cloudsncoffee

So, Lottie (my sister, owner and writer of this account) is taking an extended social media break.

She is so flattered, but kindly requests you do not republish her work. (Her words, not mine)

She suggests, if you truly want to share, you could share one or two lines and a link to her page, here or on A03, but I know she worked really f-ing hard on her writing, and posting it all elsewhere, even if you tag her, isn’t promoting her stuff, it’s stealing.

You’re aware of what he’s about to do, and as inadvisable as it is, you don’t try to stop him, not today.

Jonah, however, does, “Zach, no. You are going to hate yourself tomorrow. All you’ve eaten today is junk.”

“Nah,” He responds, rustling through the bag of marshmallows and grabbing more graham crackers, “I’m good.”

“You’re gonna be sick, dude,” Jack says, uncharacteristically, attempting reason.

“Leave him alone,” You roll your eyes, “He can do whatever he wants, it’s his birthday.”

“Yeah,” Zach drawls, “Leave me alone, I’m a grown man.”

At that, everyone on the roof bursts into laughter.

“No, you’re not,” Jack snorts, “You’re just tall.”

“I’m eighteen!” Zach’s indignant.

“And you smell like smoke and burned sugar,” Daniel points out, “So I think you’ve had enough s’mores.”

“The fire is fake,” Zach protests, which isn’t entirely true, because the flame is real, but it’s one of those fancy glass ones that doesn’t burn wood, so there isn’t any smoke, “And this is the last one,” You can hear his pout, and that is absolutely not the reason you’re smirking.

“It’s probably from his safety hazard of a cake,” Corbyn decides, “We’re lucky we didn’t burn down the venue.”

The exhaustion of being in a time zone almost a day ahead of home has completely destroyed your brain to mouth filter, which is the only explanation for why you say, “No, he just always smells like that.”

“Smokey?” Daniel asks, and you hear more than see the way he leans over in the chair next to you, “Like it’s his cologne?”

“No,” You half-cover your eyes with your arm, “Like blown-out birthday candles. He always smells like that. Like it’s in his pheromones. It’s the best.”

There’s a pause, long enough for you to realize exactly what you’ve just admitted, and for Zach to drop his makeshift marshmallow roasting instrument and cross the space between the fire and you.

“Right,” Jack leaps up, “I’m just gonna,”

“Yup,” Corbyn scrambles towards the stairs, “There’s that,”

“We should,” Jonah agrees, hauling a silent Daniel with him, fleeing the two of you.

“Um,” You blink, lifting your arm up but focusing on Zach’s shoes.

“So,” He’s still holding cookies and a piece of chocolate in his hand, “You spend a lot of time thinking about my pheromones?”

“I,” You groan, “I didn’t mean,”

“No,” He immediately loses his bravado, setting down his fifth dessert, “No, of course not...”

You can hear him deflating, and your stomach sinks, “Z,” You look up at him, at his red cheeks and wild hair, the pieces of the boy you once knew better than anyone in the world, and at the cut of his shoulders and strength in his hands, the signs of the man he’s becoming, the person you love, no matter what, and that makes you brave, “I don’t spend a lot of thinking about what you smell like because I don’t have to. You smell like thunder and rain on tin roofs and soccer fields and trophies, like birthday candles all year around,” You bite your lip, knowing this is irreversible, that he’s given you one out, and might offer a second, if you laugh or pretend to fall asleep, but instead you choose to keep going, “You smell like safety, like triumph, like every wish I’ve ever made.”

“Oh,” He swallows.

“Yeah,” You close your eyes again, “Oh.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” There’s something in his voice you can’t comprehend, but you still refuse to open your eyes.

“Because,” Your laugh falls somewhere between bitter and hysterical, “I didn’t have space to write, ‘Happy Birthday, Zach, also, by the way, I’m stupid in love with you, and know you’ve never given me any indication that it’s mutual but I’m the one always stealing your shirts, not Jack, even though I let you blame him, and I’d really like to kiss you because I’m pretty sure that would be the best even if I’m too scared to say any of this to your face,’ on your cake.”

“You’re crazy,” Zach declares, but his voice is choked up, and not even a little bit teasing, “Crazy beautiful, crazy fun, and actually crazy-crazy, if you think I’m not in love with you too.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” You can barely hear his echoing answer over the sound of your pulse racing in your ears, but you can’t mistake the smile in his voice as he says, “I really want to kiss you now.”

You reach for him, pulling him down on top of you on the ridiculously tiny loveseat you’ve been sprawled on together for hours, just not quite like this, whispering, while he’s still holding himself back, millimeters from touching you, “It’s your birthday, you can do whatever you want.”

“And tomorrow?” He asks, maturity, slightly unexpected but not entirely unfamiliar, so fucking hot, shining in his eyes.

“Birthday or not, I want to you to kiss me everyday for the rest of my life, Z.”

“Okay,” He starts to nod, “Good, I’ll just,”

You grab his hair and kiss him instead, and you were right,

Kissing him is incredible,

Worth waiting for,

Worth wishing for,

The best.

N., my very favorite person, on the opposite side of the couch, "What are you giggling about over there?"

Me, beaming, curled around my laptop, “I’M BUYING A SWEATSHIRT WITH WHY DON’T WE’S BUTTS ON IT.”

N., blankly, “Never-mind.”

N., a minute later, coughs, “Just their butts?”

Me, looking at him over the top of my screen, “I guess, it’s their whole backsides...?”

N., nods several times, “For S.?” (S. is my little sister)

Me, almost bouncing with glee, “She’s going to die. I’m going to make her open it in front of our grandparents.”

N., still nodding, “Sure, sure.”

Just Now:

N., my very favorite person, playing a video game and not looking at me, “Why didn’t you get one?”

Me, all the confused, pausing my music, “What?”

N., still not looking at me, “Why didn’t you get yourself one of those sweatshirts, with the naked guys?”

Me, shaking my head, primly, “Because we’re grown-ups.”

N., huffs, “Says who?”

Me, “Um, your fancy government job and The Ring We Aren’t Talking About?” (This is A Thing, best left unasked)

N., laughing, finally turning away from the television, “I’m not saying post pictures of yourself in it on LinkedIn, Myshka, but you should get one. It made you ridiculously happy,” Shrug, “And I like that.”

Sooo.... I’m super behind on my inbox, because Real Life has got the best of me for the last month. It’s finally starting to slow down now, and I think I should be able to catch up in the next week, probably. (I’m really sorry to anyone who has sent me a request, but School Comes First, etc...)

Oh my gosh, the irony made me laugh when updating that on my masterlist too!

In part, I picked Jack for that piece because my sister, S., sent me something on Instagram the day before I wrote it about Gabriela being pregnant, and I immediately called her ridiculous for “spreading that rumor”, cue facepalm. Now S. will hold this over my head for the next ten decades, because she’s insane like that.... (Joking... Mostly...)

He entered your house without knocking, which wasn’t unusual, then instead of beelining for your refrigerator threw himself down on the sofa to bury his face on your thigh, which was.

In so many ways, Jack is your soulmate. Never the romantic kind, but whatever souls are made of, his and yours are the same. You understand, intimately, his passion, his sense of fairness, his headstrong approach to life, and all his anxiety.

You know yourself, because you know him.

So you knew, instantly,

Something was very, very wrong.

And then he told you, his voice stilted, confusion and fear, the kind you were utterly unfamiliar with, shining in his eyes, “Gabriela’s pregnant.”

One sentence changing their whole life.

You, somehow, possibly an act of God or maybe a best-friend instinct, didn’t panic. Only one of you can break down at a time, and clearly, he came in broken.

Instead, you made him sit up, repeat himself, looking you in the eye, and then held him for a minutes afterwards while he sobbed.

“What am I going to do? I’m never home, how can I raise a baby? How did this happen?” Jack, finally, caught his breath, then spent it all on rapid fire questions, most of which you couldn’t answer.

“Statistically,” You dragged out the word to get his attention, stemming his flood of questions, “Fertility only possible during a fraction of the month, so, you must’ve gotten very lucky, or very unlucky depending on how you look at at,”

“You’re not helping,” Jack whined, tipping forward to knock his forehead against your shoulder.

“Well,” You scratched at the shaved part of his hair, calming him like a cat, “You aren’t having a panic attack anymore, so I think I might be.”

He sighed, deep and more grownup than you had ever heard him sound, “What am I supposed to do?”

You didn’t know, actually, what the answer to his question was, but you knew what he needed to remember, “You love her, right?”

“Of course,” He scrambled upright, his eyes bloodshot and so clear, “I love her so much. The most.”

“Okay, then,” You grabbed at his shoulders, “There are options here, but not supporting her in whatever she decides isn’t one of them,” You stared into his gorgeous brown eyes, “Jack, it’s going to be hard. All of it, every decision she might make, no matter what, from here on, it’s all going to be hard,” You squeezed him, “But you get to pick your hard with her.”

“And you’ll be there?” He blinked, slowing settling into this new reality, “Like, no matter what?”

“Dude,” You pulled him into you, hugging him tight enough to hold him together, “I love you. Obviously, I’m going to be right beside you, no matter what. That’s what love means,” You reminded him, “Showing up for the hard.”

And it was hard.

It was so, so hard.

Watching Jack and Gabriela learn and grow and struggle, watching them choose this hard, choose courage and vulnerability, watching them adjust to the world made new by the tiny person they picked to share together.

It was so, so hard, and so, so worth it,

when Jack finally called you into the room, introducing you to his daughter for the first time. “Meet your new best friend, Lavender May,” He beamed, confident and sure of himself, in a way he had never been before, handing you the most precious thing in the world.

“Hi Petal,” You whispered, awestruck by her perfection, “You don’t know it yet, but you’ve got your Daddy’s ambition, your Mommy’s perseverance, passions all your own,” She opened her eyes then, a reflexion of Jack’s, infinitely better on her, “And me. You’ve got me, and I’m going to love you forever, and be here for every one of your hards too.”

...

Welcome to the world Lavender May. It’s all fragile, chaos and beauty, and I’m so happy you’re here.

You will be The Hardest Thing your parents ever do, and also,

The Very Best.

You’re too sweet! Thank you!

I’m not generally great/very confident at writing angst, but I hope this fulfills your prompt (because it’s such a good one)

Additionally, my friend, K., has insisted on lovelytheband’s ‘I Like The Way’ for warmup for weeks. And I couldn’t get it out of my head while writing this so thanks to him, I suppose.

...

The problem is, he’s so stubborn.

The problem is, Daniel Seavey, according to Daniel Seavey has never been wrong or bad at anything, ever.

The problem is, he drove twenty minutes in the wrong direction after you left the party, ignoring you when you tried to tell him, and instead of admitting it, keeps insisting it was some kind of shortcut. All you wanted in the whole world, when you finally dragged him away from his bandmates, was your bed, and now you’re so frustrated you shut the door on him the second you step inside, and consider locking it.

“I have a key,” He mutters, reading your mind, pushing it back open.

“And I can admit that was a mistake,” You say, under your breath, leaning down to finally remove your shoes.

“Oh, come on,” Daniel groans, closing the door behind himself.

“You are this close,” You mime a millimeter with your hands, “to getting a shoe thrown at you. I suggest you stop talking.”

He frowns, “You wouldn’t.”

You roll your eyes, “No, Daniel, I wouldn’t injure your ridiculous perfect face,” You walk away from temptation, leaving your shoes in the hallway, “But you‘re sleeping on the sofa.”

“Baby,” He starts.

“Don’t ‘Baby’ me,” You stomp towards the bathroom, and he defines all reason, following you.

You turn on the sink, slamming makeup remover down on the counter and washing your face aggressively.

Daniel leans in the doorway, trying to reason, “We’re home now.”

You are so far past reason, glaring at him around your toothbrush, mumbling, “We could have been home an hour ago if you just listened to me!”

Daniel, because he’s a jerk, grins, “I understood two of those words, so I’m gonna assume you agree and forgive me.”

You scoff, spitting in the sink, then meet his eyes, “When Hell freezes over, Seavey.” You push past him, into the bedroom, reaching for the zipper on your dress, yanking it down and letting it puddle on the floor before you glance back at him, just in time to catch his swallow. “Really?” You can’t help the disbelief in your voice.

“Fuck,” He groans, “I can’t help it. You’re,” He exhales, taking one step closer to you, “You’re radiant when you’re furious.”

You look up at the ceiling, “You should be less good at words.”

Daniel stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you and setting his mouth on you neck, “It’s kind of my job,” He says, against your skin, “Don’t make me sleep on the couch, baby. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Say you’re sorry,” You manage to insist, in the second before his fingers turn you into putty.

He nudges you towards the bed, pushing you down and pulling his body over yours, preforming half a push-up to get his eyes level with yours, “I’m very sorry. It will never happen again.”

“Of course it’s going to happen again,” You laugh, throwing your head back, your hands twisting in his hair of their own volition, “Just promise you’ll listen to me next time.”

Daniel sets his teeth on your collarbone, “I promise, in the future, I’ll take your opinion into consideration.”

“You’re crazy,” You groan, half-disbelief, half-pleasure at what he’s doing with his tongue, “I’m in love with a crazy person.”

“I suppose that makes you crazy too,” He whispers in your ear.

He’s right, of course.

So, I disappeared from The Internet this weekend for my best friend’s graduation, and my cousins’ first birthday. There were almost as many babies at their party as there were adults, and it was so, so great.

Which really made me want to write Dad!Jonah. I usually never skip around in my inbox, but special circumstances and all… Plus, this request just made my heart so happy. I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it!

...

You aren’t exactly certain how you got here.

Here being frozen ten steps inside an arena holding a four year old.

It might’ve started months ago. When Jonah, in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness, stumbled over his words and rambled for long enough you were positive he was breaking up with you, before finally confessing, “I have a son.”

And you, instead of asking any of the questions a normal person might have about that, said the first thing that crossed your mind, “Like an actual human child? Not, like, a puppy or something?”

Or it might’ve begun the moment you met him, standing in the doorway of Jonah’s, previously very off-limits apartment, months after you first found out about him, feeling more nervous than you could ever remember being. Jonah clearing his throat to introduce you to, his very much actual human child, Ezra.

You were stuck, immediately, by their resemblance. The miniature of the man you were already more than half in love with playing with crayons on the floor. His mess brown hair and adorable pointy chin, refusing to lift his eyes even after Jonah coaxed, “Hey, buddy, remember how we talked about my friend coming over to visit. Do you think you could you say hello?”

Ezra in turn, mumbled something way too quiet for you to hear, and curled even further around his coloring book.

Jonah, in some mixture of embarrassment and resignation, tried to explain, wincing, “Sorry. I know I said he was a little shy...”

And you completely ignored him. “Hi Ezra,” You folded yourself down to the floor, keeping your distance on the opposite side of the living room, crossing your legs and speaking as softly as you could, “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Ezra, for one perfect second, glanced over with his gorgeous hazel eyes, an exact copy of his Daddy’s, that you pretended not to see.

“Ezzie,” Jonah tried again, but you knew, somehow, that acknowledging him would be a mistake.

“Your Daddy told me sometimes you get overwhelmed,” You smiled Ezra direction, gently, “When I was little, I used to get scared sometimes too, so my dad taught me the Here game, do you know that one?”

Ezra shook his head, and you caught Jonah settling into the doorway, letting you do this. Trusting you to do this with his son, and that trust made you feel like you could do anything.

“Would you like to learn?” You kept going, and finally heard Ezra‘s voice, so sweet you melted at his single syllable, “Yes.”

“Okay,” You uncrossed your legs, taking up just a little bit more space, “The point of the Here game is to remember where we are. So, where am I, Ezra?”

He looked around the room, his tiny eyebrows exactly as expressive as Jonah’s, a little lost but still following you, an expression you were already utterly familiar with, “Here?” Ezra asked.

“That’s right,” You nodded, “But more importantly; I’m here,” You tapped your nose, “And here,” You wiggled your feet, and waved your hands, slowly, “And here. And where are you, Ezra?”

Ezra’s eyes got wide, and he tapped his feet against the floor, “Here?”

“Yup, you’re there,” You encouraged.

“And here?” He held his palms up, curling and uncurling his fingers.

“I’d say so,” You grinned.

“And here?” He poked his own forehead, and giggled, possibly the best sound you’d ever heard, and you’d been receiving private concerts from his father for weeks.

“You’re totally here,” You crossed one foot over the other, beaming.

Ezra smiled back, “What about Daddy?” The question, and the way he looked up at Jonah, full of confidence and trust and admiration, made all the butterflies in your stomach soar.

“I’m right here,” Jonah answered, immediately, deserving of all those emotions in his son’s eyes. But Ezra protested anyway, “Nooo, Daddy. Where are you?”

Jonah smirked, then, looking over at you before obediently shaking his feet and wiggling his fingers at his son, “I’m here?”

“Yeah, you are,” You barely managed to drag your gaze away from him to look back at Ezra, “So, if I’m here, and you’re here, and your Daddy’s here,” You leaned back a little, letting yourself take up just a little bit more space, “Is anything really that scary?”

Ezra shook his head, deciding, “No,” then, tentatively, offering you a page of his coloring book, and you’ve been best friends ever since.

Which is, you suppose, how you actually ended up here, because when Ezra finished a drawing, signing his name the way you’ve been teaching him to, and insisted that Daddy needed to see it right now, you were totally helpless to say no, momentarily forgetting the band had to change their meet and greet today, to be earlier than usual to allow for some kind of pre-show interview later.

The roar of the crowd on the other side of what, frankly seems like way too flimsy, screens reaches Ezra’s ears a moment after it hits yours, and his arms around you neck and feet swinging by your hips, his usually endlessly restless limbs, freeze.

“Ezzie,” You lean back a little to run your fingers through his hair, sweeping it off his forehead, “Where are you?”

He blinks, once, twice, three times, then kicks his feet out again, tapping his fingers on your shoulder, whispering, “Here.”

“Good job,” You tuck him tighter against you, “I’m really sorry. I forgot Daddy’s working right now, and he has a lot of friends visiting him. So, we’ve got two options,” You meet his serious expression, “We can give him the picture later, or,” Ezra tilts his head up, listening intently to his choices, “Or,” You steel yourself, “We can give it to him now, with all his friends.”

Ezra’s mouth pulls to the side, his thinking face, a perfect mirror imagine of Jonah’s, “Now, please.”

“Okay, Ezra,” You straight up, “You’re here, and I’m here, and Daddy,” You turn the corner, a sudden hush falling over the crowd at the sight of you and, more importantly, Ezra in your arms, “Daddy’s right there, so nothing bad at all could happen, right?”

“Right,” Ezra holds his chin up, and you didn’t know it was possible to feel this proud.

Except, that feeling only grows, when Corbyn elbows Jonah, getting his attention and security’s to stop the seemingly never ending stream of girls, “Hey bro, let’s take a minute, your family’s here.”

“My,” Jonah frowns, turning around, then the corners of his mouth turning up when he sees his son.

“Hi,” You grin.

“Hi Daddy,” Ezra giggles.

Jonah keeps smiling, “Hi guys,” He steps closer, wrapping his arms around you both, “I thought you were hanging out on the bus.”

“We made you a picture,” Ezra helpfully informs him.

“Oh, did you?” Jonah asks, honestly interested and patient in a way he only ever is for the two of you.

Ezra careful unfolds it, pointing to the shapes he’s colored to represent himself, Jonah, the dog he, with some cheeky encouragement from you, won’t stop asking for, and you, drawn into a glitter-pen family portrait where you’ve never wanted to belong more.

“It’s a masterpiece, bud,” Jonah declares, holding it up to the light, looking at it from all angles, “I think this is top of the fridge material,” Jonah winks, “Don’t you?”

You smirk, “Actually, I think we better frame it.”

Ezra giggles again, which makes Jonah the kind of happy that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and you didn’t know you could love like this.

You didn’t know, could never have comprehended what your life was missing, before these boys, and now you can’t even picture a world without their smiles. Corbyn was right, this is your family now, Jonah, and Ezra and all the hypothetical hazel-eyed siblings for him you hope for someday. Completely unexpected and so beautiful you’re certain in this moment your heart is beating inside of both their chests.

That sound is all you can hear until the rest of the world comes flooding back in; Zach answering something a fan asks, loudly proclaiming, “I know! I know! I was totally his favorite before she came along.”

“Whose favorite?” Jonah steps back to rejoin his bandmates, slinging an arm over Zach’s shoulders, “Mine or Ezzie’s?”

“Both!” Zach pouts, “Both of you don’t like people and loved me best, then she showed up,” He groans, “And now I’m nobody!” Which isn’t entirely true, but just makes Jonah laugh, and Ezra shrug, still wrapped around you like a tiny spider monkey, and suddenly you know;

It doesn’t really matter how you got here, only that here is where you were always meant to be.

…

I am a Baby Person.

I am such a Baby Person, when I tried that momentarily viral thing of texting your significant other, ‘I want a baby,’ mine reacted, predictably, as if I told him the color of the sky.

The sky is blue, the earth revolves around the sun, and I want babies. (Specifically, his babies, but that’s another story.)

However, my best friend, O., absolutely never does.

I thought a lot about her, and how I think of her, while writing this, so I hope it reads with as much empathy and compassion as she has, and as much love as I have for her, because she’s the greatest.

And finally, I’ve Got Reasons for picking Jack for this, but I hope the story explains them, and that this is what you were looking for <3

...

“And her little curls,” Jack gushes, basically vibrating beside you on the sofa over the adorableness of a toddler who came through the meet and greet line tonight.

“She sounds precious,” You grin at him.

“So,” Zach calls out from in front of the mirror on the other side of the green room, which is usually teeming with people, but for now is just you and band, “Odds on your babies coming out curly?”

You laugh, “Zero, because, Jack’s hair is fake,”

“Hey,” Jack protests, a point of pride, “It’s permed, not fake.”

“Right,” You tug on one of his ringlets, then look back at Zach, “Jack’s hair is permed, which is definitely not genetic, and,” You drag out the word, “More importantly, I don’t want kids.”

It’s like a record scratch, like a remote control stop button you didn’t know you had, the entire room going still and silent the second you say that.

“Which I guess I haven’t mentioned before...” You glance at Jack, and he shrugs.

“But,” Corbyn is the first to recover, gesturing at your boyfriend, “Jack loves kids.”

“So do I?” You blink slowly, “But that doesn’t mean I want them.”

“But!” Zach insists, and Jonah clears his throat.

“Ah,” He interrupts, “Have you guys talked about this?”

Jack looks at him like he’s dumb, “Of course we’ve talked about this.”

Jonah lifts both hands, placating if still confused, “Just checking.”

“So,” Daniel taps his foot, “You’re never having kids? Ever?”

Jack sighs, “I don’t get what’s so difficult to grasp about this,” He looks at you, conspiratorially if completely calm, “Her bloodline ends with her.”

“But what about yours?” Corbyn presses.

“Yeah, Dude,” Zach’s eyes are huge, “What about your mom? Doesn’t she want to be a grandma?”

“She’s got three other children,”Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m sure at least one of my sisters will reproduce.”

Zach makes a face, “That makes it sound gross.”

“It is gross,” You laugh again, “Which is one reason why I won’t be doing it. Plus,” You level with him, “Having kids for the sake of your parents, or literally anyone other than you, is a horrible idea.”

“A real recipe for disaster,” Jack backs you up, his hand squeezing your thigh.

“Huh,” Zach considers it.

“I just always though you’d be into it,” Corbyn muses, “Y’know, because you’re both always the first to offer to babysit.”

“Babysitting doesn’t have anything to do with having babies,” Jack narrows his eyes, still defensive.

“It’s, like,” You try to explain, “I adore Isla, and Reese and Svea and all my little cousins. I love spending time with them. They’re awesome, and cool and smart and interesting and I could hang out with them all day. I like kids, in general. But I just,” You bite your lip, “I just don’t have any interest in raising my own. I like kids, but I also really like being able to give them back.”

Jonah tilts his head, “And you feel the same way, Jack?”

“I’ve changed enough diapers for a lifetime,” He shakes his head, “So, yeah. For sure.”

“But you want a family,” Daniel insists, “You want the white picket fence, the golden retriever, the whole American Dream,” He points at Jack, “We’ve discussed it.”

“I do want that. But babies don’t make a family,” Jack’s still calm, but suddenly dead serious, “I should know because my parents couldn’t even stick it out being a family until my sister reached double digits. Adults make families. Adults choose their family, kids or no kids. We can be a family of two,” He puts his arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer to him.

“And someday, probably a cat,” You lean in, smiling.

“Yeah,” Jack grins, “Probably a whole damn zoo, knowing you.”

“Maybe,” You stick out your tongue, “I like recusing thing. And vacations. I really like vacations.”

“And not getting vomited on,” Jack lists another reason to remain childless.

“And not cheering for someone using the toilet.”

“And not cleaning up messes we don’t make.”

“And never having to share our bed.”

“Alright, Alright,” Zach cuts you off, “We get it.”

“Do you?” You blink at him.

“Yeah,” Corbyn answers for the rest of the guys, snickering, “You’re sickening in love and need to stop reciting the benefits to not having kids now, because Christina wants, like, at least two and you know I’m helpless when it comes to what that woman wants.“

“But that’s a benefit for us too,” You smirk, “Because then we can borrow your kids to do all the cool things,”

“Take them to Disney, get them all sugared up,” Jack lifts up his hand.

“And then give them back,” You finish his sentence, high-fiving him, before everyone in the room dissolves into laugher at Corbyn’s fake indignation.

I turned in a piece of research today that felt a little like handing over a piece of my soul.

One hundred and thirty seven pages that have consumed me for the last six months.

No conclusions. Nothing concrete at all, but all mine.

I struggled with that, for months. I could see weeks in, that I wouldn’t “finish” this project, not the clean way I wanted to when I designed it. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, and I struggled it. I struggled with my subject, with my advisors, with my librarians, and with my entire life for this and now; it’s finished.

And for the first time in very long time, I’m not struggling with what to feel.

I recognize this is a tiny victory, almost completely inconsequential for the rest of the world, but monumental for me,

and-

I am so proud of myself.

(I know I don’t usually post personal unless it’s related to my writing, but I would scream this from a rooftop if I could.

Thank you for being so kind in asking! You’re so sweet, this is so sweet, and I adore ‘convincing’ conversations.

So much so, that now I’m wondering if stealing from yourself counts as plagiarism? One of my favorite pieces of dialogue I’ve ever written has a very similar feeling to this prompt, and I definitely stole from that for this.

I’ll put the link to that story here.

And finally, Sassy!Jack is maybe my favorite Jack, so I hope this makes you smile <3

…

You know from the way Jack drawls your name, the second Zach’s across the room battling Ryan for a controller and chance to prove himself as The Best Herron in a video game, that you are in so much trouble.

“So, you and Zach,” Jack starts.

“There is no me and Zach,” You make air-quotes to prove it.

“You sure about that?” Jack looks, pointedly, at the place Zach’s head was just in your lap, “Because, I hate to tell you this,”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” He smirks, “Zach’s in love with you.”

“He’s Zach,” You bite your lip.

“And you’re you,” Jack narrows his eyes, “So I‘m not sure what the problem is.”

“No. He’s Zach,” You whine, adding emphasis to the way his name struggles to encompass all that Zach is.

Jack chuckles, “I get what you’re saying,” He glances over at Zach, now elbowing his brother trying to cheat to win the game, “But he’s still a good dude.”

“He stole a jello cup out of my hand,” You level at Jack, “In kindergarten, and also, last week.”

“I didn’t say he was perfect,” Jack tries to maintain a facade of seriousness, but after a second can’t help laughing with you.

You finally catch your breath, biting your lip again, watching Zach escalate to sitting on top of his brother, trying to block his view. “I don’t even understand what he sees in me. Have you seen his exes?”

Jack looks at you like you’re the one being ridiculous, “You say that like you’re hideous or something.”

“You literally called me that yesterday,” You kick him.

“It was early,” He protests.

“It was after noon,” You shake your head.

Jack grins, “Don’t be dumb. He likes you for the inside stuff,” He grimaces, “Your heart and shit. The way you make Reese laugh and do Ryan’s algebra homework,”

“I don’t do his homework,” You argue, “I help him,”

“Help him write down all the answers,” Jack huffs, “Will you just listen to me?” He meets your eyes, “I have seen his exes, but, babe, I’m telling you; you don’t have anything to worry about. They’re all the same.”

“Stupid pretty?” You ask.

“So fucking boring,” Jack answers, “They’re all so fucking boring. None of them have ever made him smile the way you do,” He pokes your leg, “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do,”

“Yes, you are,” You correct.

“Yes, I am,” Jack concedes, “But you outta know, it doesn’t mean anything, that you aren’t going to win a beauty pageant against those girls. If there was a test for who’s a better friend? Or date? Or partner? You’d win, no competition.”

You smile, laying your head down on his shoulder, “Y’know, sometimes you’re alright, Jack.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He pats the top of your head, a little too aggressively, “Just don’t break my boy’s heart, okay?”

“Okay,” You whisper, watching Zach jump up, having, questionably, beaten Ryan to win their game.

Jack stands up then too, calling out, “Come on, Ryan, I want snacks.”

“But,” Ryan complains, only to be physically dragged out of the room.

Zach looks over at you, flushed and handsome and suddenly skeptical watching Jack haul his brother outside, “Did he say something to you?”

“Only that you’ve been lonely crying yourself to sleep every night and it’s all my fault.”

Zach, immediately, blushes, stammering, “Ah,”

“Oh, my god,” You stand up, scrambling to get to his side, “That was supposed to be a joke. I was trying to make you laugh,” You rush out.

Zach nods, still not looking at you, “Right. Cool.”

“Zachary,” You roll your eyes, “Why do you think I’ve followed you around all this time?”

“I, ah,” He looks at you, pulling his eyebrows together adorably.

“Because I’ve been in love with you since the first time you replaced my jello with a cookie, you idiot,” You laugh, “Zach, I don’t even like jello. I just buy it because I like the way you steal it from me,” He‘s stunned, gaping with his mouth open, but you keep going, “I moved to Los Angeles for you. How could you ever think I wasn’t in love you?” You smile, just the corners of your mouth turning up at the way his eyes are shining, “Jack told me not to break your heart, Z. But I’m way more worried about you breaking mine.”

“Never,” Zach says, immediately, “I would never. I couldn’t. You love me?” He blinks, “Like, for real?”

“Like, for always,” You correct, and he smiles.

You’re constantly trying to make Zach smile. You’re obsessed with the way happiness looks on him, and you thought you knew, until this moment, every single expression he had.

Except the way he looks at you, in the millisecond before asking, “Does that mean I can kiss you now?” is better than any you’ve ever seen before, and you vow, in that moment, to make him look like that as often as possible. Even if you have to announce your love for him constantly;

Maybe,

You think, after you nod and his mouth finds yours, the best, and last, first kiss of your life,

So... This is a real thing that I do, and my poor, patient, perfect, N., is going to turn so red should he ever read my blog.

In other notes; I’m not sure this counts as waiting, but I hope you enjoy it anyway <3

...

You know you’re doing it.

You’re painfully aware it’s irrational, and ridiculous, and, somehow, you cannot seem to stop.

“Why is this so hard for you?” You rant, “I’ve told you a dozen times. How could you not remember?”

“I’m sorry,” Jonah offers, sincerely, absolutely refusing to take the bait.

“And another thing!” You spin around, glaring at his stupid perfect face.

“Yes?” He asks, completely calm, like there isn’t smoke swirling in your eyes.

“You,” You jab your finger into his chest, doing nothing to him, but hurting your own hand, which only serves to further infuriate you, “You!”

“Me?” Jonah smirks, catching your wrists, stopping your floundering.

“You need to let go of me,” You can’t think with his hands on your skin. This something he knows and you’re certain he’s exploiting.

“Yeah,” Jonah tightens his grip, walking you backward, “That’s not going to happen.”

“Jonah,” You whine.

In one not-so-smooth motion, he tosses you on the bed, bouncing down after on you on the mattress, “Yes?” He raises an eyebrow, cocky and confident in the way that just makes you want to bite him.

“We’re fighting,” You grind out.

“Are we?” He laughs, climbing over you, “This doesn’t feel like fighting to me,” He whispers into your ear, pressing his teeth against your neck.

“Jonah,” You move your hips, acting like you want to get him off, “I’m mad at you.”

“Oh,” He’s still smirking, you can feel it on your skin, “Let me make it up to you.”

“Jonah,” You shove at him, feigning annoyance, begging him to catch your hands.

He does, weaving you fingers together, holding them above your head, looking down at you, studying your soul.

Of course, then; you crumble. His serious examination of your eyes causing the compete breakdown of your playful, and pretend, irritation, replacing it instead with the real emotion behind your fire.

“I’ll apologize for real,” Jonah squeezes your hands, “If you’ll just tell me what’s actually going on.”

“I haven’t been sleeping. I feel like I’m two second away from ruining everything, and I don’t know how it’s happened, but I have so much to do, I don’t even have time to breathe, and I feel like I’m failing, and,” You are four sentences into a monologue that’s been running in your head for weeks, when Jonah suddenly flips you, pulling you into his lap, shushing you gently and sweeping the tears off your face, his thumbs collecting the wetness that makes you realize you’re crying.

“Baby, baby, baby,” He quiets you, “Breathe for me.”

You follow his lead, setting the rhythm of your lungs to his, “I’m sorry,” You try, when you’ve finally started to come down.

Jonah shakes his head, hugging you so tight you can hardly breathe again, “Don’t.”

“But,” You attempt to protest.

He leans back to look into your eyes, “This is what I’m here for okay?”

“You came to visit me so I could ruin your shirt with my stress sobbing?” You try for light, and land somewhere closer to fragile.

Jonah smiles, so gentle now, “I didn’t mean it like that,” He brushes your hair back off your face, “I meant, I’m here, on earth, right now, to be here for you, whatever that means, whatever that takes, if that looks like sacrificing my shirts to this,” He glances at the tear stain you left on this shoulder, “Or like the time you broke off the all buttons,”

You blush immediately, protesting, “That was an accident,”

“That was the single hottest thing anyone has ever done to me,” He corrects, still smiling, “That’s what I’m here for, baby. I’m here for you.”