase which is surprisingly secluded, making you wonder if the second floor is off limits. Slightly inebriated you seem to care less right now though, and ascend the oak staircase.

You reach the top step, looking back down as a two girls curry past the staircase, then look back in front of you. It's so much quieter up here, darker. You slowly walk down the hall, looking at the patterned rug beneath your boots, wondering if you should take them off up here out of respect for the owner. There's a door halfway open at the end of the hallway, and instead of peeking in every room along the way, you head straight toward the one door that seems to call your name.

Carefully, you open the door further, and step inside. It's dark, only the light from the moon outside lighting the room in cool tones, showing you just enough.

A desk with books and papers and journals scattered around a laptop. Guitars of all shapes and sizes and types litter the far side of the room. You spot a keyboard off in the corner, an easel in the other corner. Curiosity fills you to the brim.

This one little room tells you so much about whoever is hosting, and you're so drawn to it all. Whoever it is, is fascinating. Incredibly skilled, a person of many talents. You step further inside, eyes looking over all the stringed instruments, some, you discover as you approach, are not even guitars. The desire to find out who it is that can play all of them is massive.

You glance over at the easel. It holds a canvas with just a rough outline of a painting yet to come. In the darkness you can just barely make out the outline of a landscape piece, a field with a lonesome tree.

Then, the desk. Part of you wants to get closer, to read the pages, to get a better hint at who could be the one that's in here all the time, but your feet don't move. This is already such an invasion of someone's privacy.

I need to go.

You turn to leave, but someone in the doorway startles you.

"Sorry," he says, holding his hands up to show you he means no harm, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," you breathe out, squinting slightly to see who it is.

You've never seen him before. Short, dark hair, angular face, piercing eyes. Maybe this is the owner...

"I promise, I'm not stalking you," he lets out a nervous chuckle, "I saw you outside, I wanted to talk to you, but you left before I got the chance."

You nod, soft smile on your face as you jokingly ask, "So you followed me?"

He shrugs shamelessly, "Guess I did."

You stop and look at him through the dimness of the room, deciding whether or not you should talk to him or not. After a few seconds, you turn your head, looking for a light switch.

"Is there a light in here we can turn on? I... it's just so dark." You mumble, glancing around the room, spotting a lamp on the desk as well as a chest of drawers nearby the door.

You turn on the desk lamp while he flicks on the other, and the room is washed with an orange glow, allowing you both to get a better look at each other. He wears round glasses that frame his blue eyes, his tan skin sprinkled with freckles, stubble coating his jaw and chin and upper lip. He looks friendly, seems friendly.

He looks you once over slowly, and when his eyes meet yours, a smile spreads across his lips, "You're beautiful."

You hate that you blush, but you do, and wave him off with a chuckle, "Thank you,"

"I'm Kyle, by the way." He says, and you tell him your name in return, to which he smoothly replies with, "Pretty name, fitting."

"You better stop." You shake your head at him, turning your face away as if to hide it, and when you look back he's come closer.

At first, you don't notice that the door has been shut, because you're captivated by his eyes. But, when shuffles to the left, you note that no longer is it open. You don't overthink it much either, thank the alcohol for your easiness this evening, otherwise you'd be pacing the entire estate. That's what this place is, isn't it? Big enough to be one at least. You really should've asked Sam who's place this is.

"Or what?" He hums, the smug smirk on his face reads as playful, the tone in his voice teasing in a flirtatious way.

Is that how he sees it? You didn't necessarily plan on romancing tonight, but who are you to decline? He's good looking, seems like a nice guy, did follow you up here, but you'll take the light stalking as a form of flattery.

Your smile softens as you look back at him, "I'm terrible with compliments, I can never seem to return them."

He chuckles at that, shrugging as he boldly takes your hand in his, "Sounds like you're terrible at giving compliments. Does that mean you're used to receiving them?"

Your lips part as you search for an answer, your eyes moving up to his cap as you think. The front of it reads a production company, beneath the logo in smaller lettering reads WGA. You nearly begin to smirk, discovering why it seems like this guy has a line for everything. He's a writer, half of what he's saying probably is or will be in a sitcom one day. God forbid this very moment gets written into short film.

The pixie dream girl would reply with something witty, wouldn't you like to know perhaps, or can't say this isn't my first one. You don't give away your lines though, instead just offer a shy shrug because honestly, you don't know what to say, and slip your hand from his grasp. You don't know this guy at all aside from the little information his cap is giving you.

"You have to be." He inches closer.

These lines might have worked on people in the past, but not you. There's something about him now, it makes you uneasy. You don't want this you only came up here to get away from everyone for a moment and he followed you. Suddenly you're stiff, suddenly you're backed up to the wall, and suddenly he's leaning in and you can't get the words out.

Get away from me, your mind screams, but your voice stays caught in your throat. You tell yourself to move your arms up, to push him away from you, but you don't react. He comes in closer, pushing your hair off your shoulder and tracing his fingertips down your arm, touching your waist. His mouth finds your neck, kissing you tenderly and making you cringe. You make no effort to reciprocate this touch, standing there with your arms at your side and your eyes wide open.

You sigh and look away as you let him have his moment, to the wall on the far side, with the stringed instruments. Most electric, different makes and models. All beautiful.

A shiny black one with a wide, curved body. A smaller white one with a poplar wood pick guard. An amber colored one with that same curved body, mahogany neck. There's a space in the center, an empty rung, and you wonder where the missing guitar is. Your eyes follow down toward the two stands on the floor, supposedly where the most played instruments go to rest, and you frown softly.

An acoustic, black with some design surrounding the sound hole, besides a burgundy colored electric. Wait... you've definitely seen these before. The beat up electric guitar, with distinct scratches and dents, and that black acoustic with the birds and branches... you rack your brain.

Who has the same guitars as Jake?

Like a light switch being flipped, you suddenly realize who's study this is. Your breath gets caught in your chest and your legs go numb a little. This is Jake's fucking house.

"Oh my gosh..." you whisper to yourself, trying to move but he's got you pinned with his body. "We need to go."

"No we don't," he says back, ignoring your words as he tracing his lips over your skin, "we're good here. No one will find us."

It's not that. You don't care about him or being alone with him it's where you are. You're at Jake's house, in his study, without him knowing.

You're about to open your mouth and say something else, but the door opens, and you watch someone step in. Someone with long, messy hair and a beat up pair of boots to match his old blue jeans.

It's Jake.

He looks puzzled, probably wondering why the lights are on in here, and then spots you cowered against the wall. His brows raise and he immediately takes a step back, unsure of what to do with himself. Confront the two of you in his studio, or exit and pretend like he saw nothing.

His eyes lock with yours, unable to read the panic on your face that you feel in your entire body, so he begins to turn away, and that's when you say it.

"Jake." Your voice is barely there, but he hears it perfectly clear, and stops mid-turn and looks at you once more.

Fuck, you're in trouble. And as much as he dislikes you, he will not leave you here alone with whoever this is.

The man chuckles, breath fanning over your neck as he gives you a clueless reply, "No, Kyle, remember?"

Jake clears his throat, and that's when he finally backs off. Turning, he's surprised to see a third person in the room and frowns, looking back at you, then to Jake again.

"Yeah?" He asks, completely unaware.

Jake scoffs, looking him over and nods his head back to the door, "Get out of my house, man."

You can't see Damian's face, but you're sure it's a mix of offense and shock. He glances back at you once again but your eyes are trained to the floor. You listen to his footsteps as he leaves and his feet pound down the staircase. You don't look up even when he's gone.

Jake watches you closely, quietly asking, "Are you okay?"

With a nod you whisper back, "Yeah."

He doesn't believe you, but he won't push it. He doesn't want to not push it, not necessarily. He wants you to be okay, but, it almost feels like he isn't supposed to ask you stuff like this. It almost feels wrong to help you in general. How fucked up is that?

"Alright," he nods slowly, stepping back again with his hand on the doorknob, "do you need a minute?"

Your jaw sets as you blink, heat spreading up the back of your neck, curling around to the front and up to your face. You're so embarrassed, mortified. You just had to ask Jake for help and he did and you can't even look up at him. You can't even bring yourself to thank him.

Taking a deep breath, finally your eyes look up and you nod softly, "Yeah."

He nods, going to close the door, "Okay, I'll just..." he begins to leave and, still in your antsy state, you hold your hand up for him to stop.

"Wait, I-" you what? You're not sure, but then you say, "don't go."

He pauses and stares at you. Jake has always been impossible to read, and even right now you can't tell what he's thinking. He's shocked though, even though his face says nothing. His heart for some reason won't stop hammering in his chest, maybe it's because he wasn't expecting this. Wasn't expecting to see you in here, let alone with some guy. Wasn't expecting to hear your voice say his name and wasn't expecting to kick a guy out tonight. The only reason he came up here was to get away from everyone. Now he's staying up here with you, of all the people. You.

His hand is still on the door and you're halfway expecting him to leave anyway, but he doesn't. His hand lets go and he steps back in, cross his arms and standing a good few feet away from you. He doesn't ask why, it's like he already knows.

Right now, the last thing you want is to go back to the crowded downstairs. But also, you don't want to be left alone either. So, he stays.

It's silent between you two, and you try to catch your breath and reel in your thoughts but it's so difficult. He's standing right there and saying nothing, not even looking at you. It's like he's waiting for you to let him go, and it would be easier if you did but you just can't.

You shake your head softly, bringing a hand up to your face and swiping some hair out of your eyes, mumbling, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't acknowledge your apology, even though it is unnecessary. You shouldn't have apologized, this wasn't your fault. But instead, like a jerk, he changes the subject.

"You know, I was told not to interact with you tonight." He says, voice deep and slow, like Sam is around the corner and at any moment could see his brother breaking his promise.

You sigh, "I know-"

"So let's just leave it at that." He mutters under his breath and turns to go.

Your eyes look up and brows furrow together, watching him storm towards the door. Taking a step forward you say, "God, why do you hate me so much?"

Expecting him to leave with out another word, he surprises you when he abruptly stops and turns back. Dark eyes, stern face, a scowl of sorts. He's not happy.

"I could ask you the same damn thing."

You roll your eyes, starting, "I don't hate you we're just-"

"Indifferent?" He cuts you off with a mocking voice, and it would be a lie if it didn't hurt a little. It hurts even more when you look up and see his smirking face.

His face softens when he notices yours, that sad, offended look on it. You shake your head, wondering why you even tried, why you even wanted to fix things between you two because clearly it's too far gone. Clearly it's so messy that there is no chance of recovery now and you and Jake will always and forever hate each other.

You hate Jake Kiszka.

That lump in your throat, ache in your chest, turns into a burning, angry heat that covers your entire body and you look up with a frown and frustrated tears. The shine of your eyes makes his heart drop, sorrow and regret filling him up immediately. He opens his mouth to say something as you stalk toward the door, storming past him and out of the room, pounding down the stairs, pushing through people and out onto the front porch. His front porch.

God, this has been his stupid house the entire time and you didn't even know it.

Catching your breath alone outside, you childishly kick a potted plant and let the clay pot shatter before walking down the steps and to the sidewalk. Pacing back and forth, pulling your phone out, debating who to call or text. You try Sam, but after two rings hang up, deciding not to bother him. If anything, right now you shouldn't see him either. Then you try Josh but it goes to voicemail as do most of your calls to him. Stopping in your tracks, you groan and turn towards the street, finally giving in and just booking an Uber home.

It's when you get in the backseat, after the small chatter with the driver, when you stare out the window silently, just with your thoughts, a tear slips out, then another. A steady, silent flow of defeated tears.

Because, yes, you've come to the conclusion that you do hate Jake Kiszka, but also that he hates you back. And for some reason that hurts so much worse than it did when you convinced yourself this was just indifference.

Finally you're home, and you decide to take a shower hoping that stripping your clothes from the night and washing your skin will rid the memories of it. You find yourself replaying him coming in and staying and then breaking your heart.

Breaking your heart? That can't be right. How can someone you hate break your heart?

You get out, dry yourself with a towel, and slip into bed. Going to turn your bedside lamp off, your phone begins to vibrate, and assuming it's either Josh or Sam returning your earlier call, you answer without checking it.

"Hello?"

"Where'd you go?"

It's a voice so much like Josh's, but lacking that bubbly tone, sounding more solemn, apologetic almost. Your breath catches in your throat, and you pull the phone away to reveal the random number you never felt the desire to save in your contacts because you never thought you'd ever be having a phone call with Jake. With your mouth hanging open and your eyes wide, you instantly press the end call button and shut your phone off completely.

Shaking, from the adrenaline, whether caused by anger, sadness, or both, you turn over and hold your pillow tight. You don't bother turning the lamp off, because your eyes refuse to close, your body refuses sleep. You don't rest well that night, just stay awake, thinking of him, and wondering why he called.

Eventually, you do fall asleep, and when you wake it's with a startled gasp and a pounding sound coming from your front door. Looking around disoriented, you rub the sleep from your eyes and try to wake yourself up, kicking your covers off and halfway awake, stumble to the door.

"Hold on!" You grumble out, voice scratchy from sleep. You get to the door and peek around the curtain, exhaling when you see Sam standing there with his arms crossed and worried look on his face. You unlock the door and open it. "I'm sorry I'm sorry-"

"Are you kidding me?" He exhales, exasperated. You think he knows about what happened between you and Jake last night, but as he steps in and pulls you into a hug, he says, "You scared the shit out of me! Why didn't you answer your phone?"

You shake your head, pulling away from him, "I turned it off last night."

He huffs again, pulling out his phone to text Josh, letting him know you're okay, "I was looking everywhere for you last night after you tried to call me. Josh tried reaching you, I even asked Jake if he knew where you were but he said he didn't see you at all last night."

Oh. So Jake didn't tell anyone.

It relieves you and disappoints you simultaneously.

You yawn and shrug trying to ignore the sting that comes with knowing Jake didn't try to help them find you. Like he doesn't care. He probably doesn't care, but you have to care a little if you hate someone, right?

"I'm sorry, Sam."

"I was so worried." He stresses, "You're lucky I didn't come here last night."

Jake calmed Sam down enough to convince him to sleep last night and check on you in the morning. As soon as he woke up he headed straight over here, which explains his messy hair and wrinkled t-shirt.

"Did you even brush your teeth this morning?" You laugh lightly, closing the door and leading the way towards your kitchen.

He follows, "Can I just have some coffee please? You kinda owe me right now. I could hardly even slept last night."

That makes two of us.

The coffee is brewed strong. Sam is generous with the cream and sugar. You keep it light. You need the wake up.

Sam tries his best to get to spend the day with you, but you won't allow it, telling him to go out and do something more productive. All you really want to do is crawl under the covers and sulk on your Saturday.

You hate that you're so upset over this. You wish you could just say 'so what?' and move on. So what he saved you from that guy last night? So what he stayed with you afterward? So what he called you and asked where you were? So what he did all of that and yet he hates you? So what?

You find your phone where you left it last night, and temptation wins you over. You press the power button, waiting for the screen to come to life, and when it does, you check the notifications. There are multiple missed calls from Sam as well as texts. A few texts from Josh asking the same thing Sam was. Then, there's that same number from last night. A single text.

Call me back. We should talk.

You stare at it, debating whether or not this is a good idea. You tried last night, and it didn't work. What's the point of giving it another shot? It's hard to convince yourself there is no point in this, because there is. To repair a bridge that burnt down too early that connected you to Jake. You need to rebuild it before any more damage is done.

You're so scared though. Last night it was different because you had that liquid courage flowing through your veins. Now, completely sober with the affects and memory from last night, you're so hesitant to reach out. Without a tipsy pep talk and shared cigarette from Josh, you're unable to confront his twin.

So you turn your phone off and set it out of reach, grabbing one of your favorite books instead and burying your nose in it. Hours pass, morning turns to afternoon, and then evening comes. You've spent the entire day in bed, absorbed in between the pages of your book, unaware of anything else. But, it's like as soon as you close the book and set it aside, reality sets in.

With a heavy sigh you get up and get dressed at 5 pm, figuring better late than never. Spotting the clothes from last night in a pile on the bathroom floor, you wear your favorite midi dress rather than anything similar to last nights outfit. You want to get as far away from last night as possible. It feels like no matter how much time goes by, you're still there in his house.

Deciding it'll do you some good to get out of the house, you grab your keys and bag and head to your favorite restaurant for some take out. You call in your order on the way, and pay when you get there, and wait nearby for your food to be ready.

You stand there on your phone, scrolling mindlessly, listening for your name to be called out.

"Jake?" Someone from behind the counter calls out.

Then name makes you look up slyly, because how perfect would it be for him to here at the same time you are? It's crazy how coincidental that would be. Because he can't be here. Right?

Your breath catches softly, watching as none other than Jake himself walk up and take the small paper bag from them. He smiles softly and thanks them, placing a tip in their jar and turning away. You don't mean to stare, and he can feel your eyes on him, so as he moves he catches you, and it's too late. You try to look away, thinking he maybe won't recognize you if you pretend you never saw him. But of course he recognizes you, how can he not? Your face is practically engrained in his mind.

To make matters worse, your name is called for your order. But you don't move, you can't. Jake waits for you to walk up, a smile of amusement spreading on his lips. He isn't moving until you do.

"Excuse me? Miss?" The girl behind the counter looks at you expectantly, holding your bag out for you to take.

"M'sorry," you mumble, quickly walking up to her and taking your food and turning back to leave.

Your wishes to avoid Jake seem to have been answered because when you move around, expecting to see him there still, he's gone. He must have left, and you let out a sigh of relief, calmly exiting the restaurant. You thank the stranger who holds the door for you and pull your keys out for your car and start toward the parking lot.

"Hey," a voice from behind stops you.

Fuuuuuuuck.

Your shoulders drop and your close your eyes, taking a breath before giving up and just turning around. He stands there, faded blue jeans and a black button down, hardly buttoned in true Jake Kiszka fashion. You always found it douchey, why is it oddly attractive now though?

"What do you want?" You exhale, looking away from him.

He licks his lips and steps forward, "I want to talk to you."

Flicking your eyes back to him, you spot the genuineness on his face, how willing he is right now. You press your lips together in a thin line, thinking it over. Your mind is telling you two things at once: run away immediately and stay and listen. You can't tell which is the best decision.

While you stand there silently, he lifts his bag and raises a brow, "Maybe we can talk over dinner? Do you have anywhere you need to be?"

You could lie, you could say you have plans for tonight but you don't. The only plans you had were to go home and mope into your BLT.

How was it so easy for him to get you here? Sat at one of the tables on the patio of the restaurant. You slouch childishly in your chair, refusing to take your food out. Jake digs in freely, totally unfazed by all of this. You're too on edge to eat, too stubborn. God forbid you share a meal with the man you hate.

"You bought food just to not eat it?" He speaks around his sandwich.

Your roll your eyes and cross your legs, "I didn't plan on eating with you."

"Well, don't let it go to waste," he shakes his head, waving his hand to the bag, "eat before it gets cold."

"Don't tell me what to do." You spit out coldly, narrowing your eyes.

He scoffs, shaking his head at you with an unamused look, "Whatever."

You sit there silently for another few minutes, watching him eat. He says nothing to you, and you groan in frustration.

"You're making me stay but you won't even talk to me? What do you even want?"

"I'm not making you stay at all," he chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, looking out to the parked cars, "you made the decision to stay with me. I said talk over dinner. You're the one who agreed and is unhappy with it."

You frown, standing up abruptly, making the metal chair scrape loudly against the ground and say, "Okay, then I'm leaving."

"Come on," he rolls his eyes at you, as if you're the one being dramatic.

"I'm not gonna waste my time. Bye Jake." You brush him off, walking to your car as he sits there watching you.

He knows he should do something, knows he should get up and chase after you, stop you. But he doesn't. In all honesty, he doesn't know how. He's never chased after a girl, let alone you. He doesn't know how he would even go about it, so it's best he just stays put. That's what he tells himself.

It's when you're halfway home, and your stomach growls, you look over to the passenger seat only to find that your food has been accidentally abandoned with Jake. You whine to yourself in frustration, a pout on your lips the rest of the way home, thinking about your order just sitting on the table, growing cold and soggy.

At home you shuffle to the pantry, prepare a dinner of boxed macaroni and wine, and slouch on your sofa, putting on the first romantic comedy you can find. You had the hugest crush on Cameron from 10 Things I Hate About You when you were younger, but for some reason now when you watch the movie, you just see yourself playing Kat, and Jake, Patrick.

Around 8:30, mid-romance-movie-marathon, your door bell rings. You frown and pause the film, placing your now third glass of wine down and getting up to see who it is. You peek through the blinds, but no one is there. Opening the door, you look out, and whoever was here left just one piece of evidence behind: a small paper bag on your door mat.

You squat, checking the receipt on taped onto the front, reading the same order you had placed earlier only with Jake's name at the top of it. How does he even know where you live? Your stubbornness nearly convinces you to leave it on the step, you can't possibly eat this food he got for you. But your tummy growls again, and the writing at the bottom of the ticket catches your eye.

I'm ready to talk whenever you are.

You scoff as you snatch the bag, bringing it inside with you and crumbling the receipt, devouring your favorite BLT on the couch and resuming your movie. Glancing at your empty wine glass, then your phone, you sigh, grab it, and send him a text message.

You want to talk? Come back tomorrow with wine.

It's crazy how fast he replies, almost instantly. Almost like he was waiting for it.

Whatever you say princess.

You roll your eyes, but this time, a smile is tugging at the right side of your mouth.

"This is seriously the only way to get you to talk?"

He holds up the bottle of rosé, a choice you weren't expecting from him, as he climbs your front porch steps and you hold the door open for him.

You give him a cheeky shrug, "Maybe."

He scoffs as he steps inside and makes his way toward your kitchen, asking over his shoulder, "Was the food not enough?"

You shut the door and follow after him, snatching the bottle from his hands and heading towards the drawer where you keep the corkscrew. Placing it on the counter, you look up as he comes over to face you and places his hands on the countertop, watching you with hard eyes.

You begin to unscrew it, giving a snarky reply, "Do you want me to talk or not?"

He tilts his head as he watches you, replying in a deep voice, "Wanted you to talk yesterday. But you stormed off."

"Wasn't ready for a chat with you, honestly." You huff, pulling out the cork and fetching two wine glasses.

He oddly enjoys the way you move around in here, how comfortable you're acting, how comfortable he feels. Maybe it's because you're both in your house, maybe that's why you aren't so tense. But then why isn't he? Shouldn't he feel out of place? Why doesn't this place seem foreign to him?

"So you're ready now?" He lifts his eyebrows, waiting for you to answer.

You pour yourself a glass, sliding the bottle to him, then lifting the glass by the stem and taking a sip, "Now I am."

The two of you end up sitting on your back porch, you felt like the fresh air would make it easier to breathe. The bottle sits on the small table between you two. No stalling occurs tonight.

"So," he says, crossing his legs at the ankle and looking over at you, "Friday night."

"I don't know who that guy was, he followed me up there." You mumble, your voice sounding deep and echoey in the glass as you take a sip.

His eyebrows pull together in a frown, "Followed you?"

You nod as you swallow and close your eyes. He watches you closely, watches the way your throat looks, the way you lick your lips, the way you slowly flutter your eyes open. He ignores that tripping feeling in his stomach as he waits for you to continue.

"I was outside with Josh. He told me he followed me upstairs. I don't know... I think he thought I wanted more but I just wanted to be alone." You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you think it all over again. Your eyes slowly look up to his, and you softly say, "Thanks for helping me. I don't know if I thanked you."

You didn't, but he doesn't say anything about it. Because instead of thanking him that night, you apologized, and looking back on it now, that upsets him. You had nothing to apologize for.

He shakes his head with a shrug, "I couldn't just leave you there. Then what?"

You shrug, "I don't know. Guess you'd prove my point."

"And what's your point?"

You lick your bottom lip then bite it. Your point is that Jake Kiszka is a dick and he hates you, but it seems irrelevant now. Because now he's sitting here with you and you're actually talking to one another and it seems like you both are making an effort here.

You shake your head, "The point now is that my point has been proven wrong."

"But what was your point to begin with?" His mouth lifts at the corner.

You blink at him, taking your time with your response, "That you hate me."

He grins, "And what about you?"

"I don't know."

"You don't hate me?" There's a sense of hopefulness in his voice that both of you detect easily but choose to ignore.

"I said I don't know."

He sits back and stares at you, taking a long sip from his wine glass. You mirror him, but instead look out into the yard, watching birds fly back to their nests, tress sway softly in the wind, the sky turn dusty purple as the night rolls in.

"Why do you have to be so difficult?" He chuckles, looking down at his shoes, "I mean, just say what you feel, Y/N."

Naturally, you glare at him, "How do you know what I feel?"

"I don't," he shakes, narrowing his brown eyes at you, setting his glass down and lifting his hands with a shrug, "but you always skip around the questions. It's always 'I don't know' or 'maybe' or..." he licks his lips, grinning as he looks away again and mumbles, "feeling indifferent."

The wine has gotten to your head quicker than his, so it makes sense why you have lost control over your tongue before he has. You sit up to the edge of your seat with a sharp gaze zeroed in on him.

"You know what conclusion I came to on Friday night when I got home?" You hiss.

He watches you like an interested cat, perched in its spot, too lazy to pounce but wanting a show none the less. His voice is low, nearly a whisper, slowly shaking his head as he says, "Tell me."

You take a quick, deep breath in, and says, "I hate you, Jake. And you hate me."

He clasps his hands together and steadies his feet on the porch, looking at you with excitement in his eyes, "So you finally confess it."

"But," you hold up a finger, slowly tilting it until it points at him, "in order to hate something, you have to care about, it just a little."

You're expecting him to frown or sit back defeated or stare at you puzzled, but he doesn't. In fact, his grin transforms into a devilish smile and he comfortable leans back in his seat, looking at you no differently.

"Oh, I already knew that." He twitches an eyebrow upward, brings his hand up to stroke over his upper lip and chin, "I also know something else, but I don't know if you want to hear it tonight."

With blazing cheeks and gritted teeth, you murmur, "What is it?"

He puckers his lips with a smile and looks away, shaking his head, "Nah. I think we should save it for our next session."

"Just," you sigh, sitting back and bring your fingers to your temples, softly saying, "tell me what it is, Jake."

"The opposite of to hate is to care. But the opposite of being indifferent, which is what you have been saying we are this entire time, is to be curious. To be excited." Now he sits up and leans his elbows on his knees, staring at you with lowered eyelids, "So, Y/N, tell me. Do I pique your curiosity? Do I excite you?"

You look appalled, shaking your head and immediately responding, "No."

It's so easy to see through your lie. A lie you've been telling yourself this entire time that now you can finally tell isn't true.

"Not even a little?"

"No, Jake." You're too quick again, but your voice is softer. He's still smirking, and when you look up at him, you say, "Stop."

"Come on," he whispers, adjusting himself in his seat so he's more comfortable, "you have to work with me here."

"I want to work with you in a different way." You sigh, cross your legs and stare downwards, "Believe it or not I don't want this to not work, I want us to be able to tolerate the other."

"Well, believe it or not, I want it to be better than just that." He mumbles back.

He means it. And it would be a lie if he said he wasn't curious about yourself. Who you are, really, and if what his brothers tell him is true. You're more alike than you are different, and if you could just grow up, a friendship will be revealed. He wants that. He wants to befriend you.

"We have to work together, Jake." You say, "This isn't a me adjusting to you or you adjusting to me thing. I won't work with you if you don't work with me."

He nods in agreement, "Okay, yeah."

You nod with him and after a breath, ask, "So, how do we do this?"

"Wait what?" Josh and Sam's jaws drop in sync.

"Don't make this a big deal." Jake sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he tugs his boots on.

Josh shakes his head, cautiously approaching his supposed brother. Who knows, maybe this is a look alike, or someone in a costume. Because what does he mean by this all of the sudden?

"I'm not, I'm just-"

Sam cuts him off, "You're hanging out with her?"

To be fair, it's a valid response. Just last week, literally, you hated each other. And now, here he is getting ready to go see you.

"Yes." He grunts, getting the other boot on and standing up, passing by Sam with a pat to his arm, "What? Are you jealous?"

He's playing it off as best as he can. His uneasiness, nervousness, excitement. He's all three right now, which is kind of weird but he can't deny the exhilaration he feels, going to see you, of all people. There are so many ways tonight can play out, and he has no idea which route you're gonna take.

He tells himself he doesn't care how tonight ends. In reality though, he's leaning toward the one with a happy ending rather than a tragedy.

Sam shakes his head as he watches Jake move to the kitchen, pouring himself a shot, "No... are you nervous?"

He shrugs, taking it back and swallowing it down, "Cut me some slack, I've never hung out with her before like this."

"Like this?" Sam's incredulity grows.

"What else have you been hiding from us, brother?" Josh hums, coming over, taking the tequila and pouring himself his own shot just for fun.

Jake looks at Josh and shrugs again, "We saw each other on Sunday, this is how we planned this."

"You mean, this was both your ideas?" Sam asks.

"Please stop acting so goddamn shocked." Jake rolls his eyes.

Sam raises his hands in defense, "To be fair, you have always said you hated her. So, yeah, I'm gonna be a little shocked."

Josh waves him off, pouring another shot in the glass and bringing it over to Sam, asking Jake as he does so, "Where are you going?"

"This is so lame."

"What happened to working with each other?" You lift a brow at him and approach the front desk.

He said you could choose anything. Literally anything. A movie, restaurant, concert, hiking, snorkeling, skydiving, a fucking couples massage session. And you choose pottery.

Because of course you choose something that neither of you have ever tried. Of course you want to make this slightly uncomfortable for him.

The man at the desk explains to you where to head for the beginners class and the two of you head down the hall together and enter the room. Large tables are spread evenly throughout the room and multiple potters wheels sit in the back. There's a decent sized group here this evening, everyone interacting and chatting before it begins.

You walk in and look around, soon enough being sucked into a conversation with the people around you. Jake ends up talking to a man with rounded glasses and a Pink Floyd t-shirt on. The shorter girl with long brown hair that he came with talks to you.

"Me and my boyfriend came tonight too," she chuckles, then nods over to where Jake and her boyfriend are.

"Oh, he's not..." you glance back at Jake, his hair tied back in a low knot and his sunglasses perched on top of his head.

The man gestures to you, making Jake look back and catch your eyes. He smiles at you. Not a smile out of politeness, or a tight lipped one just for niceties. A genuine, warm smile. It makes your mouth instinctively curl into its own smile, and you wave softly over at him to which he nods at before turning away.

"Sorry, what was that?" She asks, making you look back to her.

You shake your head, laughing it off and continuing, "We're just both excited is all."

When the instructor comes in, the girl says goodbye, and you turn to face where he stands. Whale reappears by your side, which he really didn't have to do, but for some reason it brings you comfort that he did.

"Good evening everyone, so glad you could make it," the instructor begins by introducing himself with a thick Australian accent.

You glance over at Jake who looks down at you and widens his eyes ever so slightly, making the acknowledgment that yes, he hears the pattern too. You look away with a soft smile. In a room full of strangers with Jake Kiszka, you feel like you've known him forever, and that nothing has ever separated you two.

After the quick introduction and directions on the basics, he tells you what tonight's lesson will be.

"A simple bowl. Or a pot. Easy, and I'm sure with a bright group like yours," the instructors eyes linger on you for a second longer than everyone else, "I'm sure you can handle it. Alright, let's get your clay!"

Jake scoffs and leans down to murmur, "Looks like someone has a crush on you."

"Please shut up." You roll your eyes with a smile as you walk over to find an apron and cut your clay.

Jake follows, grabbing the last one from the hook where they are provided, and groaning. You turn to him with confusion as you slip yours over your head.

"What's wrong?"

He looks at you with the apron in his hands still, the front facing him, and a pleading look on his face as he says, "Please switch with me Y/N, please."

You smirk proudly as you tie up your apron and plant your hands on your hips, voice haughty when you say, "Oh, I like you begging Kiszka."

His begging face drops into a serious one, realizing you will not be switching. So, he begrudgingly slips it on and begins trying to tie it in the back. Thankfully enough chatter has filled the room to cover up your burst of laughter when you see the front of the hot pink, frilly apron surely someone's gag gift at one point or another. Behind dried on clay it reads in big bold print "stand back mommy is cooking".

Through tears, you pull your phone out, "Please," it's a gasp through your hiccuping laughter as you tap on the camera app, "don't move. Stand right there."

"Oh my god..." he doesn't even try to fight it, standing there with the faintest hint of a smile on his face. Halfway finding the situation funny himself, but also loving the sound of your laugh.

Still in a fit of giggles you move over to the blocks of clay out on the tables and cut your portions. Then together find two potters wheels beside each other and follow the instructors directions.

"Now make sure you clay is centered because if you don't..." he slams his clay on the plate slight off center and tries to mold it, but begins jiggling around, "this happens."

The group chuckles lightly, getting the picture and one by one people begin to center their clay. You smash your clay onto the plate then watch Jake do the same. He gives it an extra smack for good measure which you shake your head and chuckle as you wet your hands in the bucket of water and start spinning the wheel with the pedal.

Jake follows your lead really, looking to you when he's struggling, copying your movements, despite you being a beginner too. He trusts you though, which is why he is constantly checking to make sure his looks like yours.

After a few failed attempts of pulling up your clay with a hollowed center, the instructor spots you and comes over.

"Oh no dearie, like this, slow down your wheel." Jake watches as he leans over you from behind, lightly touching your outer knee for you to let off the pedal slightly. His eyes narrow on their own when he places his hands on either side of yours, "There you go, keep your hands firm. Yes, like that. Good!"

He steps away and Jake watches as he backs off, unsure of what to do with himself. It was almost like he just watched that one scene from Ghost right in front of him real time, but maybe he's over exaggerating. While distracted by what just occurred, his clay caves in on itself and he pulls his hands away.

"Shit." He mutters to himself, shaking his head and wiping his slimy hands on the front of his apron.

The instructor comes around and nudges Jake's shoulder gently, "Ah, you'll get the hang of it mate."

He walks off and Jake's frown deepens as he looks up. Looks like he isn't getting pointers like you were. When he looks back over at you, you're stifling a laugh at his failure of a pot, and when he spots your smiling eyes, it makes his mouth twitch. Then, you stick your tongue out at him and focus back on your work.

He chews the inside of his cheek, watching you zone in and concentrate deeply. Leant over with your sleeves rolled up, short pieces of hair falling out from the bandana you wore tonight and in front of your face. He thinks you look kind of pretty, and as soon as that thought enters his mind he snaps out of it.

"You know," he slows his wheel down, leaning toward you on his stool and murmuring softly with his eyes down, "you should make a flower pot, to replace the one you kicked off my doorstep."

Your heart drops and your eyes widen, the cup you were molding crushing in your hold. You stop your wheel and look at him with red cheeks. You had honestly forgotten about the immature moment you had the night of the party. Letting your anger win you over.

Swallowing thickly with a dry mouth, you stammer, "I- uh, I... how'd you know it was me?"

He chuckles and shrugs, "Lucky guess."

You roll your eyes, scraping the clay off and starting over, "I'll get you a new one, okay?"

"You don't have to." He shakes his head.

"You brought it up, and now I feel bad," you felt bad afterwards too, "so I'm getting you a damn flower pot."

He chuckles again, getting back to his own wheel.

Eventually, after many struggles, you both come to terms that your bowl shaped pottery will just be shitty looking. You both take pictures of each other with your artwork (if you can even really call it that) and a fellow potter volunteers to take a photo for you two. Leaning into one another, you both beam with your pieces. She hands the phone back and you're both still leaned in together, looking at the picture with your heads almost touching.

You both look at each other with soft smiles and slowly back away, moving to place your clay out to dry. While you wash your hands the instructor explains that in two days you can come back to glaze your pieces and that he'll fire them after that, and you and Jake look at each other questioningly.

"Are they even worth keeping?" He asks.

You chuckle, "Yours? No. Mine? Duh. I'm like Picasso."

"Picasso was a painter," he points out with a laugh, taking off the horrid apron he was stuck with.

You just nudge him teasingly with your elbow and go put your own apron away, moving to grab your things. He follows, and as everyone clears out the instructor says goodbye at the door. When you leave you're stopped, and Jake doesn't notice until he is halfway down the hall.

He watches as the instructor speaks to you, smiling and complimenting you. You smile back, but not in the same way. You smile back politely, not the way you smiled at Jake earlier. It puts his panic to ease, sensing that the instructor is flirting and you aren't feeling the same. It's funny how Jake is so relieved when you shake your head, politely declining the chance to go out on a date with an artist. The instructors nods his head, respectfully accepting your decline and letting you go.

Your walk turns into a light jog as you catch up with Jake, walking with him back into the parking lot.

"Why'd you say no?" He quietly asks, walking you to your car.

He's afraid it isn't his place to know why or why not, afraid that maybe he stepped to close, crossed a boundary.

But you just shrug, simply saying back, "Kinda rude to be asked out on a date while you're on one, no?"

His brows raise with surprise as he looks down at you, "So, this was a date then?"

Unlocking your car and stopping when you reach it, you chuckle back, "You know what I mean, Jake."

He doesn't at all though. To him, you are so damn confusing, but it only draws him in more. It only makes his curiosity grow.

When he gets in his car he sits for a second, thinking over the night, finding himself smiling at the moments throughout. He pulls his phone out, looking at the picture you took together, sending it to the group chat he shares with Josh and Sam.

Sam replies wow it looks like you guys actually like each other.

Josh's is a simple cute.

Jake locks his phone and sits back a moment longer before putting his key in the ignition and starting his drive back home.

His choice comes a week later.

Now, you don't know much about Jake. But, there are a few obvious things to your knowledge, such as: Jake plays guitar. Jake is good at playing guitar. He likes to play guitar. He likes to talk about guitars. Oh, and he may or may not still hate you.

You can't believe that might be added to the list of things you don't know about him. Forever you were positive that he hated you. Now, you're not so sure. Why would he take a person he hates here?

"I come out here by myself a lot," he says, walking out onto the field with you.

It was weird seeing him in something other than his usual button down and jeans. It's weird how even still, wearing gym shorts and sneakers, he looks just as much as a rockstar. He had told you to wear something similar, making you wonder if you would be participating in a hike or some other form physical activity. When he revealed the soccer ball in his backseat to you, it all made sense.

There is one other thing you do know about Jake Kiszka (courtesy of his brother): he grew up playing soccer. Turns out he still plays.

"Really?" You ask, finding it a little surprising.

He just shrugs, "It's a fun way to get my energy out. You know, if I'm mad or whatever."

"Just kick the ball around?" You simper.

He tosses it to the grass and plants his foot on top of it, looking at you with a smirk, "Pretty much."

"You enjoy playing with your balls, Jacob?" You tease.

Normally he'd find the jest annoying, or take offense to it. Now, however, he sees the lightheartedness, knows that you don't mean any harm by it.

He ignores it, but you know he heard you from the way he looks away with a short, dry laugh, then says, "So I was thinking some one on one? Your goal down there and mine here?"

You shrug, "Whatever you say captain."

You make some makeshift goals out of sticks and rocks and your claw clip and his sunglasses. Not a full fields distance away from each other, he wants to go easy on you. Agreeing to rock, paper, scissors for who gets the ball first, you end up winning and standing with the ball at your feet.

"Go easy on me." You mumble, toeing at the ball, noting all the scuff marks on it. He really does do this often, meaning he is probably gonna plummet you during this match.

He jogs backward, giving you some space and calling out, "Well, you gotta kick the ball first!"

You roll your eyes, taking a breath and starting, rolling the ball with your feet, heading towards the goal he's protecting. You try your best to find the smartest course of action, deciding to go right and aim as best you can, but of course he steals it from you. Easily too, like it were the simplest thing on the planet.

He takes it down the field with his feet, making you chase after him. Your efforts to steal the ball back are unsuccessful.

Through your panting breaths, you groan, "This would be so easy if I could use my hands."

He laughs heartily, breathing just as heavy as you, "That would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? Europeans call it football, you have to use your feet."

You grunt in response, trying to kick it out from under him. He's too damn good though, and even when it does slip from his hold, he brings it back quickly. He laughs softly, watching your attempts, finding your struggle amusing.

Then, he kicks the ball backward so it rolls behind him and spins, taking it around you and scoring instantly. You sigh, leaning forward till your hands rest on your knees, and catch your breath. He runs after the ball, walking back and letting it drop to the ground. His hands come up to form a 'T' for timeout, and then his fingertips touch your shoulders and guide you to stand up straight.

He keeps his hands there as he says through labored breaths, "You gotta block me too. You can't just try your luck at swiping the ball from my feet over and over."

His words make it easy for you to ignore the way his hands feel on you, and you roll your eyes, responding, "Oh, so you're coaching me now? This is practice?"

He removes his hands, which slightly disappoints you, then says, "No, but I know you want to beat me. If you take my advice you'll have a better chance of doing that."

You stare at him for a second, using the back of your arm to push some stray hairs that have begun to stick to your forehead back. He pushes his own loose strands back with his hands, his biceps flexing. You glance at them for a second then look back to the ball.

You tell yourself to focus. Remind yourself how great victory against Jake will taste. However, how nice is it to also talk with him, to just look at him even... He steps away from you, lifting the hem of his shirt upward to wipe the sweat from his face and your breathing stutters.

Concentrate.

You've got the ball now, and decide that maybe you can try to outrun him instead. He proves that incorrect, catching up to you quickly and taking the ball back again. You take his advice, chasing after him, defending your goal as you try to steal the ball back. And it works, it's in your possession, and you kick it back down to his goal, aiming for your shot, and earning a point.

You throw your hands in the air with a celebratory jump, looking back at him with a grin.

There's that feeling again, the same one he felt when he watched you leant over your assigned potters wheel last week. When he realizes how pretty you look right now, he doesn't dismiss it. He invites it. Let's himself look over the glow of your cheeks and gleam of your smile. The way your hair tied back allows him to see all of your jaw and both ears and down your neck. If it were acceptable he would have come over and given you a light, congratulatory hug. But it's not acceptable, is it? It's far too soon, too intimate.

It wouldn't surprise you if he was glaring at you or shaking his head at himself in embarrassment, but he isn't. The smile on his face warms you and he pats your back softly as he passes by to go after the ball. You tuck a hair back behind your ear as you try and catch you breath. Your heart won't stop hammering though, even when you rest. It's still thumping hard against your ribcage.

You watch as he walks back up, passing the ball back and forth between his hands and throws it up in the air. He comes closer, elbowing you softly before setting the back to the ground.

"See what happens when you listen to me?" He grins as he murmurs the words, getting ready for the next round.

You scoff it off and roll your shoulders back, getting ready to play again, "Just kick the ball, Jake."

You both agree that whoever makes it to five points first wins. Right now you're both tied, sweaty, and panting at four. It appears you're both fluent in trash talk too, so whoever loses tonight surely won't ever hear the end of it afterwards.

It's your turn with the ball, and you're determined as ever to beat him. Throughout the hour you've been playing, you've learned his strategies, studied his moves, memorized his approach. Intentional or not, he likes hand to hand combat, lots of pushing and moving against you, and as much as it made you blush in the beginning, you got used to it quickly. His touch isn't alien, in a sense it'd be weird if he distanced himself now. Awkward.

Though his panting, he looks up at you with lower lip dropped, spotting your winning grin as you bite on your tongue with concentration. He tries to steal the ball from your other side as he gruffly speaks, "Don't think you're actually going to win this."

"Oh, I already have." You quip back, turning with the ball still yours, "You tire quickly. Need to work on that."

He lets out a 'psh' and follows you closely, "I have tons of stamina, Y/N, don't be fooled. I've been going easy on you this entire time."

"Yeah?" You breathe back, sweat coating your hairline and down the back of your neck.

He bites his lip, not letting up with a soft, "Uh-huh." He blocks you swiftly when you try to aim for his goal, and luckily you have time to recover, taking it further back and creating some distance between you and him. He follows you, a few feet in front, "This is easy. Do you need it harder?"

The whimper you let out is unmistakable as you ignore his words as best you can and try to outrun him closer to the goal. He chases you, his defense impeccable, but you don't let up. He presses against you and you push back which should surely be foul play but neither of you say anything about it. His skin sticks yours, shirts damp, breaths loud. You try and push him off again but he doesn't budge.

Then you give him a rough shove, and he just barely moves away, giving you a clear shot. You wind back your foot, stepping forward with perfect form, gliding into the kick. But, he's quick to recover, coming back swiftly to block you, but too close, resulting in a trip.

A yelp slips from your lips as you collide into him, causing a hiss to sound from him, and almost in slo-mo, you both fall. He grunts, his back coming in contact with the ground, you landing on top, chest pressed against his. Actually, he broke your fall entirely, and your body is now laying directly on top of his. Slowly, you open your eyes and plant your hands on either side of his head in the grass, looking down with startled eyes. With his brow furrowed, he blinks his eyes and squints up at you with a face of distress.

When you finally breathe again, you whisper out with sincerity, "Are you okay?"

He nods his head stiffly, letting out a quick, pained, "Yep."

"I'm sorry." You breathe out, frozen on top of him still. Your body won't let you move for some reason. It's like you're paralyzed.

He looks up at you, his hands holding your waist, making your breath catch and eyes widen slightly. But, all he does is move you off of him and lay back with a sigh.

"It's okay," he grunts, adjusting himself.

"Do I need to call an ambulance or something?" You ask, anxiety taking over as he continues to just lay there.

"No, no," he laughs softly, relieving your fears, blinking up at you with a smile on his face and those sweet, chestnut eyes, "just knocked the wind out of me. I need a sec."

Your hand instinctively touches his arm as you kneel beside him, rubbing it comfortingly. Maybe he hit his head when he fell, and that's why he sees a pair of angel wings behind your shoulders, a glowing gold halo above your head too. Or maybe he's just wrongly accused you as the devil this entire time, and now, finally now, he realizes that's not you at all. You're an angel.

Slowly, he sits up with you, and you pull your hand away. "Better?"

He nods, licking his lips then smiling, "Yeah."

You nod back, slowly pulling your eyes away and gasping when you spot it. Your ball, right in between the stick and pair of sunglasses, AKA Jake's designated goal. He turns and sees it too, letting out a laugh as you scramble to your feet and hop around in celebration, doing your victory dance.

"Oh yeah!" You whoop and holler, pumping your fists in the air with every jump, the biggest smile he's ever seen painted across your lips. "Eat it, Kiszka!"

His grin widens, leaning back on his palms and stretching his legs out as he watches you twirl with excitement. Tilting his head to the side, he admires you in the warm glow the setting sun casts on you, how you shine in the light. The tips of his fingers and toes feel numb, and he wiggles them both to clear away the sensation, but then his stomach flips as you look down at him, leaning over in your laughter before jogging off to retrieve the ball.

He looks down at the grass, his brow tense, mind racing. The realization hits him before it does you, just exactly how he feels. It should be a mistake, surely, there's no way in hell this is a false alarm. He's been called a hopeless romantic before, falling for a girl prematurely, or thinking that he likes someone when he really doesn't. But this time, it's different.

It's so different, because it's you.

The ball rolling up to his legs pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks up to spot you approaching with his shades.

"So, loser buys drinks?" You suggest with a playful smirk.

He plays it off cool, pretending that he wasn't lost in a daze about you, getting to his feet and kicking the ball along with him as you both walk back to your cars, "That was never apart of the plan..." but then he realizes that he doesn't actually want to pass up the chance of grabbing a drink with you, so he agrees, "but alright. Let's go. I'm thirsty anyway."

Someone always has to fall first.

[sacredthethreadgvf]

This chapter was everything I could’ve hoped for and more I swear 🤍

Covet: Chapter 11 (Part 3 of 3)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

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

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; recollected memories of traumatic situations; crying + feelings of sadness; self deprecation; use of heart monitors; sexual/manual stimulation f!receiving (both by jake and not by jake); Agoraphilia; vivid memories of sexual encounters; body changes as a result of pregnancy; talks of baby + pregnancy; jealous!jake; possessive!jake; jealous!reader; gender reveal; pregnancy hormones; reader is emotional and making rash decisions; reader and jake continue to be STUBBORN; cheating; lots of jake’s pov; heavy petting; kissing of the neck; drinking game; excessive drinking; very sad and drunk Sammy :(; Maya begins showing her true colors (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter 11 (Part 3) Word Count: 42.8k+ (yeahhhh… when I tell you I’ve been working on this one for months, I mean it. Chapter 12 is also now a continuation of this chapter bc of the paragraph limit… so, let’s just say the length is… intense. I’ve been writing lots of words for the past few months lol)

a/n: I'm back and I missed you all so incredibly much. Now, onto the downward (or upward?) spiral of our beloved Covet! The rollercoaster ride is far from over... ;)

as always, big thank you to @joshym for being the best sister there ever was and supporting me in my writings + pursuits + listening to every time i have anxiety over my writings <3 i love you to the ends of the earth, lis. you're my person. <3

an additional thank u to @allof-ourlove, @alwaysonthemend, @builtbybrokenbells, and @welightthefire. Thank you, my loves, for always having the right words to encourage me amidst life’s stresses. I love you guys so much.

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

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

"To the covetous man, life is a nightmare. And God lets him wrestle with it as best he may."

Henry Ward Beecher

-🌼🌼🌼-

Late July, 2022

You were not able to contain the huge grin that stretched across your lips. The giggle that escaped as you brushed your teeth was unstoppable. 

Thankfully, you were able to aim your pasty, minty spit in the sink, done with brushing, as the sound bubbled up. 

Jake had brushed his teeth just before you’d bombarded his morning routine time, purposely invading his space. 

What? You couldn’t get enough of him. It was undeniable and you’d decided to just live in the moment. 

And the moment had ended up becoming you, watching him pee as you followed his lead in brushing your own teeth. 

You’d woken up in his arms this morning. No sex the night prior, and none after you’d awoken. Just wanted to sleep with him the night before. Sleeping in his cozy bed was better than sleeping in yours. Being in his strong, sure arms was unlike anything else. He was so warm, safe— equal parts hard and soft. . . 

God. You truly couldn’t get enough. 

Which was why you didn’t leave the bathroom when he inched his pajama pants down just a bit to pee. The top of his ass, peeking out above his waistband. 

You wanted to blame it on the fact that you couldn’t leave due to brushing your teeth. . . but you knew that task could easily be finished in the kitchen sink. You’d done it enough when Elsie had lived with you, always hogging the bathroom. 

But. . . That wasn’t what you’d wanted though. Didn’t want to brush your teeth at the kitchen sink.

The domestic feeling surrounding you was what you wanted. You liked this. No worries or cares, complete comfort in the presence of another person. 

It was different than anything you’d ever had before. 

You had never experienced such a wonderful companionship with someone. Someone you could have world-ending sex with, just to witness that same person using the bathroom. No shame on his end and there was absolutely no shame on your end either. 

It just felt right. 

But, when you glanced over to your bathroom partner and actually got a good look at him peeing, the little spurt of a laugh that trickled from your lips as you spit. . . It came naturally. It was more than humor that came with the laugh, though. 

It really wasn’t because you found it to be a funny moment. The laugh hadn’t come at all from feeling humorous. 

It came smoothly, softly. And strangely. . . appreciatively. You appreciated this moment — appreciated all that came with Jake. 

“What, Miss Toothbrush?” He questioned with a jokingly accusatory tone. His whiskey colored irises peeked at you briefly before he leaned forward to flush and close the lid. He was tucking himself back in his pants, now, and your eyes refused to leave the sight. “Have you never witnessed a guy peeing before?” 

Actually. . . Hm.

“No, I haven’t,” you responded, still quietly smiling at the whole situation, your own eyes flicking to his face. Your brows crinkled. “I’ve just. . . I’ve never had this with anyone else. Never felt this good with anyone but you.”

“Oh?” He asked, eyebrows raising as he adjusted himself in his pants. “And what do you mean by that, my fair maiden?”

What did you mean by that? Shit. 

You moved back from the sink, thoughtful and worrying at the words that’d just spilled from your lips. Meanwhile, you swiped the same washcloth across your mouth he’d used to wipe his. Didn’t bother you at all.

Your steps led you to sitting on the toilet seat.

As the cold, ceramic lid touched your bare ass, you realized. . . It felt completely natural and right to use the same damn towel, too. Fuck. 

Why did everything feel so right? So natural? This hadn’t even been going on long enough for that. You’d only met him a couple of months ago, for God’s sake. 

And all this arrangement really was, was just two roommates who liked to fuck. . . If you could go so far, you’d even say two friends who liked to fuck who also happened to live together. 

That was why you felt good. Because of the incredible sex. . . Right?!

As he went about washing his hands, you clutched the small towel in your hands. You squeezed it so tight, your knuckles turned white. But you had to hold onto something. You weren’t sure what you were feeling and it stressed you the fuck out. 

Though before your mind could spiral any further, the sink was shutting off and Jake was placing his freshly dried hands on your bare legs, slowly coming to squat in front of you. The way his purposeful hands squeezed right above your knees in reassurance, it made your nipples peak beneath the t-shirt you wore. 

You were wearing one of his t-shirts. Truly enveloped by all things Jake. On theme with the whole damn morning. 

Fuck. 

“Y/n,” Jake began, your lost stare snapping to him. He was suddenly eye-level with you. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were concerned. “What’s going through that pretty head, baby?”

I don’t know. I don’t fucking know, you mentally responded, worriedly. I’m feeling too much and that’s dangerous. 

“Nothing,” you responded, your voice faltering just enough to make him raise a brow. You cleared your throat, sitting up straighter in front of him. Avoid avoid avoid. You were just overthinking. That was all. “Seriously.” 

With a glance at the shower, you got an idea. 

Perfect distraction. Imagining it already had you shivering with want. 

“You know. . . We haven’t christened the shower yet,” you proposed, looking at him from the corner of your eye. 

His mouth was slightly ajar, having been about to say something. 

Just ignore me, Jake, you pleaded internally. Let it go. 

He wasn’t wavering. His gaze was heavier than normal, trapping you in the moment with him. Wanted you to confess to more emotion. But you decided you needed him to meet you where you were. . . now. Needed him to drop this. 

It didn’t matter.

So, you moved forward to sweetly kiss his lips. His lips, ever so soft against yours. The kiss started innocently enough, but you’d been intentional with it, helping you to deepen it seamlessly. 

Your body opened up to him, your knees parting to welcome him between them. His hands moved up naturally, going to grasp your hips in a strong grip. You moved forward just enough that your core touched his midsection. 

The groan that blossomed from deep in his throat was enough to make your panties dampen. Your change in position caused him to graze his hands up your sides. His calloused thumbs brushed across your tight nipples. You breathed a needy moan, pushing yourself into him. 

Still kissing you and going to fully massage your left breast, he removed the other hand from you to reach over to the shower curtain, yanking it open in one take. The sound of the metal curtain rod interacting with the metal hangers made your clit twitch with desperation. Yes.

When he pulled away from you, his lips were so swollen and pink, freshly kissed. You could’ve cried at the loss of contact, and the way his hungry eyes drank you in. But before long, his gaze moved from you to the shower handle, turning it on with one sure twist.  

As the water heated up, he stood and started stripping himself of his own t-shirt, removed his pajama pants. His thick cock sprang freely from the waistline of them, causing your mouth to fill with saliva. You needed him on your tongue.

Swallowing in anticipation, you began to take off your own shirt. Your eyes trailed up his torso to his face. When you looked up to observe him, he was combing one hand through the front of his hair, tousling it as his eyes stayed on you. 

You felt your warm, bare skin hit the cool yet humid air of the bathroom, watched him as he slowly rubbed a thumb across his bottom lip. A smirk dragged across his full lips. 

Watching as a dimple dipped his cheek, you rose from your position on the ceramic seat. And as you made quick work of your underwear, kicking them to the side, he didn’t move. The tip of his thumb stayed on his bottom lip, his smirk becoming secretive in a way that wasn’t mischievous. 

It was secretive in a way that confused the hell out of you. The look that spread from his dark eyes, all the way down to his mouth. . . it made your skin heat with an unnamed emotion. 

It only took a few seconds of standing naked in front of him to feel the pull to walk to him. After a couple of steps, you met him, wrapping your arms around his waist. With your naked fronts touching one another so intimately, his hands found your face, thumbs delicately tracing your cheekbones. 

“I’ve never felt this good before, either,” he said, voice toned down just for you to hear, against the  rush of water in the shower to your right. “This is. . . more than anything I’ve ever experienced. All because of you.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Present Day

The nerves dissipated a bit as you observed the perky, pretty blonde tech who walked you to the back. She was a good distraction with her high, swaying blonde ponytail and chipper attitude. 

The first thing she did was send you to pee in a cup with your name on it, to check your sugar and protein levels. Then, as you made your way to the bathroom, she also told you that she was going to weigh you when you came out. 

“And after all of that, I’ll be able to take you to the exam room,” she explained, high-pitched and waving her hands around as if she was a cheerleader. “Yay!”

So, after peeing in a cup and placing it in a window to get checked, you took off your bag and shoes to step onto the old school scale. The mechanism squeaked, showing its age, as you adjusted awkwardly on it to get weighed. Oh, the sacred scale. . . Every woman’s favorite part of a doctor appointment, right? 

Though, your favorite part of the entire experience was the way she was obviously undressing Jake with her eyes as you stood on the scale. Her now-extremely flirty tone as she spoke with him made you want to roll your eyes all the way into the back of your skull. 

The woman wasn’t paying you, the patient, any sort of proper attention. You were convinced she hadn’t even noticed you coming out of the bathroom from peeing in the blessed cup. 

No, instead, she seemed to be solely focused on getting a healthy dose of Jake as you stood and waited on her to notice you. Real cute and professional. 

To your relief, it seemed Jake didn’t notice her flirting. . . or just didn’t care that she was being flirtatious. He appeared to be disassociating from her behavior so he didn’t notice you waiting. He was trying his damndest to keep friendly conversation with her, much like Josh would do (although, you took note of how Jake was quite toned down in comparison to his twin). It seemed difficult for him, though, with how tuned out of it he was.

You really loved listening to Jake talk. You could spend endless hours listening to him ramble on. What you didn’t love was watching the little tech’s eyes trained on his face, the way she bit her lip as her eyes twinkled. She watched him so damn carefully with every word (not many, mind you) he spoke, as she ignored you. 

It was not about to be on you to weigh yourself. And you weren’t about to stand on the scale for a second longer. You weren’t here for Little Miss Blondie with a Body to drool over Jake. It was especially grating to watch as you stood on a fucking scale with a bigger number than you were used to seeing, glaring back at you. 

To put it simply: you were already feeling fat thanks to the unavoidable body changes, you didn’t need to feel vastly unimportant right now either. You could only take so much vulnerability in this state. Clearing your throat with plain annoyance evident on your face, you waited for her to get the fucking clue as you continued to stand pointlessly on the scale. 

“Oh my god, yes!” She squealed. “Silly me. I’m supposed to be getting your weight, aren’t I, hun?” The tech gave Jake a little embarrassed smile that he didn’t see, his eyes instantly coming to set on you. 

He didn’t notice her tiny, ‘pick me’ grin, as he was already walking over to check on you. She was left to trail behind him, still going on about how ‘silly’ she was. Dear God.

“Don’t call me hun,” you replied sharply, done with her little cutesy act. “Pretty sure you’re the same age as me or younger. So, please. Stop that shit.” 

Jake snorted a laugh at your attitude. A hand covered his mouth inconspicuously, fingers tapping against his lips that held a humored grin. Watching her with squinted eyes was all you did as she adjusted the pieces to figure out your weight. And finally, she wrote down your numbers on her chart. 

“S-sorry,” she stuttered, backing up as if burned by your vicinity to her. “I, um, think we’re good to go to the exam room now.” 

After stepping off the scale, you smoothed your sweater, slipped on your white Chucks, and grabbed your belt bag from the table beside the scale. You gave a side eyed glance to Jake, who was waiting on you and watching you with a little sparkle in his eye. He was amused. And at that, you had to smile a little, too. You even offered him a little wink before looking ahead to where the tech stood, waiting to lead you to the exam room.

When you looked forward and saw the pretty blonde a few steps ahead of you, you caught eyes with her. She now looked slightly dejected after the minuscule exchange between you and Jake, that she’d apparently witnessed. Her eyes fluttered down when you looked at her. 

Dear Lord, girl, he’s literally here with a woman carrying his child, you reasoned for her silently, scoffing internally at the tinge of disappointment on her fairy-like features. Have some sense; he’s probably not at a fucking OBGYN office to find a girlfriend.

Not that you were his girlfriend. . . A very upsetting truth. But she didn’t have to know that. 

“Well,” you tried, voice a little lighter with sympathy for her. You understood. . . He was a catch. A handsome catch that you couldn’t have, either. “I think that sounds great. Let’s get a look at the baby, hm?”

At your encouraging smile, she seemed to perk up a bit and even turned with a little pep back in her step to lead you further to a room.

But you didn’t notice much more than that as Jake came up to walk in step next to you, resting a hand at the base of your back. His gesture worked very well at distracting you and dissipating your irritable nerves. 

Fearful of ruining the moment, you kept your eyes forward and walked in good enough time to stay in line with him. Losing his touch was the last thing you wanted.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Thankfully, the tech didn’t stay in the room for long. She checked your blood pressure and other vital signs quickly as you sat on the exam chair, legs dangling.

But, you noticed she lingered on your heart for a while. . . She took her time to check on that. The excessive time spent on observing your heart health helped you to know that your chart had definitely been updated since your ER stint. 

Eventually, she was done and you were able to breathe easier. She made you nearly gag once more when she bounced out of the room, offering a dainty wave and a sugary fuckin’ sweet ‘bye, bye’ (mostly directed towards Jake, of course). 

“Good God,” you groaned, soothing the wrinkles on your forehead with a stiff hand. “She had a little crush,” you commented with a smirk, still trying to mask just how annoyed you truly were. “A lot like Kaia. You’re a damn babe magnet to all these poor women who can’t have you.” 

And don’t I fucking know it, you grumbled internally. Want you and can’t have you.

Jake just sat back in his seat and rolled his eyes, deciding to ignore your jest. But then he leveled you with a contemplative stare, brows furrowed. “Speaking of babe magnets. . . Are you still talking to that guy? Study Buddy?”

Oh shit. How did you even begin to approach that? Were you talking to Theo? Not regularly, by any means. . . But he was always sitting on the back burner in your mind. You made a mental note to reach out to the jock at some point.

Theo sat on that back burner as you waited to make your next move. You still needed to execute your plan of distracting yourself from Jake. It felt necessary. If you were with someone else, it put a  blocker up to prove to yourself that you could be fine with Jake being with someone else. The more time went by, the more ridiculous it sounded. . . But you still wanted to roll with it. 

So, you answered as though you were doing such. 

“Yeah, actually,” you half-lied, looking down to pull your sweater over your hands. Nervous habit. “I actually need to reach out to him and plan our next date.”

“Study Buddy isn’t reaching out to you to do that?” Jake scoffed. “He’s a fucking catch, y/n.”

You imagined him shaking his head in disbelief. And when you looked up, he was doing just that as he crossed his legs. Then, his arms over his chest. But he had no room to judge. One, it wasn’t his business. And two, you just didn’t want him judging. Wanted him to just fuck off with the subject. You didn’t want to think about stupid ass Theo and dates right now. Didn’t want to agree with Jake that yes, Theo wasn’t the best catch. You knew that. But you didn’t want to talk about that with Jake of all people.

So, you backfired. 

“His name is Theo, Jake. Quit calling him Study Buddy,” you rolled your eyes at the ridiculous nickname he’d started that night so long ago. Theo, in your bedroom waiting on you as Jake had you wrapped around him in the bathroom. “The nickname is stupid. Makes you sound jealous. And I know you’re not.”

“And if I am?”

Don’t say that. 

“You have a girlfriend, Jake. A fucking perfect one at that. You shouldn’t be jealous of another man in my life when she is as perfect as she is,” you tried to reason, but the compliment had you near gagging. You were just in complete shock. Why was he being like this? It was confusing the hell out of you. 

“Why are you implying that you’re not—?” Jake started, cutting himself off. He rolled his eyes, ruffling the front of his hair while leaning forward, then back again in his seat. “Fuck, y/n. I know I shouldn’t be. Of course I know that. I can’t fucking control it,” he gruffly stated, running a hand through his hair as his other hand gripped the opposite bicep. His black boot tapped the ground, semi-anxiously for a few seconds before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

When he opened his eyes, he was crossing his arms again, biceps still distracting you as his hands gripped them so tightly through his button down. His voice had calmed down to near-normal next time he spoke. “Doesn’t change the fact that I don’t like imagining you. . . with him. I don’t like imagining you like that with any other man. Much less a fucking prick on a football scholarship. By the way—seriously, y/n? Football?”

“How do you know he has a football scholarship?” You questioned, avoiding the glaring topic at hand. Avoid, avoid, avoid. He simply couldn’t be jealous if you choose to not acknowledge it.

“Context clues. He’s always wearing that fuckin’ Pratt football shit. Shorts, shirts, sweats, hats. . . Fuck.” He rolled his eyes once again. When he looked at you again, his eyes became deeper, showing he was earnest in what he had to say. “You can do better, y/n. Could get anyone you want. As much as I don’t want to see you with anyone, you can still do better than—.”

You were steaming angry. Because he was wrong. You couldn’t get anyone you wanted. The only one you wanted was completely unattainable. Minor recent hiccups in the kitchen and car aside. You knew he wasn’t a possibility anymore. How dare he put you on the spot like this?! Who the fuck did he think he was?

“Goddammit, Jake! Stop!” You snapped, no longer listening and cutting him off. “You’re in a relationship. You lost the right to counsel my dating choices the moment you started dating someone else.”

Someone else. . . As if he’d ever actually dated you. 

And you’re the one who initially let him go, y/n, a serene voice reminded you. Sounded too much like something your damn sister would say. Don’t forget he didn’t want anyone else. You forced him into it.

Not. The. Fucking. Point. You refused to hear the sense of that at this moment.

“I don’t want your opinions on any man I bring into my life. Not your place. I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it,” you argued, pushing the sleeves of your sweater up, suddenly feeling very warm with emotion. He made you so damn angry. “Keep them to yourself. Never once have I judged you for being with Maya. And I’m the one carrying your baby — having to watch you—. Dammit.” You felt hot tears growing in your eyes and swelling in your throat. Fuck. Not now. 

And still, against your will, you felt a stray tear drop to your cheek. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jake drop his hands and stand up, already making his way to you. “Y/n—.”

You turned your head from him, telling him you didn’t want him to try to comfort you. You were angry. And hurt. (And truly wanted him to hold you so badly you couldn’t stand it.)

With a sniffle, you kept on, saying things you definitely shouldn’t have been saying as you kept eyes on the light pink vinyl of the exam chair. “For the past several months, I have had to think about you fucking her and bringing her around. And having to think about that shit while I have a baby inside of me that we made together?” You paused, making sure to emphasize that point to him. Because it truly sucked ass to have to experience Jake and Maya anyway, but while pregnant with his kid? 

“So you have no fucking right to bring up who I’m seeing. Not your damn business, Jake. And Theo has done nothing but show that he’s a good man. I haven’t ever judged Maya, because she’s a good person,” (slight lie — you’d definitely judged her, but whatever). “So don’t you dare start with all of the jealousy and shit. I, the overly hormonal one, have sucked it up, so you can, too.”

He was closer now, standing right next to you. You could smell his enticing cologne and could feel his presence. Almost touching you, but not quite. He seemed scared to make a move. Good. 

But, really, not good at all. You wanted him close. Whether it was close enough to hug him or slap him, you weren’t sure. Probably more the former, which had you wanting to slap yourself. You were supposed to be mad. But the two more tears that sadly trailed down your cheeks and onto the exam table proved to you that you were mostly just. . . Heartbroken. Plain old heartbroken over not having him. 

“Y/n. . .,” Jake tried again, coming just close enough that his thighs touched your knees, bent to hang off the table. And then his hands were coming to sit on the very end of your thigh, rubbing soothing circles into the flesh through your pants. “Can you look at me?”

You huffed, irritated more with yourself than anyone. But you wanted to blame it on him as much as you could, so you honored his wish and your eyes floated up from the table. Wanted to really make him feel bad.

But, when you found his beautiful brown eyes giving you a sympathetic look, you tried to glare. . . Though, you knew you looked more broken and slightly (very) pathetic. Stupid.

“What, Jake?” You sniffled, one more tear betraying you, trickling down your cheek. 

But before the tear could make it to your jaw like the others, Jake was reaching out to stop it. His thumb swiped gently at the soft skin of your cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, desperate for you to believe him. His eyes searched yours, which stared blankly back at him. “Y/n, I. . . I—.”

The knock on the door was enough to make the two of you part, Jake even moving back a couple steps. You readjusted yourself on the table, stretching your legs out on it, sitting up in the chair. Tucking the heel of your hand into the sleeve of your sweater, you wiped carefully under both of your eyes as the doctor entered. 

“Hello, hello! How’re we feelin’ today, Mama?” You heard Dr. Rose before you looked over at her. When you did, you first saw her beautiful naturally black hair done in a half-up, half-down. It looked sloppy and intentionally styled all at once.

And, of course, her bright smile showed immediately as she looked over at you. Her bright red lipstick, making her entire look pop, right along with those mid-century-esque black-rimmed glasses. The smile that tugged at your lips was effortless as you engaged in her soothing aura. 

“Feeling good, Dr. Rose,” you responded, keeping your eyes on her back as she prepped the equipment. Jake had chosen a vantage point, leaning against the wall next to your chair. “What about you? How’s life been treating you?”

She looked over at you, momentarily paused with a slightly surprised look on her face. But she recovered quickly with a response. “Y/n, you are just too darn precious. Clients rarely ask me how I’m doin’. Means a lot, babygirl,” she grinned, turning on the monitor. After washing her hands, she grabbed a pair of plastic gloves from the box of them hung on the wall. “As a matter ‘a fact, I’m doin’ great, honeybun. And I can’t wait to see what’s goin’ on with your sweet baby. You feelin’ any better since that visit to the hospital?”

The blush that painted your cheeks at the mention of your visit was unstoppable. Why the hospital escapade embarrassed you, you weren’t sure. It shouldn’t, but it did. Just. . . kind of made you feel weak.

“Y-yes,” you coughed to clear any discomfort from your tone. “I’m just glad we were able to start figuring a few things out that night.”

Dr. Rose hummed in response, motioning you to lay back. And, so you did, as she reclined the seat backwards for you as much as she deemed necessary. Not too far back, leaving you with a really nice view of the screen.

Jake moved slightly, you caught it from the corner of your vision. And you couldn’t stop your eyes from flitting over to him. His eyes, laser-focused on everything happening in the room. And, as if he could sense it, his eyes found yours as you watched his expression change from one of wonder to his own bit of embarrassment that you’d been watching him. 

Or so you assumed that’s why his cheeks flushed. Neither of you cared to tear your eyes away from the other, your gazes locked as Dr. Rose went about her business. Though, when the doctor cleared her throat, both sets of eyes shot over to her quickly, as if you’d been caught. 

You noticed the equipment was ready to go, the monitor completely on as Dr. Rose kept a hand on the transducer, waiting patiently with a smile on her face, ready to begin. 

“I’m also relieved you’ve started findin’ some answers, sweetie pie. Your chart has been updated, thanks to the hospital’s communication with us,” she mentioned, placing a fist on her hip as she stood waiting to start. “So, if you don’t want to, you won’t have to give me any details. But if you want to fill me in on anything,” she dragged the word want out in her Southern twang. “I’m all ears, honey bug.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, the grin lopsided and easy. But your jitters to begin the ultrasound were at the forefront of your mind. “I’m just excited to see the baby.”

“Well, then. I’m excited, too. Let’s do it,” she assured, but just as she picked the instrument up, she put it back. “You know what–I almost forgot the darn jelly! Silly me,” Dr. Rose laughed quietly to herself, shaking her head as deep dimples pierced her cheeks. “While, I grab it, though. . . wanna introduce me to our newbie?” Her eyes shot over to Jake, as she opened a cabinet, turning towards you, her brow raising with a secret grin, aimed at you. 

Your tummy flipped at the realization that you’d, once again, be introducing Jake as the baby’s father. You quickly glanced over at him, and when you did he was already watching you. The way your lips curved up with an unnamed emotion was quick and of its own volition. His expression seemed to match yours.

“This is Jake,” you answered her, with your eyes still on him. But just as soon, you glanced over to her to finish your statement. “He’s the other half of the baby.”

“Oh yes,” the doctor nodded slowly, taking it in. “I remember you mentionin’ him on the phone,” she remarked before momentarily giving him her full attention. A million-dollar smile lit up her features as she stripped her gloves, throwing them away. Stepping forward a few steps, her stilettos clicked against the linoleum before she outstretched her hand to greet him. “Happy to have ya, Jake. Hope to see you at more appointments to come. Were ya busy for our first?” 

She didn’t sound judgemental at all. But the idea of him not being there for the very first appointment made guilt bubble up in you again for not telling him sooner. 

You felt the need to admit to her your mistake of not having told him yet. “He didn’t kn—.”

“Yeah,” he responded quickly, cutting you off. Your eyes flitted over to him. The smile on his face reassured you, a little grin being thrown your way before he addressed her again. “I've been working a couple of different jobs that were holding me up that day,” he covered with a lie. “Worst timing ever and couldn’t get out of it.”

His sincere eyes traveled to you for a second, seemingly letting you know you shouldn’t feel bad. He knew you. A tiny grin found your features at his attempt to make you feel better. His eyes were back on her before you could give him a bigger smile.

“I hated that I couldn’t be here,” he continued, voice faltering as he covered his mouth with a fist. He cleared his throat. The small grin you’d been wearing fell from your face. 

He shook his head and then moved his fist to wave off his words, though, still only looking at the doctor. He hadn’t seen your reaction to his words. “However, my twin got to come in my place, so that’s gotta count for something, right?” 

As Dr. Rose and Jake shared a laugh over a few more words exchanged about identical twins and ‘so-called telepathy’, you couldn’t help but feel a twist in your gut. You knew he was telling the truth that he hated that he hadn’t been able to be there. He could reassure you all day long, and you knew he wasn’t holding it over your head. . . That wasn’t who Jake was.

But. . . It didn’t change the fact that he’d still missed that first appointment and the first chance to see the baby you’d created together. All because you’d been so concerned to keep a secret. A secret he’d absolutely deserved to be privy to. 

“Well then,” Dr. Rose cut in, clapping her hands. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

You gnawed at your lip, chancing a look at Jake. He was waiting for you, sending a private wink as the doctor had turned her back. He shook his head. “It’s okay,” he mouthed the words, arms crossing once more over his chest as he came to stand closer to you.

You blushed; he knew. 

Dr. Rose was washing her hands as he continued to move nearer to you. He stopped once he was leaning against the exam chair, laying an arm against the back of it. Your eyes were glued to every action of his. The way his shirt raised the slightest bit when he stretched his arm out behind you, showing the bottom of his firm stomach. The exposed tanned skin, tempting you with how close he was to you. 

Not to mention, with his arm behind you, you felt deliciously surrounded by him. And you got the most incredible whiff of his cologne. Amber, sandalwood, suede. . . Made you feel so warm and secure.

You didn’t even realize you were staring at his abdomen until the doctor cleared her throat. Caught again. Your cheeks heated. Dammit! What in the hell? Weren’t you just mad at him?

“So, you two. . .,” Dr. Rose spoke, bringing your eyes to her. She was just finishing with washing her hands, drying them on a stiff, white paper towel that she quickly deposited into the trash. “I always have to ask— what are we hopin’ for? Boy or girl?”

She browsed the cabinet farthest left, locating the jelly with no trouble at all, obviously, and placed the tube on the counter before pulling on another pair of gloves. 

“Um,” you started, leaning on your elbows, sitting up a bit to give an answer. “As long as the baby is healthy. . . that’s all I care about.”

Dr. Rose made a noise of acknowledgement, but she flashed you a look. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one,” she winked at you, swiping the jelly from the counter on her way back to you. “But what if I told you you got to pick. I feel like everyone has just a bit of a preference.”

Wrinkling a brow, you thought about it for a second. You honestly didn’t have a preference. All you cared about was the baby having Jake’s eyes and smile (and every other feature of his, if possible). Was that something you could say out loud? 

“I know what I’d want,” Jake chimed in from behind you, still leaning against the back of the chair. 

You peeked at him over your shoulder, hair flipping in the process. For some reason, the action made you feel pretty. And when Jake caught your eye briefly, you saw his lips lift a bit more. His expression was soft as he observed you. 

He was looking at you, but addressing Dr. Rose when he spoke next. “I’ve told y/n the entire reason, but I won’t get into it right now for time’s sake,” he began, hip leaning into the chair enough that he touched your arm. He was right there with you. And you liked it that way. “I just know if I could have my pick for the first one, I’d say a girl would be fun. But, y/n is right. . . All I really care about is if the baby is doing okay in every way possible.”

First one. . . Again, referring to more than one child. You eyed him curiously for a moment, making his eyebrows scrunch in response — as if he were asking ‘what?’. But you just shook your head in response.

“Well, alrighty then,” the doctor responded. 

Both of you looked over to her, and you saw her lifting a brow before she flashed her perfect teeth towards the two of you. Her signature red lipstick, an assurance of some weird sort. You barely knew the woman, but she just made you feel good. Then, after uncapping the ultrasound gel, she aimed it above your tummy. “And I just want to make completely sure – you are wanting to find out the gender today?”

Without even looking at one another, you both simultaneously answered. “Yes.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she responded warmly, winking towards the two of you before taking her spot next to you and the machine. “Lean back and lift your shirt for me, babygirl. And, Jake, if you don’t mind switchin’ off those lights, sweetie. I like to have ‘em off for the gender reveal.”

You both did as you were told, but as soon as your bare tummy felt the cool air of the room, you realized. . . This would be the first time for Jake to see your round belly without anything to cover it. In the dark, mind you. But still. . . 

Though, at the prospect of him seeing your naked belly, you weren’t nervous. Not at all, actually. . . it just made you feel all jittery and excited. Then, without any warning (you’d done it before, so she needn’t warn you), she was squeezing the gel onto your stomach.

Just like before, it wasn’t as cold as you’d expect. No, it was still warmer than movies might try to convince you. You felt nerves wrap around you, just like last time, as soon as she lifted the transducer from its spot. Suddenly, you worried that the baby wasn’t going to be okay. That the heartbeat wouldn’t be thumping like last time. . . . That the screen would have sad news rather than happy.

You lifted one hand to your chest, to cover your heart monitor – just waiting for the phone to go off in your belt bag. The anxiety was making your head spin and she hadn’t even touched the transducer to your stomach yet. Your mind was literally going a mile a minute – the heart under your palm, daring to go just as fast.

Then, you felt a familiar hand come down to touch your other hand – the one still laying at your side, nearest him. And when you looked up, two Amber-brown irises met yours in the dark, silently consoling you. The monitor lit up the room just enough for you to see him mouth something towards you. Your skin warmed at the feeling of him being so sensitive towards you. 

“Everything will be okay,” he silently assured, mouth moving just right for you to pick up the words. 

At his words, tears threatened to spill. You couldn’t completely conceal the emotion as one tear slid down your cheek. You didn’t care too much, though – just reached further for his hand, wanting to fully grasp it. Eyes still holding his, you didn’t worry about any repercussions. Considering, there was definitely much worse you’d done than holding his damn hand. The Jeep. The kitchen. 

But right now, you desperately needed someone – needed him. And this was how you needed him. It took no time at all for him to lace his fingers through yours. And it was the most euphoric feeling you could think of at that moment. Holding his hand was making your heart melt in your chest, and the way it soothed you was unlike anything else. Your palms comfortably met, at the same time you felt your heart slow down and your breaths become a tad more even.

When you were safely holding onto him, you felt brave enough to look at the screen. It was awaiting you, just like Dr. Rose. When you made eye contact with her, she was watching you with care. 

“It’s goin’ to be okay, sweetheart,” she reassured you, accent thick. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you gasped, before sniffling once and shaking your head out to rid yourself of the worries. 

Jake squeezed your hand a little tighter. You did the same back. It was heaven. And next thing you knew, the wand was touching your tummy, connecting with the jelly. And as she moved the device over your stomach, she pressed in just a little. But it all felt seamless and gentle with the smoothness of the gel. It was an odd feeling, but nice all the same. 

You were feeling hopeful. It’s going to be okay. The screen lit up with the gray static and the black spot in the middle of it all, that showed the inside of your tummy.

And, as Dr. Rose adjusted the transducer just a little more, pushing just so against your tummy, you started seeing your baby. Right there, in front of you, you started seeing little pieces of your baby’s body. What you saw on the screen was unparalleled. The tiny, exquisite, flawless human. . .

“Would ya look at that!” Dr. Rose exclaimed, her tone doing very little to mask how enthusiastic she was to see what she saw on her screen. “Those arms and legs are lookin’ beautiful. Perfect in length on both of  ‘em.”

She checked a few more things, moving the instrument around on your abdomen a fairly decent amount. Then, as she took a few pictures and drew a few lines on the baby, she mentioned the essentials. Size of the baby. The position of the baby and placenta. The umbilical cord’s normality. And, finally, the amount of amniotic fluid. You heard the entirety of what she took notes on, but you only listened to what you needed to as you continued to watch the love of your life move around in your womb. Your eyes were glued to the moving wonder inside of you.

“Everything seems absolutely exemplary from what I can tell,” Dr. Rose encouraged, from her spot, where she stood at the machine. She clicked a few buttons as you continued to watch the screen in amazement.

Your eyes drew tears and you felt Jake’s hand wrap even tighter to yours. His thumb gave gentle circles to the back of your hand, catching your attention. But when you looked up at him to see if he needed you, he was mesmerized by the screen. You knew there was no taking his eyes from the monitor. And you didn’t want to. 

In fact, your own eyes instantly sought out the screen again when you knew he didn’t need you. You could watch the happenings on the screen for hours on end, the way the baby seemed to move around in your womb. 

“You’ve got a very active little one,” your doctor giggled, moving the instrument around a bit on your tummy. The little circles she made with the transducer at the bottom of your tummy gave you a perfect view of your baby’s movements. 

The way your heart pressed to your chest was unlike any other emotion you’d ever had. The only thing comparable to the feeling you had at this moment was how you felt to see the little bean alive in you the first time. You knew for a fact that the way Jake was feeling right now was unique to anything else he’d ever experienced. You’d been just as transfixed your first time. But, watching your baby, bigger then before, do a little womb dance on the screen was. . . even more exciting. So, truly, you knew Jake was feeling the full range of positive emotions. 

“Are babies always this active?” You laughed, tears pricking at your tear ducts at the wiggle worm on the screen. The wetness sat in your eyes, blurring your vision until you blinked, a couple falling down the side of your face. 

“The happiest, healthiest ones give ya more of a jig,” Dr. Rose noted with pride in her tone. “That means your little one is living a satisfactory life already. You’re taking proper care of your little angel.” 

Suddenly, you felt a tear hit the top of your hand. And when you looked up, you saw Jake’s eyes doing the same thing as yours. In steady time, you saw at least four tears trickle down his cheeks. His other hand was laid across his mouth in astonishment before he took the same hand and brushed it through the front of his hair. 

With a sniff, he pulled his eyes from the screen for the first time and looked down at you, removing his hand from his mouth. His eyes were full of something akin to adoration, a shaky, close-mouthed smile on his lips. Your heart fluttered in your chest at his expression and you gave him the same one back. 

“Thank you for taking care of our baby so well,” he said, voice raspy with emotion. With a sniffle, he wiped under his eyes with his free hand. “You are already the most incredible mom. Our baby is so lucky to have you.”

You couldn’t stop the few tears that leaked from your eyes onto the chair. Those were undoubtedly words you would cherish for a long, long time. You could feel those words slide right into your heart from his lips. 

There was nothing more you could say to that other than three of the truest words you’d ever spoken. “She’s worth it.”

She? Now you were referring to it as a girl. And, in that moment, you realized how very ready you were to know.

“Oh, now. . . it seems Mama might be leanin’ towards a girl, hm?” Dr. Rose cut in, making your eyes float from Jake to her and then immediately back to the screen. Your beautiful, bouncing baby. . . Yours and Jake’s. Together. 

Your eyes continued to follow every single movement of your baby’s when you asked her your next question. “I know it’s stupid to ask because the baby’s mov–.”

“Nothin’ is stupid to ask in here, babygirl,” Dr. Rose reassured you. “This is your baby. Every question is an important one.”

“Thanks,” you said with a gentle smile, pausing your mesmerization for a second to look at your kind doctor. She was holding the instrument to your tummy, but had paused with her eyes waiting for your question. “Is–is the heartbeat normal? Are we going to be able to hear it?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she adamantly agreed. “It’s time for me to hear it and note it anyhow.” Then, her wide, deep brown eyes looked over at Jake and your line of sight followed. “Ya ready to hear that heartbeat for the first time, daddy?”

Daddy. 

“Oh hell yeah,” he said, voice still wet with emotion, zero hesitation in the answer. 

He cleared his throat as the doctor clicked a button and instantly, you heard it. Clear as day. The steady whooshing thump of your baby’s heart rang through the room. It was enough to make you clasp your free hand to your mouth and grab Jake’s hand a little tighter. 

Surprisingly, the tears didn’t fall, but you felt them bubble up in your throat. However, you felt a couple more tears from above you, hitting the top of your hand. 

“Let’s zoom in here,” Dr. Rose encouraged, clicking a few more times to see the baby’s image become even bigger. And when she did, you saw it. The little flickering of the baby’s heart in its chest. “Healthy, healthy heart in this little one. We’re gettin’ about 144 beats per minute. And that’s what I like to call ideal.”

You could have sung a thousand praises for your child, but you didn’t. Instead, you looked up to see Jake’s reaction. And this time, he felt your stare and slowly turned his head to find your eyes, welling with tears. Just like his. It was a moment straight out of a dream. The baby’s heartbeat, echoing throughout the room; Jake’s hand gripping yours with undeniable reliability and comfort; and your eyes, matching one another’s deep level of trust and admiration. 

In that moment, you felt the most connected to him you could’ve ever felt. The screen fulfilled every wish you could imagine, a healthy baby you’d made together – equally and perfectly – him and you. You wanted to trap this moment in time and never, ever leave it.

“Y’all ready to know that gender?” Dr. Rose questioned, a little thrill in her tone. 

The two of you looked over at her after a few more quiet moments of gazing towards one another. “Yes,” you both said, once again, in unison. 

With a smile that seemed to fill half of her face, she nodded. “Alright. You’re going to hear the heartbeat stop, but it just means I turned the sound off. It doesn’t mean anythin’ is wrong with your little babe.”

“Okay,” you readily responded with a warm smile, your heart racing at the prospect of knowing if your baby was a boy or girl. 

In seconds it seemed, the transducer made a few magic moves after she’d clicked the sound of the heartbeat off. Because, suddenly, she’d found a spot that she paused the screen on to take a picture. And, after getting a few more angles of the same spot on the baby, she told you. 

“Looks like Daddy is a little psychic,” Dr. Rose noted with a wink towards Jake, her knowing smirk made your lips widen. No way. “You two are havin’ a girl.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

You were on your way home from the appointment when Josh called Jake. 

The groan you and Jake released was nearly identical. The two of you, having just stared at the Apple CarPlay screen for the first couple of rings. As rude as it may have seemed, you didn’t want to answer. Because, even though you loved Josh, now was not the time you necessarily wanted to talk to him. 

He’d completely interrupted you and Jake recounting almost every detail of the baby. But, when you did hesitantly answer, the curly headed twin was demanding that your little group get together for a night of ‘revelry and good laughs’. And, thankfully, having been in the Jetta, you’d gotten to partake in the twins’ conversation. 

“Plus, Sam could really use some time with the whole group. It’s been a tough week for the little guy,” Josh tacked onto the end, stopping for emphasis. 

The handsome, long haired twin didn’t answer his curly headed counterpart’s request. Instead, he looked over at you with a look that said ‘it’s up to you.’ So, you took control answering all of the questions that Josh asked, Jake gladly letting you take the floor.

“That’s doable,” you paused. “And ‘Little Guy’? Josh, Sam easily has like three or four inches on you, babe.”

“He will always be little. I am older, therefore he is little. Rules are rules,” Josh snarked back, ticking his tongue. “Jake, how do you feel about this woman’s accusations? Being the same height as me and all. . .”

“I’m not the same height as you,” Jake argued, turning on the blinker to exit off the highway. 

“You have an inch on me at best, fucker. That’s nothing,” Josh reasoned, his scoff being heard through the speaker. “Y/n, what are your thoughts on Jake being a snarky ass?”

It took you no time to join in on the jesting. You were enjoying it enough that being part of it sounded even more fun.

“Jake is easily bigger than you, Josh,” you remarked, sending a smirk in Jake’s direction. Jake glanced your way with a wink that made your cheeks go warm and pink. “As is Samuel.”

“Y/n,” Josh started with a gasp, put-on horror in his tone. He was obviously enjoying this, too. “I'm asking about Jake’s height, not his size.”

“Josh!” Jake interrupted before he could say anything further, swerving a little as both of you sat in semi-shock. 

All that ran through your mind was how bold it was for Josh to make a statement like that. . . He was still relatively new to knowing about you knowing about Jake’s — as he put it — size. But. . . the more you thought about it and let Jake chew him out over the phone, the more you realized, it would’ve been like this if Josh had known before. Because, well, it was Josh. 

And nothing was too taboo for Josh Kiszka to discuss. Including the size of his twin’s dick, apparently. 

“Josh,” you started, stopping his rant from the other end of the call. The huff you heard from Jake’s nostrils and the way his skin had become a shade of light red made you regret getting lost in thought. It had made you miss out on something that had Jake blushing hardcore.

Hm. Jake, angry and blushing. It made your own face feel hot and your nipples press a little harder against your bra. You crossed your legs, giving Jake one more side-eye. Fuck, he was so hot. His lips pursed as he tousled a hand through his hair. You crossed your arms over your breasts, creating some sort of pressure to avoid any uncomfortability for the duration of the drive. 

Damn hormones.

You shook your head, remembering you had something to say, facing the road as Jake stopped a little too late at a stop sign. What had Josh said? “Josh. I have only ever seen one of you in that way, so your remark doesn’t even make sense,” you said your piece, giving one more quick look at Jake before your next words. He was still trying to drive straight, lips tightly together. “And I think I can make a good assumption that Jake is bigger anyway.”

“Y/n!” the twins said in tandem, tones worlds different. Josh, praising your grit and Jake, completely startled at the statement. Jake’s face reddened further and he once again ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t necessarily seem upset. Not at all, really, just. . . Flustered and frustrated. 

Hm. . . 

“Now that y/n has completely flabbergasted us both,” Josh started from the other end almost immediately (thankfully avoiding any awkward silence), “Let’s get back to planning. Good on you, y/n. I quite like the boldness. It suits you.”

If only you knew how bold I’d been recently, Joshua. . ., you thought, mind going directly to the night in the Jeep.

You looked over at Jake once more before getting into the planning. For a second, you really worried you’d made him angry. A trauma response of yours, one might say. But, when you regarded him once more, you caught him. 

He’d stopped at another stop sign, and had his eyes glued to your body. In fact, he was so entranced by you that he didn’t even notice you looking at him. His eyes traveled between your breasts and legs. Your clenched thighs, which squeezed together of their own accord at his attention. His stare was fire on your skin. Felt it everywhere. Your arms crossed tighter to your chest, needing more of his attention than his eyes.

A car honking behind you both made his eyes snap directly to the road, never noticing your attention to him. Your face was hot as fuck when you shook your head, playing it all off. The conversation had become too much in that capacity and you needed to plan a damn get-together. You now knew you should probably not spend the night alone in the apartment with Jake. 

Without another thought, you continued planning the event with Josh. “Okay, so. Tonight. Our place. All of that’s been settled. What are you wanting to eat?” You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, choosing to focus on the sonogram pictures as you placed the hand from your hair on your round belly. “Rather, what is Sammy wanting to eat? Since his week hasn’t been the best, he should probably choose right?”

“Well, let me think!” Josh started, suddenly yelling as if on speaker phone. His voice just a little too loud over the speakers.  

Jake looked over to you at the same point you looked at him, both of your eyes huge at the way his voice truly boomed through the speakers. 

Without a second thought, Jake reached a hand out to turn it down. The tension settled considerably as you cracked a smile at your roommate. Him turning Josh down was pretty fucking funny, you had to admit. But he just kept turning it down, Josh continuing to talk on the other end as Jake turned him completely silent. 

“Oh, now that is nice,” Jake sighed, leaning back. His fingers, still sitting lightly on the volume wheel. “Just how I like Josh. Not talking. Silent.”

You couldn’t help but burst with a laugh, slapping his hand out of the way as you continued to giggle at his action. When you did, you caught a tiny glance at his crotch, which he was trying very hard to cover. He quickly splayed the volume hand over it to hide the noticeable stretch at his zipper.

“Hey, now!” Jake quickly argued, at you making him move his hand. He sounded genuinely worried. Your eyes snapped up to his face, your cheeks red at being caught. Thankfully, though, his eyes were still on the road. Safe. 

You sighed yourself, hand still on the volume knob to hold onto some sense of stability in the otherwise stuffy car.

“I haven’t had a damn moment of peace since the moment I was conceived thanks to that curly haired motherfucker,” he sighed deeply and dramatically. A little grin tweaked his lips, revealing his playfulness. “And now you’re wanting to torture me further with his voice speaking to us over a stereo system? It’s hell. Hell, I tell you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snorted, a bigger laugh threatening to burst from your own little grin at his dramatics. It was pretty fucking hilarious, you couldn’t lie. But you had no clue what Josh was saying and you needed to (to slice the tension surrounding you, at the very least), so you reached forward to turn it back up.

And, of course, Josh was still talking as you turned the volume up. Not quite as loud this time, though. “. . .and Jake, you’re a fucking moron. Just because you turn me down doesn’t mean I can’t hear you! Fuckass,” Josh griped from the other end of the phone, additionally verbally tsking Jake from what you could hear. “You’re just too distracted by each other to think about sense.”

Fuck, Josh. Quit. You did not need to play into that, so instead. . . you chose the path of least resistance and defended yourself. Avoid, avoid, avoid.

“I’m sorry Jake turned you down, Josh,” you offered in response, looking over to see Jake’s devious smirk. It made your own lips raise; he really was pretty funny. “Now. Both of you quit this fucking twin banter because it is impossible to keep up with.”

Josh’s sigh from the other end rattled the speakers, causing Jake to dramatically cover the ear facing you. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the laugh that trickled from your lips. Still looking at your driver, you spoke to Josh again. “Let’s just keep talking about tonight’s plan before he gets the urge to shut you completely off.”

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Jake’s hair looked so fucking pretty. The length. The styled mess of natural waves, the longer it grew. It was harder everyday to not watch him. And his hair was the lethal weapon, flowing around his shoulders with every action, always pushed over just so at the front. It suited him better than any hair you’d ever seen on anyone.

And you meant that shit. Running your fingers through his long locks sounded blissful as fuck. You bit your lip as you watched the way he’d tucked it behind one ear. But, knowing you couldn’t do that. . .you decided to focus on something else. It was slightly depressing to face the reality of him not being yours, so avoiding it seemed the only key.

Your eyes scanned his form from the back, noting his outfit. Same thing he’d worn today to the doctor’s office, the white linen button-down, your favorite piece. Not anything special or out of the ordinary, but it didn’t have to be. Not if he was wearing it. When he shifted some weight onto a hip, your eyes couldn’t drift away from the way his black skinny jeans hugged his tight ass so well. 

Also, since when was it fair for a man to have such a perfectly round ass?!

Josh’s voice snapped you out of your daze momentarily. You could hear him from the living room as he and Sam argued. You assumed they were arguing over something petty, but you weren’t paying attention whatsoever. 

No, your attention had stayed primarily on Jake as he busied himself around the kitchen. He was putting finishing touches on his (apparently infamous) homemade pizzas. Per Sam’s request, that was what the menu had on it tonight.

You’d opted to stay in the kitchen with Jake as the three others found games to play and records to listen to. So, it was just the two of you, chilling in the kitchen. You had claimed to be helping. . . But you definitely weren’t. Your eyes were betraying you, distracting you with the view of your sexy ass baby daddy. 

The only thing that could distract you was the blessed heat emanating off the oven. The oven was obviously in active use, making the kitchen quite warm. And, being more and more pregnant by the day, you overheated too easily these days. It was aggravating. You’d already changed into goddamn Soffe shorts and a T-shirt (which used to fit normally, and now hugged your belly and boobs a little tighter) in the middle of winter. 

But. . . you were still too warm. Though, you refused to leave the kitchen. The view was just too lovely. So, as Jake worked on dicing some tomatoes, you moved to the kitchen window, opening it quickly to get some air circulating. But, in your rush to open it, you didn’t pay proper attention to the lavender, knocking it over in your haste. 

The precious lavender, which had only ever sat in that windowsill. Mindless, careless mistake. Clumsy fucking ass. You damn well started to tear up, more than a little distressed at the mishap. Pregnancy hormones were elevating everything and you felt like shit for destroying one of your favorite gifts ever. The most sentimental peace offering you’d ever received. 

As you fully registered the clatter, you realized Jake had as well. Coming back to the situation in front of you, you noticed him coming towards you quickly. A worried expression on his face and an offer to help, hands extended. But it was too late. You were near sobbing (again, thanks for the added dramatics, baby hormones). There was floral devastation in your wake. Nothing he could do.

Your eyes trailed to the remnants of the beautiful white pot you’d picked out together on a lazy day in early August, on your way home from the B&G. He’d picked you up. And after, exchanged the terracotta for the small, textured piece. The piece, now lying shattered below you — the pot, once intricately molded on every side to look like lavender. 

Just wonderful. To your extended dismay, you witnessed some of the ceramic scraps of the pot falling into the garbage disposal.

Your lack of care for your surroundings had caused the plant itself to fall at a very rapid speed, right into the sink. While the pot was sad, the possible destruction of the precious plant was making your heart cramp even worse in your chest. 

This little plant—it meant so much to you. For so many reasons, you cherished its presence. It reminded you of happier times, opening up to a man you’d hesitantly let in. The same man you’d ended up caring for more than so many others. . . Someone who changed your life forever – baby or no baby, he’d changed you. Helped you.  

Jake first grabbed your hands to check for cuts and scratches. He’d find none. You hadn’t touched the plant with your hands, only knocking it over with your arms. Was your body really becoming so huge that you were even more of a clutz than usual? God, you hoped not. 

Once he’d done his check on your hands, he quickly dropped them. You assumed he was might’ve been fearful of repeating the kitchen incident with the water. . . and the touching of the boobs. Not that you’d mind repeating it. But, right now, you were so emotional over the lavender pot, today’s doctor appointment, and everything else – that you feared if he touched you, you’d lean into him in ways you definitely shouldn’t. Especially with company right in the other room. 

“Well, fucking fucker,” you muttered, wiping furiously at your cheeks to keep tears away. You stared hopelessly at what was left of the pot in the sink. The plant and its soil, still clinging together in one piece despite the damage. 

Hm. . . In spite of everything, the plant clung together, despite the damage. The sight shadowed a metaphorical song in your head about your own life. Oddly familiar. For some reason, that part of it helped your blood to stop boiling. It offered some bright hope to the otherwise sad moment. The plant was okay. It had been protected. It was still salvageable. No matter what. And that was what mattered most. 

“It’ll be okay,” Jake reassured you, his hand coming up to hold your shoulder delicately. His thumb soothed tender circles into your skin through your t-shirt.

This week really had been worse than any other with getting hot easily. Which, Dr. Rose had said was normal as she’d reviewed current possible symptoms and questions with you. This week you’d just constantly been warm. Your hands found your tummy subconsciously, finding comfort in the bump.

“Yeah, it will be,” you replied quietly with a sigh. Turning slightly, you looked him directly in the eyes. It wasn’t hard, as Jake’s stare had already been focused on you. Your heart fluttered. “Thank you for that plant, by the way. I’m not sure if I have or haven’t said that yet, but still. It deserves a thank you again. . . especially now that I’ve destroyed it.”

“You haven’t destroyed it,” he said with a grin and kind eyes, as his hand dropped from your shoulder. “And no need to thank me. It was the least I could do after being such an asshole.”

“I didn’t need a gift.”

“In my opinion, it wasn’t really a gift, y/n. It was more than that,” he grinned, a hand reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. His hand, coming to rest against your neck, making featherlight circles against the skin there. Bliss. “But whatever it was, it was the absolute bare minimum of what you deserved after my act. And in general.”

“Jake—.”

“French Lavender’s elements are essential to one’s internal peace,” he continued, going to cup your cheek. You knitted your eyebrows, confused. But, he didn’t pause, hand still holding your cheek. “It smells good. It’s a beautiful color. Survives in any indoor climate.” 

“What are you–?”

“And it has the highest vibrational frequency of any plant that’s–.” 

No. Way.

“. . .known to bring good fortune,” you finished, remembering this exact explanation. The same spot in this kitchen, but with Josh rather than Jake. 

Game night. So long ago. And somehow, you remembered it. And Jake did, too? How? He hadn’t been–. Wait. “You spied on us that night. I remember!” You laughed, stunned. “Were you listening the entire time?”

A quiet smile lit up his handsome face, the recurring mustache that was only stubble this week moving with the smirk on his lips. “I wasn’t spying. That makes me sound like a fuckin’ creep,” he chuckled under his breath.

The little grin that came with a twinkle in your eye matched his peaceful energy. You felt this moment with him. “Well. . . if the shoe fits, honey.”

Now you were the one saying honey. Today had been a day.

He was once again bringing the hand from your cheek to your neck, tenderly holding the side of it. His thumb skated behind your ear. “Not creepy. Just observant.”

“That you are,” you agreed quietly, leaning into his touch, even reaching up with your own hand to grab his wrist. You made your own little shapes against his wrist with your thumb. There was a minute or more spent just standing there, letting him hold you in the soft, serene moment. The world’s noise was muffled around you. After a little bit, your brows crinkled again as you saw his eyes travel to your lips. “How did you remember it so well?”

“Everything you’ve ever said is important enough to remember,” he plainly stated. “Simple as that.”

“I don’t know about that,” you shook your head, flushing. With the action, his hand moved. And, rather than letting it drop, you caught it in your hand on its way down. Didn’t want to lose his touch. 

Rather than freezing for a second at your touch, he didn’t make it obvious that your action had deterred him. No, his eyes still read the same and his lips still sat in a secret smile. “I do know about that, baby.”

Baby. You could crumple in tears again at the name. . . How you missed it coming from his lips, only for you. . .Again, you just stood there, appreciating the moment. It was as though nothing had changed. So, you kept talking. As if it were still summertime, the world still made special for you and him. 

“Well. . . do you agree?” You muttered, soft enough for only his ears to hear.

“About?”

“French Lavender? Lavender? Its elements?”

Jake’s eyes traveled above your head and his lips pursed, pondering. He squinted slightly in thought before coming back to you, meanwhile maneuvering the hand you’d caught so he could easily hold yours. Your fingers laced together effortlessly. 

“I’m not sure,” he started, eyes going from your hands to your belly, then your lips, your nose, and finally your line of sight. “It might have been partially the lavender that brought me peace because I truly believe in its aid to human consciousness. But. . . I think the reason I felt better was because of you. I decided to get over my shit and pursue something with you before the lavender ever touched our apartment. You made me see the light. The plant just helped you see me for me. And not the dick I’d been to you at the beginning.”

“I always knew there was more hiding underneath,” you somehow managed past your lips, stunned at his words. “Your eyes are a window, Jake. I could see you. That’s why you pissed me off. Because you wouldn’t let me see you. But—you’re right. . . the lavender helped me see you. When you gave me the plant, that’s when things started opening for me. When you started opening,” you explained, reaching your free hand up to touch his face. 

The thumb that traced his growing facial hair couldn’t be stopped. He closed his eyes at the soft action – but only briefly before he opened them to watch you as you continued to speak. “But I do understand,” you started, brows knitted. “Not trusting. Trusting someone new is hard. Trust is hard. And then I broke yours.” The following words slipped from your lips all on their own. “Worst fucking mistake.”

His hand squeezed yours, fingers still entwined. “Not broken,” he said lowly, the words honest from his chest. 

And, without taking any time to consider it, you knew you needed him to touch you in one special place. Slowly, you moved your tied hands to your tummy. You unlaced your fingers from his, and used the hand to place his open palm on your round belly. The little belly that held a part of him inside. Your breath caught in your chest as you watched tears form in his eyes as he took in the sight of his hand on what you’d made together. His lips formed a shaky smile, eyes finding yours. This time, though, his eyes were different. It was as if something had awoken inside of him and his eyes looked desperate to share it with you. 

He backed you up until your back lightly brushed the counter that faced away from the living room. It was private. You could tell he wanted privacy. To hold your belly? 

You soon realized why he wanted the little nook, away from eyes. Before you could register what was happening, his lips had connected with your neck. He lazily gave open-mouthed kisses to the same place he’d been holding earlier. You shook at the pillowy plushness of his lips on your skin again, your eyes closing on their own. The sigh that brushed past your lips caused his thumb to move against your tummy. The digit, sure in its motions as he rubbed soothingly against your belly, tracing something into it. 

You naturally rolled your neck to the side, giving him better access as he went to nip at your earlobe. His thumb repeated the pattern he’d begun. The same combination of shapes every time. What was he–?

It was difficult to pry your eyes open amidst the feeling of relief that washed over you. But, still. You did. You had to know. “Jake,” you started, his name a breath on your lips. “What are you–?”

“Jacob!” Sam squawked from the other room, with an urgency and rush of anxious energy. 

It took absolutely no time for the two of you to separate, realizing you would soon no longer be alone in the sanctuary of the kitchen. He went to lean against the same counter he’d been using to prepare the pizzas and you stayed put in your spot against the counter. He ran a hand through his hair and ran his palm over his mouth and chin, refreshing the best he could as he looked down, shaking his head. 

Then, he wiped his lips with the pad of his thumb. Your heart hurt at the motion, but you understood. You had to stop doing these things. Letting them happen. Initiating them. Both of you. Had to stop. 

Ignoring the ridiculous train of thought, you fixed yourself, too. You fluffed out your hair, laying it against your shoulders to cover your neck. The pieces you tucked behind your ears, simply to fight against the onslaught of heat you were feeling from the kitchen and now Jake. Thankfully, the open window helped bring in a cool, crisp, wintery breeze. Shit. The window. The plant. You needed to clean up your mess in the sink.

“Y/n, baby,” Jake stopped you as he saw you move, staying in his spot. You looked over at him, raising a brow in his direction. “Not the broken pieces. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I’ll be fine, Jake,” you argued, bending to grab a Walmart bag from the snake that hung in the cabinet below the sink. The task was harder than need be with a belly in the way, but not impossible. It took you a bit to figure out how you were going to bend. . .

Apparently noticing the struggle, Jake lunged in front of you before you could get all the way down. He grabbed a bag for you, shutting the wooden door to the cabinet before you could try to out-stubborn him by getting another bag. 

He handed you the bag, to which you rolled your eyes at him. He wasn’t looking at you, instead still watching the doorway to the kitchen before turning to place a pizza he’d just finished before your mess, in the waiting oven. 

Bag in your hand, you started collecting the ceramic shards. You were grateful they were bigger pieces, avoiding the prospect of nicking yourself. Jake did have a point at you possibly getting hurt. You’d give him that. Then, as you heard Sam’s bare feet slap against the kitchen floor, you looked over your shoulder in the direction of the sound. In your peripheral, you saw Jake’s head snap in the direction of the kitchen doorway as well.

“Jacob Thomas!” Sam screeched, his face equally serious and joking. His eyes were bright, but his tone was sharp. “I have a bone to pick, brother.”

“What, Samuel?” He asked, eyebrows bent in at the rushed, borderline accusatory tone that had come from his baby brother. “Why the full name?”

Josh and Daniel were hot on Sam’s tail, both walking into the kitchen with exhausted expressions as they followed his ass. They both seemed flustered and grumpy. . . And with the way they stayed close to him, obviously not letting him talk to Jake alone, you wondered if them being near had to do with whatever it was he had come to report to Jake.

Sam was oblivious to the exhaustion and didn’t let their presence stop his huff as he stood firm in his place. He was slightly wobbly as he grabbed onto the counter you’d just been leaning against to stay upright. “Woah,” his eyes bugged at being unsteady. His body weaved as he stopped for a second to offer one of his signature vibration-laughs at himself. “Well dammit, I think I’m drunk!”

“Oh, no, Sam. Really? Wouldn’t have guessed,” Josh chided him from the fridge, where he stood behind Sam.

Sammy’s cheeks were balled up and bright pink from the amount of alcohol he’d had to drink. He ignored Josh altogether, staring straight at Jake when he hastily addressed him. “Where is your damn phone, brother?”

Jake felt at his pockets. “Oh, fuck. In the car, I think. What’s going on? Is it mom? Dad? Veron–?”

“It’s not even close to that serious, Jake,” Josh chimed in, trying to soften Sam’s theatrics. 

“Josh. Shut up,” Sam instructed, still looking at Jake. “And, Jake, if you must know, Maya called. That’s what. Perfect, beautiful, gorgeous goddess Maya. She told me she’d reached out earlier around the end of the appointment. Told me you didn’t answer then either,” Sam loosely informed Jake, standing a bit wobbly, yet effortlessly sassy with a hand on one hip. 

He seemed genuinely frustrated with Jake’s lack of communication before he took a swig from the red solo cup in his other hand. The one sip took long enough that the rest of you were exchanging looks at Sam’s behavior. Your expressions were all very similar: wide eyes, squiggled brows, and shaky grins that switched to pursed lips off and on. He was on his way to being completely gone and it was only 6 pm. All of you, seeming equal parts concerned and amused. 

The twins seemed irritated. Josh, concerned, but more frustrated. Jake, annoyed with Sam’s spiel. Neither one, here for Sam’s antics and it was clear as day.

When the youngest brother finished his long sip, his wide eyes were back on his brother, no longer judgemental. A miracle. Apparently tonight, all it took was a quick drink to flip the switch. “She was just really excited to hear about the appointment. Wanted to know how it went. Curious over the gender.”

“Oh,” Jake plainly responded. He seemed unbothered. It made you pause, but he kept talking before you could question it. “Well, we’re not telling the gender yet. She should understand that. It’s common sense,” he explained, brushing some hair behind his ear, his jawline exquisitely accentuated with the motion. “And I can’t help that I forgot my phone in the car. Shit happens. We used it for directions to and from the clinic and my mind was in other places when we got home.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You appreciated how firm he’d been about the gender not being revealed to anyone but the two of you. That was hot. And, he still wasn’t jumping to go get his phone or anything. 

“Well, whatever,” Sam rolled his eyes dramatically, snorting. “I told her to bring her sweet little ass over here and join the party!” Sam exclaimed, Jake scoffed at his brother, shaking his head. His eyebrows settled momentarily, giving the younger brother slightly more attention. “I told her you’d mentioned it to me. That you wanted her here.”

And, Jake’s expression was stern once more. “I didn’t ever mention it, Sam,” Jake griped back.

“I know, I know. But I’m sure you were going to,” Sammy spouted back like a noncompliant child. “Because you loooove her, Jake. I’m sure you were going to invite your girlfriend to this. Just be glad you have a good one, Jake.” He cracked the ‘k’ sound in Jake’s name, sticking his lip out. “Feel like I have to appreciate her for you sometimes. You don’t understand what you hav–.”

“I understand how incredible she is,” Jake interrupted, cutting the younger brother off. He seemed aggravated, but his words still hit your heart unpleasantly. He wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it. He thought she was incredible. “Thank you for inviting her, Sam,” Jake finished, seeming done with the conversation entirely. 

Was he actually thankful she was coming? You couldn’t tell. Either way, your stomach felt as though it had fallen to the bottoms of your feet. The heaviness at the idea of Maya being with all of you tonight was making you feel sick. Your eyes snapped for a glimpse over to Jake, and he was doing the same towards you at the exact same moment. You’d felt him looking at you, perhaps gauging your reaction. But, even though you were feeling it all, you were not showing a whole lot. You were working on it. Every single day, you worked on not letting it show how much you despised her presence.

“She’s on her way,” Sam cut in again. Your ears were ringing.

 But before Jake could say anything, Josh hopped in. “Y/n. How about you invite that guy over? The one from your classes? Heard you’ve been hanging out with him. . .”

You really didn’t want this night to turn into anything. Didn’t want Maya here. Definitely didn’t want Theo here. And you already knew you would be putting on some sort of show if Theo were to show up. You’d try to force things. For your experiment.

Tonight, though, you didn’t feel like forcing anything. Not after such a special appointment like today’s. Not after what had just happened in the kitchen, only moments ago. You wanted time with your friends after an incredibly special day spent with Jake. All you’d wanted was a night with the guys. Just like it had been before. You wanted a comfortable, calming evening.

The more you’d thought about it, it’d honestly seemed like perfect timing when Josh had called earlier. A wondrous cherry on top of a beautiful day. God, why had Sam invited her over? You knew it was most likely because of his drunkenness. But. . . why did he have to be so drunk at 6 pm? You still didn’t know why his week had been shit.

Wait. Hold up. Josh had brought Theo up as a possible guest. How did he–? How did Josh know about your current situation with Theo? You hadn’t talked to him about. . . Oh. 

You peeked over at Jake, who was suddenly turning in the complete opposite direction of you. HIs back to all of you as he went back to the pizza. He had to be to blame. Right? Someone had been complaining to his twin. You were sure of it. How else would Josh know you’d been talking to Theo? And why did Jake care about it so much? When he had his girlfriend, who was seemingly perfect? What the two of you had. . . it wasn’t solid anymore – had it ever been? And what he had with her was concrete.

Did Jake really care so much about Theo as to tell Josh? You’d meant what you told him earlier: he shouldn’t care. He should not care. There was only one girl he needed to care about (well, not including the one in your belly) and he was dating her. Maya. Not you. Damn it all to fuck. You were wired to hell over all of it. And Maya was on her damn way. 

The reason it sucked the most was because it was you getting slapped in the face with reality again. All it did was remind you that Jake was not yours. You’d have to spend all night watching them. Real enjoyable.

Josh’s voice pulled you back. “You’ve been seeing him, why not invite him?”

You know. . . He was right. Why the fuck not? As much as you did not want all of the extra people over, you couldn’t stand the thought of watching Jake and Maya being all cuddly while you sat miserably single and pregnant with his baby all night. It was the perfect opportunity to get your mind off of Jake. Even after a perfect day like today. But, today. . . it wasn’t real. It was just a bunch of emotions stacked on one special day about the baby. Not you and Jake. Today was a fairytale. 

Yet, even as you tried to delegitimize it all, your neck burned with the shape of his lips. You wanted more. But more wasn’t yours to have.

All this did was remind you. It reminded you that you still needed to test your theory of falling for another guy to prove something to yourself and to Jake. You didn’t need Jake to be happy. Truly. Seven months ago, you hadn’t needed him. You could get back to that. He was the father of your child. Nothing more.

You could’ve laughed at that fucking lie. Nothing more. A complete falsity, that statement.

You didn’t laugh about it, though. No, instead, you looked at Josh straight on. Your lips quirked the best they could with a plain smirk, “I will, actually. Thanks for thinking of that, Joshy.”

“Well, yeah. You deserve–.”

“You deserve to get your freak on, y/n!” Sam cheered, bringing up his red solo cup filled with God knew what. “All of those pent up baby hormones. I’ve heard about those and goddamn, Dragon. I can not imagine how you’re doing it while being so sexy and single as a pring—!”

“None of that was even remotely close to what I was going to say, Samuel,” Josh cut him off, motioning at him blatantly to zip his mouth. His hand cut a firm line in the air, still as could be. He was serious. Josh’s face was stone still and his mouth was in a straight line, completely void of laughter. He was very angry with Sam for opening his mouth.  You could tell that much. 

“Josh, it’s fine–,” you attempted, getting cut off by the drunk and rambling baby brother.

“Well who cares. Because I’m drunk,” Sam seemed to reason, with nobody and everybody all at once. He looked over at his curly-haired brother, who was raising a frustrated brow in Sam’s direction. “Josh, I’m going to put some music on the record player. If you wanna beat me to it, I suggest you–.”

And, it seemed, Josh was suddenly better again at the mention of music. It took him no time to sprint out of the kitchen, brushing past Sam. You watched Sam laze about after Josh. And you knew Josh was sure to get his first pick. Sam followed slowly out with a dramatic wave, foot over foot. His drink, sloshing over the cup as he simultaneously took a drink.

Then, he was gone. Ruckus over. For now.

“Holy fuck. He is in for a long ass night, huh?” Danny commented, still leaning against the frame of the kitchen’s entry. He’d barely said a word before, keeping a safe place at the back. 

You smiled over at the tall man, feeling sympathy for Sammy and his friend who was trailing behind, cleaning up his messes. Right before you could ask why Sammy was so drunk, Jake started talking.

“Damn fuckin’ straight,” Jake agreed, making your head turn in his direction. He was creating the next pie with a variety of vegetables, with his back turned to you. “Ironically enough, I’m making this damn veggie pizza for him as we speak. Sure fuckin’ hope he’s not so wasted he can’t enjoy it. Working my ass off.”

“He will definitely enjoy it. Promise you, dude. Your pizzas are unrivaled,” Danny reassured.

Unrivaled. You were suddenly intrigued, remembering you’d never tried Jake’s pizzas. In the past, whenever pizza was chosen as the meal for you and Jake, it had only ever been ordered. Did he make pizza for Maya all of the time? Because she was special? Or did he order pizza with her too? Why did it matter?

“Why’s he drinking so much anyway?” You piped up, digging yourself out of the slump your mind was creating. Leaning a hip against the fridge diagonal from the kitchen entryway Danny stood in, you crossed your arms at your chest. 

“I mean, I know it’s fun to just get drunk sometimes. I get it. I’ve done that before. But. . . he seemed a little emotional when he started talking about relationships.” You stopped talking to look down and pick at your nails. The feeling of being a bad friend to Sam was making your heart sink. You were sad that you had no clue what was going on in his life. You didn’t know what was going on in anyone’s lives. 

You felt really selfish. Selfish. Fuck. The word came flashing back through foggy memories, hearing it big, loud, and without any warning. Only hearing it in your mom’s voice. . . Way deep down in your chest you felt how she’d once said it. You remembered the way tears would gather in your throat, too scared to cry. You were made to feel selfish at every turn as a child — even the act of crying. Looking back now, that was fucking ridiculous. 

But your mom was always the first to comment on your selfishness. She’d remind you how selfish you were at every turn — how much of an inconvenience you’d been to her. The words made your gut twist with unknown memories attached to them. You couldn’t locate those memories right now and you were glad you couldn't. Even without knowing what they were specifically, they frightened you. Terrified you. 

Veering away from the unknown, pitch black trenches of memories, you thought back on your mom. How she always told you that everything you did for others was only going to serve you in the long run anyway. She never let you believe for a second that you thought of anyone but yourself. 

And how you’d acted after she left? Towards Elsie? Maybe she’d had a point all of those years ago. Was there any good in you? You felt that term at the pit of your stomach now, weighing you to the fridge. Selfish.

Back to the subject, y/n. Come on, girl. Not the time.

“I’m kind of out of the loop these days,” you surmised, chewing the inside of your cheek with a frown.

“Sammy was actually talking to a girl. Got pretty serious for a few months there. Same chick from the AirBnb, actually. You guys met her. A little off and on for a bit, but they kept in contact long enough. So, for the past few months or so, it’s been everyday,” Danny’s eyes widened as he blew out a breath, taking a sip from the beer bottle he’d been nursing since he got to the apartment. “Been spending all of their time together. It’s been everything to him. They’ve been in each other’s beds almost every night, talking about pets and Christmas family gatherings but. . . She texted him last night with this long winded excuse as to why she couldn’t be with Sam because she had to go back to her boyfriend of like ten years that she’d broken up with right before Sammy,” Danny swiped a hand over his forehead, shaking his head side to side. His long black hair, waving around him with the motion. “So. . . She basically used Sam as a rebound and it’s hitting him in the heart.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you breathed, repulsed on Sammy’s behalf. He was such a sensitive and carefree guy and this girl had used that. . . Was that what you did with Jake? Did you use him too frequently? Still?

God. Stop it, y/n!

“Yeah . . . He was a ball on Josh’s bed last night, only wanting his big brother to talk him down from it. He really liked her. Probably actually loved her. You know how much Sam feels for others.”

“Feels everything,” Jake noted, sprinkling some seasonings on the pizza in front of him. “Maybe it’s a genetic trait ‘cause I’m right there with him.” 

Danny huffed a laugh, raising a brow at that. He took another healthy swig. “Maybe.”

And then Sam was calling Danny’s name from the living room, begging for ‘back-up’ against the ‘Evil Elf.’ You couldn’t help but snort at the term Evil Elf. You heard Josh raise his voice at Sam’s insulting nickname. But your snort quickly turned into a belly laugh as you heard him repeatedly spouting it at Josh in response. Knowing him, he was probably flicking Josh’s forehead or some shit to emphasize it. 

Damn. . . He was bound to be the fucking enter-tain-ment for the night. You hoped he would be a good thought diverter. 

“You better help Josh in Sam’s attack against him,” Jake encouraged Danny. “I would, but. . .,” Jake motioned at the pizza he was preparing as he finally turned. “I’m on the last one.”

When you caught a glimpse of his face, you saw some of his own amusement at the ordeal. His teeth weren’t showing, but his dimples were present in his cheeks as he gave Danny a loose grin. 

“No, I got it, dude,” Danny responded without another thought on the matter. “You’re busy.”

And, within seconds, Daniel was gone. Leaving you alone with Jake. Jake, who was back to looking at his damn pizza. His strong back, facing you. Those broad shoulders, mocking you. 

You decided not to follow Danny, wanting to stay with Jake as long as you could. Even if he wouldn’t look at you, his presence comforted you. Though, not wanting to be completely distracted by his aura, you tried to busy yourself with an activity of your own. 

Oh! You could make dessert! 

Quickly checking the built-in pantry to the right of the fridge, you saw some brownie mix and a box of yellow cake mix sitting in the baking goods section of a shelf. And without any thought or question, brownies won the battle of what sounded most delicious. 

Brownies suddenly sounded positively scrumptious to you. So, reaching forward, you grabbed them out and placed them on the island. When you turned to place them there, Jake still had his back turned to you. Goddamn. He was doing a stand-up job at ignoring you completely. The silence between you was deafening.

You didn’t even acknowledge him. This would be good. It would be good to ignore him. You just went about your business getting all of the ingredients out and your hand mixer. . . but you needed a bowl. 

When you went to grab one, you noticed the mixing bowls were just a tad bit too high for you to reach. And even though Jake wasn’t the tallest man ever, he was still taller than you. He would be able to get what you needed for you. Perfect.

Ugh! No! The whole point of busying yourself was to ignore him!

Not wanting to give in to the urge to ask him for help, you tried your damn best to just do it yourself. Standing on your tiptoes, you stretched a hand way up for that one clear mixing bowl you always used when you baked. . . So close, yet just out of your reach. A lot like someone–.

“Dammit, y/n, let me get it.” His beautifully raspy voice was suddenly in your ear, but he sounded a little perturbed. All the sound did was make your cheeks grow warm and pink. “Just ask for help.”

He was right behind you, his front side completely pressed to your backside, making you dizzy. And as he placed one hand on your hip to balance himself, you thought you were going to buckle immediately. The feeling of his searing hot hold on the bit of skin at your hip, peeking out from your t-shirt, made you shiver.

His fingers were so close to the bump, but not quite touching it. As he pushed himself into you a bit further, you felt him against your ass, right through the thin material of your black Soffe shorts. He wasn’t completely hard. Not yet. But he would get there before too long if this continued like it had before Sam’s intrusion. You knew him. 

Back in the moment, you noticed his other hand reaching up for the bowl. And, of course, he grabbed it with no problem at all, being tall enough to grab the dish that had been too difficult a job for you. Ugh. You needed him. Even if it were just for a fucking dish. 

When he placed the bowl on the counter, you reached to touch the bowl at the same moment he went to move his hand. And for a brief bit of time, your hands grazed each other. It happened for long enough that you both stilled your hands, appreciating the feeling. . .

He didn’t move from his spot behind you. 

He laid his palm flat on the counter, grounded himself. Boxed you in with his body — the sandalwood, vanilla, and suede in his cologne made your head swirl. You gripped the bowl tighter, enjoying the fact that he’d stayed behind you, but wanting more. His hot breath continued to bathe your already warm neck in the most delicious wisps of air. Naturally, you leaned into him just the slightest bit. Couldn’t help it.

Once more, his enticingly gravelly voice was in your ear. “Was Sam right?”

You turned your head to speak to him more directly, but kept your eyes downcast to maintain some sense of stability. Lowly, you questioned him right back. “Was he right about what?” 

“Are you going to mess around with Theo?” He hushed, breath fanning over your cheek. He spoke Theo’s name as if it were laced with poison. “You wanna take out your baby hormones on him?”

“That’s not your business, Jake,” you breathed back, shakily taking in some air to fill your tight lungs. You moved your hand on his, watching the movement. You gently traced your fingertips down his long digits. His strong hand fidgeted, flexing at the action. Slowly, you went to rest your palm on the top of his hand. 

But when you went to move your hand, he stopped you. His hand quickly turned the other way around to grab yours in a sure grip — seamlessly lacing your fingers. 

“Do you really want him?” he posed the question heatedly, placing a breath of a kiss on your temple, lips brushing your skin. 

“I don’t fucking know, Jake,” you hissed under your breath, pushing your ass into him as he brushed your hair to the side, once again pressing his lips to the column of your neck. 

Before you could think of another thing, he was spinning you around, your back smoothly pressing to the side of the fridge nearest to you. Your breath was heavy enough to emit a gasp at the motion. Just out of view from the guys, Jake kept you hidden, pulling you away from the fridge just a bit and closer to him.

His grasp on your hand let up a little, his palm pressing against the small of your back the best it could with your hand in the way. At the same time, he pressed his hips into yours, showing his reaction to you. Oh.

He kept hold of your hand at your lower back, his arm wrapped close around you. His strength held you in a secure grip, making you feel so safe and at home. . . Just like the lavender field. . . 

Your stomach was pressed into his, there was a sliver of skin where your belly was exposed at the hem of your t-shirt. Your warm skin brushed up against the buttons of his shirt and the soft material. The cottony linen of it felt like a dream against your skin, so close to him. And, wrapping one hand at the curve between your neck and the base of your skull, his soft lips made home on your neck, placing wet kiss after wet kiss on the skin there. His tongue, peeking out only slightly to touch you with every nip from his lips.

He used his hold to position your neck just right, to get the angle he wanted. Your body ignited with heat and desire for him. The way your head fell back and your neck loosened with the tiniest sigh from your lips was unavoidable.

“You keep doing this to me, baby,” he groaned against your neck. Slowly, he lifted his mouth from you, his tongue had been so close to running over your pulse.

But he’d stopped.

“Doing what to you, Jacob?” You grit back, pulling your head up lazily to stare at him. There was fire in your eyes as you peeked up at him from under your lashes. Your chest lifted in heavy breaths.

“I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help but look at you and— and. . .,” he trailed off, gently moving his hand to run a thumb over your cheekbone. His shoulders, sturdy, and curved in to keep you to himself. “I just look at you and want to bend you over and remind you that you can do better than him.”

Your thighs squeezed together, you were aching for him to do what he described. . . Yet, as much as his words made you eager to do just what he wanted in the middle of this kitchen right this second. . . he’d said something you both needed to remember. It was wrong. Though, it was odd. . . Just as much as it felt foolishly wrong, it felt completely right.

But, right now, the wrong was what hung over your shoulders. The guys could walk in at any moment. Maya could arrive (thanks to Sam’s lovely invite) and catch you both. Wrapped up in each other. Goddammit.

“Jake,” you sighed, sadly and resolved to the decision to break up whatever was going on at the moment. “We shouldn’t– we shouldn’t be doing this. We aren’t together. This is–. You have Maya and I have to. . :,” you trailed off, unable to finish.

He didn’t take his eyes from you for several seconds, studying your face. You hadn’t moved. You didn’t want to be the first one to move. His eyebrows drew together in deep concentration. His amber-brown irises showed that he understood when he nodded hesitantly, backing away. You immediately missed the contact. His shoulders were tense and bunched up before he stood up straighter to roll them out. 

But, you could tell how upset it made him, eyes downcast until he was leaning against the island across from you, putting his hands out to grab hold of it when he was near enough. Across from you, he looked up at you with conflict ghosting over his features. He understood the levity of the situations you kept putting yourselves in, but what he understood about it made him angry. Or, at least you assumed. You’d spent several months observing every little (and big) emotion Jake felt, you had a pretty good inclination on how well you could read the man. Most times.

Besides, you felt the same exact way, so you could sense it billowing off of him in waves. 

“I know,” he sighed, his body rigid and eyes emptier than they’d been moments before. He slapped on a smile that stretched a little too tight across his lips. “Just–go rest. I need to wait in here for the pizzas to finish.”

“But I need to make the brown–.”

“I will make them.”

“Jake–.”

“Do you want to make them?”

“Yes, I want to eat some, so—.”

“But did you truly want to make them, or can you just let me do that for you?”

You stood there, at a loss over much more than the brownies. Without any other idea of how to respond, you just placed your hands on your hips, shrugging. In the end, preparing and baking them had just been a distraction.

If you weren’t going to allow yourself to be in the same room as Jake, all you really wanted to do was sit down and rest your feet after the long day. But damn. . .you’d made yourself want those brownies. . . The picture on the box was calling your name. . .

Jake huffed the smallest laugh, but his face was still void of any one emotion.“I know you don’t want to make them, but you want to eat them. Let me make them for you.”

You almost agreed. But, you looked over to the sink. You hadn’t finished with the lavender. You’d gotten distracted.

“The plant. I need to put it in a new–.”

“I’ll get it,” Jake said, his eyes the slightest bit brighter, even though his mouth still held a smile that didn’t look completely real. “You need to sit down. It’s been a long day. Go talk to my brothers or something. I’m sure you’d love to do that and they fucking love you, so.”

Well, it was settled, then. He was correct in all of that.

“And call your boyfriend,” he suddenly said, turning his back to you, tone too friendly. It sounded as though he was suddenly okay with Theo. And you knew damn better than that. 

But you couldn’t question his sudden change in attitude with his back turned to you once again. And why was his sudden shift in attitude pissing you the hell off? Stupid ass shit. It shouldn’t even matter — it just threw you for a loop. You were still so angry and he was just. . . Fine? Not fair.

Ugh. If anything, it should have made you glad that he wasn’t being so hostile about Theo. . . But instead, you missed the way he inflamed at the mention of your study buddy. You missed the heat from moments ago.

You clenched your fists at your hips, digging into the flesh before you decided to pull down your shirt a little to cover your whole tummy. Even if it was only a couple inches of skin, it made you feel exposed and you were not in the mood anymore. 

To test him just a little, you fought back. “He’s not my–.”

“Well, he’s on his way to being it, so might as well start calling him that,” he responded, a little sharper. His broad back still to you, as he went about grabbing the rest of the ingredients.

You stood there for a moment, contemplating what to say – if you should say anything. But when he avoided any and all eye contact, you decided to just leave the room. He was a pro at pissing you the fuck off. And you didn’t want to argue with him over something so stupid and trivial. 

You didn’t make a sound as you turned on your heel and made your way to the living room to be with the boys. Sam, and his loud signature cackle, bouncing off of the living room walls to greet you.

As soon as your ass hit the couch cushion, you were texting Theo. Because, well. . . fuck Jake. Suddenly, you were very curious to see how Jake might react to having him around all night.

Theo took almost no time to respond. 

Theo, 6:23 p.m.: Sure thing! I’ll be there :) Thanks for thinking of me, beautiful!

The term of endearment made your heart leap in your chest, your cheeks blushing as a little grin fit to your lips. Beautiful. Every girl liked being called beautiful by a cute guy. You might as well fucking enjoy it. He was coming for you tonight. Only you. No one else. 

He only wanted you. You were special to Theo. Jake couldn’t say that. There was at least one woman more important than you and he made that clear by continuing to be with her. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you were relieved for it. . .

In your heart, you knew that your graveyard of a past was not something he was responsible for. He didn’t need to be the one picking up the pieces. You’d rather him be with a woman who brought him nothing but joy. You brought doom and destruction. Right? You always had.

You were momentarily distracted as you watched Sam uselessly trying to put his hair in a high bun. Danny was rolling his eyes and soon coming to his rescue. He really was such a good friend. Everyone needed a Daniel Wagner in their life.

Then, as you were texting Theo back with a slightly flirty text, you wondered what the night might entail for you. Playing this damn game was ridiculous and petty, but you had a point to prove. To Jake and to yourself. You didn’t need him. 

Who knew if he cared to realize it. . . But you did. In all reality, you knew Jake really didn’t even care that much. It was more about the baby than you anyway, you were sure of it. So, you contemplated. 

Should you take it a step further? Force yourself out of Jake Mode? You hadn’t been with anyone else for a long-ass time. . . It could be really good for you. Even if it felt a little strange doing that with someone else while Jake’s baby moved around (apparently quite a bit) inside your belly. You couldn’t feel her yet, but Dr. Rose had assured you that it would be coming sooner than later. 

What would it be like when you could feel her? Would that make sex with someone else even more awkward? 

You rolled your eyes at that thought. Duh. It would be like your baby giving you a piece of her mind for giving anyone but her Daddy attention. Well, too bad her Daddy wanted to give someone else attention. And too bad you were too fucked up to give yourself to her Daddy. 

Damn, even though you’d just been pissed at Jake, referring to him as Daddy in your head was doing something to you. Something Jake couldn’t be the one to help you with. Because you were done with the foolish moments.

You knew you’d end up needing help alleviating some of that pent up tension. All of the. . . moments with Jake recently weren’t doing your over-excited sex drive and hormones any good. You were on the verge of going absolutely ballistic if you didn’t do something to ease the pent up energy.

And you were not about to give Jake the idea that he would be the one to help (as much as you wanted it). Not anymore would you give that idea to him. Not when he was so quick to turn you on and just as soon turn his back. 

Fuck that.

-🌼🌼🌼- 

“I call the hard liquor!” Sam excitedly declared as he started fast walking towards the kitchen. 

“Dear God,” Josh grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer. “Please, God no.”

“Um, absolutely not,” Danny replied, already following closely behind. 

Theo quickly got up to follow the other two, acting like he was somehow part of the inside joke. It was awkward to watch, but you were glad he was up and away from you for a little bit. His arm had been around you all night and it had been suffocating the air around you. Claustrophobia was definitely real. After a few seconds of feeling the relief, it dawned on you what Sammy had said. Liquor. You Laugh, You Drink. This was a drinking game. Duh.

“Fuuuck,” you groaned. For some reason, you’d totally forgotten about the whole drinking part of the game. Even though it was literally part of the title, you’d just skimmed over it. Pregnancy brain.

“What, love?” Josh inquired, brows knit in concern. “You okay?”

“Yes,” you drew out the word with a sad smile and a shake of your head. “I just remembered it’s a drinking game.”

“Oh no,” Maya chimed in, her naturally whiny voice getting right under your skin. It was obvious she was trying too hard to act like she cared.

She sounds like a goddamn Kardashian, you thought with an internal roll of your eyes. 

“Oh, y/n. Fuck. Do we need to find a different game?” Josh wondered aloud, doe-eyed and totally willing to uproot the one game Sam wanted to play. It was Sam’s night and you weren’t about to rain on his already-depressing parade. “We can total–.”

“No, Joshy,” you swatted the idea away with a wave of your hand. And with a hand to your belly, you leaned back, a wider grin gracing your lips. “I’ll just sit here and watch. It’ll be just as fun.”

“No it won’t,” Josh argued, shaking his head. “I want you to participate. Let me think. . .,” He sat there for a second, on the ground, legs crossed in front of him. He had his thinking face on as he tapped a finger to his chin. His eyes lit up after a few seconds, apparently coming up with something. “How about none of us drink and we just get out if we laugh?”

“The drinking adds to the hilarity of the game,” you replied. “Seriously, Josh. It’s o–.”

“How about. . .,” Jake suddenly chimed in to your left, having taken up the arm chair with Maya. Your skin heated at hearing his voice. You hadn’t looked his way since he’d come to sit in the living room an hour or so ago.

You’d been rude enough to not even say thank you for the delicious pizza you’d all devoured. Or the unbelievable brownies that he’d ended up baking for you, swirling caramel in with them and everything. He’d done more than he had to, but you didn’t want to think about it. But, you decided to finally show him a little respect by turning your head in the direction of his voice. 

“How about I don’t drink either and you and I can just play the game by getting out if we laugh,” he paused, probably assuming you’d turn all the way to look at him better in response. You didn’t. “Um. . . Everyone else can drink. It’ll still be funny that way and we don’t have to break Sammy’s heart by taking away the drinking.”

Why was he being so sweet? You hated how kind he could be. It did your heart very little good.

“Jake, no. Don’t do that. I’ll be–,” you began, finally letting your eyes flit over to him. But, he wasn’t looking at you. No, he was watching Josh who’d started clapping. 

Apparently Josh liked the idea. “Great thinking, Jacob!” Josh applauded him from his spot on the floor, across from the three of you. The curly headed twin languidly rose from his spot next to the record player, brushing his khaki pants before pointing towards the kitchen. “If that’s all settled, I’m going to grab a White Claw and assist Daniel in herding Sam back in here.”

Without any time to protest and Josh already on his way to the kitchen, you were out-voted. No drinking for you or Jake, apparently. 

“Well. . .,” Maya dragged in her valley-girl twang, placing a hand on Jake’s arm that you immediately turned your head at seeing. “I won’t drink if you don’t, babe.” 

Your stomach lurched at her acting like she could save the day by not making Jake do something alone with the pregnant lady.

“No. . . it’s okay,” Jake said in return, trying to use a honeyed little voice to reassure her. 

You could’ve puked on the spot. 

“I don’t want you to feel alone, though,” the gorgeous dark-haired woman offered. You were glad you’d been avoiding looking at them all night. You’d watched her walk in and claim the chair. Your chair. Aaand that had been enough. You hated watching her and Jake and it was honestly aggravating how perfect she was in her statuesque beauty. 

“I won’t be,” he reminded her in the same sugary tone. “Y/n isn’t drinking either.”

There was a pause where it seemed like Maya was weighing whether or not that was a valid response. You decided it didn’t even fucking matter to you what she thought. And at T he perfect time, you heard Stevie approach your legs with a meow.  So, you took advantage of her seeking you out and lifted her to sit in your lap. Of course, the cat relaxed easily against your crossed legs (because, thankfully, you could still do that – well, barely). 

But when you heard a hushed voice coming from Maya and Jake’s direction, you obviously had to peek over. Were they whispering about you? 

When you looked their way, you realized it was only Maya doing the whispering. Jake sat there, leaned forward towards you, on the ottoman. His hands, clasped and elbows sitting on his thighs. His eyes were cast down as she said whatever she was saying in his ear, his brows scrunched as if thinking critically over what she was saying.

You squinted at her with her mouth so close to his ear, her hair draped over her shoulder, body turned almost entirely towards him as she edged closer to him from her spot in the armchair. You could see her incredible cleavage from this vantage point. God. As you further observed, you noticed her hand was up to cover her mouth, too. Little fucking secret keeper. This was your fucking apartment – if the bitch had something to say, she needed to say it out loud. 

So, with a clenched jaw and slanted eyes, you addressed it. “You know, May–.”

“It’s fine, babe,” Jake spit out before you could say anything, his eyes flicking over to yours as if to say ‘It’s not worth it.’ “I don’t care that much. You have fun. I promise I’ll still have fun, too. Have you met my brothers? They don’t need alcohol to act like idiots. Y/n and I will get to stay in longer anyway. . . No one will even notice if we laugh,” he tried to joke.

Maya’s eyes were downcast as she rubbed Jake’s arm, squeezing his bicep. You watched her finally come over to him and drape herself over his lap, slowly going to get up for alcohol. One ass cheek sat on the ottoman next to him, and the other practically on top of his lap as she went to get up. But, before she could, you watched in horror as she rubbed salt in the wound. She cupped both hands around his cheeks and brought him over to her. And, sitting there, still petting Stevie, you got to gloomily witness Maya wrapping her lips around his. It was in the most sultry manner (or was that just her?) – laying her claim on the man whose child you held inside of you. 

Being the person on the opposite side of this made you want to fucking puke. His eyes, closing in appreciation of the kiss was icing on the damn cake. And the way his line of sight found you mid-kiss and clung to you until the end of the mini makeout . . . That was hell. The deepest, most fiery crevice of hell.

But, you didn’t fail to notice. . . he hadn’t put his hands on her during whatever that had been.

And he went to look at his phone as she left, settling back in the arm chair. He hadn’t even cared to watch her curvaceous body leave the room.

Strange.

-🌼🌼🌼- 

The giggle that erupted from Josh as he drew his card was so loud, you were certain the neighbors could hear as it echoed. He’d knocked out more than a couple of White Claws — and drank them much faster than he should have. He shook his head, full head of curls bouncing around. His hand cupped his mouth to muffle yet another boisterous laugh as he read again to himself.

“Elmo can’t believe this!” He exclaimed, chuckling afterwards as the rest of you shared tiny grins and wide eyes. Was he imitating a Sesame Street character?

And, when he started singing Elmo’s World, your theory was confirmed. You had to admit it was. . . alarming how perfectly he mimicked the red, furry character. Almost as if the puppet lived inside of him.

The theme song clashed horribly with the Earth, Wind, and Fire record Josh had chosen. You squinted at your curly haired friend, cringing just a bit at whatever he was doing. But with another impossibly high note of the song, the room broke out in snorts and snickers. All of you, trying to hide your laughter. Your cringing loosened with your body at the funniness of Josh’s theatrics.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sam snarked, confused and clearly lacking any patience with his brother's antics. 

The rest of you were caught in a fit of giggles as Josh continued to say things as Elmo, in third person and everything. Though you were also confused as hell, you were equally impressed by his spot-on impersonation. The youngest brother leaned forward to try to nab the card from Josh, but Josh hastily brought his hand back to himself.

“My card, Sam!” Josh shouted, slapping his younger brother's hand away, still wheezy laughing. Then, he shook his head, pretending to dust off the front of the card. “What an imbecile,” he mumbled, a bit more serious to imply his annoyance with Sam.

The roll of Sam’s eyes was the most dramatic display of exasperation you’d ever seen from him, and that was certainly saying something. You tried so hard to hold back your laughter, fearful that any more pressure on your tummy would cause you to pee right on the spot. (Thanks, pregnancy.) 

“Then shut the hell up and read it,” Sam spat, impatiently waiting to move along with the game.  

“Okay, okay,” Josh started, holding his card in front of his face, pretending to adjust the invisible monocle that was (not) sitting over his left eye for an added dramatic effect. “You’re a tickle me Elmo,” he cleared his throat, attempting to hold whatever his persona was, but cracking yet another laugh after he read the words aloud. “. . . And you insist that the target tickle you, and if they do, get furious at them.” 

The room resounded with a collective “Oh!” once you all discovered the true reasoning behind his little (and terrifyingly accurate) impression. 

He held the card down just enough that his eyes peeked over the cardstock, his right eyebrow cocked as his eyes flitted around the room. “Who shall be my playmate?” He joked as he placed his hand on the bottle, spinning it with a graceful tap, just enough to land on the person sitting right beside him: Samuel.

“That’s not fair!” Sam protested, still drunk, but thankfully having been cut off from the hard stuff as soon as he’d tried to claim it at the beginning of the game. “You didn’t spin hard enough, Joshua! Not a fair spin. Do it again.”

“The bottle chooses who it chooses, brother,” Jake called from his spot, where you refused to look. 

You just settled back into Theo’s arm that was slung across the back of the couch, trying your best to be comfortable. Fake it till you make it. And when Sam straight up pouted for thirty seconds straight, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

“Samuel Francis,” you said his name flatly. “Just play the goddamn card with Josh. Jesus. There is definitely worse. You’re just lucky he’s not–.”

“Naming every part of my body while touching it,” Sam interrupted, locking eyes with you as he raised a brow. A mischievous grin rising under his mustache.

And as your mind rushed with the memory, you couldn’t stop your eyes from flicking to Josh’s. Of course, he was already looking at you. He knew now was not the time. You knew he knew, no matter how much he’d had to drink. And from your peripheral, you saw Danny looking at you as well. And when you looked over towards him, he was giving you a look that said ‘don’t listen to him’, which you waved off with a swat of your hand in the air and a shaky smile. 

Don’t think about it, y/n, your inner voice counseled you. Sam’s just drunk and doesn’t hold enough stock in what he’s saying for you to take it personally. Just ignore him.

“Sam.” You heard Jake sternly say his name, close to you from where he sat snugly in the armchair to your left. The seriousness in his tone made you freeze.

And this time when he spoke, you let yourself look at him. Instantly, you regretted it, seeing his arm around Maya’s shoulders. Her face, pink from how much she’d had to drink. Bitch liked to fucking laugh, apparently. 

But you just focused on how his eyes found yours for a solid ten seconds, full of fire and a sort of protection. Your heart leapt in your chest at the same time he trained his eyes, once again, on Sam. “Fuck right off and go tickle Josh,” he grit at his younger brother, eyebrows set in a straight line. “Suck it the hell up.”

-🌼🌼🌼- 

The night continued on after Sam tickled Josh’s (very creepy) version of Elmo.

After that one, you got to witness a few more hilarious rounds. You’d belly laughed at Sam imitating a bird and pecking endlessly at Josh with his nose. The way your sides hurt when Danny got to be Nicholas Cage while searching for the Declaration of Independence (Jake had been the Declaration of Independence) was incomparable. And you tried hard to not cringe when Theo had been Mickey Mouse going through withdrawals and looking for drugs that his target had (that lucky target had been Sam, once again).

Thankfully, you’d had to pee at the perfect time and got to skip your turn. But when you came back, it was Jake’s turn. It seemed as though they’d waited on you. He had just picked his card as you worked to make yourself comfortable on the couch. As comfortable as you could be, at least. It took you a moment to find the right spot, sighing with relief as you finally settled. Theo, of course, didn’t offer any help. He was oblivious to your pain, ignoring it altogether as he sat on the cushion next to you, still all giggly over his (terrible) impression of Mickey Mouse. 

But, Jake noticed your discomfort. You knew he did, you could feel him watching you. And it was confirmed for you when he spoke up, asking if you were okay.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said to him with a shake of your head, glancing in his direction, avoiding looking at him for too long. You knew it would hurt if you offered more than that, with the way Maya had herself wrapped around him. “Just a little hard to get comfy these days.” 

Except, when you’d heard the soft timbre in his voice as he’d moved to lean forward, over the chair’s arm to quietly check on you. . . you were, in fact, not fine. Hearing his concern for you had made it as though there were no Theo or Maya or anyone in the room. For a moment, at least.

When you broke your own little rule and looked over again, you watched as he untangled himself from Maya. And within a moment, he was situating to face you and the rest of the room on the chair’s ottoman. 

He read the card to himself, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he giggled under his breath. His beautiful teeth, on full display in a wide smile. Then, his face was suddenly serious. He was putting on a persona. You looked at him with wide eyes and a smirk, waiting for whatever this was. One of his eyebrows raised as he flourished a gesture with one hand.

“Oh, fuck no,” Josh groaned from his spot across the room. “Not the Johnny Depp. Please.”

“You’re a pirate, and your map shows where the buried treasure is,” he read aloud, using his best Jack Sparrow accent, flailing his arm and slurring together his words as though he had just downed the last sip of rum. “The bloody problem is. . . it’s in your Target’s. . .,” he paused, presumably for some sort of dramatic effect. His brow, raised, hand out in the air with a wave.

For some reason, you felt nervous. You knew, more than likely, that you two wouldn’t be partners again. Just because it was the same game as all those months ago, didn’t mean it was going to play out the same. But. . . you just had this feeling that something was about to happen. 

With a huff, you readjusted once again as your baby leaned in a way that had your back suddenly killing you. You focused on her and worked to prepare yourself for whatever this card said. (But, as you were about to discover, there was no preparing for this one.)

“There is no way the card said ‘bloody problem’,” Daniel jested with a laugh as your heart skipped a beat in odd anticipation.

“A Jake treat, as one might say,” Josh added, your pulse quickening at all of the possibilities. “The one not being me.”

You just let your eyes roll, playing off your anxiety. You repositioned your body once more. You were feeling very overheated all of a sudden, sweat accumulating in your armpits. And the most recent change in position had already begun to cause aches and pains (thank you, squirmy baby girl). 

“The treasure is in. . .,” he said again, a bit firmer for emphasis and with a glare towards the two mocking brothers. (The glare wasn’t any good for your comfortability, by the way. The irritation painted on his handsome face made your skin heat even further.) “Your target’s. . . . pants,” he finished. The room shot off in laughter, while you nervously scratched at your scalp. You were silently panicking inside your mind.

Fuck. 

He held the card between his middle and index fingers, then flicked it across the room before reaching his hand to the bottle. (Why was that so fucking sexy?) You clenched your fists, your jaw, everything as the bottle was spinning, slowly contemplating the fate of the soul it would choose as Jake’s victim. 

Please no. Please no, you thought, looking away from its slowing spin. The idea that not watching it would somehow deter it from landing on you, asinine. (As if it fucking worked that way.)

But, when you heard the glass slide to a stop, and heard the collective gasp from everyone in the room, you fucking knew.

When you turned back to the bottle, in all of its glory, you found it pointing right at you.

It could’ve landed on anyone else. Literally anyone, but it chose you. Wonderful. 

“Looks like you’re up!” Sam teased, thankfully breaking the tension in the room, the gasps turning into little laughs from the others. 

But there was no laughing for you. . . . not for Jake, either. You both sat still as statues, you watched him contemplate the card as his fingers messed with the hair at the back of his head. Then, they switched to flicking at his nose, and after that, smoothing out an eyebrow. 

He seemed just as nervous as you were at what this card implied. When his eyes caught yours, you felt them silently asking you if you were okay with this, as though he could sense the same nerves that brewed inside of him, brewing inside of you, too. 

Part of you wanted to break the rules, make him spin the bottle again to land on someone else. But when you glanced over to the dark haired beauty sitting next to him, you felt a red hot anger take hold. Your body felt heavy with it as she leaned up to read the card over his shoulder, her chin perched there, holding his thigh tight in her grip, from behind him. And, well, you decided to hell with it. 

“Take it away, Captain,” you responded with a courageous sense of finality (albeit a little nervously). You let your eyes float from her to him and his waiting eyes.

A shiver ran down your spine when his eyes darkened at once, just enough for you to notice. You’d seen him just like this so many times before – confident and spurred on by you. He slowly stood up, hands pushing on his thighs and smoothing down them as he cocked his chin at you. And then, he was sauntering toward you with his Jake walk that, if you were standing, would’ve surely made your knees buckle. 

Thankfully, he threw his little Jack Sparrow impression in there as he came closer and that alleviated some of your stress. For the time being.

“Permission to seek the treasures hidden in yonder trove?” He requested in the same drunken pirate voice, standing before you as you were still seated on the couch. You cracked a smile at him, finding him very funny and even more endearing. He was truly the most endearing person you’d ever met.

Then, as if he were Captain Jack himself, he held out a hand, his body wobbly and perfectly imitating the beloved character. (Oh also – this character was, unashamedly, turning you the fuck on. Or was it just Jake?)

“Permission to seek a kiss on the hand of a fair maiden, m’lady?” He slurred, eyebrow popping up, lips in a loose grin to resemble the charismatic pirate he often chose to imitate. 

You placed your hand in his, used it as leverage to begin to stand. However, before you could scoot your ass completely off the couch, he was motioning for you to stay sitting with a shake of his head. 

“You’re comfortable,” he quickly noted seriously as Jake, not as Captain Jack. He dropped your hand to point a finger down towards you and the couch. “Stay there and I’ll come to you.”

Not needing to be told twice and knees slightly shaky at the command, you looked down at your lap and decided to sit there and wait for what he had in mind. But, as you readjusted just a little, bringing your ass closer to the edge of the couch to better his. . . access to you, you heard him speak up.

“Y/n. Don’t move.”

“I’m not, Jacob,” you argued back, looking up at him. “Just getting situated.”

He huffed, his jaw tightening. You looked back down at your lap, trying to not focus on the sudden, uncomfortable quietness of the room. All night, there had been noise from his brothers, but at this moment? There was not a fucking peep. You fanned your hands out on your thighs several times, flexing your fingers against the soft skin there.

And, after a breath, he was slowly lowering himself to your level. You tried not to watch, focusing instead on your black fingernail polish. But, after a cough from Josh’s side of the room and the smell of Jake’s cologne truly encompassing you, you felt his breath fan across your forehead.

Apprehensively, you peered up to look ahead. And when you did, you were looking right into his amber-brown eyes. Your breath caught in your throat at his closeness. . . and at the fact that you were being observed by a room full of people – including your date and his very serious girlfriend. 

You prayed to whoever was listening that he wouldn’t make you become some animalistic version of yourself. Prayed to control yourself and that he would have enough sense to control himself. He wouldn’t truly risk what he had with Maya for a silly little game and his oversensitivity for your pregnancy, would he? 

Logically, you knew it would be best to just stand up and feign sleepiness to avoid whatever this could turn into. But, realistically, you knew that would make things even more awkward and might even hurt his feelings. . . Although, you doubted that possibility as much. He wouldn’t be that seriously hurt, would he? With the way he’d switched his emotions on and off with you? 

You just stayed put – didn’t want to make anything seem too obviously weird. This was a game. 

But then — he was leaning in. 

Leaning in so surely and steadily that you feared what he was about to do. When all he did was push your hair behind your ear and put his lips close to your ear, you should’ve breathed a sigh of relief, but you couldn’t. Because you felt the eyes of everyone else as he did this. You also felt every breath from his mouth against the shell of your ear. It was making you feel light as air and heavy as a brick house all at once. 

“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” He mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear, the words feeling dark against your neck. 

And when he pulled back, he was winking at you as if you were the only two in the room. Yet again, paying no mind to his girlfriend who was only feet away. He definitely wasn’t considering your guest who was even closer. Goddammit, Jacob. 

“Be careful,” you mouthed, your eyes which held his, leaving no room for disagreement. 

All he did was smirk in response, pulling himself back just enough that he could sit on his knees before you. And before you knew it, his palms were flush against your thighs. Simultaneously, he was gripping the smooth skin and caressing it, working his way upwards until he met the crease between your thigh and hip on both legs.

And — his hands were under your shorts. Under your motherfucking shorts in front of Maya, God, and everybody. The way the pads of his calloused thumbs traced the gentle crease there set your skin on fire. You knew you were blushing – felt it from your face all the way down to your chest. Without any control over yourself, you aided in his journey, spreading your legs apart for him. 

At that, you heard his breath hitch and you glanced up at him, catching his dark irises in a steely stare of your own. His eyes were blazing with the intensity of the moment – he looked like a man starved. Your heart was hammering in your chest. You were just waiting for your fucking monitor to alert you of a spike in your heart rate. To break this up. But, from what you could hear, it hadn’t made a single beep. Shocking.

The way his thumbs continued to apply pressure to the semi-secret place between your hip and thigh made your head spin and your panties wet. You tilted your head to the side slightly, felt your core flexing around nothing, throbbing for him and his touch. You breathily sighed through your parted lips as the pads of his thumbs edged closer and closer to your center. 

At their own will, your hips lifted off the couch, your body, not allowing you any grace, and begging for his touch. His thumbs hesitantly grazed the seam of your underwear, the only thing preventing his fingers from going where you desired them most. 

Another cough from Josh’s side of the room. 

Fuck it all. Not here. Not here. Not here. 

Why had no one laughed? To stop this? Whatever. You’d do the best you could to get both of you in the right state of mind. Didn’t know how well it would work with your brain all fuzzy, but you’d try.

“Jake,” you began, his name coming out as a moan more than the authoritative tone you intended. So, you tried again. “Jake.”

Suddenly, he was frozen, his hands halting their movements as you caught one another’s eyes. You stared him down until he understood – you had to stop. Like. . . What the actual fuck? What was the point in stopping the kitchen escapade earlier if you were just going to do it, on purpose, in front of everyone?! Thankfully (or not-so), after a few seconds, he removed his hands as if he’d been burnt. Where was Josh’s saving laughter?! God.

Before you could grieve the loss of his touch too heavily, his fingers were back on your legs. So he wasn’t going to completely stop. He did have a task. And you knew damn good and well he intended to finish it with the way he’d been attracted to your body as of late. He began by gripping the middles of your thighs, coming towards you to whisper in your ear yet again. 

“They’re all drunk anyway,” he reassured so very quietly, his words fanning over your ear, hair still tucked behind your ear from before.

Then the calloused tips of his fingers began their venture back up towards the treasure trove. Your shorts. He still had a damn treasure to find. In your pants. 

This time, he began by grazing the waistband of your shorts, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and index for a moment. You gasped when they made unexpected, gentle contact with the skin of your round, pudgy lower tummy.  Your eyes flew to his, which were watching your face carefully.

He chuckled breathlessly at your response, his eyes not quite as dark. They were wide and genuine as he lopsidedly grinned at you, lips once more at your ear for a brief moment. “I love this belly – love our baby who’s moving inside.”

The tears that sprang to your eyes were inevitable at the talk of your tummy and his baby. One little tear dared to fall, and you reached one finger up quickly to catch it, so as not to make this any more than it needed to be. Tears would indicate you were feeling more than a game called for. To balance yourself, you quickly placed the hand behind you to brace against the couch once more. 

Then, his nimble fingers were traveling lower. Your legs were still spread wide enough for him to have proper access. You couldn’t utter a word when his thumb purposefully brushed your lower tummy once more, the other four digits of both hands creeping just the slightest bit into the waistband of your shorts at your hips. You looked down, then up to him — catching his eyes still meeting yours. The proximity was close, close enough that you could’ve kissed him easily without needing to lean down more than an inch. 

It was at that moment you felt the air leave the room. When his fingers crept low enough that you felt them graze your bare hips and ass, grabbing at the skin there the best he could. He was underneath your damn underwear. He wasn’t fucking playing around with this treasure. His thumbs stayed near the front of your shorts, the best they could with your little belly in the way.

You wanted so badly to forget this fucking game and lead him somewhere more private, away from peering eyes. His face was suddenly coming towards you again, lips brushing your ear. “Miss your body so much, baby.”

Your lids lowered at those words, a huff brushing past your lips. Every single word resonated. You missed him. Your body needed him.

It also came to your realization that he hadn’t used the piratical voice once since getting on his knees. Every time he’d whispered in your ear, it had been simply Jake. It wasn’t about the game any longer. Hadn’t been this whole time, you’d bet. His lips stayed against your ear as his fingers continued to massage the flesh at your hips and the crest of your ass, shaky breaths exhaling against you as you kept your breathing in time with his. 

And it was almost as if he’d forgotten about the game altogether when he slipped his thumbs much lower to match the other fingers’ placement. The pads of his thumbs now resting against your underwear. He wasn’t going to go underneath where you wanted him underneath most, apparently. Fucking tease.

Though, he didn’t let the underwear stop the gentle movements of his thumbs. His thumbs were playing dangerously close to the spot he’d been nestled so many times before. You gasped, the sound turning into a tiny moan as he began tapping his thumbs just the slightest bit at your clit over your thong. Your breath caught in your tightening throat, and when he looked up at you, full smirk and a glimmer about his eyes, your body started to tremble, every inch of you heating in a very familiar way. 

Was it beginning to go too far? Absolutely. But if you were truthful about it, you just didn’t care. Not anymore. The room had gone silent moments ago – you knew everyone was watching, and you hoped to fuck that Maya was watching. But you also knew how wrong that was. How wrong it was that you didn’t care the way you should’ve, how wrong it was that this was happening in the first place. 

He placed his mouth on your ear once more, a groan escaping him at the same time you felt your sensitive nub pulsate against his finger. “X marks the spot?” He heatedly spoke against your ear, in a whisper that only you could hear as his thumb pressed just so. So close.

The sigh you pushed past your lips with the crinkle of your brow made you believe a certain something was very near, your core grasping at nothing as your clit hardened familiarly. 

Just then, Josh made an obnoxiously loud and unnatural display of clearing his throat. It was quickly followed by an overly boisterous cackle – an obvious attempt at putting an end to this.  

Your body jolted, but you couldn’t move as your breath came out in short puffs. Jake hadn’t moved an inch, steady, mouth still at your ear. You were so close. So fucking close. The slightest bit of release trickled into your panties, but not enough. Not what you needed. Not the precipice you longed for. Only a teasing little gesture from his knowing fingers to your wanting body. 

Jake’s eyes found yours one more time, begging you to feel what he was feeling. His irises were nearly covered by his pupils, so dark. Only seconds before both of you jumped at the next interruption.

“O-KAY, I’d say you found it, Jacob!” Josh blurted. At this, you forced yourself back to reality. You shook your head inexplicably at the same time that Jake removed his hands, placing them instead on his thighs where he was still kneeling in front of you. 

The loss of his touch reminded you where the fuck you were. The nasty slap of reality – the reality of the game. And worse. . . the mocking reality that Jake was not yours. Lest your round never stop.

“NEXT?” Josh shouted once more, and just as swiftly, Jake was shooting up from his spot, also having been yanked back to the real world. 

Jake shuffled away from you and didn’t dare go anywhere near Maya before he was jetting off to the bathroom. He’d been basically a blur before all of your eyes, barely giving a second thought to it all.

When Josh got up to (awkwardly) pass the deck to Maya for her turn (the last one to go), you kept your eyes trained on Josh (who hadn’t looked at you yet). You were not going to look at Maya. You hated how you felt just as guilty as you did deserving. But the guilt was definitely crawling up your spine. He’d just had his hands down your pants with his girlfriend sitting right there. Who wouldn’t feel bad?

Looking over with worried eyes to the room’s other guests, you saw Danny and Sam simply looking at you with their mouths hung wide open in shock or amazement or both? Fuck. You must’ve given a damn show. Their eyes cleared slightly when you looked at them and their gaping mouths turned into uncomfortable laughs as they looked at each other with a little giggle and raised brows.

Before you could look to see Josh’s expression, you heard Theo clear his throat beside you. And, you suddenly remembered just how close he’d been to witness all of. . . that. And you felt more than a little rude for doing that in front of him when you’d invited him over tonight. Even if you hadn’t wanted to, you still had. You’d extended an invitation he’d been very excited about. Then, right beside Theo, you’d let another man work your body like his goddamned guitar.

Ashamed as you were, you still worked up the courage to scoot back and next to him once again. He was sitting stock still, hands clasped tightly in his lap as he stared down at them. His foot, tapping uncontrollably. You observed him for a minute, contemplating what to say (Maya, still not saying what card she’d drawn – probably waiting for Jake). Ultimately, you went with a basic apology – didn’t know what else to freaking say or do. 

“Theo,” you spoke quietly to him, placing an uneasy hand on his thigh. He flinched under your touch, but didn’t move. You stared at his profile, willing your voice to express genuinely. “I’m sorry you had to– I’m sorry that–the card. . .,” you trailed off, suddenly blanking on something to say. Fuck. 

Because, honestly, it really had been the game. Yeah, you’d both taken it too far. But it was a game, ultimately. And did Theo deserve an apology for that? Were you so much of a bitch that you were beginning to question if he deserved one? Damn. How did you say sorry for someone else’s actions and the card he’d pulled, not of his own choosing? To someone who wasn’t your boyfriend?

The actions were his choosing, an annoying voice lulled in the back of your mind. But you were the one who readily responded and fucking moaned. 

“I’m just– sorry, I guess,” you ended up saying, hand still sitting atop his thigh. Sorry you guess?! When had you become such a bitch? “Seriously,” you tried to add. “I’m sorry that the card was what it was.”

And, it worked. Because his eyes immediately found yours after the words. And, although he still looked like he’d been stung, his lips curved into a smile. 

“The card wasn’t your fault,” he said semi-easily, using a hand to brush it off. Though, he was still fidgety, moving to hold your hand in his clammy one. As much as you didn’t want to hold his hand at the moment, you let it happen. Figured it was the least you could do. Fake it till you make it. “It was just. . . a lot to see. But, things happen. It’s just a game,” he said, more to himself than to you, nodding his head in reassurance.

You did the same, a tiny smile perking your lips. He could be pretty sweet when he felt like it. You were grateful for how he was responding to it all. It helped your shoulders to release the tiniest bit of tension. . . because there was still someone in the room who’d been too quiet since the. . . occurrence. There would be no surprise if she was pissed at you (granted, she should’ve been angrier at Jake, but that wasn’t how brains worked – it was always the other person who took the heat). So, when you finally got the gall to look over, you found her staring straight ahead. Her legs, easily crossed due to no pregnant belly and arms also crossed. Her new card was sitting in front of her, face down, waiting to be read. 

She was nowhere near ready to play it, though. Not with how her freshly manicured fingers harshly lilted against her arm and how her tongue worked side to side angrily in her mouth, bouncing from one tense cheek to the other. Her perfectly full lips, pursed and freshly chapstick-ed. 

And Jake was still not out of the bathroom yet. 

Going in completely blind at what you should say, you just started speaking. Hoped something good would come out. “Um,” you began, turning the slightest bit to face her. You tucked one foot under your thigh, trying to find a good position to be comfortable and confident. She still wasn’t looking at you as you continued. “I’m– I don’t know what that looked like, but–.”

“It looked like I was about to witness that baby being made for the second time over,” she bit out, her lips still pursed tightly and her fingers squeezing tight on her biceps. Still wasn’t looking at you. 

Your teeth ground together at the way she’d referenced your baby. ‘That baby?’ The tone she’d used when she’d spoken of the tiny girl you held safely inside of you every damn day. . . Uh-uh. You were not the one. 

But, you tried, once more, to be kind. For Jake. “It wasn’t anything. Jake and I–.”

“Were ‘just friends’ who got ‘fucked up one night and had sex that resulted in a baby’?” She scoffed, flipping her hair to the side, arms crossing once more after her air quotes. She turned in her spot to look at you. 

Her eyes were fiery, but you’d beg to differ that yours carried even hotter flames. Fuck this bitch.

“Wait– Jake– Is he–?” Theo tried to question, but Maya cut him off.

Thank God, honestly. You didn’t want to explain all of it to him right now.

Maya’s eyes scrutinized you – in your home. “Yeah. . . y/n. Don’t try,” she sighed, annoyed with you. Her nose flared as her lips, fuller due to (presumably) incredible injections, puckered. “Jake already fed me that shit. But what I saw tonight? I’m taking that ‘just friends’ line as utter bullshit.”

Well. What in the hell could you say that would even remotely get her off your damn case? The entire room was dead silent. The complete silence was how you knew Jake was done in the bathroom – you’d heard him washing his hands and you heard the exact moment he walked back into the room. You could literally hear his feet padding back into the living room. It was that quiet. 

You watched him, his view downcast as he ran a hand through his hair. He flicked at his nose, smoothed his brow. And in the same few seconds, he was once again nudging his nose before quickly wiping at his left eye. He was jittery. Nervous. Upset. And he wasn’t looking anywhere near you. It made your heart break and your eyes water.

“Maya, babe. I don’t know what the fuck just happened,” he began to say, finally looking at her. He went to sit back down on the ottoman, facing her. “I don’t want you to think—.”

You decided to drive the point home yourself. “It was nothing, Maya. Jake and I. . . we were nothing,” you broke in, thankfully gaining her eyes once more. As you looked directly into her eyes, you did your damned best to not look at Jake. Didn’t know how you’d do with looking at him at the present moment.

You wanted to say your piece—have the upper hand. Before he could say anything even the slightest bit hurtful. Your heart was getting pulled side to side. It didn’t matter at this point how true what you were going to say was. 

Someone just needed to diffuse the fucking tension before it tore the entire room in half. Also, you had to fucking pee again. And you weren’t about to not have the last word. Fuck Maya. Truly. Fuck her. But you were still determined to say one more thing. For Jake — to save what he had with the stunning woman. 

You continued on, your voice surprisingly serious and indescribably stable. “It was just a stupid mistake one night that resulted in a beautiful life. Whatever the fuck just happened was for the game.” Then, you got an idea. Perfect explanation. “Jack Sparrow is a ladies man, as we all know. Jake was just playing up the part. He doesn’t actually want me like that.”

Why you cared so much to save a relationship that made you want to simultaneously punch a brick wall and lay in bed rotting all day. . . you didn’t know. You just knew it was for Jake. He was happy with her. He had been happy with her before he knew about the baby and you weren’t about to ruin that for him. You’d done enough damage.

Even if he was the one that had just done. . . that in front of everyone. The truth was: you couldn’t be together, but you ached for him. You wanted to be more. You just couldn’t be. He needed Maya’s stability. Not your irrationality and baggage. You were giving him a child. That was it. It had to be. 

“. . .And I don’t want him like that,” you stated plainly. Strong. “We share a baby. That’s it.”

And as the terrible words slipped past your lips, all you could think was no. That wasn’t fucking ‘it’. You wanted it all. And he seemed so oddly transfixed by you – was it just because of pregnancy? The fact that you were having his baby? Was it something else? You didn’t fucking know. Didn’t need to know. 

All you knew was that you cared for him so much that you had to make him think he’d meant nothing to you. He still needed to move on from the idea of you. Needed to stop the touches, the laying in bed together, the talk of jealousy. . . stolen moments in the car, in his bedroom, in the kitchen, and apparently now in front of people. 

A group of people that had included his girlfriend. Godammit, it needed to stop. You had to be the level head. Fucked up that the overly hormonal pregnant woman who cried at the drop of a hat had to do the hard work of denying it. . . But. . . Someone had to.

“She’s right, My,” Jake mumbled, trying to keep it private between the two of them. But, considering the dead silence, everyone else was privy to the words. And you were aware of the hardness in his tone, like he wasn’t sure he believed what he was saying. But, he was saying it. So he at least wanted to mean it. 

You looked down, not wanting anyone to see the tears brimming your eyes. Just in case one might fall, you wanted to immediately catch it. Tears wouldn’t do anything for you. They were just annoying – made you bare your emotions in a way you hated. 

“We were never anything. Still aren’t,” he let out a cough, breaking out into a ridiculous fit of them for a few seconds. It was enough to make your head raise with concern, watching him carefully as Maya patted at his back, trying to help him steady himself. You wanted so badly to help him. Why was he choking up?

“I believe you, babe,” she muttered as he gained a breath – finally. “It was just the character. I should’ve assumed. I know you better than to think you’d still be hung up on all of it.”

“There’s nothing to be hung up on,” he let out, coughing one last time, covering his mouth with a fist. And it was then, as he raised his head, you realized the coughing had perhaps been a cover. You’d bet money on it. His eyes were threatening to spill tears, too. They were already red-rimmed. You hadn’t even noticed. . . had he been crying in the bathroom? Over her? Over you? Both? The baby? Dammit, Jake. “Y/n and I aren’t a thing. Never have been, never will be.”

Fuck. It was a damned stab to the heart. Your skin fucking crawled at the words, throat tightening. You had to leave the room as soon as possible before you revealed your own level of emotion to everyone, just as Jake’s eyes revealed his if anyone looked close enough. Your eyes were still leaking, your fingers (surprisingly) catching every single tear that came – and there were many. But you still needed to pee and you wanted to cry where no one could see you. 

Just then, you heard Sam let out a loud honk of a laugh to your right, making your skin turn hot and you sniff the tears away the best you could to momentarily look over at him. You were grateful for the interjection as it assisted in bringing you back to the present time.

“I understand,” she laughed, playing like she hadn’t been worried for a second. So self-assured. And then, she was speaking again. To you. “Oh, and y/n.” 

Quickly, you sniffed once more and found her haughty glare. Bitch. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you only lifted your brows with a hum to show her you were listening.

“It’s really whatever. I overreacted. I need you to know. . .I know it doesn’t go past the baby for him. I was just. . . in shock,” she casually responded, her voice all Valley again. As she checked her nails, you knew she was being way too nonchalant for the way her face had transformed during the game. She was covering. Faking, and acting like a cocky bitch while she did it. “It was shocking to see, that’s for sure. Considering. . .,” she trailed off, pushing jet black hair behind her ear with one hand while the other gestured to your tummy. “Sex made baby – even if it was only one night, you guys have had sex, so. . . Just made me a bit uncomfy, hun.”

Hun. Again? Fuck off, bitch. 

Jesus. You were over plastic women for the day. And this one you couldn’t get rid of like you could the nurse. The scoff and roll of your eyes had been stark and apparent. Even if you were going to carry on with the lie that you and Jake had only had sex once (laughable), you were not okay with her speaking down to you. Fuck that shit. 

Thankfully, Danny broke in, making it a conversation rather than an awkward personal confrontation in front of a group. “The game is very sexual. . . Guess I’ve never realized,” Daniel added. He was really trying to lighten the mood you were sure he felt taking over the room. . . everyone felt it. The air was so tight it could’ve been popped with a pin. “Just makes things look like they’re not,” he assured both Maya and Theo. You didn’t miss the quick look he threw your way, his kind eyes focusing on you for a breath. Danny wasn’t stupid. He understood. But he was assisting in the little white lie to help all parties involved. Took Maya’s eyes from you, you noticed as you glanced her way. 

When you looked over at Daniel again, he was cracking a smile with his last words, “Think of it this way: that could have easily been Sam doing that shit to me.” 

“I wish!” Sam drunkenly responded, laughing so hard his already-drooping body collided with Daniel’s side, making the taller one fall slightly. Both of them were woozy – Sam much more-so, but Danny wasn’t all there anymore. Danny did the best he could to sit both of them up straight with a shake of his head and his own chuckle.

“The point of the game is literally just to embarrass each other,” Josh tried. “It’s not about sex entirely.”

“Of course it is!” Sam encouraged, using his hands to billow out around him as if he were making an imaginary rainbow. “Everything is sex and we’d be idiots to think we aren’t surrounded by the concept of sex all the fucking time. I mean, pregnancy itself is a reminder that sex is more than a social constru–.”

“Just because we’re surrounded by it–because you know I believe that shit,” Josh quickly broke in, saving the room from going down that path again. Thank you, Joshy, you sent a quiet smile his way and he just winked at you as Danny had. He continued, “It doesn’t mean we need to play games intentionally putting people in these types of scenarios.”

“Especially with couples involved, guys,” Theo added. His words made you duck your head again, squeezing your eyes shut. Did he think you were already a couple? Why did that idea make you nauseous? It made you want to hide in a fucking hole. “It’s not okay to play a game that forces couples into awkward situations. We all just want to have fun. Do something we all enjoy.”

“It was Sam’s night,” you quietly spoke up from your hunched position, leaning up a little to say more. “We played it because Sam loves it.”

“Maybe next time we choose something else,” Theo said in a belittling tone, as if explaining a foreign concept to a toddler. “Think of others,” he glanced over at Sam. 

Next time? And why the fuck did he think he had the right to talk down to Sam? He barely knew him and it was public-fucking-knowledge that he was feeling down tonight. 

“Well,” Sammy started, looking over at Theo with a raised brow and a dry smirk. “What do you propose we do for the rest of the night, new guy?”

“Mm,” your date started, tapping his chin. Then, he cheesily held a finger up, getting an idea. “Maybe a movie?”

Okay. You’d officially decided this conversation could be handled without you. So, standing shakily, you had to put a hand on the arm of the couch to balance. As you were looking down, you noticed a hand reaching out to offer stability. A familiar one. One wearing a hair-tie ring on his middle finger. 

But you ignored it, instead sniffling once more and making your way to the bathroom. With a baby pressing down on your bladder, there was rarely time for more than a couple stops. And you’d waited a damn long time to get through that confrontational-discussion-thing  already. Pee was just daring to drip down your legs and you were not about to add that to the list of shit from tonight. 

Once you were there, you wasted no time shutting and locking the door and sitting on the toilet as soon as your shorts were down. Your hands floated to your tummy as you sat there contemplating it all. There was simply too much to put into words. All you knew at this moment was that the baby girl inside of you was a little piece of joy. And before she arrived, you were going to begin trying your best to focus on positives. 

So, with one more sniffle and a blow of your nose into toilet paper, you came to the conclusion that you had to try. And a tiny good start was that someone had replaced the roll of TP with a brand new one, rather than having you have to grab for one. A positive.

Though, when you went to throw away the piece of toilet paper you’d blown your nose into, you double-glanced at what you found in the trash can. The reason you’d had a new roll of toilet paper. Because, well, the extensive amount of toilet paper in the trashcan, covered in. . . release told you exactly what the fuck Jake had done in here only minutes ago. 

And that thought alone got in the way of the joy train. Had he been thinking of you when he’d–? He had to have been, right? But then he’d come out, so ready to deny anything ever being more between the two of you. 

You did it, too, y/n, a small, soft voice reminded you at the back of your mind. Maybe he was scrambling for a lie just like you were.

You just hated the lying. The games. The touching. The wanting. The needing. The crying over it all. The thoughts prompted by his used tissues had you sitting against the bathtub before going back out. Sitting against the bathtub while sniffling again, losing more tears, and blowing your nose into a tissue one more time. 

What in the fucking hell had your life become?

-🌼🌼🌼- 

You didn’t know what the fuck you were thinking when you ended up walking Theo back to your room. Truly. The whole fake it till you make it bullshit was leading you into territory you weren’t sure you liked.

The only explanation you could conjure up was that he’d had his arm around you all night, after you’d come out of the bathroom all vulnerable. And, well, you’d done your damn best to only focus on all things Theo after the mini emo-episode in the bathroom. 

You’d had to force yourself to focus on other things. And, it seemed now you were going the extra mile to force a feeling. You had to try this. Just to see if this one last resort could take your mind off of Jake. It had been a plain impulsive act to take Theo to your bedroom and try it as soon as everyone had finally dozed off. 

And, honestly, your body had still been (obviously) thrumming with adrenaline from your challenge with Jake during that blessed game. You’d had no relief with Jake (thankfully – that would have been embarrassing as fuck). It had all ended terribly. But, all night, any time you thought of Jake’s thumb tapping and circling over your clothed clit, you’d focus on the man who had his arm around you. Just tried ridiculously hard to channel every single bit of that tense energy into imagining Theo on top of you rather than Jake. 

It was hard to do, but it was healthier that way. For all parties involved, Theo was the option that made moral sense. 

Though, at this moment, with his fingers between your legs and his lips on your neck. . . you completely regretted the idea of coming to your room. You didn’t want this with Theo – especially with Jake’s baby in your belly. The thought actually made tears spring to your eyes. (Shocking, right?)

But, you were determined to keep trying to have a nice time. You were trucking on until you could at least fake an orgasm. You knew for damn sure it wasn’t going to turn into any more than this tonight, though. 

The whole thing felt like a scam to you. You felt like your body was a hollow shell around you, the only thing keeping you grounded was the baby you shared with another man. A man who was polar opposite than the one currently fingering you. Once the orgasm had been faked, you knew you’d be ready to fall asleep. You were carrying a human life, after all. And your effort to keep up an act had you fading fast anyhow. 

You also really hated the fact that you were stark naked. Theo seeing you this way didn’t get you all hot and bothered. Made you feel pretty gross, honestly. But he’d been very keen on stripping you of all your clothes as soon as your door had latched closed behind him. At the same moment, you’d still been excited – leaping towards him for an open-mouthed kiss (you’d been really desperate for this little experiment to work). 

It hadn’t taken long to figure out the biggest reason why he’d wanted your clothes off. Not with the way his hands had immediately found your engorged breasts. . . . You couldn’t blame him – the big boobs that accompanied your pregnant body were pretty easy to look at. 

He’d paused at the small heart monitor piece on your chest. But you’d just given him a shrug and said, without a shred of patience for his hesitance, “I’m tracking my heart right now. Take me or leave me.”

You didn’t care enough about him to care what he thought. And you didn’t want his hands on you if he was going to be weird about it. But, he’d just shook his head in return, not saying anything before pulling you closer. At first, Theo’s hands holding your ever-aching boobs felt okay – a little better than okay, actually. Even if they hadn’t felt like what you needed, they’d done the trick for a small while. 

But at this point? It had been a long, grueling twenty minutes of him holding them. Fondling them. Non-stop. One hand bounced back and forth between your boobs, while the other worked real hard to get you off with alternating pointer and middle fingers. Right off the bat, you’d had to stop him from playing with your nipples – it didn’t feel right at all for him to do that. But you’d let him play with the rest. 

Goodness gracious – you couldn’t help but wince with one particular twist of the football player’s meaty finger. His fingers were really thick. . . like, uncomfortably thick. They were on hands that truly belonged to a college athlete. 

Your specific preference was a guitar player’s fingers. . . . They just felt nice. There was no comparison to the way those purposeful, calloused fingers made you feel. . . they were a stark contrast to the way these sausage fingers had you clawing at your bedsheets for some sort of relief. You wanted to enjoy this. . . So badly, you wanted to enjoy this. This needed to work so it could be a distraction from your baby daddy. 

But God – the feeling of his one, too-big finger was absolutely grating. . . He kept spitting on your folds, trying to keep you wet. But everything he tried was to no avail. He hadn’t tried well at all to get your body to open up for him. So, at this point, your body continued to jostle, dry and sore, with his eager motions. He was very big and muscular, which made him handle you like a bit of a rag doll. (That had been the only hope of turning you on in all of this.) 

“Oh, yes, Theo,” you exaggeratedly sighed as he continued to pump his finger, running your hands down your cool sheets. Everyone was asleep, it didn’t matter how loud you were – and you needed to sell it.

You had to admit that at the moment, you were working on getting nominated for a damn Oscar with your sounds and facial expressions. Despite his terrible talent in bed, you were doing a really incredible job at convincing him you felt good. You even threw in a little sigh and moan every now and then. 

If you were him, you were sure you’d be convinced that you were doing a damn good job. 

“Yes,” you encouraged half-heartedly, sleepy and anxious to be done. “Just like that. Juuust like that.”

At your words of affirmation, he went a little harder. The tips of his fingers kept connecting with your cervix in a most uncomfortable way. It was making your stomach twist in pain and your eyebrows furrow with discomfort. Yeah, you were not going to fake it through that. You couldn’t.

“That-that hurts,” you mumbled, gripping his thick blonde hair. 

When you said that, he slowed to a much more acceptable pace and gave your cheek a little peck. Afterwards, going back to kissing and breathing way too hotly on your neck. Your neck that was barely sweaty, not being worked up in the slightest anymore. As he continued his little rotation of terrible patterns, you continued to hold onto his head. It added to the effect. 

You kept him close, but all you truly wanted to grab onto were long, wavy locks of chestnut brown hair. The ends of Jake’s  long hair would have surely clung to his tanned, broad shoulders – sweaty from exertion. 

Theo’s hair was still perfectly styled, his scalp not sweaty from hard work in the slightest. He wasn’t doing nearly enough – he was just pushing really hard and twisting in the wrong ways. He also kept trying to add another finger that just did not belong inside of you. It was like your body kept closing up every time he tried. 

Good looking out, body, you thought with a cringe as he tried yet again. 

“Just one finger,” you tugged on his hair. His hair, shorter than Jake’s and not quite as full as Jake’s either. 

God, why did you keep thinking of Jake?! Correct, this wasn’t enjoyable at all, but it didn’t mean you needed to be wistfully thinking of Jake at the same time. Jake and Theo were two completely separate people. Totally different in more ways than you could count. 

Their talents in bed are definitely different, your subconscious picked. We know who does a better job at this for sure.

You could have flicked the little devil in your head to the side, but the voice did have a point. What you were experiencing right now was nothing compared to the miraculous shit that had gotten you into your life-bearing predicament in the first place. That otherworldly sex was undoubtedly leaps and bounds beyond whatever Theo thought he was doing for you. 

Speaking of which, he was making his way back down your body. Now, facing your pussy. Most probably about to spit on it again. You kept a hand laced in his hair as you continued to fake breathy moans, even going so far as to groan his name. 

“You almost to the finish line?” He grunted the words from where he’d positioned himself at your raw, sahara-dry center. “Seems like you take a while to get there, babe. ‘S a lotta work for one guy. Almost done?”

‘A lotta work’? ‘Almost done’?! The ‘finish line’?!

What the fuck kind of conversation was this to be having? And why was he saying it like he was just shooting the breeze? Your legs were wide open, pussy fully exposed in front of his face. And he was complaining. Also. . . ‘babe’?! What the fuck.

This fake orgasm needed to happen soon. You were so done with whatever was happening between your legs. Without caring to respond, within seconds, you started amping it up. Your first act was grasping the sheets below your hands tighter. Your toes curled against the sheets as you brought your legs closer together. Your head, thrown back as you moaned louder than before, breathily exclaiming his name in tandem with the pace of his fingers.

You worked to clench your core around his fingers, continuing your praise of him with scattered, urgent ‘yes, yes, yeses.’ 

And, as soon as you sighed with finality and let your body relax, he removed his fingers. The minute he did that, you were ready to grab a giant t-shirt from your dresser and some underwear. You needed to go pee first. But as soon as you could, you were going to come back to bed and let sleep find you. He would just have to understand.

“I have to pee,” you said, moving as quickly as you could to the edge of the bed. 

Thankfully, the bulky man had enough sense to move out of your way, flipping onto his back on the opposite side of the bed. And, when you made it to your dresser to put clothes on, you did not like what you saw in the mirror to your dresser. Theo, with a too-proud smirk on his face as he watched you from his spot in bed. 

Ugh. No. You did not want that. You wanted Jake in that spot, like he’d been before. Jake, lying there naked under your covers – the most beautiful reflection for your mirror. Your stomach tangled at how Jake had eyefucked you that morning, as you’d attempted to put on clothes. 

You’d just found a pair of black panties, slipping them on hastily before yanking on a pair of pajama shorts that had been laying on the ground. Your hair was next, getting tied up into a quick ponytail. Then, you’d made the mistake of looking in the mirror. The bed was perfectly placed in the mirror’s path, and the sight from the bed had made your breath catch in your throat.  

Jake, in your bed, his long hair, still messy from sleep and sex. . . his deeply set, tired eyes. . . tanned skin, the perfect shade of brown after hours spent in the summer sun. The sight that had reflected back at you made your heart race. You’d caught your breath, taking in a sharp breath. One elbow, holding him up, while the other worked under the sheets. . . his eyes, lust-filled and appreciating your exposed thighs. 

Quickly, you’d abandoned your hair, deciding to not ignore the need that thrummed between your thighs, making your heart beat wildly in your chest. With him laying there looking like that, how could you refuse? His defined pecs and tight biceps had flexed with each pump of his fist. His dick, disappointingly hidden by the covers. 

In the blink of an eye, you’d been on top of him, as he’d deliciously stretched you, opening you up for him.

Fuck it all. You could’ve slapped a hand to your forehead. Your life was a damn joke. In the present time, you averted your eyes from the mirror, not wanting the image of Theo, in the same spot as Jake, in your mind. 

When you got your underwear up your legs, you decided shorts were a good idea. Didn’t want him looking at your body anymore. Then came the giant t-shirt. Hide hide hide.

You heard a groan of upset from your bed, but he was smart to not say anything. If he opened his mouth right now, you didn’t know what you would say. Because, well, you were pissed at life. This was not the reality you wanted, but it was what you’d been so graciously gifted. 

You chose this, y/n, your voice of sense reminded you. You brought this on yourself.

Seriously. Your life was one giant laughing stock.

The tears that sprung to your eyes were definitely expected with the night and the hormones. But, you really weren’t so sure anymore that all of the tears could be blamed on the hormones. Even if you didn’t have the hormonal parade inside of you, you were pretty sure you’d be just as sad. Just as angry. Equal parts angry and sad. All of it was enough to make any ‘normal’ girl cry. 

You made sure your back was to Theo and face out of the mirror when you let the first teardrop fall. There weren’t many of them, but a few easily slid down your cheeks as you went to open your bedroom door. But, hand on the knob, you hastily wiped at your face with your free hand. You didn’t want anyone seeing you like this. Especially one person. . . the last thing you wanted was Jake’s pity. Granted, Jake was probably asleep, Maya most likely wrapped in his arms.

Today had started off so well with him. . . but the way you’d ended it? Stupid stupid stupid. 

Before you left your room, your stomach dropped. What you’d just done. . . it just made you feel icky. Bad. Disgusting. Like a damned fraud. You honestly detested that you’d done it. To your utter dismay, you knew it was safe to say this little experiment of yours was already blowing up in your face. There was no convincing yourself that Theodore was who you wanted. Not at-fucking-all.

Not when Jake Kiszka existed.

“Hey, y/n,” Theo called to you from the bed, louder than you wanted him. 

You turned around to him, eyes big with a finger pressed to your lips. “What?” You whisper-spoke back. “Be quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he shook his head with his brows furrowed, sitting up a bit better, balancing on his elbows. You noticed when he’d shaken his head, his hair stayed in one place due to being a shorter length. Disappointing. “Um. . . tonight. Maya said. Um,” he trailed off, trying to subtly flex his too-big arms. You were proud of yourself that you hadn’t rolled your eyes at him yet. “Is Jake. . . is he. . .? The baby’s–?”

There was no point in hiding it anymore. You shouldn’t have in the first place anyway. That’d been childish and ridiculous. “Yes,” you shortly responded in a whisper, twisting the knob to your door. “The baby is Jake’s, yes.”                                                                                                                      

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Jake’s POV 

The moment I woke up from the fitful nap I’d fallen into, my neck hurt like hell from leaning wrong and all I knew was. . . I had to fucking piss.

There was no way I wasn’t going to pee down my leg if I didn’t get to the bathroom. 

The only problem was: Maya was sprawled out on me. Her breasts, pressed against my chest and one leg draped across my hip while the other laid on the other side of my opposite leg. She even had an arm wrapped around my torso, making it that much more difficult to move quickly. I looked around the dark living room for the one person I cared to check on first thing. It was hard to adjust my eyes, the room lit only by the menu screen from the movie we’d been watching. 

Shrek. A childhood favorite to get Sam’s spirits up. Every single person in the apartment had surely seen the movie dozens of times, so we’d all passed out rather quickly. 

But, as I scanned the room for y/n, I noticed she was absolutely nowhere to be found. And neither was her new–. 

“Oh, yes, Theo.”

What the fuck?

“Just like that. Juuust like that.”

Fuck me. What in the hell had I done to deserve hearing this?!

Well, for one, the angel on my shoulder chimed in. Forcing her to hear you with your girlfriend wasn’t the most fair thing you could’ve done. . . It was only in due time that she’d be—.

“Just one finger.” Y/n. Again. Moaning through the walls. And now I knew enough to know exactly what the prick was probably doing. 

What he was doing to the woman who who was carrying my child. His hands were on her, in her. . . He was doing things to her perfectly growing body while I was out here. Having to listen.

Now you know how she felt, the angel (who was sounding more like a devil) continued. Doesn’t feel great, huh?

The little, reasonable voice didn’t reassure me whatsoever. It just made me feel so fucking foolish and utterly disgusted at what was going on behind her door. It was my damn fault. I knew it was. And the moans and cries from y/n’s bedroom. . . Those sounds had me wanting to take back every single action I’d committed to lose her any more than I already had that day in the kitchen. Fuck.

The need to pee had vanished. Now all I felt at the current moment was anger. Spitting anger. The desire to punch a my fist hard against a fuckin’ smug-ass blonde athlete. 

Then it was another voice. It was hard to make out what he was saying, but the quietness of the apartment helped me to hear a bit of it. “. . .take a while to get there, babe. . . lotta work for one guy. Almost done?”

Babe?! And a while to get where? If he was talking about her sweet pussy— he was a goddamn moron. It never took her that long with me. And if it did by chance, I thanked God I got to worship her for just a while longer. Got to discover more ways to please her.

She was so ethereal and goddess-like. . . It was the best game—figuring out how to get her to the edge. It was the pinnacle of sexual endeavors. And he was asking if she was almost done?! God. My blood was fuckin’ boiling. As if I needed any more confirmation, I officially knew the guy was a fuck-ass idiot. 

I shifted my weight completely away from Maya, brushing an angry hand through my ever-growing hair. Needed it away from my face, which just kept getting hotter by the second. My body felt like it was on fire. My pulse was electric under my skin.

As I moved even closer to the edge of the chair, Maya snuggled up against the arm rest I was getting away from. She seemed fine. She’d be fine. But what the fuck was I even moving to do? I didn’t really have to piss that bad anymore, but I had to do something. Guess I’d fucking try to go anyway. Something to get my mind off of what was going on in y/n’s bed. Fuck that shit. Seriously.

All I could think about was her soft body falling apart at the hands of this dimwit of an asshole. Her tits, full of milk for my baby, in another man’s hands. Her belly, my baby girl, in the middle of whatever the fuck was happening. 

I couldn’t help the fire that once simmered, now burning in my chest at the thought of it all. Before heading to the bathroom, I decided on a whim to check on the lavender. One more thing to focus on. A seemingly happy thing. 

Sam had requested the twinkle lights in the living room be on for the movie, so they were an aid in seeing the plant once I got to the kitchen. There was just enough of the yellow light flooding in from the living room to the kitchen.

I’d put it back in the original terracotta, not knowing a better solution than that one. We’d kept it under the sink the same day we’d bought the white vase. And for some strange reason, seeing it in the original pot I’d given her just made my heart twist in my chest. I longed for y/n daily. Day in, day out, she was the woman I awoke and fell asleep thinking about. So badly it hurt, I felt this pulling desire for her. Before knowing about the baby, but especially now that I knew about the baby. 

What sucked, though, was I still hadn’t the faintest clue where I stood. Where she stood with me. It was all such a convoluted fucking mess. It didn’t matter what kept happening, I was so confused. I couldn’t keep up.

And so much had changed since the day so long ago when I’d given her the lavender. For one, I just kept falling for her. More and more by the day. I’d now experienced things with her that I couldn’t have dreamed of back then. 

She was my muse–the hope that had shone when I’d felt hopeless. She was the woman whose body I wanted to watch rise and fall – whether it be above me, on top of me, below me, how-fucking-ever she wanted – every single day for the rest of my life. Her body was the only temple I wished to enter endlessly. Over and over again. 

And, of course, she was the mother of my child. . . She held the light to my world in her soul and in her belly, now. And the lavender I stood before, it resembled the beginning of us for me. . . The beginning of a chapter in my life that I had to close much too soon. A chapter I never wanted to close.

After making sure the plant was thriving, I decided it was due time for me to try peeing. Getting up had kind of helped the urge to come back anyway, so. The one part I was dreading most was walking past y/n’s room to get to the bathroom. What the fuck would I hear this time? Being so close? I was about to swear to every ‘Higher Being’ – if I had to hear the bed springs squeak as I passed, I’d erupt.  

. . .Right before I could begin my begging, though, her door opened. Right as I was coming up to it to cross to the bathroom, it wedged open a bit. Just enough for y/n to slip out without her belly grazing the doorjamb, her eyes down and avoiding any sort of contact with anyone. 

I was far enough back that she was able to come out undisturbed. But as soon as she stepped fully out, she was only inches away from me and staring at my chest. Almost instantly, her eyes fluttered up to look at me. It was as if she’d been caught. 

The twinkling lights from the living room were a god-send right now as my eyes pored over her angelic face. Her eyes glowed magnificently under the splash of light from the living room into the hallway.

Though, even with the warmth in my chest at seeing her pretty face under the lights, my heart sank. Her hair was a mess, she was adjusting the big t-shirt over her body, still pulling at the collar. She’d just put on clothes. I knew my face said I was stonewalled. My jaw was tight, clenching as I let my eyes scan her exquisite, gentle features. Her plush lips, slightly agape. And her jewel-like eyes, wide and wondrous. Her long lashes fluttered, enticing me.

At the moment, all I wanted to do was read her. But, I was too concentrated on doing everything in my power to not look pissed off. It wasn’t even that I was pissed off — well, yeah. I was. Definitely. I was livid. But not at her. I didn’t want her to think I was mad at her. 

No, all I really felt was this hole in my chest screaming over conflicted emotions. I knew what I wanted — who I wanted. But we’d both fucked up our chance with the other and now we were having to hide anything we did. The sad truth was, we’d actually always hidden it. I never got to show how deeply I felt for her out in the open. 

Though for her and Theo, she could walk out of her bedroom with her hair a mess and no one would ask any questions. Even though everyone now knew that it was my baby inside of her.

What was my fucking luck in that? Had it been for our good to not work out? Were we only meant to be co-parents?  And if so, why did we keep ending up in compromising situations? 

Her wet tits in my hands in the kitchen. My instincts, going into overdrive at the thought of her hurting herself on the water and glass. The way she’d hardly seemed to think about it when she’d leaned over the console to wrap her pretty mouth around my throbbing, hot dick. 

Then there was every time I’d ended up with her in my arms, my mouth on her skin. Her eyes always seemed to observe me, wide and curious eyes, always seeming so deep in thought. She’d chosen me to take her to therapy. The care she had about hearing Maya and me fuck — obviously more than platonic annoyance. Right?

Or was I imagining that part? Did she truly only want me as a friend? Was she only acting on her desires because she was pregnant and horny? 

It was when I finally let myself get out of my own head that I realized her magnificent eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Fuck. Was she okay? Had he hurt her? Was it what had happened during the game? What was going through her mind? How was she feeling at this very second?

“Why are you awake?” Y/n whispered towards me, voice wet and bringing me out of my swirling thoughts. 

I ignored her question, instead asking her my own. “Are you okay?” I softly responded, letting my face relax just enough to let her know I was worried about her. “Why does it look like you need to cry? Did he hurt–?”

“No,” she quickly shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself, right under her chest. Her nipples were hard. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Obviously. But the thought of him touching–. No. Focus, Jake. “He didn’t do anything wrong to me. I’m just–. I just. . .,” she shook her head. Her eyes were suddenly downcast. They stayed that way for a while, her gaze glued to our feet. 

It was like she was questioning every possible descriptive word to give me an inside look to her soul. So, rather than making her feel as though she had to tell me anything, I decided to carefully lift her chin with the lightest touch of two fingers underneath. And what I saw when her eyes connected with mine made my heart tear in half. 

Her cheeks, flushed with emotion and her eyes still shimmering with the same sort of longing I felt when I stared at the lavender in its original pot. How I’d felt tonight with her quivering under my hand. I’d felt that. Felt her harden for me, desperate to fall apart. It had turned me on at first, but then – it had just made me feel. . . Melancholy. 

She showed the exact same now in her eyes, the dimples at the tops of her cheeks coming out as her lip shook. A shadow of the past washed over her soft features as a few more tears traveled down her even softer cheeks. I didn’t hesitate to reach a hand up, using my thumb to stop the tracks at the apple of her left cheek, right below a dimple. 

She sniffled once, her body relaxing at my touch. Her wide eyes stayed connected with mine, her brows matching the crinkle in mine as she concentrated on me, just as I did her. I realized just how tense her shoulders had been as they relaxed with a calming breath pushing past her pretty lips. 

There was a flash of something behind her eyes, but she looked away again before I could analyze it. So, rather than standing around in her space any longer, I decided to go to the bathroom before I overstepped or bothered her any further.

But I couldn’t take more than two steps to walk away before she launched herself at me. Her arms wrapped comfortably and surely around my waist, tucking under my arms and palms resting between my shoulder blades. The way her head nestled against my exposed chest was almost too much to bear. Almost.

She’d done her best to bring herself as close to me as she possibly could. Her belly, the baby, was nestled so securely between us. Right where she belonged – not anywhere near the dickhead in her bedroom. 

The way she let her head rest against my chest was like a puzzle piece clicking into place. And it felt even better when I brought one hand up to cradle the back of her head, a few more of her tears dampening my skin and the fabric of my shirt. I let my fingers slip through the strands of her hair as my other hand massaged her scalp. Her hair was like silk between my fingers.

The way I felt her breathing even out beneath my touch and against my body made my heart skip a beat and pick back up to a pace that felt like coming home. 

But too soon, she was pulling away from me and shaking her head like she wasn’t sure about what she’d just done. I could see the wheels turning, her eyebrows creased tightly before her hands came to her face and furiously wiped at any leftover tears. Thankfully, she didn’t waste time looking at me again. I assumed my expression matched hers pretty well – conviction glazing over our eyes. I felt it at the feeling of being so close and how it felt so fucking right. It felt more right than wrong and that was scary as fuck. 

I was in a relationship with someone else and I couldn’t even bring myself to care. And the bullshit I’d fed Maya tonight? Did I believe that? Did y/n believe what she’d said? So, I locked eyes with her, pleading for her to hear my heart wrenching thoughts. To answer my questions for me. My chest felt like it had completely caved in on itself with how I felt at this moment.

I want us to work this out. Please, I searched her eyes, wishing she could understand. The way her eyes brightened a bit gave me hope that she understood to an extent. Please – somehow, some way. I need more with you again. I don’t give two fucks that my girlfriend is sleeping in the other room – she isn’t you. 

But she didn’t respond to it with anything other than a shake of her head, her fingers smoothing each of her eyebrows, one at a time. Her arms were getting tucked under her tits again, crossing tightly there. I tried not to stare. I knew she was trying to center herself and she needed the moment without me fucking gawking at her to do so.

God – it would make things so much easier if I could just open up my head and heart and let her look inside. Because, unfortunately, I didn’t know how to say the shit that had me all fucked up. But now wasn’t the time anyway. Since, yes, my girlfriend was sleeping in the next room over and her boyfriend thing was behind the door we were standing in front of.

“Why are you awake, Jake?” She tried her earlier question again just as quiet but the slightest bit clearer. But my mind was in a daze, just watching her lips move. Admiring the gentleness of her breaths, rising her chest. I definitely didn’t answer right away, which had her clearing her throat. 

When I blinked a few times, I let my eyes refocus on the here and now. “I had to pee,” you whispered back, words plain and void of any heavy elements of emotion. I didn’t want to get in my head and stick my foot in my damn mouth. 

I kept doing that, it seemed. I just kept fucking things up. And not just with words – going beyond words with foolish actions. So many actions. Actions I didn’t regret nearly as much as I should have.

“Oh,” was all she pushed through her lips, barely a breath of the word. She’d started nervously rubbing her bicep, eyes going down to look at my chest and abdomen before trailing right back up to my face. 

“What are you doing awake?” My eyes evaluated her figure, sensual in every way �� she didn’t have to try. Her body was perfect in every way and I’d appreciate it while playing dumb to her goings-on. I didn’t want her to know that I’d heard any of it – the reason she was awake. Not yet anyway. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped at me in her little hushed tone. The way she’d bit it out, it was as if she was scolding me. No way. She didn’t get to do that when I caught her every fucking day staring at my body the exact same way. Not when she’d called me motherfucking Captain earlier in the evening, practically begging me with her eyes and spreading her legs for me in front of God and everybody. 

My line of sight instantly found hers again, one brow raising at her and a small smirk on my lips to try her. “What’s wrong with me looking at you?”

“I don’t want you to,” she said, all too quickly. 

“Hm,” I hummed, scanning her face for any sign of hesitancy. It was painted all over her features – she didn’t believe what she was saying either. I could especially tell by the way her eyes followed mine and how she bit her lip. She wasn’t anywhere near angry – at least not with me anyway. She was simply conflicted. 

Join the club, baby. 

“Don’t test me, Jacob,” she cautioned, her arms increasing their pressure under her breasts. 

So, I did. Test her.

I let my eyes immediately go to where she’d applied pressure, her tits accentuated with the way her arms pushed them up. Even with the big t-shirt on, I could see as her nipples hardened under my stare. The thought couldn’t even cross my mind to try to prove her right as I saw it happen. My mouth was too busy watering, my dick starting to twitch in my pants. Her chest was rising and falling at such a rapid rate, I just wanted to know so badly what it would look like to see her chest without the hindrance of clothing. I could only imagine what her tits looked like now. 

Fuck. I bit my lip and tucked my hands in my front pockets to stretch the front of my jeans enough to distract from what I felt happening in them. The second time she’d gotten me like this in one evening. The poor toilet paper, half of a roll completely used, having to catch all of my desperate release. My stupid fucking tears as I did my best to aim into the tissue, with a whisper of her name on my lips. As she’d sat in the living room, having to explain my thoughtless actions. 

Had they been thoughtless, though? Or had it been a sort of plan to force Maya to see something she needed to see? If that were the case, I’d let that plan crash and burn to the ground. But it was hard to consider the actions thoughtless. Not with how her body had called out to me, the game card working in our favor – allowing me to show the world how well we matched. How her body moved in perfect time with my hands. Trembling underneath me, right out in the open.

Oh, her body. I bit my lip as my eyes trailed down to her thighs. Her hips, where I’d had my hands placed purposefully as long as I could. Wanted to hold her so tightly by the hips, her belly situated so wonderfully for my thumbs to trace it while holding her. Then, my sights landed on the gentle way her toes wiggled against the carpet. And, slowly, I worked my way back. Over her thighs, hips, and to her belly. 

The thought of her voluptuous, pregnant body lived comfortably in my dreams. But I wanted to see it in person – actually see what she looked like underneath her clothes – wanted to fucking study her beautifully stretching skin. Wanted her completely bare for me and my eyes only. Her body was getting fuller in ways my brain couldn’t keep up with. It was fuckin’ heaven to watch her grow – her tits, ass, thighs. . . that precious belly that held my baby.

I let my eyes trail back up to her chest. Still rising and falling so steadily – like I’d seen so many times before when she’d lay naked under me, panting just as hard as her with my release trickling down her belly, between her breasts, anywhere I could get in time. It was truly ironic how hard we’d tried to be safe. Kind of funny, actually.

Now wasn’t the time for humor though. Not with how badly I needed to touch her naked body again. Even to only see it again would satisfy my raging, tempting curiosity. I wanted to see her new body naked – pregnant and growing everyday with my baby.

Quickly, my half-hard dick was no longer a worry as I remembered just who got a bare look at her before me. And that got the fuck under my skin so quickly, that I glanced back up soon enough to catch her biting her lip and keeping track of my gaze with a hazy one of her own. And when she realized I’d caught her, her mouth was falling open and closing just as quick. She licked her pink lips once, at a loss.

Neither of us said anything for a long, tense moment. I let my head fall as I tried to not think about what had transpired in her bedroom. Not when I’d just had her to myself tonight. I didn’t know the details of what she’d done with him and every single second I kept imagining it in ways I did not fucking want to. The hand I let rub over my face was in an effort to fix my expression. 

Get out of your damn head, Jake, I coached myself, mentally slapping the sides of my head to clear it. You’ve done the same fucking shit to her, asshole. Made her listen. It was past time you had a taste of it.

That was enough to snap me back to reality. My thoughts landed on the golden woman standing in front of me who I continued to get heated with for things she was doing – people she was seeing. A bunch of shit that I was holding over her that I’d done plenty of times before. It was not my place. Right? 

The only thing that I was hung up on was that she was the one with the baby inside of her. I felt this intense, almost carnal protection over our little girl in her womb. Did I get a say in what y/n exposed her to? Was that my right? Damn. . . shit was maddening as hell.

“Well,” she said, her voice raspy before she cleared her throat just as she had earlier. I adjusted my sights on her again, opening my eyes to find her biting her kissable lips. Once again, there was something behind her eyes. Her eyes, bright and wide and waiting for me to come back to the present. My head was cleared instantly of all conflict now that I held her eyes. “I’ll let you go to–.”

“Stay with me,” the words fell past my lips without any thought. 

“Um,” her brow raised, a slight cough escaping her. The hint of a grin came to rest on her features. “While you go. . . pee?”

What was I implying? Was I telling her I wanted her to go with me while I peed? What the–?

Wouldn’t be the first time, my thoughts jested at me. The idea of the past made a small grin land on my lips. Strange request, but it had already happened before – peeing in the bathroom back to back, sharing our morning routine. Was it okay to do that now though?

Fuck it. Did I even care if it was okay? 

“Like you haven’t seen me pee before?” I replied, the hint of a laugh on my lips as my smile widened. My head was clearing. I’d be fine. Just had to concentrate on the here and now. On her. Right in front of me. 

Her expression was past the point of staying stony, her lips stretched to show a wide smile now. But she did seem to contemplate it for a minute. So, I rushed to retract what I’d said. “You don’t have to if it’s weird since we’re–.”

“Sure,” she responded, voice still a whisper to match mine. “I need to go too, anyway, so.”

“Do you want me to wait outside while you pee?”

“Why would you do that?”

Her question shocked me. She was alright with me being with her while she pissed? That seemed all the more significant than her being with me while I did it. And how in the fuck had this all started with me needing to pee? And now it was turning into a sort of group pissing session with y/n? The ludicrous nature of it all was enough to make my teeth show with a quiet laugh. 

“I want to respect your priv–.”

“If you’re okay with me being with you while you pee, I’m fine with you being with me,” she reasoned, her hand coming out to graze my arm for a second. Too short of a moment for me to make anything of it. She was simply being a friend. I liked it. Even though I wanted more, I liked it. Being her friend was an incredible gift on its own. It just sort of hurt to think of–.

No, Jake. Not now, a voice corrected me, sounding like Josh. This happened from time to time, my inner voice chiding me while sounding just like his voice. The fucker’s advising voice lived rent free in my head. Just go fucking pee.

I motioned for her to lead the way, but she motioned for me to do it at the same time. And when she refused to move, I knew she wouldn’t start walking until I did. Stubbornness was one of her defining traits and I was used to it. Something that pissed me off, but also made her who she was and I loved who she was. 

She quietly followed me to the bathroom, her soft steps padding behind me in a way that made my heart feel whole. 

As soon as we made it to the bathroom, I made sure she knew she had to enter first. Holding the door open for her, my feet planted on the ground as I motioned for her to go inside. Surprisingly, she didn’t hesitate. Instead, she was rushing in, forcing me to follow her lead and remember she was pregnant and needing to pee wasn’t a joke. 

I shut the door, and as soon as I did, she was pulling down her pants. Hastily, I decided that I wasn’t going to watch her pee, trying to respect her privacy at least a little bit. When I heard her start to go with a heavy sigh, a relieved grin reached my mouth. Although, until that moment, I hadn’t realized I was feeling the urgency with her enough to feel relieved for her–with her. 

The way she gently sighed though – it brought on some serious guilt. Because, yes, she was pregnant and had come out of her bedroom to pee. I shouldn’t have let her lag in the hallway. Even though I didn’t like it, I knew she’d been doing shit with Theo. And peeing after sex was already necessary, and on top of being pregnant? 

“I’m really fucking sorry I made you wait,” I said, a touch louder than the hallway since we were now behind a door. 

She huffed a little giggle, the melodic sound leaving her lips at the same time I heard the toilet flush. “I’m the one who forced you to tell me why you were awake. It’s my fault,” she excused, the sink already turning on behind me to tell me she was washing her hands. Once more, I heard a little giggle escape her. “My pants are up now. You’re in the clear.”

I turned around, only to find myself staring in the mirror and her staring straight at me. She was smiling so wide it made my insides feel weak. 

My own lips stretched to share a laugh with her. “I didn’t want to disrespect you by watching you take a piss.”

“Jake. Be so serious,” she smirked, the sink flicking off before she gently towel dried her hands. 

“I am being serious!” I clarified, half smile still resting on my lips. 

She only shook her head, still grinning. I pushed my hair back over my forehead before I lifted the toilet seat. And without even thinking about it, I started unzipping my pants. The action made her turn around herself, her cheeks pink before she was facing the same wall I had been looking at only a minute before. Her shoulders were shaking a little with her fit of giggles before I turned to pull my pants down enough and focus on my aim. 

As much as I wanted to stare at her ass, making a mess while taking a fuckin’ piss would be embarrassing as hell. 

I couldn’t think of much more than how good it felt to pee as soon as it was happening. The need apparently hadn’t gone away once, contrary to my belief, because my bladder was definitely less tight as I flushed the toilet myself. But whatever the fuck I’d woken up hearing was enough to apparently make the urge disappear, while still definitely being there. 

Stupid ass life. My life as a whole had honestly become a comedy club. Whatever. It didn’t matter. 

“You can turn around,” I repeated her words, trying my best to not think of her naked and underneath him as I closed the seat and tucked myself into my pants. 

Fuck – the sounds had conjured up this image that wouldn’t leave my brain. His hands on her belly. The same image I’d had before of them spread across the island. But this time, it was in her bedroom. And it was based on reality. Something I’d actually heard. I wanted to openly retch at the idea of him holding onto her full tits which I knew were sore as hell, due to what they were growing to provide. I’d done so much fucking reading on all of it – I didn’t need her to tell me for me to know. But the night in the kitchen. . . how she’d been so relieved for me to touch them. Had it been like that with him? Her body relaxing with contented sighs at him holding her heavy breasts?

I grit my teeth and washed my hands quickly, suddenly needing to get out of the tight space of the bathroom. All I wanted to do was sit her on top of it and pull her panties down. And as much as I could convince myself not to, I was going to regret if I did it and regret if I didn’t do it. The inside of my head was a fuckin’ storm. I just wanted to sleep. 

But. . . if I went to my room, it meant she’d go back to him. Was that truly what I wanted? No. It was-fucking-not what I wanted.

It doesn’t matter, that Josh-like voice started again. You don’t get to choose what she does. You’ve told her yourself that it doesn’t work like that. Suck it up, Jacob.

Looking up from how I was furiously washing my hands, I saw her watching me from behind. She was surveying me, thinking deeply. I could tell by the way she was chewing the inside of her lip. Something I don’t think she even knew she did. But I knew. I noticed every tiny thing she did. Every fidget.

“You washing your face?” I asked, briefly glancing down to turn off the water and dry my hands. I was trying to let common sense take over and train my mind back to sane places. 

When I swiveled on a foot to face her once more, her eyes were back to being a bit more hollow. The swirling studious reflection in her eyes from before had washed away. She was centered. She was able to tame her thoughts while I was failing miserably at it. 

“Not tonight,” she shook her head. And then she was chewing the inside of her cheek once again. “I’m tired. Long day.”

“Yeah,” I nodded slowly, a smile unable to stay off my features as I thought back to the appointment. It had been the best part of my day next to having y/n falling apart at my barely-there touches during a motherfucking game.

I’d experienced heaven at that doctor’s office. Watching our baby girl, learning her already. I had a name for her stowed away already. I’d traced it on y/n’s belly in the kitchen earlier in the evening, but I was waiting to see if she had any ideas of her own before I launched mine. Didn’t want to cloud her thought process with my own. I needed to give her space and that was one small way I could. 

“Well, let’s go to bed, then,” I said, voice hushing once more. Even with a somber feeling fogging up my brain, I still managed to smile enough for it to reach my eyes. For the precious woman in front of me that was selflessly carrying our child. “You lead the way this time.”

End of Jake’s POV

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Theo had been waiting for you at the bedroom door. Leaning against the doorframe like a fucking impatient child – or a mother worried sick about her child. It had been horrendous timing. Jake had almost made it to the bedroom door to drop you off. 

You hadn’t even realized Theo was leaning against the doorframe until he was clearing his throat before you. 

You’d been too consumed in Jake to notice. Consumed truly being the only word you could think of to describe the feeling. The walk back to your room had been so wonderful. You’d shared the smallest, quietest laughs about nothing and it had been bliss. He’d kept in perfect time as you walked beside each other. Your hands had grazed a couple of times, shoulders bumping maybe too frequently. The butterflies had been going ballistic in your tummy.

But, when the motherfucker had given that little cough to alert you of his presence, you’d both looked up from the other to see him. He’d been standing there, so self righteous. You’d felt Jake’s body tense beside you – didn’t need to be touching him to know he was fuming over the interruption.

“Wondering where you went,” the blonde had started, his eyebrow raising as if he were teasing you. “Missed you.”

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into? Dammit. You hated the way he was talking to you and you’d hated even more the way his stupidly thick fingers had felt inside of you. 

Quite frankly, you didn’t want to respond, but you knew he wouldn’t go back in your room until you did. “Just had to pee. Told you that,” you answered semi-honestly. “Ran into Jake in the hallway. We were talking about apartment things.” A lie. Didn’t need him knowing what you were talking about. And you weren’t about to tell him you missed him back – you hadn’t missed him. Honestly, you’d kind of forgotten that he’d been waiting for you. 

Your voice was louder than it should have been with the living room full of sleeping people, but it was impossible to give a proper answer without being a bit louder. You didn’t even want to be giving these explanations, though. It was your home. You were allowed to say and do what you wanted when you wanted. No matter who was waiting in your bedroom for you. Why couldn’t he have just stayed put?

“Will you be much longer?” He wondered aloud, his voice louder than it should have been as well. 

You shushed him, a finger to your lips and everything, just like before. The jock smirked and winked as if it were an inside joke. Ugh. This was fucking annoying and you knew Jake was already making assumptions based on Theo’s stupid little response. 

“No. And be quiet. Please,” you urged, with an expression lacking any sort of humor to match his. “There are people sleeping. Just go wait. I need to finish talking to Jake about a few things.”

The second wink the football player gave you made you want to bend over and hurl. Why? Because. At that moment, you wanted to be a heinous bitch and straight-up tell him that the way Jake used to finger you was worlds better than the sad little trick he’d performed in your bedroom. Wanted him to know his place and humble himself.

Would it have even mattered to Theo, though? Probably not. He’d gotten over the situation in the living room fairly quickly. . . he was too cocksure for it to matter. He was overconfident when he really shouldn’t have been. You’d easily learned that the guy was kind of an asshole who said and did whatever he wanted. Yes, he was cute. . . but almost everything else about him turned you off. He made your insides squirm in ways you detested. And the fact that he’d just had his fingers inside of you –. Yeah, you wanted to hurl.

“I’ll be waiting,” he replied, tone too flirty for your suddenly queasy stomach. 

Then, he was looking at Jake. Fuck. Wrong move, Theo.

Chancing a quick look at Jake, you saw the muscle in his jaw flex. And from your peripheral, you noticed a motion at his side. You glanced down to your side, and noticed Jake clenching a fist between the two of you. For a moment, you looked once more at Jake’s face. Wanted to get him to see you so he could relax. 

But, there was definitely no way Jake was going to look at you. He was too busy glaring at Theo, while simultaneously trying to school his features. He was failing miserably at seeming calm and collected.

You simply willed the football player to not say anything too dense, eying him carefully as he spoke. “Don’t keep her from me for too long, buddy,” Theo smugly remarked. “We’ve got a good time to finish.”

Thankfully, after those dreadful words were spoken, he was gone. He’d slipped through the door and clicked it shut behind him before Jake could even respond. With the way Jake’s harsh, choppy breaths could be heard in the quietness of the hallway, you didn’t want to know what Jake would have responded. Especially with the way he'd avoided Theo all night, being the only one who hadn’t spoken a word to your. . . date. 

Slowly, you turned on your heel, ready to give Jake a look that would let him know that you were just as annoyed as he was. But when you locked eyes with him, his jaw was still locked tight. His lips were pursed. You were contemplating how you were going to finish the night easily with him when he spoke. 

“How long have you two been fucking?” He whispered, folding his arms across his chest. 

Goddammit! Your mind halted at that, cheeks instantly reddened. Had he heard us? Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Stupid to bank on everyone being asleep. 

The fire that settled in your face, all the way down to your toes fueled your next words. Although, you couldn’t tell if you were more mad at him or the bumbling idiot behind your door. Or, maybe, you should’ve thanked Theo. You’d finally been able to give Jake a taste of his own damn medicine.

“Jacob,” you spit, whispering still, taking a step towards him, pointing a finger at his chest. “It is not your business. We’ve been over this. I’m tired of it.”

“I happen to think it is my business when you’re carrying my child,” he measured, taking his own step in your direction. 

Your fingertip grazed the warm skin of his arm. But before you could think anything of it, you placed your hands on your hips. Well, more like the back of them since you had a belly in the way. As much as you hated to admit it, you knew he had a point. It was the same reason you’d been apprehensive of doing anything with anyone. There was someone in your belly that you shared with someone else. How did one handle that? 

“It’s my body, Jake,” you decided on spitting back. Although, the defense felt as though it were missing a few parts. 

“I know. And I respect that. You know I do. But now she – a part of me – is inside of you,” he responded, his tone switching from irritated to. . . defenseless. With his next words, he stood up a little straighter and used one hand to point a finger at your belly. He didn’t touch it. . . even if you wanted him to. “You’re carrying a part of me, so it is my business.”

You hated that you actually agreed with him. You got it. It didn’t feel right to be with someone else. You couldn’t force your brain to fully adjust to the idea of someone else. Was it because of the baby? Or was it because you just wanted him? You weren’t totally sure. But you did know that he had a point. He wasn’t completely wrong. And, seriously – you hated it. After a minute of silence and nostrils flaring at the other, you’d found words that you truly did actually believe in. Words that definitely contradicted him. Gave you some ground.

“You don’t get to lay claim on me because of that,” you argued, pushing his hand away that was still pointed at your belly. 

You regretted the action because it caused him to back away slightly. And that was the last thing you wanted. However, you appreciated the way his body seemed to relax slightly at the words of sense you’d just stated. He took a deep, steadying breath, eyes closing. When he opened them, though, the fiery look in the dark irises still pierced your heart. And made your heart race all at once.

“I know I don’t, baby,” he replied, the pet name falling off of his lips without a pause. Your heart leapt at him calling you that. He shook his head before brushing a hand through his hair. The way he beheld you from his new position, eyes honed in on you, digging into you and making your skin lick with heat. “But that’s not what I fucking mean and you know it.”

Rather than agreeing, you decided to challenge him. Put him on the spot. “Do I?” “Yes. You do. I know you do. Quit acting so fucking obtuse, y/n,” he countered, pushing a hand through the front of his hair to tousel it. For what must’ve been for the eightieth in a single night.

Doing your best to not be distracted by him, you instead braced yourself on the willpower to keep at him. Wanted to get under his skin until he was forced to be irritated enough to leave you alone. Or, push you up against your bedroom door. No, y/n. No.

You didn’t want to think about how he had a point. It just made you feel hopeless that you would never have a chance to move on from him. Not that you wanted to – you just knew you had to. You weren’t good for him and he had Maya. 

Good job sucking his dick and throwing a wrench in things, by the way, y/n, the little devil on your shoulder reprimanded you. It was a daily occurrence that the inner voice reminded you of that shitty decision. Now you’ve made things harder for you and for him. Real nice.

The negative voice wasn’t completely gone with the therapy, just smaller and quieter when it would come around. Normally, the voice made you want to crawl in a deep, dark hole, but with this lovely reminder it kept giving you, you just wanted to punch a wall. 

There was a definite truth in what it was telling you. Whatever. Situation at hand. The voice could fuck off for now. Jake deserved to be called out for being a fucking child about Theo. You were not the only one acting ‘obtuse’. No, he’d had his fair share of being on the stubborn side of things as of late.

“Oh,” you blinked, your eyebrows set in a straight line at him as your own jaw clenched. The finger you pointed at yourself was to emphasize your point. Get him to listen. “I’m acting obtuse?”

“Yes,” he plainly stated, cheeks red under the hue from the living room lights, his deep set eyes, ablaze. Then he grabbed your hand, keeping it steady in his. The feeling of his hand wrapped around yours made your heart thump a bit harder in your chest. “You are. You’re being hard headed and refusing to hear me.”

“Yet. . .,” you began, taking a step closer to him, but ripping your hand from his. The whole point of this was making sure he knew you had your own ground to stand on. He didn’t have to know you felt shaky about it. “You are the one who – all fucking day – has been making sure to let me know how absurdly jealous you are of me and Theo.”

“You think I’m jealous of him? That floundering fucking moron?”

“Jacob. You quite actually said so yourself,” you rolled your eyes, placing your hands on your lower back. “At the clinic today being one specific example.”

He sighed, his eyes lightening a bit at you calling him out. “Okay. Yes, I did say that. Of course I hate that he gets to have you,” he admitted, his arms coming up to cross his chest but brushing against your breasts in the process. Fuck. You did your best to cover yourself, no matter how uncomfortable it was. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice the mishap. His eyes were lasered in on yours. “He just fucking wishes he could have you like I got to have you.”

Without thinking twice, you said something you knew would get him. Still whispering, you spat the next words at him. “Well he’s the one who just had his fingers inside of me and has you all up in arms over this shit. So who’s fucking winning this stupid ass game, Jake?”

He simply stood there for a moment, his chest muscles were tight. He was so tense that even his chest was flexing. The sight was bad for you. His pecs had always made you weak. Your eyes honed in on his perfectly toned chest; it was easy to appreciate, with the way he wore his button down shirts. You’d never stop thanking God for how he wore his shirts. 

You watched his chest steadily rise and fall with each heavy breath. The space between his pecs, where a couple of his piratical necklaces laid, and the muscle that rounded out his strong chest. . . distracting. Your eyes trailed to his face. In the dim hue of the twinkle lights, you could see the red flush taking over his face and chest. He ran one stiff hand through his hair and took one step towards you, his lips still pursed and his jaw, so fucking tight. 

“Fine. I just don’t want to have to hear it, y/n,” he grumbled at you, his eyes darting over every inch of your face. One more step towards you. You quickly moved your arms away, just so his chest could land against yours. Needed to feel him. “I told you that.”

“And I told you that,” you hissed at him, taking a step even when you didn’t have to, flush against him now. Your sore breasts against his solid chest felt akin to a cool breeze on a summer day. “When you first moved in, Jake. And did that stop you? Back then, you broke the rule. And don’t you forget what the fuck you did when you started dating Maya. I had to see it, Jake. You didn’t give a shit what I’d told you.”

When you stepped towards him, his narrowed eyes slowly trailed from your pleading ones – to your touching bodies. His eyes observed long enough for you to know he liked it just as much as you did. Then, he was looking at you again, biting his lip. But he still hadn’t said anything.

“Exactly,” you said in finality, taking that as your opportunity to have the last word. Hm. You fucking won.

Or so you thought. You should’ve known better.

“But I stopped,” he reasoned, still quiet. His breath fanned over your face with how close he was. “After our talk the other night. I fucking stopped. Out of respect for what we’re going through. I understood where you were coming from. And you’re the one who brought it up to me – who created the damn rule in the first place. So does that mean you’re the only one who has the right to break it? Doesn’t seem very fucking fair to me, baby.”

A couple of minutes passed, your eyes never leaving the other and your bodies close enough to breathe in time with the other. Not to mention the way his hot breath continued to fan over your face, making your body feel more alive than it had since the game. Fuck. The game. His fingers. On you. In your underwear. Outside of your underwear – where you needed him most. 

You were, yet again, silenced. But not for long.

“The point is,” you began, straightening your posture and jutting your chin out at him. His face was tight, brow raised to consider your point. “If I want him to fuck me, Jake,” you took the last step you could take, his back brushing the wall with how close you were. Your body, responding to him in every way it possibly could. “Then he’s going to fuck me.”

Jake’s lids went heavy as he studied you, his mouth held inexplicably still. But, he didn’t have time to respond. Your worst imaginings, coming to fruition as you heard Maya call for him from the living room. Faster than light, you jumped back from him. You did not need her on your case twice in one night. Fuck that shit.

Without having to communicate as to why it seemed a better position, the two of you hastily traded spots. Him, no longer against the wall. You, beside your door. It made things look platonic. Because things were platonic. Though, the looks being exchanged between you were nowhere near the word.

You just thought of his words tonight. Your words. You had to live up to them. Whether you liked it or not. No matter how badly it hurt you to hear the words over and over in your mind. And now, sans talking, you were able to reflect, yet again, on what he’d said to her earlier. 

“Maya, babe. I don’t know what the fuck just happened.” “Don’t want you to think. . .” “We were never anything. Still aren’t.” “There’s nothing to be hung up on.”  “Y/n and I aren’t a thing. Never have been, never will be.”

Tears were, once again, gathering in your eyes. The words had magically escaped your spiraling thoughts until this moment. You'd done such a good job avoiding all of it once you'd come out of the bathroom. But now you had to remember. . . you’d started the blunt statements. You hadn’t meant them. You couldn’t truly mean them. Had it been the same for him? Had he just been trying to cover your asses? 

Before you could say or even think another thing, you saw her tight, shapely body traipse up behind him. Instantly, wrapping her arms around his torso, at which he tensed. You wrapped your arms subconsciously around your own torso, suddenly very insecure at your pregnant pudginess. You did your best to not pay them any mind. Your eyes, trained down at the floor, your toes, tucked into the carpet. 

“I’m ready for bed, Jakey,” Maya squeaked, sounding as though she was ready for a highlight reel on E!. She wasn’t from the fucking Valley. Why did she sound like that? While your thoughts frenzied at her ridiculous dialect, your flesh prickled at her calling him Jakey. You loved the nickname, but detested how it sounded coming from her lips. “Babe?”

At her calling him that, you looked up. He wasn’t paying attention to her at all. He was still watching you, his eyes fixed on your face. Fuck. He wanted to keep talking to you. You could tell – his eyes, equal parts frustrated at being stopped and desperate to continue. He looked as though he was a man racing against time. You understood. Completely. You wanted to continue as well. And you simultaneously, silently wondered what it could’ve led to. But. . . she was waiting. 

“Your girlfriend is ready for bed, Jake,” you reiterated, voice too-sweet from the irritation that lingered in your veins. Not with him. Not really. You just wanted to keep talking to him. No matter the case. Because, for some reason, no matter how you spoke – angrily, sensually, flirtily, kindly, jokingly, confusedly, even – a piece of an imaginary puzzle clicked into place. Every. Single. Time. 

The same conflict that swam timidly in his eyes surely swam laps in yours.

“Jakey, baby. Come on,” she whined again, tugging at his sleeve. God. You wanted to throat punch her. Did she not realize he was obviously upset over something? Why was she not caring to take a second to pay attention? Fuck tiredness. Jake was worth understanding, no matter how badly she wanted to sleep. “Let’s go, babe,” the black haired beauty at his side tried once more.

Your face was glowering at her. But she wasn’t concerned with you, her eyes stuck to his profile. He still hadn’t turned to receive her. She hadn’t even tried to figure out why he hadn’t moved, just continued to beg him to do what she wanted. Begging him like an incompetent toddler. Why was he with someone who didn’t care to figure him out? He deserved someone who took the time to know him, read him – inside and out. 

Finally, he turned his head towards his back, where she still stood. One arm, still tight around his waist. He tapped the arm signaling for her to move it, shaking her other hand off of his sleeve. She squeaked in disappointment, while you stood there confused. Your brows, drawn together. 

His eyes scanned you once more, determination set in his irises, before he looked to the side to address her. “Just go wait for me.” Then, he was looking at you yet again. Your cheeks heated at his rapt attention to you. “I’ll be there in a second,” he spoke to her, eyes never leaving yours. 

Somehow, even after the night’s events, Maya didn’t take too long to agree. After moaning and groaning a couple of times, she settled on a pout before she leaned up to give him a kiss. You looked away, a little too slow. You’d accidentally let yourself see her grab the back of his neck, turning his head in the process.

But, thankfully, you didn’t watch it happen this time. He didn’t watch you as it happened. You didn’t let him. Instead, you placed two gentle hands over your tummy, (not-so) patiently tapping out an Earth, Wind, and Fire rhythm as you waited out the kiss. Her humming, the barely-there moan as she explored his lips made you want to gnaw at fucking bone. 

“Okay,” you heard him declare, seemingly finished. But, you kept your line of sight trained down, still. “I’ll see you in a minute. Go get some sleep.”

“Don’t take too long,” Maya said in a sexy way that rivaled phone sex operators. 

When you felt you’d waited long enough, you looked towards the door. You’d waited just long enough, witnessing his door shutting. And, as soon as the door closed, you turned back to him. And him, you. 

“Why didn’t you go with her?” You quietly questioned, any previous bitterness, gone.

“I’m not finished with this conversation,” he simply stated, shoulders squared and sure. His hands tucked into his pockets as he took a stride towards you, close enough again that you could reach up and touch him if you wanted. 

“Why not?” You hushed, averting your eyes from his. He was so near and he’d just chosen you – you couldn’t trust yourself to look at him. Timidly, you let a heavy breath touch his skin, so close. 

His fingers, calloused yet delicate, lifted your chin to meet his gaze. You felt your eyes create moisture at the gentle act. “Because,” he began earnestly, his eyes searching yours. “This is important to me.”

“More important than her?” You questioned in a barely-there whisper.

“I know it might be hard for you to understand just how important you are to me,” he pressed closer, just enough that your chests were once again touching. Your breath was caught in your throat as he leaned down to better address you. “But it’s been this way for a long damn time and I don’t see it stopping anytime soon. Especially now that you’re pregnant with my baby.”

You offered a few shaky breaths before you decided you needed to say something in return. Intending to somehow wrap up what the two of you had started. “Like I said,” you continued, his hand still under your chin. Your eyes, floating between his amber-brown irises. “That doesn’t mean you lay claim on me.”

“I know, baby,” he countered, sighing with a heaving breath and a twinkle in his eye. “But, I am half of what is in here.” He gently touched your belly, attempting to remind you once more that the baby was his. 

Your first instinct was to lean into his touch, let the moment carry on. And, you did lean in – just enough that he noticed. But, you quickly decided against it. It wasn’t morally sound. This intimate moment. It was not fucking right. You let your eyes dig deep into his, begging him to feel the irresponsibility in this with you. You two were getting carried away. Time and again.

His brows drew in, following every movement of your gaze. When he drew his head back a little, you knew he was feeling something similar to you. You saw the realization dawn on his features. 

You’d both taken the time to apologize for the shit in the living room, and acting like this was going against your word. Your character was now coming into question. His character. Saying one thing and doing another. Fucking terrible. Selfish. The word rang once again in your ear, in that same nasty tone from times’ past. Dark, filthy, decrepit times. 

No longer could you make these reckless, selfish decisions. Not while you carried a baby inside who needed you. Already, you had to try to be an example. You couldn’t keep bouncing from incident to incident with Jake. It was all becoming too much for your heart to keep up with. So, with a giant step backwards, Jake’s hand was left hanging in the air where you’d just been standing. You’d made a strangely abrupt decision that you decided necessary to stand by.

He wasn’t attainable. Simple fact. You thought back to the bathroom, finding the tissues in the trash can right after you’d decided to focus on positive things for your little girl. You had to be selfless and let go of the one person your heart helplessly hoped for. . . You had to try to figure your shit out before there was a baby involved.  

All this thing with Jake did was make your heart pinch sadly in your chest. Each of you had people waiting for you in your bedrooms, for god's sake. No matter who they were, you had to quit this to show a morsel of respect towards them, yourselves, and ultimately your baby girl.

Giving it a second of thought and nothing more, you decided to curtly respond. You measured the words in your mind, briefly chewing on them, deciding if they were cutting enough to resonate with him. Had to end the moment. Would you end up regretting this? At the moment, you were too exhausted to care.

“Doesn’t mean you’re entitled to know a damned thing about my life,” you said, the words feeling false on your lips. Shaking your head, you smoothed your hands down the front of your t-shirt, distancing the two of you enough that you were almost leaning on your bedroom door. Him, across from you, now several steps away. It hurt to be far apart. “The baby, yes. Not me. You need to understand that,” you bit the words at him. 

And, without a thought, you knew the final nail you had to plunge into the coffin. These words felt sticky on your tongue. You didn’t want to speak the words, but felt you had to. It was best for the baby. “And things like tonight. . . they cannot happen, Jake. The little times here and there, those haven’t been smart. And I’m sorry for my part in those. . . But tonight?” You raised your brows, your tone a pitch higher as you thought back to the intense moment shared between you. “In a room full of people, Jake. We have to stop being so irresponsible. For her,” you placed a hand gently on your tummy, your eyes peering up at him, begging for support. “We need to find a stable ground for her to land on. The back and forth is not good for a baby. It’s unpredictable and scary.”

He stood in front of you for a second, obviously processing your words. But it didn’t take too long for him to respond with a nod of his head. And, for some reason, you wished it had taken him longer. “Okay,” he coolly responded, his face opening just the slightest at the word. His posture suddenly eased as the tiniest grin formed at his lips. 

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Jake’s POV

“Okay,” she nodded in response, her face flashing with doubt. Just for a second. “Goodnight, Jake,” she breathed, her chest no longer close enough to mine for me to feel. Her eyes, the most incredible pool of color, scanned my face once more before she was reaching up. For some delusional reason, I thought she was about to touch my face.

She never did, of course. Why would she? She was obviously upset and I’d been the one to make her that way. I watched the hand, as she used it to tuck hair behind her own ear. 

But just as soon, she was gone. Her body disappeared behind her door, and I was left standing in the same spot I’d been in many times before. And I felt like a motherfucking asshole. An asshole who wanted nothing more but to apologize to her for any and all confrontation.

She’d made it clear it wasn’t my business, just as I had told her of my love life. Yet, somehow, I’d let myself repeatedly disrespect that. No matter how strongly I felt for her, it wasn’t okay for me to ever make her feel like she wasn’t entitled to live her life however she wanted. I didn’t take back what I’d said – I didn’t want to know about the sex. I didn’t want to hear it. Just as she’d instructed me, I wanted the same from her. 

That wasn’t too much to ask. But, repeatedly bringing Theo up? I needed to quit that shit. Yes, he was a fucking moron, but she’d never done that to me with Maya. Not in the way I had with him. She had always respected my love life. . . She’d even gone so far as to assure Maya tonight of us being nothing. The word was haunting. Nothing. Did she really, truly believe that? 

I didn’t know. And, if it was true, I didn’t need to know. It was the past. . . and that was the hardest part to wrap my mind around. I’d spoken the fucking words with my mouth, too. The web was so tangled and I wanted nothing more than to throw a mistle through it, disrupting each intricate knot we’d created.

We’d made mistakes in recent days. Mistakes that kept me fucking wanting her. . . I’d wanted her before those mistakes, too, yes. . .  but those stolen moments were not doing me any damn good. So I knew good and well they weren’t good for her either. All the touches of hands and mouths against bodies did was crush any chance of us being healthy co-parents for our little girl. And all they did was remind me – every time they happened – that she wasn’t mine to have.

Those things that we’d slipped up on, they shouldn’t have mattered. But I’d let them matter. I’d let them distract me from the most important tiny person in all of this. All that needed to matter was our baby. And it needed to matter how much y/n was doing every damned day for that baby. It was enough to make me realize she was doing so much more than I ever could for her. She was a fucking badass. And, she deserved nothing but complete and utter respect from me. 

But all I’d done was question and worry and put her on the spot more times than a few. Most recently, over her stupid ass study buddy. I was putting too much on her. I needed to fucking stop. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel pressured by me to stop something that might make her happy. She was a smart woman – the smartest I knew – who could do what she wanted. She didn’t need my opinions. Truly. 

There were just a lot of memories swimming around in my mind every single fucking day – day in and day out. Aside from our summer of bliss which was a constant reel in my head, I had a few pleasant and unpleasant memories mixed in there, too.

The night we’d smoked, for one. And that dreaded day in the kitchen, so many months ago. All of the time spent watching her from afar for the couple of months we barely talked. Those months had been miserable, even if Maya had been a decent distraction. The distraction could only work so well, I’d come to find. 

Those months that rattled in my brain included that damn Halloween party. Her, in that sexy ass costume, already pregnant with my baby. Me, drinking as much as I could to avoid looking at her. Though, it’d had the opposite effect. My eyes had been glued to her from across the room all night that night. 

I’d obviously had no idea then who she was carrying in her belly, but I didn’t need to know. That night, I’d still gone to sleep thinking of her naked body. I’d fallen asleep with her bare body on my mind countless nights in that time of not talking. I could still remember. . . when I had taken a shower the night of the party, leaned against the shower wall and drunk off my ass. . . I’d pumped my fist furiously over my dick as images of her bigger tits in that tiny costume flooded my exhausted mind.

And, as I'd finished all over my shaking hand, her name had fallen from my lips in sweet surrender. It had been the first time I’d said her name as I finished. . . in a long while. 

After that, there was the image of her in nothing but a towel, and a phone revealing the most shocking news a person could discover. And it didn’t matter how hard I tried, it still bothered me that she’d told Josh before me. Ludicrous as that may have seemed – but that was just something I still had to get over myself. 

Then, the night she spilled her water. Wet body in my arms, my hands ready to hold her and protect her and our baby from a fall. And the fucking thought of her bent over the armrest in my jeep, a fully pregnant belly brushing my hand as she gave me the best fucking head. 

The less-sexual, serene times where we would hang out together, or hold hands, or meet eyes, or look at our baby on that monitor together. . . those moments in time were pretty fucking shitty to ponder, too. A little worse, I’d say, actually. Because in those moments, I saw so much in her eyes that I wanted to decipher, but felt like I didn’t have the right to. Felt like I didn’t have the right to those special parts of her. Not anymore. 

Fleeing to Maya in September had been the biggest fucking mistake. Rather than taking any damn time for myself, I’d used someone. I’d let another woman distract me from y/n – the one woman who’d meant more to me than anyone before her. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to make y/n jealous with it, too. I wanted her to realize I didn’t need her. I wanted her to hurt like she’d hurt me.

It had been the biggest fucking mistake. A selfish, heedless decision. And now I was paying for it. Like I fucking deserved. 

Maya just wasn’t y/n. Plain and simple. But there was no use leaving her if y/n didn’t want the whole thing with me. All of it. What I’d hoped for all summer, only for her to break me in the kitchen. She still didn’t want that with me. And. . . I had to be okay with that.

Y/n deserved the fucking world. Truly. She just didn’t understand her worth. . . The least I could do from my place in her life was treat her right. She was undoubtedly the best person I’d ever met, and she had to know it. She had to know how wonderful she was. 

I finally made it to my bed after the slowest walk known to man. And, after I laid down, scooting as far to the edge of my bed from Maya as possible, I decided what I had to do. I was going to make it my fucking job to prove to y/n that she was absolutely worthy of all good things. No more bullshit. I wanted to help her, not stress her.

As my eyes shut, I knew I would be starting in the morning by apologizing for being such an enormous dick to her. Yet again. And, I’d begin doing my best to keep my hands to myself. That would be hard, but it was what she wanted. Y/n was worthy of every beautiful thing and more. I just had to show her. I was determined to do the best by her.

For her. 

End of Jake’s POV

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: see you soon! (believe me. really. i promise.) truly, chapter 12 is nearly awaiting a post ;)

-🌼🌼🌼-

Taglist (continued in reblog):

@jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlover, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule, @texas-bbq-pringles @builtbybrokenbells, @stardustjake, @indigostreaksolo, @tripthelightfantastix, @kiszkas-canvas, @jakebrainrot, @anthemheatwave@chichi610, @freyjalw, @scoreofinfantryvines, @stonecoldmo, @divapadam

I always try to tag everyone, but you all know how it goes! 🤦‍♀️ Please make sure you’re filling out my Google Form if you would like to be tagged and aren’t already on the taglist! <3

[sacredthethreadgvf]

Oh

[sacredthethreadgvf]

Non stop today 🥴

[sacredthethreadgvf]

Detrimental.

[sacredthethreadgvf]

ITS HERE ITS HERE YALL !!!

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 5 (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Word Count: 25.1k+

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

Warnings: please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction), conversations about/admitting to having an eating disorder, strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, anxiety/stress/depression, jealousy, emotional/verbal abuse from a parent

SMUT-18+ ONLY: unprotected sex, sex in a library, fingering, (f rec) a bit of spanking, tiny bit of cockwarming, a tinge of possessiveness, overstimulation, hickies, praise, heavy use of sir/doll pet names, very sweet sex. this chapter is a little sappy in places, lol.

a/n: thank you all so so much for being patient with me. your support means the whole world. ♡ love you all endlessly.

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve been lying on top of him, tangled in the sweaty, rumpled mess of his sheets, for what feels like hours—though it’s only been a few moments.

There’s something about his embrace, his strong and toned arms fully enveloping you; There’s a sense of safey here that you’ve never quite known, one that you’re suddenly terrified of ever losing.  

And yet, there’s still something plaguing you. As you’re cuddled up the most intimately the two of you have ever been, you’re feeling the guilt of how things transpired tonight. Of how you’re game you’d been playing with Sam eventually caught up to you. And though you don’t regret where it’s landed you, you do regret the dishonesty that brought you here. 

“Jake?” You say, meek and quiet as you lift your head to look him in the eye. “C-can I be honest with you about something?"

His eyes were closed, but he opened them the second you began to speak. “Of course, doll.” He hums, kissing your forehead and donning a lazy grin. 

You sigh as you lift yourself off of him and lay over on your side so you can better face him, laying your head in the crease of your elbow. 

“What’s the matter?”  He asks, following your movement by laying himself on his side, too, facing you as he props his head up with his hand. “You look a bit troubled.” 

Starting this drawn-out, difficult explanation isn't easy. But here you are, already committed. Best to just come out with it, to finally relieve yourself of this burden. "First, I want you to know I didn't sleep with Sam. We got close, but I stopped it." Sitting upright, you grasp the black satin sheet to shield yourself, though it's not your exposed body that leaves you feeling vulnerable right now. "I hated seeing you with Stacy that night, and I understood why you went into your room together. So, I tried to get back at you by getting close to Sam. But I couldn't go through with it, and I—"

When he clasps your hand, a sudden air of confusion flickers in his sleepy eyes, prompting you to halt your over-explanation.

"I don't want Stacy.” His tone is resolute, firm. His eyes are imploring you to trust his words. "She tried hard that night, but I turned her down."

A rush of embarrassment flushes your cheeks. How could you have misunderstood so completely? 

Yet, there's still the lingering suspicion that he might be telling you what he thinks you want to hear, especially considering his state before he drove you home that night...

“Why weren’t you wearing a shirt when I came back down stairs? And why did you look exactly like you do right now before you drove–”

"Y/n." He stops you, squeezing your hand tightly, urging you to stop overthinking. His eyes lock onto yours with intensity, pulling you into his earnest gaze. "I need you to believe me when I say nothing happened between us. It doesn't mean she didn't try, and I admit, I entertained the idea for a moment. But I couldn't stop thinking about—" He wraps his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap. "I couldn't stop thinking about you..." Leaning in, he kisses you softly and sweetly. "And how badly I wished it was you in my room with me," he whispers. "Not her."

He carefully lays both of you back down, you resting on top of him just as before. "Do you believe me?" He asks gently, reassuringly.

Though uncertainty is still weighing on you, present in the tightness forming in the pit of your tummy, you know there's no reason to not believe him. He’s not given you one that should make you doubt his words, and his actions as of late have certainly validated them. 

Even if they had slept together, it's in the past, just like your almost rendezvous with Sam.          

You can’t change the past. You can’t destroy the tumultuous foundation you and Jake built upon first meeting one another. You can only grow as a result of it. Everything that has happened in the past is just that–in the past. 

What’s the sense in dwelling on it when you can put that energy into something far greater? 

Terrifying as it may be, and though you tried with all of your might to deny it, you want him. And you’ve got a pretty good inclination that he wants you just as much–something you once convinced yourself was impossible.

In truth, what’s happening right now is all that matters.

“Of course I do,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss the flesh of his peck. “Do you believe me?” 

You're left a bit perplexed as his chest erupts with a vibrating chuckle, a lazy snicker escaping his lips. "What's so funny?" you ask, a touch offended, propping yourself up on your elbows to face him.

"Relax, doll. It's nothing," he replies, still chuckling softly as he gently guides you back into your previous position. "But I have to admit," he continues, his fingers now tracing over the chilled goosebumps on your arms. He reaches over, pulling the tangled covers over both of you. "It does feel good to come out on top with Sam."

"Jacob," you giggle softly, feeling your body completely relax under the warmth of the sheets and the comforting heat from his body beneath you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re realizing the very reason why Jake was so adamant about wearing this costume in particular. He’s petitioned for it since filming first began months ago, but Josh simply wouldn’t budge. 

“Not until the right moment,” he’d told Jake the countless times the conversation had been brought up, each time Jake nearly demanded that he be allowed to wear this outfit. 

It got so bad that Josh took some rather extreme measures, resulting in hiding this costume from Jake until he and Malachi believed the time was right. 

So, because of that, you hadn’t seen it. Not on him, at least.

That is, until this very moment as he’s sauntering out of his room with an air of confidence you’re finding so fucking sexy. 

And this outfit…it’s certainly forcing you to feel things you most definitely should not be feeling right now.

The first time you’ve seen him in all white, and you’re quite literally shocked by it. It’s Jake, but it’s a completely new version of him.

The first thing your eyes fall to are his white pants that fit him a bit too well. The most snug fit you’ve seen on him, and they’re not doing much in the way of concealing his…member. 

To make things so much worse for you, the white shirt he’s wearing is cropped, donned with a silver breastplate over his chest. The jacket over top is also cropped, with a long train in the back that flows elegantly behind him with each stride of his legs. 

And, your favorite part: his sword. 

It’s held tight to his waist, secured in the black sheath with the belt wrapped around his hips. 

And you’re sure he’s done something different to his hair, looking as though he’s taken a curling iron to it. 

He’s moved closer to you, locking eyes with yours as he throws you a quick wink. And that confirms what you were already wondering the moment he walked out of his room; he’s wearing fucking eyeliner. Tightlined on the bottom and top lids, smudged out a little on the outer corners.

This is all far too much to take in right now. Your knees feel as though they're on the verge of buckling beneath youtu. 

Fucking Jake. 

“Alright, everyone,” announces Josh while he finishes packing up the last few things he’ll need for today's shoot. 

Your head snaps over in his direction, your eyes longing for Jake as soon as you do so. 

But, you don’t have to be too sad for too long, as you feel Jake come up behind you. Close enough to your back that you feel his firm abdomen against your body. And, to your utter demise, you feel as he lays a sneaky hand against your hip, squeezing just enough to let you know he’s there.

Fuck. 

You do your best to focus on Josh as he rambles on, explaining (in his typical, long-winded fashion that quickly became one of your things about him) the ins and outs of today's scene. 

“And what better place for that than our beloved campus?” Josh remarks, flashing a wink your way that you snicker off. He’s a goof. 

He goes on about how the shoot will take place in front of the historic U of M law school, the most eye-catching of all the buildings on campus. The one that looks just like a castle fit for the King of Britain himself. 

“I can’t begin to fathom that, after this scene, this little brain child of mine will be completely filmed.” He quickly wipes a stray tear from his glittering eyes as he starts to pace around the living room, stopping when Malachi wraps a supporting arm around his shoulder. 

“I just wanted to thank all of you for your endless help and support on the most extensive project I’ve taken on. This film…” Josh pauses his talking to gain a bit more composure, his voice beginning to crack with the heavy emotions that are begging to be felt. “...it will open so many doors…for all of us. And I undoubtedly believe that.”

Josh’s eyes flick to Jake’s behind you for a blip of a moment. Was that meant specifically for Jake? If so, what did it mean? 

On top of the secret look, Jake’s grip on your hip loosened just a bit for the briefest of moments. It would’ve made you ponder further, but only seconds after he’d let up his hold, he was back to grasping at you. 

This time, his thumb brushing purposefully against your ass for just long enough that you had to cross your legs awkwardly. 

Fucker.

As Josh sturdies himself against Malachi, taking a moment to gather his emotions, he clears his throat in preparation for one more announcement. “But before we head over there, I’d like to share with you all the official title of this masterpiece we’ve created together.” 

Josh said from the very beginning that he wanted to wait until the filming was nearly complete before giving it a name. He wanted to see it to the end before giving it an “all encompassing heading.” 

Knowing the title of this film will make the ending feel official, and it makes you a little emotional to see it all come to a close. This project has given you so much you never thought you'd have, and to finally know its name...

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel Jake’s hand land on your lower back, sliding slowly up the hem of your shirt as he lightly scratches the bare skin with dulled nails. Every inch of you is painted in goosebumps, and you’re suddenly finding it hard to take a full breath any longer. 

“The purpose of this film,” he begins, effectively drawing your attention back to him, “Was to show a different side of the infamous, yet idolized romance. It’s a beautiful retelling, full of love, betrayal, hurt, and eventual death. After witnessing the genious of this immaculate cast,” he continues, being sure to make eyecontact with everyone in the room so that no one feels excluded. “I finally decided on a title that I feel speaks for the film.”

Josh looks to Sam, who begins a fake drum roll with his fingers against the kitchen counter. 

“Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur,” Josh proudly boasts, making a dramatic display by excitedly clapping his hands together and bowing to everyone before him. “I know, it’s somewhat of a mouthful.” He laughs.

“And that translates to…?” Danny asks, he and Nat cuddled up on the couch together.  

“Ah, I was hoping you’d ask!” Josh smiles, pointing his finger toward Danny before crossing his arms over his chest. “It means The Dark Intrigues of Guinevere and Arthur. I thought it fitting to stick with the French theme, given the source from which the script was derived.” He raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased with himself on 

The Dark Intriges…

With everything surrounding this film, everything it’s brought you, it just couldn't be more suited. 

Your eyes are drawn to Sam once more when his connect with yours, seemingly paying no mind to how close Jake is standing behind you as he smiles and subtly winks you way. Smiling back at him hurts, because you’ve got a solid feeling he knows nothing of what's going on with you and Jake. What you hope will happen is he’ll figure it out on his own. Telling him would, frankly, fucking suck. The guilt you feel is tremendous, though.

And for that reason, the title of this film is all too fitting. Even beyond it. 

“I love it, Josh,” you tell him. “It’s beautiful.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I can see why you fought so hard for this outfit,” you say, slyly as Jake is driving the two of you to campus. 

Jake had actually called you as his riding partner on your way to the parking lot…in front of everyone. 

And while it’s not exactly been a secret (amongst almost everyone, at least) that you two have this thing for each other, it still made your skin heat and butterflies fly rampant in your belly when he claimed you’d be riding with him. He certainly didn’t want anyone else riding with you — only him. 

He’d told you as much as soon as you were both closed into the Black Pearl, his hand momentarily having squeezed your thigh when he spoke the words that made your heart flutter. 

In the present moment, you can see the flush in his cheeks as he grins, full toothed. “Yeah? Like what you see, huh?” He says with a cock of his eyebrow. 

“Mhm. Very much so, actually.” 

“C’mere,” he tells you just before he stops at the red light. You lean over toward him, and with a finger hooked under your chin, he pulls you in for a heavy, deep kiss.

He’s clean shaven, his face feels so smooth. And he tastes just like his birch wood aftershave. 

It’s not until the car behind you honks that the kiss is broken, and you both realize the light has turned green. Judging by the now continuous honks, it's probably been that way for a bit.

“Best we don’t start something we can’t finish, hm?” He utters, laughing when the car behind passes him and the driver throws him a very erect middle finger. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Stacy wasn’t supposed to be involved in filming today, and still yet, to your pure and utter disgust, here she is. She’s standing next to her car, eagerly jumping up and down as you all approach the parking lot across from the law building. 

Even with the radio on, and the windows rolled up, you can still hear her shrill screams of irritating excitement to see everyone. 

What the fuck.

“Jake!” She blurts as he gets out of the car, ignoring her attempt to give him a hug while he makes his way to the passengers side to let you out. “O–Oh! Hi, y/n! Didn’t think you were filming today!”

Yeah, I could say the same for you. 

“Nice to see you again, Stac,” you say, doing your very best to not sound like a total bitch. “Just wanted to watch the final scene being filmed. I assume that’s why you’re here, too?” 

Anyone else would have no problem seeing right through your fake kindness, but Stacy doesn’t seem to. In the time you’ve known her, you’ve noticed that she’s not the best at picking up on most social cues. She just continues to live in her little happy delirium, unable to read every room she graces with her movie star beauty.

“Oh yes! I can’t believe our project is almost over.” 

Our project? 

She inserts herself between you and Jake, standing as close as possible to the two of you, facing Jake with her back to you. The chemical-like smell of her cheap coconut body spray (which she’s obviously bathed in) stings the inside of your nose. Combined with her equally cheap hairspray, it's an abrasive scent she’s clearly nose-blind to.

As much as you’d like to say a few choice words, you bite your tongue and step away from her. Jake, looking just as annoyed as you, quickly joins you and begins leading you across the street to the front of the building. The sound of Stacy’s mule heels clicking against the pavement grows louder behind you as she hurries to keep up. 

Read the room, Stac. 

Josh and Malachi are already in full production mode as they’re working together to set up the perfect shot in front of the law school. “Can you bring me the light reflector, babe? We need the right balance of light on the bricks,” you hear Josh as Malachi as he’s looking through the viewfinder, making adjustments to the framing. 

“How’s that?” Chi asks, holding the reflector steady. 

Josh looks through the camera again, motioning for Jake to come stand in front of the lens as he tells him how to position himself. “Ah!” He exclaims, throwing an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Perfect!”

Just then, Sam, Nat, and Danny pull in the parking lot in Nat’s Escalade. Even from across the street, you can vividly see the look on Nat’s face when she spots Stacy. Her expressionsays it all—her annoyance for Stacy has only grown in the last several weeks, and one thing about Nat? Her thoughts rarely stay safely within her mind. 

“What a…pleasant surprise,” Nat grumbles sarcastically as she approaches all of you, her eyes narrowing on the blonde standing to your right who’s trying to wedge her way in between you and Jake yet again. 

Stacy’s smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers, putting on a sweet and clueless grin. “Hey, Natty Batty! How are you?”

You have to quickly muffle your giggles with your hand when you see Nat wrinkle her nose at whatever the hell that nickname was. The look of utter disgust on her face is blatantly obvious to everyone else. But, not to Stacy. To no surprise,

Danny, ever the peacekeeper, excels at diffusing tension with his genuine smile and warm embrace. Nat’s irritation melts away instantly as Danny tenderly kisses her nose, eliciting a wide grin and a rosy blush. He is her perfect balance, just as she is his.

“My twin!” Josh shouts, snapping his fingers while still squinting one eye at the viewfinder. “Someone send my twin over here—this shot is more perfect than I couldn’ve imagined, and I don’t want to waste daylight!”

Jake gently squeezes your hand. “Looks like it’s my cue,” he says, smiling down at you. “Wish me luck.” Your face glows red when his lips carefully brush against your cheek. No one seemed to notice that he did this, no one except Stacy. Her shock is evident on her face as her eyes are locked tight with yours as you simply smile and casually wave her direction. To which, she rolls her eyes and looks away, crossing her arms over her chest in a silent temper tantrum. Good.

Your attention is pulled back to Jake as he’s walking toward the camera, and there’s no sense in trying to avert your gaze. His body is so strong, so broad and sturdy. His walk is most definitely one of the sexiest things about him. So confident in his strides, and the way he’s holding on to the sword swaying from his hips…It’s taking everthing in you to put on a casual facade. But, if anyone is going to see right through it, of course, it’s Nat. You feel her nudge your shoulder, breaking you from your Jake-induced trance. “A little distracted, there?” She winks, her and Danny both chuckling at you. 

“Here’s the king!” Josh booms once Jake finds his way in front of the camera. “Okay, Jakey boy. This monologe, it’s incredibly significant to the entire piece, and will close out this story we’ve created.” He steps away from the camera, meeting Jake in his spot to brush out a few wrinkles in his jacket and guide him to the exact position he needs him in. “It will also serve as the King's final oration before his death. So, you know, no pressure or anything. But, it does need to be pristine.” He giggles, offering a gentle pat to his cheek. 

“I won’t let you down, good sir,” Jake returns, saluting him. And when Josh finds his place back behind the camera, he mimics the very same to his twin. 

“Ready, Jake?”

With a nod of his head, you watch Jake effortlessly slip into character. Straightening his posture, he places his hand on his sword, (excalibur, of course) readying himself for the draw of his weapon. 

“And…action!”

Then, with a deep breath, Jake begins. 

“I stand before thee, on the brink of battle, yet my heart is heavy with a betrayal most grievous.”

His eyes, as glowing as ever, cast downward in heavy emotion, as if seeing the haunting memories play before him. 

“Guinevere, my queen, my love, has forsaken our sacred bond for the arms of my most trusted knight. The pain of this treachery pierces deeper than any sword.” 

He’s using his accent, the very one that Josh swore he despised, but it seems Jake has been practicing. He sounds much more believable this time. Perhaps it’s the emotions he’s conveying, the seriousness of the scene. Whatever it is, it’s the best he’s ever sounded. 

His voice wavers slightly, his emotions suddenly becoming even more palpable as he looks off in the distance. You swear you can see welling tears in his honey eyes, the way they’re beginning to glisten against the sun. 

“My soul, shattered and consumed by the weight of a despair so fraught and injust. I am but a man, burdened with the agony of a broken heart. A wound that may never heal. Yet, I must not falter. For the sake of my beloved Camelot.”

His grip on excalibur tightens, his knuckles nearly white. 

“I will rise above my personal grief to fight for all that I hold dear. But know this, my loyal knights—if I should fall on this day, it will be not from the blade of our enemy, but from the tremendous sorrow that consumes me.”

He then pulls excaliber from her sheath, holding her high as the metal gleams against the dying sunlight. And when he does, he looks at you, holding character while his eyes pierce your soul. Tears begin falling from your eyes at the heightened emotions emitting from him, the woe that he’s conveying so well. It nearly feels real, as though it’s been pent up for a long time. It’s striking, it’s beautiful. 

“Let it be known that King Arthur fought not just against the foes outside these castle walls, but against the demons within his very own heart. My story,” He holds his weapon even higher, looking up to it in admiration and strong will gleaming through his eyes. “Will become a great title of an unimaginable fable, woven through the seams of time. And to that, I say, onward! Onward for Camelot, onward for Guinevere, the queen of my desolate heart!”

Everyone is silent once the monolouge finishes, letting it hang in the air for a moment as Jake still holds the sword high above his head. It seems everyone is a bit awestruck after that, after what you’re sure will be the most powerful ending to this film. 

Josh slowly steps away from the camera, looking at his twin with his mouth hanging wide open, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “...cut,” he says quietly, purely astonished. “And that, my friends, concludes the filming of Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur.” He practically runs to Jake, grabbing him in a tight embrace. “Bravo, my brother!” 

Jake hugs him back, one handed as he’s still carrying the sword. “Should we do it again? Just to be sure it’s oka–”

“Fuck no!” Josh cuts in. “We won’t get any closer to perfection than that. That was raw, you just let yourself become the King with no hesitation. No, no.” Josh shakes his head, breaking the hug, wiping the tears falling along his cheekbones and placing a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “That was it. That was our ending.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I insist,” he keeps on, refusing to accept any answer that’s not a yes. “And I mean no offense but, your cooking skills are lacking a tad.” 

“Well now officially offended, Jake!” You can’t help but laugh, knowing he’s absolutely correct. It’s true that you’re no cook, but damn–he’s certainly humbled you a bit more. 

He’s been on your case all day about having you over for a “proper dinner,” according to him. One that he’s prepared entirely from scratch. Rather adamant about it, in truth. Your phone buzzed all throughout classes, during your small shift at work. And now, as he’s walking you to your car from the library, he's not dropped the topic since he met you at the circulation counter.

“Josh will be working the office, and Sam has plans with Danny.” He takes the key right out of your hand as you approach the driver's side door, unlocking it and holding it open for you. “So, you’d actually be doing me a favor.” 

“Oh yeah?” You snicker as he hands back the key, leaning your back against the frame of your clunker. He steps in between your slightly parted legs, pressing his body against yours. “And what exactly would that be?”

He steals a quick kiss from your lips as he runs his fingers through your locks. “Keeping me company, of course.” 

His lips linger on yours a bit longer this time, another plea for you to at last agree to his proposition. How could you possibly deny him any longer? “Alright, alright,” you concur. “What time should I be there?” 

He smiles, snatching one more kiss before quickly making his way to his Rover. “No later than 6:30. And you’re to bring nothing but your lovely self.” He winks as he climbs in the driver's seat, starting the engine and peeling off before you have a chance to argue that last bit. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The kitchen is filled with the tantalizing aroma of fresh ingredients as Jake had everything laid out and ready to make dinner before you go here. The scallops are neatly arranged on a plate, a bundle of fresh spinach resting nearby, and a bowl of gleaming pomegranate seeds wait to be transformed into a glaze.

“You ready to become a master chef?” Jake asks, flashing you a playful grin as he hands you an apron.

You manage a smile, though your tummy is fluttering with nerves. Nerves over fucking up the meal, but even more so, nerves over eating the meal. 

It’s the only reason you were apprehensive about tonight. It’s as simple as your fear of eating, of eating in the presence of someone else. But what you didn’t know was Jake’s plan to have you help prep the meal. 

What made him want to do it this way is completely beyond you, but you have to admit that it seems to be helping even the slightest with your fear. 

Still yet, you’re uncertain about the whole thing. If you had it your way, the two of you would plant yourselves on the couch and watch something on the television, fight eachother over dominance when you start getting handsy with one another. 

As if he can sense your hesitation, your racing thoughts, he steps closer, his smile softening into something more intimate as he helps adjust your apron. His fingers brushs against your waist, lingering for just a moment, but long enough to steal your breath. “No worries, doll,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve got me as your sous-chef. We’re in this together.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides down to gently rest on your hip, guiding you to the cutting board. “First things first,” he starts, his tone casual though his touch is anything but. “We’ll start with the spinach. Rather easy—we’ll just chop the leaves into smaller pieces.”

You pick up the knife he’s placed beside the greens, noting its heavy weight of this massive blade. Jake’s hand hovers nearby, his presence steady and warm. “You’ve got this,” he murmers, his voice close to your ear. The proximity is sending a shiver down your spine, but his presence makes you smile, nonetheless.

As you begin to chop, Jake leans in, his breath tickling your neck as he begins telling a story about his first attempt at cooking scallops. “I burned them so badly, they were basically little hockey pucks,” he giggles. “And don’t even get me started on the smoke alarm. Sent my brothers in a screaming frenzy. I swore my grandfather was ready to kick me out.”

You chuckle at the image of Jake frantically trying to clear the smoke out of the kitchen, of Josh and Sam being scared to death over it. But it doesn’t fully distract you from just how close he is, how his arm brushes agaisnt yours  when he grabs another knife to help you chop the last of the leaves. 

With the spinach done, Jake moves on to the scallops, setting a pan on the stove. “Alright, here’s the trick with scallops: you want a hot pan. They should sizzle as soon as they hit the surface. Like they’re saying, ‘We’re here, mother fuckers and we mean business!’” 

Laughter bursts from your belly at his completely cheesy remark. He jokingly pats himself on the back at making you laugh so hard before handing you the metal tongs. He lets you take them but keeps his hand on them as well, guiding you as you place the scallops in the pan. 

While the scallops are searing, Jake moves on to the pomegranate glaze. He pours the juice into a saucepan, adding honey and lemon with a flourish. “This part’s fun,” he says, giving you a wink. “We’re basically making a magic potion. When we drizzle it over the scallops, it’s going to taste like pure heaven.”

His voice drops a notch, and when he holds the spoon to your mouth to taste the glaze, his fingers softly brush against your lips. You open your mouth to allow the tangy sweetness of the glaze to spread across your tongue, but your mind is admitidly elsewhere, fixated on the heat radiating from his body.

“What do you think, doll?” He mutters, his eyes watching your tongue as it collects the sauce that dripped on your bottom lip. “Is it to your liking?” 

“It’s perfect.” 

You take the spoon from his hand and lick off the reminents of the glaze, taking your time to put on a bit of a show for him. When you set it back down on the counter, his hands, still a little sticky from the sauce, grab hold of your face and pull you closer to him. “Let me try,” he moans sweetly in your mouth, tasting what’s left of the glaze on your tongue. “Mm, you’re right,” he says, stealing one more taste of your lips. “Perfect.”

With the scallops now seared and the glaze ready, Jake guides you through plating. He arranges the spinach on the plates, then hands you the spoon to drizzle the glaze. “Just a little drizzle,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Like you’re adding the finishing touch.”

You follow his lead, trying to focus on the task, but it’s rather hard with him so close, his hand brushing your back as he leans in to admire your work. “Not bad for a first try, huh?” He says, his breath warm against your ear.

“Not bad at all,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The evening was about as close to perfect as you could’ve hoped for. Well, aside from your mom’s phone calls beginning to become persistent as the night lingered. 

The meal was glorious, and the way Jake had you help with preparing it gave you some sense of control over it all. It certainly helped you overcome some of the fear of eating, and though you’re normally the cook at your own place, tonight just felt different. Perhaps it was because Jake was with you this time, his peaceful aura working to calm you. You felt okay. More than okay. 

While the fear was still there, Jake’s voice worked to quiet the no-so-nice ones in your head. 

He helped. He helped a lot. And he doesn’t even know it. 

But now, you’re home, lying in your bed with a belly full of seafood. The thoughts are much louder now than they had been all night; the anxieties have managed to slip back in your head now that he’s not here to protect you from them. 

The night ended far quicker than you wanted, though you know it’s not anyones fault. Josh called needing Jake’s help with a particulary irate tenant, one that only Jake knows how to deal with properly. 

After more than a few minutes arguing on the phone, after Jake promised to kick Josh’s ass for making him come help, you offered to get out of his hair so he could handle the situation. It was late, and you knew being out any longer would result in more phone calls from your mom, more guilt for being gone. 

You miss him. You miss the safety and reassurance he provides that you just can’t get at home. 

No, there’s no safety here anymore. 

There’s tension, resentment. On both sides. 

When your head hits the pillow these days, your mind has a much harder time shutting off. You’ve replayed the conversation with your mom over and over again. Dodger…

You think about whomever this is almost nightly since the very mention of the name caused her to spew such horrible things your way. The name served as some sort of trigger for her, and you just want to get to the bottom of why. 

Thinking about it is beginning to put pressure on your now throbbing temples and cheekbones. It feels like a rubberband is tightening around your whole head, the only relief coming from the tips of your fingers pressing down on either side of your nose. 

Everything feels out of your control. Everything. If you could just figure out who he is…He?

Suddenly, you remember. 

You sent yourself the contact from your moms phone. You have Dodger’s number. 

One phone call is all it would take. One phone call, and you’ll have your answer. 

The screen of your phone is nearly blinding in contrast to the darkness of your room. The first thing you do is turn the brightness down before anything else so your eyes can have an easier time adjusting. 

You scroll through your contacts until you see the name, your thumb stilled and hovering above it once you see it.

You’re scared. You’re not sure why you’re scared. There’s so much you feel like you don’t know, that’s being hidden from you. And calling this number might mean learning some — perhaps all — of those things. 

You’ve just got a feeling, a feeling that you can’t understand.

The hand that’s not holding your phone reflexively reaches to the necklace around your neck, taking hold of the little charm with your initial. When you rub your thumb over the engravement, you feel a tiny sense of peace in the grasp of your hand, against the ridges of your thumb. 

And you’re also suddenly feeling like calling Dodger may not be the right thing to do.

Not right now, at least. 

There’s someone else you’d much rather talk to, someone that will make you feel like everything is okay, even if it truly isn’t. 

It only rings once on the other end before he answers. “It’s awfully late, doll.” His voice is quiet, deep. “Everything okay?” 

You huff a breath of solace, feeling your nerves dull and the ache in your head begin to ease a bit at merely hearing his voice. “I just wanted to say thank you again for tonight,” you tell him, lips curling into an honest grin. “It meant a lot to me.” 

You hear a faint, breathy giggle in your ear. “Happy to do it, babe.” 

Babe.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You have a fondness for nights like these, when you close the library on your own. There’s something so calming, so peaceful about the vacant building in the evening. 

Albeit a little spooky, it’s in all of the best ways. Never once have you felt unsafe or scared here. 

And you never grow bored. The stories that line the ceiling-high bookshelves provide all the wonder and escapism one could ever want for. 

As for most weekend evenings, it’s been awfully slow tonight. Not that you’re complaining; it's provided you with ample opportunities to explore a little deeper than you’re normally able to. As much as you adore working with Nat, she usually talks your ear off the entire shift, so, without her, you can give yourself a little you time to walk around the quiet space. 

At a quarter to ten, the library will be set to close in about fifeteen minutes. With all of the closing duties complete, all that’s left to do is lock the doors when the clock strikes ten. There’s not been a single person in here since early this afternoon, and you’re willing to place a wager on it staying that way until it’s officially time to close it down. 

But just as you’re thinking the remainder of the night will be still, you hear the familiar creak of the large wooden door. 

Who could possibly need the library at this hour? 

With a roll of your eyes, you make your way down the stairs to greet whomever decided to waltz in here at the last minute. 

And when you catch a glimpse of who it is, you’re not shocked in the least. 

“Hi, doll.” 

You should’ve known as soon as you heard the creaking door. This has, afterall, happened before, as history would tell.

“Jake, what are you doing here?” You ask as you approach, feeling your cheeks flush at the sight of him in his denim button up over a slightly torn white v-neck and tight dark wash jeans.

He closes the small gap between the two of you, making graceful strides your way as he reaches both hands out to grab hold of your hips, a lazy grin exposing his pearly whites. “Thought I might check out a book before closing time," he says, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. "Got any recommendations?"

You laugh, trying to ignore the way your heart races at his touch. "At this hour? Really, Jake, you're impossible."

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "You know me, always full of surprises." He releases your hips but not before giving them a gentle squeeze. "But seriously, I just wanted to see you."

You playfully begin walking toward the shelves, pretending that you’re carefully looking for something that may pique his interest, hearing the click of his black heeled boots against the hardwoods. 

"Well, you’ve got me," you say as you’re facing away from him, trying to keep your tone light while you feel the warmth of his body against you when he gets closer. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

You look over your left shoulder to him as he tilts his head, considering. "How about you surprise me? Pick something you think I'd like."

You nod, turning your attention back towards the bookshelves, grateful for the brief moment to collect yourself. As you scan the rows of spines, you can feel his eyes on you, a warm, steady presence that’s both comforting and exhilarating. After a moment, you pull "Tell Me to Stop" by Charlotte Byrd from the shelf and turn back to him.

"Here," you say, handing it over. "I think you'll fancy this one."

Jake takes the book from your hands, his fingers lingering just a moment longer against yours. "Ah, I’ve heard of this one. Thanks, doll," he murmurs, his voice a low, intimate whisper. As he reads the title, his lips curl into a slow, knowing grin. "Quite the dark romance, I hear," he says, his eyes locking onto yours with a heat that sends a thrill through you. 

“It is rather…enticing,” you snicker, sucking in a sharp breath when his free hand finds your hip once again. “Very dark, very romantic.”

You glance at the clock just as the hands indicate that it’s officially closing time, but before you can tell Jake that you need to lock the doors, you hear the novel thud to the floor as he pulls your body into his. His lips collide with yours while your hands instinctively run all over the expanse of his back and shoulders. 

You savor the taste of him, already familiar yet exhilaratingly new each time. The spicy peppermint against his tongue, the lingering taste of black coffee, sweet and bitter—so very much him.

Inappropriate as it may be, you can’t begin to stop yourself. The library is closed, and the chances of anyone else walking in are incredibly slim to none. And though the risk is there given the doors are still unlocked, you can’t deny that makes this ordeal all the more exciting. 

He pushes your back against the shelf where you found his novel, and the books on the other side hit the floor from the force, their echoing thuds heard throughout the old walls of the building.

You feel him, hard and rock solid against your hip, his lips hungry and eager for yours. There’s a need coursing through your veins that only he can bring forth, a need that waves all caution of being in a public place (closed or not) to the wind. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” you grumble, your lips hardly leaving his. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, rutting his hard cock into your hip. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

Jesus.

He groans, deep and raspy when you reach between your bodies to feel him through his jeans. He thrusts his hips into you, pushing himself into your palm. “Turn around,” he mumbles, already leading you there before the words even leave his lips. 

“Yes, sir,” you moan while you hurriedly turn to face the shelving. One hand softly grips the back of your neck, finding the waistband of your leggings. He pulls them and your underwear down in one swift motion, fingers instantly prodding at your leaking entrance. You groan and sigh his name, your cunt throbbing and yearning for him.

“Color.”

“Green.”

You hear him unbuckle his belt and yank down his zipper with his other hand, his cock now resting on the skin of your lower back while he pushes his middle finger inside to the knuckle. “Spread your legs a little more for me, doll,” he mumbles into your hair. You spread them as much as you can, but you can only go so far with the way your leggings are stretched on the middles of your thighs. “Wider,” he groans, quiet and deep from his throat. 

The threads in your leggings snap when you spread your legs even further, and you feel the breath of his chuckle against the back of your neck. “Is that enough for you?” You snap, half out of irritation, half out of desperation. 

He then pulls his finger from you, swatting the flesh of your ass just enough to startle you. “Careful, doll,” he mutters, the tip of his leaking cock now replacing his finger. “You know what happened last time you got cheeky with me,” he whispers, one hand gently massaging your ass cheek to help remind you, while the other still has firm hold on the back of your neck. 

“Yes, sir,” you comply, noting a snarky chuckle from behind you before he nibbles at your shoulder. 

“Are you ready for me, love?” He questions. His voice is still stern, yet becoming gentler all at once. He kisses your shoulder, the hand on your neck moving to brush your hair out of the way as his tongue follows a path to the back of your ear. 

“Y-yes, sir,” you reiterate, finding there’s hardly any air left in your lungs to speak with.   

Any air that is in your lungs is instantly stolen from you when he slowly glides himself inside your soaked cunt. You hold on to the shelves with a white knuckle grip as he fills you slowly and completely, letting you get comfortable with him nestled away inside of you. 

“That’s my girl,” he growls in your ear, keeping his thrusts very slow and deep. “Always so wet and ready for me, huh?” 

He then takes both of your wrists, bringing them down to rest against your lower back, holding them still with one hand. His pace quickens with this new leverage, pounding himself into you with a force that causes at least five more books to fly off of the other side of the shelves. 

“Wish you could see this, doll.” You feel him lean the upper half of his body back as his hips keep their rythmn, keeping your wrists held together while his other hand holds you sturdy by your shoulder. “You look so lovely like this.” 

Your wails reverberate from the high pitched ceilings, bouncing off every wall. His cock sliding in and out of you at this momentum has the band within you daring to snap at any second, your walls fluttering and squeezing his twitching dick. 

A series of explicitives mixed with his name escape your lips, near incoheriences as you’re feeling your body coming closer and closer to letting go for him. 

“Jake Jake Jak–” 

“That’s it, doll. Give it to me, so fucking wet.” His breathing is labored, hitched as it’s becoming caught in his throat as you gush around his twitching cock. A feeling of bliss so indescribable, so intoxicating. An intoxication only made possible by Jake. 

He’s close behind you, his rhythm faltering and becoming sloppier and harder. You’re on the brink of overstimulation, but you don’t care. You’d let him keep going forever if you could. 

“Where do you want it?” He asks, slowing enough so he can gain a bit more composure before he gives it to you. 

“Inside,” you plead with a high pitch in your tone, desperate to feel full of him. “Please, sir.” 

“Fuck.” His hips pick up their previous speed as he lets go of your wrists, letting you grab hold of the shelves once again. “A-are you sure?”

Is it risky?

Absolutely. 

But, the risk is there whether he pulls out or not. And right now, with every heightened, burning cell in your body and the already present risk of doing this at work, you want it. You need it. Every caution went out the window the moment he walked through the doors tonight. 

“Y-yes,” you stutter. “Fill me up, sir.” 

A deep, rumbling sound you’ve yet to hear from him erupts from the depths of his chest, and within seconds of your plea, he’s doing just as you said. He’s filling you with everything he’s got, so much that you feel it spilling down the insides of your thighs. 

He slows himself to a complete stop, stilling himself inside of you as he catches his breath and letting you do the same. “Goddamn,” he mutters through panting breaths. “You’re just too fucking perfect.” You hiss as he pulls himself out all the way, slow and steady so you’re as comfortable as possible. You reach down to pull your leggings up, but he gently stops you before you can finish. “Just a second, doll.” 

You turn your head over your shoulder as he’s taking off his denim shirt and reaches it down to clean the traces of him left on your inner thighs. “We sure made a mess,” he snickers as he helps you bring your leggings back up. 

You feel you have to muster every little bit of strength you have left to turn your body around to face him. He giggles at your exhausted state, and you can’t help but grin at the state of him. Sweat accumulated on his eyebrows, dripping down his cheeks, his eyes heavy and drowsy.

He drapes his shirt over his shoulder before he pulls you into a lazy hug, holding you against his warm body. You fully melt into him, letting your arms fall to his sides and your head rest against his chest. “You’re going to have to help me put those books back on the shelf,” you chuckle, remembering just how many of them hit the ground. 

You feel his chest rattle as he laughs and kisses the top of your head. “Let’s just leave ‘em. Blame it on the ghosts.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve never looked forward to your birthday. Years of it being spent alone, your mom never allowing you to have birthday parties, people constantly forgetting about it…you just can’t recall a time that you actually felt loved on this day. So, it’s just another day to you. You’ve learned to not expect much from people when it comes around. 

And just like any other day as of late, today is filled to the absolute brim with school, work and the countless things you’ll need to do at home. 

Just another day.

But you know that this one will perhaps be a bit harder, as it’s the first you’ll spend without your dad. Even though birthdays have always left you feeling just as insignificant as the other 364 days of the year, your dad would still make it a point to surprise you with a little something every morning on this date.

Usually, it was a red velvet cupcake from the Sweet Crumb bakery just down the street from your home, adorned with a single golden candle that he would wait to light until you were awake so the wax wouldn’t melt all over the cream cheese frosting. And, without fail, every year he’d lay a single white gerbera daisy on your pillow for you to wake up to, usually with a little note tied to the stem that said, “To My Wildflower.”

On your sixteenth, he gifted you your once favorite piece of jewelry— a little golden heart charm with the initial of your first name engraved on it, hanging from a golden chain. 

The very one you wore every single day. Well, until he left, that is. And that was when you decided you no longer needed it, that it simply didn’t mean the same to you. 

But somehow, it made its way to Ann Arbor, even though you distinctly remember throwing it away along with the handwritten letter that had been in the jewelry box. The same letter you still can't seem to find, even though it was always kept alongside your necklace. You recall hesitating when the thought of throwing it away crossed your mind. In the end, you weren’t quite ready to part with it.

Odd. 

And yet, despite everything, you’ve recently found a quiet happiness in knowing you still have the necklace. Today feels as good a day as any to wear it. Even though he left, he can’t take the necklace away, and wearing it gives you a small sense of control over it all.

Alas, there’s no cupcake or flower awaiting you this morning, though. Not much of anything, actually. Only once in your life can you remember a gift from your mom, and you’ve a strong feeling this year won’t be much different. 

You can’t remember a time in your life that you’ve truly been celebrated as a person, just for who you. You’ve always been left to wonder if you’ve just never been worthy of it. A life in the shadows, you’ve always said. In the shadows of everyone else around you, around the important people. 

For that very reason, you’re grateful to have stumbled upon the people who are in your life now—the ones who’ve been a thousand miles away but feel like they should have been with you all along.

But, they're in your life right now for a reason. There’s a deeper purpose to the fact that you’re just now meeting them in this stage of your life, not any other one. 

What the reason is, you may not know for a long time. Or, you may never know. Regardless, you’re grateful to them. And they have no clue just how much they’ve helped you come into your own in the incredibly short time you’ve known them. 

As you gaze at your closet, only partially filled with clothes, the thought of wearing something a bit nicer for class and work crosses your mind. Yet, as you rummage through the same five pairs of leggings and your tattered sweatshirts and oversized sweaters, you realize there’s nothing that nice to wear.

Your ensemble from the infamous night at the haunted house is washed and hanging neatly in the back corner of the small space, but the thought of wearing that again isn’t exactly a pleasant one. There’s just too much associated with it to want to put it on your body again. There’s always the outfit from the night of the birthday party, but you haven’t had a chance to wash those clothes just yet. So, your uniform of choice— leggings and a massive sweater— will have to do for today. 

Just another day.

Although, you figure it’d do little harm to wear your nice sweater today, the white button up with beige flowers stitched all over it. The one that pairs perfectly with your white, hightop converse, sprucing up your usual look a bit. And with the addition of your dads gifted necklace, your vibes are at least a little nicer today. Nicer than you normally feel, at least.

And, fuck it. You may as well add a touch of makeup, throw a few curls in your hair, just for the hell of it. 

Once you finish dabbing on a little black mascara and rose colored lip gloss, you take a step back from your vanity to get the full image of yourself. And surprisingly, you’re quite pleased with the outcome. 

With a few spritzes of your Being Frenshe vanilla cashmere perfume, you feel it’s about as good as it’ll get for the day. And, oddly enough, you’re pretty happy with it. 

Your birthday may not be your favorite, but at least you can make yourself feel a little better with your appearance. It’s a bit of a foreign concept to you, to feel okay in your own skin. But you’ve found that, lately, it’s come a little easier. 

(And you know exactly who to thank for that.)

You grab your cross body bag, picking up your phone that’s still plugged into the charger, and before you place it in the front zipper of your bag, you notice there’s an unread text from Jake that he sent about fifteen minutes ago. 

Before even opening the message, there’s a warm feeling flooding through your body at seeing his name, something you’re sure you’ll never get used to.

Jake: May the flames of our souls dance together endlessly. And yours, burning brightest as you embark on another trip around the sun. Join me for a celebratory feast on this fine eve. At the stroke of 7:30, look for me from the balcony of your watchtower. I’ll be awaiting your anticipated arrival from your chariot of the night, The Black Pearl. 

It’s not that you expected him to forget, but the prospect was strong in your mind nonetheless. It’s historical that people have forgotten your birthday, or at least didn’t pay it enough mind to reach out to you about it. So it’s no wonder why you questioned whether or not someone you’d just met a few months ago would think to text you. 

But, it's Jake. Jake is different, and you know that. You've seen his heart.

Just as you’re about to respond, you see the three little dots bubbling under his last text, so you wait a second to see what else he has to say.

Jake:  Also, there's a surprise for you in your car. (Please lock it at night) See you in around 12 hours, beautiful.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re shocked when you see the most beautiful bouquet of white gerbera daisies mixed with wildflowers sitting propped up in your driver's seat. It’s the biggest you’ve ever seen; there must be at least fifty daisies wrapped up in there. 

(It appears as though you did get your daisy this year after all— and then some.)

But that’s not it. There’s an incredible red dress lying across the back seat with a jewelry box sitting on top of the crimson, satin fabric. And just when you think he thought of everything, you spot a pair of black heels on the floorboard, a note attached to the ankle strap of the left one. 

Wear this tonight, and you’ll be the loveliest sight. - JTK

My god. The lengths he has gone to, all to make today as special as he can. It warms your heart, yet sends a slew of uneasy nerves through your blood. 

As much as you’re grateful for this new addition to your wardrobe, you can’t help the burgeoning thoughts that it may not fit the way you’d like.

Clothes shopping is a difficult task for you. The mere thought of knowing your size, your exact measurements…it’s a massive trigger, suffice to say. 

So, you just don’t do it. Sticking to leggings and oversized tops is the easiest thing for the very simple fact that those items always fit the exact same. Most of what you have in your closet that aren’t those things are items you bought years and years ago that you’d always had the best intentions of wearing, but couldn’t ever bring yourself to do it.

The thought of trying on this dress is a scary one. The thought of it not fitting…terrifying. Mind-numbingly.

Jake doesn’t know that. Of course, he had no idea of your inhibitions to try new clothing when he bought this for you. It’s the sweetest gesture, and his intent is nothing but pure. Nonetheless, you’re worried about the whole thing.

What if it truly doesn’t fit? What if you despise the way it looks on you? It could highlight all of your worst features, it could cling to the areas of your body and put them on display. 

But he’s expecting you to wear it. 

A rock in a hard place. You’re completely stuck. 

The last thing you’d allow yourself to do is make him feel bad for something he had no idea would trigger you so bad.

You can’t control how your body will look in the dress, how it’ll hug you in perhaps a few ways that may be unflattering. But one thing you can take control of today, is how much food you decide to put into your body.

Meals are simply out of the question today— until your date, at least. 

You’re not risking the inevitable pooch that will make itself present with anything you decide to eat. A little hunger is okay if it means you might fit the dress a little better. 

You take the dress, shoes and jewelry from the back of your car, grab the lovely bouquet and head back up to your apartment to set everything in your room.

As you stare at the dress laid out on your comforter, you can’t fight the rush of anxieties creeping up. As much as you want to try it on now, so you’ll know for sure if it’ll be a good fit for tonight, you just can’t. Not yet. You’d like to remain as blissfully unaware for as long as you possibly can. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You feel rather accomplished as you leave your Classic Horror course, having just gotten back your analytic paper on the ever scandalous novella Carmilla with a ninety eight percent decorating the front left corner in red ink. 

And even better, your professor told you that your paper scored the highest out of the forty six people in your class. 

You're mentally patting yourself on the back as you head to the library for your shift, feeling a sense of pride in your work that you initially thought wasn’t worthy of any praise. 

Movack's class is canceled for today, and you’re a little sad about that. You never thought the day would come when you’d be upset about not having Movack’s class, the one that’s shown you grief after grief this semester. But, it’s the one that introduced you to Jake. And with how things are at last falling into place, that class has turned out to be one of the best things that’s ever happened to you.

But, not having Movack’s class means you can get a few extra hours of work in. Your bank account will certainly be grateful for it, and, in truth, you love your job enough to sacrifice a few hours of free time. 

You’re almost sure that you’re the only person in the world who wants to go to work on their birthday. Natalia offered more than once to work extra to cover your shift, but you wouldn’t hear of it. Apart from being with Jake, the library is the best place to be today. (And t certainly beats being stuck at home.)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A huge bunch of sparkly silver balloons is the first thing that catches your eye as you’re nearing the circulation desk.  And right next to the balloons, is your dearest Natalia with an excited smile stretched across her perfect teeth. 

She’s not even supposed to be at work today. Yet, here she is. And you’re so happy to see her.

“The birthday girl!” She exclaims, practically sprinting to you while holding out a gift bag that perfectly matches the balloons. 

“Nat! What did you do?” You exclaim through a ridiculously large smile, so big it’s almost embarrassing. 

You’re not used to this kind of attention, especially on your birthday. 

A day that you had prepared yourself to be just another day, has turned out to be one of the best birthdays you’ve ever had. 

And you needed it. 

You just didn’t realize how badly you needed it until you got it. It feels silly to be so emotional about everything, but it just can’t be helped. Happy, thankful tears begin falling down your cheeks as you try to sniff them away, but to no avail.

Nat sets the gift down and pulls you into a full body hug the moment she sees your emotions surfacing. There’s no sense in hiding them, especially with Nat. If anyone is going to understand your feelings, it’s her. 

“I’m not letting go until you do,” she says, squeezing you tightly in her toned arms. She smells so good, so much like her. Like a field of lilacs and freshly brewed coffee. 

When you finally decide to let go, she uses the sleeve of her fitted mustard yellow turtleneck to wipe thye tears from your cheeks.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you tell her once you notice the splotch of mascara you left on the shoulder of her top. 

“Don’t be sorry,” she responds, picking the gift back up and holding it out to you once again. “But you have to open this before you go fix your makeup.” 

With shaky hands, you take the bag from her, instantly noting its weight. 

“Nat, you shouldn’t have done–” 

“I wanted to,” she interrupts. “Now, open it!”

You reach your hand in the bag and pull out something wrapped it white, sparkly tissue paper. It’s heavy, but not too heavy, and oval in shape. As you begin ripping away the tissue, you see the beginnings of a beautiful bronze antiqued frame with rose gold flowers carved into it. And when you see the photo it surrounds, the tears begin making their appearance one more.

Why can’t I keep it together?  

It’s a photo of you and Nat, a candid shot of her helping you fix your hair as you’re getting ready in Jake’s room for a scene. You’re dressed in the red gown from earlier scenes, so the photo is at least a few months old. 

It's beautiful. It perfectly embodies your friendship with Nat, capturing where it was then and where it is now. It's a frame, frozen in time, depicting how she has helped you every step of the way since the day you met her, always being right there behind you in everything you do.

“Nat it’s–” You try, choking on your words through heavy emotions. “I just love this so much.” 

You stare at it a few moments longer before pulling her in for another embrace. But as you’re holding her close, you suddenly begin to wonder…

“Who took this?” You ask her, breaking the hug only a little so you can see her face. 

“I’ll give you one guess,” she winks. 

“Jake?” you ask, shocked. Yet, somehow, not shocked at all. She nods her head to confirm, and all you can do is smile at the lovely thought that this simple gift represents so much. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Get a plate! There’s plenty here,” Nat says as she’s filling her silver paper plate with one of everything from the spead.

Cupcakes, a massive variety of chips and every dip one could possibly want for, pretzels, popcorn, an entire fruit tray with a white ceramic bowl holding a fluffy cream cheese dip…

So. Many. Snacks. 

So much temptation on a day that you really don’t want to be tempted. You can’t risk your tummy sticking out tonight for your date, and any amount of these snacks will do just that. 

But dammit, they look incredibly appetizing. And your empty stomach is begging you to scarf down one of those vanilla cupcakes with the pretty baby-pink frosting. 

You feel guilty about it. Shameful. Nat spent so much time and money on this for you, but you just can’t allow yourself to do it. You won’t do it. 

Eating isn’t a priority right now.

“I will in a bit! I just need to enter these returns really quick,” you tell her, pretending to focus on your computer that isn’t even turned on yet, making haste in gathering up whatever paperwork that’s around you to try and bullshit your way out of this. 

It’s not really working, though. You don’t even have to look at Nat to know what she’s thinking, what her face is saying. 

“It can wait,” she jolts, her tone short and sharp as ever. “I know you didn’t eat breakfast. And I can bet you don’t have any lunch plans.” She grabs the papers out of your hands, setting them aside. “So, eat something. Now.”

How does she–? 

Think of something to say, y/n. Quick. 

“I, um, I actually have food in my car for lunch. Just forgot to bring it in—”

“Come here,” she cuts you off, taking your right hand from the keyboard as you’re trying to sign in to the computer and leading you to the back room. She closes the door and motions for you to sit down next to her on the pile of old books you usually sit on when you’re sorting through things to be shelved. “What's going on with you?”

“Nothing! I just—” 

She holds a hand up between you both, stopping you before you can continue with whatever bullshit was going to fly out of your mouth. “Don’t you dare tell me nothing. You hardly ate anything at the birthday party, you never take your fifteen minute meal breaks at work, you turn me down for lunch almost every day and when you do actually go with me, you take maybe three bites of your tiny salad and chug your water.” 

You’re stunned silent for a moment. For several moments, actually. 

What do you say? There’s nothing you can say, no excuse that could ever suffice when she’s caught on to this much.

You don’t like talking about it. Talking about it, to you, is a much worse feeling than the painful hunger you’ve put yourself through. Admitting you have a disorder makes it all the more real; it’s too vulnerable of an admition for your liking. Especially outloud in the presence of someone you know you shouldn’t keep secrets from. 

“I—,” you start, but it’s useless. There isn’t a single word ready to leave your tongue. Nothing is ready at the forefront of your brain.

“You’re losing weight, y/n. And you’re losing it in the most unhealthy way possible.”

No. You can’t do this today. It’s not the time. 

It’s never the time.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Nat,” you spit as you stand up, walking toward the door until she stops you with a firm grip of your forearm, holding you in place. 

“We have to talk about it,” she asserts, frustrated. “You have to talk about it. You can’t keep pretending it’s not an issue. Stop avoiding it.”

You quickly snap your arm out from her hand, refusing eye contact. You know she’s right, but this means you have to confront it. And doing that is probably the worst thing about this illness that you’ve been carrying for so many years. It only shows itself periodically, making you believe you’re finally healed, only to rear its ugly head just when you think you’ve rid yourself of it once and for all. 

Confronting it feels like you’re giving it some sort of power; you’ve convinced yourself that ignoring it will make it go away. Eventually. 

But, you know that isn’t true. Years of living by that very sentiment have proven it. No matter what, it keeps finding its way back. An unwanted, cruel friend that somehow brings you a bit of comfort, no matter how horrible it may be to you. 

You can’t bring yourself to lie to Nat. Besides, she knows you well enough that there’s no use in it; she’d know you weren’t being honest. Both a gift and a curse that she knows you so damn well. 

Unsure of what to say, you just bring your hands up to your face in a sore, pathetic attempt at muffling your cries. 

Nat doesn’t say anything as you feel her grab you and hold you tight, keeping you close to her. You can feel the beating of her heart against your own chest, beating almost as quickly as yours is. 

As hard as this is for you, it’s probably hard for her, too. 

“I’m sorry to bring this up on your birthday,” she begins, slowly pulling herself away from you, taking your hands away from your tear-soaked face so she can look you in the eye. “But I’m doing it because I want you to have more of them.”

“I’ve just lost so much control, Nat,” you sob, finding it rather hard to look her in the eye as the words begin to spill from your lips. “Everything is out of my control. My dad leaving, my mom, my feelings for Jake that I wasn’t prepared for…” 

Even when good things are beyond your control, they’re still beyond your control. You never meant to fall for him as deeply as you did– it just happened. You tried to resist it, to keep your emotions in check, focus on anything else. But, feelings, especially those holding this much weight, can’t be controlled. Not by anyone. And as wonderful as these feelings are, there’s still this persistent fear that something, anything could go wrong with Jake, and you’ll find yourself powerless against it. Just one more thing you can’t control. It’s just so heavy. 

“But the one thing that I can control is–” 

“Eating.” She says it before you can, like she knew how much it hurt to say it out loud— she wanted to do it for you, take away some of the fear. “It’s something you can control when everything else seems too hard to manage. But, at some point, it’s not you that’s in control. It’s the disease that’s controlling you.” She pauses, waiting until you gather the courage to look her in the eye. “And when you avoid it, you’re letting it control you.” 

Every single thing she’s saying is true. Undoubtedly. 

It’s just not as simple as not letting it take control. God, you wish it were that simple. But with every factor at play– the unrelenting need to have reign, the severe bouts of body dysmorphia– it’s bound to take over, whether you like it or not. And that is where she’s very much correct; this illness manipulates you, makes you believe you’re the one calling the shots, when it’s truly the opposite. 

As you see the tears beginning to fall from her honeyed irises, your heart swells. She cares. She cares more than just about anyone else in your whole life has cared. “Please, y/n. You have to take care of yourself.” She hugs you again, holding you even tighter than before as you both cry together. “Take care of yourself for you, and for all of the people who need you healthy, who need you here.”

Need. 

You’re needed? 

Even with as long as you’ve been taking care of your mom, needed isn’t something you’ve ever felt of yourself. You’ve never felt good enough to be needed. 

“I know he hasn’t said anything yet,” she continues quietly, still holding you tight. “But Jake has asked me several times if you’re okay. He knows something is up, y/n. And he cares.” She pulls away, her arms outstretched as her hands hold onto your shoulders, thumbs rubbing the place where your bones are beginning to protrude a bit more.  “He just doesn’t know how to approach you about it, and he’s not always the best at showing it, but I promise you; he cares.”  

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

There’s a plate of food sitting in front of you, and a war waging its highest battle inside of you. 

One thing you’ve always known to be true with this illness are the intense feelings of shame involved with…everything. 

Eating is shameful, not eating is shamefiul.

And what’s worse about the shame associated with not eating; when people know. 

Realizing that Nat knows, coming to terms with Jake knowing…

You’ve managed to swallow a few bites. A piece of popcorn here, a pretzel there. A few chips, (but no dip) a nibble or two of the pink frosting on top of your vanilla cupcake.

Do you eat because you want to? (Because you need to?) Or do you do it because people are starting to notice?

Right now, you know you’re only doing it to appease Nat. To make her feel better, to keep her from being upset with you. 

Is it right? No, absolutely not. It’s wrong in about twenty different ways. But, you’re eating. A half step in the right direction is still moving foreward. 

Things have been a little quiet with you and Nat for the last hour or so, quieter than usual. The only words you’ve spoken have been exchanges about students turning in or checking out books. You can’t get rid of the tension between you two, and you hate it. It’s not that she isn’t trying to ease it, you’re the one feeling awkward as fuck right now. It’s a strange feeling associated with someone knowing about your struggles. Even if it is your best friend. It’s yet another vulnerable layer of yourself peeled away from its protective barrier.  

If anyone should know, you’re glad it’s her. And you know that of everyone else, she has your absolute best interest at heart, always. No matter how brash she comes across. She’d never use it against you. 

Still yet, she knows. And anyone knowing is hard for you. It just means that she’ll keep a closer watch over you, especially when it comes to food. That is something you most definitely don’t want. 

You just don’t want things to be different with her. But, no matter how badly you wish for that, things will probably be much different from now on. People will always view you differently when they know what you struggle with, and Nat is no exception. 

“Looks like you’ve got a little visitor,” you hear Nat say as your eyes are fixed on the computer screen, breaking you from your endless thought train. When you look up, you see a vase filled with a lovely bouquet of more daisies, just like the ones left in your car for you this morning.

Jake. Your heart skips a beat at the thought that he came to surprise you at work, too. 

“More flowers?” You say with a winded giggle, reaching to slide the vase over to the side so you can see his face. “You’ve done way too much, Ja–”

Before you finish moving the vase, your stomach drops when you see who's responsible for this beautiful gift.

It’s not Jake who brought them to you. 

It’s Sam. 

And here he is, standing before you in one of the nicest outfits you’ve yet to see him in; black slacks with a handsome red knitted top underneath a black blazer. He’s holding your favorite coffee in his hand, and wearing the sweetest smile that has his mustache curling on either end of his lips.

“S-Sam! Oh, this is so sweet, but I—” 

“I figured you were probably getting off work pretty soon,” he interrupts, setting the coffee down next to the flowers. “I thought we could,” he pauses, removing his aviators and tucking his hair behind his ear. “ I just wondered if you’d want to go get dinner tonight. For your birthday, of course.” 

Fucking hell. 

His red cheeks and warm smile are making your heart ache. 

Looking at his sweet face is just…it’s almost too much. You know turning him down is going to hurt him. But it just might hurt you more. 

“That’s so sweet of you, Sam. But I…” 

Fuck. 

“I actually already have plans tonight.” 

He tucks another strand of hair behind his ear, fidgeting with the sunglasses he’s still holding. “Oh, okay,” he says with a heartbreakingly innocent smile. “With your mom?” 

Ugh.

Do you tell him? Do you lie to him for the sake of protecting him? It might crush him, and you don’t want to do that. But, he needs to know. And as much as you don’t want to utter the words, lying about it, only for him to find out later, is far worse. 

Well, here it goes. 

“No. I’m going with Jake.” 

That fucking hurt like hell. 

You have no doubt that the look on his face will stick with you for a very long time. His eyes, suddenly downturned like a puppy who’s just been separated from his mom, and his lips that have parted just slightly. His whole body slumps over, his shoulders seeming to go weightless as his arms fall to his side. 

I’m so sorry, Sam.

You hear Nat abandoning the desk, shutting the door to the backroom and leaving you alone with Sam, in complete silence. Good call, Nat. 

It’s the kind of silence that’s so quiet, it nearly hurts your ears. It’s awkward tension, your words left hanging in the air all around him. 

Please say something, Sam. Anything.

You feel like the dirt beneath the deepest points of the earth, even deeper than that. You and Sam weren’t anything even close to exclusive, but you know you led him on. Selfishly, and for all the wrong reasons. You love Sam, but you can’t see any relationship with him beyond the beautiful friendship you’ve grown. But now, you’re worried that all but vanished as soon as you uttered his brother's name.

“We just made the plans this morn—”

“...you’re going with Jake?”

His tone is almost pleading with you to say it isn’t so. He sounds sad. So, so sad. 

A part of you thought he might’ve gotten the idea by now that you and Jake have become a bit of an item. Or that Jake would’ve said something to him. 

But, given his reaction to this news, he most certainly had no idea. Meaning, you get to be the one to break it to him. 

Great.

He looks you in the eyes as he nods in understanding, a tiny, defeated smile on his lips. “Okay.” He hesitates, looking down to the ground for a brief moment, then back to you with a smile a bit more genuine than the last. He takes a deep breath and places his sunglasses back on his face. “No big deal. I hope you two have a great time.”

You try to thank him for the sweet gifts, but he’s already walking towards the door. Your heart suddenly hurts, hurts incredibly bad. You know he is hurt, and that is the very last thing you ever wanted to happen. 

But, at least he knows. Perhaps, since nothing was ever actually official between the two of you, he’ll be able to move on with no problem. 

As much as you are enamored with Jake, there will always be a soft spot in your heart for Sam, the one who’s been the most graceful with you since the very day you met him.

I’m so sorry, Sammy. 

You hear the door behind you creak open as Nat has determined the coast to be clear of any more awkwardness with Sam finally gone. “Well, that was brutal.” She says. “I guess I thought he would’ve figured it all out by now.”

“Me too,” you respond, still picturing the sad look about his sweet face. You feel weighed down with guilt, with shame. You shouldn’t have let it go as long as you did, shouldn’t have used him the way you did. 

But, what’s done is done. There’s nothing more you can do about it.

You just hope he’ll find it within himself to forgive you someday… 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve just finished your shower, with your hair and makeup flawlessly done. Your skin carries a subtle, enticing fragrance of vanilla and cashmere, and you’re wearing the new black lingerie set you’ve been eager for Jake to see.

But now, with everything perfectly in place, it’s time to finally try on the red dress he bought you. You’ve managed to put it off until now, but with only twenty minutes left before he’s due to pick you up, your time for stalling is running out. 

You’re feeling incredibly nervous, your tummy tight and a bit nauseous. You’ve not even checked the size yet—what if it’s completely wrong? What if it’s too small or too big? Did he guess your size just based on how you look?

No, y/n. He probably got your size from Malachi who has your literal exact measurements for your costuming.

But, what if it just doesn’t fit and looks terrible on you? Will it accentuate everything about your body that you don’t like?

Goddammit.

You’d give almost anything to have someone by your side right now. You wish your mom could be here to calm your nerves like she used to. But you know that turning to her might only heighten your anxiety. Instead, you’re frozen in fear, staring at the red dress draped across your bed. Its silky fabric shimmers softly in the dim light of your room, only  your apprehension.

But then, an idea crosses your mind. The only person who knows about your dysmorphic thoughts, your best friend who understands you better than you sometimes understand yourself, is just a mere phone call away. A FaceTime away, even. Though things were a bit rocky with her today, she's still the only person you want to help you through this right now.

With only fifteen minutes until he’s set to arrive, you quickly grab your phone and search Nat’s contact, tapping the little film icon to the right of her name.

You set your phone up on the vanity as it’s ringing, and just as she answers, the look on her face reminds you that you’re only wearing a black lace bra and matching thong. 

“Goddamn, y/n!” She shouts, bringing her closed fist up to her mouth. “Daniel definitely has some competition now!”

“Nat, stop it!” You chuckle, making a horrible attempt at trying to cover yourself up. 

“Whatcha need, hot stuff?” 

“Jake bought me a dress to wear tonight, and I’m terrified to try it on,” you say, holding it up in front of the phone so she can see it. 

“Girl, that will look sexy as fuck on you. What the hell are you so scared about?” She asks, shocked as you show her the gorgeous outfit he so lovingly surprised you with. 

“I’m just…what if it doesn’t fit me and I look like utter shit in it?” 

“How the fuck are you going to know if you don’t just put the damn dress on?” She loudly asserts, intently watching you with a very annoyed expression, impatiently waiting for you to try it on and get over this hesitation you're feeling. “We’re not having another Alter’d State dressing room incident; put that bitch on.”

“Jesus, okay! Give me a second.” 

You step out of frame, rolling your eyes and giggling at her aggressive love that you’re starting to somewhat get used to. 

And, being distracted by her aggressiveness has somehow helped you to finally put this dress on your body. You did it so quickly, without hardly a thought, that you honestly didn’t even realize you actually did it. 

Your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the soft, silk fabric, smoothing it over your hips and tugging it into place. It feels tight, a snug fit you wouldn’t normally choose for yourself. 

But without having taken a single glance in the mirror, you can tell that it most definitely fits you. As you instinctively run your hands up and down your sides, feeling it out before looking at your reflection, you’re realizing that it actually fits you really well.

But, you’re worried about how it looks on you. As you’re feeling around your body, you’re noticing the way your lower belly sticks out, the very distinct protrusion of your hips, the dips above your thighs. It’s very tight. It may fit a little too well, and that meaning it's probably putting all of your insecurities on display.

“Y/n! Hurry up, already!” You hear Nat spout from your phone that's still perched upright on your vanity. 

“You have to be honest with me, okay?”

“Aren’t I always?” Nat scoffs. 

Running your hands over your body once more, sucking in your tummy as much as you possibly can, you take tentative steps in front of your phone screen. 

It’s just Nat, it’s just Nat…

“Well?”

“BITCH!” She yells, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin, almost falling over from her sheer volume. “That dress was fucking made for you! Why are you always so weird about clothing, when everything you try on looks perfect on you?” She continues, Danny now in the frame and agreeing with her. 

A wave of relief washes over you, feeling your cheeks warm at her words, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “You really think so?”

“Uh, yeah, babe. You’re going to leave that boy completely speechless.” 

You step to the side, allowing yourself to see your full image in the vanity mirror. With every ounce of strength you have in you, you do your best to ignore the things about yourself you typically focus on. Instead, the first thing you notice is the way your breasts are accentuated beneath the tight fit, the way the square neckline is just low enough to highlight your clevage in a tasteful, yet sensual way. You’ve never seen your breasts so round and full at the top like this. Part of it is all thanks to your new bra, and part of it is definetely due to the fit of your outfit. 

Wow. 

And although it’s sleeveless, thick straps being the only thing giving your shoulders some coverage, you’re not tempted to put anything over to cover your arms over fear you’ll hide the incredible things it’s doing for your chest. 

“Thanks, Nat. You’re the fucking best, you know that?” 

“Fuck yeah I do,” she chuckles, her and Danny blowing you mass amounts of kisses over the phone. “Have the best time tonight, and keep me updated!” 

She hangs up the call just as Jake sends you a text that he’s just about here. 

The strappy heels he gifted you with the dress are sitting next to your bed. You place your feet in them, (perfect size, of course) securing the strap around your ankles. When you stand, you feel a bit like a newborn deer attempting to gain balance. But after a moment of practice, striding around your room a few times, you feel a bit more comfortable in them. 

With one final glance in the mirror, doing everything you can to only focus on the things about your appearance that you do like, your gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the left of your vanity. The very one Jake left in your car along with the rest of your outfit for the evening. 

You lift the lid, and inside are the most glorious, tear shaped black diamond earrings. My god, they’re stunning. And not that you’d care either way, but by the looks of them, they’re most definitely real. You can’t even begin to fathom the amount he spent on them, on everything he’s done so far. And the night has hardly begun. 

It’s an almost uncomfortable feeling to be so cared for on your birthday. There’s a budening, lingering thought that you truly don’t deserve everything that’s been done for you so far.

The birthday party, where everyone showed you immense amounts of love and adoration, Sam’s sweet and gentle gestures, the beginnings of what you’re sure will be the most elegant evening you’ve ever experienced…

Is it possible that, just maybe, you are worthy of a love you’d never thought fathomable in your life thus far? 

It still feels awfully strange, but, a good strange. A welcome strange. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Where are you going?” You hear your mom rudely question, with a cough behind the Kleenex in her hand, as you’re pulling your coat from the front closet. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

“Going out,” you say while looking through the peephole to see if Jake has made it up the stairs yet. “And it’s a new dress.” You check your makeup once more in the mirror next to the door, brushing away the fallen eyelash sitting on top of your cheek. “Dinner is ready for you in the oven, and I left your medications next to your bed— have you taken them?” 

She scoffs as she looks you up and down, as though she’s horrified by what she sees. “And with who?” She asks, sounding utterly shocked that you could possibly have anyone who’d want to celebrate you on your birthday while altogether ignoring your question. 

“Jake.” Your answer is sharp and quick. To the point, not letting yourself fall for the guilt she’s inevitably preparing to lay on you. 

You’ve done everything she’s needed tonight. The apartment is spotless, there’s plenty for her to eat, her oxygen tank (that she refuses to wear against the doctor's order) is full. 

God forbid you get to enjoy your own birthday—for once. 

“So I don’t even get to spend your birthday with you?” 

There it is. 

There’s no doubt of what she’s trying to do, and you’re not going to give her the space to do it. She’s never prioritized your birthday, hasn’t even so much as acknowledged it once today. She just wants an excuse to argue, a reason to keep you here when you both know you don’t need to be. 

If you don’t give her the attention she wants, she doesn’t hold the power to make you feel bad. So, you’ll just ignore her every attempt at putting you down. 

And clearly, she’s not happy about it. “I see,” she mutters. “Guess your mom isn’t important enough to spend your special day with. And that dress is a little too skimpy, if you ask me.” 

She knows the perfect way to trigger you, the perfect things to say that’ll make you want to rip the dress off and cover yourself with the nearest oversized outfit, or hide beneath your covers and forget tonight was ever supposed to happen. 

 “Trying to impress him with your body won’t get you where you think it will,” she keeps on. Her voice is becoming louder, as if she knows you’re choosing to not hear what she’s saying. She thinks yelling will get your attention a little better. “A little pathetic, if you ask me!”

Good thing I didn’t fucking ask you, you think safely to yourself. 

She’s making it really fucking hard to not say anything, but thankfully Jake knocks on the door right at the perfect time before your mouth gets the best of you. 

Don’t listen to her, don’t listen. 

You hear her make continued, snide remarks about how your body looks, but you’re too preoccupied with getting to the door to meet Jake. And once you do that, you’ll be safe from whatever shit she’s spewing at you. The first thing he does when you open the door for him is greet your mom, but she isn’t having it. 

“Don’t be out all night,” she says as she makes her way to her room, slamming the door behind her. 

“Just ignore her,” you say to Jake. “She’s in a mood.”

“You look like an absolute dream.” He completely disregards the interaction with your mother, choosing to focus all of his attention on you. He walks in a circle around you, eyes grazing every inch of your body. “I knew this would look immaculate on you,” he attests, hands reaching out to gently squeeze your hips.

But the real dream is him. 

He’s adorned in his usual all black, but it’s much different than anything you’ve yet to see him wear. 

Handsome just simply isn’t a strong enough word. Perfection is the closest way to describe what you’re seeing in front of you. 

Tailored black pants that hug him just right. A black vest with a dramatic scooped neckline that plunges far past his chest, allowing for the best display of his chain that holds so many silver coins, more than you ever see him sport. And alongside them, hanging a little lower than the rest, is a silver sword charm That one, specifically, is reminding you of where it all began with him. 

My Arthur. 

His blazer drapes over his broad frame with effortless elegance, sitting atop his wide shoulders as if it were crafted just for him.

And his hat. 

His black, wide brimmed hat, the very one you’re sure he wore the day you met him. The one that, despite your every reservation, piqued your interest. 

Just when you thought that he had gone all out with his attire, the extra nine is added when you catch sight of his silver and black striped boots.

“Jake, you look…” Your breath catches in your throat. No word seems adequate. You can’t find the strength to resist pulling him in for a deep kiss, the only way to truly express how much you love the way he looks.

You catch a hint of his aftershave on his lips, mingling with the taste you’re coming to know as distinctly his.

God, he tastes so good. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you last saw him, but you’ve missed his lips.

And you miss him the moment he pulls away, just as the kiss deepens.

“We better go, love,’ he whispers against you. ‘Can’t be late for our reservation.”

Reservation?

“Where are we going?” You inquire, staring intently at his lips that you want nothing more than to become lost in. 

“You’ll see when we get there.” 

With a playful, gentle slap to your ass, he takes your hand in his and leads you out the front door. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

It looks like a fucking castle come to life directly out of a medieval romance. (Rather fitting.) A wonderful, massive Victorian mansion that nearly appears out of place in the modern streets of the big city. 

How have you never seen this place before?

The outside is full mortar stone, the roof different levels of height with rounded columns that are peeked at the top. Extravagantly huge balconies are wrapped around each level. It’s glorious, it’s too much. 

“What is this place?” You ask, stunned and wide eyed as he pulls the Rover up to the man dressed in formal attire waiting for him at the circle drive near the back of the building. 

It has valet parking. Fucking valet. You’ve never been to a place fancy enough that you don’t even have to park your own car. 

Now that you’re closer, you’re able to read the red, oval sign to the right of the elegant circle drive. 

The Whitney: Restaurant | Ghostbar | Gardens is displayed in white lettering. 

One thing is for absolute sure; there is nothing like this where you’re from. Not even remotely close.  

Out of instinct you reach for the handle of the door, but Jake stops you with a firm grasp on your upper thigh. 

Fuck. You’ll never get used to the grip of his hand, how strong and intentional his fucking hands are. You never knew you could be so turned on by a man's hand before; that was before Jacob Thomas (and his sexy ass hands) entered your life. 

“Stay right there,” Jake tells you as he jumps out of the driver's seat, handing the formally dressed man his keys along with a tip for his services. 

When Jake opens your door, he takes your hand and helps you from your seat, as though you truly are royalty. 

Once you're out of the car and sturdy on your feet, he locks his arm with yours, almost as though he’s escorting you to the most lavish ball. 

Before taking control of the Rover, the valet opens the door for you and Jake, revealing the incredible interior. 

And just as you suspected, it’s stunning. It’s more than stunning. 

You knew places like this existed, but never in your wildest fantasies did you think you’d be stepping foot in one of this magnitude. 

The first thing you notice is the baby grand piano sitting in the massive foyer near a painted portrait that must be over a hundred years old. 

Gold’s and royal pink’s detail the walls an intricate pattern, and the ceiling. Wood carved in utter beauty and class. 

“Right this way, Mr. Kiszka.” 

A woman, dressed in a floor length, black gown, guides you around the corner to a private room. 

Your breath is abruptly stolen from your lungs when you walk through the massive, gold trimmed french doors separating the space from the rest of the mansion. It’s dimly lit, with most of the emitting from the candles positioned all around the room. Next to the single round table, fixed with a black lace cloth and red napkins in the shape of roses, is a tremendous fireplace that surpacres your height. 

As Jake leads you to it, you're able to really see the intricate detailing across the stone work. It’s full white stone, with angels that are nearly the size of you carved into the sides, reaching from the top to the hearth. 

“Here you are, just as you requested.” She motions to the quaint table, the only one in the whole room, seated directly next to the immaculate fireplace. “Included in our private dining is a complimentary bottle of Antinori Tignanello, imported directly from Tuscanny. May I begin the evening by pouring you both a glass?”

Jake instantly looks to you for your answer, and when you eagerly nod your head, he tells the waitress that you’d both love to have a glass. 

“Jake,” you whisper as she leaves to fetch your drinks. “Imported from Tuscanny? How much did all of this cos–”

“That, my sweet doll,” he interrupts. “Is not something you should worry your pretty mind over.” 

His smile may actually melt your heart. You can tell, with the twinkling in his eyes, that he truly wanted nothing more than to give you the best. This all feels so authentic, so pure. Nothing you’ve ever quite felt before. 

Before you know it, the waitress is back, setting large, deep wine glasses in front of you and Jake. “The Tignanello is rich with notes of cherries, red berries, and a hint of lavender.” She begins pouring your glass first, then carefully finishing with Jakes. “It’s beautifully complimented with notes of roasted coffee and a touch of cocoa powder, closing with a tad of spice and fresh herbs.” 

Jake takes his glass, holding it out in front of him and signaling you to do the same. As soon as you do, after a clink of your glasses, you both take a sip. 

Wow. 

“Extraordinary,” Jake says to the waitress, who’s earnestly awaiting your reactions. “Absolutely remarkable.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the way he’s swirling the liquid around his wine glass, as though he’s a bonafide wine connoisseur. So very classy, so very sexy.

You start to feel a bit nervous when she and Jake then look to you to hear your thoughts. You’re not sure what to say that won’t sound completely silly. Jake knows how these places work, and being from the tiniest town in Oklahoma, you most surely do not know the proper etiquette of a place such as this. 

You’re no expert when it comes to imported wines, but you certainly know a good wine when you taste one. And this one is probably the best you’ve ever had. But how do you say that without sounding too…Oklahoma?

“Uh it’s, I mean it’s the best I’ve– it’s truly stupendous.” 

…stupendous?

Jake covers his mouth to conceal his little giggle, and the waitress has a bit of a dumbfounded look about her. You couldn’t have said that any more awkwardly if you tried. 

“G-glad to hear that!” She giggles, breaking the unease hanging in the air. “I’ll be back momentarily with your salads.”

Your head falls in your hands from pure embarrassment. “I am so weird,” you say, muffled. 

Jake chuckles again, taking your wrist as you look up to him through your fingers. “You are not weird. That was adorable.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The vibration from your phone can still be heard, though it’s tucked away in your clutch. 

Someone is texting you, and you’ve a good feeling it may be your mom. Your anxiety grows stronger with each text that comes through, knowing she’s probably sending you messages out of anger over tonight. 

Though you want to just ignore it and be present, when it vibrates two more times, one message sent directly after the other, you decide to just turn your phone off for the rest of the evening. 

“Everything alright?” Jake asks, noting your sudden onset of anxiety when you see several text messages from, just as you thought, your mother. 

They all say essentially the same thing, accusing you of not caring about her, of only caring about yourself and Jake. It’s not worth the turmoil of responding. She’s been fully taken care of for the night, she’ll be just fine on her own for a little while. 

“Just my mom,” you tell him as you shut your phone off and slide it back in your clutch. 

“I know she’s sick,” he begins, finishing off the last bite of his arugula salad. “But, that doesn’t give her the right to treat you the way she does.” 

“Yeah,” you agree, searching for the strength to eat more than a few bites of your salad. “You’re right. She hasn’t always been this way, though.” 

You know that doesn’t matter. But you also know, deep down, that she has always been like this. You’ve just convinced yourself that it was okay, that she wasn’t that bad. 

He thanks the waitress when she takes his now empty salad plate, leaving yours as it’s still decently full. “When did she start acting this way?”

Ugh. 

“I guess…Well, it got worse when my dad left, around the time she got her diagnosis. And the move was a lot for her.” That felt weird to say to him. 

“Natalia told me a little about him, about your dad,” he admits with a worrisome tone, like he’s revealing a great secret. “I–I hope that’s okay. That she told me, I mean. You hadn’t said anything about him and I–”

“Of course it’s okay,” you nod, interrupting his apologetic spiel. You’re glad he knows, and you’re even more glad that you didn’t have to tell him.

You then start feeling a familiar ache in your heart associated with thinking of your dad, reaching up to grasp your necklace. “He just couldn’t handle it any longer, I guess. We were just too much for him.” 

I was too much for him…

“Do you miss him?” He continues, eyes attentively narrowing on you. 

“I shouldn’t,” you start, awkwardly shifting in your chair. “But, yeah. I do. He was…it felt like he was the one who loved me most, you know? Or, I thought he did. And when he left…I just didn’t expect it. Never saw it coming.” 

Knowing in your heart that you miss him is one thing, but saying it…

“It’s okay that you miss him,” Jake says, reaching across the table and taking your hand, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “Even if what he did hurts like fucking hell, you can still miss someone who hurt you. You can still love them, too.”

That isn’t something you’ve allowed yourself to acknowledge, that you can still have feelings of love for someone that caused you so much pain. But, you do still love him. You love him so much. And you thought he loved you the same. That is why it hurts so fucking bad. The memories of him are comforting, but they serve as a reminder of the fact that he chose to leave. 

You squeeze Jake’s hand as tears begin to form. “I’ve just felt so guilty for missing him, like I’m betraying myself for missing someone who left us…who left me.”

“Missing him doean’t make you wrong or weak,” he tells you, gently shaking his head as his waves brush against the tops of his shoulders. “Just makes you human, you know?”

For the first time in quite a while, you feel a spark of hope. Maybe, through Jake, you can find a way to heal, to embrace a future that isn’t held back by pain and abandonment. 

A smile tugs at your lips at the thought, wondering if there could be a future with Jake. Right now, you’re having a hard time imagining one without him. “Thank you, Jake. I really needed this tonight.”

“You deserve it, doll.” He lifts your hand, kissing your knuckles through a smile. “This and so much more.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The anxious, intrusive thoughts are relentless as she sets the beautifully plated Chicken Francese before you, urging you to take only a bite or two and leave the rest untouched on the fine china

But when you look at Jake, sitting across from you, taking a generous sip of his wine, it’s clear he’s waiting for you to take a bite before he starts on his own.

A gentleman, through and through. 

It’s no surprise that when you look into his eyes—kind and unwavering in their adoration for you—the anxious thoughts suddenly dissipate, melting away in the warmth of his gaze.

My safe place. 

The way he looks at you, as if you’re the most stunning vision he’s ever laid eyes on, with pure awe shining in his golden irises.

He makes you feel beautiful, like you’re enough.

And when you feel that way, you feel deserving of nourishment. He makes you feel worthy. There’s something about his presence, about how he cares for you as if you’ve been together for the better part of your young lives, as if you’ve always known him…

He has a way of quieting the intrusive thoughts, even if only for a moment. Just the two of you, in this palace, enjoying each other’s company.

And, a moment is all you need to fill your body with the love you’ve been so scared to show it. Perhaps it’s how much love he shows your body that forces you to believe it’s okay for you to show it some love, too. 

The first bite feels like a small act of defiance against the days of hunger you've endured. The moment the warm, buttery chicken touches your tongue…it’s suddenly more than just food; it’s a reminder that you do deserve to nourish yourself. As you chew, the richness of the sauce envelops you, and the warmth seeps into your very being, igniting a spark of joy that you seem to only feel about food when Jake is around. 

You’re not just feeding your body; you’re healing your spirit, reclaiming a piece of yourself. With every forkful, you allow yourself to believe that it’s okay to feel good, it’s okay to fill your body with what it needs to sustain. 

As you stick your fork in what will be the last bite, you look to Jake. He seems to be enjoying the food just as much as you. And when you lock eyes, you fill your mouth with the very last morsel left on the china. A strength you didn’t know you had, but he has helped you discover it. 

Instead of feeling shame over eating the entire meal, you’re grateful for it. You’re happy you ate it all. Your body needed it, your mind needed it. 

No, there’s no shame. 

This is a new feeling; you're proud. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“You certainly didn’t give me much time for planning,” he says while placing a small, red velvet box on the table between you. “But thankfully, I was able to purchase this on rush order.” 

“You’ve done so much, Jake. I can’t accept anything else—” 

“Yes, you can.” He smiles, warm and comforting. “Open it, doll.” 

There’s no chance you can deny him, especially with that little pet name that not once has failed to make you utterly weak. 

You’ve no idea what this could possibly be, because he truly has gone all out for you. It makes you wonder what he would’ve done if he’d had more than just two weeks to plan everything, because it feels as though he’s done it all. 

Once you open the box, your jaw nearly hits the table beneath you. It’s a necklace with the most gorgeous sword pendant hanging from its chain. And, even better, it’s a near identical match to the one’s wearing. Only a bit smaller to suit you better. 

“To commemorate the completion of our film” he begins, standing from his seat and walking around behind your chair. Taking the box from your hand, he carefully pulls out the necklace and places it around your neck. “Because it led me to my Guiniverre.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

With a clink of your silver forks, you cheers with your first bites of chocolate lava cake before filling your mouths full of the gooey, decadent dessert. 

“Happy birthday, sweet girl.” He licks the extra chocolate off the fork, his tongue wrapping sensually around the metal, eliciting a few strong feelings within you. And he must notice; he catches your glare, (that you’re not exactly trying to hide) winking at you while gliding his tongue along his bottom lip. “Here’s to the enchanting splendor that is you.” 

He brings his napkin up from his lap, carefully dabbing his face with it before accidentally dropping beneath the table. “Oops,” he sneers. “Rather clumsy of me, hm?” 

You chuckle as he fluidly and elegantly dips under the white tablecloth to retrieve it, taking his time while he does so. 

It isn’t long before you feel a gentle, sturdy hand wrapped around your calf, slowly leading up to your bent knee. Then, following the smooth glide of his touch, you feel the softest kisses against the smooth skin along the same path. The fabric of your dress is bunched up to your upper thighs, his lips following, urging you to at last uncross your legs. And when you do, his kisses, more fervent and intentional, meet the inner thigh of your right leg, then your left. 

“Jake…,” you whisper, wanting more than anything to submit to his advances, yet feeling the shame of it all at once. “Not…not here, baby.” 

He responds with one long, slow lick of his tongue, nearly meeting the heat between your legs before backing away altogether. 

“Jake…please.” You reach your hands under the table, searching for his face to bring back to you. You feel his hands find yours, pulling your hand to his lips where you can feel him smile as he kisses your palm.

You can hardly conceal your elongated sigh of dismay when he lifts back up to sit in his chair. “Don’t look so sad, doll.” He folds his previously dropped napkin in front of you, teasing the hell out of you. “We’ll go home very soon for the rest.” He stands up, pushing in his chair before offering you his hand to help you up. “But first, we must embark on our tour of the mansion.”

As badly as you want him to take you right now on top of this table, the floor, anywhere, you can’t deny your excitement to get a better look at this glorious place. “Sounds wonderful,” you mutter as he leans in for a quiet kiss, leading the way to the foyer where your waitress is generously waiting to guide you through the Victorian home.  

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“We’re no strangers to the paranormal here,” she admits, walking you through a narrow hallway that leads to a multitude of rooms you’ve yet to explore. “There are numerous accounts of ghostly sightings. Many claim to see the very same apparitions.” 

She opens the door to a room decorated with Victorian furniture. Large, hand painted portraits of a man and a woman hang from the walls, framed with antique gold. 

“David and Sara Whitney were the original owners of the mansion after its completion in 1894,” she begins, pointing to the portraits that immediately caught your eye. “David personally oversaw the construction of his home, being sure that all fifty two rooms he requested were structured to his liking. Sara, his wife, insisted on a fireplace in each room,” she continues, drawing your attention to the one in the room you’re standing in. “But David wouldn’t hear of it. So, instead of the fifty two fireplaces she wanted, she only got twenty of them.” 

She continues taking you through each room that is available for tours, showing you seven of the ten bathrooms, giving you a detailed, rich history of the place and showing you photos of the paranormal activity caught on camera.

Though you’re utterly fascinated by it all, especially the ghost stories, you can’t seem to keep focus with Jake’s wandering hands. Every corner you turn, he reaches down to squeeze your ass. Everytime she looks away, he cups your breast with a strong grip.

You’ve smacked his hand away each time, fearful that she’ll eventually catch on to what’s happening behind her back. 

But, when Jake stops you, holds you up against the wall and locks his lips tight with yours, you decide to blow all caution to the wind at this point, unable to deny him any longer. That is, of course, until your fear becomes recognized. 

She stops mid sentence, clearing her throat to get your attention.“The tour is almost over,” she says, standing in the middle of the hallway, her hands resting on her hips. “Do you think you two and handle yourselves for just a few more minutes?”

Feeling completely embarrassed, you both awkwardly apologize and agree that you can manage it. (Hopefully, at least.) 

You wipe the smudged lipstick from your face and Jake’s before carrying on with the tour, keeping the touching to a minimum of just handholding. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The drive back to his place was full of red light kisses, heavy and hungry touches. Every still moment in the Rover resulted in your hands all over each other. 

Neither of you wasted anytime getting in the front door and down the hall, Jake stopping just as you approached the door to his bedroom. He’s holding you against the wall, hands wrapped tight in the roots of your hair as he kisses you hard and deep. 

His lips stay attached to yours as he leads you into his dim, warmly lit room, closing the door before he guides you to his bed, seamlessly laying you down on your back as he braces himself on top of you, taking his black hat off and tossing it to the other side of the bed.

He’s holding the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your now messy locks, his tongue filling your mouth with the taste of the last hints of the imported wine, reminding you of the lavish evening he’s already spoiled you with. 

He carefully moves your head to the side to gain access to your neck, kissing and sucking on the tight skin, humming everywhere his lips touch. You open your eyes only for a moment, but when you do, you see his dark red SG sitting on the stand. It’s reminding you of a promise he made, that one day he’d play for you. As much as you don’t want this to end, hearing him play is something you’ve thought about almost everyday since you discovered this facet about him. 

“Jake, can—can you do something for me?” You ask him while he continues to caress you with his lips. 

He stops only to respond, keeping as close to you as he can. “Anything for you, doll.”

Having the worst time attempting to talk as he’s licking along your neck, you point to the guitar sitting beside the bed, hoping he’ll know just what you’re wanting. 

“Yeah?” He plants one more kiss as he begins to sit up on the end of the bed. “Want me to play you a little something?”

You move to sit next to him, smoothing down your hair a bit, looking into his golden eyes with eagerness. “Would you?”

“Of course, my queen.” He flashes the warmest smile, tucking loose hair behind your ear while he sweetly kisses you once more. “I’d be delighted.”

He approaches the guitar stand, fingers lightly brushing against smooth surface before gracefully grasping the neck, taking it from where it rests. Draping the black leather strap over his shoulder and across his chest, he adjuts it so that it fits snuggly against his torso, cradling it comfortably against his body, letting the weight of the instrument settle in his hands.There’s a still humming sound when he plugs the chord into the small Marshall amp in the corner. 

“Needs a little tuning.” He takes his pick from the top of the amp and uses it to pluck a few strings, adjusting the knobs along the head. It doesn’t need much, though. It sounds wonderfully melodic already. And god, does he look beautiful holding it. It’s a brand new side of him that you’ve known was there, but seeing it…it’s only serving to increase your every desire for him. 

He lets out a satisfied hum when the strings are in perfect tune, his eyes flitting back up to you with a loving smile.“Any requests?” 

“Whatever strikes your fancy,” you tell him, ready to hear just about anything at this point, your body beginning to vibrate at the vision before you.

“Hm, what strikes my fancy…,” he begins, heavy in contemplation. Then, he looks at his wide brimmed hat still sitting on top of the duvet. And as though that was his very inspiration, you see the gleam in his eye when he picks it up to place it back on his head. “I feel it’s only proper when playing a little SRV,” he winks. 

He starts playing a few chords, and while you can’t quite place them, they do sound awfully familiar to you. They sound peaceful, soothing. “Do you know the story about Lenny?” He asks, continuing to play the beginning notes of the melody.

You smile when you suddenly make the connection. Lenny, a staple for any Stevie Ray Vaughan lover. Of course you recognize the melody, it’s a classic. You do know a bit of the song's backstory, but you’re willing to bet you don’t know as much about it as he does. And, you’re very much looking forward to hearing him talk about it. 

“I can’t say I do,” you admit, shaking your head, looking into his dark, whiskey eyes. “Tell me about it.”

His fingers continue strumming the all too familiar tune, swooning you with each heartfelt chord he plays.“It’s a profound melody, heavy with the weight of love for his wife, Lenora.” Still standing, he lifts a leg and places his foot along the edge of the mattress, letting his guitar rest against his knee. “He loved her deeply, and he set out to express that love through music. No lyrics, just pure music, melody.” 

You can feel the vibration of every note he plays, your eyes flicking back and forth from his to his fingers methodically and intentionally moving along the fretboard. The way he’s playing from memory, as though the song is woven into his very soul–it’s nothing short of exhilarating to witness such a beautiful thing. 

“It shows his ability to convey the deepest emotions through his guitar, how he can almost manipulate it to sound like a voice. There’s not a single word throughout the entire piece, yet you can indubitably hear the essence of his heart being spoken through his fingertips.” 

You’ve always been able to hear it in Stevie’s playing, and you swear you can hear it in Jake’s playing. The tune sounds nearly identical to the original, yet the message he’s conveying is a bit different, a bit more melancholy. Whatever is weighing on his heart, is coming through with every movement of his hands. 

When he reaches the most pivotal part of the song, he throws his head back, his eyes closed and brows furrowed together. His lips are parted, speaking quiet whispers to his instrument as his fingers move at a speed you didn’t know possible. 

The rich, bluesy tones emitting through his instrument, the painful yet adoring cries of the melodies. The careful vibratoes and reverbs that are so identifiably Stevie’s, mimicked in Jake’s very own stylistic approach. The rhythms, the variations in tempo…you know, without a shadow of a doubt that Stevie himself would be more than flattered by such a gorgeous rendition of his beloved piece. 

He then becomes fully immersed in the tune, his back arching as he throws his head back even further than before, sending his hat tumbling to the ground but he’s not paying it any mind. Just when you thought he couldn’t look more captivating, more sexy, he forgoes his pick, placing it on the edge of his bottom lip. With a seductive grace, he plucks the remainder of the song at a slowed down tempo, each note still resonating with deep emotion. 

“He called her his guiding light, the source of his every inspiration,” he mutters after taking the pick from his mouth, gently strumming the final chord. “His love for her was evident in everything he did, but nothing quite captures it the way Lenny did.” 

He gazes at his guitar for a moment, his fingers gliding along the fretboard, a soft smile playing on his lips. With a lingering touch, he removes the strap and carefully places the guitar back on its stand.

You slowly rise to your knees on the edge of the bed, beckoning him with a subtle wave of your finger. He does without hesitation, and when he’s within reach, you grab hold of both sides of his jacket collar, drawing him even closer. His eyes, dark and heavy in lust, meet yours with a half grin, the air thickened with anticipation. 

“Does this mean you liked it?” He whispers, beginning to close the tiny gap between you. His hands find your hips, rubbing along the satin material of your dress until the fabric becomes bunched up at your waist. 

“Loved it.” ” 

Feeling as though you can’t hold back any longer, you pull him by his collar and melt your lips into his. So much passion, so much vigor behind his lips. 

His hands reach around to your exposed ass, squeezing the flesh hard in his grip before cracking his open palm against your right cheek. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. You then lean down to kiss his neck as your fingers diligently begin to unbutton his vest. Much like when he was playing you the song, he throws his head back to allow you better access to the skin, his lips parted and heavy breaths falling from them. 

When you reach the last button, he lets you pull his jacket and vest off his body in one go, leaving his top half bare. You then lean down even further, letting your lips kiss along his sternum, sucking marks on the skin of his chest, licking along his nipples. He sucks in a breath as you do so, his fingers then becoming tangled in your hair while he hums and groans as you lean up to his neck once more. 

“You sound pretty, Jake…,” you mumble into his flesh, feeling the sped up beating of his heart as your lips meet the pulsepoint of his neck. “I think I like you like this.” 

You feel the bobbing of his Adam's apple against your lips as he chuckles, breathing deep and heavy while you continue grazing your lips over the tight skin, sucking and biting, smiling at the goosebumps and dark marks left behind.

“Jesus, what have you done to me?” He groans, still grinning when you bring your gaze to his pretty face. 

Each time you think you’ve at last broken through the entirety of his exterior, you find yourself digging deeper and deeper still, discovering there’s still much more beneath the surface that he’s slowly allowing you to reveal. You can feel him begin to crumble under your touch; for him to grant you this position of power… it’s not the Jake you met a few months ago. It’s a Jake you convinced yourself wasn’t there, that he wasn’t real.

As much as he makes you unravel before him, you’re discovering that you have the same effect on him. And oh, how empowering it feels.

Your hands cup his cheeks, thumbs rubbing his pink cheek bones. His eyes, pupils dark and heavy against the warm amper of his irises,ock onto yours as his grip finds the small of your waist. “What have you done to me?” He softly echoes before his lips gracefully meet yours.

He leans you back gently, laying you against the mattress. Standing before you as you’re sprawled out on the bed, he gazes down at you with eyes that hunger for everything you are.

And the vision of him, shirtless and sweaty, his cock hard and strained against his black slacks. 

Goddammit. 

How could someone this alluring, this striking, be looking at you the very way he is right now? 

“Just want to look at you like this for a bit, doll,” he whispers, fingers delicately grazing your calves, falling to your ankles. “You know you’re beautiful, right?” He takes the heel off your left foot, then your right. He leans down closer to you, hovering above you. His hair tickles your chest, his lips brush against your collar bone. The coins hanging from his neck feel cold as they graze your chest. “Tell me what you want from me.”  

His breath is hot against your skin, his voice husky and deep.

His hands trail slowly down the curve of your torso, the warmth of his touch leaving a lingering everywhere they touch. When he reaches your shoulders, he pauses, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he gently slides the straps of your dress down your arms, the silken fabric whispering against your skin as it slips lower. With a soft tug, he exposes your bra, the lace barely concealing the soft rise of your breasts.

He dips his head, his hair splayed across your chest, and begins to nip and kiss the tops of your breasts. His lips leave a series of gentle marks, each one a claim, as his tongue, wet and warm, starts its slow and deliberate journey. He glides from the valley of your cleavage to your neck, savoring every inch of the path. He playfully takes the silver sword charm he gifted you earlier in his teeth, letting it dangle for a moment before releasing it to rest against your breasts.

With the charm now lying between you, he continues to lick along the curve of your neck, tracing the line of your pulse. His journey seals with a tender kiss, ending his path with an intimacy that sends shivers down your spine. “Tell me," he repeats.

Your mind and mouth are suffering a massive disconnect, your lips unable to utter the words you so desperately want to say. All you can do is whimper, squeal out a pathetic plea for him to ravish you. The upper hand you once had has all but vanished, all thanks to the power he will always hold over you.

He softly giggles when you grip his shoulders, pulling him into you as you wrap your legs around his back. What your mouth can’t say, your body certainly can. 

The kisses are heavy, sloppy. Your hands find their home weaved in his locks, pulling gently, but enough to elicit a weighted whimper from him, the most gorgeous sound. 

“Again,” he moans. “Do that again, doll.” 

Oh, he likes this. 

You comply, tugging at his chestnut waves once more, this time with more force. The same whimper escapes his plump lips, sending a shiver through your core.

As you pull again, his hand quickly moves between your legs, his fingers finding their place against your fluttering clit, moving in slow but intentional circles over the black satin covering you. 

Upon instinct your arch your back, silently imploring for more and more. 

Your mind and body ache for him when he sits up. He’s standing at the end of the bed once more, staring down at you, a sultry grin curling at the corners of his mouth. 

He says nothing as he pulls his belt through its buckle, unbuttoning and pulling the zipper down from his pants. He drops them to the floor, leaving him only in his black boxer briefs. 

He reaches his hand down, lightly rubbing his palm against his clothed cock that’s practically begging to be freed from the constraining fabric. 

Jesus. 

As much as you’d love to feel his fingers, his tongue, you’re nearly desperate for his cock at this point, not in any place to wait much longer for him to fill you. 

His eyes darken as he watches you sit up and pull your dress off in one go, removing your bra next just as quickly. 

He hums as you bare your breasts, groaning as his eyes fall to your secret ink below the curve of your breast.“Lie back down, doll,” he groans, his voice rumbling deep from his chest. When you comply, he swiftly yanks your panties off, discarding them onto the floor. He then removes his boxers, finally revealing what you've been craving.

With a swift motion of your hips, he draws you to the edge of the bed, standing before you and sinking his fingers into your soft flesh. His cock glides against your folds, slowly tracing your slit, the tip teasingly nudging your clit. You press yourself against him, yearning for more contact as his head finally probes your wetness. 'Please,' you whisper, your voice cracked and trembling with desire.

You needn't say another word as he fills you slowly, inch by inch, gripping the backs of your thighs while he watches himself enter you. His heavy-lidded gaze remains fixed on your cunt as he stretches you, maintaining an impossibly slow pace. 

“Jesus,” he huffs through a staggered breath. “I love watching you take me.” He slides out slow and gentle, thrusting back in with the same deliberate pace. “I love the way you grip me, how you pull me in.” His voice grows deeper, raspier. “Feel me, doll?” He lays his palm against your lower tummy, applying gentle pressure slowly as his cock disapears inside of you. “Feel how much I fill you?” 

The thumb of the same hand that rests over your tummy glides down to your swollen clit, flicking the sensitive bud ever so lightly as he maintains his slow pace. You can no longer keep your eyes open; your lids grow heavier by the second from the overwhelming stimulation, listening to your mutual heaving breaths and the clinking of his silver pendants against his chest. 

Your cheeks flush with heat, and every muscle in your body tightens. You feel your walls clenching around him, pulsing and fluttering with each breath. 

“Let it go, doll,” he mutters deeply, watching as you begin to fall apart beneath him. “Don’t hold back, okay?”

One more flick of his thumb sends you crashing into waves of pleasure. Your hand reaches down to grip the sheets, your nails digging into your palms. Your other hand finds your breast, sending jolts of sensation through you. Your back arches off the bed, skin tingling and glistening with sweat.

Each breath from your lungs is rigged and stuttered, your lips only able to cry his name over and over. 

He doesn’t stop, only slows enough to let you come down slow and easy, letting you truly feel every bit of your pleasure. 

After a moment to catch your breath, you muster the strength to reach up for his shoulders, pulling him down to you. His lips crash into yours, and he remains tucked inside you, staying numbly still as your walls flutter, your cunt making a mess of both him and the sheets.

“You okay to keep going, doll?” He asks, the sincerity in his tone tugging at your heart. 

You nod, silently pleading for another kiss—you suddenly find yourself craving the taste of his lips. “Mhm,” you mumble, keeping your lips pressed firmly against his.

Without breaking the kiss, he uses the strength of just one arm to flip the two of you over, his cock still nestled deep inside you.

You’re on top now, still kissing him as you begin to grind your hips slowly against his. You find the perfect rhythm, each movement consistently hitting that special spot inside you. Positioned just right, your clit rubs against his lower tummy, forcing you back into the precipice of another blissful end.

He moans deliciously against your lips, and you lift just enough to see his face. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips parted and pursed. “There you go, doll,” he mutters, his voice quiet and ragged. “Give it all to me.”

His hands grip your thighs, his nails leaving crescent moons on your skin. As they move to your hips, they urge you to move faster. Summoning the little strength you have left, you follow the rhythm of his hands, bouncing and grinding your body against his. 

With a sweaty palm, he slaps the left cheek of your ass, forcing you to cry out his name louder than you ever thought possible.

“Inside,” you manage through a whimper. “Cum inside, sir. P-please.”

'Fuck!' he groans, and within seconds of your request, he’s painting your insides like a masterpiece. You’re not sure how you find it within you, but your body succumbs to the overwhelming need for release once more.

Together, both of you reach a blissful peak in the most intoxicating, exhilarating way.

Keeping him inside you, feeling the trickles of his release drip from you, you slump down, burying your face in his neck. His skin feels warm against yours, sticky with perspiration.

“Are you okay, my doll?” He asks, panting and breathy.

My doll. 

You can only manage to nod your head, to smile against his neck as you leave a gentle peck to the dampened skin. 

He chuckles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on top of your head. His finger glides up the curve of your spine and back down, caressing the top of your hip. It’s an area of your body you’ve never been particularly fond of, yet you find yourself warming to it under his tender attention.

If he appreciates your body like this, especially having now seen you so intimately more than once, maybe you can learn to appreciate it, too.

"You okay like this for a little while, doll?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper. “Is it alright if we stay like this for a moment?”

You’re not ready to end the contact just yet, longing to feel his warmth against you, in you, for a little while longer. You’re grateful to know he feels the same way.

You hum in agreement, planting another gentle kiss on his neck and nuzzling your face against him as closely as possible. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ 

It’s the darkest point of the night, the moon settled against the earth in her fullest form. She creeps in the windows ever so slightly, mixing her silver hue with the golden light from the single lamp positioned in the corner of Jake's room. 

The air feels cool, and the tiny beads of sweat that once covered your skin have left a chill in their wake, sending a swarm of goosebumps across your body. But he’s so warm—so warm that the cold doesn’t matter when he holds you. This is one of your favorite things about him: how closely he embraces you after you’ve shared your bodies. 

Chest to chest, your hearts slowing their rhythm together.

Though your bodies are no longer intertwined as they once were, you sense an even deeper connection with him now, lying together in the purest forms of yourselves, cuddled up to fend off the night’s chill.  

You can’t recall a time in your life when you’ve felt more at peace than you do right now. Everything feels far too perfect to be real, too wonderful to be anything but a dream.

Things feel good. Things feel right. Yet, in this blissful moment, a nagging fear begins to surface—a sense that something will inevitably come along to shatter it all. It’s a lingering worry you just can’t seem to shake, not matter your efforts to do so.

But for now, you’ll savor this moment as it unfolds. It may become a distant memory someday, and you want to remember as much of it as possible if—or when—your haunting fear becomes a reality.

“Looks like you’re the one all marked up this time,’ you giggle softly, rolling onto your side and propping yourself up on your elbows to admire the purple marks you left on his neck and chest. “Sorry about—”

“No need for an apology, doll.” He leans over toward you, gently pecking your lips. “I’ll wear ‘em with pride, let the whole world know the lips from which they came.” He throws his head back, holding his arm high in the air as if presenting himself to some invisible audience, basking in his imaginary applause after his scene. 

You kiss him once more, chuckling against his lips that are curled in a satisfied grin. “That was absolutely terrible Jake.” 

He grins wider, pulling you closer. “Maybe, but it got you to kiss me again, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes playfully as he leans over the edge of the bed, rummaging around for something.“One more gift,” he says, reaching for whatever else he has in store for you.

“Jake,” you start, breathless and giggly. “I’m serious this time. No more gifts.”

“Hold out your hand.” 

“No I can’t–” 

“Last one. I promise.” 

Shaking your head, you do as he said and hold out your open palm. He drops it in your hand, and instantly, you know exactly what it is. 

“Your pick?” You ask, stunned over such a personal memento. “I can’t take this, Jake!”

“You must not know much about guitar players,” he jokes, closing your fingers around his final gift and kissing your knuckles. “I’ve got a million and one of these lying around. This one belongs to you.” 

No words could ever come close to revealing what’s in your heart at this moment, and the only way you can think to thank him is with your lips. You kiss him slow and gentle, wishing on every star that father time would somehow stop his hands of time right at this very moment. 

This plain, black guitar pick, worn from its obvious heavy use, little lines left from the indentions of his thumb, has suddenly become your favorite gift.

To keep it safe, you place it inside of the sage-green case that protects your phone. And by doing that, you’re sure to carry it with you everywhere you go.  

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The rise and fall of his chest from his deep, sleeping breaths, the beating of his heart against your upper back, his arms wrapped lazily around the front of your body, his face nestled in your hair against your neck, his warm breath on your skin…

You’re sure there’s no better way to wake up in the morning. You almost don’t want to open your eyes, fearful that once you do, the most perfect dream of being held close to Jake will be just that— only a dream. 

But your fears are put to rest when you feel him begin to stir, a soft kiss of his lips meeting the skin under your ear. “Good morning, love,” he whispers before slowly creeping out of bed. “Stay where you are, I won’t be long.”

A sleepy grin graces your lips as you feel yourself dozing off again, relishing in the early morning quiet. 

The inviting smells of cinnamon sugar and fresh coffee lull you awake after a little extra rest. Jake left the door cracked, so his whole bedroom smells like the most delicious breakfast. 

After a few more moments of resting your eyes, you open them to the bright sun creeping through the blinds of his mostly dark room. With a stretch of your rested limbs, you sit yourself up on the edge of the bed, looking around the room and admiring all the things you love the most about it. The things you love the most about Jake. 

With the door only cracked open, you can see the Edgar Allen Poe canvas you love so much hanging on the back. “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” 

God. You love his mind. Reading it is reminding you of the very first time you walked in his room, how wholly nervous you were to witness such an intimate part of him before you truly got the chance to know him. 

And now, while you’re sitting on his bed after having been together the whole night, the memories of meeting him for the first time begin flooding your brain. How much you thought you hated him, when in reality, the two of you just didn’t know what to do with the feelings you had for one another. 

Then, as you glance to the bedside table right next to you, you’re reminded what really started this whole thing. The film, yes. But even before that, it was the book you lent him. 

Your copy of Le Morte d’Arthur, the very one you gave him all those months ago for the sake of the film, is sitting on the very top of the other books he has stacked on top of eachother. 

You’ve not seen it since you let him borrow it, and truth be told, you’d nearly forgotten he had it still. 

I’m sure he won’t miss it, you absently think to yourself as you pick it up, fully intending to take it home with you today. 

But as you do, two folded pieces of paper fall from the front cover and land on the floor beside the bed. Old copies of film scripts, perhaps? You knew they had been using this book to help write it, maybe these were the early versions of the final thing. Pure curiosity begs you to look at them—you’re quite interested to see their process of creating this beautiful masterpiece. Surely Jake won’t mind, since you’ve been so involved in this whole thing.

You pick them both up and open one of them, fully expecting to see an early, handwritten version of the script that would become the cinematic masterpiece that is Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur. 

But, that isn’t what you see. Not even close. 

At the top of the page, in bold letterhead, reads The University of Oxford. And beneath it is the London address where it’s located.

And beneath that…

“Dear Mr. Kiszka, 

With reference to your application for graduate study at Oxford, we are delighted to convey the decision to offer you a place in the Literature and Arts Masters program beginning in the Spring of 2024.”

Spring of 2024…next semester. 

The pit of your stomach drops, as though the most dense weight has settled there. You keep reading the words, hoping that by some tiny chance you’ve somehow misread them. But, as your eyes scan the words over and over again, there’s not a smidge of doubt. 

He applied for a school in London. He was accepted. 

He’s leaving. 

And he’s leaving soon. 

You're struck in a state of shock, of disbelief. It’s a familiar feeling of betrayal, one you hoped you’d never have to experience again. 

You’re trembling as you unfold the second piece of paper, and just when you thought this whole thing couldn’t become more painful, you’re proven wrong. 

The other folded document is his schedule of classes. He’s gone as far as to make a schedule. And their starting date is in two months. 

Less than two months, and he’ll be gone.

Hurt and angry tears begin to well, blurring your vision so you can no longer read the words on the papers held in your hands. This kind of sadness, this ebb of shock and disbelief, it’s overwhelming. Your mind is stuck on an endless loop, replaying every moment from the last few months. There must’ve been signs you missed. But how? How could you have been so blind? 

He had so many opportunities to tell you, yet he didn’t. You’re left to wonder if he ever planned to tell you, or if he was just going to leave, leave you as though you never existed. 

Maybe you truly are easy to leave. First your dad, Jake…

You hear his footsteps coming down the hallway, getting closer to you. The door opens all the way, and you look up to see him carrying a plate full of food and a coffee mug as he greets you with a gleeful ‘good morning.’

Then, he realizes. 

His expression turns from one of joy to alarm when he sees the silent tears falling down your face, the papers you’re still holding in your hands.

“Shit, y/n I–”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You question quietly as you try to swallow down every tear. 

His face pales, and he hurriedly sets the plate and mug on the dresser beside the door before taking tentative steps towards you. 

“I–I was going to tell you I just–” 

His stuttered words hang in the air, unfinished. He runs a worried hand through his tangled hair, breathing heavily at the sight of you with his best kept secret in your grasp. A hurtful silence lays between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words, of broken trust. The room suddenly feels colder. 

He slumps down on the bed next to you, eyebrows knit with concern. His beautiful features, painted with guilt and worry. “I tried not to let this happen—I mean, I just didn’t think things between us would—“

What?

“…you weren’t supposed to find out this way.”

There’s so much you want to say, yet each word that dares to pass your lips feels useless. In truth, there’s nothing you can say. 

It’s already done. 

The distance between you now feels more pronounced than ever before, like he’s already left. 

Your source of comfort, your safety, your guiding light…

He's already gone. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: i suppose our girls intuition was right...

what do we think will become of this? & who do we think will provide her with some much needed comfort?

& on that note, see you in chapter 6🫣🤍

as always, thank you all for your love & support. hearing from you guys makes my heart soar, & it truly keeps me going. my inbox is always open. don't ever be afraid to reach out. 🤍

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or send me an ask/dm & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you!!!) (also, i know tags are being a little weird right now—will you let me know if you did/didn’t receive a notification?)

sending all my love!

National Alliance for Eating Disorders. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're worth it. 🤍

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @devilat-thedoor @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @ninas-tearsofrain @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul27

[sacredthethreadgvf]

Nope. Get him away.

[sacredthethreadgvf]

Oh holy

[sacredthethreadgvf]

Let’s talk about the bead of sweat on his lip