Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

EB: dude...

TT: dude

EB: dude!!!! :B

TT: rousing conversation really good stuff here

TT: whats up?

EB: you're almost here is what's up! how's the airport?

TT: oh you know fucking terrible

TT: parents with too many screaming babies

TT: tired businessmen sleeping on the goddamn benches like its a motherfucking holiday inn

TT: leaves me standing here like some kind of schlub while i wait for the plane to get here

TT: the things i do for you bunny boy

EB: you don't have to keep calling me that...

TT: what bunny boy? why not its cute

TT: youre cute

TT: you got them squishy lil cheeks and them adorable teefies and them big ole ears

TT: bet they look like satellite dishes when they really get going

TT: real top secret shit

TT: nasa be knocking at the egbert household door because they want to use them suckers for science

TT: some scientist is all up in your biz wondering if youve picked up any alien signals on those bad boys yet

TT: all like hey made any contact with any ets yet

As stupid as it is, you love it when he flirts with you like this.

Your name is John Egbert, and Dave Strider has been your best friend since you met on a long-gone chat website when you were 11. You knew you weren't supposed to be on there and you had to lie about your age. You kept worrying your dad would find out and block the site, but he didn't and you went on to meet the guy who would become the most important person in your life. Heck… you might even be a little bit in love with him. Just a little bit.

There were only two problems:

First and foremost being that he lived in Houston, and you lived in a little town called Maple Valley, about 45 minutes south-east of Seattle. Growing up and going through high school with your best friend living 2,000 miles away sucked, but somehow you managed. Your dad wasn't a fan of all the time spent on the computer in your room, but you got your homework done, dutifully went to your piano lessons, and even joined the track team. You were a model student, so he let it slide that all of your spare time was devoted to hanging out online with your best bud.

Second being that you're a bunny. And he's a fox. And... look. You live in a modern, civilized society. Your beastly cousins might still fight out there in the forests and fields, but that's not really how it is for people anymore. But even if foxes, wolves, and lions are no longer a threat to rabbits, deer, and zebra, there's still a stigma. Being friends is all well and good, best friends is fine, even. But crossing that line into crush territory or further? Well... people look at you funny. Inter-order relationships aren't illegal or anything, but that doesn't mean much for public scrutiny.

That’s how you see it, anyway.

EB: yeah actually! i'm talking to one right now.

TT: uh oh we got a funny man over here

EB: yeah but you like that too! and don’t try to deny it!

EB: ugh where is your plane! i want you to be here already.

EB: i'm tired of waiting around.

TT: bro relax its a four hour flight not including all the getting on and taxiing and taxiing again and waiting for everyone to get their carry ons so you can just get off already

TT: you got time to go do other stuff

TT: hell you could go watch con air twice back to back

TT: i know you want to

EB: ugh no i don't!!!!!!!! you know i don't like that movie anymore!

TT: bro what if that happens to me

TT: what if theres a prison break on the plane and i gotta land it in the desert

TT: and then i decide to attach a car to the back for no reason before we take off again

TT: and i crash land in las vegas

TT: would you be jealous

EB: no because that's such a bad reduction of the movie anyway, and also you're not a criminal!

TT: you dont know that

EB: yes i do! and neither is anybody else on the flight!

TT: you dont know that either

EB: well. okay technically you're correct. but no!

It’s five in the morning and way too early to even be having this conversation. Actually, it’s way too early for any conversation, but Dave’s flight leaves at the ass-crack of dawn for you because it was cheap, and you wanted to be around to make sure everything went smoothly. Though if something did go wrong, there’s not a lot you can do from your high-rise apartment in downtown Seattle. Whatever. You’ll have a little nap while the plane is in the air, it’ll be fine. If you can get to sleep, that is.

You’re just… wired.

Because Dave isn’t just coming to visit. He’s coming to live. You’d talked about it on and off for a long time, but the plans only started coming together in the past six or so months. You don’t even know what set it off, you just started talking about it and suddenly he had you checking out apartments for him, making sure they weren’t cockroach infested, and helping him coordinate movers…

And you’re going to see him in person for the first time today.

TT: oh shit planes here

TT: were gonna finish this conversation later though

TT: thats both a promise and a threat

EB: hahah sure dave. go and get on the plane!

EB: have a safe flight and see you soon!

You watch your phone for about twenty more minutes, flipping between Pesterchum and the airport’s website listing of departures, until you see that Dave’s flight has officially taken off. You sigh, set the alarm for three hours, fold your glasses and set them down with the phone, then slide face-down onto your bed, shoving your face into the pillow.

You’re excited to have your best friend living out here with you, there’s no denying that. You’ve wanted this since well before you even started having crushes! But you’re a little uneasy, too. He still doesn’t know how you feel about him, and you have no designs to tell him any time soon. Maybe that’s a little bit selfish of you, but you’d rather just swallow your feelings and have him out here with you, than tell him the truth and risk him backing out.

It's fine. You’ll get over him. Someday.

You try to relax, but your mind is awash with anticipation. What will he feel like? What will he smell like? You bet he gives amazing hugs, because that would be the most ironic thing, right? This super aloof cool kid, he probably gives those shitty hover-hand hugs, right? Wrong! —Ugh, you don’t understand all that irony bullshit. You don’t need to. You just like to listen to him talk about it over voice chat because you like listening to him. Yeah, he definitely gives good hugs… maybe he gives good kisses…

Blissfully, with lascivious thoughts of smooching your best friend, you doze off.

. . .

Three hours later, your phone alarm screams at you from your bedside table, and you scrabble around to find it and turn it off. It’s hard to read the screen without your glasses but you’ve done it so many times, it’s all muscle memory. Three hours was not nearly enough, but you have to get up and get on the light rail if you want to get to the airport in time.

You change your shirt three times before you finally settle on a plain white and blue ringer tee, and take a moment to check yourself in the mirror. You’ve never cared that much about your appearance before, but… this is a special occasion. You’d have worn a suit, even, if you felt like wearing it on public transportation. Which you don’t. But it would have been hysterical to show up dressed to the nines.

You wiggle your ears a little and realize that they kind of do look like big satellite dishes, even compared to other rabbits. You guess it’s the jackrabbit in you. And you turn around and watch your tail flick from where it pokes out underneath your t-shirt. Dave’s definitely going to get a kick out of that. You don’t think he’s ever thought about your tail, even if you’ve thought about his plenty.

You take a deep breath and try (and fail) to smooth your hair down. Okay. You gotta be cool. You can be cool. Channel your inner Dave. Be the cool kid. He’s probably not even a tenth as nervous as you are, so you just have to try and match that.

Grabbing your keys, wallet, and jacket, you finally head out the door.

It’s a warm Wednesday in September and downtown is about as busy as usual. You hang your jacket over your arm and swing on over to the Market before you make for the train station. Despite kids being back in school now and fewer families traveling, there are still plenty of tourists, marveling over the usual variety of buskers and laughing and clapping as the fishmongers toss their fish. You came here to get flowers, though for a second you entertain how hilarious it would be to show up at the airport with a big fat salmon, wrapped up like a bouquet. You don’t even like fish, but it would still be hilarious.

You pick out a small bouquet, pay the lady in cash, and tell her to keep the change.

It’s only as you leave the crowded market area and make your way up to the station that you wonder why you even did that. Flowers? Really? Isn’t it a little too much? It seemed like such a good idea, right up until this very moment, when you’re holding them in your hand and walking through the less exuberant city streets. You waffle back and forth, telling yourself that it’s just a nice gesture and flowers don’t have to be romantic, but what if he sees it as romantic, and turns right back around? You wonder if they’ll just let him right back on the plane. And you’re going to have to carry them all the way to the airport with you, and then all the way back! And—

Ugh. You’re overthinking it again. You command your brain to just chill for like, ten seconds! Dave is your best friend in the whole world! He uprooted his life to come live near you for no other reason than your friendship! He is not going to be chased away by some measly flowers!

And anyway, if he does get uneasy, you’ll just eat them and say they were a snack for you. Take that, flowers.

The train ride down to the airport is fairly uneventful. It usually is. The bus is where it gets really wild sometimes, but the light rail is usually pretty chill. Riders get on and off at each stop, some only going so far as the next station. Other people destined for the airport get on, hauling luggage and struggling to find places to put it as the train car gets a little more crowded. You mostly just play on your phone and try not to have a stranglehold on the flowers in your hand.

And then the train pulls into the airport station.

It’s just about 9AM on a weekday, so the airport is busy, with long lines at the check-in counters and tons of people wheeling bags this way and that. You don’t do well in crowds, and you don’t know your way around the airport all that well. You check the arrivals board to see that Dave’s flight is on time and taxiing to the gate at that very moment.

Oh jeez. Oh man. Oh god. It’s really happening.

Despite your unease in the crowd, you put on your big boy pants and find your way to the right gate, waiting outside the secured area. You bounce on the balls of your feet in anticipation, and apologize profusely to a lion in a well-tailored suit with one of those Bluetooth ear pieces as he pushes past you.

And you watch the steady stream of people filing out of the secured area.

And the second you see him, you know.

Later, you’ll wish you contained yourself a little better. For right now, as soon as you see him, you rush forward. A fox with a red hoodie bearing a gear logo, carrying nothing but a backpack, a set of chunky headphones hanging around his neck, and wearing the dumbest shades you’ve ever seen. You’re allowed to call them dumb, because you gave them to him, though you’re surprised he still wears them after nearly a decade.

He grunts in surprise as you practically barrel into him, throwing your arms around him and nearly crushing the flowers in the process. But then you feel his arms wrap around your shoulders, and you were right. He gives amazing hugs and… oh god, he smells amazing too. Not even like anything in particular, but your nose is telling you that yes, this is the scent. This is it. You want it all over you, and you rub your face against his chest to try and get more of it on you.

Wait, what?

“Dude, are you… scent marking me?”

His voice pulls you out of your stupor, and you feel him pull away a bit. Fuck fuck fuck. You’re already messing this up! You pull away and nearly bump into a family walking behind you, but you’re so focused on your screw-up that you barely notice.

“Nah, man,” you say, trying to play it cool. “Just… glad you made it here in one piece, without crash-landing a plane full of murderous convicts into the Mirage.”

“Yeah, I thought about it, but figured you’d be pretty bummed out. Maybe next time.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, then adds, “Hey. Whatcha got there?”

You realize you still have a death grip on the flowers, and you laugh awkwardly as you offer them out.

“Oh, I got these for you,” you confess, and you can feel the tips of your ears burning as he takes them. He can probably see it, too.

He buries his nose in the bouquet and inhales, glancing over the top of his shades at you so that you get a flash of those amazing red eyes of his. It takes every last ounce of willpower to keep from melting into a little puddle right there on the airport floor.

“They’re nice,” he finally says, maneuvering his backpack off his shoulder so that he can tuck them delicately into the top. He then carefully reshoulders the backpack. “Alright, bunny boy. Let’s blow this popsicle joint.”

He’s right. You’re both standing awkwardly in the middle of this crowded airport, and generally being in the way of people who are trying to go somewhere.

“What about your bags?” You ask, as you start heading away from the arrivals area. The train and the baggage claim are roughly in the same direction so you might as well stop making obstacles of yourselves.

“Just the one I got. The rest of my shit should be arriving in a day or two.”

You feel a little dumb for asking. You knew the movers were coming with his stuff, you helped him book them. No reason to struggle with suitcases on a plane. “Yeah, okay! Well, this way then!”

You don’t talk much, even on the walk down the long-ass hallway through the parking garage and to the train station. You're pretty focused on getting out of here, and somewhere a little more quiet; it’s too busy here and you’re trying to move at a reasonable pace, which doesn’t really make for great conversation. You help him pay for his ticket at the kiosk, and once you’re on the train, you let him have the window seat. It’s not too crowded, but the car is nearly full by the time the train pulls away from the station.

“So… how was the flight?” you start, when you feel like you've been ignoring him, unsure of where to even begin. You’re so used to starting off most of your conversations when one of you sends the other a stupid meme or a rant or something like that, that you have absolutely no idea how to make small talk with him.

He’s transfixed by the world outside the window, but turns to you when you speak.

“Oh, you know. The usual shit. Had a bunch of those crying babies on the plane, so that was cool. Loved that for me. Uh… otherwise, pretty fucking boring?” He shrugs, then turns back to the window, fascinated. “This train stuff is the shit. Real slick.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty convenient! I mean… it’s faster to drive if there’s no traffic, but if there is traffic…”

And you realize that this is incredibly boring and you’re not even sure that Dave’s listening to you. His face is practically glued to window, and you can’t blame him. You were the same way the first time you rode the light rail. The noise of the train on the tracks and other conversations going around you serves as a small distraction, at least, as you fight the urge to lean against him, because you’re still sleepy and your mind is buzzing with all of him. You already knew he was handsome, you’d video chatted enough times for that, but there’s something else that you can’t quite pin…

Occasionally, he’ll ask you what something outside the window is, as though you know what every building in the greater Puget Sound area is, and for a while, you keep telling him you’re not sure, or you mockingly read the sign on the building that he can just as well read himself. But then the train pulls into SoDo station and you start recognizing things. Not that there’s much to see down here, not anything that holds any visual interest. You point out the stadiums when they come into view, but eventually the train dips into the International District station and into the underground, and you’re left with very little to look at. But that’s okay; you tell him a bit about each station you go through and the area it’s in, and promise to take him to see each one, but first you have to get him all set up.

You pull him off the train with you at the station nearest to your apartment and lead him through the downtown area, watching him carefully. His tail swishes every so often, or an ear flicks, but he seems pretty relaxed, which probably makes sense. He’s lived in a city proper longer than you have. Maybe you hoped he would be a little more excited, like you were when you first moved in, or a little more off-put so you could support him, but then again… this is Cool Kid Dave Strider. You might have gotten your hopes a little too high.

He whistles as you lead him into the lobby of your building, and you elbow him when the concierge gives him a strange look.

You both get into the elevator, and press the button for the 41st floor. From there, it’s a right turn, and then right again to get to Unit 3, because the numbering system here is really bizarre and you’ve never understood it.

The first thing Dave does after he kicks off his shoes and sets down his backpack (still gentle, with the cargo of flowers sticking out) is make a beeline for your couch, and you just kind of laugh. You can hear him moaning as you step into the open kitchen and pull an old vase out of a lower cabinet; you retrieve the flowers, trim them, and get them situated in the vase with some water. That’ll do for now.

By the time you make it over to the couch, Dave has discarded his hoodie and splayed his entire length out, which gives you nowhere to sit, so instead you perch on one of the arms and finally take the time to notice that his tail is exactly as cute as you thought it would be.

“You okay? You look a little… dead.”

“Mhm,” is all he says in return, muffled into one of your throw pillows.

“You want a real pillow? Or a blanket, or something?”

“Nuh-uh. I’m good, I’m just chilling.”

You would call bullshit, but you can’t blame him for being exhausted. Travel always takes it out of you too, and you know Dave would normally be sleeping right now anyway. You pat his calf and stand.

“Alright. Well, have a good nap!”

“Not napping.”

You don’t dignify that blatant lie with a response. By the time you head back over to the door and bring Dave’s backpack to him, he’s already snoring softly, and it breaks your heart that you can’t just snuggle right up to him and sleep by his side. You set the backpack down by the couch, and just watch him for a moment, shades pushed at an awkward angle. You gently extract them from his face and set them on the coffee table, and for a moment, there’s a part of you still riding the high of that hug from earlier, a part that wants to give him a little kiss on the forehead.

But your better judgment wins out and you stand before you can do anything you regret. As much as you'd love to stay there and map out every curve and angle of his face, you instead leave to crawl into your bed for the second time this morning, and promptly pass out.

. . .

By the time you awaken, your phone tells you it’s 1PM and you slowly remember that your best friend is-or-was sleeping in your living room, last time you checked. You don't even have time to give a good stretch before you're up and heading to the living room to check on him, just to find him reclining on the couch and playing on his phone.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he quips, a stupid smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, almost like it wants to be a little wider than it is. “Was starting to think I would have to come give you a big fat smooch to wake you up.”

“Har-har.” You’re not really laughing, because you know he’s making fun of you. But also because your insides are doing flips at the thought of him smooching you awake. You step around the couch and push his feet out of the way so you can sit. “How long have you been awake? Jeez, I hope not long, I didn’t really get to give you a tour before you zonked out!”

He shrugs. “About twenty minutes or so. No biggie, but also I’m starving, dude. What’s the plan for lunch?”

You push up your glasses and rub the sleep from your eyes, realizing that you’re pretty hungry, too. But you planned for this contingency. You knew the first place you brought him to eat would set the tone for his new life here in Seattle.

"Oh, I know what we can do for lunch," you say, very poorly feigning like you just had the idea, and that you have not been planning it for weeks. "We can go get Dick's!"

"We can go get dicks," he deadpans back at you, and you can feel the Stare from behind his shades. It's not a question, just parroting your words back at you like you're trying to punk him.

For once? You're not.

"I promise, you're gonna love it."

. . .

A short half-hour later, you've obtained a bag of Dick's for both of you: a cheeseburger for Dave, and a bean burger for you, and an order of fries to share. Now that you're back in familiar territory, you feel a lot more at ease, and you and Dave start shooting the shit, just like old times. Talking about some of the more interesting characters he saw on the plane, and what a pain in the ass it was to get everything loaded into the moving truck with the slow-ass elevator in his old apartment building. (You regret to inform him that his new place doesn't have a particularly great elevator — but it's only on the third floor!)

You talk and talk and stuff your face with greasy burgers and fries and talk some more, and eventually decide to go back for ice cream cones. You get a double scoop of good old vanilla, and he gets two chocolate, and you sit on the curb, licking the drips off your hands like you’re kids again, because you never got to do this shit when you were kids in school.

Speaking of kids… you watch as a kitten, no older than five, smashes his face into his ice cream a little too exuberantly. The scoop topples off the cone, landing right in a mud puddle. The kitten starts crying, the mama cat tries to console him with her strawberry ice cream, but the kid is having absolutely none of that. Before you can even think to react, Dave swoops in, kneeling next to the kid.

“Sup,” he says with a nod, only to be met with wide eyes. “Looks like that one got away from you. Don’t worry little man, I gotcha. I didn’t really need two anyway.”

He transfers one of his scoops onto the kid’s cone, and then stands back, with little other fanfare.

“What do we say to the nice man, Cooper?” The mama cat looks to her kitten, who has stopped bawling and seems utterly amazed by Dave. Yeah, that’s pretty much the same reaction you have.

“Thank yew…” the kitten stumbles out bashfully, and the mother takes him by the hand, leading him to the car, but not before giving Dave another couple thanks-yous.

Dave doesn’t even look at you as he comes back to sit next to you on the curb, despite the fact that you’re staring straight at him. Does he even know? Does he know just how much watching him effortlessly take care of that kid without a second thought makes you feel? You’ve never really sat down and had a serious conversation about children, but Dave always gave the impression that not only did he dislike them, but he wasn’t good at them, either.

And he has the gall to just sit there, licking his remaining scoop, as you stare at him incredulously.

“What?” he finally says, mid-lick.

“Dave, that… was really nice of you. I didn’t know you liked kids.”

“I don’t,” he says simply, with a shrug. “Just didn’t want to listen to the brat cry. Had enough of that for one day. Plus, I now have carte blanche to steal some of yours. C’mere.”

“Dave, no!” You protest, but you can’t really move quickly without sending your own ice cream flying, so while you make a token attempt to twist your upper body and get away from him, he still manages to get a lick in. “Ugh, now it’s got cooties!”

“Good.”

He sits back with a self-satisfied grin, and you try to pretend that you’re not totally stoked by the idea of indirect kissing. You make a big show of wrinkling your nose and flattening your ears back when you lick the same spot, but honestly? You’re kind of living for it.

And now you have to live with the knowledge that, despite what he says? Dave Strider is good with kids.

/ / /

That very first night, Dave stays at your place, crashing on your couch, and you wish you had the gumption to just ask him to move in with you. But where would he have slept long-term? He couldn’t just live on the couch, though you’re pretty sure he’d try, and there’s only one bedroom and only enough space for one bed, and since you’re probably too old to sleep in bunkbeds—

Dealing with the movers and the furniture delivery and showing Dave around his new neighborhood on Capitol Hill takes up most of your week and your thought process, luckily for you. But there are moments of downtime when you’re both taking a break from trying to decipher incomprehensible IKEA directions that you just think about how close but how far he is. It’s only about 15 minutes by transit, so he’s close enough that you can see him any time you want. But that doesn’t change the fact that you wish he was living with you.

There are also moments where he touches you without warning and you feel yourself turning into a little puddle of bunny. Like when he’s laying on the floor after putting together his sofa, and you’re sitting next to him, and he starts batting at your tail. You chide him but you really, really don’t want him to stop. Or maybe when he idly strokes your ears, after you’ve plunked your butts onto those fluffy new cushions to watch some stupid movie on Netflix. He has to feel how you practically melt against him.

That’s saying nothing of the snuggles and over-long hugs goodbye. You thought you could get away with this. That you could just have him near you and not read too much into things. You start counting. Most of your friends hug you for less than two seconds. Dave hugs you for a solid ten. And then there’s all the touching… and curling up under the same blanket… and the way he puts his arm around your shoulders and—

Honestly, you have no idea what in the ever-loving fuck is going on anymore, but you’re trying your best not to read into it too hard. To be fair to Dave, you have no idea what he’s like with other people, because so far it’s just been the two of you. Maybe he’s just the touchy-feely type with everyone. You hold onto that notion like a little life raft, because it’s all you have at the moment.

You’ll get the chance to see how he behaves with other people soon enough, though. You were invited to a party a few weeks back, and you were already planning on bringing Dave to get to know some people. They’re just some old school friends, not even people you know especially well, but you want to at least try to get him some new acquaintances in the area.

You take him up to the university in the afternoon on the first Saturday he’s in town, and you show him around your alma mater, and struggle to make it interesting. You just can’t help it, you want to share every aspect of your life with him, and you have a lot of catching up to do now! He seems to take it in stride, at least, even if he doesn’t have much to say about it. Because what is there to say? It’s a nice campus, but it’s still just… a college campus.

You decide to show up fashionably late for the party together, first of all because neither of you wants to look desperate for social interaction, but also because you both decide to stop for dinner before you make your way there, because there’s a little Indian place nearby that you haven’t had in a long time and want Dave to try.

When you show up to the party, you’re immediately greeted by a bunch of familiar faces, and it’s a bit of a whirlwind all around you. You remember why you stopped coming out to these things, but you have to keep a chipper demeanor, if for no other reason than Dave’s sake. It’s hard to remember all the names, too—you tend to remember people by where and why you met them, and their names tend to fall to the wayside. You stumble a bit, but you manage to get through introductions.

You can’t help but think Dave looks a little shellshocked. You don’t blame him.

Eventually things settle down, though, as everyone gets into the mingling spirit. Hors d’oeuvres come out, as does a punch bowl with a faint whiff of Schnapps. That doesn’t stop either of you from partaking in a few glasses of punch, not to mention as many little cucumber sandwiches as you think you can get away with. Music streams forth from the speakers in the living room at a reasonable volume, because you’re the kind of nerd who has friends who listen to music at reasonable volumes.

As much as you’re enjoying yourself, you can’t help but notice that you’re sticking pretty close to Dave. Which, hey, great for you! Not so great for getting him to meet new people.

Maybe it’s time you kicked him out of the nest like a baby bird. Let him spread his wings and fly on his own.

“Hey, I’m gonna go talk to those guys over there, they were in my programming class. You go make friends, alright?”

He opens his mouth like he wants to protest, but you step away before he can, and sidle up to your classmates. You easily lose yourself in talking about how you used to stay up until 4AM cobbling assignments together with the help of StackOverflow, and that one crazy adjunct who really seemed to hate the entire class and tried to fail everyone. Oh yeah, apparently, they got fired? Learn something new. And when your programming buddies move on, you start talking with some other bunnies you teamed up with in your project management class, and catch up on how they’re doing, and how you actually really appreciated that course, it’s really set you apart in interviews. You’re laughing, and one of them is throwing his arms around you, making a joke about how some interviewers can get overly-chummy, and you’re laughing so hard that you can’t even hold up your end of the goof to push him away like you should.

You’ve completely forgotten about Dave, until you see someone move past your group swiftly. You see the swish of an orange-and-white tail, and you realize Dave’s stormed off somewhere.

Oh no. Did someone piss him off? Did they say something rude?

You take a moment to dismiss yourself from the group, and follow after, catching sight of his tail as he shuts himself in the bathroom. Oh… boy. Well. Maybe he just really needed to use the restroom? You wait, and wait, and wait some more. Two or three minutes of standing back and waiting for… anything, really. And then you step forward, pressing your ear to the door. You hear heavy breathing inside, but nothing more.

“Dave?” You knock on the door after waiting a solid minute with no other sounds from inside. “Can I come in?”

“Dude, no? Go away, I’m taking a piss.”

You know that’s a lie, and you don’t care to argue with him over it. You don’t know what gives, but he’s being really cagey about something, so you try the handle. It’s unlocked, so you let yourself in, opening the door just enough to slip in, and closing it behind you—locking it this time.

Dave’s just sat on the toilet lid, head in his hands and hair all mussed up. His shades are set aside haphazardly on the sink.

“Hey, you… wanna talk about it? Did you… get sick?” You’re trying here, really.

When he looks up, you’re taken aback by the look in his eyes. Those beautiful burgundy eyes… he looks pissed? Is he mad at you? What did you even do…? And then you watch as he stands, drawing himself up to his full height, and now you’re really worried. Dave wouldn’t hurt you, but your ears flatten back instinctively. He looms over you, crowding you into a corner.

“Who were they?” he finally asks, voice low and vaguely accusatory, and it catches you off guard.

“Who were who…?” You really don’t know who he’s talking about. You gather that you were talking to someone he found distasteful, or something along those lines, but you’ve talked to a lot of people here tonight. You know most of them from your classes.

“Those guys. The ones you were getting chummy with.”

“Wh—oh, the other rabbits? They’re friends from school, I told you. Why?”

One of his ears flicks as he stares you down, and you kind of wish he had his shades on for once. His eyes are intense, like they could just bore right through you if you stood there long enough.

“You like any of them?”

“Um.” That wasn’t really the turn you were expecting this to take. “I mean. They’re friends, but that’s about it… Dave, what is this all about?”

“So you don’t want to… I don’t know… hook up with any of them?”

“Woah, what?” He just keeps throwing curveballs, and it’s really keeping you on your toes. But this one… he’s worried about whether or not you want to hook up with any of your friends at the party? There’s a very short list of reasons why that could be. “No, no I don’t… is that it? You’re… jealous?”

“Maybe. A little.” He pauses. You just stare expectantly. You can feel the tension go out of his shoulders with how close he is to you, but when he relaxes, so do you. Seeing him so wound up was starting to get to you. “Okay, yeah. A lot. Alright? I was a lot jealous. I just… you left me standing there, and you were getting so close, and—”

“Dave.” Your head is swimming because… oh, god. It looks like you’re going to do this now. You’re going to do this, half-drunk and in the bathroom at the house party of a college acquaintance whose first name you sometimes forget. “There’s only one person at this party that I’d want to hook up with, and he’s right here with me.”

You think you can hear the gears in his head turning as he processes this; you said it pretty plainly, but it seems like maybe he wasn’t expecting that answer.

And then with little warning, your back is up against the door, and his mouth is on yours, stealing greedy kisses, as his tongue presses at your lips, and you don’t even think about it; your lips part easily, eager to taste him. Cherries and alcohol, the fruit punch you both drank. When there’s space, you suck in a deep breath, but he’s not giving you much quarter. You brush the tip of your tongue along the underside of his as he explores your mouth, and you feel him shudder against you.

Breaking the kiss, Dave pulls away a little, and you whine softly as your personal space feels suddenly devoid of warmth. You protest and try to chase him down, but instead Dave grabs you by the hips, and maneuvers the both of you around, so that he can lift you onto the sink and you can get your legs around his waist. It serves as the perfect opportunity for you to both pull your shirts off, too, eager and hungry to get back into each other. And when he finally does pull you back into his embrace, it’s like fireworks go off all across your skin, at every point where your chests and bellies touch.

Arching your back, you try to keep the faucet from jamming into your spine, but he seems to take it as an opportunity to nip at your exposed neck, and oh god you’re happy to let him. He sucks a bruise into the slope of your shoulder, just above your collar, and you let off an embarrassingly loud whimper when he finally breaks away, blowing on it softly. And as he grinds his hips into yours, you can feel his erection, and it sparks a fire, searing your belly and filling you with an urgent need to be full of him. You reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair, holding his head against your shoulder as he continues to grind against you, in a cruel pantomime of the real act.

“You don’t know how much I’ve been wantin’ this. Wantin’ you,” Dave growls, his native Texan heavy in his voice, unleashed along with whatever this passion is. You’re not arguing; it’s enough to get you hot all on its own, and now threatens to send you into a chaotic spiral.

“I want you too,” you whisper, holding his face to your neck, where he continues to lavish you with affection, right over your scent gland. All he’d have to do is bite down a little harder, and you’d be his. But maybe he can already smell that you have no intention of leaving.

You stay entangled like that, the friction between your bodies rubbing you into a frenzy, and it’s embarrassing to think that you could come just from this. But you’re so pent up, and the way he moves against you, the way he lavishes your neck and jaw and shoulders with soft kisses in between bites that are sure to leave marks; you can feel that familiar build-up between your legs and you want it so bad. The arm you’re propping yourself up with is cramping, but you don’t care, rolling your hips up against his and breathing heavily as a sheen of sweat beads on your brow.

Dave draws his kisses from your neck to your jaw and to the corner of your lips, and when he speaks, it’s a low murmur against your skin.

“Gotta say, you look good all flushed and moaning under me,” he purrs. “Betcha look even better when you come. Will ya do that for me, darlin’? Come for me.”

The last is command, not a request. “Oh, god, Dave… yes, I—just a little—”

“Yo, hurry up in there! I gotta piss!”

One moment, you’re riding the building tension in your belly towards orgasm, and then next, you feel like you've been plunged into a pool full of ice water, as a knock comes at the bathroom door.

Dave’s forehead bumps yours, and you both struggle to catch your breath, reeling in the wake of your ruined climax. You’ve never felt so immensely empty, and you don’t even need to say it, because you both know the moment is ruined, leaving you both with an unsatisfied ache. Another knock comes at the door and Dave snarls.

“Just a fuckin’ minute!” he shouts over his shoulder, then, “Fuckin’ hell. Shit. Balls. And another fuck for good measure—Egbert, where the hell did you learn any of that?”

“Uh…” The truth is, you don’t know. Despite the copious amounts of porn you’ve watched, you’re still a virgin, and you have no idea where that came from. Another urgent knock comes at the door. “I think we better get out of here, then we can… talk about it?”

Reluctantly, Dave separates from you with a sigh, tosses you your shirt, and starts pulling his own over his head. You get your shirt back on, and reach up to try and pat some of his hair back into place, while he settles his shades back on his face. The guy outside the door really doesn’t seem to give much of a damn that two of you come out, clearly focused on one thing only, as he slams the door on your butts.

“I think… we should probably head home,” you suggest, and flitting around the back of your mind is the idea of picking up where you left off? Maybe? But it sort of seems like the moment is ruined now. The moment ended as abruptly as it started.

Dave nods solemnly. “Yeah. Honestly, this party ain’t shit anyway.”

Well… you thought the party was pretty alright, and you’re pretty sure he’s just cranky. You can’t really blame him. You want to point out to him that there’s a silver lining, that it would have been pretty awkward if he ended up jizzing his pants, but he grumbles his way over to the door and waits for you there, so you decide to let it go and just say some obligatory goodbyes.

The night air is cold, and your breath comes in white puffs from your nostrils as you both make your way down the street towards the train station. It actually feels pretty refreshing, compared to the hot, sweaty, stuffy atmosphere at the party, and it helps you clear your head enough to notice that you’re both walking about a foot away from each other. Is he really that upset? This is all so confusing…

Your gut tells you to move a little closer, and thus far you’ve been pretty good at ignoring it. Not today, you tell your self-doubt. Today you’re going to do what you know you should do. You close the distance, stumbling a little, so that your shoulders bump into each other.

It at least gets him to look at you.

“You okay?” is all he says, laced with soft concern, and it feels so good to hear it.

“Yeah,” you reply, but don’t make any move to step away.

His only response is to put an arm around your shoulder and pull you against his side. Neither of you say very much as you make your way to the train station, or as you stand at the railings for the short trip back down to Capitol Hill, or as you walk down the surprisingly busy sidewalk to his apartment.

At his door, you wrap your arms around him, and you start counting. Five seconds… ten… fifteen… you think for a moment he might never let you go, but at twenty-three, he does, and turns to unlock the door, sparing you a glance over his shoulder.

“’Night, Egbert,” is all he says, as he slips in the doorway.

“Goodnight, Dave,” you say, as he starts closing it. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

You wait until you hear the lock click before you head for home.

Despite the chill, you decide to walk the rest of the way.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Strider and boy did you just orchestrate the biggest fuck-up of your life.

But really, this was just the culmination in a series of bad decisions that started six or so months back.

. . .

{ 6 months prior }

EB: no, dave, you just don’t get it! this is classic humor!

TG: classic is just another way of saying outdated

TG: sorry bro but your meme sucks

TG: i dont know what to tell you

EB: ugh you are such a tool sometimes! why can't you just laugh like normal? i would punch you in the face right now if I could!

TG: alright then

TG: hop on a plane

TG: come on down here

TG: and do it

EB: i'm not going to fly down there just to punch you, dave.

TG: coward

TG: ill come up there then

TG: brb

EB: no! dude you know i would never actually punch you!

EB: i don't think i'd be able to do anything but hug you the entire time you were here. is that what you want?

EB: lots of hugs?

TG: hmmmm tempting offer

You lean back in your chair, stewing in the layers of sarcasm. Because that's just it, isn't it? Everything you say is obfuscated in at least three layers of the stuff, and sometimes you’re not even sure what you mean anymore. But of course you can't let go of the bit. It's your claim to fame. Literally.

It started off with your shitty webcomic that people flocked to for some reason. You were probably too young to have a following that big, but you didn't have a lot else going for you, combined with a severe lack of good parenting, so you rolled with it. You could make your shitty comics from anywhere, from a family computer, or a school laptop, or the public library if it really came down to it. That was the real genius: no matter what your housing situation, you could keep it rolling.

Then as the internet grew, so did your portfolio. You were one of the early adopters of the YouTube movie review style, except instead of talking about the movie in any sort of logical sense, you picked it apart down to the smallest detail. From there it was a slippery slope into conspiracy theories that were just a test of how good you were at picking out minutiae and running with it, and your purview spread to TV shows and games.

And then came the age of streaming and of course you had to get on that bandwagon, too. Your early streams consisted of watching bootleg movies with your fans, analyzing them like you would the most poignant arthouse flick. Eventually you dipped into playing games... ironically, and also as a sort of subscriber incentive. You played all the classics. Minecraft. Club Penguin, rest in pieces. Roblox. Among Us. You have the habit of dropping some impromptu beats in the middle of a gaming session—usually about whatever's going on—and clips of your sick rhymes have actually done numbers, much to your surprise. (Even though you act like it totally makes sense.)

Over the years, you've grown your footprint into something that pays the bills, and funds your technology addiction, though you still have to be careful with your saving. And that's saying nothing of the awesome community that's sprung up around you. You're actually kind of surprised at how chill it is; granted, you have some awesome mods and some of the founding members have been following you since you were 13 years old, but you feel kind of lucky to have such a laid-back following.

But you've known John since before any of that. In fact, it might be because of him that you decided to actually post your comics online. Not because he encouraged you, but out of spite, because he laughed and said they were stupid. And... well, okay. Adult You can recognize that they were stupid, but at the time, you thought you were pretty hot shit for the layers of irony you were churning out.

EB: someday i'm going to come down there and give you so many hugs.

EB: what are you going to do with all those hugs?

TG: i dunno

TG: be like that guy with all the limes

TG: oh shit why cant i hold all these limes

TG: and theyre just spilling out of my arms and shit

TG: well shit son why did you pick up so many limes

TG: except you can't really hold a hug so its just badly edited hugging emojis

TG: whycantiholdallthesehugs.jpg

It's hard sometimes, playing it cool. Acting like you wouldn't give anything for him to be here and hugging you to death. It's probably the best death that you, personally, could hope for.

But frankly, you wouldn't want to subject the poor guy to a city like Houston. Yeah, it's your city. That's why you're allowed to call it shit. You don't have a lot of love for this town. Maybe because you don't have a lot of good memories here. Either way, you'd much rather go to him, than have him come to you...

EB: aww did you whip that deep-fried meme together just for me? i'm flattered! hahah.

EB: i could come visit soon, you know! i have plenty saved up and i haven't had a real vacation in years.

TG: ok so thats cool and all but one problem

EB: what's that?

TG: id never let you go home

EB: oh yeah. that is kind of a problem!

EB: heheh not that i'd mind that much. :B

EB: but my family would be bummed out!

TG: cant go around disappointing the fam

EB: okay what if i flew you up here instead? it's not like it makes much of a difference who does the traveling!

TG: also cool also inherently problematic

TG: john why are you giving me all these problematic ideas

EB: i'm sorry dave, you'll just have to cancel me! before you do that, what's the problem this time?

TG: well thats simple

TG: id never want to leave

EB: oh

EB: is that really a problem though?

No that is not a fucking problem. That is the exact opposite of a problem. Holy shit, you've never wanted something more in your entire life. Thankfully, you're all on your lonesome in your room, so you can privately have a little freakout about the idea. (Striders don't freak out, but you do anyway, because it’s a special occasion, goddamnit.)

You sit there for way too long, trying to think of how you could even respond to that. You have to sound cool and collected, because you totally and definitely are. You don't want to come on too strong. You don't want him to know that this is all you've dreamed of for years.

EB: haha i'm just kidding dude. :B

EB: you don't have to come up here if you don't want to!

EB: you'd probably be super cold all the time anyway.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He thinks you're uncomfortable, and you are, but not in the way he's thinking. You gotta act fast.

TG: nah dude sorry got distracted for a sec

TG: saw an ad that some hot babes in my area were waiting for me

TG: had to message them to tell them its a no go

TG: cause im gonna be moving soon

EB: wait really?! you didn't tell me that! where you moving to?

TG: seattle washington

EB: wait

EB: damn it dave! i get it now. you're such a freaking dork!

EB: but i wouldn't mind having a dork for a neighbor to be honest, if he's as cute as you.

EB: are you serious about that part?

TG: in theory yeah sure why not

TG: not a lot for me here except skin cancer and heat exhaustion

EB: that's just a really big decision to make so suddenly!

It's not that sudden. In your teens, you would dream of running away from home, hitchhiking all the way to Washington, and secretly living in John's attic. He would feed you jam sandwiches through the hatch and maybe come and kiss you sometimes. As you got older, you realized what a terrible fucking idea that was, but it didn't change the fact that you spent a significant portion of your day wishing you could be closer to him. You've wanted this for years, thought about it so many times, even planned out the logistics a few times, too.

Still, you don't want to play your hand just yet. It's a delicate matter, and if you managed to chase him off by coming on too strong, you're pretty sure you would just wither and die like a neglected houseplant.

TG: yeah youre right

TG: but consider this

TG: you only yolo once

EB: you are actually the worst, you know that?

EB: and yet for some reason i still kind of want you to move up here.

EB: i don't know what that says about me!

TG: that youre madly and deeply in love with me and want my foxy bod

EB: hahahahah sure dave, if that's what you want to think!

It sure as hell is what you want to think.

. . .

That brings you to now. Laying in the dark on your bed in your barely-furnished apartment in a city you don't know all that well. You don't regret moving, but you do regret letting yourself get carried away and imprinting on your best friend at the party, even though you're pretty sure he doesn't see you as a potential mate.

It's hard to say for sure if you've truly imprinted, but it's the only explanation you can think of, because clearly, you're in the best state to do all your deepest soul-searching. But you can feel it, too. A change in the way you miss him. Because every other night you've spent by yourself, you haven't missed him quite this much. Maybe passively, because he's your only friend in this town. And maybe in the same way you've always 'missed' him, by virtue of being long-distance pals. But never that empty, longing ache, that need to have him at your side, to smell and feel him. That nagging urge to chase him down, gather him up bridal style, and bring him back home. Ravish him properly without a water faucet jamming into the small of his back.

You just can't stop thinking about it. About how amazing he felt under you. How open and pliable he made himself, and the marks you left on his neck. –oh god, the marks you left. You can only imagine what those are going to look like tomorrow. Like he got into a very weird fight, probably.

You've fantasized about being with him before, but it's never been quite so visceral. That was before you'd had a chance to touch him, feel him, smell him, taste him. And now you know because you've spent every moment where he wasn't paying attention studying the shape of him. The way his ears twitch, the way his little tail flicks. Oh god, his little tail... how adorable would it look if you could get him on his stomach and take him from behind?

Your dick concurs, starting to strain at the seat of your pants, and you remember that the ache in your belly isn’t solely because John's not with you anymore. Fuck it, you guess you're just going to have to take care of that now.

Unceremoniously, you strip down, and then realize it's freezing in your apartment, so you snuggle yourself under the blankets. It would be real nice if you had an equally naked warm body next to you. Maybe a cute bunny you happen to know? But he's not here; he's probably already home, trying to forget you even exist, and you're here jerking off to the memory of him, pining for him like an absolute fool.

You bring yourself back to the bathroom at a house party of a complete stranger, and try to remember every detail.

The taste on his lips. Cherry Schnapps and some generic fruit punch. Cloyingly sweet, but amazing on him. You sought it out in the crevices of his mouth, trying to get underneath it, to taste the real him.

The feel of his body pressed against yours, as he arched his back up towards you. Inviting you. Begging you. How badly you just wanted to be inside him.

The sound of his little moans and whimpers, all because of you. The little gasps he'd make when you bit at his neck, and the low rumble in his throat when you pressed your hips up against his. You wonder what amazing noises he'd have made as he came.

The smell of him, his body slicking itself up, pheromones flaring and mingling with yours, into something that told you just how willingly he'd have accepted you, if you just had time to make your move. Of course, you'd have wanted to hear the words from his mouth, but his body was doing plenty of talking for him too.

Oh and the sight of him. You don't think you'll ever get that image out of your mind. The heady, half-lidded look he gave you, bright blue eyes under dark lashes, fogged over with lust, all for you, you, you. How flushed his face was, and how his chest heaved with each sharp breath.

You can only imagine what could have been, if you hadn't been interrupted. You would have stripped him of his jeans and panties, and he'd probably already have his legs around you while you were busy pushing your pants down. You'd stop, your cock rubbing up between his legs, tantalizingly close, and you'd ask him.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

No. Wait. Scratch that. Instead, you'd say, "You want me to breed you, don't you?"

You don't just want to fuck him, you want to leave your mark and see him bear your offspring, watch him be the most amazing fucking father to your baby. But you wouldn't actually be thinking that far ahead in the moment, because first things first: you need to know he wants it, too.

"Oh god, yes," he'd whisper, angling his hips to try and take you in. "Please, breed me..."

And that's all it would take; you would fuck into him, gently at first because he's so tight, but then harder, thrusting into him, craving more of his heat and the feeling of his body clenching around you. You'd revel in all the new noises he'd make, whines and whimpers and your name whispered on the tip of his tongue. He'd beg you to keep going, don't stop, come inside him. And you would, you'd thrust deep in him and come over, and over, and over, and—

Onto your hand and belly. Because you're actually still in your bed, and you were too lost in the fantasy to think about the mess you were about to make. You come hard into your own palm, not into the love of your life... probably for the better, overall. But in the moment, as you come down from that far-too-brief wave of pleasure, you don't think it's very good at all. You've just made a mess, and you're completely ashamed of your own fantasy. Post-nut clarity is no laughing matter.

What the fuck were you thinking?

Carefully you pull back the covers. Thankfully, you somehow managed to avoid getting them all messy, but now you're cold, stark naked, and you have to do the most awkward waddle to the bathroom to clean yourself up, without dripping spunk everywhere. Gross.

You get most of it off with some toilet paper, then wait for the tap to warm up so you can towel yourself off a little more. Leaning against the sink, you stare at yourself in the mirror.

Your mind went to fathering children with him so easily, but you know you're not ready for that. You might never be ready for that. Your experience with parental figures wasn't so great growing up... how could you ever hope to be a good parent? Sure, it's a nice thought. Living in a big house with a couple of kids, maybe a pet salamander or crocodile. Maybe both. And all the life events that would come with starting a family. Holidays. Vacations. Birthdays. The death of a beloved pet. The end of your family-favorite Netflix show. Those kinds of things.

It's a nice thought, but nothing more. That's not the sort of life that you're meant for, like it or not.

Plus... why would he want you, of all people, to father his babies? He's just such a genuinely good dude, not to mention good looking. He could have any mate he wanted, you're pretty sure. Leaving aside the fact that you're two diametrically opposed species, just look at you. All scrawny and lanky, unreasonably pale and covered in freckles, with weird eyes.

And would he want you still, if he knew you were set on monogamy, on finding a mate for life? Yeah, bet you never saw that one coming, is the exact line that goes through your head, as you have a dozen imaginary conversations with him about it. You, the young, handsome, talented, smart, talented, sexy fox, looking to settle down with just one mate? It's more likely than he thinks.

You're starting to spiral with your own thoughts. This isn’t good. You need... something. Someone to bounce ideas off.

With the water heated, you dampen a towel and use it to wash your belly off. Tossing the dirty towel into the tub to deal with tomorrow, you pull on a pair of sweats and long sleeve shirt, and crawl back under the covers, taking your phone with you. You flick through your contact list, and you're dismayed to see that everyone is offline.

Except for your sister.

Ugh... well. Any port in a storm, you guess.

TG: hey rose

TG: the hell are you doing up

TG: isnt it like 3 am

TT: Yes, thereabouts. But when the muse sees fit to strike you with inspiration, you don't just tell her no. I'm sure you'd understand, wouldn't you?

TG: nah man i dont owe that flighty broad shit

TG: she wants to hit me with the inspo bat and im just gonna sit there with the little birds flying around my head

TG: looking like a dumbass looney tune

TG: not get up and do whatever the hell youre doing

TT: While that's not quite the meaning of strike I was going for, I applaud you on your creative interpretation.

TT: If you must know, the next chapter of my novel came to me while I was dozing off, and it could not wait until morning, lest it drift away on the tide of dreams.

TG: you know you dont need all the horse shit

TG: just say you got an idea

TT: I got an idea.

TG: great awesome thanks good talk

Your relationship with your sister is... weird. Definitely weird. She's your twin, and you were generally kept together as you were bounced from foster home to foster home. The same can't be said for your two older siblings, who you saw a lot less of but who were still somewhat present. But you still lived very different lives. Rose knew how to play the game, and she was willing to rise to meet the challenge of living such a fractured childhood. Even from a young age, she seemed to have a preternatural sense of how to charm people in her own weird way.

The same couldn't really be said for you. You both got in trouble an equal amount, but she was far better at weaseling her way out of the hot seat. If she could, she took you with her. But it was never her job to protect you. If anything, it was your job to protect her. And you couldn't even do that.

You think things worked out for her, though. You hope. As soon as she turned 18, she moved to New York and married a bat, and they both seem to be thriving, as far as you can tell. You know she's working a fairly boring copyediting day job, but it pays the bills, and she clearly has plenty of time to be working on her breakout novel.

TT: I take it you're not hassling me in the middle of the night for no particular reason. You usually start these conversations as thus, a bunch of "horse shit" bookending a sincere request.

TT: So I admit I'm waiting for the sincerity and the ensuing additional horse shit. And if you don't mind too much, I would like to finish penning this idea, so perhaps we can forego standing on ceremony, and simply get to whatever it is that you need.

TG: jesus marie christ

TG: okay fine

TG: so look

TG: theres this guy

TT: Oh, this is lascivious already. Do go on.

TG: damn it can you at least let me finish a thought.

TT: Pardon the commentary from the peanut gallery. I couldn't resist.

TG: yeah well resist harder

TG: and hold the fucking peanuts

TG: hes allergic

TT: This wouldn't happen to be your "bunny boy" that you've spoken about non-stop since we were 12? The one you moved to be with?

TG: im fucking getting there

TG: oh my god

TG: why do i even try

TT: Sorry. It's simply in my nature to be inquisitive and explore the story as it unfolds. I'll allow you to tell it in your own words now. Scout's honor.

TG: scouts honor my ass

TG: but yeah

TG: bunny boy

TG: john

TG: so i move out here right

TG: things are going great

TG: the best of pals doing the best of pal things

TG: hey rose you know what i didnt know before i moved

TG: you know what i didnt know

TG: thats your chance to interject

TT: Sorry, I thought it was a rhetorical question. I was allowing you to weave your tale. What didn't you know, Dave?

TG: yeah so heres three things i know about him now

TG: guess which one i didnt know before i moved

TG: one hes hella fuckin cute

TG: two hes just the nicest fuckin dude

TG: three hes a single eligible doe

TT: Hmm. Difficult choice, but based on prior experience and the many, many times you've talked about him, I'm going to hazard a guess that you knew the first two.

TT: The last one is news to you, then. And this is a problem?

TG: hell yeah its a problem rose

TG: keep up will you?

TT: Apologies, simply trying to get the facts straight. Humor me, if you will. Why is this a problem?

TG: because hes my best goddamn friend and i shouldnt want to fuck him into the mattress just because i caught a whiff of him when he was a little hot and bothered

TT: Oh now, Dave... you should know by now that "shouldn't" is a loaded word.

TG: fuck

TT: I'll cut straight to the chase here though, and utilize our wonder twin powers to make this a little less exposition-heavy on your part, and get to what I'm quite sure you're actually getting at.

TT: You've moved to Seattle to be by your best friend's side, a noble pursuit, but you've gotten a little more than you bargained for and now you're struggling with the urge to mate him.

TT: Am I on the right track so far?

TG: yeah

TT: And through some combination of personal biases, internalized speciesism, and what I consider to be an unreasonable amount of self-doubt, you're now conflicted as to how to proceed with the friendship, or if you even want to proceed just as friends. Or if you want to pursue something more, at the risk of damaging your friendship if he doesn't reciprocate.

TG: yeah but rose

TG: rose look

TG: heres what you dont understand

TG: i wanna have babies with him

TT: That certainly is a plot twist. Let me ask you this, though. Do you want to have babies with him? Or do you want to have people?

TG: the fuck does that mean

TG: of course theyd be people

TG: what else would they be

TG: rocks? the ocean? wind?

TT: the intangible concept of the incessant march of time forwards beyond our control?

TT: No. What I mean is that there are two fairly distinct possibilities.

TT: One is that you're more interested in the process of making the babies, perhaps the conquest of impregnating someone is what does it for you, without much thought towards what might happen after that. It's an incredibly common fetish and not one I'd be surprised you held, if you were to tell me as much.

TG: the fuck is that supposed to mean.

TT: Nothing much, really, only that I could see the appeal for you.

TT: But the second possibility is that you want more than just the triumph of impregnating someone for your own personal ego boost. That you may want to nurture that life into something more. Into a toddler, and a child, and a teenager, and eventually a full-grown person who will have their own life and desires and dreams separate from yours.

TT: It's quite the distinction. What do you think it is for you, Dave?

TG: rose are you asking me what my kinks are

TG: you dont just ask your bro what his kinks are like that

TT: You've already waxed poetic about how much you want to rail this bunny boy of yours. In for a penny, in for a pound. Answer the question, please.

TG: okay what if its both huh

TG: what then

TT: Well, the latter option doesn't preclude any and all appeal of the former. You can still find the process of starting a family with your mate to be arousing, without it being your entire design.

TT: It's more about your end goal than the process of getting there and any arousal you may or may not feel while achieving it.

TG: please stop saying arousal

TT: Arousal.

TG: god damn it

TT: For what it's worth, I think you'd make an excellent father. The fact that you're so concerned you wouldn't be tells me that you are well-equipped to handle the task without being blinded by your own hubris.

TG: hey hey hey

TG: who said anything about being a bad father

TG: i'd be the dopest dad to ever take up the title

TT: Wonder twin powers, dear brother. Wonder twin powers. I know you and I know your insecurities, possibly better than you do yourself. I only thought I'd offer my two cents on the matter now, rather than waiting for it come up organically.

TT: So. Does any of that help with your situation? Or have I missed the mark entirely?

TG:

TG: yeah

TG: thanks rose

TG: i should probably crash now

TG: i wanna hear about the book tomorrow though

TT: Any time, Dave. Sleep well.

As strange as your relationship can be at times, and as astute as she is at giving you a verbal runaround, she can actually be pretty helpful sometimes. And you think you know what you're going to do now.

/ / /

The next day brings the sun streaming in through your curtainless windows, and you curse as you crack one eye open just to be blinded. Luckily, you weren't nearly intoxicated enough last night to have a hangover, but you're still not a morning person. You debate going back to sleep, but not before you roll over and retrieve your phone from the bedside table.

8:33 AM. And there's already a message waiting for you.

EB: rise and shine, sleeping beauty. :B

EB: i know it's probably going to be noon by the time you read this but whatever!

Shit. Okay. Well, this is happening now, you guess.

TT: nah im up

TT: whats up

TT: besides you and me

EB: well... not much, except i think we should probably talk about last night!

EB: that was. um. kind of intense. but maybe we should have this conversation in person?

EB: want to meet me for coffee?

TT: coffee sounds fuckin heavenly

He sends you the address to a little non-Starbucks coffee shop roughly halfway between your places. You quickly get dressed, run a comb through your hair, and get halfway out the door before you remember to brush your teeth, then finally leave. The morning is cool but not unpleasant and the sun is starting to warm things up a little. It's still a little chilly for your Texan sensibilities, though, so you're bundled up more than most of the people you pass on the street.

You see him standing in line when you get to the coffee shop, and sneak up, bumping your shoulder against his.

"Hey—! Oh, there you are!" He looks offended for half a second before he realizes it's you, but his expression immediately warms over once it processes.

And as he circles his arms around you to draw you into a hug, you know you're a goner. That longing you've been feeling suddenly dissipates, now that he's with you. You are so fucked. And not in the good way.

"Here I am," you reply, and give him a brief squeeze back. But there are other people here, and you're not sure what the optics would be if you pulled him into a full-blown embrace. "What's good here? Anything that's not super sweet?"

Besides you, you add mentally.

"Hm, well, really anything! They use some really great roasts here, not the bitter stuff like Starbucks. Can't go wrong with a standard latte!"

With a shrug, you both step up to the counter. He orders a caramel something-or-other, while you go with the suggested classic latte. Before you can get a word in edgewise, he pays for both drinks, turning to tell you that it's his treat since he invited you out. You feel a pang of something, something that says you should be providing for him, and not the other way around. That's an old-fashioned sensibility, though, and your bank account will be thankful to save the $6.

While you wait, you notice he's wearing a scarf, and he makes it look natural as anything. And it's cute! It's royal blue with little bits of... tinsel or whatever, you have no idea. Something shiny. It complements his baby blue shirt and denim jeans perfectly. But you know what it's hiding. You can even see the edge of a bruise, just barely. You try not to take it personally, because of course he'd want to cover up the number you did to him. But damn if you don't want to see what your whole canvas looks like now.

When your drinks are ready, you pick them up, then both settle into a little table in the corner, away from most other people. It almost looks like you're not even supposed to be there, but John assures you it's his favorite spot.

"Sooo... last night." His fingers are wrapped around the to-go cup, fiddling with the little cardboard sleeve. "That was kind of wild, huh?"

You take a long sip off your own cup and burn your tongue because it's still a little too hot. Smooth. Very smooth.

"Yeah, wild," you concur, flatly, and then realize how dismissive you must sound. You're already flubbing this, goddamn. "But wild in a sexy way. You know? But it doesn't have to—"

"No, Dave, wait." You wait. "I want to say something first."

Your heart is pounding in your chest, fit to leap out at any second and do a little tap dance across the table. This is it. He doesn't want to be friends anymore. You're going to be friend-dumped and it's all your fault because you couldn't keep a leash on your dick.

"I, um. I know this may seem kind of sudden," he starts, and his gaze is cast down at the table, but he sneaks little glances up at you to see your reaction. You give nothing but your usual poker face, because the alternative is letting him know how terrified you are. "I guess this is kind of obvious now, but... I like you. A lot. A lot-a lot."

Shit. Fuck. Holy crap. Did you just hear him right? All you can do is quirk an eyebrow. It's all you can force your body to do.

"I probably should have told you this before you decided you uproot your entire life," he continues, still clearly nervous. You want to reach out and give him some kind of comfort, but you can't. "I just kind of thought I could avoid it coming up and we could just keep being best pals! And I still want to be pals! This doesn't have to change things between us, and I—"

He's gone from fiddling with the paper sleeve, to taking it off the cup and tearing it up. You finally will your body to do your bidding, and reach out to place your hand over his. He looks up at you with those gorgeous blue eyes, wide and curious and scared and hopeful.

"Did you just not listen to a thing I said last night, or were you too sloshed to remember?" He shakes his head, and you're not sure what that means, but you keep going anyway. "I meant it. I like you too, yeah? I have for a long-ass time. Kinda surprised you didn't pick up on it sooner, but whatever."

That gets a chuckle out of him and you see some of the tension leave his shoulders. He turns his hand to place his palm against yours.

"I guess we were both being idiots this whole time, huh?"

You flash him a trademark Strider Smirk. "Seems that way. So... what does this make us?"

Here, he looks away again, but his fingers tighten around your hand anyway, like he's trying to anchor himself to you. He's more than welcome to use you as his tether.

"As hot as last night was, I don't... think I'm actually ready for full-on mating?" Another uneasy glance your way, and the uncertainty in his eyes tears you apart. "I will be, someday! Just not right now. I thought we could start with boyfriends, see if that works out, and go from there?"

You want to tell him you'll wait for him for as long as he needs, that all you want to do is take him in your arms and know he's all yours, make sure that he knows he's safe with you and any mating will be on his terms.

You don't, though. Because you'd sound totally fucking unhinged.

"Boyfriends." You make a show of rolling the word over in your mouth, as if your heart didn't just leap at the chance. "Yeah. Alright. I like the sound of that."

He nods but he's still giving you bashful glances from behind his lashes like a coquettish schoolgirl, and it's adorable, but also really funny. Your coffee has cooled now, and you take a sip of it as you laugh lightly.

"You all good over there? Got something in your eye?"

"Just thinking," he says in a way that gives you the impression he has some very specific thoughts in mind. You watch him expectantly, and he takes a too-long sip of his drink. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes tells you that part is on purpose. Bastard. But, apparently? Your bastard. "I wasn't really planning on picking up a boyfriend today. I kind of thought you would turn me down, so the only thing I have planned is to sit on my butt and watch movies... want to join me?"

Your stoic expression falters only for a second, in the small upturn at the corners of your lips. "You seriously asking me to Netflix and chill?"

"Yes, Dave!" He huffs, playing at indignance. "I am asking my brand-new boyfriend to Netflix and chill! I think that's pretty reasonable, don't you?"

"Woah, down, bunny boy." His nose wrinkles when you call him that, in a bratty, rebellious way that looks absolutely precious on him. (How else might you get him to make that face?) "I'm in. I'm not expecting any more of my stuff to come in 'til tomorrow and my place is pretty boring without my PC or mixing gear."

You made sure all your streaming gear and other expensive electronics were shipped with white-glove service, which meant that they were coming in a little later than things like your clothes and books and basically all the things that you could live without. All your clothes missing? Whatever. Your books and movies and comics, gone forever? You'd just pirate them. But losing your turntables or your camera or any of that would be a blow you might never recover from. Both from an emotional perspective, but also a monetary one.

John looks ready and raring to go, and you spare a glance over your shoulder as you slide out of your chair. No one is looking in your direction, and besides, the only thing behind John is a wall. As you reach out for his hand, you take a moment, and flash him a real, genuine smile.

His eyes light up, and he squeezes your hand, and you make a pledge to yourself to find a way to see that face on him every day from now on.

Chapter Text

Your name is John Egbert, and something just changed.

No, it’s not the fact that your best friend just became your boyfriend, although that is true. Something deeper within you, hard to define but ever-present. You mull it over as you walk down the hill. You can't quite seem to pin it, but it sits in your chest and kind of feels… fuzzy.

You chalk it up to gas or heartburn and leave it at that.

The walk is quiet, but in a calm, contemplative way, as you both sip on your coffees. It's still fairly early and neither of you is quite awake. You don't know what Dave got up to last night, but you stayed up a lot later than you wanted to, fussing and fretting and thinking that this was it, this was going to be what ended your friendship once and for all. You had come into the conversation this morning expecting to be rejected and to have Dave leave your life forever.

Instead, you found that your best friend in the whole world shares your feelings.

It's hard to describe the relief that washed over you. "Boyfriends" was just a pipedream about an hour ago, and heck, you would have been okay with just staying friends! You smile to yourself as you repeat the conversation over and over in your head. Boyfriends. Boyfriends. Looking back on it now, you can kind of see what he means. How long had you written off his flirting as being overly-friendly? Or you misreading things? And he must have taken your flirting the same way. He calls you obtuse sometimes, but he's just as bad.

The morning guard lets you both into the building, and you take the elevator up to your apartment, where your couch is waiting for you. You set your empty cup on the coffee table and immediately flop down. Dave follows suit, and without prompting, you lean against him. You feel him stiffen at first, like he's unsure what to do with this turn of events, but he relaxes soon enough, and pulls his arm from between you, only to curl it around your shoulders and pull you against his chest.

You're relaxing like that, eyes closed and just sort of basking in the moment, and that you can finally just snuggle up to him like you've wanted to this whole damn time, when you feel something tugging at your scarf. You crack open one eye to see Dave trying to wiggle your scarf from around your neck, possibly while trying not to disturb you?

"What are you doing…?" you murmur, drowsing a little, but now very interested.

He stops and stiffens again, caught in the act. You can tell he's scrambling for an answer, even though when you glance up at his face, it's as stony as always.

"Shouldn't fall asleep with one of these suckers on. Could strangle you," he finally says, and keeps tugging.

"'M not sleeping." You think you know what he's really after. "You just want to see your conquests, don't you?"

He doesn't answer, but you think you can see him sweat a little. You take that as a yes and laugh.

You were surprised when you woke up and saw how bruised your neck was, everywhere he'd been biting and sucking tinged with a sickly blue-black and ringed with yellow. You've never had a hickey before. Now you have more than you can count. The process of making those marks was… enjoyable. Very, very enjoyable. You just weren't sure about the results, especially when you thought this was the end. Now that you know better? You won't tell him but you might just be a little bit proud. You never knew you could inspire such passionate feelings in someone else, even if you'd never really thought about it at all.

You acquiesce and let Dave take your scarf off, and watch as he sits back to give you a good once over. He whistles; you blink back, blearily, and smile. That coffee is doing absolutely nothing for you, but his approval swells in your chest and warms you all over.

He reaches out and thumbs over one of the bruises with a featherlight touch, and you tilt your head in response. Closing your eyes, you revel in the feeling as his fingers ghost along your neck and jaw, and eventually coming to cup your cheek. He's being so soft and delicate as if you might break, and it's kind of sweet. You're made of tougher stuff than that, and you know he knows.

And then he leans in to kiss you, and it's so gentle. There's no tongue or teeth in this kiss, just your lips moving together and his hand on your cheek. Last night, there was a desperate fervor to his kiss. Now, there's a reverence to it, and it resonates through you and settles alongside that warmth in your chest.

"You're so sweet," he says quietly against your lips, barely above a whisper. "…hunny bunny."

God. Damn it.

You pull back, your eyes shooting open, and snort out an unbecoming laugh. Dave has the gall to sit there and smirk at you like the little shit he is.

"Oh, I'm going to get you, Strider," you threaten, with absolutely zero bite. "I'm going to get you good."

You're not actually mad at him, but you can't let him punk you like that. You're supposed to be the prankster in this relationship, not him! To be fair, you probably would have pranked him anyway, but now you have an excuse. Still, to show that you bear no ill will, you snuggle right up against his side again.

"Can I tell you something?" you start, and he hums curiously. "Last night when I dropped you off. I was… sort of hoping you'd invite me inside?"

"I wanted to invite you inside," he confesses, "But I don't think I would have been able to keep my hands off you."

"Well… yeah, that's the point."

"No, I mean—"

"—oh."

You catch his meaning, because you had talked some big talk. It might ultimately be for the better that you were interrupted. If he'd really laid into you like you so desperately wanted in the moment, well… getting knocked up before you even started dating sure would have been incredibly awkward, at best.

"Yeah…"

"Mnnn…"

But you're not ready for that conversation yet. You should talk boundaries at some point, but right now, he's started rubbing at the base of your ears and it's so soothing that every other thought starts to melt away. It's definitely not doing anything to help you wake up, and you think he must be getting the gambit on you again, tricking you into falling back asleep.

Well, it works. There's a comfortable silence between the two of you, and as he strokes at your ears and runs his fingers through your hair, slowly you drift off.

You awaken in your bed, and you thank your lucky stars that he's curled up right there next to you.

/ / /

Halloween! One of your favorite holidays, if only because you're way more into the tricks than the treats. This year might be a little light on the tricks, though. You're taking Dave to your dad's place in Maple Valley for a more low-key kind of celebration. You'd discussed going to another party, but after your experience at the last one, decided that it might be better to keep things chill. In any case, you'll get to hand out candy and see all the cute costumes!

(And your ulterior motive is to see how Dave handles more than just one kid, because you still can't get the thought of him being good with children out of your mind.)

You're a diligent driver, but the road is clear and you take a moment to glance over at Dave in the passenger seat of your well-loved 2005 Toyota Camry. He's bobbing his head to the music playing through your upgraded stereo system– you told him he could have the aux cable if he promised not to blast your ears out, and that seemed to be agreeable. He's in the zone, watching the landscape and the few other cars out on the road, his ears perked forward. You can even see the tip of his tail, peeking out from behind him, and wagging ever so slightly.

This is a side of him that you've never had a chance to see before, and it's the cutest thing you've ever seen. Prior to this, you only ever saw his face on video chat, when you were actively talking to him, and even if you would never tell him as much, you thought he looked so cool and composed. But seeing him in these quiet moments of downtime, when he's just relaxed and doing his thing? There's a softness that you can't help but savor.

And there's that fuzzy feeling in your chest again. You make a mental note to make an appointment with the doctor if that keeps happening.

You try to cement the mental image of him just vibing in your passenger seat in your mind, because you're going to need all the chill vibes you can get. You pull off the highway and onto familiar roads, and you know you're getting closer to your dad's house. You've been thinking this whole way exactly how you're going to tell him you're dating a fox.

Unfortunately, you're still not entirely sure.

When you pull into the driveway, you still haven't figured it out, which is unfortunate for you because your dad is on the front steps, putting out some freshly carved pumpkins to light when it's closer to sunset.

"Dad!" His face lights up and his ears swivel forward when you get out of the car and run towards him into his open arms. He pulls you into a tight hug and unashamed, you hug him back, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne and aftershave. It smells like your childhood. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, son," he says, and pulls away, only to hold you at arms length with his hands on your shoulders. "Look at you, you look more and more like a man every time I see you. What happened to my little kit?"

"Dad… I was here three months ago, I haven't grown at all in that time," you respond with a laugh, because he does this every single time.

"Oh yes you have, you are three months older and wiser, and that's not nothing," he chides, a playful grin twinkling in his eyes, at least until something over your shoulder catches his attention. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

You glance back to see Dave shouldering both your overnight bags and sort of hovering a few feet behind you, so you step aside and make a gesture for him to step forward.

"Oh! Yeah, this is Dave! The friend from Texas I told you about?"

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Egbert," Dave says in a weirdly polite tone you've never heard him take before, and he steps forward with a hand outstretched. Damn he is good.

Your dad shakes his hand firmly and gives him an approving smile, so… that's good at least. "Nice to meet you too, Dave."

There's a moment of awkward silence. Dave glances at you, and behind his shades and usual flat expression, you still feel like he's trying to communicate something to you. –Right. Your dad said 'friend', and you didn't correct him. Ugh. This is harder than you thought.

"Uh, dad!" You start, but when he looks at you with those warm hazel eyes that have always held nothing but love and pride for you, the words die in your throat. "I'm gonna take Dave inside and show him around."

"Of course," he says with a nod, "I'll be in shortly and we can get started on dinner. You boys should wash up."

With another gesture, you lead Dave inside. You give him a summary tour of the first floor of the house, all the important stuff anyway. Kitchen, study, living room, bathroom. And you take him upstairs and point out some of the other doors, your dad's room and the guest room and the upstairs bathroom, before you pull him into your bedroom and shut the door behind you.

"You were great back there," you say, "Definitely a good first impression at least."

Dave hums in response and puts your bags down next to the bed, then shoves his hands in his pockets. And he's just standing there, and you can't see his eyes, but you know the accusatory look that's behind his shades.

"Dave, I'm sorry," you start, unsure of how much you just messed up. "I wanted to tell him, I just…"

You find yourself playing with the hem of your sweatshirt, and make a quick move over to the bed to flop down. You fucked up. You fucked up! You don't know how else to say it.

"Absolutely whiffed it?" Dave offers, as he comes and sits next to you. The fact that he takes his hands from his pockets to put an arm around you is comforting, though.

"Yeah. I did. I'm sorry," you mutter, and lean against his shoulder.

"S'alright," he says, and he leans back, bringing up his other hand to tilt your chin up. And holy hell does your face instantly go red, and you see his expression shift to something a little more devious. "You wanna make it up to me?"

He tilts his head and leans back in, and you're there waiting for him, lips parted. When he kisses you, it's soft at first, but he tongues at your upper lip and you happily let him slip it into your mouth. You run your own tongue along the underside of his, and he murmurs from the back of his throat in response.

In the intervening weeks that you've been dating, you've had a lot of practice with making out. Enough to know the things he likes and the things he doesn't, and he's learned the same about you. Sometimes his kisses are more passionate right out the gate, like your first at the party, but most often they start off gentle like this, like he's waiting for your permission. When you initiate, you prefer to start at the corners of his lips and kiss inwards, before soldiering straight on ahead, and maybe you should take a page out of his book and be a little more patient, but he hasn’t complained yet.

"John, Dave, it's time to get started on dinner! Can you come down here?"

Your dad's voice rings loud and clear from the bottom of the stairs, and you sigh. Dave pulls out of the kiss, but leaves you with a peck on the lips, and then one more on the cheek for good measure. He slaps your thigh before he stands.

"Welp, you heard the man, let's go get our grub on."

"Yeah," you say, and you can feel yourself grinning ear to ear, because Dave and your dad seem to be getting along? "I'll tell him. I promise."

. . .

Dave quickly learns that food doesn't come free in the Egbert household as the two of you enter the kitchen and he's put to work washing vegetables before handing them off to you to cut up. Your dad does the actual cooking, and once there's no more prep work, you get a head start on washing dishes together. This is the way it's always been, a comfortable ritual that you share with your dad, and that you still partake in when you come home to visit like this.

You're surprised how well Dave slots into it. You weren't sure what to expect, but despite seeming a little taken aback at first, he quickly fell into the routine with ease. Your dad leads the conversation, as he always does, mostly asking Dave questions about his life and his hobbies and all that. Dave's replies are nervous at first, clipped and kept 'polite', and you know he's leaving off a lot about his family situation. But when your dad asks him to elaborate on his photography, he lights right up, and you can't get him to stop talking. You're pretty sure you even see his tail wagging a little.

Your dad, ever the gentleman, listens with about as much attention as a man at a stove can, and occasionally interjects questions. He doesn't even flinch when Dave talks about the dead turtle he spent a month photographing at different stages of decomposition, which you think maybe wasn't the best thing to bring up in the kitchen, but… well, Dave seems at ease and your dad is made of tougher stuff than that, so it's fine. It's all fine.

None of this is making you feel better about having to tell your dad the truth though. It's all still so tentative, a delicate balance that a poorly timed 'also, Dave's actually my boyfriend' could easily upset.

Dinner passes easily, and Dave once again surprises you by busting out some questions of his own for your dad. They're all nice and innocent at first, just the usual small talk. How do you like living out here? Read anything good lately? But that's all a ruse, because it's all leading up to Dave prodding your dad for your embarrassing baby stories—and your dad is all too happy to oblige.

You want to crawl under the table as your dad regales the time a toddler-aged you escaped the bathtub and managed to not only get out the front door but halfway down the driveway before he was able to catch you.

After dinner is done and the dishes are washed and put away, your dad makes coffee, and you get the fireplace in the living room going. You all three sit around the fire and just let the conversation flow, not about anything in particular, just normal stuff, like sports, and your classes, and places that Dave should go visit. It's so cozy and comfortable and maybe you're getting ahead of yourself, but you could see living like this for the rest of your life.

You've kind of zoned out on some conversation your dad and Dave are having about the Seahawks when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey, it's almost time," Dave says with a nod towards the stairs. "Wanna go get changed?"

"Oh! Yeah! Be right back!"

Your dad graciously takes the cups to the sink, while you and Dave sprint upstairs.

You planned out your costumes about a week ago. You're an angel, and Dave is a devil—you argued that you should be the devil, since you're the prankster in this relationship, but Dave insisted that he already had most of the pieces for the costume already. You know his finances are a little tighter than yours, and you would have offered to buy a new costume for him, but decided against it. He gets a little touchy when you start paying for things too much, and you guess you understand.

It turns out that this arrangement was the better option anyway. You're mesmerized as he comes out of the bathroom, and the first thing you notice is the incredibly tight pair of black skinny jeans that leave very little to the imagination. The rest of the costume is nice too, a dark red button-up shirt with the top few buttons undone and a simple gold chain. A pair of horns and little clip-on demon wings complete the ensemble. And of course, his shades. It's simple, but effective, and you try not to stare at the vague outline of his dick in those pants.

Your costume is a little more… well, costume-y. You have on a white robe that goes down to mid-thigh, tied at the waist with a gold rope. A pair of angel wings is attached to your back with straps, something like a backpack. A fuzzy white halo attached to a headband 'floats' above your head. And just because you don't want to be cold, you finish the look off with some white leggings and a gold shawl.

"You good, Egbert?"

You were, in fact, staring at his dick.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" Your eyes snap up to his face, and you consciously keep them there. "Just, uh. I. Uh. You… look good!"

"Really? Because you were staring at my crotch for a solid 20 seconds," he quips, and you do everything you can to fight the flush from getting to your cheeks.

"You did this on purpose," you spit back, and wrinkle your nose. You're not actually mad, but he did get a one-up on you again. Are you losing your touch? Going soft?

He steps in closer and takes you by the shoulders. Casting a quick glance around first, he nuzzles his nose against yours and gives you a quick kiss.

"You're right," he says quietly, "I did. Whatcha gonna do about it?"

What you really want to do is pull him into your bedroom and throw him down on your bed. That’s not an option though, so instead you turn on a heel and head downstairs without another word. But you do hear him laughing behind you, and resolve to get back at him. Already, you have some ideas.

. . .

The candy bowls are already filled. Your porch light is on, the pumpkins are lit, and you and Dave take up a post at the door to wait for trick-or-treaters. You debated sitting out on the lawn, since the weather isn't too bad, but your dad insisted you let the kids ring the doorbell, because that's all part of the fun!

As the evening passes, you start to notice something: Dave isn't just good with kids. He's amazing with them. You've handed out candy before, so you know the drill. There's always a bashful toddler or an overzealous pre-teen, and he handles them all without breaking a sweat. He seems to know how to draw the shy ones out of their shells to come forward and take their candy, and how to dissuade the more rambunctious ones without making them feel chastised.

That's to say nothing of the little demon act he puts on, and you're so glad you took a few improv lessons last summer, because at least you can keep up with him on that front.

You love it, but you also hate it. You were kind of hoping the ice cream debacle was a fluke. If Dave were bad with kids, you could use that to justify to yourself why you wouldn't just let him mate you now. That's not to say you'd give up on him, it just wouldn't be as tempting. And you'd have helped him, of course! Parenting classes, volunteer work with youth, whatever he needed to get ready.

But he is ready.

And you just have to try not to think about that as best you can.

You wait about fifteen minutes after the last group of late trick-or-treaters before you decide to close up shop. You leave the tealights burning in the pumpkins but flick off the porch light and lock the front door. Seeing that the study door is closed and your dad must be in there, you nod towards the stairs and bring Dave back up to your room.

Once the door is shut, you turn to him with the most innocent smile you can muster.

"I'm going to get changed," you say, starting to pull your pajamas out of your travel bag. "Just turn around and don't look, okay?"

You see his eyebrows go up before you turn around, and glance over your shoulder to make sure that he does the same. You don't actually care if he peeks, maybe you even want him to. Either way, this is payback for those tight pants. You make sure to go extra slow, and when you lean down to pull your pajama pants up, you give a little flick of your tail. You hear him inhale sharply, and you can hear his tail wagging. Sounds like your little revenge worked. You pull your shirt over your head and when you turn back around, he's not looking. You step closer, looping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his back.

"All done," you say, and he contorts within the confines of your arms, turning around to rest his arms over your shoulders.

"That was a pretty mean trick," he whines, and you think he's trying to sound stern but it doesn't work. "Where's my treat?"

"Who says you get a treat?" Even as you say this, you're already giving him a push, inching him back towards the bed.

"I say," he purrs back, taking a step backwards and pulling you with him.

His thighs hit the bed and he relinquishes his grip on you to slide back onto it. You're right there with him, though, crawling on top of him once he gets situated. You settle in once you're straddling his hips, and he brings his hands up, slipping his fingers up under the hem of your shirt but not much further. His fingertips brush against your skin and you shiver.

"What kind of treat did you have in mind?"

You tent your fingers against his chest, propping yourself up. As of yet, you've mostly kept things pretty chaste. You've had your shirts off a few times, palmed each other through your jeans some, but you haven't done anything that you would really call sex. And Dave's been so very good at taking your cues, taking things at your pace, and that's probably why you feel so comfortable right now, in the confines of your childhood bedroom and watched over by the shitty movie posters of your youth. It's not the most romantic setting, but you think that maybe tonight—

A knock comes at your door, and you have never moved so quickly in your life. You roll off of Dave and into a sitting position next to him, legs pulled up to your chest, just as your dad cracks the door open and pokes his head in.

"Dave, the guest room is made up, and there are more pillows and blankets in the closet if you need them," he says matter-of-factly, fixing you both with a Serious Dadly Look™️. "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to let me know. I'll be going to bed soon myself."

There's a heavily implied 'and you should too' at the end of that sentence and John holds back a wince. He wishes he had Dave's penchant for keeping a straight face.

"Sure thing, Mr. Egbert. Appreciate it. I'll probably do the same in a sec," Dave says, easy as anything. "A guy's gotta get his beauty sleep. You think I maintain this youthful glowing complexion on three hours of sleep a night? No sir, gotta get my full eight hours."

You're sort of mortified that Dave feels comfortable enough to ramble to your dad, but your dad just seems to take in stride. "Alright. Goodnight, boys."

"Goodnight, dad!"

"Night, Mr. E."

Of course, because he's your father, he doesn't close the door, instead leaving it cracked open a hair. You sigh. It's not worth getting up to close it.

"Did you tell him?" Dave turns to you, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

"Um…" You hesitate, because you don't know how to tell him you didn't. Or even when! You were at Dave's side for most of the night, except for drink and bathroom breaks.

Your silence speaks volumes. Dave just heaves a sigh as he sits up, and he leans over to press a kiss to your cheek, but there's no real emotion in it. It might not show in his expression, but the tension in his shoulders tells you that he's unhappy. Dave grabs his bag and leaves the bedroom without another word. Jeez… he must really be upset? You know you told him you'd fess up, but isn't this a little much? You're sitting there trying to figure out what his damage is, and eventually you turn off your lights and snuggle under your covers.

But you can't sleep.

You're too busy turning things over in your mind, trying to figure out why Dave is taking it so poorly. It's just one day, nothing bad is going to happen if your dad doesn't know you're dating for a whole 24 hours. You turn over several times, and check your phone. 30 minutes have passed. An hour. You're thinking about getting up and going downstairs to get a snack, when you hear your doorknob turn and the door slowly creaks open.

Dave pads in quietly, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. In the dark, you can only see vague colorless outlines, but he's only got boxers and a tanktop on, and somehow your heart still skips a beat. Wordlessly, he lifts your blankets and crawls under the covers with you, snuggling right up. So… he's not mad anymore?

"Hey," you whisper, and he nudges closer, touching noses.

"Hey. Be honest with me." Oh. Maybe you're not actually in the clear. "Are you embarrassed to be with me? Is it 'cause I'm a fox?"

The question hits you like a punch straight to the gut, as your stomach sinks. "What? No, of course not!"

"Then why won't you tell your dad?" You think Dave's trying to sound accusatory, but he just sounds… scared. And it breaks your heart.

"No, no, Dave… please, it's nothing like that."  You're trying to keep your voice down but it's hard. You bring a hand up and press your palm to his cheek, but he doesn't react. "I love you, so much, and I want everyone to know. I want him to know! But… he's my dad, you know? And he always has such high standards, and I'm worried I'll disappoint him no matter who I bring home."

His shades are off, and so you can look into his eyes, and even in the dim light, you can see as something shifts behind them. Much like you, it seems like he completely misread the situation, and now he has to try and shift his perception of it on the fly.

"He really seems to like you, though," you reassure him, running your thumb along the curve of his cheekbone. "You're actually… really good? At talking to him."

That gets a soft chuckle out of him, and you relax a little. "Yeah, well. Growing up like I did, you pick up a few things."

Oh. That. Right. You don't know as much as you'd like to about Dave's life growing up, but you do know that he was in and out of foster homes. You've never pried more than that, you figured he'd tell you if you ever need to know. But you can kind of guess that it wasn't a great experience.

"You're not scared of him, are you?" you venture. May as well nip this one in the bud.

"Not really. Maybe? Kind of…" He trails off and the answer seems to be hard for him, but you just watch him as he tries to work through it. You wish you could get inside that mind of his. "You just think so highly of him. Always talking about how proud he is and whatever. I just… I mean, you'd bail if he disapproved, wouldn't you?"

The notion is downright shocking, and you balk, but try to remember to keep your voice down. "Are you kidding? No way! What year do you think this is? I'm not obligated to pick a partner that my dad likes. I mean, it's definitely a plus, but there's absolutely no universe in which I leave you just because he tells me to. If my dad can't just be happy that I'm in love, then he's not the man I thought he was. I'm sorry Dave, but you're stuck with me now."

"…Yeah. Okay."

He doesn't sound convinced, but he does seem placated for the moment. You don't know what else you can say to make him believe you, but you decide that that is more than enough deep boyfriend talk for one night. You wiggle closer to press your body against his, and he seems to get the picture pretty quick, because you see a smirk tug at the corners of his lips.

"Now," you start, nuzzling noses with him, "I think we were talking about a little treat?"

He hums his assent and catches your lips for a brief moment. "Oh yeah. I was thinking something… sweet."

You bite your lip and push away; he looks confused as you rearrange the two of you, but he seems to get the picture when you push him onto his back. You hover over him, propped up on one elbow, and lean in to give him a good and proper kiss, nipping at his lower lip straight out the gate. He groans, and you shush him; he does it again, only quieter, and on purpose. You have to stifle a laugh before you get back to kissing him, but soon your lips are moving against each other in tandem, nice and soft and you venture some tongue in there too, for good measure. But you've tongued him plenty. You have bigger designs. Subtly, you slide your hand down his chest and stomach, slowly. You toy with the hem of his tanktop, a little nervous, but resolved.

Your fingers slip under the elastic of his boxers.

And Dave yelps into your kiss. That's not the response you expected, and you reflexively pull your hand back and pull away.

"What… are you doing?" he whispers harshly, though he doesn't sound mad, per se.

"I'm sorry! I thought you'd like it if I— it just seemed like—" You're not really coming up with any useful explanations or excuses, and you hang your head, your ears folded back and a little embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Babe…" He sounds a lot softer, and when you look back to meet his eyes, his brow is ever so slightly furrowed. "If you wanna go there, I'm one thousand percent game. You just gotta warn a guy before you start fondling his junk."

You flush from the tips of your ears to your neck, even though you're the one who initiated this. But unlike Dave, you're not as good at talking about it in such plain terms.

"Hahah, okay," you says, trying to not sound as nervous as you are. "Dave, can I fondle your junk?"

He snorts. "Abso-fucking-lutely."

Pushing the blankets back, you both settle back down, and you tuck yourself against his side, pressing your cheek to his so he can have a good view as your hand wanders down again. You tug at the waistband again, and helps you push his boxers down to his thighs, exposing his partially erect cock. You've watched your fair share of porn, but it's predictably a lot different in real life. But you're feeling adventurous, and that weird fuzzy feeling has settled in your chest again. You want to do this, of course you do. But it also feels like something you need to do, too.

You curl your fingers around his cock experimentally, your grip loose and palming down his length.

Dave's breath is hot against your cheek as he tilts his head and exhales sharply, clearly amused.

"Babe, you're gonna need to grip it a little tighter," he murmurs, and presses a kiss to your cheek. "Don't worry. It's not a delicate China vase. You won't hurt me."

Encouraged by his instructions, you do as he says and grip him a little tighter, then start running your hand up and down the length. You feel him get harder in your hand, and you're momentarily distracted by what a strange sensation it is, when you hear him suck in a sharp breath and remember what you're actually trying to do.

Once you actually get a rhythm going, it's not nearly as intimidating as you thought it would be, and you feel emboldened. You tilt your head to kiss at his cheek, and he tilts his to meet you, gasping softly against your lips. He arches his hips up against your hand, and you can feel it twitch in your grip, which you take to be a good thing.

It's a wonder you didn't try this earlier. Every little movement he makes, every little sound, ripples to your core and stirs you up. You thought this was something you were doing just for him, but as you draw him closer to climax, you're getting turned on too.

"John…" he murmurs against your lips.

"Yeah?"

"John. Keep goin', babe. I'm almost—"

Oh. You focus your attention back on your hand, pumping his cock fervently now.

He gasps and bites down on his lower lip as he comes, his whole body tensing next to you and—oh, gosh. You can feel it. It's so weird but so satisfying at the same time.

When he starts to relax, you pull your hand away, holding it up to survey the mess. Most of it got on his shirt, but there's some on your thumb and in your palm and. Uh. You really don't know what to do with yourself. You just kind of wait until his breathing goes back to normal and give him another kiss before you pull back a little.

"Was that good?" you venture, when the silence finally gets to you.

"John. Babe. Light of my life, beautiful, wonderful, amazing, adorable little bun whom I love with all my heart," he whispers, sounding a little bleary but happy. "If it's you? It's always gonna be good."

"Well yeah, but be honest. Was my technique any good? Is there… something I could do better?"

He sits up, surveying the mess on his shirt, and sticks his tongue out in disgust. He carefully pulls the shirt over his head, using a clean spot to wipe off your hand for you, and you give him a little nod of thanks. You roll onto your back, folding your hands over your stomach, and he tosses his shirt to the floor, hikes up his boxers, then lays down beside you, placing a hand over yours.

"Dunno if now's the right time for a full-on critique," he says, nosing at your cheek. He has a point. "Next time, I'll show you some things that'd feel amazing. Sound good?"

"Yeah." You're a little sad, but it makes sense! There was no way you'd knock it out of the park on the first try. And it's not like he could effectively give you feedback, when you're both trying to keep your voices down. "So. Now what?"

He doesn't reply right away, instead still nosing at your cheek and temple, and you don't really mind because it feels nice and he's warm and the lingering scent of his sex is making you feel a little lightheaded, you think. A little lightheaded and a lot aroused.

"Now," he says, having shifted, his nose buried in your hair. You feel his hand wander, down the rise of your stomach and the curve of your hip, and finally coming to tug at the drawstring on your pajama bottoms. "I return the favor… if it's okay with you. John. Can I touch you?"

Your jaw hangs open, because you hadn't really expected reciprocity, but it's makes sense that he'd want to get in on the fun. You can't pretend that you're not already incredibly turned on, and you'd love nothing more that to feel his hands between your legs.

"Yeah. You can… but you don't have to if you don't want to."

"I don't have to. But I wanna." He tugs at the drawstring, untying it and loosening it. "Besides. I can smell you. You're all slicked up for lil ole me, and there's no way I can pass that up."

You flush hot, but he's absolutely right. You shift a little, and you go to start pushing your pants down, but he stops you.

"What's the hurry?" he purrs. "I wanna savor you."

His words are heavy with lust and it sends a shiver down your spine. For the first time since your encounter at the party, you think you're on the verge of recapturing the feeling. Though not as frenetic, the element of danger is still there. You're sure your dad is sound asleep and probably hasn't heard anything of you yet, but he could wake up at any moment and walk in on you, and then you'd definitely have some explaining to do.

Dave takes his dear sweet time, feeling up your sides and pushing your shirt up. You both already learned the hard way that your nipples are sensitive, so he palms over them but doesn't tease them, and it feels just as good, you think. Beyond that, he's not at all delicate, digging his fingers into your side as he brings them back down. And he shifts bodily, so that he's partially hovering over you, and starts kissing at your jaw and neck; you tilt your head for him, and appreciate that he keeps his nips light, so as not to leave any suspicious marks for morning. (Even though you sort of want him to.)

It serves to wind you up until you're squirming underneath his hands, and you whine, almost desperate for his hand to move further down. He gives a pleased huff, and seems to be satisfied with all the teasing he's done, and you finally help him pull your pajamas down. You're a little nervous as they slip over your hips and to your thighs; you've never been this exposed to anyone before, except maybe your physician. Will he like the way you look? What if your fur bothers him?

You don't have much time to fret over it, because once you get a leg free, his hand slides between your thighs, squeezing.

"Spread them a little for me, darlin'?" He knows damn well what it does to you when he lays the Texan accent on heavy, and you weren't going to say no, but it certainly sweetens the pot. You do as he says until he can comfortably get his hand between your legs, and he palms over you, not quite pressing his fingers in, just smoothing over your fur. "Good. God… you're so soft."

He's driving you absolutely crazy, so your words fail you, and you can just murmur an acknowledgement. He relents, pushing his finger in further, running up the length of your slit but not focusing his attention anywhere. You whine just as he starts kissing you again and you feel his shoulders heave with a laugh, even though he's busy trying to get his tongue into your mouth. It's all a bit overwhelming, so you just throw your arms around his neck and hold onto him for dear life.

His fingers start rubbing lazy circles around your clit, and you whimper your approval against his lips, because holy hell does that feel amazing. His fingers are warm and a little bit rough, but not in a bad way, and you're already so slicked up that there's a delightful lack of friction. You've lost count of how many times you've gotten yourself off at night, imagining it was him touching you, but it turns out the real thing is better than you could ever have imagined.

Your pulse is racing, and your breathing is starting to get a little more shallow, more ragged, as he winds you up with slow strokes. But you're confused and dismayed when he slows further, and pulls out of the kiss, and you stare up at him wide-eyed, wondering if you did something wrong.

There's nothing but lust in his eyes, though, and he presses his nose to yours.

"John?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Can I put my fingers in…?"

It takes you a second to catch his meaning, and you wonder if he can see the bright shade of red your face turns.

"Dave. I want nothing more than to have you inside me right now. Please."

You feel him shudder, and feel a bit of pride, because thus far he's had you beat on the dirty talk. You don't have much time to be smug about it though, because his mouth is back on yours with renewed vigor, and his hand is moving again. This time, he presses his fore- and middle fingers inside you while his thumb keeps rubbing circles against your clit, and you have to choke back a loud moan. It strangles in your throat, and he pulls away long enough to let you swallow and get your bearings back, before his tongue reclaims your mouth.  

Your back arches against him, with his fingers working inside you and his thumb working outside, spiraling and spiraling until finally you buck against his hand and your orgasm wracks your body from toe to tip. You're thankful that his tongue is practically down your throat, and drowns out the cry you make, because that definitely would attract your father's attention.

Dave withdraws his fingers, resting his hand on the inside of your thigh, and you relax your death grip around his neck as he pulls out of the kiss, though he continues to shower you with little pecks as you start to come back to the real world.

You're both quiet for what feels like forever, but in reality is probably 20 seconds tops. Eventually, you inhale deeply and let it out slowly, and he takes that as the cue to move off of you. You reluctantly pull your pajamas back and pull your shirt back into place. Dave sits up with you and affectionately headbutts you, not hard, just a nudge, and you nudge him back.

"'M gonna go take a piss and get a new shirt, but then I'm coming back for cuddles," he says matter-of-factly, as if you were actually liable to go somewhere.

"Alright. Well, I'll be here."

You reach up and tweak one of his ears affectionately before he pulls away, and you're immediately struck by how cold it is without him there.

You're also keenly aware that your room now reeks of spunk, and as much as you love the way your scents intermingle, your dad is sure to smell it if he walks by your door at any point in the night. You reach over to your bedside table for a can of air freshener and let off a few sprays into the room. You're not sure if it actually works, but… it's the best you've got.

Dave returns and immediately scrunches up his nose as soon as he shuts the door. He slides into bed next to you, arms going around your waist, and you lean against him.

"Hunny bun," he says sweetly, "Why does it smell like lavender and jizz in here now?"

"I was trying to get rid of it, so that… y'know." You shrug.

And that's the end of that. You sit there in his embrace for a while, before you both decide to crawl under the covers and properly snuggle for a bit. You always intended to send Dave back to the guest room, but there's a saying about the best laid plans. It's so warm and cozy and having his arms around you just feels right. You drift off before you even know it.

/ / /

When you wake up in the morning, there's absolutely no pretending Dave wasn't sleeping in here with you. For one, you have his scent all over you. And for two, your door is slightly ajar, meaning your dad most certainly peeked in at some point. So you just lay there, and focus your mind on the fact that you're still snuggled together and you can feel his chest rise and fall in slow shallow breaths against your back. You're really starting to enjoy waking up next to him.

You lay there for a good 5 minutes or so, but whether he rouses on his own or he smells breakfast cooking downstairs, he wakes up and stretches out, a full-body stretch that makes you chuckle to yourself.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he mumbles, mimicking the text you sent him the morning you got together. Yeah, he hasn't let that one go.

"Morning, Prince Charming." You wriggle around so you can face him, and morning breath be damned, give him a peck on the lips. "Sleep well?"

"Aww, babe, you think I'm charming?" He laughs at his own joke, and you can't help but giggle along. "Slept better than I have in… pretty much forever, to be honest."

And you did that. Hell fucking yeah.

"I'm glad," you say, bumping noses. "You wanna go downstairs and get breakfast? My dad was already in here, by the way. In case you were wondering if he knows yet."

"…ah." That seems to put a damper on Dave's energy for a hot second, but then you see the second he starts putting on the Strider façade for the day. "Well, that solves that. So let's go get some grub."

It's a Saturday, so when you come downstairs, you find your dad in the kitchen in a robe and plaid pajama bottoms with a pair of fuzzy slippers. Very dad-chic. You come up beside him to see what's cooking and he ruffles your hair.

"Good morning, you two," he says, chipper as ever, and you wonder if… maybe he didn't actually come into your room? Maybe Dave just didn't latch the door when he got back from the bathroom. "Breakfast is almost ready, why don't you two have a seat?"

"Smells amazing, Mr. E," Dave says as he slides into a chair at the table, and you sit across from him. "I know John's a great cook, and if you're the one who taught him? My stomach is ready."

Your dad gives Dave the sort of pinched smile that you know means the compliment didn't quite land for some reason or another, but he's still trying to be polite about it.

"Well, I did try to make sure he grew up with a variety of useful skills," your dad says as he starts portioning food from a pan onto plates. One of his signature breakfast bakes, which just consisted of eggs, whatever vegetables were left over from the day prior, and anything else he could find that might go well. You're not sure why it's called a 'bake' when he cooks it in a pan, though. "Here you go."

Two plates are set on the table in front of both of you, as well as forks. Your dad comes over after setting the cooking utensils and pan in the sink with some soap.

"I take it you boys will be heading home this morning?" your dad asks, before an uneasy silence can settle in.

"Oh, yeah. I'll help with the dishes, grab a shower, and then we'll probably be on our way back to Seattle," you say, trying to keep your voice level.

"Next time, you two should plan to stay a little longer," he says, as he stabs at some chunks of vegetable on his plate. "You know I love seeing you, John. And Dave, it's been wonderful getting to know someone John cares so much about."

You shoot Dave an uneasy smile, but Dave is just his usual self. Even without his shades. How does he even do that? Manage to look so calm and collected on a whim?

"Yeah, likewise, Mr. E," Dave responds without missing a beat. "John talks about you a lot. Glad to finally meet the man, the myth, the legend."

With that, quiet falls over the table. Your dad finishes first, because he was always a quick eater, and he leaves the plate by the sink for you, before informing you that he'll be retiring to his study for a while. He takes his cup of coffee and the morning paper, and starts out the door, but stops and turns back to you.

"Oh, and John. Come see me before you leave, will you?"

The 'alone' is implied. You nod, and he exits the kitchen. You and Dave just finish your breakfasts while you try not to panic.

An hour and a half later, the dishes are done, you're both showered and packed, and ready to leave for the day. Dave takes your bags to wait by the door, while you make your way to your dad's study.

You knock on the door, and he beckons you in, so you go. This room always seemed so mystical to you as a kid, but now it just seems like any other room. But it's your dad's and it's a space that means something to him, so it means something to you too.

You find him seated in his armchair, and when you come in, he folds the paper and sets it on a side table then stands, coming over to take you by the shoulders.

"Dad, I can explain, it's just that—"

"John." He cuts you off and you know that stern tone. It shuts you right up. "Dave is a fine young man and he's lucky to have you."

You're relieved, but you still feel a pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," you say, your gaze turning to the floor, like you're thirteen years old again and you just got in trouble for leaving a whoopee cushion on the teacher's chair. "I wanted to, I was just… worried you wouldn't approve."

"I had my doubts at first," he says softly, and you glance up to meet his gaze again. "But seeing the two of you interact, I can tell you make a lovely couple. A father always knows."

Does this mean he'd already figured it out, even before he found the two of you snuggled up together? Honestly, if you think about it, that probably tracks. You're a naturally affectionate person, but with Dave, it's amped up to eleven.

"Thanks, dad."

You pull him into a hug, and he wraps his arms around you, hugging you back.

"Anytime, son."

He follows you out of the study to see the two of you off, extending another firm handshake to Dave, along with a 'congratulations' and a wink, and you're not sure exactly how much he knows, but you're going to just assume that it's everything. You make a mental note to buy a better air freshener.

Once you're in the car and on the road, it starts to sink in: your dad knows about you and Dave. And he approves. You just kind of smile to yourself. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Dave throw you a curious look.

"What? What is it?"

You just smirk wider. "What do you say we put the costumes back on when we get home?"

It seems to take a few seconds for your meaning to set in, but when it does… you're not looking at him, eyes on the road and all, but you hear him inhale sharply.

"Yep. Yes. That is absolutely a thing we will do."

He proceeds to busy himself with the aux cable, and you drive on.

Chapter Text

It should come as a relief that your boyfriend's dad has given you his stamp of approval. But you, Dave Strider, are not relieved. Sure, you put on your Upstanding Young Gentleman face for him and impressed him for a solid… jeez, not even a full 24 hours. More like 18 hours. You're just awesome like that. But something tells you that it can't be that easy. You're just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And the worst part is that you can't even tell John about it. He's thrilled to bits, showering you with praise for impressing his dad, and how happy he is that the two of you got along without a hitch. You don't usually take such effusive praise well, but when it comes from him, it just hits different. And then he looks at you with those big blue eyes and you don't have it in your heart to tell him you don't believe any of it.

That's probably why he invites you to his family's Thanksgiving dinner. And you find yourself physically incapable of saying no.

John pulls the car into his dad's driveway after a laborious three-hour drive. You decided to leave the night before to try and avoid traffic, but it turns out that everyone else had the same idea. You're staying for the weekend, so your travel bags are a little fuller this time, and John helped you pick out a new tie for the occasion, so that's… something to look forward to. You guess.

Dad Egbert meets the two of you at the car, and embraces John as he gets out. You prepare yourself for another solid handshake, but when you come around the car, he pulls you into a firm fatherly hug as well, and you don't know what to do with yourself. Your ears pin back and you're pretty sure your tail puffs up too, but you don't bother to check. You're just guessing, because both Egberts chuckle when they see your reaction, and you wonder if it really is better that Egbert Senior likes you, if this is the consequence.

When you step inside the house, you're struck by just how cozy it is. At Halloween, there had been some spooky decorations up, and it had been nice and all, but this is different. You can't put your finger on exactly what it is, whether it's the fire in the hearth, or the smell of baking wafting from the kitchen, or the warm blankets that have been spread out on the couch now. Whatever it is, it really makes you want to dive in and just… hibernate.

"Oh, John," Mr. Egbert says as he leads you both inside, "Your cousins and uncle will be here soon, they're on the way from the airport now. Jade is staying in the guest room and Jake will stay in mine until you go home. They'll be here through the New Year. Ah, and Dave will be in your room, of course."

You feel your cheeks get hot, and you try to tell yourself it's just because it's so damn warm in here.

"Oh! Yeah, that works!" John says with all the usual enthusiasm, and then looks to you. "I can't wait for you to meet them! C'mon, let's go drop our stuff in my room!"

You know a little bit about John's family, but you never really pried beyond what he revealed in the course of conversation. You know he has two second cousins, Jake and Jade, who live overseas and don't get to come stateside very often. And he has an uncle (you've forgotten his name) and a cousin, Jane, who both live in the area. Beyond that, you have a scattering of stories that leads you to believe that Jade and Jake are kind of wacky, and Jane and Nameless Uncle are a bit more tight-laced.

As soon as your bags are dropped off in John's room, the two of you head down to the kitchen, where John promptly starts making some hot chocolate for the two of you, Dad Egbert is working on what looks like a pie, and you just stand there like a dope, feeling absolutely useless. When John said he was going to "make hot chocolate", you thought this was going to be a simple matter of putting on a kettle and pouring the hot water into the powder. But no, this is the real deal. He's got some milk on the stove and is chopping up some blocks of milk and white chocolate like it's nothing.

"Uh," you start, after you've stood there for way too long. "Is there… anything I can do?"

Dad Egbert smiles over his shoulder at you. "Well, I wouldn't usually ask this of a guest, but do you think you could take the trash out? I would be incredibly appreciative. The bin's to the other side of the garage."

He nods towards a can that's full of all kinds of refuse, probably from all the cooking he's doing, and you nod.

"Oh, yeah, not a problem," you say, as you start in on the task of extricating the bag from the can.

Honestly? You're just happy to be helpful, and you've been given worse chores before. This? This feels weirdly normal. Almost domestic. As you're hauling the bag out to the bin, you notice a large SUV has pulled into the end of the driveway. This must be the cousins? You try not to look, not wanting to make awkward eye contact with a stranger, so when you hear a loud screech just as you're dumping the trash in the bin, you drop the lid in surprise.

You turn around just in time to be bowled into by… someone.

"Hi! Hello! You must be Dave, oh my god, John has told us so much about you!" A feminine voice, and based on the exuberance alone, you're guessing this is Jade. You awkwardly pat her back, and finally get a look at her when she relinquishes her grip on you.

John didn't tell you she was—

You don't have time to complete that thought, because you already have another hand thrust in your direction. Reflexively, you go to take it, only to be pulled into another hug.

"Good man!" You're just going to assume this is Jake, because you get the sense that they're a package deal. "Absolutely ace to finally be meeting you, seems like you're all little Johnny talks about anymore!"

You're still reeling when he lets you go. You spot two more people on the other side of the SUV, but unlike Jade and Jake, they don't make a beeline towards you. There's a taller man who looks strikingly similar to Dad Egbert, who you take to be the uncle. That just leaves the woman carrying the cake caddy, who must be Jane. Both Uncle and Jane have those long, elegant ears that you've come to expect, but Jade and Jake…

John didn't tell you they were canines.

Dogs of some kind, you think, though it's kind of rude to ask. The perky, fluffy white ears and aggressively wagging tails give it away, though. You don't really know how to process any of this, so you choose to pretend this is totally normal and expected and expertly keep your cool like you always do. You've trained your whole life for this moment. In theory, anyway.

"Jade, Jake, could you get the bags?" Jane calls over her shoulder.

"Oh! Yes! Nice meeting you Dave, I'm sure we'll chat some more inside!" And Jade bounds away.

"Right, brilliant meeting you! See you inside!" And Jake skips away to join Jade in unloading a number of bags and suitcases from the trunk of the SUV.

You decide to fall into step next to Jane on your way inside. She gives you a strange sort of side-eye as you step up next to her, and it seems like she's not going to be as easily impressed with your presence.

"Yo." You greet her with a little wave, trying to just be casual and normal.

"Oh, I'm sorry, where are my manners!" Hmm. That's odd. You think she doesn't really sound like she means that. The over-exuberance you could handle, but there's something like distaste radiating off Jane. "You're the fabled Dave then? Not what I expected!"

Internally, you wince. There it is. That's the kind of scorn you were expecting. She's good, she puts on a mask of nice words, but you can see right through that bullshit. Your bullshit senses are finely-tuned, a well-oiled machine that you fawn over like... one of those car guys and their old sports cars? You can't even come up with a good metaphor, that's how frustrated you are. You still open the door for her when you get there, though. You're not going to give her anything to justify her attitude. If not for your own sake, then for John's.

You head back into the kitchen as Jane announces their arrivals, and there's suddenly a flurry of activity in the house. You get there just in time for John to hand off his pot on the stove, instructing you to keep stirring it, which you do. You're fine with that, you don't really have a place in this little family reunion, and it's not like they didn't all greet you outside. The kiss on the cheek he leaves you with does make you feel a little bit better, though.

"Jade! Jake! How was the flight? Wow, it's been forever since we were together!" "John, look at you! I'm so excited to be here!" "C'mere, mate! Right smashing to be here!" "We met your beau outside! John, you didn't tell us he was so handsome!" "Heheh, I'm pretty sure I did. Oh Jane, let me take that for you!" "Thank you John, you're a dear." "You're all just in time for hot chocolate!"

This is fine. This isn't your anxiety spiking or anything. This is just par for the course for every family gathering you've ever been at, the odd one out where you were decidedly not family. You'd had Rose back then, at least, and she understood. And you have John, technically. You know he'll be on your side… but you don't want to keep him from seeing his relatives, either.

John returns to the kitchen with the cake caddy you saw Jane carrying earlier and places it on the dining table, for lack of anywhere on the counters to put it at the moment. He starts gathering mugs from the cabinets while you continue to stir the pot, and sets them on a tray, which he brings over.

"Thanks for the assist," he says, flashing you a big toothy grin. "Jade and Jake don't get to come out here that often, I haven't seen them face to face for… gee, three years!"

"Hey, don't mention it," you say with a nonchalant shrug, as you work with him to start portioning the hot chocolate into the mugs. You rinse the pot in the sink, and turn around, fully expecting John to be either going or gone. He's standing there waiting for you. "…'sup?"

"Are you coming?" He nods towards the living room, where it sounds like the rest of the family is starting to settle down.

"Oh." You weren't. Because you assumed this was a family-only thing. "Yeah, sure."

You follow along to see the new arrangement in the living room: The Dads and Jane seated on the couch, Jade sitting in the armchair with Jake sitting on the arm, leaving the floor in front of the coffee table for you and John. You help passing out mugs, and thankfully you're closer to the armchair so you don't have to look Jane in the eye. You take a seat next to John, and reach for his hand under the table, because damn, you really need it.

After a while, when your hot chocolate is gone, you sort of zone out. You're happy to not be banished to the kitchen or whatever, but The Dads and Jane have a lot of questions for Jake and Jade, and the two of them certainly have tons of tales to tell. You catch bits and pieces, some interesting tidbits, and it's not that you don't care, but you're missing quite a bit of context. You gather that they're involved in… conservation efforts? Archaeological pursuits? Documentary making? You're not entirely sure.

"So, Dave." You hear Jane say your name, and you wrench your eyes up to look at her. There's nothing good written on her face, and you don't think anyone else notices. It's the glint in her bright blue eyes, and the swivel of her ears. "You're from Texas? How quaint! How did you and John meet again?"

"Texan born and raised, ma'am," you reply, with a heavy dose of the accent you usually try to suppress. "We, uh."

"Met online!" John finishes for you, giving your hand a little squeeze.

"Interesting," is all Jane has to say to that, before turning to John's dad. "When did you find out about all of this?"

Your stomach is churning, and you find yourself squeezing John's hand back a little too hard. If Dadbert notices the insidious tone Jane is taking with you, he doesn't say anything about it.

"Oh, around Halloween. The boys came out to hand out candy, have a look!"

While Dadbert is getting out his phone and pulling up the pictures to show everyone, Jane looks back to you with the most predatory grin you've ever seen.

"That long? That's a surprise!" She says it so sweetly, but you know the real meaning behind her words. You've been terrified of this possibility this whole time.

The thing about being a fox dating a bunny is that some people are going to think you're some kind of sicko who gets off on preying on... well, prey. It's not as prevalent an attitude as it used to be, but there are still folks who really take issue with cross-order relationships. It's a whole thing. And it's exactly what you've been worried about this entire time. It's pretty clear to you that Jane thinks John shouldn't be dating a fox, and that she's already convinced your relationship is only temporary.

"Well, I'm in this for the long haul," you reply, trying to bite back your rising irritation. "I'm pretty goddamn lucky to have him, so I'm not looking to give that up any time soon."

John leans his head against your shoulder, and you kiss the top of his head. But you don't break eye contact with Jane, whose lips are pressed in a hard line. She didn't like that response. Good. Fuck her.

"I see," she says, that careful mask of politeness falling back over her features. "John, what about you? What are your feelings about all of this?"

John is so sweetly oblivious, and the question is so deviously catty that he doesn't really pick up what she's even trying to get at, so he screws up his face. "What do you mean? I think it's kind of obvious that I really like him!"

"I just mean that--"

"Jane!" Jade interjects from her seat, a little too loudly, which she seems to realize a half second later, and drops her voice to normal indoor levels. "What about that cake you brought?"

God bless Jade. From the strained smile on her face, you know that she didn't just get a sudden hankering for cake. You barely know her and she's already swooping in for the save, and she is now your favorite person. Jane looks between her, then you, and then back to Jade again.

"Oh, well, it was supposed to be for tomorrow," she fusses, trying to wave Jade off.

"No, I think Jade's right!" Jake pipes in. You're not entirely sure if he picked up on the vibes, but if he did? You make a note to kiss them both right on the face later. "Come on Janey, don't be such a spoilsport!"

"Oh alright!" Jane relents, and she stands, scurrying back towards the kitchen, with the Dads, Jade, and Jake close behind. You and John hang back to start gathering up the dirty mugs.

"You okay?" he says quietly, as you're stacking the cups on the tray. "I know Jane's kind of giving you the third degree, but she just wants to get to know you!"

Oh John. Your beautiful, sweet, darling, dense little bun. Maybe he's too close to her to see it. Or maybe he's just that oblivious. You've never known him to be particularly good at reading between the lines, and that's part of what you love about him. He wears his heart on his sleeve and doesn't really second-guess people, which is maybe why he was able to put up with your teenage antics for so long. Now that charming innocence is coming back to bite you in the ass.

"Yeah, I'm good," you say with a smile, and lean in to give him a quick kiss. "Your family's pretty cool. You gotta tell me about Jade and Jake later, though."

"...oh! Shit, I forgot! I'm sorry!" He laughs sheepishly. "Yeah, it's a thing, I'll tell you later."

Together you carry the tray of dirty mugs to the kitchen, gently placing them next to the sink. You're not really in the mood for cake, but you're still handed a plate and asked how big a slice you want. You eye the elegantly decorated vanilla cake with suspicion, but given that everyone is eating it and you're watching the slices be cut, it's probably not poisoned. Still, you insist on just a thin slice. You're watching your girlish figure, you say, and that earns you a few chuckles all around. It's hard to say if the cake is actually good, or if the bitter taste in your mouth is just from knowing that Jane baked it. Still, you think John's cooking is miles better. Less cloyingly sweet and less sugar coating your teeth.

You and John are on dish duty again, and after that, the subject of dinner comes up. With a lot of cajoling from Jake and Jade, the Dads agree to pizza, since the kitchen is in no state to cook a whole pre-Thanksgiving meal, and neither of them has had pizza in a long time. You immediately volunteer to go pick it up, eager to get out of the house to collect your thoughts. You're surprised when Jade volunteers to accompany you, but you don't mind. You kind of like her already, John seems eager to catch up with Jake, and the Dads and Jane are busy with pre-holiday baking. So it's just the two of you.

When you snatch the keys from John, you make sure to give him a big smooch on the cheek, right where Jane can see.

Once you're in the car with the GPS set and on the road toward the pizza place, Jade turns to you.

"I'm sorry about Jane," she says, which doesn't surprise you. You sort of figured that she wanted to talk about it.

"Hey, don't worry about it," you shrug. "I was kind of expecting it. Appreciate the save though."

"It doesn't matter if you were expecting it!" Her ardent protest catches you off-guard, and you spare her a glance when you stop at the traffic signal. "She shouldn't be so rude! And John, he should really stand up to her!"

You snort. "I don't think he notices."

You hear her head fall back against the headrest, and she sighs. "Ugh, you're probably right. Don't tell him I said this, but he's a real dumbass sometimes! A dumbass I love, but still a dumbass!"

"Yeah, tell me about it." Honestly? Just getting to talk about it helps you feel heaps better. If nothing else, you know Jade's got your back. So that's something. You feel a lot less alone. "It's cool, I've dealt with worse."

"Well, if she doesn’t knock it off, I'll just have to talk to her myself!"

You appreciate that Jade is willing to go to bat for you, but you don't want to sow the seeds of discontent within the family. That would probably just make things worse. You think quick, trying to change the subject before an awkward silence can settle in, and there is one thing you're wondering.

"So… what's up with this, anyway?" You know it's kind of rude, and John said he'd tell you later, but… Jade is nice, and you don't want to wait for you and John to get a private moment. "I kind of thought you and Jake would be… you know…"

"Bunnies?" Jade laughs, and it's cute and bubbly. You can't help giving just a tiny smirk. "It's okay, it's kind of weird! We're related through our grandparents, who were adopted! So John's dad's mom was a bunny, and my mom's dad was a dog!"

"Oh, huh… and you and Jake are…?"

"Twins! What, you can't tell?" She gives another bubbly laugh. "That's okay. I'll tell you a secret, I'm the cuter one!"

That gets a legitimate chuckle out of you. You're not sure what it is, but Jade is just comfortable to be around, in a lot of the same ways John is, except she seems a little more perceptive. You'll make sure to get her PesterChum handle before you leave. For the rest of the ride, you tell her a little bit about your own twin, and bond over the trials and tribulations of having a sibling so intrinsically linked to you.

The rest of the evening is fairly uneventful, save for Jane shooting you sour looks every time you do anything vaguely affectionate in John's direction. But luckily for you, the Dads, Jake, and Jade all seem to like you, and over dinner, you get a lot of personal questions. Normally you'd be uncomfortable being put on the spot, but once you just start ignoring Jane, you feel pretty comfortable, and the twins are so enthusiastic when you tell them about your streaming career and some of your other hobbies. After dinner, Jane and Uncle go home for the night, Dadbert retires to his study, and the rest of you watch some dumb made-for-TV movie. 'Watch' might not be the right word. You spend the entire hour-and-forty minutes runtime roasting it.

It's still a relief when it's time for bed and you can crawl under the covers with John. It's nice that you don't have to sneak in here, even if the element of danger was kind of titillating. John takes his favorite spot as little spoon, and you bury your nose in his hair while he putters around on his phone. For a while you just lay there, breathing him in, getting reacquainted with his scent. Not that you forgot, but with so many mingling in the house, you sort of lost track of it after a while.

"So… what do you think?"

John's voice is so soft and so expectant; even without seeing his face, you can just imagine the look on his face. You stop and take a second to mentally compose your answer. You breathe in deep, and exhale slowly.

"Jade and Jake are cool," you finally say, and you hesitate for a second, wondering if you should tell him your concern. But not telling him feels a bit like lying, and that's not a habit you want to get into. "Pretty sure Jane hates me though."

"Aw, Dave! No, she doesn't hate you!" That's about what you expected him to say. You sigh, and feel him tense in your arms. "She doesn't, I promise. She's just protective. She was kind of like my sister growing up. We have the same birthday, we both lost our moms… she just wants what's best for me."

You chew on this assertion for a moment, because you staunchly disagree, but it's hard to say that when he both sounds so self-assured, and also when he pulls the dead mom card. But Jane spent most of the night looking at you like she'd just smelled some rotten carrots, and as much as you want to believe him, you just… can't. A healthy dose of distrust is what's protected you all these years.

"What's best for you, then?" you ask, nuzzling into his hair a little more.

"You, duh!" He doesn’t even hesitate and your chest swells.

"Then can you tell her that?"

"Of course. I'll talk to her tomorrow when she gets here."

"Thanks, hunny bun."

He snuggles back into you, and you listen to his breathing until you drift off to a dreamless sleep.

/ / /

The next morning brings a big pancake breakfast with regular, blueberry, and chocolate chip pancakes, plus plenty of real maple syrup. You think you might be in heaven. The atmosphere at the table is a lot more relaxed than dinner the previous evening, with you and Jade still waking up, and John, Jake, and Dadbert having a quiet conversation about some recipe or another that Jake picked up in Malaysia. Dude is pretty damn well-traveled, you're learning. And after breakfast, everyone helps clean up; you and Dave are tasked with setting the place settings for dinner.

When the subject of divvying out shower time comes up, you have to bite your tongue to keep from offering to share the shower with John, though he does shoot you a sidelong glance that you think says he had the exact same thought. Look, just because the family members present are supportive doesn't mean you're going to start advertising your sexual proclivities. You have some tact.

After showering, you get dressed in the nice clothes you brought specifically for the occasion. You don't really get why you need to get dressed up? But it's a small price to pay for a whole-ass dinner. You're wearing the same red shirt you wore at Halloween, though you've brought some looser slacks this time. John picked out a nice ivory-white tie for you and helps you tie it. It's not that you don't know how, but you were never that good at it. When John does it, it seems like it's second nature. Seeing how his dad dresses on the daily, it's not too surprising.

Jade's dress is a shiny blue number with a ruffly bottom and a blue belt. It's pretty, you think, but you don't know much about fashion. She rocks it, anyway. Jake, on the other hand, has your standard white shirt and black slacks, accentuated with a green bowtie and suspenders. You know what? He's rocking it too. You like these people, and as you gather in the living room, you think you look like you're ready to pull off some kind of heist to steal the Hope Diamond or the Declaration of Independence or some shit like that.

"What's so funny?" John has his back to you and leans in, pulling your arms around him, but he tilts his head back to look up at you from under your chin.

"Nothin', babe." It makes it convenient to kiss his forehead. "When are we getting this show on the road?"

 "Well," he says slowly, thinking on it. "Jane and her dad will be here soon, and then we have to cook the main dishes. We'll probably be eating around 3 or 4?"

"Cool. Can I help with any of the cooking?" You've actually been enjoying being useful in the kitchen. It feels… normal. Like a thing that normal people who care about each other do.

"Dave," he starts, in a light chastising tone, "We're not making cup noodles or minute rice, so I think you'd better just wait in the living room."

"Wow, Egbert," you protest, feigning offense, "I can cook scrambled eggs, too, thank you very much."

You only relinquish your grip on him when the doorbell rings, and he goes to answer the door. Jane and her dad have arrived, and you're surprised to see Jane in a bright red dress. You don't know what kind of dress it is, but it looks like something out of the 50s, with a big round skirt and extra fluff underneath. (Later, Rose will inform you that those are called petticoats.) It makes her look like some kind of evil Stepford wife. Her dad, quiet man that he is, is in a standard white shirt-black slacks-blue tie ensemble. As they go around greeting everyone, you note that they both pointedly ignore you. They don't even give you a nod or look at you.

Whatever. You don't care. Really.

Thankfully, they all head to the kitchen, leaving you in the living room with Jade and Jake.

"So, Dave," Jake starts, taking one of your hands. "What's a chap like you like to do for fun?"

"Uhhh." You look at your hands. Normally you don't like strangers touching you but you've quickly become accustomed to the extended Egbert family and their touchiness. "Mostly… watch movies, I guess?"

"Oooh, a movie is a great idea!" Jade claps her hands and takes your other hand.

And that's how you end up on the couch, snuggled between two aggressively enthusiastic dogs and watching both National Treasure movies. At first, it's a little weird. You're not used to this much physical affection from anyone but John, and you're worried if John's going to think it's weird. But when he comes into the living room briefly, you look at him and mouth the words help me. And he has the gall to give you a shit-eating grin and shake his head no.

Betrayal. You thought he loved you.

Once you're all called to the dinner table, you slide into your seat next to John, and Jake sits at your other side. The girls and Uncle sit across from you, while Dadbert takes up the head of the table. You've been smelling all this food cooking for hours and you are ravenous, but you didn't expect the spread to look like something out of the goddamn Hallmark movie you watched last night.

There are all sorts of vegetables: garlic green beans, carrots with butter and brown sugar, and chopped butternut squash with nutmeg. The quintessential cranberry sauce. Mashed potatoes and onion gravy. Then at the center of the table are the three central dishes: stuffed puff pastry with a spinach and onion mix inside, a shepherd's pie style dish with lentils filling the role of the protein, and acorn squashes stuffed with herbs, celery, and bread stuffing. There are two bottles of wine and a carafe of water, and you and John are allowed to have a glass of wine each, despite being a little short of your 21^st birthdays.

You don't actually know all this to start, just that it all looks delicious, and you don't know what to stuff in your mouth first. Once everyone has been seated and Dadbert has said a few sentimental words on the meaning of thankfulness and family, John explains what everything is to you.

And there's going to be pie and cake later.

Chatter is at a minimum as you all load up your plates. John helps you decide on a little bit of everything, which you appreciate, because you'd never have known where to start. From the first bite, you think you must have died and gone to heaven, because you have never tasted anything so goddamn good. There's more than just a party in your mouth, there's an entire gala. Your tastebuds are getting dressed up in their fanciest tuxedos and ballgowns and just going buckwild. And once you clear your plate, you unabashedly go back for seconds because there's so much food, there's probably enough for everyone to have three whole plates.

When the main course is finished, the plates are cleared away, dessert is served, and there's a big slice of pumpkin pie for both you and John, plus coffee. The chatter starts back up again as you all slowly work at your respective desserts. You and Jake are listening to John explain some of the recipes in more detail, your arm slung around John's shoulders, when you hear your name from across the table.

"So, Dave…" Ugh. It's Jane. You try to look unaffected as you acknowledge her. "How long do you think you'll be at this?"

This can't be going anywhere good. You narrow your eyes and decide to play dumb. "Uh. What?"

"I just mean, if it were me," (it's not you, you think to yourself), "I wouldn't waste my or anyone else's time."

"Jane, please…" John pleads softly, but not particularly firmly. But no. She started this. Now she's got to finish it.

"No no," you wave John off and sit up straight. "Let's hear it. How am I wasting anyone's time?"

For a moment, she looks surprised that you're rising to her bait, like she didn't expect you to try and fight her on this. As if she could bully you out of loving John with just a few words. But she composes herself quickly, and slips back into that patronizing tone of voice, like she's talking about the weather or a new car.

"You and John!" She waves her hands dismissively, before pushing her plate aside and leaning her elbows on the table, chin in hand. Everyone is staring now, trying to figure out if it's better to let you two fizzle out, or if they should get involved. "It's not like you could ever really start a family!"

"And why fucking not?" You're usually really good at keeping your cool, but something about this woman just boils your blood.

"Well… you're a fox! And he's a rabbit! It's just not normal."

In an instant, you see red, and you don't even realize that you've pushed back your chair and stood up. It's only when you notice that Jake and John are holding you back that you realize your outburst. Snarling. Your ears pinned back. Jane has the decency to look truly taken aback for a moment, but as the immediate threat passes, it melts into a smug grin.

"John, would you take Dave outside for some fresh air?" Dad Egbert says with a level of cold calm that you'll later recognize as anger.

John nods and starts leading you by the arm to the front door. He pulls on his coat and offers you yours, but you decline. You don't want to be here right now. There are too many things swirling in your head. He drapes it over his arm anyway, and leads you out the front door, walking you down the street.

You told him. You knew she hated you, and you told him, and he didn’t believe you. For a hot minute, that hurts you more. That your boyfriend didn't believe you and this is what happened. But as you start to breathe in the cold afternoon air, you do start to feel a little more clear-headed. Ugh. It's not John you should be mad at, even if he disregarded your warning. Jane's the one at fault. But it doesn't change the fact that she still hates you, and they're probably back there talking about what a terrible match you are for their precious little Johnny.

"She's wrong, you know," John says quietly, leaning against you as you walk. You don't acknowledge him, but he keeps going anyways. "You're not wasting my time."

You're quiet for a long few seconds before you respond. "Oh yeah? She had a point. I can't give you a family."

"Um… can't, or won't?" John asks, in that all-too-honest way of his. "Because physically, you can. I… might have looked it up already? If you don't want to though, that's okay too. I'd rather be with you."

Your brain is already overloaded, so it barely even registers that John just admitted to researching whether or not the two of you could ever be properly mated. You're not even that concerned about that part anyway. Surrogacy and adoption are always a thing after all. But you think back to your conversation with Rose.

Do you want to have babies with him? Or do you want to have people?

"I want people," you mutter.

"What?" Out of the corner of your eye, you see John give you a quizzical look.

"Nothing. Nevermind." You shake your head, and run your hand through your hair. You pause a moment, and finally look over to John. "Can I… have my jacket?"

He happily hands it over and detaches from your arm just long enough for you to pull it on and zip it up, and then he's right back where he was, radiating warmth and optimism and making you feel bad for being upset with him for all of five minutes.

"'M sorry," you finally say, after another long period of silence.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," he says, shaking his head. "Jane's the one who picked the fight. Literally out of nowhere!"

"Yeah, but I took the bait," you reason. "I let her get a rise out of me. I know I'm better than that. And you deserve better than that."

"Dave…"

You don't respond, and he seems to be at a loss for words. That's fine. You don't really know what else to say, so you walk in silence, and that feels alright. After a few more minutes, you loop back around and head back toward the house. The second you get inside, you hang up your jacket, and make for the stairs. You need to just… be away from people for a little while longer. You're not sure if you can face the rest of the family just yet.

You stop halfway up when you overhear a conversation from behind you and around the corner.

"John." This is the uncle, whose name you don't even know. He didn't have the decency to introduce himself. "After what we saw today, I think I have to agree with Jane. If he's that violent, maybe you should reconsider."

Nope. Nope nope nope. You're not gonna stand around and listen to the rest of that conversation. You have no idea what John says to that, if he says anything, because you take the rest of the stairs two at a time, duck into his room, and bury yourself in his blankets. You push your face into his pillow, breathe him in, and fight back tears that are threatening the very essence of your coolness.

Because that's who you are. Mr. Cool. Always calm, collected, on top of things. Maybe it's true. Maybe you are too aggressive? What if you lashed out at John like that? Or your theoretical children?

You don't know how long you stay like that, but at some point, John comes up. You hear the clink of a plate being set on the bedside table, and the mattress sinks as he sits next to you. Worming his arm under the blanket, he rubs his hand between your shoulder blades.

"Hey."

You turn your head just enough to look at him, but you don't say anything.

"Jane and Uncle Jerry went home," he says, and you curse internally. Of course he's a fucking Jerry. You've never met a Jerry you liked. "And I brought you some pie?"

You don't deserve this. You don't. You're just playing house and wasting John's time. You can't ever hope to be the man he needs, it's just not in your nature. But the thought of losing him terrifies you too, and you don't know what to do with yourself.

While you're busy spiraling, John is working his way under the covers. You don't really stop him, but you don't help him either. He pulls your arm over his side and you let it hang there. He presses his palms against your chest, and you don't even really feel it. He brushes noses and you're on the verge of tears again.

"Okay, well, you don't have to talk to me, but can you listen?" His voice is soft. Almost sad. He's probably trying to let you down easy. "Don't let them get to you. My dad loves you. Jade and Jake love you. I love you. So much. Sometimes it feels like I love you too much and I'm just going to explode. And that's not going to change just because you got upset. Jane is… really old-fashioned sometimes, but that's not an excuse to goad you into having a reaction, just so she can say it proves her point. That's stupid and not how it works. And I…"

He hesitates, and you finally lift your eyes to meet his; his widen for a moment, but then he relaxes and gives you a reassuring smile.

"I don't think you'd have that kind of reaction if you didn't feel strongly about us, too," he continues, and presses himself a little closer. "Even if I'm not ready for… full-on mating just yet, I'm still yours. And I'm going to keep being yours. And I don't want to be anyone else's."

Yours.

He's right, though. The only reason she was able to get to you is because you love him so goddamn much that it hurts sometimes, and she used that to try and tear the two of you apart. But you're made of tougher stuff than that. You've uprooted your life and braved thousands of miles to be with John, and you won't let one or two old-fashioned (read: out-of-touch) relatives get in the way of that. Hell, you were ready to fight John's dad at one point. You're still not sure about mating or family or what your future really holds but… you'll do whatever it takes to make John happy, you know that much.

Because he makes you happy.

And he deserves it.

Your arm around him hugs him closer, and you grab a fistful of the back of his shirt. He meets you halfway into nuzzling him, and before you realize it, your lips are pressed together, and you're kissing him as if your life depends on it. He's giving himself to you, and you're not going to squander that.

"Mine," you growl against his lips, reasserting his statement.

"All yours," he whispers back, breathless and wriggling in your grasp, not to get away, but in anticipation. "…Dave?"

Stopping is hard. But you do. Because you hear it in his tone, and no matter how much you want to stake your claim on him in some way, you won't do it unless he wants it, too.

"Will you… do it like you did at the party?" You're not sure what he means, and he seems to understand that from your hesitation. "I mean.. I… want everyone to see."

Oh. The marks you left on him that time. You haven't really done anything like that since, because he seemed a little embarrassed by them, and you can't really blame him.

But if that's what he wants now, then you'll happily oblige.

/ / /

The next morning, you awaken with John still nestled in your arms, fast asleep and drooling on the pillow a little. You'll tell him it's gross when he wakes up, but you don't care. He's here. He's yours. You're his. And that's really all there is to it. For a while, you just lay there and bask in the moment, because it's so warm and you don't want to get out of bed. You'll have to, eventually, but for now, the two of you exist in your own little world that encompasses the space under the covers.

When John finally stirs, you give him a squeeze, and he rolls over onto his back to look at you with a yawn and a big sleepy smile. You can see the black-and-blue marks blooming across his neck and shoulders, just like he asked.

Later, you catch him admiring them in the mirror. You don't think he notices you, but you just smile to yourself.

It's a different story when you head downstairs and Dadbert is waiting for you. You see one of his eyebrows raise a tick, and almost immediately you feel on edge again.

"Dave, I know you boys just got up, but would you mind stepping into the study with me?" He beckons you, and he doesn't sound mad, but this man is probably even cooler than you, somehow, despite all the dadly accoutrements. The man is wearing a lounge robe and fuzzy slippers, for goodness' sake.

You don't have a lot of time to look around the room, but it looks just about what you expected: a big mahogany desk, a plush armchair, an entire wall filled with bookshelves, covered in books and trophies and photos. As soon as the study door is closed behind you, you turn to him and raise your hands defensively.

"Look, sir, I know what it looks like, but you should know that he asked me to do that, and I would never, ever do anything to hurt him, if I did somehow, you wouldn't even have to say anything, I'd take my own ass out back and—"

He watches you ramble for a second, leaning back against his desk, before he moves forward. You half expect him to deck you, so you just squeeze your eyes shut and brace for impact.

Instead, he pulls you into his arms, and you freeze up.

"My brother and niece shouldn't have spoken to you like that," he says, rubbing circles into your back, and it's calming. (And you see where John gets it from now.) "My son cares about you very deeply, Dave, and I know you care about him. That's all that matters."

Slowly, you relax, and… curl your arms around him in turn, hugging yourself tight to his chest, and find yourself fighting back tears for the third time this visit, which is totally uncool of you, but you just don't care. You just grip the back of his robe for dear life.

When you both finally pull back, he gives you a reassuring smile, and you try to flash him a trademark Strider Smirk, though you're not sure how well it works. Especially because you have to sniffle a little, which is decidedly un-Striderlike.

"Sorry for almost launching myself over your nice dinner table," you say, and hope he gets the note of humor in your voice. "That dish with the lentils was good, I'd hate to have ruined the leftovers."

"Thank you, Dave. It's alright. You didn't, and that's what matters. I really like that casserole dish, and I'd have been beside myself if it were ruined." You laugh, and you're not sure if he really means that, but he's smiling when he puts a hand between your shoulder blades and starts leading you out of the room. "Now, I think Jade and Jake have some plans for you for today."

It turns out that Jade and Jake have plans for the entire weekend. Or maybe it's mostly Jade, and Jake just goes along with her. She does seem to be the mastermind. Friday is spent indoors, hiding from the cold and also the throngs of people out doing their Black Friday shopping. There are leftovers for lunch and dinner, so much so that they don't even get old. In between, there's popcorn, and John makes more hot chocolate, and you pile up on the couch in a big cuddle puddle, taking turns choosing movies. At first you feel a bit weird, like you're macking on John's cousins by snuggling up with them, even if you didn't choose to be at the center of the pile. But John joins in and you slowly start to get used to the idea of physical affection without romantic attachments. It's fucking revolutionary.

John chooses How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, citing McConaughey's performance as the only redeeming quality of the movie. You choose Magic Mike to keep the McConaughey streak, though John doesn't find it all that humorous. Jade chooses Bolt as a palate cleanser, and Jake goes with Journey to the Center of the Earth because he thinks Brendan Fraser is a strikingly handsome bloke. Even Dadbert joins in later in the evening, and he chooses Kingsman: The Secret Service because, he says, he likes their snappy suits and sense of style.

On Saturday, you decide to celebrate Jade's and Jake's birthdays a little early, so that John doesn't have to make the drive down again in a week. Dadbert is happy to bake a cake, despite having spent two days baking and cooking already. The man just loves his cakes. When the twins hear that it's your birthday soon too, you get added to the pool of birthday boys and girls. John is the odd man out, but he doesn't seem to mind. The four of you go out to an arcade, and then to a nerd bar, where you rent board games and card games and munch on finger foods well into the night.

On Sunday, after lunch, you say your goodbyes, and Jade and Jake pull you into a tight group hug that you're pretty sure lasts for a solid minute. You make sure you get their chumhandles and add them straight away on your phone. Dad Egbert pulls you into a strong embrace, too, and this time you don't freeze up, even if you're still getting used to the unfettered affection of John's family.

In the car, you put on a Christmas music playlist for John's sake. You watch him belt his little heart out to All I Want For Christmas is You, and you fall in love all over again. And you're starting to think you could get very used to this family stuff.

Chapter Text

Your name is John Egbert, and you love your family very dearly, but frankly? You're still mad at your cousin for trying to start a fight with your boyfriend. You didn't let it put a damper on the weekend, but now that you've had some distance from the whole debacle, you're kind of pissed off! Pissed off and hurt because you really wanted Jane to be happy for you. You even try to message her a few times, to see if you can talk things out, but she's ignoring your messages, so you decide to leave it alone for now. She'll come to you when she wants to talk. Maybe.

But in light of all of that, you want to make Dave's birthday extra special.

You've learned by now that Dave is more of a homebody, and you guess you are too, when you really think about it. You can handle parties, but they're kind of overrated. And you already had your little celebration with Jake and Jade when you were down at your dad's house. They're the only people you would've wanted to invite. That means you're going to have to make this the most amazing day in, and you have a lot of ideas.

You show up at Dave's apartment shortly after noon, toting a big bag with all of your surprises in it. Or most of them, anyway. When you knock on the door, you hear him from inside.

"Hey, hold on a sec, guys."

He must be streaming. You think it's fascinating that Dave hates being in crowds but is totally okay with streaming to hundreds of people at a time. Maybe it's because he can't actually see them… you might ask him someday, but it's never seemed that important to you to know why. It's just one of those little idiosyncrasies that make him… him.

"Hey!"

When he opens the door, your heart flutters a little, and he's not even wearing anything special. His shades, a red and white raglan tee, and black pajama pants. But everything about him fills your senses, and suddenly everything seems right again.

You realize you're just standing there, staring at him like a dork.

"Hey, Dave! Happy birthday!" You duck in, pushing up on your tippy toes to try and give him a kiss, but you still need him to meet you halfway, which he obliges. "Are you ready for a totally sweet birthday bash?"

"Hell yeah I am, I'm just finishing up stream. Wanna come say hi?"

You're in the process of putting your bag down, but the question catches you off-guard.

"Uhh…" That seems... scary. You think you might be the exact opposite of Dave: fine getting up in front of a real crowd if you have to, but not so good on camera. "I don't know, they're there to see you! They don't need to see me!"

"Uh. Yeah, they do." He circles his arms around you and gives a tug. "Not gonna force you. But it'd be pretty dope."

You bite your lower lip and consider it for a moment. This clearly means a lot to him, and if it's just for long enough to say his goodbyes...

 "It'll only be for a few seconds?"

"Yeah, while I sign off," he says with a nod.

"Well… okay."

Dave guides you over to where his streaming setup sits in what would normally be a dining room, and flops down in his chair. You're not sure what to do with yourself, so you lean over his shoulder, and almost as soon as he takes the BRB screen down, you see the chat go wild.

arsenicCatnip: BUNNY! :3

tgs_choice_booty: bun??

SaccharineBrother42069: yoooooo

carcinoGeneticist: IS THAT HIM

apocalypseArisen: bunny... 0u0

geromy_: omfg

cuttlefishCuller: 38D HI TG'S FRIEND!!!

Oh. Wow.

It's so weird seeing yourself in the little preview of his broadcast, and even weirder seeing how excited the chat is that you're there. You're not really doing anything, just hovering over Dave's shoulder and watching him do his thing. It occurs to you that this would be an excellent opportunity to dunk on him, but you didn't come prepared and you're also still a little nervous, knowing that there's so many people watching you. You file it away as something to think about later, should you ever get the opportunity again.

"Hey guys, I got company, so… thanks for hanging out with me, appreciate all the birthday subs and donations, we'll be back with your regularly scheduled programming tomorrow, so until then… TG out. Peace."

He presses a button on a keypad off to the side, and you see the screen switch from the video feed to a sign off screen. At least it was quick, and you didn't have to say anything! The whole streaming thing is all so over your head, but it's kind of impressive, too. Dave really seems to have this down to a science, and he seems to love doing it. You should probably watch his streams more often, be a good supportive boyfriend and all, but you've never been one to watch that kind of thing in general.

"They loved you, babe," he says with a huge smirk, as he turns his chair around and pulls you into his lap. You slide your knees onto the chair, and while you don't have much to balance on, he holds you in place. "How does it feel to be internet famous?"

"Oh shut up." You bat at his shoulder with no real force behind it. "I'm not internet famous and neither are you."

"Hey, I'm famous enough to pay the bills," he helpfully points out as he starts nuzzling you, working on getting his scent back on you. You sigh contentedly, because you really missed it.

Eventually, he eases you off the chair, so you stand together, his arms still wrapped around you, and you lean into him. You don't realize just how much you miss him until you're away for a while, and when you come back together, it's like there was an empty spot in your brain that gets filled back in with him. You don't hate the feeling, it's a relief! But it's definitely… perplexing.

"So," you finally say, when you start to get a little bored of just standing around. "Today's your day. What do you want to do first?"

"Besides you?" You feel yourself go bright red, almost as red as his sleeves, and he just laughs. Rude. "How about… pizza then I kick your ass in Mario Kart?"

"I'm not going to go easy on you just because you're the birthday boy, you know."

You take out your phone and dial the pizza place that you've both decided is your favorite and put in your usual order. It tickles you that you collectively have a "favorite" and a "usual" now. It's almost like you're a real couple!

Two hours and an entire cheese pizza later, Dave has thoroughly trounced you, and you feel a deep sense of shame for the disgrace you've brought up your family name. It doesn't help that every time it looked like you might win, Dave made a lewd comment or reached over to squeeze your thigh, and that was enough to distract you from first place all the way to last. It's cheating, and normally you'd call him out on it, but since it's his birthday… you'll allow it. But if he ever tries those shenanigans again, you will retaliate in full force.

When you finally set down the controllers, you decide it's time for one of your gifts.

"Hold on," you say, as you retrieve the box from bag of goodies. You slide right back into your spot on the couch next to him and hand it off. "Here. I don't know if it's as rad as the shades, or if I can ever top them, but I hope you like it anyway."

He looks at the box like he's never received a birthday gift before, which is definitely not true, because you've been exchanging them every year since you were, what, 12? You watch him expectantly, and you realize he's hesitating, taking off the wrapping paper carefully and opening the box inside very, very slowly. When he leans back as he pushes the box lid back, it finally occurs to you: he thinks you've rigged it. Which you debated doing. You really did. But Dave's been on the receiving end of enough bullshit lately, and he doesn't need it from you. There's nothing funny about kicking a man when he's down.

Once Dave realizes that the box is safe, he starts pulling out the contents. Inside is a hat, scarf, and glove set, all in red, white and black. The hat is custom embroidered with his channel logo, a broken record. He turns it over in his hands, running his fingers over the embroidery. You don't think he realizes his mouth is hanging open ever so slightly, and you puff out your chest with pride.

"Are you for real?"

Your heart skips a beat, and you sag a little. "Um. Do you… not like it?"

He turns to you. You're close enough that, even with his shades, you can see his eyes are wide, and his jaw is still hanging slack.

"Are you kidding, babe? This is… fuckin' amazing! Shit."

You exhale in relief and watch as he puts them all on like a kid on Christmas who wants to play with his new toys, and you laugh, because he looks kind of silly sitting there in his jammies and then a full hat, glove, and scarf combo.

"Hot," you mutter, as he leans in and kisses you sweetly. "Which is what you're going to be if you keep that on."

"Nah, I'm good. I'm Texan, remember?" He sits back, admiring the gloves. "I'm immune to heat."

"Uhuh… why don't you queue up a movie for us, while I go change?"

When you come back, you've changed into a pair of pajama shorts, so you can both be hella comfy, and Dave has for some inexplicable reason queued up The Kissing Booth for you to watch. You give him a pointed look, but he doesn't meet it, just hitting play on the remote (with some difficulty, due to the gloves) and settling back into the couch cushions. He is so damn weird, and you love it!

The movie is, predicably, incredibly stupid, and you're really only paying attention on and off. About twenty minutes in, Dave has to take off his new accessories, and you don't say 'I told you so' but you definitely think it. He sets them aside so carefully, like he might break them, though it's hard to tell if he's actually being cautious, or if he's just being 'ironic'. You've gotten pretty good at recognizing it, but sometimes it's so hard to tell if he's being serious or if he's just goofing, and that's probably part of the appeal. It keeps you on your toes. Or something like that.

The point is, you're just so desperately in love with a huge goober. And everything seems to be reminding you of that right now.

When the movie is over, Dave insists on watching the sequel, and you groan, but he points out that he is the birthday boy and he gets to choose. And when you've suffered through that? He puts on the third movie. You didn't even know they made three of the damn things! As awful as it is, though, you kind of like listening to his off-the-cuff commentary. It's funny as hell, it keeps you from falling asleep, and you know this is the kind of thing he does on stream sometimes. Maybe he would have used these movies for his channel at some point. Instead, he's here watching them with you and giving you a private show. It's touching, in a roundabout way.

When you're finally free from Vince Marcello's wily grasp, you stare at the Netflix main screen and just sit there. You have no idea what's going on in his head but you're busy thinking about tonight's trajectory. You really want it to be special…

Time to break out your secret weapon.

It takes some time to untangle yourself from Dave's grip, partially because he keeps trying to grab onto you. He doesn't meet your gaze or say anything, he just keeps attaching himself to various body parts like a barnacle, until you finally manage to free yourself, leaving him lying on the couch and grabbing for you.

"Where ya going?"

"I'm getting something!" Which you thought was obvious. You head over to your bag and pull out the whiskey bottle, holding it up so he can see. It's only about a third full, but that's okay. It's still plenty.  "What's a 21^st birthday without alcohol?"

"For real?" He rights himself and stands, padding over to take the bottle out of your hand, turning it over. "Some birthday gift, you already drank most of it, dude."

"Dave. I… borrowed it from my dad!" Your ears pin back, because you're still a little embarrassed by the fact that you stole it. You've never stolen anything, but this is special.

"Borrowed." You see one of his brows quirk up over the top of his shades. "Are we gonna be expected to give it back?"

"Ugh! You know what I mean!" You're already sliding past him to get to the kitchen, where you start searching his cabinets for appropriate glasses.

It turns out Dave only has coffee mugs. What kind of person only has coffee mugs? Oh well. Nobody's perfect! You set two of them on the counter and grab some ice out of the freezer. At that point, Dave joins you in the kitchen, and offers the bottle back to you. You pour out what you think is a normal amount, though it's sort of hard since you're used to seeing it in the special glasses your dad uses specifically for whiskey.

He takes one mug. You take the other. You sniff it with trepidation, and think for a second that maybe this was a bad idea? Dave just looks stony-faced as usual, so he's no help in determining if you should back out while you're still ahead.

"Welp," he says, before you have a chance to think on it for very long, "Bottoms up."

Bottoms up it is. You both knock back your drinks at roughly the same time and you immediately feel intense regret. It burns down your throat, bitter and unpleasant, all the way down into your stomach. It settles there uncomfortably, the aftertaste stinging your tongue, and you shudder. You dump the rest of your mug out, frantically filling it with water to try and wash the taste and the sensation away. When you finally manage to glance up at Dave, he has a severe frown and his ears flattened, and he empties his cup to replace it with water, too.

Well. Fuck.

You dejectedly recap the bottle and set your empty mug in the sink. You don't really know what you thought was going to happen, it just… seemed like such a good idea at the time! Maybe you should have tried some beforehand, to see if you even liked it. And now you're just standing awkwardly in Dave's kitchen, and you don't really know where to go from here. You turn to him with a sigh, and shrug.

"Gee… I'm sorry," you mutter, looping your arms around his waist. "Kind of makes for a sucky birthday present, huh?"

"Mmm…" He seems thoughtful for a moment as he pulls you in. At least he doesn’t seem super mad? "What made you think of it, anyway?"

"I don't really know," you say, but that's not really the truth. "It was fun at the party?"

He pulls back and holds you at arm's length by the shoulders. There's the slightest furrow in his brow, and you just don't know what to think. He's not saying anything. He's just… looking at you. It's getting kind of awkward, and you start to squirm a little, which appears to snap him out of whatever daze he was in.

"…babe." He pulls you back in and presses his forehead to yours. "If you want me to ravish you, you don't have to get me tipsy. All you gotta do is say the word."

"Oh." You pause and consider that, because it does sound like a pretty logical course of action. Maybe you should have tried that first, before going through all this trouble? "It's still your birthday, though, so it's up to you."

"Mhm. What if I wanna hear you say it?"

He wants to— oh. You try to protest, try to tell him that you're not really good at sexy talk, and you're just going to ruin it if you try. Instead, your voice catches in your throat and you let out an awkward strangled noise. At least it demonstrates your point. Dave has to push you away again as he doubles over laughing.

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up." You wait until he stops laughing so hard to say anything else, because it's clear he's not even paying you much attention. "Okay then Casanova. Ravish me!"

He ponders you for a second before he moves. You let out a yelp as he unceremoniously scoops you up and slings you over his shoulder, carrying you off to his bedroom, and you swat at his back, but frankly you don't really want him to stop and put you down, so you don't say it. He sets you down so very gently, nestling you safely on his pile of blankets. Pushing yourself up a little, you lean back against the headboard and watch as he strips his shirt off. You go to do the same, but he puts out a hand to stop you.

"I think I should be the one to unwrap my present."

When he puts on that sultry voice, you know he means business, and your cheeks flush hot at the prospect, because it's not the first time you've heard it. Ever since the tepid handjob you gave him on Halloween, the two of you have spent some time just exploring each other, finding out what feels good and what doesn't. Dave seems to be a natural at it, and you're lucky that he's so patient with you, because you've learned a lot, but you're so clumsy. After all that practice, you wouldn't say you're an expert, but you think you've improved. He's still better at driving you crazy, though.

But alright. If he wants to 'unwrap his present', you will happily oblige.

Setting his shades on the dresser, he kneels on the bed and crawls his way over to you. Your heart is already pounding in your chest in anticipation, and you wish you'd thought a little further ahead to know what you actually wanted to do. You're supposed to be treating him! Not making him work for it. You think he knows you well enough to know that you're not good with initiating, but that's no excuse, either.

You shiver as his hand slides up your thigh, over your hip, hiking up your shirt, and eventually coming to rest at your side. He leans in and you crane your neck, nuzzling him desperately, wanting more. His breath tickles your cheek, hot on your skin. He presses his forehead to yours, bumping noses, and looks you right in the eye.

"You're sure?"

You nod, shallowly, and swallow. You're actually going to use your words this time. "I want it. I want you."

That's enough for him, and he tilts his head, surging forward to catch your lips in a rough kiss, and oh god. That's it, that's the feeling you were trying to get back to. That sort of desperation and pent-up energy just pouring off of him and into you, and you arch your back against him. His tongue is in your mouth before you know it, and even if you can still taste traces of the whiskey on him, you can taste more of something else that's unique to him. You savor it, try to taste more of it, your tongue brushing with his, despite how much he's dominating.

When he pulls back, it leaves you gasping for air. He's running his fingers through your hair, from your forehead to the back of your head, where his fingers grip more tightly, tugging your head back. He doesn't have to pull hard, so he doesn't, and you tilt your head back agreeably. It gives him access to start kissing at your jaw and throat, his teeth tantalizingly grazing your scent glands, teasing you with something you can't have just yet.

"Doing good?" he murmurs against your skin, placing a soft kiss over a bite mark.

"All good," you confirm, and try to catch your breath. You're already starting to break out into a sweat. "Keep going."

He gives another tug and you moan softly as he sucks marks into your neck, something he's done a lot more since he found out just how much you like it. It doesn't take long for him to start rearranging the two of you, mostly pushing your knees apart so that he can settle himself between your legs and grind up against you. You can feel how hard he is already, and…

You feel so conflicted.

Physically, instinctually, you want to give him everything. Have him on you and over you and inside you, and it would feel amazing. He's giving off all the right signals, and your body reacts accordingly. It would be so easy to give in to the temptation. It's not like you haven't fantasized about it before. Multiple times. Long before you confessed to each other and got together. You idly wonder if the pheromones he's giving off are enough to send you into an early heat, and if that happens, then all sense is out the window. But he's strong, your body says, and safe, and he would surely make a good father for your offspring.

But emotionally, mentally? You're still not sure, because the sensible, modern part of your brain knows better. The risk is high, and you're not looking to get knocked up just yet. You love him, and you do want him to mate you someday. But that is something you need to have a very long talk about, and you haven’t really broached the topic since Thanksgiving. You're not eager to, either. It seems like it might still be a sore spot.

"Actually, hold on," you say, "Um. Timeout?"

Dave stops and takes his hand out of your hair, but he stays there with you, still radiating his warmth, which you're thankful for. The idea to use specific keywords was his, after you confessed that you were nervous but wanted to try new and different things that might push that boundary. You agreed that 'stop' would mean fully disengage, but 'timeout' meant you needed a check-in, not necessarily to completely stop everything. It sounds like the kind of thing people a lot kinkier than you would use, but who cares? What really matters is that he wants to communicate with you. It's actually really touching how much he cares about your well-being, and that really isn't helping you resist your temptations.

"Sup?"

"I know I said it's your birthday," you start, hesitantly, and you worry at your lower lip for a second. "It's just that… what I mean is that I'm okay with almost anything, except for…"

You hesitate, but he seems to catch your meaning, and he bumps foreheads with you again. "Yeah. I know. I get it. To be honest, there's something else I want anyway."

You tilt your head, not sure what he's getting at. "What is it?"

"You're gonna find out," he purrs, his lips brushing against yours, "As long as we're good to go again."

"Y-yeah…" You stutter a little, nervous but not in a bad way, necessarily. You want to do whatever it is, you just don't know if you're going to be any good at it. "We're good to go."

"Good."

His mouth is back on yours, less frantic and more greedy this time, taking your lower lip between his teeth. You hear yourself whine, and it just seems to encourage him. He doesn't stay on your lips for long though, as he starts trailing his kisses down your jawline and neck, and then to your collar. He pushes up your shirt, his tongue running over one of your nipples, still gentle—because he knows how you like it. It's warm and wet and a little weird, but it makes your spine tingle all the same.

He stays there for a moment, giving each nipple a little attention, alternating between them, and you know this can't be what he was referring to, because this is nothing out of the ordinary. It's nice and all, you love how much attention he gives just about every inch of you, but you just wish he'd keep going with whatever he was planning to do.

When he moves on, it's to draw his kisses down your belly, nosing just to the side of your navel, where he sucks another bruise into your skin. A whimper leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and he does it again, just a little lower.

You still wonder what he's doing, though, as he shuffles backwards and settles himself between your legs. His lips reach the elastic of your pajama bottoms, and he brings up a hand, tugging at them with a finger.

"These are cute, by the way." They're a little pair of short shorts with a cloud pattern on them. You didn't think they were particularly sexy, even if they show off a lot of leg. But beyond that, they're pretty plain. "Would hate to take them off so soon."

"What do y—oh."

Just as you're trying to get some clarification, he nuzzles up in between your legs, and it's not a lot of sensation, dampened as it is by the fabric of your shorts and panties, but it's enough to make your hair stand on end, and you're wracked with a full-body shiver.

"Are you… sure that's what you want?" you say quietly. You're not going to stop him, but… "It's your birthday, after all. Shouldn't you be getting the treat?"

He nuzzles at your crotch again, biting at the fabric like he might try to tear it off with his teeth alone. (You hope he doesn't, you like these shorts.) And when he looks up at you, there's mischief in his eyes.

"Who said it ain't a little treat for me?"

If you could turn any redder, you would. He's touched you with his hands enough times by now that you're not as bashful about it… but you never really expected he'd want to go down on you. Or that he'd consider it a treat. There's a lot to unpack in that notion, and you're already getting riled up. There's a rising heat between your legs, and not just because of the proximity.

"If you say so. Um. Still good."

He continues, then, moving to leave more kisses and bite marks and bruises on the insides of your thighs, taking the time in between making each mark to bring a hand up and tease you through your clothes. You arch you back to meet his hand and he chuckles, but he doesn't make any move to give you any real relief, which has you whining and wriggling under his touch. You're pretty sure he's getting off on tormenting you. You might be getting off on him tormenting you.

Finally, blessedly, he sits back, and starts tugging at your shorts. "Off."

You comply, shifting your legs so he can pull them off, leaving you in just your panties, which present another opportunity for him to tease you. Except now you can feel it a little more, when he runs his fingers firmly up between your legs, rubbing you through the fabric. You don't want to know how wet they are right now, but from the way you're feeling and all the teasing he's done? You're guessing anywhere from 'very' to 'extremely'.

"Dave…" you whine, pressing your head back into the backboard, your eyes squeezed shut. This is just so mean.

You hear him give a soft, amused snort. "What is it, hunny bun?"

"Please." It's all you can think to say.

"Please what?"

Oh, that's devious, and you tense, trying to take deep, steady breaths. "Please. I want your mouth on me. I want your tongue."

"Good boy." He rubs your thighs, and you feel like a bucket of ice water was dumped over you. The praise does something to you, and it pricks at every inch of your skin. It's amazing. "I think that can be arranged."

He tugs your panties down, an inch at a time, still tormenting you, still watching you squirm and whine and all but beg him for relief. Once they're off your legs, he flings them to the side, and settles back between your legs. He hooks his arms underneath your thighs, his hands slipping up under your shirt to hold your waist, rubbing his thumbs over your skin idly. And now there's nothing between you, except a scant few inches of air. You venture to reach down and run your fingers through his hair, just a gentle caress to encourage him.

He still spends the time kissing up the insides of your thighs again, this time kissing up further, unhindered by your shorts, right to the joint. He's so close, but he's still not giving it to you, and you're about 10 seconds from shoving your hand down there to do it your goddamn self.

And then you feel his fingers again, now running up your slit, wet with your slick and playing over your most sensitive spots. You hear him hum, and you want to ask him what that's all about, but you're too busy biting your lip to keep from crying out too loud.

You glance down to see him looking up at you.

"Let it all out, babe," he says, pressing another kiss to your thigh. "I wanna hear you."

Oh. Well. If he insists.

You exhale heavily, and he goes back to what he was doing, which is getting you so incredibly wound up you feel like you're going to burst. He rubs at you slowly, in slow shallow circles, not enough to get you off in any sort of hurry, but enough to feel good. If he wants to hear you, then he will, because you stop trying to hold back a moan, and it creeps from your throat, high-pitched and desperate.

And then he ducks his head lower, and you feel his tongue hot on your clit, and you just about lose it.

The sharp whine you give is drawn out and punctuated only by your need to suck in a quick breath. His tongue is moving against you now, and if it was good in your mouth, it's even better between your legs.

"Dave… Dave, Dave, Dave…"

You manage to utter his name and not a whole lot more, and you're rewarded by him licking all the way down and up your slit, and sucking on you so very gently. No teeth, just a slight amount of pressure that you think is going to be the end of you. You don't even realize how much you're pressing your hips up to meet his mouth until your thigh starts to cramp, but you don't even care.

Your hand in his hair clenches into a fist as he works you to a frenzy, up to the precipice, and finally crashing down, hard. You practically shout his name as you come, your toes curling into the blankets, and every muscle in your body shuddering in pleasure.

When your orgasm is done having its way with you, you relax, and finally catch a glance down. He's shifted up a little more, and places a little kiss below your navel, just a chaste little thing. And he's grinning like a maniac.

"Anyone ever tell you that you taste amazing?" he asks as he starts to sit up, running his hands up underneath your thighs and drawing your legs up to where he can kiss at the inside of your knee as he sits back. Your ankles come to rest on his shoulders, and you can think of a lot of other things you could be doing in this position.

"What? Huh?" You were a little lost in thought, and the afterglow, to parse the question at first. "—Dave, you're my first and only sexual partner so no, no one has told me that before, and you know it."

"All those other bastards are missing out, then."

You don't even know what bastards he's talking about! You've never had anyone make serious overtures towards you, not like he has, and you've never met anyone who turned you on even a fraction as much as he does. There are no other poor bastards. It's just him. The bastard is him. You're about to point this out, but you notice what he's started doing.

Your legs are still up on his shoulders, and he's started palming at his erection through his pajamas.

"Stay like that for a minute, will you babe?" With far less delay than he tormented you with, he pushes his pajamas down to his thighs, his fingers curling around his cock eagerly. "You look really amazing right now."

You entertain this notion for about three seconds, until you realize that it's not very equitable. It's unfair that he gets to have all the fun, and you just have to lay there looking pretty. You're not a centerpiece on the dinner table, for goodness' sake, and if all he wants to do is admire you, he should take a picture. You reclaim your legs, and he frowns at you, but you're too busy changing position.

"Stay there," you say firmly as you shift yourself up onto your knees, and then down on your hands, so you're on all fours in front of him and facing him. "It's my turn now."

"You sure? It's a little different." He sounds more concerned for you than for him, and it's very sweet. "You really don't have to."

"A hundred percent sure. Are you going to make me beg for this one too?"

It's a joke, but he seems to consider it for a moment. "It wouldn't hurt."

Ah. You should have seen that one coming. But you really don't want to let him get one up on you this time, so you're going to have to improvise. You shuffle closer, running a hand up his thigh, and nuzzle at the base of his cock before sparing a glance upwards.

"Please?"

He was already red in the face, but you're pretty sure he turns a few shades darker, and he brings up a hand to cover his mouth. As if that's going to hide the fact that he's exactly where you want him. He relinquishes his grip and instead slides his hand to the back of your head, patting your ears back as you pin them. You can do this. You know what he likes you to do with your hands, so… it can't be that hard to do the same things with your mouth.

You wrap your fingers around the base of his cock loosely, to help steady him as you draw your tongue up the underside to the head, your eyes flicking up to try and see his reaction. He's biting on the ball of his thumb, and you're fighting back a wide grin as you lap a bead of precum off the tip.

"Oh come on," you murmur, tilting your chin up to look at him properly. "I made noise for you. But if you're not going to do the same, then we can just call the whole thing off."

He shakes his head frantically. "Keep going," he pants, exhaling heavily. "All good."

That's what you thought.

With a little trepidation, you take the head of him into your mouth. You're surprised, because you thought it would feel or taste particularly gross. It… doesn't. Maybe a bit salty, but that's no worse than kissing him during a particularly vigorous sloppy makeout session. But you know you're not going to fit the whole thing in your mouth, and you're not stupid enough to try. You go down as far as you can, until you feel your gag reflex start to tickle, and then pull back. You know how far you can go; the rest you take in your hand and start pumping in long strokes. You time them with the way you move your mouth over the rest of the shaft and head, experimenting with sucking on the backstroke and drawing your tongue up the bottom, seeing what gets the best reaction out of him.

You're starting to see why Dave likes it when you make noise. All the little gasps he lets out, the sharp inhales, the little whines when you slow down to try and get your bearings. They fill your head and settle there pleasantly, a periodic reminder that you can please your boyfriend, that you aren't the worst at sex ever. Or maybe you are, but he likes it, nonetheless.

You think you have a good rhythm going, and you can feel him tensing underneath your touch. One of his hands rests on your shoulder, the other still tangled in your hair. Just as you're thinking that you could really get used to this kind of thing, his grip on your hair tightens, and he yanks your head back. His cock leaves your mouth with a wet pop, and a second later his hand is on yours around his cock as you feel something hot and wet land on your face in spurts.

Oh.

Once you figure out what's going on, you exhale, and let him finish. You weren't expecting this, but then again, you didn't really have any plans for what you were going to do when he finished. Maybe letting it hit the back of your throat like that would have been a bad idea. Maybe he knew that. Maybe he didn't.

He's panting when he finally relaxes, settling back onto his heels and putting his arms out to pull you not his lap. You go eagerly, straddling his thighs, and hanging one arm around his neck. His arms encircle you, one hand between your shoulder blades, and one at the small of your back, holding you there.

"I. Am so. Fucking. Sorry," he chokes out, as soon as he can get a deep breath. "I just panicked, and I didn't ask beforehand what you wanted so I just went with my gut, but… oh, fuck, you look really hot right now, but I don't even know if you're cool with it, and…"

You put a finger to his lips to quiet his rambling and he stares at you, wide-eyed and slack jawed as you thumb some of his fluids off your cheek and lick it off. (It's not a taste you'd make an ice cream flavor out of, but you've tasted much worse.)

"It's okay," you say, and it is. Mostly. Conceptually, it's incredibly hot. But you're a mess now, and since your thighs are also a sticky mess, you're probably going to have to take a shower anyway. "I don't mind. It's probably better this way, to be honest… and I don't really mind wearing you?"

You feel his fingers dig into your back, and he swallows hard, but you watch the dawning realization and the little smile that creeps across his face.

"Yeah?" He tilts his head, and you nod. "Well. Damn. Wish I knew that sooner. Could have saved myself a lot of trouble."

"Okay, well you're not going to be doing it every time you want to jerk off!" you protest, batting at his chest. "But I… wouldn't mind if you did it again sometime."

"Duly noted."

He looks like he wants to kiss you, but your whole face is a mess, and you don't really blame him for hesitating. Instead, he takes one of your hands and brings it up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. It's so charming that if you weren't already spent, you'd be turned on all over again.

"I'm gonna go take a shower, okay?" You start the process of slowly and carefully removing yourself from his grip, and he whines a little bit but lets you go, possibly in part because you're both awkwardly at the far end of the bed now and he was liable to fall backwards onto the floor if he put up a struggle. "I'll be really fast! And then we'll have a nice cuddle. Just wait for me, okay?"

He nods, and you watch as he turns and flops back onto the bed. You grab your shirt and shorts, though your panties are probably gone for now, and make for the bathroom.

True to your word, you shower as quickly as you can, mostly just washing off the sticky bits between your legs and on your face. You don't even bother with washing your hair, so it's probably less than five minutes all told.

When you return, the room smells so heavily of you both, just like it always does, and you can't help but inhale deeply. Maybe that's gross. You don't really care. Dave is nestled under the covers waiting for you by the time you get there, and he holds them open for you to crawl underneath. You tuck yourself nearly into the crook of his arm and rest your head against his shoulder as he tucks you in. He turns his head to the side a little, giving your ear a little nip, before he kisses the top of your head.

"That was amazing," you say, pressing little kisses into whatever skin you can reach. "I didn't think I was supposed to be getting the present today."

"Are you kidding?" he scoffs. "I've been wanting to do that for so damn long."

"Oh… hahah. Well. You're welcome? But I really liked it a lot too." You laugh, shifting a bit. There's something you want to mention, but it's kind of awkward, so you hesitate. But you promised to communicate with him. So, you're going to. "I especially liked the thing you did, when you grabbed my hair. And told me what to do. It was hot?"

You feel him exhale heavily against your head. "Are you telling me we've discovered baby's first kink?"

"It's not a kink!" As soon as you say it, you know it's not true. "Okay, maybe it is a kink, but it doesn't mean anything!"

"It means you like it when I top the fuck out of you," he says, pressing his nose into your hair. "Which is fine by me. I like doing it. –hey, you got a little bossy there too, at the end. That was hot as hell too."

"Really?" You feel yourself flush all over again, but for a different reason. You know he's not your mate yet, but you want him to be someday, and knowing that he thinks you're sexy is alarmingly satisfying. "Well. Maybe I can do it again sometime."

"Oh, you'd better."

He shifts and turns onto his side, and you tuck yourself up under his chin and against his chest. His arm drapes over your side, hugging you tight, and you've never felt so safe in your entire life.

It feels… right.

But now that it's quiet and you're alone with your thoughts, it also feels like you're in over your head.

You keep thinking what it might be like if you actually let him mate you. You came close tonight. You wanted it and you refrained, but you think it would have felt amazing. And you keep thinking about everything you've learned about him over the past few months. That he's good with kids. That you love being around him and feel empty when he's gone. That his scent is just the most intoxicating thing to you, and you wish you could bottle it up and spray it on when he's not around to do it himself.

You're in deep and this is dangerous. You agreed to just being boyfriends, nothing more, not yet. There's a reason that dating apps and mating apps are separate things, because they absolutely represent different things. Mating means forming a bond that not even marriage can replicate, inexorably tying yourself to him for as long as you live, or at least until he does something truly heinous to chase you off. It's not something to be undertaken lightly, and not something to be considering about someone you've only been officially seeing for three months.

And that's saying nothing of what he actually wants. Just because you've observed him interacting with kids in a favorable way doesn't necessarily mean he wants them, and if you're not going to have kids, then there's no real point in being mated. It's kind of in the name. Mating. Doing the thing that makes babies. And would he want to commit himself like that to you? You hope so, but you don't actually know. And the only way to find out is to ask him.

You sigh and nestle up against him a little more.

"What's wrong?" he murmurs. You thought he was asleep.

"Nothing, I'm okay," you reassure him. "I was just. Thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

He sounds tired. This maybe isn't the best time to have this conversation.

"Um. Your amazing dick?"

He huffs and gives you a squeeze. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"And how much I love you," you add, because you think that's important.

"Mn. I love you too, hunny bun."

Thoughts swirling in your head, you lay there, and you try to let yourself enjoy the feel of his skin on yours, and the way his breathing slows when he falls asleep, and his little snores that should probably be annoying but they're not. You don't know how long you lay there. It could be ten minutes; it could be an hour. But eventually, you fall asleep, wondering how long it's going to take for you to slip up and give in to your urges.

/ / /

The next day sees you lounging around Dave's apartment for most of the day. You cuddle up on the couch, watch some less stupid movies, eat cold leftover pizza, and try to pretend the whiskey bottle isn't still on the counter, mocking you. You don't want to go home. You want to stay here. With him. But your own apartment beckons you. It's where your work laptop is, and you've got some code due in the next few days, so you need to get on that.

"Hey, Dave?"

"Hmm?" He tilts his head to look at you.

"What would you think about moving in together at some point?" Might as well just ask it plain.

He takes a few seconds, and you hope he's just thinking of cost or logistics and not whether he wants to or not.

"That would be the best thing to ever happen to me," he finally says. "But aren't you still on the hook for your lease? And mine just started…"

"Yeah," you confirm, sighing. "But mine's up in May, maybe I could come live here until yours is up, too? I know it'd be a little tight, but… I don't know. Whenever I leave you, I feel like there's a part of me missing? Like I just up and left my arm behind or something."

"Aw babe, did you imprint on me?"

"Is… that what that is?"

You know what imprinting is, more or less, but you know it doesn't happen to everyone, not even people who are deeply in love. It depends on a lot of things. Love. Safety. Body chemistry. The best way you heard it described once was like an addiction to another's pheromones. You don't know what you thought that would feel like. Maybe like cravings? You guess what you feel sort of is a craving… to have him near you again…

"Oh. I guess I did?" you finally say, after he waits patiently for you to process all that. "Gee. Does that make this awkward?"

"Nah," he scoffs, and he kisses your temple. "Confession time, I've been imprinted on you basically as soon as I got off the plane. You're just that intoxicating, bro. Surprise you've never attracted anyone else with that potent perfume of yours."

You're not sure how you feel about him calling your bodily secretions 'perfume', but the rest you can address.

"I've never gotten close like this with anyone who isn't related to me," you explain. "I went on a few dates in high school, but we mostly just held hands. When she wasn't busy throwing rocks at abandoned houses, anyway…"

That was a weird time in your life, but you don't really think much of your high school ex. She dumped you two weeks before junior prom to get back together with her ex and left you to either go stag or duck out. You ended up doing the latter— and consequently, went home and talked to Dave until 2AM. You still remember that conversation, even though it was basically about nothing at all.

"Huh. Learn something new."

"Yeah. So…" You really had to go and make this awkward by bringing up your ex. Time to circle back around. "Maybe we can talk a little more about this when it gets close to my lease being up?"

"Sure," he says easily, and shifts so he can pull you a little closer. "Until then, you know you can stop by whenever you want, right?"

"Yeah. I do." You pause, and think about leaving it there, then add, "Thanks… uh… foxy socks?"

He's very still for a moment. He looks at you for a few seconds, and then his gaze turns off into the middle distance. And then finally he says, "Yeah. We're gonna workshop that one, alright?"

But you can feel him tensing up as he tries not to laugh. And that's all that really matters.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Strider and for the first time in a long time, you actually have a Christmas tree in your living room. You haven't had one since you were... 13, you think? The first year you were living with your brother Dirk was the beginning of not having tree in your home. Which was always fine with you. Christmas didn't mean much to a kid who was more of a burden than a beloved family member. The best Christmas you ever had was the year you received a Discman from one of those Giving Tree deals. The kindness of strangers may be the only thing that stood between you and becoming a true Scrooge.

That is exactly why John suggested you put the tree up at your house. He brought over all his decorations, and you decorated together, which you enjoyed because you always enjoy spending time with him. And you have to admit, it makes a nice stream backdrop, so that's a plus.

It's just... weird. Festive things are still so dissonant to you. But you don't want them to be that way. You want to enjoy them, because John enjoys them.

Holidays with Dirk were always a struggle. He'd had it even worse than you, and you're not sure if you'll ever fully know the extent that messed with his head. It doesn't really matter, though. What matters is that for the short time you lived with him, he was constantly picking fights, and the holiday season seemed to agitate him more than usual. Sometimes you wondered why he even bothered taking you in, when he could have just as easily left you to the system. Maybe he thought he was doing you a favor. Toughening you up for adulthood. Well, newsflash: most adults don't usually get into fistfights on the daily. You still haven't had any reason to actually use your prowess.

Except maybe the time you almost decked John's cousin, but that's a different matter entirely.

It also had the side effect of making you squeamish. Blood on its own doesn't bother you too much, but wounds weird you out, and you do your best to avoid taking any more on. It's dumb, because you were already a fully formed person, and those were the sorts of fears you were supposed to develop when you were very young. But something about living with Dirk just... changed something in you. You're still not sure if you hate him or not.

You shake your head, trying to clear your head of any thoughts of your other two siblings. Roxy took in Rose and wasn't as bad as Dirk, but she has her vices, too, and Rose got the worst of them.

But it's Christmas Eve, and John is on his way over, so you are bound and determined to not fucking ruin your own night by wallowing in self-pity. You haven't talked to your two older siblings since you turned 18, and you don't plan to do so any time soon, so there's really no point in thinking too hard about them.

When John shows up, he is laden with gifts and two big bags full of treats. Homemade cookies, potato chips, Doritos, everything the two of you are going to need to have a completely rad two-man Christmas Eve party. You've already ordered the Chinese, and you are so ready to get your holiday cheer on.

You're also formulating an idea. And you don't know if John's going to go for it.

At some point in the middle of lounging on your couch and shoving lo mein and crab rangoon in your mouths, John turns to you. His ears are tilted back ever so slightly, and you know that look. He's worried.

"What's up?" he asks, so sweet and innocent and you just want to pinch his little cheeks. "You've been awfully quiet tonight. Are you feeling alright? Is there something you want to talk about?"

Well. Now you just feel bad. It's not really that deep, not so much that he needs to be quite so concerned. You shake your head as you swallow a too-big mouthful.

"Nah," you say, but he tilts his head, urging you to go on. Damn him. 90% of the time he's completely oblivious. But that other 10%? He is pernicious. "I was just thinking about what we could do tonight. To pass the time."

"Oh!" He perks up, his ears swiveling forward. "What ideas did you have?"

"Uhhh. Well." You swallow hard. You're kind of nervous to suggest this to him, but why? Maybe it's because you're opening up your secret little world to him a little more, and that's scary in and of itself. "I was thinking... you could come on stream with me, and we could watch Die Hard with together with chat."

"Oh..."

You clear your throat again. "I mean, you and I, we're awesome together. Always have been. I think people would like seeing us riff together, you know? And they loved seeing you last time, do you know how many questions I've gotten? Gotten tons of donations asking for you to come back too, so like, they want to see you."

You're rambling and John is listening, but he's just kind of staring. You don't know what that look means.

"So, babe... what do you say?"

"I don't know, Dave," he finally manages, his voice low and cracking a bit, like he's in dire need of a glass of water. "I know you really love the streaming thing, but..."

You reach out and pull him close, circling your arms around his shoulders. He comes to you so easily, and it makes your hair stand on end every time. Knowing that he trusts you. But that's just it. He needs to trust you.

"Hey. Can I ask you a question?" You say, pressing kisses against the top of his head and his temple.

"Uhm. Sure?" He seems trepidatious.

"Do you trust me?"

"...uh." He stops, pulling back to look at you wide-eyed. "Are you really pulling a Titanic on me right now?"

"Yes. Yes I am. And you're gonna get up on that door with me at the end."

He laughs, more of a sputtering thing. "Wait, why am I Jack now? You're supposed to be Jack!"

"Hmm. Glad you think I'm as handsome as Leo, but you're avoiding the question."

His eyes flick down. Called the fuck out. You love him, but you're on to his wily ways. You know when he's avoiding something, and he's avoiding answering your question.

"Look," you level, "You don't have to trust me on this. And you don't have to go on with me. But I think if you did, it would be worth it. What can I do or say to make you more comfortable with this?"

"Gee. I don't know?"

"Well. What are you afraid of?"

"Hmm... I think you're overstating how much people want to see me! They're there to see you! You're the funny one, I'm just your dumb bunny boyfriend who tries to be funny. But you're way cooler and funnier than me."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "Gonna stop you right there, chief. You're plenty goddamn funny. A different kind of funny, but still funny. What do you think made me wanna talk to you in the first place?"

"My shining personality?"

"We were eleven."

"Well. Okay. Point. But what if someone gets jealous? I've seen stuff like that happen online, it's scary."

"First off," you explain, "We don't tell them your socials. I know you don't post pictures online either. How they gonna find you even if they do get mad? They'll just have to yell at me, and my mods will take care of it. Second off, c'mere."

You drag him by the hand over to your computer and pull him into your lap. You pull up some of your software to show him a couple things.

"Check it. These are the donations and bits and shit that I got after you were on last time."

You scroll up to where there's a list of small donations, mostly in amounts between $1 to $5. Many of them have messages attached like ‘for the bunny!', ‘purrhaps you should take your bun to a nice restaurant!', ‘we want the bun back!!!!!', ‘I hope your friend will come back and talk to us, he seems nice! 38D'. John reads these and leans back into you.

"Okay, so a couple people liked me one time! I don't know if they'll like it as much when I'm stealing time away from you."

"Yo. When did you start training for the Olympics?"

"What?"

"Because you're doing some epic-level mental gymnastics right now. Ten out of ten for form, but a gold medal ain't gonna get you much. Maybe some sponsorships. A car commercial, probably. Maybe sports drinks, I dunno."

"Dave..."

"Look. All I'm saying is the evidence is there. They want you. I want you. And if you tell me that you, personally, do not want to do this, then I'll back off. But if you keep telling me you're scared of shit I've debunked like the fucking Mythbusters, then I'm going to have to strap you in like a crash test dummy and launch you at this damn stream myself."

"Dave. Please don't violently disassemble my body by way of inertia." He laughs as little though, and finally he sighs. "Okay. You've made your point. I... it's not that I don't want to. I want to do things with you that you love, and this is one of them. I'm just... it's scary! I'm a delicate flower, Dave, you can't subject me to the harsh whims of the entire internet and expect me not to wilt a little bit!"

"Delicate flower my ass." Just to punctuate your point, you grab at his sides and start tickling. He laughs and wriggles out of your grip, but you catch him by the wrist. "I'll send out a message, let folks know we'll be on soon. Does a half hour sound good?"

"Yeah... I think I can do that."

You hop onto your socials and start sending out the requisite ‘streaming in 30 minutes' messages. You make sure to put front and center that you'll have a special guest they've all been requesting, before you even say what you'll be doing, because you know that's going to catch people's attention. You don't think it's going to be a huge turnout, because it never is on Christmas Eve. But there's always something comforting about the small crowd that gathers with you around the holidays. Other misfits like you.

Well. You guess you're not a misfit anymore. But these people still mean a lot to you, even if you don't know a single one of them personally. This is just your way of giving back, if only just a little.

John nips off to try and straighten his hair and change his shirt into something a little less grubby. By now, he has a few outfits that he leaves at your place, just in case he needs them, seeing as you have a bad habit of messing them up from time to time.

You? You just do what you always do. Send out messages. Generate hype. You drop some more teasers in your Discord, and a decent number of people are responding. And you have to figure out how you're going to address John. Not by his socials. Not by his real name. You suppose to can just try not to mention it at all. Or make a big show of giving him a pseudonym. Decisions, decisions.

John returns at the T minus 5 minutes mark, and you stand with him, pulling him into a soft, warm kiss. You're more giddy about this than you're letting on, but you gotta keep your cool guy cred.

"You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

You pull over an extra chair that you only got for the sake of having him over. You don't exactly have that many friends in the area, so he's the only one who ends up using it. You get it all set up to where the mic is between the two of you and the camera has you both in frame and in focus. You queue up the movie, already knowing this shit is going to get claimed so hardcore, but that's fine.

"So here's how this goes," you explain. "I'm going to put up the intro screen. Let people filter in for about five minutes. Then we'll switch to the camera, and we'll be live. Sound good?"

He breathes in deep, steeling himself, and you reach out and squeeze his shoulder. "Yeah. Sounds good."

"Comments? Questions? Feedback? Bueller?"

"Weirdo. Just don't do anything too... flirty? I don't know. I'm still not sure if I want to be slobbering all over each other for however many people."

"Fair enough," you shrug, and hopefully you'll be distracted enough that it won't even matter. "And hey, if it makes any difference, the VOD for this is gonna be totally unusable. Once it gets deleted, it'll be gone forever."

"What's a VOD?"

"A recording of the stream. Does it automatically, but if it gets copyright claimed, it's unusable. Which this one absolutely will get claimed."

"Oh... I guess that makes things a little better, then."

There's so much about this entire world of yours that he doesn't know, and you're really stoked to finally be able to show him. Maybe it's stupid, but you just want to show off for him. Not that you're that popular or internet famous or anything like that. It's more like you're saying, look at me! Look what a hard worker I am! I can provide for you and all of our future children!

Because you still haven't stopped thinking about your future children.

You're trying not to think about it too hard, especially right now when he's asking you to try keeping your amorous intentions on the downlow. Because every time you think about it, it gets your engine revving. John has that effect on you in general, but when you think about the future... damn. When did you get so sappy? Getting horny thinking about a vague future? Weird. Weird as fuck. But you don't care, because overall, you're happier than you've ever been. And now that he's willing to try this with you... well, that's just icing on the sugar cookies, because you know his opinions on cake.

You wait for the timer to tick down on your intro screen and turn to John. "Okay. Are you ready?"

"I guess so."

You hit the button to change scenes, and chat lights up nearly immediately.

"Whazzup, my loyal followers, apostles, worshippers of all kinds, it's ya boy, turntechGodhead here on Christmas Eve with the penultimate Christmas movie and a little present for y'all." You sling your arm around John's shoulder and pull him in, trying to make it as jocular of a hug as you can manage. "You asked for it, and since you've all been good little boys and girls, Santa is delivering like Fedex on speed. The bun you've all been waiting for is here to join us on this oh-holiest-night. Say hi to the nice little boys and girls, bunny boy."

You let go of John and he sits back, raising a hand. "Uh. Hi everybody! Wow, there's so many people here. Well, this guy here told me you really really wanted me to come back, but... between you and me, I think he wanted it most."

"I sure as fuck did!"

"He bribed me, you know."

"Lies and slander."

"Said he'll do my bidding for an entire week if I help save his stream from becoming irrelevant." He looks at you with a stupid devious grin. "You're going to do my bidding for an entire week, right?"

"Yeah, we'll see about that." The fact is, you'll do his bidding any time, bribe or not. But you're proud of him, too, for how quickly he catches on. The chat is already popping off with hype, celebrating the return of the bun, agreeing with John that you are now indebted to him. This is going to be awesome. You just wish you could convince him to be a regular co-streamer, but you're not going to push your luck right now. You're just glad he's here with you as it is.

You start the movie up, and instantly the two of you are trading commentary, barbs, jabs, and just riffing off each other. You're a little better at engaging chat than he is, which is to be expected, but at one point he does ask your audience to back him up. And they do. Very enthusiastically. If you were a more self-conscious person, you might be a little intimidated by how much they love him, but all you can think is damn right they love him. John is worth every ounce of love that he gets, and then some.

At some point during the movie, he betrays his own moratorium on showing romantic affection and leans on your shoulder. You try to be good, you give it a good five or ten minutes for him to realize what he's done, before you put an arm around his shoulder and just hold him. It's a little awkward, because the arm of your chair is in between you, but it's nice to get a little bit of closeness with him. It's your new favorite way to watch movies.

As the movie comes to a close and the credits start to roll, you turn to him.

"So. What did you think?"

"Hmm," he makes a show of pondering, putting a finger to his lips, melodramatically. "I think you're still on the hook for the week."

"Oh really?" You sort of forget that you're trying to be good, and bump noses with him. "I guess I can live with that."

He's centimeters from kissing you when he seems to realize the position he's put himself in, and he snaps back to attention, back straight as a board and eyes wide. You let go of him because you're not sure if he's going to bolt completely or what. You have an audience to keep engaged anyway, so you turn your attention back to that.

"Well, you asked, you received, hopefully your visit from bunny boy was everything you dreamed and more. It's getting pretty late here, almost midnight, so we're gonna tuck in and catch some Z's. Hope you all have a great Christmas tomorrow. I'll be back on the 28^th to beam awesomeness directly into your eyeholes. Goodnight everyone, and merry Christmas. TG out!"

You hit the button, and your outro screen pops up. You turn to John who looks white as a ghost and stiff as a teenager's used 'sock'.

"You good?" You put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"I. Uh. Um." He seems to be having trouble finding the words. You know you have that effect on people, so you give him a moment to gather his thoughts. "You said that's going to be deleted, right?"

"Yep. Without a doubt." Unless, of course, someone clipped it. Which isn't out of the question. You decide not to tell him about that, because one way or the other, if it's been clipped then it's already out there. There's no reason to give him any additional anxiety over it, so it's better if he's just left in the dark about that one teeny tiny detail. It'll fall off the radar on its own. Eventually.

"Hey. Babe?"

"Huh?" He looks up, confused.

"Thanks. I really mean it." You're not great at sincerity, but you're trying here. You push up your shades to perch them on your head and meet his eyes. "I really appreciate you going on with me."

He cracks a small smile, which is encouraging for you. "Yeah, don't mention it. It was kind of fun after a while!"

You huff, because you knew he'd enjoy himself once he loosened up. "See? What did I tell you?"

"I think you told me that you're going to do my bidding for the next week. Hundreds of people heard it, so it has to be true!"

"I'm not sure that's how that works," you chide, but you can't really be mad. "But sure. If that's what you want, consider me your own personal servant for the next week. Can I get you anything to drink, sir? A hot towel? A foot massage?"

"Mm... that sounds nice..." For a second, he gets that dreamy look in his eyes, but he snaps back a moment later. "Hey! Before we go to bed, why don't we open one present each? We can bring the rest to my dad's tomorrow, but... we should open one each now. I know that's what my dad, Jade, and Jake will be doing!"

"Huh, really?" Is that a tradition? Is that a thing that a lot of people do? If you got any Christmas presents growing up, it was usually only one, if that. You never really had enough presents to open one the night before and still have any left for the day of. "Yeah. Why the hell not, we're adults, we can do what we want."

Even if it's not a tradition... well, you're okay with making it one. That's the other unfortunate side effect of wanting to start a family with John. You don't just want babies, you want the whole package. A home. Traditions. Family recipes. In-jokes. Everything. This is the perfect start to your first tradition.

You move hand in hand with him over to the tree, which is admittedly only a few feet away. You just like touching him. You both sit down, and he starts searching the boxes underneath until he finds what he was looking for. You know exactly which one you want to give him first, so you snatch it from the pile. It's small, but you think it's worth it. You hope.

"Here." You offer the haphazardly wrapped gift out to him. You're good at a lot of things. Wrangling wrapping paper is not one of them. "Open mine first."

"Sure!" He trades packages with you so that you're holding something roughly shoebox size, and he starts tearing into the wrapping.

Inside is a jewelry box, and in that is a simple silver and turquoise bracelet. It's not flashy or showy or even that expensive, but it's a shade of blue that you thought would complement his eyes, and now that you see them widen as he looks at it, you were right.

"Oh. Dave... this is really beautiful." He takes it out of the box with reverence, running his finger over the stones. "Help me put it on?"

You take the bracelet from him as he holds out his wrist, and you fasten it for him. He pauses to admire it, and if you could distill the look on his face and sell it, you'd be the richest man in the world, because that smile could solve all the world's problems.

"Okay, yours next!" he insists. "I, uh. Didn't want to open this one at dad's. And it's kind of for both of us, but I think it's worth it!"

Something that he didn't want to open at his dad's, that's technically for the both of you? Now your interest is really piqued. You were thinking new shoes because of the size, which would have been sick. Your old ones have seen better days. But he wouldn't care about opening shoes in front of his dad, so it's back to square one.

You tear away the paper to find something remarkably shoebox like, only entirely white, with no logos. You're always careful opening boxes from him, because the second you let your guard down, there's going to be a glitter bomb or something in one of them. But once you determine that this one is safe, you open the box fully, and you almost choke when you see the contents.

Inside is a set consisting of a leather collar, cuffs, and leash. All matching. Oh jeez. Oh fuck. You've spent all night trying not to be horny, but this isn't helping.

"Is this for you? Or for me?"

You watch as he bites his lower lip and turns a bright shade of red. "I thought... maybe you could use them on me?"

"Fuck." You don't know what to do with yourself. This has got to be one of the sexiest things he's ever done for you, and an absolutely perfect end to an already amazing night. "You wanna give them a spin before we conk out for the night?"

You see his smile grow, and he nods.

You are one lucky fox.

/ / /

The next morning, you're exhausted. You didn't exactly get a whole lot of sleep, what with trying out John's gifts. And you still have to make the trek down to his dad's house. The drive isn't so bad, but when you're already lagging, it's a lot less tolerable. You down an energy drink before you leave the apartment and convince John to pull over for coffee about ten minutes after you get on the road. He obliges, chipper as ever, and you wonder how he can be that energetic all the time. It must be a bunny thing.

At his dad's house, you're enthusiastically greeted by two big hugs from Jade and Jake, the moment you step out of the car. You try to hug them back but considering that they're coming at you from both sides, it's a little bit awkward. You think you get points for effort.

Dadbert follows behind them. He hugs John first, and then you, and you wonder if you'll ever stop getting all choked up when he does that. It makes it really hard to pretend that you're a cool, collected motherfucker. But you guess you don't mind so much if present company sees your soft side. You're starting to warm up to the idea of seeing them as your family, their scents becoming nearly as soothing as John's.

They welcome you in, and of course there's cake, and coffee, and all sorts of other treats. You all sit by the fire, munching on sweets while a Christmas movie plays on the TV. It's a little past 10AM, too early for lunch, too late for breakfast, so Dadbert decided that the only real course of action was to go for the sweets. Man, for a guy who seems so staunch and strait-laced, he can be pretty damn cool sometimes. There's a bit of goofball in him, and you can see where John gets it now.

"Dave, I wanted to let you know," he says not long after you all get settled, though he sounds cautious. You look over to him from the armchair, where John is half-sat in your lap as you both try to fit on it. "Jane and my brother won't be coming today. We visited with them yesterday."

You... don't know what to say. Your mouth moves to say something, but no words come out, so you just end up gaping like a fish for a hot second. You swallow hard and try to bring yourself back around.

"I... really appreciate that. Thanks."

What you really want to do is protest that he didn't have to do that, he didn't have to ice out his own flesh and blood from the festivities just because they don't like you. But it occurs to you, because you're a little too concerned with other peoples' feelings, that he did this completely unbidden. Unless John called him and goaded him into it, but it doesn't sound like that's the case. He eschewed his actual family so that you could come today and not be harassed with speciesism.

"You're welcome," he says simply, and tucks into the generous cake slice he has in front of him.

John leans against you, and from his vantage point on the arm of the chair, he's the one giving you a kiss on the top of the head and nipping at your ear. You wonder if he knows how much this means to you? That someone chose you to be part of their family celebrations. That's never happened before in your life. Not once. So many Christmases spent in your room, or on the sidelines. And now you're here with the fam, just chowing down on baked goods like there's no fucking tomorrow.

God. Fucking. Damn it. You really don't want to cry. You can feel it, the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you will yourself to hold it together. You're not going to fucking cry on Christmas Day. That's just a little too dramatic, even for you.

After you've all had your fill of sweets, it's time for gifts, and you sit around the tree while Dadbert hands the gifts out. Jade goes first, and then John, and then you.

It's a large department store box with crisp blue wrapping and a white ribbon, and the label says it's from Dadbert himself. This man is trying to end your entire life, you swear. You try to tread the line between opening it carefully and just ripping into it. When you finally get it open, you first have to contend with the spring-snakes that pop out at you, and wait for the guffaws from Egberts Senior and Junior to die down. Yeah. This was going to happen eventually, you just expected it from John himself, not his dad. You can't be too mad, though. They make such a cute father-son pair. You only hope you can have that kind of relationship with your future kids.

Once the laughter subsides and everyone has settled down again, you turn your attention back to the box and pull out a fancy-looking black peacoat. You've never had a coat quite this nice, and you're in awe for so long that John has to lean over and nudge you.

"Dave?"

"Oh—fuck—I mean, darn, sorry, I just... this is really fuuuuu—flipping nice." You hold it out, then decide you just have to try it on, so you stand and do just that.

"If it doesn't fit, we can exchange it," Dadbert reassures you, but you put it on, and it fits like a glove. Jade claps and Jake gives you two thumbs up. John just looks at you with stars in his eyes, and you feel like the suavest motherfucker on the block.

You take the time to hang up the jacket in the closet, before you come sit back down. "Definitely wearing that home."

Jake goes next, and it goes around in a circle again. When it finally gets back to you, you're handed just a card. It says it's from Jake, and you open it up. Inside is a cute card with some lions and a cheesy pun on it, and a slip of paper inside.

"Right, I should explain, no?" Jake pipes in, as you're trying to read the slip of paper. "Thought you might like to get one of your photos professionally blown up and framed. I didn't exactly have the negatives myself, so I thought to myself, well, a gift certificate will do just as well, so you can pick your favorite!"

You give Jake a smile. A real, honest to god, sincere smile. This man who's spent all of four days around you not only remembered that you love photography, but put some actual thought into how he could get you a gift related to that. It's a little overwhelming, and you're having trouble keeping your cool. It's taking every ounce of Strider Chill to keep from straight up bawling.

Jade's gift comes to you on your next turn. It's another department store box, and inside is a pair of baggy footie pajamas, the kind they make specifically for adults, with a hood that looks like a Crocodile and has a little tail hanging off the back. It is peak irony, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think she was coming for your title of irony master.

"It's supposed to be big!" she explains. "It's comfier that way, and it keeps you warmer."

"Say less. I love them. Gonna put these bad boys on as soon as I get home." You really are. And you can't wait to do a stream with them on.

It comes back around to John, and he's handed your second gift to him. It's a bigger one, and a little less sentimental, but something you know he's been wanting. He tears open the paper to find the curved ultra-wide monitor he's been ogling every time you see one in a store.

"Dave! How..." His eyes are so bright, but he seems confused too.

Yeah, you're not rich by any means. But you wanted to prove to him, definitively, that you have the capability to provide for him, by whatever means.

"Pulled some strings," you say simply. Really you just took on a sponsor who sent you the monitor in exchange for an extended ad spot on your channel. You'll be getting real familiar with that copy over the next month or two but that's fine. It's worth every minute to see that look in his eyes.

"Jeez... this is amazing," John says, awestruck and running his hands over the box. "Dad, give him the long one next! It's from me!"

John's dad hands over a long, narrow package that you've been eyeing under your tree at home since John put it there. And since you didn't learn your lesson the first time, you tear straight into it. You're rewarded when there are no snakes or glitter bombs. Instead, you find the mountable greenscreen you've been wanting for ages.

"Babe..." John looks at you, his smile nearly reaching his ears, and you don't even know what to say so you just lean over and kiss him. It's chaste, because you're sitting in front of his father for goodness' sake, but a kiss nonetheless. You realize when you pull back that you're smiling too, and your cheeks hurt. "How the heck did I get the best boyfriend in the world?"

"Noooo idea," John laughs, and you tenderly set the box aside, so you can pull him closer.

There are a few more gifts to go around, mostly smaller things. Dadbert got each one of you a multipack of new underwear, which you have to laugh at because you don't know what else to do. John got you some thick, warm socks. You got him a hideous Christmas sweater with a Ghostbusters theme, that he puts on immediately. Jade passes around little boxes that she carefully curated with different Japanese candies for each of you, and Jake has little wooden figurines that he got in South Africa. (He even explains that he brought extras, in case there were additional Christmas guests, answering your unspoken question as to how he even had it ready for you.)

After that, there are some gifts from distant family members, so you're out of the running, but you already got way more than you ever imagined you would, and from people who barely know you. Who care about you, because John cares about you. You've never understood the meaning of having a full heart until this very moment. You want to take hold of this and hold it to your chest and never let go. You're already imagining what it might be like to come back next year, even. Is this what it's like? Is this what it means to be domesticated? The wild Dave Strider, tamed.

After all the gifts have been opened, a peaceful lull falls over the home. Dad Egbert takes to the kitchen to make lunch, Jake and Jade toy with some gizmos they received, and John sits on the couch, with your head in his lap and running his fingers through your hair.

Now, in the quiet, you're starting to have second thoughts. That heart-full feeling starts to clench in your chest, tight around your lungs. You've been lucky... so far. But something tugs at the back of your mind, telling you that you don't deserve this. The people around you now, John and his family, are all so kind and giving and it just seems too easy. Orphans like you don't have opportunities like this fall into their laps, except in movies. And your life is anything but a movie.

"What's wrong?" John asks quietly, hand stilling in your hair. "Everything okay?"

"Huh?" You turn your head to look up at him, feigning ignorance. "Yeah, why wouldn't everything be okay? This is the sickest Christmas I've had in... ever."

"Because you only sigh like that when you've got something on your mind."

Did you sigh? You hadn't even noticed, but John had, apparently. Spending so much time around him, it's not surprising he's picking up on the tells you try desperately not to have.

You hear some shuffling over by the tree, and turn to see Jade standing, hold out a hand to her twin.

"C'mon, Jake!" she says, as chipper as always. "Let's go help in the kitchen."

"Huh?" Jake looks up at her, then at you and John, then back up again. He seems puzzled, but takes her hand anyway, and lets her help him up. "Well, alright, I suppose I was spinning my wheels on that puzzle box a bit. Might be good to come at it later with fresh eyes."

Jade leads Jake into the kitchen, just adding to the list of things you have done absolutely nothing to earn. Jade is more of a bro than... well, your actual bro. For whatever reason, she has your back, and you can't figure it out.

"Okay. Spit it out." John's voice is still quiet, but stern, and you want to shrink away, except your head is still in his lap.

"It's nothing." He frowns, his brow creasing, and he stares at you in a way that's about as intense as it is adorable. "Okay, fine."

You take a moment to rearrange the two of you, snuggling up in John's arms. You're so much taller than him that it doesn't quite have the same effect, but he is holding you, and that's what you really wanted.

"I don't belong here, dude," you finally say, after having spent a hot second trying to find the words. "I don't deserve any of this. I didn't do anything to earn it. And your fam is probably going to figure it out sooner or later."

Your ears press back and your tail curls up around your thigh, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You'd fit yourself into his damn pocket if you could manage it, but you can't, so this will have to do. He's quiet for a while, squeezing you close, and running a hand slowly up and down your arm. You're starting to think you were right, and he's realizing that, when he finally chimes in again.

"Did you ever stop to think," he says slowly, chewing the words carefully, "That you deserve love, just by virtue of being a living, breathing being? That you don't have to 'earn' love? And that we're all giving it to you because it makes us happy?"

No, you hadn't thought of that. And you're not sure you believe it, not entirely. But if nothing else, the last part makes sense. At least a little bit, so you latch onto that.

"What happens when it stops making you happy?" you ask. You're not trying to be combative. You just... don't trust it.

"It doesn't stop making us happy," John says simply. "Why would it?"

"I dunno. You get tired of it?"

"Dave. C'mon. I'm trying to give you a peptalk here," he protests. "You deserve love. And love isn't based on meeting some kind of condition. Like, this isn't PVP. You don't have to keep grinding all the time to earn some arbitrary points to keep yourself at the top of the charts. This is PVE, and we want you in our party, because you bring your own unique... uniqueness."

That earns a soft snort from you, because it's just... so quintessentially John.

"Did you really just compare us to World of Warcraft?" you ask, nuzzling your face against the side of his head.

"No," he says, stubbornly. And then he giggles, and adds, "I was thinking of Guild Wars."

"Oh, well. That's so much better." You've never played either, frankly, and you never will. Not really your jam. "God, you're such a dork."

"Takes one to know one." And he turns his head, meeting your lips in a tender kiss, all soft lips and gentle nips; they don't hurt, they just say I'm here.

"Boys?" Dad Egbert's voice is quiet from the kitchen door, about as somber as the two of you. "Lunch is ready, whenever you're done in here."

"Thanks dad, be right there," John says over the back of the couch, before he turns back to you. "Look, I don't know who told you that you need to meet some weird standard to be loved, but you don't. And besides, there's tons to love about you."

"Hmm... like what?" You're mostly calmed now, but you can't help teasing him, just a little. You like the way his nose scrunches up and his ears swivel back when you do. You are rewarded with that exact look.

"Don't make me do this, Dave... you don't want me to do this," he warns, and he is trying so hard to sound intimidating, but he's also holding back a laugh.

"Maybe I do," you taunt him in return, "What if I do?"

"Okay then, you asked for it." He gives the most long-suffering sigh before pushing you off his lap and shifting down the couch towards your feet. "Let's start... with these long, hot leggies."

You snort, uncontrolled, as he slides his hands up your shins and thighs.

"And this cute little belly..."

Before you know what's happening, he pushes up your shirt, and blows a raspberry on your stomach, and it's all you can do not to crack up. No. No. Gotta keep your cool. You do push him away, however, but he is not deterred.

"And these big strong arms." He runs his hands up your arms, giving your biceps a squeeze. "Well... okay maybe not big. But strong."

He's getting awfully close now, crawling over you to move up your body, his knee pressed firmly into the couch cushion between your legs.

"I love... how soft it is, right here."

He kisses a spot on your neck, and all the laughter drains out of you, replaced with a shiver down your spine. You did wonder why he favored that spot so much when you were making out, but you never asked. You liked it and didn't want to give him the impression otherwise.

And then he starts moving up your neck, to your chin, and up the center of your face.

"And your chin. And your amazing lips. And your cute little nose. And your beautiful eyes. And..." Finally, he places a kiss on your forehead. "I love how smart you are, even if you're a huge dumbass sometimes and can't figure out why people love you. But you're so talented and so clever and so kind. And you have great taste in music. And I guess okay taste in movies."

He backs up a little and presses his forehead to yours, and you nuzzle into his cheek in return. You stay like that for a moment, just the two of you in your own little world. You forget about the others in the kitchen and the missing Jane and Jerry, and all the rest of the world around you.

"And," John adds after a long moment, voice dropping to a whisper, "You have a really nice butt."

Welp. The giggles are back, and you push him off of you, even if you sort of don't want to. But you can't just let him get away with that. He's still laughing as he circles the couch, heading for the kitchen.

"Come on, I'm hungry!" he says as you pry yourself off the couch, following not far behind.

"Yeah, I know," you huff, "I could hear your stomach rumbling."

. . .

When you enter the kitchen, you're surprised to find that lunch appears to be just a salad. You're willing to give it a go, after Thanksgiving dinner was so amazing. You're not sure how it's going to fill you up, but you haven't been led astray by Dad Egbert's cooking yet. He tells you it's an apple, cranberry, and walnut salad, and you, in your cup-noodle-eating bachelor ways have never heard of such a thing. You didn't even know you could put apples or cranberries or walnuts on leafy greens?

One bite is all you need to know you've once again ascended to heaven. How the hell does this man do it? You lived with herbivore families when you were still in foster care, and they never seemed to know how to tread that line between making sure you had enough protein, while not putting in any meat. You guess Jake and Jade need the same, so he's had time to research and practice but... you don't know. It's just another one of those thoughtful little things that this family does, and you're not even sure they realize they're doing it. But you do.

After lunch, you all retire to the living room, except for Dad Egbert who takes to his study. The four of you all pile onto the couch again, much in the same configuration as your movie night. Some Christmas movie or another is on the TV, the volume low as you all just relax and enjoy each other's company. John is the first one to fall asleep, his face pressed into your shoulder when he starts snoring softly. Not long after, Jade falls asleep on your other shoulder, and Jake dozes off leaning against her. You stay awake, though, because you want to savor this moment.

About an hour and a half later, everyone starts to stir and they untangle themselves from you.

"Aw, hey, come on, I was warm," you protest, trying to make it out like you're joking, but you really were pretty comfy, despite the pile of bunny and dog threatening to crush you.

"Oh boohoo!" Jade teases, sticking out her tongue. She gives a big stretch and goes to the fireplace, putting the logs in. "You'll survive, I think."

"Nope." You shake your head, but you're trying not to grin. "I can feel it now. Frostbite... setting in. So cold. I'm going to start paradoxically undressing if I don't get some warmth soon."

"Well, I wouldn't mind seeing the goods," Jake says as casually as anything, and John smacks his arm.

"It's okay, babe," you reassure John, and look right back at Jake. "I know everyone wants my hot foxy bod."

Jake laughs, and turns to start helping Jade get the fire built up. Even though the voice in the back of your head occasionally chimes in to try and drag you down into the depths of despair and catastrophizing, you stuff it back in its box and do your best to ignore the muffled screams.

You and John eventually make your way to the kitchen, where there's hot chocolate to be made, and then eventually dinner, Dadbert coming out to help you get started. Some kind of casserole with leeks and celery and pumpkin seeds and carrots. You're even allowed to wield a knife this time, and John shows you proper cutting technique. You're much slower than him, but you're starting to get it.

Dinner comes and goes with you all gathered around the table, bantering like there's no tomorrow. Except there is a tomorrow, and it's getting closer and closer, and you don't want today to end. But soon enough, John is encouraging you to help load up the car so you can hoof it back home. You do what he asks, but man, you wish you didn't have to.

"We're heading back in two days," Jade says to you, as you all gather to say your goodbyes. "But it's been really nice getting to know you. I'm so glad John knows you! He loves you soooo much, and it makes me glad knowing he's taken care of!"

"Oh, yeah. I mean, don't mention it," you shrug, not sure how to handle all this effusive praise. "I mean, loving him is pretty damn easy."

"Heheh, you're right. Now c'mere!"

She pulls you into a hug, which you're used to, but then she starts doing something else you didn't expect. Rubbing her cheek against yours, she squeezes you tight, and you immediately know she's not just being cuddly. She's scenting you. Your brain catches up a few seconds later, and you instinctually return the gesture, even though you're not sure why she's doing it. Ostensibly, she sees you as close as family, but it just doesn't seem real.

Jake comes to you next, and his grip on you is a lot tighter as he rubs his cheeks on yours, as well. You do the same, still baffled.

And then it's Dadbert's turn, and despite the fact that John's cousins just did it, you're not expecting him to start rubbing against your temple too, leaving his mark where Jade and Jake haven't been already. It finally processes for you fully, and you rub against him in turn.

If you had any lingering self-doubts, they are thoroughly quashed. You don't just scent someone for fun and profit. You're not even sure it's possible to do it properly without some kind of feeling behind it. Which can only mean one thing: they like you. And they accept you as part of their family. You continue on with your goodbyes, trying to hold yourself together, and as much as you hate leaving, you're glad when you're finally in the car and pull out of the driveway.

Once the house is out of sight, you just let go.

The tears well up and you sniffle. You're not much of a crier, but it's finally getting to you. You can weather a lot of strong emotions without batting an eye. But being loved, or just being accepted, even, is more than you know what to do with.

"Dave? Is everything okay?" John gives you a concerned glance, but keeps his eyes on the road. "Do you need me to pull over?"

"No. Yeah. I'm good. I'm... really fucking good. It's just. A lot."

You see him smile and shift his grip on the wheel.

"I love you," he says quietly. "We all love you."

"Yeah," you agree, sniffling again. "I love you too. All of you."

And you mean it. And you know what he's saying is the truth. And that is the best Christmas gift of all.

Chapter Text

Outside, the snow is falling in fat, wet flakes, just like it's been doing for the past few hours. You, John Egbert, are trapped in your apartment, and you're cursing yourself for not thinking to leave when it started snowing. You didn't think it would go on this long! Now it's starting to pile up in drifts on the street below, and you just received a notification that buses are on emergency snow routing, which means the streets are getting pretty bad. You like living downtown, but with all the hills, snow is nigh impossible to deal with.

All of this wouldn't usually be a problem. Except that it's Valentine's Day and you had plans with your boyfriend! Now you're both trapped, and you're digging into the box of chocolate-covered strawberries you were supposed to be sharing. Now they're all yours, and you eat them as angrily as possible, so that the universe knows you are pissed off.

TG: hey

TG: hey

TG: hey

TG: cutie

TG: beautiful

TG: schmoopykins

TG: okay well if youre going to ignore me im gonna go find myself another hot bunny boyfriend

TG: who is absolutely perfect in every way and i love him so much

TG: ill definitely find him out in this snowstorm

TG: or die trying

TG: go whole ass the shining on this motherfucker

TG: hey

TG: babe

You do hear your phone buzzing at you, it's just... on the kitchen island. And you're sat on the floor of the living room, demolishing two peoples' worth of chocolate-covered strawberries. You want to talk to Dave, you really do, you just don't know what to say in this specific scenario. ‘Sorry the weather is shit, I guess we'll have to take a rain check on that hot date we had planned, except we'll have to wait a month to get the reservations again and it won't be Valentine's Day anymore!'

Ostensibly, you know that it's a totally stupid Hallmark holiday that exists in modern day to sell more greeting cards and flowers and chocolates. And you've already spent several wonderful and real holidays together. But you don't care. You've never had a real Valentine before. The closest you've ever gotten was those little boxes they made you put on your desk in grade school and pass out those little cards to everyone.

You had such high hopes for this date, too. For how much time you spend around each other, you and Dave have only had a small handful of actual dates, so you wanted to make this a big to-do. You had reservations at one of the nicest restaurants you know, the kind of place where you have to wear a jacket and they give you warm towels to wash your hands with. You were prepared to drop big bucks, because he is absolutely worth it. After dinner, he would take you home, and you'd lay in bed together and eat chocolate-covered strawberries, and maybe... take things further.

You're not sure if it's the thought that causes you to shiver, or if you just need to turn the thermostat up.

But your relationship has been going so well. You had him over for Christmas with your family and aside from your cousin Jane and your uncle having a little spat with him, Dave got on well with your family. Your dad seems to take his weird rambling in stride, and Jade and Jake loved him too! They message you all the time, asking how things are going, and you know at least Jade has been in touch with him. When Dave got into the car, smelling of your relatives? You nearly melted.

And then there was New Year's Eve, where you stayed in, experimented with fruity cocktails and wine coolers after your failed attempt at whiskey, and rang in the New Year with... well, a bang. Or two. Or three. You were up until four in the morning, anyway, and spent the rest of the day nursing hangovers.

In the weeks since, your dad has been asking you if he might be 'the one', and you've told him every time that you're not sure. But... you are sure, you're just nervous, and can't muster the courage to take the plunge. You've known for years that you want him in your life forever. Now, the stakes are a lot higher.

Your head lolls to the side as your phone continues buzzing, and you're so miserable in how much you miss him that the kitchen island seems about five miles away. Ultimately, moping on the floor like this is counterproductive, when he's trying to talk to you, and you could be talking to him. It's not really the same as being around him, but it's something.

With a groan, to further let the universe know how much it's screwing up your life right now, you hoist yourself off the floor and trudge over to the counter to grab your phone. You take it back to the couch and flop down, as morose as they come, and hold the phone above your face as you start typing back to him.

EB: schmoopykins, dave? really?

TG: oh thats the part you hone in on

EB: because i know you won't find another bunny like me

TG: bet

EB: he won't know how much you like the bases of your ears rubbed.

EB: or that one specific soft spot on your neck that you like to have bitten.

EB: also he probably won't put up with your bullshit!

TG: fair

TG: i guess ill just have to stick with the bunny i have

EB: could you sound any more disappointed?

TG: yes but i dont wanna

TG: because actually i love you <3

EB: eheheh. i love you too <3

You love that you can still have stupid banter with him. That was the one thing you were worried about, that your dynamic would change. The fact that it hardly changed at all, outside of the pet names and love hearts, was just another indicator that maybe you've been building this for a lot longer than you realized. Now that you've had some stupid goofs with him, you're feeling a little bit better. Not entirely. But a little.

EB: i'm just sad. i should have come over earlier. at least we'd be stuck at home together.

TG: hey its fine you didn't know

EB: yeah but i was so excited!

EB: losing the reservation sucks a lot but not being able to get to you is even worse.

EB: it just doesn't feel right, you know?

TG: no i know

TG: trust me

TG: ive been feeling it for what

TG: 5 months now

EB: haha oh yeah. gosh.

EB: well even if we can't share the strawberries i just devoured, we can share the misery!

TG: john egbert you really know how to romance a guy

EB: hey can i ask you a question? it might be kinda stupid.

TG: from you? probably but ask away

EB: jerk. :P

EB: i was just wondering

EB: when you're alone like this, do you ever get the urge to gather every single soft thing in your apartment and just curl up in bed with it all?

TG: uhhhhhh

TG: babe

TG: sweet pea

TG: hunny bun

TG: are you nesting

You stare at the screen for what feels like an incredibly long time. Are you nesting? The thought sends a wave of heat through you, from the tips of your ears down to your toes. It's not common to get nesting urges like this, unless you're... well, unless you're looking to or in the process of starting a family. Is it your subconscious telling you it's time? You've been bandying about the idea of letting him mark you, after all...

You shake off the thought.

EB: um. i don't think so? why would i be nesting?

TG: because you want all of my babies

TG: all of them

EB: hahah! dave you're weird.

EB: but i guess that's not too far off...

EB: can i ask you something else?

TG: always

TG: sup?

EB: jeez i don't really know how to say this!

EB: i keep wanting to say it but then i try to type the words and i just can't!

TG: is it bad?

EB: no! it's not bad, it's just...

Why is this so hard? You've told Dave some of your deepest, darkest secrets, but you just can't seem to muster up the courage to tell him that you're ready to commit to spending the rest of your life with him. What if you've been misinterpreting all his signals? What if the sincere thought of commitment scares him off? What if, what if, what if. But... what if he says yes?

EB: i'm scared i won't like the answer. :(

TG: i dont know what it is so i cant tell you if youll like the answer

TG: but if you think its gonna scare me off wouldnt you want to get it out of the way now

TG: instead of like five years and two kids down the line

EB: oh. well. it's actually related to that.

TG: what

TG: five years

TG: or two kids

TG: doesnt have to be two

TG: im cool with one

TG: or five

TG: six might be pushing it

Jeez. You didn't expect him to launch into a whole thing about your theoretical future children, and singlehandedly tear down the one thing thing that was keeping you from jumping on his dick: now you know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he wants kids. You try in vain to tell yourself he's just being ironic, but you have a pretty good sense for his tomfoolery by now. Suddenly feeling overwhelmed with a swirling vortex of emotions, you put your phone down, because you need... something. You don't know what that something is, but you need it. You stand up and do a few laps around your living room and when that doesn't work, you head to the bathroom to splash some water on your face.

It was easy to abstain when you thought he wouldn't even want kids, but if he's saying he does... that changes a lot. A lot-a lot. And that need to pile all the pillows and blankets on your bed flares up again, and you don't even try to fight it. You spend about ten minutes getting everything perfect, then grab your phone and crawl into... well, you guess it's your nest now. And you realize that you kind of left Dave in the lurch. Crap.

TG: hey

TG: babe

TG: im just kidding okay

TG: we dont have to have babies

TG: were good like this

TG: babies are lame anyway

TG: they smell bad and they dont know shit

TG: babies are fuckin idiots

TG: so like who needs babies haha am i right

Oh, goddamnit.

EB: dave! dave calm down!

EB: i'm sorry, i stepped away for a minute.

TG: oh hey babe

TG: yeah im fine

TG: were cool

EB: two sounds great. someday.

TG: oh okay

TG: yeah thats fair

EB: okay good. <3

TG: <3

TG: damn it

EB: what's wrong??

TG: you shouldnt be there all alone

EB: yeah but there's no way to get you here.

TG: trains still running

EB: but you still have to walk to and from the stations!

EB: dave where did you go?

EB: dave you better not be coming down here!

Ugh. He is absolutely coming down there. You love your boyfriend very much, but sometimes he's a bit of an idiot! You don't have any say in the matter now, though. He's made up his mind and he's not going to listen to you. (Maybe he would, if you were forceful enough in telling him to stay home, but... the part of you that wants him there makes it hard to put your heart into telling him off.) All you can do is be there to receive him. Extracting yourself from the blanket nest, you get a change of clothes ready for him, wondering when you both started storing half your wardrobes at each other's places, then pull on a sweater and head down to the lobby. You wave to the night guard and wait at the door. Even though you're not going to hear anything, your ears still tilt forward in anticipation.

When you finally spot him, he's hunched over against the cold. Even if he looks cute wearing the hat, scarf, and gloves you got him for Christmas, he still looks wet and miserable, snowflakes sticking to his ears poking through the hat, dusting his shoulders and his backpack. His tail is tight against his leg, and he just looks so pathetic, and you're glad you made that blanket nest now. It'll be great for warming him up.

"Dave!" He looks up as you open the door for him, and the scowl he was wearing instantly melts away. It'd warm your heart if you weren't so mad at him! "You have to be the biggest dumbass I know!"

He double-times it to get inside, shaking off once he's in the entryway and pulling off the gloves, following you as you take his hand and lead him inside. You're so conflicted. The logical part of you is mad at him for being so foolish! But your heart is full the second you lace your fingers through his.

"Is that somehow news to you?" He leans over and you both rub cheeks while you wait for the elevator. His are cold and tinged with red, so all the more reason to do it.

"Well, no," you admit, pulling back, "But this is really something else! You could make yourself sick, or get frostbite, or get run over by a snowplow!"

"Nah, I'm fine."

You roll your eyes as you escort him into the elevator and hit the button for your floor. Once you're inside your apartment, Dave sets his backpack by the door, and takes the clothes you offer him. You try very hard not to peek as he strips down right there in the entryway, but he catches you stealing a glance as he pulls the dry pajama pants on and waggles his eyebrows. In response, you stalk off into the kitchen to put on the electric kettle.

You want to stay mad at him for pulling a stunt like that, but you really can't when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, pressing kisses into your hair.

"I love you?"

You put your hands over his, rubbing more warmth into his fingers.

"I love you too," you say, leaning back into him. "I just want you to be safe."

"'Cause you're awesome like that." He nips at your ear and mostly detaches himself to stand next to you, though his hand lingers at the small of your back. "Whatcha making?"

"Tea," you reply simply. "So you don't get sick and die."

"Cool, while you do that, I'll be right back."

He gives you another kiss on the temple and you watch over your shoulder as he skirts into the living room and sits heavily on the couch, pulling out his phone. You debate chiding him for just being a lazy-ass, but he's looking at the phone really intensely. You know that is the look Dave Strider makes when he's concentrating and thinks nobody else is looking. So, you turn back to your tea making endeavor, prepping the mugs and tea bags.

A few minutes later, you head to the living room with two steaming mugs of tea, and go to set them on the coffee table, but Dave holds his hand out to stop you.

"Wait," he says, "Put 'em on the side table."

What is he up to? You tilt your head at him curiously, but do what he asks, then stand back as you watch him move the coffee table off to one side. Then he hits the power on your stereo and fusses with his phone a bit more. The stereo makes the little chime telling you that he's connected to it, and you think you might know where he's going with this.

You know the song that starts streaming from the speakers, a slow number from one of your favorite pianists, and you're already giggling before he comes over to take your hands, pulling you to the big open space he's made. You don't even need him to ask, you just reach up and wrap your hands around his neck. His hands rest on your waist and pull you in close, as the two of sway together.

"Happy Valentine's Day, babe," he says softly, peppering kisses all over your forehead and temples. "Sorry we couldn't go to that fancy-schmancy restaurant you wanted to go to, but... fuck, I don't know. I don't need fancy stuff like expensive dinners. You know that, right? I'd still be into you even if we were both hobos."

You snort at the mental image and lean your head on his shoulder. "I know. I just thought it would be fun. I've never had the chance to do anything like that."

"Well. We're going to have plenty more chances," he says, though he sounds cautious. "I mean. If that's a thing you want."

Your stomach rolls over as you think about your vague but spoiled after-dinner plans, so you just end up humming an affirmation, and keep swaying with him.

The song tapers out and switches to a chill lo-fi instrumental and you take a step back, looking up at him. He just looks so calm and happy, and you think about when he first arrived and how stone-faced he always looked. That's when you have the dawning realization that you caused this change. It's you. He leans in and kisses the tip of your nose; it tickles, so you laugh, and swat at him, then move to sit down on the couch. He follows suit, gathering you into his arms.

"What else do you want to do?" he asks, stroking your ears and hair.

"Hmm..." Another opportunity to ask him that you pass up. "I don't know. Drink our tea and snuggle for a little while?"

"Sounds fuckin' heavenly."

You reach over to grab the mugs and hand him his, and just... enjoy being near him. Enjoy that feeling of completeness you've come to expect being around him. It just reinforces what you already know: this is it. This is all you've ever wanted. You zone out to the music and bask in his everything, feeling him warm up next to you.

When your mugs are empty, you set them on the side table again, and you turn to him, taking his hand in yours.

"There's something else I think you should know." Since you've sort of danced around the idea a few times within the past hour.

"You're pregnant?" he asks, his face going dead-serious.

"Dave, no! It's— "

"I'm pregnant?" he interrupts.

"Dave..." You sigh, but you have to admit, it's kind of funny. It's the complete lack of hesitation, you think.

"Sorry babe." He shrugs, and dips in to bump noses. "Couldn't help myself."

"I guess it's related, though." You pause, taking a deep breath, and continue on. "It's going to be mating season soon."

"Yeah?" Now he looks sincerely serious. Or is that concern? It's hard to tell.

"Mhm. So I've been thinking, maybe we could do something more." He watches you carefully, while you just bite your lip and try not to panic, because this is the most forward you've ever been without any prompting. "I don't know, maybe you could... mark me?"

Dave is stunned into silence, and your heart sinks. Oh god. That was the wrong thing to say, he's going to run, he's going to leave and— he squeezes your hand and leans in to press his forehead to yours.

"I don't know if that's something I can do right now," he murmurs, and he sounds kind of sad. "It's not you, it's me. And hey, it's not never. Just... not right now?"

"Oh..." Well. There are worse things he could have said? Your shoulders still sag a little, though. "Yeah, that's fair."

"I'm so sorry, babe."

"No!" The last thing you want is for him to feel like he's done anything wrong. It was a big ask, and you do feel a little silly for it. And it was a totally fair response. "Don't be sorry, it was a dumb thing to ask!"

"It ain't dumb," he says, shaking his head, while you're trying to crawl into his lap. He doesn't fight it and just puts his arms around you when you get settled. "It's kind of hot as, like. An idea. You know?"

"Yeah I... definitely know." You feel your cheeks flush hot, and bury your face against his neck, as if that's going to save you from your embarrassment.

"Oh, do you? You been fantasizing about me, hunny bun?"

He puts on a sultry tone which is equal parts alluring and absolutely ridiculous, and for both reasons, it really does something for you. Your skin pricks, and you nestle into his neck a little more.

"Mmm... yeah, actually?" you confess.

"Tell me." He's trying to sound so suave, but you can hear the small note of excitement in his voice. You can't blame him. You're excited too. Nervous, but excited.

"Umm, well. Like I said, it's almost mating season, and..." Okay. Just breathe in. Breathe out. "Actually... it might be easier if I can show you?"

You pull back as he does and catch the look on his face, one eyebrow raised curiously.

"Let it never be said that Dave Strider isn't an adventurous son of a bitch," he says. "To the bedroom?"

"Eheh... yeah, to the bedroom."

You remember, just as soon as you enter your room, that your bed is still piled with blankets and pillows, and before you can move to start taking them off, he crawls into the little nest you left, and holds out his arms for you to join him. You roll your eyes, but you can't deny how much the idea makes your heart leap, so you crawl into his lap, straddling his legs, and nuzzle into his neck.

"You really are nesting, babe, damn." He runs his hand over your hair, tilting his head to bury his nose in it. "...man. I don't really know what to say. Is it weird that it's kind of hot?"

"No, not at all," you say, quickly, because ten seconds ago you were embarrassed by it, and now that you know he likes it? Your mind instantly does a 180. "I mean, on some level, I have to be doing it for you. Why else would I do it?"

"Hm. An innate need to become a delicious blanket-burrito?" Dave posits, and you groan.

"I don't need to become a delicious burrito." You lean back and take his face in both hands. "I need to take care of you."

He turns his head, kissing one of your palms. "I should be saying that."

"I think we're meant to take care of each other," you point out, as he tantalizingly kisses up your wrist and forearm. "You're allowed to want things out of this relationship, you know. I might not want to do them, but you can still tell me."

He's quiet for a moment as he continues kissing up your arm, and you know he's chewing your words, trying to figure out the best way to placate you.

His eyes flick up towards you. "Don't worry, I will. Promise."

You have a feeling that's not true at all, but that's Dave for you. He's minimized his own problems in favor of everyone else's since you were kids, even if you were too young to understand back then. And you get it. He didn't have a great upbringing, so he had to learn to survive somehow. Mostly, it just breaks your heart when you think about him working so hard to try to prove he's still worth your love or something dumb like that. You'd think offering yourself up to bond for life would be a good indicator that your heart is all his, but you guess not?

You're not good at talking about these kinds of deep feelings, though, so you content yourself with letting him kiss up your arm, reeling you in closer until he can move up your neck and chin and finally land on your lips. A familiar, comfortable spark shoots down your spine when he does. So, you just kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and try to breathe your love into his lungs so that maybe he'll finally absorb the message.

The two of you stay like that for a good while, not even getting particularly heavy, just your lips sliding comfortably together, with occasional flicks of tongue.

"Hey Dave?" you interject at one point.

"Mm?" he hums against your lips, not quite pulling away.

"I still have something I want to try," you remind him, even though it's partially your fault that you came in here and immediately started talking about serious shit. "We're going to have to get up if we want to get undressed, though..."

You've gotten very cozy in your little blanket nest, but it's not exactly conducive to stripping. With a groan, he gives you a gentle push, and you stand up. Might as well not waste any time, because you really want to get back into your warm little nest. You need to find a way to bring the mood up, though, and your devious side kicks in.

You turn your back to him, standing a foot or two away from the bed, and start undressing. You can feel his eyes on you, even as you hear him shuffling out of his own clothes, and you hope he's getting a good look. You take your time, though, so that by the time you get your underwear off, he's been waiting and is starting to get impatient. He leans off the side of the bed, grabbing at your hips to pull you closer, but you just skip out of his reach.

He has the most crestfallen look when you turn around, clasping your hands behind your back, and you feel bad for a second. But then you remember what you're trying to do and give him a mischievous smirk.

"You want this?" you tease him. "Then come and get it."

You watch his face go on an actual journey, from frustration, to confusion, to processing, to dawning realization, and finally giving you a wily smirk in return as he rights himself and stands.

"You know what? I think I will."

What proceeds is a goofy naked chase around your apartment, Dave making grabs for you and you slipping right out of his reach. He's more limber than you are, but you're quicker. (You're both phoning it in though, because it's just more fun that way.) This has to be one of the stupidest things you've ever done together, and yet? You're living for it.

You sprint for the bedroom again and dive into the covers, burrowing under all the blankets and pillows. Dave isn't far behind, crawling in with you and over you, his body pressing you into the mattress. You can feel his arousal brushing up against your leg, and you're glad to know your plan worked. He manages to grab your wrists and pin them to the sides of your head.

"Got you now, Little Bun," he whispers, all deep and husky and faux-threatening. "What should I do with you now? Maybe eat you right up?"

He starts nipping at your shoulders, barely even grazing skin, but making growling noises all the same, and you have to try very hard not to laugh.

"Ohhh nooo, don't do that, Mister Fox!" You're not nearly as good of an actor as he is, and playing the damsel-in-distress is so far out of your wheelhouse. "Maybe we can make a deal? I'll show you something very very nice, and you'll let me go?"

The way he nuzzles into your neck does make you shiver sincerely.

"Color me intrigued," he purrs and lets go of your wrists.

You have to push the covers back so you can ease him into his back. Once he's settled and comfortable in the jumbled remains of your blanket nest, you straddle his hips and waste no time getting your fingers around his dick, already semi-hard, and working to get him harder. He's going to have to be if this has any hope of working.

"You good?" you whisper, not wanting to break immersion and ruin the fantasy, but wanting to check in all the same.

"Absolutely. I'm good. You?"

You give him an amused hum in return. "All good."

You exhale and keep stroking him, until you think he can't get any harder, and then reposition yourself carefully just a little further forward. It takes a little trial and error for you to get it just right, but when you do, you're rubbing yourself against his cock, holding him in place. You're slick enough that his dick slides easily over your clit, and you know you're already loving this, but you don't really know if it's doing anything for him.

"How's that, Mister Fox? Does that feel good?"

He bites his lip. "Damn, Little Bun... it's very nice, but wouldn't it be nicer if you stroked me some more, too?"

You're glad to know you're on the right track, and honestly thankful for the feedback. You take his advice, so that you're effectively pumping him with both your hand and your body, while still stimulating yourself. His hands wander your hips and stomach, taking turns gripping you tightly, and gently brushing his fingers over your skin. You know he's getting off on this when he grabs your hips firmly, though, and starts easing you into a faster pace. You could probably get off solely on the knowledge that he likes what you're doing. But you won't have to do that, because it feels amazing, if you do say so yourself.

That's the only thing on your mind as you come, rutting up against his cock: your own ability to make him happy. You let out a squeak and shudder as you spiral into bliss, your hand still stroking him as you shiver again and finally settle.

"Mister Fox, won't you come for me?" You bat your eyelashes sweetly, and you think that's what does it, because in the next moment, he spills all over your hand and his stomach. You bask in the sound of his breath catching in his throat and the high-pitched groan that he doesn't even try to hide anymore.

"Shit, Little Bun," he says when he finally exhales and relaxes back onto the bed. "Where'd you pull that one out from?"

You smirk, and clamber off him towards the bedside table. You pull a package of wet wipes from the drawer, which you put there a few weeks ago, when you got tired of having to get up to clean yourselves off. (Technically, they're baby wipes... you don't let him know that, though. It seems a little too on-the-nose.) He accepts one with a sigh of relief and you make quick work of the mess, so that you can drape yourself across his chest, his arms wrapping around your shoulders.

"I dunno," you say, shrugging a little. "I think I saw something like it in a porno once? And I've just been thinking about it for the past few weeks. I figured it was worth a try."

"You're goddamn right it was worth a try," he says, squeezing your shoulder. "This is the best stupid decision I've ever made."

You give him a deep sigh to let him know that you still disapprove! But. Maybe not entirely. You enjoyed yourself too, after all. The two of you wriggle back under the pile of blankets, and there's a long, comfortable silence where he rubs circles into your back. You just listen to his breathing as it syncs up with yours.

So you're reticent when you have to separate yourself to use the Little Bun's room. He grumbles a little as you get up, but you reassure him you'll be right back. It gives you a chance to turn the lights off in your apartment, anyway. It's not even really bedtime, but you think a nice extended snuggle session is exactly what you need on a night like tonight. The snow seems to have tapered off, but a sparse few flakes still lazily drift by the window.

When you finally return to the cocoon of blankets, Dave grabs you by the waist and pulls you tight against his chest, lavishing you with kisses, and nuzzling your cheek affectionately. You rub noses in return, and eventually you settle only a few inches apart, his hand on your neck, and yours at his waist.

"So," he says quietly, "About those two kids. What's your dad even going to think of two little fox-bunnies?"

"Dave, you don't even know," you sigh, because now that you have a boyfriend and a theoretically viable mate, your dad will not leave you alone about the matter. "He just wants grandbabies, I don't think he cares what they are. They could be amorphous lumps of goo and he'd still be happy."

"No goo babies for you, sorry." He runs a thumb along your jawline. "What about names?"

"Oh... I haven't really thought of names?" You have, but not in any serious capacity. Not any that you want to tell him, anyway.

"How about... Tony Hawk?" The fact that he says it with a completely straight face is what gets you.

"Dave." You could not be any more disappointed in him. "We are not naming our baby Tony Hawk."

"Why not?" he asks, seemingly affronted.

"Because that's weird!" You think that went unsaid, but apparently not?

"Okay how about Darth Vader?"

"That's worse!"

"Snoop Dogg?"

"You're not allowed anywhere near our future babies."

"Aww, babe..." He tries to give you the big sad eyes, but you are not falling for it.

"Nope." But then you think of something equally terrible. "If anything, we're naming our baby Casey."

"Oh hell fucking no!" Dave can sometimes be a hard read, but you think he might actually be a little bit serious in his protest. "If I can't name a baby after one of the most legendary skaters of all time, you're not naming a baby after a terrible kid actor from an equally terrible 90s movie!"

You laugh, and he pouts, which is too adorable. You shift in and kiss the tip of his nose, before settling in a little closer. You see his sourpuss fade into a smile, and he hugs you closer. Silly time is over, now it's time for snuggling, and you just lay there, enjoying him and his warmth. It's not even that late, but you're already feeling dozy, probably because you were running around the apartment like an idiot. You smile, thinking back on it.

As you're drifting off, Dave whispers something close to your ear.

"What about Leeloo Dallas Multipass?"

"Dave, no."

/ / /

"But John, the fifth element was love," Dave protests from the kitchen island while you're flipping pancakes. "You go wild for that kind of corny plot twist!"

It's 10:30 AM on a Saturday. You both fell asleep naked and snuggled into your little blanket nest last night, and then this morning, you just lounged in bed for at least two hours, talking about nothing and everything. You really didn't want to get out of bed, one because you just wanted to stay there with him forever, and two because it was absolutely freezing, and your pajamas weren't anywhere near the bed. Eventually you had to get up, though, so you braved the chill.

Now you're making breakfast (or is it brunch?) while Dave lectures you about the 1997 cult classic The Fifth Element, starring Bruce Willis and Milla Jovovich. The movie that launched a thousand cosplays.

"I know how it ends, Dave," you remind him. "I've watched it before. We've watched it before over Pesterchum!"

"I think we should watch it again," he asserts with a nod, "Just to be sure."

You turn specifically so he can see you roll your eyes, then turn back to flip three more pancakes on the plate.

"Are you going to stay tonight, too?" you ask hopefully, ladling some more batter into the pan.

"Well yeah, unless you're gonna make me walk home in three feet of snow, so I can freeze my tail off."

You want to point out that it's six inches of snow. And that he doesn't have to walk all the way home. But you also want him to stay, so you just huff in amusement.

"We can't have that," you jest, much in the way of a parent responding to a child distraught over a complete non-issue. "I like your tail right where it is."

"You would. Hey babe, can you turn around and smile for me?"

Confused, you turn around, but can't quite muster a smile before you hear the click of his phone camera, and only after that does it process that he's taking a selfie.

"Hey, that's not fair..."

But he's already doing something else on his phone, and you have a sneaking suspicion you know what. You wait until he puts his phone down with a smug grin, and grab yours out of your pocket. You navigate straight away to Twitter and— yep, you were right.

funny display name @turntechGodhead · 2m best. boyfriend. ever. no stream today or tomorrow. gonna be in a pancake coma. see you nerds on monday.

And there's the photo of him making a stupid selfie face, while you look like an idiot in the background. But it's kind of sweet, in a weird way. You're getting the impression that he just likes showing you off and... a part of you likes being shown off. Your mate is proud of you, and—

— boyfriend. Your boyfriend is proud of you. If that makes you a stupid submissive bunny, then so be it. All you know is that it fills you with the warm fuzzies, and anyone who thinks that's wrong can just get bent.

"Here you go," you say, as you flip the last of the pancakes onto a plate, turning around to place it in front of him. "One pancake coma, just for you."

You set your own plate out too and swing around the island to slide into the second chair. Dave leans over (and nearly tips his chair) to kiss you on the cheek, before going for the butter and syrup you set out earlier. And after you eat, you both settle on the couch with cups of coffee, and you let him put on The Fifth Element. But you're not really paying attention, and not just because you've seen this movie a bunch of times already.

Every time he looks over at you to make some quip about the movie, your chest tightens. You're in deep now. You want him. You want this. You want his two kids and a nice house in a good neighborhood with a good school. You want trips to the park and family vacations and parent/teacher conferences.

It's going to be mating season soon. Those were your words. And as you settle into this pseudo-domestic bliss, you already know: this season is going to be a test of willpower.

Chapter Text

April 13th. A pretty unremarkable day for most people, but for you, Dave Strider... well, it's your boyfriend's birthday. Your boyfriend who, up until a few months ago, was very firmly in your best friend category. The best friend you'd been secretly pining for since you were 13 years old, who always managed to occupy way more of your mind than any one person even really should. The best friend you want to spend the rest of your damn life with. That kind of "best friend".

And none of that changed when you found out that your best friend-slash-crush is a bunny.

It's not like it's that weird, anyway; in the modern era, species are free to intermingle any which way they please. Elephants mating with mice, lions with zebra, and foxes like you with rabbits like John. Especially in the city it isn't strange at all to see species comingling, cohabiting, and even settling down and starting families together. Sure, there are plenty of detractors, there probably always will be, but you give a negative amount of shits, and John is too grounded in reality to ever worry about that kind of thing. It's enough to give a man hope that he might have a chance someday.

Maybe... today, even?

The thought has crossed your mind more than once within the past 48 hours, and the more you think about it, the more tempting it is. You know several things to be true: That John doesn't have any other birthday plans. That his dad isn't coming into the city until the weekend. And that you're both probably going to get a little frisky, like you so often do. At the very least, there will be sloppy makeouts, maybe you'll go down on him as a little treat—he really seems to like it when you do, which is good, because you like it too. But maybe you'll give him what you know he's been wanting, too. You know he wants you to mark him. Claim him as your mate.

You're roughly 15 minutes away from John's high-rise apartment building, when you decide to at least give him a bit of a heads up. It's not unusual for you to just show up at his doorstep but you're kind of bored and very, very eager.

TG: sup

TG: happy birthday babe, you busy

TG: i got a 6 pack of cheap wine coolers and a party size bag of doritos both with your name on them

TG: who am i kidding i know youre not busy because you told me your dads not coming until the weekend

TG: which means we are free and clear for the most brotastic birthday bash this side of the brocky mountains

TG: ok wait i take that last one back that sucked the rest still stands though

TG: finally we can legally drink all the shitty piss-water we want

TG: hey

TG: you there

TG: dont tell me

TG: youre ass deep in birthday cake batter because aint nobody there to bake you one

TG: damn thats sad hey wouldnt it be sick if you had an awesome boyfriend to bring you one

TG: cmon. booze. doritos. cake.

TG: how can you resist? im pulling out hells of sincerity here and youre giving me the cold shoulder

TG: tick tock egg boy or im gonna start in on these totally rudelicious party snacks

TG: starting with your stupid cake

TG: its the confetti kind babe

TG: and im going to start eating it in

TG: 3

TG: 2

EB: hey.

TG: screeeeeeeeee

TG: thats the sound of me slamming the brakes on devouring this hella delicious birthday cake with your name all over it

TG: i mean not literally it mostly has sprinkles all over it

TG: happy birthday hunny bun

TG: wait i said that already

TG: fuck

EB: heheh no worries.

TG: aight spill whats up

TG: i know when you start sounding like an angsty teenage girl that somethings wrong

EB: nothing's up! just feeling a bit under the weather, that's all.

TG: shit man thats not right

TG: a man shouldnt be sick on his birthday

TG: hey you know what will cheer you up

TG: if you guessed bargain bin booze and grocery store confectionaries then you guessed right

TG: lemme take care of you what else you want

TG: you want some soup?

TG: cold medicine of course

TG: you like the grape kind right

TG: what else

EB: no it's okay! none of that is going to help right now.

EB: don't worry though, i'm not dying or anything.

TG: fuck

TG: well whats wrong then

TG: help me help you

TG: my main squeeze

TG: on his birthday of all birthdays

TG: his 21st

EB: really, you don't have to worry about it. i'll be fine in a few days.

EB: hey maybe you can come out to dinner with me and my dad?

EB: i'm sure he'd love to see you again, he really seems to like you for some weird reason.

TG: why wouldnt your dad like me

TG: im awesome

TG: a real dad pleaser

TG: loved by 9 out of 10 dads

TG: we dont talk about the last dad

TG: and im coming over anyway

TG: i dont even care if youre puking and shitting all over the place because what are boyfriends for if not to hold your hair back when you're praying to the porcelain god

TG: ill be over soon

EB: don't! dave i'm sorry but i can't see you today.

EB: i love you and i miss you and i want to see you but i just can't.

EB: i really appreciate how much you want to take care of me, it's very sweet of you! but... not today, okay?

TG: ok fine

TG: hear you loud and clear

TG: strider airlines is not cleared for takeoff

TG: taxiing back to the gate as we speak

TG: but at least tell me whats wrong i deserve that much

TG: especially since i'm definitely going to be sick myself now from consuming all these birthday treats by my lonesome

EB: uggggggggghhhhhhhh!

EB: why are you so nosy!

EB: always nosing and meddling, meddling and nosing.

EB: fine. you really want to know?!

That's... not something you expected to hear from him. Because you think you've been pretty good at only sticking your nose where it's wanted. You're not upset, just perplexed? He says he's not dying, but he is acting incredibly strange. Your stomach turns and you can't help but think of all the ways you might have failed him, that maybe he's not sick and he just doesn't want to see you.

TG: well yeah

TG: its my job to be all up in your business

TG: seriously whats wrong cuz now im worried

TG: hey

TG: dont leave me hanging

EB: i'm on my heat cycle.

EB: there, are you happy?

There's a long pause where you both see the other typing, and stop your own typing to let the other go, back and forth like that for a good minute or so.

Wow.

Okay.

So that's a thing that he definitely just said to you, while you were already thinking of whether you could stomach marking him.

On the one hand, what a perfect time for you to swoop in and help your beloved get some relief. It's something you've fantasized about, and now that the opportunity is squarely in your lap, it seems impossible to say no. You'd be an absolute fool if you did.

On the other hand, the gravity of the situation isn't lost on you. This isn't just John telling you he's horny, this is a biological process that can only really be fulfilled with one specific outcome. John knows this. You know this. But the temptation is still there...

On the inexplicable third hand, you can't help but thinking what if. What if someone else swoops in and takes the opportunity? And he decides you're no longer a suitable partner? The two of you keep dancing around the idea of family planning, but for all you know, someone else who cares a lot less about his opinions could just... elbow their way in. It's completely irrational. In your right mind, you don't think John would cheat on you, but inexplicable jealousy still surges in your chest at the thought of this mystery person mating with the love of your life, of some schmuck getting him knocked up. Does the mystery bastard even care? It's starting to get you all riled up, and your heart is pounding in your chest, ready to fight someone who literally doesn't even exist yet. It's a lot all at once, even for a totally cool and chill guy like you.

You know that you've given the idea of starting a family plenty of thought in the intervening time. Ever since you talked to your sister about it. The thing is, it always seemed like a problem for future you, especially when John told you that he wants to wait. Unfortunately, current you has become future you, and now you're amped up on adrenaline for a fight that's not going to happen, over a sleight that you completely made up. And aside from your pulse pounding in your ears, you can hear your own biological clock ticking, and the sound is getting annoying. You have to think fast.

TG: okay so i just come over we take care of it and then we get to the birthday bash

TG: once again the day is saved by strider ingenuity

TG: hold your applause the best is yet to come

TG: and i do mean come

EB: dave what the fuck?

TG: yes that is exactly what im proposing

EB: i don't think you're getting it. do you know how a heat cycle works? it means my body is trying to do everything in its power to have a baby.

EB: and hormones will stop at nothing to make that happen.

EB: we agreed to wait. and now you want to have a baby?

TG: i mean

TG: yeah

TG: i do

The next pause is quite a bit longer, and for once, you don't bother him like you usually do when he goes silent. You wonder if you blew it now, and your stomach is in your fucking feet with how far it sinks. Maybe it's better to know now? You might as well get it out of the way now,instead of like five years and two kids down the line. Well. Actually. The two kids might not happen at this point. Fuck.

You run a hand through your hair and push your ears back, a nervous tic that you can't seem to shake, even though you're a Strider and you aren't supposed to be nervous. Yeah, you're going to spend the next few hours or even days spinning your wheels on this one, if John rightfully decides to ghost you. You're a hot fucking mess waiting for him to respond. You try to soothe yourself by remembering what he said. That you deserve to want things. It doesn't soothe you at all, though. You just feel greedy.

EB: well. okay. fine. maybe.

EB: but first, i need to ask you something.

You're pulled out of your own silent reverie by the ding of the chat client, just as you were getting your pulse to calm down. Now it's set to racing again, and you hate how shaky your fingers are as you type back. You want to say something that sounds cool and ironic, but nothing comes to mind.

TG: shoot

EB: don't take this the wrong way! i just need to be sure i understand.

EB: you really want to come over here, today, on my birthday.

EB: and give me a baby?

TG: no i want to give you a fucking toaster oven

TG: and by that i mean yes i want to come over and put a little strider baby in your belly and poof in 9 months we can officially say were not the biggest losers on the planet and we actually managed to reproduce

TG: we didnt fail at something people have been successfully doing for millions of years go us

TG: also we get to stick it to jane which is just the icing on the funfetti cake

EB: are you even capable of taking this seriously, because this is kind of a serious thing!

EB: do you really want to have a baby with me?

EB: or do you just want to have fun breeding me without having to commit?

The words sting as you read them, the implication that you might just be offering as a kink thing unwritten but heavily implied. It hurts, and you're vaguely cognizant that his hormones are going wild and probably aren't helping here, but you thought he knew better by now. That's not it at all. Yes, you were worried about it when the thought first crossed your mind, that maybe you did just want it as a kink thing. But Rose had asked you a question that's stuck with you ever since: do you want babies, or do you want people?

Ever since then, the picture in your mind's eye has only gotten sharper, clearer. The two of you with a pair of fox-rabbits, celebrating birthdays, watching them grow up and do a bunch of stupid kid stuff, taking them to Disney Land, smash cut to eighteen years later, with the kids going off to college and you're both having a good old sobfest on the front porch as your widdle baby drives away.

And sure, there's something incredibly hot about the idea of dicking down your adorable bunny boyfriend in every possible position you can imagine, and that months later you might get the ego boost of seeing the results of your efforts in the swell of his belly. But it goes beyond that too, and you know it. You just don't know how to prove it.

TG: okay im gonna make a stupid comment first

TG: just get it out of my system

EB: uh. okay.

TG: can a man not want both

TG: can he not simultaneously want that two and a half kids white picket fence lifestyle

TG: while also wanting to pump his super hot boyfriend full of baby juice because its hot as fuck

EB: gross!

TG: okay now which one of us doesnt know how this works

TG: because thats whats gonna happen

TG: but there i got it out of my system

TG: you ready for a second dose of sincerity because here goes nothin

TG: yeah i do want to have a baby with you

TG: im kind of tired of pretending i dont want it really bad and really soon

TG: ever since i moved out here and saw you and smelled you

TG: i just knew like it was some stupid romcom soul mate shit

TG: i want it and i want you because i fuckin love you

TG: im yours and youre mine and we are amazing together

TG: so lets seal the deal and make it real

TG: and this might be the stupidest shit ive ever done or tried to do

TG: but i kind of dont care anymore

TG: if you say no then ill respect that

TG: but you deserve to know the truth i guess

You watch the little dots that indicate John is typing stop and start; all your nerves wind tight, your tail pressed close to your leg, and you feel like you might snap in two at any second.

EB: heheh... yeah. i love you too.

EB: i just thought since you didnt want to mark me that maybe you didn't want to commit.

EB: so i figured we'd be dating for a lot longer, until you were ready. but that's stupid if it's what we both want.

EB: and i do want it! i just keep thinking that maybe we should wait, because it's what we're supposed to do.

EB: but there isn't much that's going to change between now and a few years from now.

EB: maybe we move in together. get a bigger place but we can do that soon anyway.

EB: and we're doing good financially, not to mention we'd have my family to help out.

EB: sorry, i guess i'm sort of thinking out loud here.

EB: i just keep trying to find reasons not to, and none of them hold up.

EB: so. i guess my answer is that i don't care either! let's go for it and see what happens.

EB: my answer is yes.

TG: hell yes

EB: hell

TG: fucking

EB: yes :B

TG: where doing it man. where MAKING THIS HAPEN.

EB: okay not horny anymore sorry.

TG: shut up you know you like it

EB: are you at home right now?

EB: how long will it take you to get here?

TG: actually

TG: im right outside

This isn't really how you had imagined any of this going, but since you were already on your way, you parked yourself on a bench outside the high rise and waited until you knew whether or not you were going to eat yourself into a cake coma alone, or if you were going to be the luckiest guy in the world.

You've been here enough times that the concierge recognizes you, and lets you into the elevator. Nice dude, an older badger with graying ears and a beer belly. Once he figured out that you weren't going to be a menace, you got on about as well as a man and a concierge could. From there it's muscle memory: press the button for the 41st floor of the high-rise apartment building, then turn right then right again to get to Unit 3, because the numbering system here is stupid as shit. You hesitate before you knock on the door, though.

It's not too late. You can turn around and hop on the bus back home, and who knows what will happen to your relationship? You don't just tell your boyfriend that you've been dreaming about him having your babies for the past six months, then just go back to being casual. Things between the two of you have already changed drastically, and there's no takebacks on this one. But once you go inside that apartment, you're going to be changing more than just your relationship. You're going to be changing your lives.

You're about to knock when your phone dings again; you check to see only three words:

EB: door's open. bedroom.

Well. Okay then. You'll just let yourself in and—

The second you open the door, it hits you. You're used to John's normal scent. It's comfortable and familiar, but this is more than just scent. This is a wall of pheromones that makes you weak in the knees, and you're glad John isn't standing there to witness it. It's very unbecoming of a Strider. But you take a deep breath and try to make it seem like you aren't in any particular hurry to get all up in his business, even though you kind of are, now that you've caught scent of him.

You take some time to put away the booze and cake. You smooth out your shirt. Oh god, your shirt, you just wore some grubby old tee, thinking you were going to have a wild night of drinking and pastries and maybe go down on him later at most. When you imagined this day, you always thought you'd be in a snazzy suit, having just come from a fancy dinner at one of those restaurants where three French fries cost $20.

Then you remember it's all coming off anyway and realize that you're just stalling.

The door to the bedroom is open a crack, and you push it open all the way to find John in the process of taking off his shirt. His glasses are set on the dresser beside him, and on the far wall is a full-length mirror. He meets your gaze in the reflection but doesn't turn to you, just letting his shirt fall to the floor. His little tail flicks and one long ear swivels towards you, and you know him well enough to know that he's nervous. The way his shoulders are bunched, and the slightly wild look in his eyes. It feels like he might run at any second, which breaks your heart but also kindles a need to protect him. It's not the first time you've felt it, but certainly the first time it's been this strong.

"What, did you get tired of waiting for me?" You laugh, though it's more of a sharp exhale, and you pull off your shades, setting them on the dresser next to his glasses. You wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your chest to his back, and placing a few brief kisses along his neck and shoulder. "Sorry if I don't want warm booze and melted cake."

He chuckles a little, shallowly and like he's trying to do it for your sake more than anything. But he does lean back against you too, still watching your eyes in the mirror.

"You're really sure about this?" he says quietly, and you can feel his pulse racing beneath your kisses. He's trembling.

You pause for a moment, before you respond, nuzzling the side of his head. You don't even know how to tell him what he means to you. You've tried before and always seem to come up short. You want to tell him that you really don't want to imagine your life going any other way and about the imaginary fight you had with the mystery-suitor just a few minutes prior.

Maybe you just tell him the truth you've extracted from the depths of your cold, dead heart.

"Real talk," you start as you press a kiss to his temple, "I am so goddamn sure. You're the only damn thing in my life I have ever been sure of. Shit, I moved 2000 miles just so I could be closer to you. So yeah, I'm really fucking sure."

He relaxes a little in your arms, taking hold of one of your hands and bringing it up to his lips, planting a soft kiss on each of your knuckles. You feel a momentary pang of panic as he pulls out of your arms, but then he turns and hooks his arms around your neck to pull you down.

"Yeah... okay. I'm sure, too," he says, sounding more confident, and he starts returning your affections with a line of kisses along your jaw. Maybe, just maybe, your tail is wagging a little at the attention. "At least my dad will stop asking about it. Plus, we're out of school and more or less stable. I showed you my senior class photo, you saw all the babies! That could have been me, and then what?"

'And then what' indeed. You try not to let him see you bristle, but it does stoke a very primal need in you. Talking time is over, you think; you pull him in for a deep kiss, tonguing at his lips, and he seems a little surprised when you nip, though not unpleasantly so. You feel him melt into your arms, and you smirk into the kiss; you feel a rumble at the back of his throat that must be a laugh.

He's amazing, and you don't know how else to tell him that, except to lavish him with kisses, drawing them from the corner of his lips, down to his jaw and neck. He tilts his chin back, offering you full access, and you realize that you could do it right now. You could mark him, make him yours. You know he wants it, but there's just something about it...

You can worry about that later.

You guide him into turning back around, and he gives you a curious glance, but goes along with it. When he does turn around, he's face to face with his full-length mirror, and you see his eyes go wide, a smile creeping into his features.

"You're still really tense," you murmur into his hair, bringing your hands up to his shoulders. You start rubbing them, working your thumbs in circles. "Are you nervous?"

"A little," he mutters, but you feel him starting to loosen up more.

"That's okay. Honestly? I am too."

When his shoulders feel good and relaxed, you start working at unbuttoning his jeans, fumbling with shaky fingers, but you get them eventually, and start tugging them down. You kneel as you go so that you can run your hands all down his thighs, and on your way back up, you nip at his ass, eliciting a gasp. That leaves him in just a pair of adorable panties that you want to imagine he put on for your sake, even if that makes no sense. Low cut, white and blue stripes, with lace trim. Simple, but effective.

"You're so beautiful," you whisper to him, a truth, and an affirmation. "You're all I've ever wanted."

You feel him shudder and watch his expression in the mirror as his lashes dip. He's still smiling, but it's much more relaxed. So you don't feel bad when you pull him back against you, sliding your hand down his front and rubbing at him through his panties. He whines, but you keep toying with him. You can feel how wet he is already, no doubt because he's in heat, but you like to think that some of it's just for you.

"How are you doing?" you ask, even though you're still distracting him.

"I'm—" He inhales sharply before continuing. "—good, but I need you fucking me about ten minutes ago?"

"Mmhmm, patience, hunny bun," you say, as you hook your thumbs under the elastic of his panties. "Good little bunnies don't rush things."

Pushing his panties down, they fall to his feet, and he steps out of them. You wrap your arms around him, reveling in your reflection in the mirror. He's fully bare in your arms and every part of him is stunning, from the soft slope of his shoulders, to the dark, wispy hairs covering his chest and trailing down his belly and between his legs—to the Promised Fucking Land, as you like to ironically think of it. It's not your fault he's got a rocking bod and an outrageous pussy game. He's slender and soft in all the best places and he fits against you so perfectly.

Fuck, you are in so damn deep.

"But Dave..." He interrupts your silent admiration, and wriggles his way back around, grabbing your collar and tugging you down to eye level. "I'm not a good little bunny."

He pulls away before you have a chance to get a good grip on him, crawling on the bed and as soon as you see what he's doing, your heart skips a beat or ten. Face down, ass up, legs spread, and little tail flicking eagerly... oh, hell. You pull your shirt over your head, and you can't seem to get your own damn jeans and underwear off fast enough. In fact, you almost trip on them as you try to crawl your own way onto the bed, but you make it nonetheless.

You're not sure if he knows just how stunning he looks, glancing over his shoulder at you as he presents, waiting for you to take him. You try to savor it for as long as you can, which isn't very long at all; you need to be in him... yep, about ten minutes ago, actually.

You steady yourself with one hand on the mattress, the other on his hip, as you mount your best friend-turned-boyfriend-turned-mate-maybe, pressing the tip of your cock to his warm folds, and slowly fucking into him. He's so slick and his body so readily accepts you, and you're worried you might just bust right then and there, but you manage to chill at least a little. He murmurs in approval, obediently shifting his legs a little so you can really get in there, until you're balls-deep in his tight little cunt.

"How are you doing?" You know you're feeling fucking amazing, but it occurs to you to make sure he's alright.

You hear him chuckle as he presses his face into a pillow, turning just enough to reply. "All good. That feels... wow."

Encouraged by his approval, you get comfortable and lean in further, so that you're practically covering his body with yours, as you start to slowly thrust, pulling out, then roughly pushing back in. You like the little whimpers he makes as you do, and how pliable he makes himself to your whims, as he should because he's yours. Yours to fuck, yours to breed, yours to love and treasure. He tenses underneath you and around you and you remember he's yours to take care of, too; your hand at his hip slides around the front of his thigh and between his legs, rubbing his clit in time with your thrusts. He muffles a loud moan into the pillow to let you know you've hit just the right spot and motion, and you smirk as you nuzzle the back of his head.

And you murmur nice things to him. "You're so gorgeous." "Your body feels amazing." "You're such a good little breeder." "I can't wait to come inside you." Steadily dirtier, until he seems unable to respond with anything more than vague pleasured noises.

You want to stay like this forever, and you try to take all of it in, your senses confined only to the space around you as the rest of the world fades out. It's just you and him. The warmth between you and the sweat beading on your bodies. The smell of your sex permeating the room. The soft sound of skin on skin as your thrusting becomes quicker, more rhythmic.

He orgasms first, his muscles contracting against your cock in a way that drives you wild, so that one- two- three thrusts later, you come too, pressing deep into him to get all that baby juice up in there, as you so eloquently put it. And it's a different kind of arousing, as you're wracked with a full body shudder, because... this is it.  There's no undo button and you hope to god that he won't change his mind now that the urge has been sated.

And then you both still, and he slumps into the mattress, and you try not to rest your full weight on him. You'd roll off to the side, if your knot wasn't buried inside him and near impossible to pull out without hurting one or both of you.

He's still groaning into the pillow, and he eventually lifts his head a little. "You okay back there?"

"Huh? What do you mean, of course—" Oh. Yeah. You sort of forgot to tell him about the thing your dick does during mating. It happens to a lesser degree when he sucks or jacks you off, but you're not surprised he's never noticed. "Shit. Right. Um, yeah I mean I'm good, and this is totally normal, but we're stuck like this for a little while."

"A little while? What does that even mean?" He seems legitimately concerned, trying to turn to face you as much as he can, which isn't much. But it is enough for you to plant a little kiss on his cheek.

"Don't worry about it, babe," you reassure him, trying to sound all suave. "It'll only be about ten or fifteen minutes. Probably. I know you've seen porn with canids in it, c'mon man. Don't make me spell it out for you."

"With canids?" There's a long bout of silence, then, "Oh. Oh."

"Yeah. So."

He pauses for another moment, then sighs. "Can we at least try to get a little more comfortable? My thighs are starting to cramp..."

The whole process is decidedly very unsexy, with his foot smacking you in the face at one point, as you both try to wriggle around, tied at the hip and trying not to pull too hard because you see the twinge of pain on his face when you do. But you get there eventually, and wind up laying on your back, while he lays out on top of you and... actually, it was worth the struggle because this is perfect. You cushion your head with one hand, the other rubbing small circles into his back as you take a moment to just... bask in yourselves.

"I've come to a decision," he says quietly, after another, longer silence, and you perk up, immediately on edge and trying not to show it. "If it doesn't work this time, then you're still on the hook for that toaster oven. Deal?"

You snort. "For real? I don't know why you're doubting Strider virility, but sure. If I can't get you knocked up for your birthday, I'll buy you a fuckin' toaster oven. I'll buy you ten toaster ovens, even."

He giggles and it's fucking adorable. Almost like you weren't just nailing him into the mattress. "What would I do with ten toaster ovens?"

"Toast ten freezer pizzas at a time. Duh."

He laughs again, and then falls quiet, and so do you, just listening and feeling him breathe. You're not tired, but you close your eyes and let yourself doze a little, your senses filled with just him. You knew today was going to be good, but you had no idea it was going to be this good. You couldn't have come up with this even if you'd tried. His ear tickles your nose, and you nip at it playfully, eliciting another giggle.

Time passes in an inscrutable way when you're so entangled. It feels like forever and no time at all before your knot goes soft and you gradually slip out of him. Unfortunate. You were really digging how cozy it was. You open one eye to see him with his arms crossed and his chin resting on them, watching you curiously; you smirk. He's too cute. He's too fucking cute. And if your baby looks anything like him, which you hope it does, you're gonna have the cutest goddamn baby on the planet.

He catches your grin widening and huffs in amusement.

"What are you so happy about?"

You roll your eyes. "Gee, I dunno. Maybe the fact that I have a super sexy, super adorable mate? –I do have a super adora-sexy mate, right?"

His eyes flick down and he bites his lip, and suddenly you feel a pang of worry all over again. "I gave you the chance to mark me, and you didn't, so I wasn't... sure? I mean, things were already moving forward, and I still wanted to do this one way or the other, but I just didn't know if you wanted to make that commitment now or wait until we know we're actually going to have a baby."

"Oh. Yeah." You exhale heavily and don't even try to hide that you were holding your breath. You probably owe him an explanation. "No, I noticed. And I wanted to so bad, but we only talked about it that one time. Plus, don't know if you know this about me? Blood is kind of a turn-off. Not that I won't do it, it's just a boner-killer. Gotta be ready for that shit. Have some towels and antiseptic, a bandaid. We can get the kind with Spider-man if you want, and—"

"Okay! Okay, I get it!" He rolls off of you and you let out an incredibly undignified and un-Striderlike whine, until he snuggles back up to your arm. "No... that makes sense. You're right. We're kind of doing everything half-cocked here, maybe we should at least do one thing right."

"Excuse you, I'm doing everything whole-cocked, thank you very much."

He groans, and rolls away again, pulling a pillow over his head, and it's your turn to laugh. You debate scooting over so you can get your cuddle on, but you have another, better idea, and instead move to the side of the bed and stand. You consider grabbing at least your underwear but decide to forgo them because you'd probably just take them off again when you come back.

"Where are you going?" John peeks out from under his pillow, and you can see a hint of a frown that squeezes your heart and tries to draw you back to him.

"I'll be right back, promise," you reassure him, even though you really just want to dive right back into bed. But this is gonna be so awesome. You're already patting yourself on the back. "Hey, do you have any of that stuff you can use to write on cakes?"

"Huh? Uh... yeah, the cabinet to the right of the fridge." He seems suspicious now and you just give him a shit-eating grin. "What are you going to do with it?"

You don't answer and just leave the bedroom. It still feels a bit weird just waltzing around his apartment with your junk all hanging out, still slightly damp and sticking to your leg every now and again. Kind of gross. Good thing you don't care. You fetch the cake from the fridge, and eye the six-pack, but decide against it. Nope. No alcohol. Could hurt the baby. (Already this baby is a very real entity in your mind, even though you won't know for sure for a few weeks. And what a long few weeks it's going to be.)

By the time you get the plastic cover off the little mini-cake, you're pretty sure John knows what you're doing, since those things are designed to alert everyone in a five-mile radius that you're stuffing your mouth with delicious, delicious cake, so the surprise is definitely ruined. You pull the little tube of frosting out of the cabinet and put your artistic skills to the test, writing out a little message on top of the cake. When you're satisfied, you grab two forks from the drawer and head back into the bedroom with very little fanfare.

John has already propped up the pillows and spread the covers out over his lap, so that you two can sit up and enjoy yourselves. You hand off the cake and forks to him so you can maneuver your way under the covers and sit up next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him against your chest. While you're doing that, he's busy laughing at your pathetic attempt at cake writing. Whether he can actually read the message or he's just laughing at how bad it is, it doesn't matter.

Congrats On The Sex!

"Happy birthday, babe." You kiss the side of the head and nuzzle into his soft hair. "Didn't think I'd be the one getting a present today, but here we are."

"God... what happened to Cool Dave? Can I have him back?" He has unceremoniously dug into the cake, savoring that first bite, and you can tell by the way he wiggles his ears that he actually likes it. "Cornball Dave is fine and all but that's not the Dave I love."

Love.

You're never going to get tired of hearing him say that.

"Sorry, Cool Dave is dead," you say, feigning sorrow. "He died the moment you let him put his dick in you. Now it's just Dad Dave. I hope you're ready for the sickest dad jokes you've ever heard."

"Oh, jeez. How do I go back in time and warn myself?"

You laugh, and so does he, before he feeds you a forkful of cake, and you kind of wonder why you bothered getting two forks at all. You take turns feeding each other cake, at least at first, until John decides to smudge some on your cheek and then it's an all-out war, with the two of you vying to smudge as much cake onto the other as you can. You're kind of making a mess. You kind of don't care.

Once you've laughed yourselves out, you set the crumbled remains of the cake on the bedside table and grab the wet wipes so you can start to clean up. John surprises you by leaning in before you can even get one out and licking a glob of frosting off of your cheek. You turn your head to look at him and... wow.

You're struck first by how gorgeous he is, how warm and comfortable he looks, despite having cake on his face and even in his hair a bit. You're struck second by those brilliant blue eyes, clouded over with lust and looking at you expectantly. You still take the time to wipe the mess off, though. No matter how horny he is, you're not laying in a bed full of sticky crumbs. He giggles as you wipe at his face, and you have to hold him by the chin to keep him still.

"Daaaaave..." He whines your name, laying back on the bed and splaying out. "We're not done yet."

"Really? Again?" You're not against it, just... surprised, is all. You thought this would be a one-and-done deal.

"Uhm, yeah," he says, pushing himself up on his elbows. "I'm going to be like this for at least two or three days, and you don't have to stay the whole time, but—"

"Nope. Nuh uh. Don't finish that sentence," you chide, while you're already pushing him back against the mattress and worming your way between his legs. He spreads them for you eagerly, and you hover over him, giving some attention to his neck and shoulders. "There is no reality in which I don't want to spend three days giving it to my amazing, sexy, and very horny mate."

He laughs again, such a sweet and melodic sound, tinged with his arousal. "Jeez, Dave. Are you sure? Your dick might fall off."

"Consequences be damned, I am not setting foot outside of this apartment until you're satisfied, or until you tell me to."

He wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you in tighter against his body. You can feel him radiating warmth, smell his body slicking up again and the pheromones flaring. Your lips catch his and you kiss him, slow and sweet, like an elegant dance. Except it's your lips and tongues, but whatever. You never were good with purple prose.

The point is, you're taking it a little slower this time. The urgency has worn off, and now it's just you and him and all the time in the world. You don't just want to fuck him, you want to make love, too, because he deserves it. He deserves to feel loved and valued, deserves to be treated with tenderness.

He inhales sharply as your erection presses up between his legs again, and you lift your head a little.

"You doing alright?" you ask, mildly concerned. Even if you trust him to tell you to stop, you still like getting the green light.

"Mn," he mumbles, not really forming words at first, and then finally says, "I just... I wish I could be just a little closer..."

"What, like absorb me entirely, just go full anglerfish and absorb my pathetic little body into yours?"

"Dave, you never go full anglerfish." He gives a breathy laugh and settles back. "No, I don't know what I meant. I just want you. I'm good."

Giving him a soft kiss, you reach down to guide yourself into him, your cock sliding easily into him for the second time that day. He still feels so pleasantly warm and you still yourself as you push in all the way, planting a kiss on his nose.

"Is that good enough?" you ask as you roll your hips against his.

"Mhm," he murmurs, clearly blissed out. "Can you... would you say sweet things to me this time?"

"Of course, darlin'," you say with a smirk, laying on the accent as heavy as you care to without sounding hokey, and feel him shiver under you.

His knees clamp around your thighs as you languidly pull out, push back in, out then in, slow and sweet and gentle. He rolls his hips along with yours so that your bodies are moving as one, breathing as one, and he murmurs to let you know when you've hit just the right angle. You kiss all over his face and nuzzle against his neck, and you whisper the most honeyed words to him, just like he asked. "You're gorgeous." "I love you so much." "You're all I've ever wanted." "You'll make a beautiful mother."

If your eyes mist up a little, it's solely because you've got something in both your eyes, and not because you're a little blustery with how much you adore him.

. . .

John takes the rest of the week off, and you let your socials know that you'll be away for a few days. Then you both turn off your phones and computers and spend your mini-vacation absorbed in each other. You breed him so many times that you lose count. You try different positions, all the ones you can think of and some that you just kind of improvise. Sometimes he practically falls into your lap, brimming with lust and love, other times he asks you, tells you if he wants to be treated sweetly or roughly, if he wants dirty talk or gentle words. Sometimes he's your little breeder slut. Sometimes he's your beloved, your heart, your everything. Your mate. Most of the time, he's simply yours. And you're his.

It's an entire 3-day marathon that leaves you exhausted and sore but so, so content and complete. Yes, complete has to be the word for it. Like the two of you have come together to form something bigger than yourselves, something beautiful and indescribable.

It's midday on Saturday. You're both lounging on the couch, not quite watching a made-for-TV movie. You're both going to need to shower soon since John's dad is coming in and you're meeting him for dinner. That's when you'll be telling him, and you're nervous. So very nervous. John's dad is great, you don't think he'll react poorly. But you're still going to be sitting in some nice restaurant, telling him about how you just railed his baby boy for three days straight. Maybe not in so many words, but that's how it feels.

Tucking your head up under John's chin, you lean into him, your hand wandering to his belly. There's almost certainly a little Strider baby in there, and you're off the hook for the toaster ovens, which is a relief. There's still a chance that it doesn't happen, that something fails along the way, but... you try not to think about that.

"How are you feeling?" John says softly, kissing the top of your head.

"Oh, you know," your say with a small shrug. "Just feeling like my body got run through one of those old laundry presses. No biggie."

He laughs into your hair. "I meant emotionally."

"Uh." You've never been good at talking about your feelings. But you want to be. You want to tell him everything. You move the hand on his belly to slip up under his shirt. "It's hard to describe. It's like I'm terrified, but in a good way. Like... holy shit, we might actually be having a baby?"

"Might is an understatement." He pulls up his shirt so he can rest his hand on top of yours. "I'm excited. To be doing this with you."

You hum in agreement and snuggle up against him, your mind drifting through what the future might hold. What he'll look like with a big round belly. What your baby will look like. Whose hair and eyes and nose will they have? You hope it's all his. What kind of things will they like? What will their favorite food be? Will they like music? Actually, scratch that, no child of yours could ever dislike music.

"Hey, Dave?" John says quietly, barely above a whisper, and giving your hand a squeeze.

You were kind of dozing off, which is probably not a great idea when you need to get ready soon. "Mn... yeah, hunny bun?"

He's quiet for a moment and you tilt your head up to see him, lips pressed into a straight line and his brows upturned like he's trying not to laugh.

"...can we still get a toaster oven?"

He busts up laughing and you push away from him, dramatically flopping over to the other side of the couch. You're not actually upset, but you do want to make sure he knows his joke was terrible. Because it was. When he stops shaking, he leans over, and it's an awkward position that leaves him resting his head on your hip.

"Pretty please?"

You mull this over for a moment, or at least act like you do. "Okay. But only one."

This elicits more giggles, but the truth is? You'd give him the world if you could. You think a toaster oven is a close second, though.

Chapter Text

Your name is John Egbert, and at the moment, you're waiting on the results of the third and final home pregnancy test. The first two were positive, so you're pretty hopeful for the third, but... you never know. And there were three in the box, so you might as well use them all. Waiting for the results of the first one, you were a nervous wreck. Waiting for the second, you were cautiously optimistic. Waiting for this third one? You actually let yourself get excited.

Your birthday was a little over four weeks ago, and you've started feeling what you suspect to be symptoms, morning sickness of course, but also your chest hurts and you feel a lot more sluggish on average.

Four weeks ago, your baby was conceived.

Four weeks ago, you told your dad he's probably going to be a grandpa.

/ / /

"John, Dave, so good to see you," Dad Egbert says as you arrive at the restaurant. It's a nice evening, not too warm and not too cold. You made sure that Dave dressed well, and so did you, but thankfully this isn't one of those stupid-fancy places. Just stupid-expensive. But it was your dad's idea, even after you said Dave would be coming along. He told you he'd already assumed that.

"Dad!" You hurry forward and fling your arms around him. There's no doubt he can smell Dave all over you, but that shouldn't be too surprising. You're saving the news until after dinner, though. "How was the drive?"

"Ah. About as bad as usual," your dad replies with a soft chuckle. He's already made his opinions on interstate traffic well known. "Well, let's head inside, shall we? Our reservation is at 6:30. –Oh and Dave, come here."

Your dad pulls Dave into a hug as well, functionally no different than the one he gave you. Seeing them get along just makes you a little bit giddier to give him the news, but you promised you'd wait, and you're going to.

Your dad gives his name at the host stand and you're escorted to your table. The menu is reasonably sized, not the behemoths like you get at Olive Garden or Cheesecake Factory. It somehow makes it both easier and harder to choose, and now you have to wonder if you should be eating for two, and if there's anything you should avoid? You didn't even think of that. While your dad and Dave are getting caught up over bread, you surreptitiously use your phone under the table to search.

"John?" Your eyes snap up and you smile at your dad.

"Sorry, work thing," you respond quickly. The immediate search results were not helpful. They listed spray tans, cats, alcohol, and... food. Just food. You don't think that's right, for reasons that should be incredibly obvious.

"Would you boys be interested in sharing a bottle of wine? You're both old enough now," your dad says with a wry grin. He's given you alcohol since you were sixteen, only ever a glass of wine at a special dinner, or a champagne flute on New Year's, and you never really liked it that much anyway. You just liked feeling like one of the adults.

Now, you exchange glances with Dave, and with that, you know he's on the exact same page you are.

"Um, you know what, I'll pass!" you say with a wide smile, hoping it's convincing.

"Same," Dave adds, and reaches under the table to grab your hand.

Your dad raises an eyebrow and looks between the two of you, and you can't help but think he might be on to you. He's suspicious, at the very least, given that you've both shared a glass with him before. That and his ears are straight forward at you, rather than swiveling at the sounds of the crowded restaurant, which means you know he's sizing you up.

"I suppose you're right," he says with a sigh, putting the wine menu back. "I should probably abstain myself, if I'll be driving myself home tonight."

"Oh." Now you feel kind of bad? "Do you want to stay the night? I know the couch isn't glamorous but it's actually pretty comfortable! Just ask Dave."

"Yeah," Dave nods, eagerly jumping in to corroborate. "First day I was out here, I laid down on that thing when we got back from the airport, and boom! Out like a light."

"No, no, it's alright," your dad shakes his head. "I have a work function tomorrow that I can't miss, and I didn't bring a change of clothes with me."

Ah, yes. Your father would not be caught dead in the same shirt and tie two days in a row. To do so would violate the very core tenet of his being, and there will be no dry cleaners open by the time you finish dinner.

"Oh, and Dave, you're welcome to order meat, if you like. I don't keep any at the house, but only because I don't eat it myself."

Dave shakes his head. "No way Mr. E, you've officially converted me. If I had a hat, it would be off to you."

Shortly after, the waiter comes over to take your order, and you go with something safe and healthy, the quinoa with roasted vegetable dish that you probably would have ordered anyway. Those are all healthy things, so they must be okay. And you probably shouldn't even be that concerned at this point. Plenty of people spend the first few weeks not even knowing they're pregnant! But you are concerned because this is your baby.

The dish is predictably delicious. You know this restaurant, and they only put out high-quality dishes, so it was hard to go wrong. Conversation over dinner is casual, with Dave and your dad leading most of it. You're not sure how Dave can be so calm, when you're struggling not to bounce your leg or fold your napkin into origami. You guess that's just the kind of person Dave's always been, and you're thankful for it, because it takes the pressure off you. You wonder if he knows that. You wonder if he's doing it on purpose.

Once you finish up your main course, your dad leans back in his chair. "What do you say, should we have dessert?"

"Oh, yeah! You'll love the cake here," you chip in, finally feeling like you can actually contribute to the discussion.

"Hmm. We'll see about that."

Despite his clear doubts, your dad does in fact order the chocolate cake, and you order the strawberry cheesecake to split with Dave, plus coffee all around. It's a bit late for coffee, but that’s just what adults do, as far as you know. Have coffee after dinner. And you're feeling especially 'adult' tonight, all things considered.

Your dad has just savored the first bite of cake when he looks towards you. "John. I wanted to ask, is everything alright? You've been awfully quiet tonight."

You exchange glances again with Dave, and he gives you a little smirk, squeezing your hand again under the table. You nod and look back to your dad.

"Well, the thing is, we have news," you start, and your dad just watches patiently. You can't decide if you love it or hate it. "Dave and I are mates now. And... you're probably going to be a granddad!"

Your dad's expression doesn't change for a solid five seconds as he processes that information, and then you see him brighten up in a way you've never seen before. He's on his feet in an instant, and you meet him around the side of the table, where he pulls you into his arms and holds you tight.

"John. John, my son, my amazing son, I'm so happy for you," he says, quiet and like he's holding back. Of course he is, he's your dad. You can tell that underneath his level-headed exterior, he's as giddy as you are. He's just an expert at reining it in.

"Thanks, dad. I'm... we're really excited," you say, muffled into his shoulder and trying not to cry happy-tears all over his nicely pressed shirt. You know how he is about shirts.

You separate as soon as you start to feel bad for Dave just sitting there and watching this, and you both return to your seats. Your dad rests his forearms on the edge of the table and laces his finger together.

"I see why you didn't want wine now," your dad adds, before he turns his attention to Dave. "So. You believe that you're ready to be a father? That's a big responsibility, you know."

"Yes sir," Dave chokes out, visibly swallowing. "I...John says I'm good with kids, and I'm gonna take his word for it. But also... I love him. More than anything. And I'll do whatever it takes to take care of him and the baby."

"Is that what made you want to pursue this? Love of my son?"

Why is your dad grilling him like this? You feel bad, but you don't want to interrupt just yet. Maybe he's going somewhere with this? You can only watch in mild horror, especially because you assured Dave it would be fine.

"That, and..." You watch as Dave hesitates for a moment, looking like he's trying to decide whether to say something in particular. You have no idea what. You just... hope it's good. "It was something my sister said, actually."

"And that was?"

"When I talked to her, she asked me if I want to have babies," he starts, with a little more confidence, "Or if I want to have people. If I just wanted the, uh. Conquest of the baby part, or if I wanted to raise a family and watch my baby grow into a full-fledged person. And that's what I want. I want a baby that will grow and learn and have their own personality and... well, I hope go on to live a successful life, if we do our damn job right. But I want that with him. I can't imagine it with anyone else."

You're stunned by the response, and so is your dad apparently, but probably for different reasons. Dave has been a lot better at opening up and being sincere with you as of late, but he never told you that story, and... you knew he wanted kids before you let him mate you, but you didn't know that level of thought went into it. Your dad just seems surprised that Dave only misses a short beat and still answers, a well thought out and incredibly touching answer at that. Your dad gives an affectionate smile and stands again, gesturing for Dave to come to him.

"Well, that's wonderful to hear, though I was only pulling your leg," you hear him say to Dave. "Fatherly duty. You'll understand someday. But as far as I'm concerned, you're already part of the family. I trust you with him."

You hear Dave sigh contentedly as he and your dad embrace, and when they finally part, you're feeling so much more relaxed, all the nervous energy dissipated and replaced with something cozy and comfortable, like relief only better. Your dad sits back down again and reaches under the table. You knew he brought you something for your birthday, but of course you couldn't ask for it, you had to wait.

"I suppose this gift is a lot more apt, then," he prefaces, as he hands the small bag over the table. "I've wanted to give this to you on your 21^st birthday for some time now, and it seems like it's well-timed."

You have no idea what it could be. Something small that he's been planning to give you specifically on a noteworthy birthday? You pull the card out of the bag and open it, parsing the dumb pun on the cover and opening it to find that it's one of those cards that play music. You laugh and read the writing inside.

Son, 21 years ago I held you in my arms for the first time. Up until that point I thought I was a happy man, but I was wrong. Nothing compares to the joy I've felt by virtue of being your father. You're growing so fast, but you will always be my little kit, and I am so very proud of you. Love, Dad

You smile wide, and tuck the card back into the envelope, setting it aside carefully. You then reach into the bag, past the tissue paper, and your hand lands on something boxy and velvety. Pulling it out, it's a black jewelry box, and a nice looking one at that. You open it to find a beautiful diamond ring, cut in a heart shape and flanked by smaller diamonds and milgrain detailing, set into a silver band. (Your dad will clarify later in the evening that it's actually white gold. You're not really a jewelry expert.) You're confused, and you look up to your dad for an explanation.

"It’s your mother's wedding ring," he says in a somber tone. Oh. Oh god. "I want you to have it. To keep a little piece of her close to you."

You feel tears welling up in your eyes, and Dave must notice, because he puts his arm around you and squeezes. You didn't know your mom, your only memories of her are from shaky home movies of her and you as a toddler. But you know how much losing her has pained your father all these years and didn't come to appreciate just how hard it had to be to lose her and still raise you until recently. For him to give you this means a lot more than you can ever hope to put into words.

"Dad... I don't know what to say," you confess, and a few tears wander down your cheeks. Your sniffle, even as you turn the box this way and that, to see how the gem glints in the light. "It's beautiful."

The rest of your evening is consumed with baby talk, interspersed with marriage talk and you admiring the ring. About how a proposal is really just a foregone conclusion at this point, and how maybe you should get the legal part done at the courthouse because it's practical? Then think about a proper wedding ceremony after the baby is born. You ask your dad to keep the ring in his safe until you're ready to wear it, and he agrees. You talk about how and when you want to break the news to the rest of the family, and collectively decide it's best to wait a few weeks, until it's a little more certain.

And you talk about your living situation. Because of course you do. Your dad reminds you that there's always space in the family home, and that he can clean out some of the extra rooms, and the attic if Dave needs his own 'office' space. You appreciate the offer, but that's a much longer conversation that you and Dave need to have. You're also touched but surprised that your dad seems to not only consider but accept Dave's streaming as just another career, in need of its own space.

At the end of the night, you're left feeling like... well, like this is it.  This is everything you've ever wanted and ever needed, and you don't know what you did to earn any of this, but you're glad to be here all the same. But it's about to get better.

After saying your goodbyes, the two of you go back to your apartment for the night. Dave has taken to staying over your place on nights he doesn't stream, and you usually go over to his place on the weekends, but your apartment is closer and more convenient. As soon as the door is shut, he loops his arms around your waist from behind, and pulls you back against him.

"Hey," he says softly, nosing at your neck.

"Hey." You lean back into him and sway a little, happy to just enjoy each other for a moment.

"You wanna 100% speedrun this relationship? I think we stand a chance of setting a world record."

"What are you talking about?" You pull away just enough to turn and look at him, perplexed. Dave says some weird shit, but that's a lot weirder than normal.

"I'm just thinking," he says, letting you turn around to face him. He brings up a hand and runs a finger down your neck and over your scenting gland. "You still want me to mark you?"

"Oh... wow." You wouldn't say that you were resigned to him never doing it, it's more like... you accepted that it might never be a reality, and that was okay. He already gives you so much of himself, and that one thing wasn't really make or break. "I mean, yes. I do. Are you sure?"

"About as sure as I'm ever gonna be. –I want to do it. I just. Uh. It's not going to be very romantic, so don't get your hopes too high."

"That's fine. I'll get the first aid kit." You laugh under your breath. "We really are just doing it all tonight, huh? You want to drive down to Vegas and get hitched? We're going to have to wait on the baby though, sorry."

And when you get down to it, he's right: it's certainly not the romantic moment you always envisioned. You always imagined a moment where you'd be laid out on a bed of satin sheets and you'd be making love as he bit down, sending the signal to your brain that he's it, that he's the one. Like in all the movies and whatnot. You should know better by now, but hey, a boy can dream. And in the end, the way things play out is a lot more practical.

You wind up in the bathroom in front of the sink with your shirt off, an old towel nearby and the first aid kit open on the counter. He does take the time to ease into it, kissing you softly, nipping as he draws his lips down your neck. He stops with his teeth over the spot, and he waits. It takes you a second, but you realize he's looking for your go-ahead.

"I'm good," you say quietly, bringing up a hand to card through his hair. "Go ahead."

There's still another few seconds of pause before you feel it. His teeth sinking into your skin, blood seeping around them. The pain sears white hot for a few seconds, before your body starts producing the hormones to soothe it. It doesn't bleed as much as you thought it would, but a little blood still pools around the punctures, and as soon as Dave steps back and sees that, he's dry heaving over the bathtub.

Yep. Not romantic in the slightest. But that's okay. You staunch the bleeding, apply the antiseptic, and get it all bandaged to keep it safe and clean. By that point, Dave is still hunched over the tub, and you rub his back comfortingly.

"You can look now, it's done," you reassure him.

"I warned you about blood, hunny bun," he says as he straightens. There's a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and he looks paler than you've ever seen him, but he's trying to give you a smirk. "I told you, dog."

"Very funny." You escort him out of the bathroom and opt to not fetch your shirt. "Well thankfully, it will not keep happening. I hope."

"Hopefully," he agrees.

"Is it always like that, or...?"

"Nah. The worst is when I'm the cause of it, second worst is when it's my own, and... after that it still sucks? But I can handle it."

"Huh." He's never really explained in great detail exactly what it was that caused his fear. You've gathered that it has something to do with his brother, and a number of small, faint scars he has. But that's it. He picks up on your confusion and sighs, gathering you into his arms.

"I'll tell you about it someday. Promise. But I don't want to ruin tonight. We're real mates now and we have your dad's blessing if we want to get married, and there's a pretty high chance we're having a baby. My brother ruined a lot of shit for me, and I'm not letting him fuck this up when he's not even here."

You figure that's fair enough, and you both settle in on the couch to pass the rest of the evening with whatever you can find on TV. You don't really know how you're supposed to feel after he's marked you. You feel mostly the same. Maybe it'll become more obvious as it heals, and time goes on.

Or maybe you were just that close already.

/ / /

The result of the third and final test is as clear as day: you are, indeed, having a baby. It's not exactly a surprise, but it does still fill you with a joy that you've never felt before. You immediately line all three tests up and snap a picture, sending it off to Dave straight away.

EB: babybabybabyoh.jpg

TG: wait for real

EB: yes!

TG: holy shit holy shit hopy shit

TG: this is

TG: wow

TG: i mean

TG: its not a surprise or anything

TG: but wow

EB: heheh i understand!

TG: we should celebrate

EB: how?

TG: idk but im on my way

That's about how you expected him to react. You smile to yourself, and figure you have some time to wait while he makes his way over, so you pull up the family group chat, sending off the same image. You figure it speaks enough for itself, even if this is unexpected for all but your dad.

EB: babybabybabyoh.jpg

GG: :o! are those yours?

EB: yep!

GG: oh my god congratulations!!! :D

GT: How about that! I think congratulations are in order.

GT: @Dave Strider You too sir! You sly devil you!

PF: I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU SON.

EB: dad please turn off caps lock!

PF: IT APPEARS TO BE STUCK.

PF: AND I DID NOT WANT TO WAIT TO CONGRATULATE YOU.

EB: thank you, all of you.

GG: oh john this is so exciting!

EB: i'm really excited too!

GG: @Jake English we have to be there!

GT: Youre too right we do. It is our duty as second cousins to support john in any way we can!

GG: heheh i don't think it's about duty. i think it's because we love john and want to be there for him.

GT: That too. *wink*

EB: awwww i love you guys too. :B

GG: we'll have to figure out where and how long we can stay but we can talk about logistics later!

PF: YOU ARE ALWAYS WELCOME TO STAY HERE.

GG: heheh thanks uncle james :)

GG: gosh i'm just so excited!

GT: Is dave aware of this already?

GG: jake, you just pinged him.

GT: Huh. So i did.

EB: it's okay guys! he knows, i sent it to him first. he's on his way over and i thought i would let you know too.

GG: Oh, John. Is this really true? You're all grown up and starting a family?

EB: um... yes...

GG: Then congratulations. I do sincerely mean that.

EB: oh. well thanks!

You're a little surprised; you were expecting either radio silence or a snide comment from Jane, but... you're tentatively hopeful that maybe she's ready to come around? You decide to talk to her privately, though. No reason to get everyone else involved, and if she decides to be snarky again... you don't want Dave to have to read it.

EB: does that mean you're talking to me again?

GG: Yes, or at least I would like to! I just wasn't sure if you wanted to hear from me.

GG: I spoke with Uncle James about this.

GG: And I believe I may have been acting foolish.

EB: yes, i think you're right!

EB: i kind of thought you of all people would be happy for me.

EB: you at least could have talked to me?

EB: rather than starting a fight at the dinner table...

GG: Of course, you are absolutely correct.

GG: Oh John, I was just so worried about you, and it was all so sudden!

GG: You are a good man with a big heart. You always see the good in people, and it's sweet, but I feared maybe you just weren't seeing the bad!

GG: But, at the end of the day, I reacted poorly. For that I'm sincerely sorry.

GG: I owe your beau an apology as well but I feel like that might be better delivered in person.

EB: well i won't lie. what you did was pretty crappy!

EB: i've known dave for a really long time so it wasn't that sudden. and i think if you get to know him, you'll see what a cool dude he is!

EB: but as crappy as it was you're still basically my sister.

EB: and i love you lots, so you'll have to do more than that to get rid of me!

GG: I'm glad to hear it, John.

GG: I would hate to miss out on this crucial and special time in your life!

EB: i honestly can't imagine it without you. :B

GG: You are just the sweetest. Dave really is a lucky fellow.

GG: Congratulations again.

EB: thanks! speaking of, i think he's here.

EB: talk to you later!

There's a knock at the door, and you open it, ready to greet Dave.

Instead, you are swept off your feet bridal style, as he kicks the door closed behind him and whisks you off to the bedroom. You latch onto his neck for dear life, trying not to get yourself dropped.

"Dave, what are you doing?" you protest... even if you kind of like it when he picks you up. But a little warning would be nice!

"Celebrating," he replies, deadpan with a straight face.

So, you just bury your face against his neck until he sets you gently on the bed, clambering over you, and before you know it, his lips are on yours. And you can feel it. He's holding back. You grip at the back of his neck and deepen the kiss for him, pressing your tongue to his lips and then past them, and he seems to get the picture. He kisses you back, deep and passionate, up until he moves to your neck, nipping softly, and to your shoulder, nosing over the spot where you have a scar in the shape of his bite.

"I take it you're pleased with the news?" you say, exhaling a breathy laugh.

"'Pleased' doesn't even start to cover it," he murmurs against your neck, nuzzling enthusiastically. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"Hmm... maybe once or twice."

"You know how else we can celebrate?" He pulls back, looking you in the eyes, and you take a moment to admire the crimson of his. They're so unique and so gorgeous and they burn with the fire of all his passion and all his love. You get why he likes to hide behind the shades: his eyes give everything away. While you're internally fawning over how handsome he is, his hand wanders down to your inner thigh and he squeezes suggestively.

"I can hazard a guess," you say, wriggling a little under his touch. "You know the baby's already in there though, right? You don't need to top it up or anything."

"I know," he says as he fits himself between your legs, and you happily let him. "But just in case. Can't hurt, right?"

You can't disagree with that logic. It's not good or sound logic. But you can't disagree, because really, you do want what he's offering. So you celebrate. Twice. Because you can and because it feels amazing and because you kind of want to have some fun while you can. Since it's still the middle of the day, you both shower off afterwards, and curl up on the couch together underneath a big fluffy blanket.

"Have you thought about moving to dad's?" you ask, after a comfortable protracted silence. It's come up a few times in the past four weeks, but you haven't really sat down and talked about whether you will or not. But your lease is going to be up at the end of the month, so you need to get it figured out.

"Oh. Yeah, that's cool," Dave says with a shrug.

You're not convinced he's really into the idea but... he's already moved once in the past year, so you guess it makes sense he's not eager to do it again. But neither of your apartments is suitable for raising a child, so you're going to have to move one way or the other. There's a part of you that really wants to be closer to your dad during this, too. So, you don't question his approval, and decide to tell your dad you're taking him up on his offer.

/ / /

You're still working on getting things packed and moved and put in storage, but you need to get the ball rolling on prenatal care. That means finding a midwife closer to your dad's house and driving down there to meet with her. You schedule the appointment and take Friday off; you and Dave drive down to your dad's on Thursday night, with plans to stay the weekend and discuss the move further.

You weren't sure what to expect when you entered the midwife's office, but for some reason it strikes you as incredibly ordinary. You did a lot of research before deciding that you wanted to engage with a midwife specifically, but it was more about their role and what services they provided. Not unimportant details like what the office might look like. Still, you're just a bit struck with the normalcy... you expected it to look more like one of those holistic medicine shops, not a regular doctor's office.

"John?" You look up to see a middle-aged otter with soft features, long brown hair pulled up into a loose bun, and a warm smile. She has her hand out to you, so you stand and meet her. Her hands are warm, and she smells of lavender, but not so much that it's overwhelming. "You're the expectant, is that correct?"

"Oh, yeah... that's me!" It feels so strange to be saying it to someone who isn't your family.

She invites you into her office proper, and you follow her in. She introduces herself as Emma Ross, CNM, and provides you with all her credentials, which technically you already knew, but you suppose it's one of those standard introduction things. She asks you about yourself, and she asks Dave some questions too, but her focus is largely on you. She gets your medical histories up front, and after a lot of questions that she writes the answers to on a clipboard, guides you to an exam room, where you put on the prerequisite hospital gown, and she gives you a preliminary exam. Afterwards, she has you get dressed, and you lay back down.

And you get to see your baby for the first time.

The sonographer, an enthusiastic blonde cheetah, joins you in the room, wheeling over the ultrasound machine and slathering your tummy with a cold gel. You'd hoped that was one of those things that was just in the movies, but apparently not. She presses the wand against your abdomen and moves it around, and the image starts to form on the screen.

"I think," she says slowly, drawing out the vowel as she keeps moving the wand, "There we go! Right here!"

She points to a little lump that you never would have been able to differentiate from all the other lumps, so you have to take her word for it. You squeeze Dave's hand and look over to see his reaction. He's got Strider Face on, and his eyebrows furrowed dubiously.

"You sure that's a baby, and not a leftover bean from the burritos we had at lunch?" he says in that stoic way he's so good at. You and the sonographer laugh, even the midwife chuckles a little, and after a moment, Dave chuckles lightly too, and looks over to you. "Congratulations, babe. It's a pinto bean."

The sonographer messes with the machine, but you're not really paying attention, you're just transfixed on the image now frozen on the screen. You watch as she applies a label with an arrow pointing to your baby and text that says 'BEAN!!!' which gets another laugh out of you.

You're given a warm towel to clean the gel off while she prints out the pictures, which she places in an envelope to keep safe. You thank her and take it back to the midwife's office to wrap up the appointment.

"Are there any other questions that either of you have for me right now?" she asks, her hands neatly folded in front of her on the desk.

You look towards Dave, biting your lip, and he reaches out to take your hand. "Yeah. Um. There's one thing, I guess? Is it going to be a problem that we're... you know?"

She studies you for a second, and you feel incredibly awkward. Like maybe you shouldn't have asked and just taken your chances.

"If you mean from a medical standpoint," she starts, voice gentle and eyes sympathetic, and you're glad that she seems to catch your meaning at least, "I don't foresee any complications specifically related to your species. There's no real evidence that cross-order couplings are inherently riskier. I can't promise that there will be no complications at all, but that's always a chance with any pregnancy.

"If you mean whether it is going to impact the care you receive, I want to promise you both. Our primary goal here is to deliver you a happy, healthy baby. The circumstances of your relationship are irrelevant to that. But I will also say that I value my staff for being open-minded individuals of all backgrounds. Should anyone give you any difficulty, please let me know immediately, and it will be handled."

You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding, and let your shoulders relax.

"Alright. That's good to hear. Um. Thank you." It's more than good to hear. It's a relief, and soothes one of your biggest anxieties, besides the ones you imagine most pregnant people feel.

You finish the appointment with all the requisite paperwork and scheduling your next appointment and a recommendation for what kind of vitamins you should take, and you leave with not just a care plan, but a little peace of mind. You might still face difficulties down the line, but you know what? You have Dave, and you have your health, and you have a lot of people behind you. You're pretty sure you can take on anything.

. . .

You're snuggled up on your bed in your childhood room that night, wondering if all your posters are proud of you, too. You like to think that they are. Dave is laying on his side next to you, and generally being sweet on you: stroking your cheek, giving you soft kisses on your shoulder, tracing the lines of your collarbone.

But when you glance over at him, he looks almost sad, inasmuch as he ever does. He's getting better at showing positive emotions, but negative emotions are still a work in progress. Still, his eyelids droop, and his touches are feather-light in a way that says it's more of an idle motion than anything. He's distracted.

"Are you okay?" you ask, barely above a whisper; your dad is already in bed and the house is quiet, so you're reluctant to interrupt that. But this is your mate, so of course you have to make sure he's okay. You'd be the worst mate if you didn't.

Dave meets your eyes, his lips parting like he wants to say something, but then pausing to think about it. You turn bodily towards him and drape an arm over his side while he considers whatever it is he wants to say.

"You really think moving here is the right thing to do?" he says, shifting forward to press his forehead to yours. "Like, shouldn't we be looking for our own house or something? Kinda feels like we're failing at something if we gotta move back in with the parents."

Ah. You had the feeling he wasn't really okay with the notion. Maybe you should have pressed him before, rather than let him stew in it? Well, no way to change that now.

"I really do think that," you say, giving him a squeeze. "It's not failure to have a family who is willing and happy to support you. We're really lucky. Having a baby is hard, but it's going to be a lot easier if we have people around us. Plus, with all we'll be saving on rent, we'll be able to put more money aside for baby stuff."

He seems to consider that for a moment; you can see the gears working behind his eyes, and you wonder what's going on his mind and what you could do to soothe all the things he can't put in words.

"Okay," he finally says, and you think he sounds a bit more confident. "I guess I have to trust you on this. It's just—I don't need to rehash my bullshit. You get the picture already. But you haven't led me astray yet, and you're not gonna start now, are you?"

"Absolutely not. How dumb do you think I am?"

"Hmm, I'm not going to answer that."

"I want a divorce." In protest, you turn over to face away from him. (You actually just want to be the little spoon.)

"No you don't." He snuggles up against your back, putting an arm around you. (Success.)

"Yep, not even married and already getting divorced. How's that for a speedrun?"

That gets a tight chuckle out of him, and you both snuggle closer, ready for sleep to take you. You hear him snoring softly just as you're drifting off, and you fall into a sleep, graced with dreams of your future together.

. . .

The next morning, Dave and your dad spend a solid half hour in your dad's study, which strikes you as interesting, but not particularly weird. You assume they're talking about Dadly Things, like what kind of ties and hats Dave will wear and whether he prefers a classic collar or a tab collar. Imparting some sort of important Dadly Knowledge. Those sorts of things. You just go about making breakfast, both pancakes and waffles, because that's the kind of mood you're in, you guess.

When Dave and your dad return to the kitchen, they both seem perfectly content, so you assume whatever they were talking about, it was productive in some manner. Right after breakfast, your dad gets ready to leave for the store. Not an odd thing to do, in and of itself, but you're a little suspicious that he's leaving right after breakfast. He usually takes some time in his study to read the morning paper. Oh, well. You're sure he has his reasons.

You're working on the dishes when Dave loops his arms around your waist from behind.

"Hey," he mumbles as he kisses the back of your head.

"Hey yourself." Hmm... something feels off. You're not sure what, but your gut is telling you that there's something you're missing out on. You wonder if he's still concerned about the move? Is that what he was talking to your dad about? "Is everything okay?"

"Right as rain, babe," he says, now with his usual pep. "Lemme finish that up, your dad wants you."

Huh. Well, okay then. You hand off the dish cloth to Dave and make your way out to the living room, where your dad is waiting by the door, putting on his jacket.

"John." Your dad smiles. "Would you come to the store with me?"

"Huh? Oh... okay." Weird that he had to send Dave in to send you out just so he could ask you that, but whatever. "I'll go get Dave."

"Actually," he says, before you can turn, "I was hoping it might just be the two of us. A little father son bonding time."

You tilt your head, studying him for a moment. You guess it makes sense. His baby is growing up and having a baby of his own, so it tracks that he would want to hold onto some semblance of that. You can't begrudge him that.

"Okay, well. Let me just go tell him."

You duck into the kitchen as Dave's drying off the last dish.

"Dad wants me to go to the store with him for some father son bonding," you tell him, a little regretful.

"Go for it. I monopolize enough of your time, I think I'll survive an hour."

"Oh, gosh, it shouldn't be that long! Maybe a half hour?"

Dave smirks, and leans in to give you a kiss on the forehead. "Sure. See you in a half hour, then."

You hug him, and head back to the living room to grab your jacket and head out with your dad. You're learning to be away from Dave, because it's unrealistic to be around each other 24/7, but there's still a little pang in you that wants to run right back to him. You've been to the store with dad plenty of times before, and he doesn't dally, so this should be about as quick as you said.

You follow your dad around the grocery store, and he asks you about life and how you're feeling, and you level with him that you're kind of tired of being randomly sick at the drop of a hat, but it is what it is. You think he's moving a little more slowly as you make your way around the store, and he's definitely going down every aisle when he doesn't usually do that. What is he up to? Is he trying to drag you down the baby aisle to... make some kind of point, or...?

But no, he doesn't really say much about the baby aisle, except to point out a couple products that he found helpful when you were a baby, but really not much more.

You get to the checkout an hour later with a full cart. After unloading it onto the belt, you shoot off a quick text to Dave that your dad is taking a really long time for some reason, and you'll be back as soon as possible. He shoots back a no prob and a couple hearts, and that's that.

You help your dad load the groceries into the trunk of the car, and then hop into the passenger seat. You're ready to get home and get these groceries unloaded and be done with it.

Your dad has other ideas.

"You won't mind if I stop by the hardware store, do you?" your dad asks as he pulls out onto the road.

"Oh... uh, okay?" You know he didn't buy anything that needs urgent refrigeration, so you don't even have that to try and force him to go back home.

So off to the hardware store it is. You don't even really pay attention to what he's buying, you just want to get in and out as fast as possible.

After the hardware store, it's the dry cleaner, and you have to wait what feels like hours (in actuality, about 10 minutes) for them to bring out his well-pressed shirts.

And after the dry cleaner, he wants to stop off at the flower shop to get some nice spring flowers for the dinner table, and you really have no choice.

All told, you're out for about three hours, trying to not sound exasperated whenever your dad tries to talk to you. You know he's just trying to spend time with you, trying not to lose you or whatever. But he's not going to lose you! You're moving in with him! He'll get to see you and his grandchild every single day. Maybe it's one of those midlife crisis things where it doesn't make a lot of logical sense and he just does it.

You finally get home and start hauling the groceries inside. What strikes you, as you drop the bags just inside the front door, is the smell of baking. It's not an unusual scent for the house in general, but it is when your dad has been with you the whole time. You know you should go back to help your dad, but you have to know.

You push open the door to the kitchen to find Dave waiting with his hands in his pockets, next to the dining table. On the table is a hodgepodge of candles, probably taken from every cabinet and closet in the house, all different scents and styles and degrees of use. In addition to the candles, you spot the source of the baking. A bunch of inconsistently sized cupcakes are laid out all in a row.

"You baked these for me?" It's very sweet, even if you're both going to be up to your eyeballs in baked goods once you move. It's still a nice gesture, because you know he doesn't cook.

"Got it in one, hunny bun," he says with a smirk, shifting from one foot to the other. His tail is wagging a little... is he that excited for you to try his baking? "Why don't you pick one out?"

You still have a nagging feeling that something is going on behind your back, but you step up to the table anyway.

"Oh, you decorated them, too?" You remember his attempt to decorate your birthday cake. It was... well, there was an effort. You look over the cupcakes and parse that the decorations are letters. They're frosted with white frosting and blue letters. "M-A-R—"

They say MARRY ME? and everything slots into place. What they were talking about this morning. Why your dad wanted you to go out with him. And why he took so long. Your jaw is hanging slack as you turn to Dave, and clap a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp. Because he's down on one knee with your mother's ring in one hand, and reaching out with the other to take yours.

"I've been thinking about what I wanted to say for the past week, and didn't come up with shit," he confesses, looking up at you with adoring eyes. "Actually, came up with a pretty sick rap, but figured you probably don't want to hear that. Unless you do. Left my notebook at home, though, so it'll have to wait."

You can't help but giggle, because he's rambling. He looks affronted.

"Wow, I'm being sincere here," he protests.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You stifle another giggle. "Keep going."

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, as I was saying. I know I've told you you're the best damn thing that ever happened to me. Now you're my mate, and you're carrying my baby, and I figured, why the fuck not? Let's tie the knot while we're at it. Not that I'm just doing it because I have to, I'd do it either way, but I figure—"

"Dave! Dave." You shake your head, because you think he might never shut up if you don't butt in. "Yes. I will marry you."

"Oh. Yeah. Okay, sweet." He doesn't seem to know how to react at first, and then realizes he's supposed to be putting the ring on your finger, and struggles to get it out of the box with one hand.

"Wait!" You stop him, and he tenses, looking up with so much concern that you feel bad. "If we're going to have cake, let's save it for later, so I don't get frosting all over it."

"Yeah," he says, relaxing and standing up. He closes the box and sets it aside on the table. "That makes sense. You, uh. Want to try one?"

You're already going for the question mark as he says this, inspecting it carefully.

"You really made these all by yourself?" You look up to see that he does in fact still have a smudge of flour on his cheek.

"Your dad gave me some tips," he shrugs.

"Hmm... well, I think you should have the first bite!"

You're already moving as you say this, reaching up and mashing the cupcake into his face. He looks completely shocked that you would do this for all of three seconds, before his brow furrows and an almost evil smirk comes over him.

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be?"

He grabs one of the cupcakes and you try to book it, but he's still holding your hand, and his grip tightens. You're laughing all the same, even as he shoves the cupcake into your face in retaliation. But once he's done that, he pulls you in closer and dips you dramatically for a kiss, and you're kissing him with your face covered in cupcake and you don't care!

That's about when your dad decides to come in, carrying the groceries with him, and you both look his way with cupcake crumbs and globs of frosting falling off your faces.

"Well. The proposal went well, I take it?" your dad asks with a chuckle.

"You are both the worst."

But you're still laughing as you clean the cake off your faces and help your dad finish with the groceries.

/ / /

You're married by the next Friday. Married. Married. You have a husband, who less than a year ago was just your best friend who you were secretly pining for. Now he's your mate and your husband. It's a little dizzying how fast everything is moving now, like a boulder rolling down a hill and gaining momentum. You just hope you don't crash into anything.

The process is surprisingly simple. Apply for marriage license, wait three days, then go down to the county clerk's office. Other than the waiting period, it takes maybe an hour or two tops, including travel time. Getting married in the county clerk's office was, again, not how you pictured your romantic life going. None of this is. It's backwards, inside out, and shuffled for good measure, but... you don't really mind. Who needs tradition, anyway?

And as thrilled as you are, it's more about the practicality of it. Being married affords you lots of different privileges that will be important for building your life together. You can add him to your insurance, you'll have next-of-kin rights, and there's a whole load of financial stuff that your dad advised you on but that you can't exactly remember.

Your only caveat: your mother's ring is beautiful, but you don't think you should wear it until you actually have the ceremony. Even if you're legally married and it's wonderful, the ceremony is really where you can see the two of you exchanging vows and rings; it's all very symbolic, and it's just... you just want one thing to be semi-normal!

Dave only cares insomuch as it'll make you happy, so you explained the situation to your dad and had him stow the ring back in the safe. But you can't just have a naked hand, which is what sees you and Dave at the jewelry store, getting fitted for 'engagement' bands. Matching white gold in a classic domed style. Nothing fancy, but a reminder of the bond you share.

"You sure you want this?" Dave asks as the jeweler heads into the back to fetch something. "I mean, it's kind of expensive. We don't really need it."

"We don't need a lot of things," you reason with a shrug. "But it still feels nice. Do you not want one?"

"No, no... I do, I just don't want to break the bank or anything?"

"We're not anywhere close to breaking the bank," you reassure him, slipping an arm around his waist. "I have plenty saved for the both of us, and the baby too."

You feel him shift uncomfortably. Money has always been a bit of a sore subject between you two. Dave makes enough with all his web content and streams, but it's inconsistent and he's still careful with finances. And you feel bad, because you've never really felt that need, and you know you're privileged for that. You just wish you knew how to talk about it without making him feel emasculated or whatever.

"You know," you add, quietly, "You don't have to feel bad. If you feel like you're not providing or whatever. You provide plenty! Money is just money, and I happened to get a generous inheritance from my Nanna that was put in trust with my financial planner dad."

"Your dad's a financial planner?" Dave screws up his face, and you just shrug again. Why does he think your dad dresses so sharply? "Wait, how much money do you have, exactly?"

"I don't have an exact number, it's all in trust until I turn 25," you say, leaning into him. "But dad says after all the investing and whatever else he did, we'll have enough for a down payment on a house, plus enough to start a college fund or two. And then I have my personal savings, I've been putting a little bit away pretty much since I started working?"

You glance up and watch Dave's face as he processes all that, and he finally sighs.

"I can't believe you never told me you're a trust fund baby," he says, trying to sound disappointed, if not for the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"That's not what that means!"

"You have a trust fund," he levels at you. "And you're baby."

You are most certainly not baby, and you pout at him to prove it.

Chapter Text

Moving twice in the span of a year was kind of rough, but you, Dave Strider, would not change it for anything. It's September again, about a year since you moved to Seattle, and your life has changed so much that it makes your head spin trying to figure out how you even ended up here. Good thing you love it.

You're married to your best friend, now your mate who's 5 months pregnant with your baby, and it's starting to show. Despite all the interruptions, your streaming channel is still doing fine. You don't think your content has changed much, but the occasional comment about how you seem to have more energy doesn't escape your notice. You moved in with John's dad at the end of May, and one way or the other, your lease was taken care of. You sort of let John's dad just do his thing, because he had this look in his eyes, and John assured you it was a dad thing that he just had to do. You don't get it yet, but you hope you will someday.

You also helped with rearranging the house, moving a bunch of stuff out of the spare room and into proper storage, cleaning out the attic, and moving bedrooms around. Mr. Egbert decided it would be beneficial to give the two of you the master bedroom because it has an attached bathroom and enough space for a crib, and you tried to protest, but John teamed up with him, so that was that. You're learning that Egbert men are an unstoppable force when they want to be. John had a bout of hormone-fueled sobbing while taking down the posters in his old room, though, so you had to finish without him, doing your best to preserve them.

The posters were then put up in the attic, which Mr. Egbert gave you to function as your office, but it also serves as a little space away for you and John. Your streaming rig is up there, your old bed, and John's old couch, plus a few other things. Most of the rest of your furniture as well as John's went to furnishing the cleaned-out spare room, and the rest went into storage with everything else.

At the end of June, you found out why the spare room had to be cleared: Jade and Jake were coming to stay for an unspecified amount of time. When they finally arrived at the house, they went for John first, fawning over him and asking him about a million questions, but they eventually turned their attentions to you. You have to admit: their tail wagging is infectious.

And then there was Jane who, at the 4^th of July family barbecue, came to you to issue her apology and extend the olive branch. John had mentioned she might, and although you were still wary, you did your best to make amends, if not for her sake, then for John's. She seemed sincere enough, but that trust was long broken, and would take time to build back up. But you know how important she is to him, and if she can at least be civil, then... whatever. You could give her a second chance.

It was a whirlwind few months and you're glad things settled down over the course of August.

That brings you back to a warm September day, snuggled up on the attic couch with John, a few fans going to keep the poorly ventilated space some semblance of cool. You have time before your scheduled stream, and Dadbert, Jake, and Jade are out shopping, so the two of you are left with some downtime. Prime cuddle time. You've got one arm around John, the other resting on his belly, and some chill beats playing from your speakers.

When your phone buzzes in your pocket, you contort to pull it out, finding your screen lit up with a message from your sister.

TT: Dave, your brother would like to talk to you. He's well aware, as am I, that you've blocked him, but he seems to think it's important enough to have me deliver the message.

TG: no fuck that guy

TG: he lost talking privileges the first time he came at me with a shitty anime sword

TT: Far be it from me to try and convince you otherwise. You're entirely justified in choosing to cut him off entirely.

TT: But I will say, he has been a much different person as of late.

TG: different how

TT: Less insufferable, for one. Less commandeering. He has his moments, but he seems to be a little more aware of himself.

TG: you didnt tell him about john or bean did you

TT: I've told him nothing. As far as he knows, you're still living the bachelor life in Houston. If you'd like me to pass anything on in lieu of contacting him yourself, I'd be happy to, but otherwise it's not really mine to share.

TG: thanks rose youre a real bro

TG: or sis i guess

TT: Indeed. Should I tell him to expect your message, or simply let him know to get bent?

TG: i dont know

TG: tell him

TG: ill message him if i feel like it

TG: but not to hold his breath

TT: Consider it done.

You shove your phone back in your pocket and make a mental note to get back to Rose later. You weren't trying to brush her off, but rather the thought of having to talk to your brother in any capacity. By that point, John has noticed; you've really let your guard down around him, with all your tells on full display. It's fine the majority of the time but right now...

"Hey," he says softly, shifting around in your arms to look up at you. "What was that?"

You take a deep breath. You let it out slowly. You consider telling him it was nothing, it was some stream thing, some other excuse. But you take one glance down at those ocean blue eyes and you just can't. This is your husband and your mate and the bearer of your offspring, and as much as your instinct is to curl in on yourself and put up the walls, you can't. Not with him.

"It was my sister," you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. "Said my brother wants to talk to me."

"Oh." You don't even need to look to know he has that one expression on his face, where his brows are knitted together and he's trying really hard to figure out why you don't just do the thing that's obvious to him. You know what he's going to say before he says it. "So... why don't you talk to him?"

There it is. You're not mad. You can't be mad. If anything, you wish you could face things as straight on as he does, but you're not wired that way.

"Because he's an ass?" You think you've made that abundantly clear.

"You keep saying that, but..."

Apparently, you did not make it clear enough. You guess, to be fair, you've been incredibly cagey when it comes to telling him exactly what went down when you moved in with Dirk. All he knows is that it made you more guarded and gave you a fear of blood.

"You really wanna know the whole deal?" you ask cautiously, and kind of hope he'll say no.

"Sort of," he says, nuzzling up against your neck. "But you don't have to if you don't want to."

You're pretty sure you do have to, eventually. You owe it to him.

"Alright, buckle up, hunny bun," you sigh, shifting a little to get more comfortable. "This is going to be a wild ride."

John shifts too, sitting up on his knees so he can look at you properly, which makes you about ten times more nervous to do this, but you know it's his way of signaling that he's listening.

"So the way Roxy and Dirk tell it, our parents dipped when Rose and I were babies," you start, "But they were... what, five and six years old? So, you know. They were old enough to remember it. What kind of heartless piece of shit do you have to be to shove your babies into your other kids' arms and, fuck, I don't know, dump them at social services or something?"

And that part of the story has always pissed you off. But now, even more so. You haven't even met your baby yet, and you'd sooner launch yourself into the sun than even think about abandoning your little Bean. John either feels the same, picks up on your feelings, or both, and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Anyway," you continue, "Thus, the Strider-Lalonde clan entered the foster system. Rose and I got placed together most of the time, but Roxy and Dirk were split up. Not entirely sure what happened to them specifically. Whatever it was fucked them up, though. They took us in when we were thirteen."

"I remember that," John says quietly. "You were so excited, but after that you didn't talk about it much."

"Yeah. I was." You inhale and hold it for a five-count before exhaling slowly. "Would have rather stayed in the system. Dirk was gone half the time, and the other half, he took it upon himself to teach me 'self-defense', but instead of enrolling me in karate or judo or community center classes like a normal person, he made me fight him. At least once a week, more if he was cranky. Sometimes hand-to-hand, sometimes with his shitty anime swords. You know, the kind you get at conventions? The thing is, they're garbage, but they're sharp garbage. Oh and his idea of teaching was just flinging everything he had at me and forcing me to figure out how to deal with it."

You feel John shift closer, and realize you were staring off into the middle distance. You let him loop his arms around your neck and clamber into your lap, and you wrap your arms around his midsection. He doesn't say anything though, intently focused on you and waiting for you to continue. So you do.

"Ended up having to get stitches more than once." It's a wonder he's never questioned those scars. "Soon as I turned 18, I was out. I was already monetizing my shit by then and I saved up as much as I could to get the shittiest studio apartment I could afford, and it was worth it. Never looked back, haven’t talked to him since."

John is quiet for a moment, processing all of that, you imagine. He sounds incredibly small when he finally responds.

"Thanks for telling me all that," he says, trying to compact himself into your arms. It's a little hard with the belly, but the intent is still there. "I wish I'd known. When we were kids, I mean. I don't know what I would have done, but maybe I could have—"

"Nope," you interrupt him, because you know that line of thinking all too well. "You did exactly what I needed you to do. You were my best friend. The one good thing in my life, even before I started having a bad case of the feels."

"I guess that's true," he says, though he doesn’t sound convinced. "I don't know. I just feel bad? You didn't deserve that. No one does."

"You're not wrong, but... everything has brought me here," you reason, kissing at his temple. "If I could go back in time, I don't think I'd change a damn thing, if it meant I wouldn't be right here right now. You know what I mean?"

"Well," he starts, chewing over the words, "I guess I wouldn't want that either."

"Atta boy." You reach up and ruffle his hair and he laughs. "Think it's about time for me to get started, though."

You reluctantly separate, simply watching as he stands and stretches, because after all that heavy talk, you could use a dose of adorable.

"Is it okay if I hang out in here?" he asks, tilting his head. "Promise I'll be quiet."

"Pff. Be as loud as you want," you shrug, spinning your chair around and flopping into it. "I'll just tell everyone it's ambience."

"Okay then, I'll be sure to scream bloody murder. I'm going to get a snack, want anything?"

You snatch a metal water bottle off your desk. "Think you could fill this for me?"

"I can probably manage," he snorts, taking the water bottle, and gives you a quick kiss before heading for the stairs.

You get everything up and running, send out the prerequisite pings and notifications, and go live. You're thinking it's going to be a Minecraft kind of day. It's just the vibe you're feeling, plus it's your go-to when you don't really feel like streaming but have to keep to your schedule. It's easy to forget that this is technically your job, and like most people, sometimes you don't really want to do it. Minecraft is one of those things that you can call ironic and do the stupidest shit in, but actually? It's kind of relaxing.

You adjust your shades, check your hair, and then it's time to get this show on the road. As you take down your intro screen, you idly wonder where John is.

"What. Is. Up." You like to start off stream a little bombastic. It gets people pumped and interested. "My loyal devotees, avid admirers, and all the new converts just joining us today. It's ya boy, turntechGodhead, here to deliver you from boredom. What do we got going on in chat today?"

You watch chat go by at a frankly ridiculous pace. It's the middle of the day on a weekend so it makes sense that there's a lot of people on. You're pretty adept at picking out interesting tidbits though, especially from some of the names you recognize. You riff like that for about 20 minutes, saying hello to new chatters, calling out subs, answering whatever inane questions come into your purview.

You finally hear John coming back up the stairs, and he comes over to set your water bottle on the desk. You look away from chat for a moment to flash him a smile.

"Thanks, babe."

He's still shy about PDA on camera, but he does give you a smooch on the top of your head, and tweaks one of your ears before he takes his snack and drink over to the couch to get settled in.

...wait.

He was on camera.

You glance back to your screen.

SaccharineBrother42069: TB!

geromy_: hi tb!!!!

cuttlefishCuller: Wade a minnow...

cuttlefishCuller: Is that what I think it is? 38o

arsenicCatnip: 👶🐰???

tgs_choice_booty: omegalul

carcinoGeneticist: WAIT. COME BACK.

apocalypseArisen: oh i see

apocalypseArisen: @turntechGodhead is there something you and tb want to share with us? 0_0

tgs_choice_booty: now the dad jokes make sense

cuttlefishCuller: OMG TG why didn't you tell us!

SaccharineBrother42069: What's going on? I don't get it.

tgs_choice_booty: tb's got a baby bump

cuttlefishCuller: @SaccharineBrother42069 TB's pregnant!!! 38D

You can only watch in horror as chat goes absolutely wild. Oh boy. Okay. Well... you have options, of course, but you're going to need a second to figure it out. Not to mention you think John should have some kind of say in this. It's your stream, sure, but he's the one who's pregnant here, not you.

"Alright, I think y'all need a chill vibes break before we get into it and I gotta hit the little boys' room, so we're gonna go to BRB. You just jam out for a bit, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

You've never been so abrupt in putting up your BRB screen, but desperate times call for desperate measures. You swivel in your chair, facing where John is just getting settled into lounging on the couch, reading his phone and munching on some zucchini bread he baked earlier. Damn that looks tasty, you should have asked him for some— no, focus up, Strider.

"Babe."

"Hm?" He lowers his phone and snack as he looks up at you.

"You know they all saw you just now, right?"

"Oh... sorry?" John looks confused, because of course he would. You've had him on stream a handful of times, and he's been in the background plenty. But now that he's visibly pregnant, it's a little different.

"Nah, it's not that... I mean, are you okay with it?" The two of you didn't really talk about how much you wanted to reveal to your fan base. "With telling them about the... uh. Baby?"

The fact that you still hesitate to say the word baby probably says a lot, and John clearly notices. He gives you a questioning look before he sets aside his things and gets up again, coming over to stand in front of you. Your hands immediately go to his hips, always eager to be touching some part of him.

"I'm okay with it. Are you okay with it?" He balances himself with one knee on your chair and leans in to butt your foreheads together. Damn, he's so fucking cute. "You're still uncomfortable talking about it with me, so..."

"It just doesn't feel real still," you supply, quietly, contemplatively. "I mean, yeah, duh it's real. It just feels like if I talk about it, someone's gonna pipe up and tell me that this is all an elaborate ruse. I mean, hell, if you could pull off a prank like that, you'd probably win pranking forever. My brain just doesn't want to believe it. Aliens? Sure. Bigfoot? You betcha. A baby? Sorry, nope, that's just a step too far. Jonathan Frakes is about to come out here and ask if we think it's fact or fiction and then he's going to tell us we were all bamboozled and this one was cooked up in the writer's room and not John Egbert's baby-oven."

He lets you ramble then leaves a kiss on the bridge of your nose and pulls back. You huff indignantly, trying to pull him back in, but he's got designs of his own. He pulls up his shirt and guides your hands to his belly, and you let him.

"Dave. This is real. This is our baby," he insists, and you contort yourself so that you can curl forward and rest your forehead just above where his belly starts to curve out. "You don't have to tell anyone if you don't want to. But I think it'd help feel more real if you did."

You sit like that for a moment, and he starts running his fingers through your hair. For a brief second you forget that you have your stream waiting for you and debate scooping him up and carrying him to the bed for some more USDA Choice snuggles. Those are definitely on the docket for later, but right now, you have to decide what to do about your stream, and fast.

"Okay. But you tell them," you finally say. "Or at least come on with me. I dunno, just feels like something we should do together, you know?"

He falters for a moment, and you have a good idea of what he's going to say.

"Oh. I don't know. I'm still not sure they want to see me more than they already do..."

"Are you kidding?" You scoff, because you know he doesn't watch your streams on the regular, but he knows what his cameos do to your chat, because you tell him, and he's seen it firsthand. "I keep telling you, I'm pretty sure they like you more than they like me."

That earns a chuckle, though it tapers off into uncertainty again. You uncurl yourself to look up at him, pushing your shades up so you can look him in the eye. Gotta give him the ole puppy eyes, pouting a little for good measure.

Finally, he sighs in resignation. "Okay, okay. But just for a few minutes!"

You give an over-dramatic fist pump and spin your chair back around, pulling him onto your knee and wrapping your arms around him. You make sure to give him a squeeze before you have him press the button on your stream deck and turn off the BRB screen.

The chat goes absolutely wild.

arsenicCatnip: heheh hey tb!

arsenicCatnip: we were just talking about you :3c

apocalypseArisen: 0u0 cryptid spotted

SaccharineBrother42069: oh wow, hey TB!

SaccharineBrother42069: didn't think we'd get to see you today.

carcinoGeneticist: THERE HE IS.

carcinoGeneticist: @turntechGodhead YOU SHOULD DO WIFESTREAM MORE OFTEN. IT'S GOOD SEEING SOMETHING OTHER THAN YOUR UGLY MUG.

carcinoGeneticist: TB PLEASE SAVE US FROM THE LITANY OF VERBAL DIARRHEA AND GIVE US THE GOOD NEWS.

apocalypseArisen: cheer1000 starting the college fund

geromy_: tb can you say hi to my brother

cuttlefishCuller: TB! Congratulations!

cuttlefishCuller: I'm so excited for you! 38D

cuttlefishCuller: @carcinoGeneticist Be nice or I'll time you out!

carcinoGeneticist: I AM NICE. AND I'D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY.

caligulasAquarium: message deleted by a moderator.

cuttlefishCuller: @apocalypseArisen has the right idea!

cuttlefishCuller: cheer5000 For the college fund! 38D

tgs_choice_booty: lol hey tb

tgs_choice_booty: i was just kidding before

tgs_choice_booty: don't hate me

John watches it on your second monitor.

"Uhm. Hi, chat?" He turns to you over his shoulder, nose scrunched up. "Who's TB?"

"That's you, babe. Chat didn’t know your handle, so they started calling you turntechBunhead after we moved in together. Ain't that right?" You nod towards the camera, watching as chat confirms that this is in fact what John is known as on your channel. "So, I guess the word's already out, but we wanted to share something with y'all, which is why TB is here with me. Whattaya say, hunny bun?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, you already guessed it, but we’re pregnant!"

Chat lights up with variations on congratulations and called it, nothing unexpected. Now that the word is out, you don't hesitate to nuzzle into his neck.

"Wow, you're all really excited?" John laughs. "I can't read that fast but there's a window up here on the other screen and—oh! Um, thank you Cuttlefish Culler for the 5000 bits? I think that's a lot? It sounds like a lot. And Apocalypse Arisen for the 1000 bits. And Uranian Umbra with—wow, a $50 tip? Thank you so much! What does the message say? 'I'm positively thrilled to bits for the both of you, you're going to be wonderful parents.' Hahah, well, thank you! I really hope so."

You just sort of let him go, because he seems to be having fun reading the messages that come in as people donate and sub. You just rest your chin on his shoulder and rub your thumb over his belly.

"Oh, okay, this one has a question!" John tilts his head a little so that you know he's talking to you. "Is that okay? Can I answer questions?"

"Hey, you're the pregnant bun here, whatever you want to share is fine by me," you say, and then turn back towards the camera. "Just so y'all know, though, he's not obligated to answer anything, so if he says no, then tough cookies."

"It's fine, I don't mind." John leans his head against yours. "Carcino Geneticist seems very excited and wants to know when the baby is due. And um, that would be the first week of January! Annnnd... Arsenic Catnip wants to know if we have any names in mind? Oh boy..."

"Tony Hawk," you say without hesitation, largely because you know it'll get under his skin just a little. "Or Broseph. Brosephine if it's a girl."

"Those are stupid names!" John protests. "The baby's name is Casey."

"We are not naming our baby after an especially shitty Nic Cage movie."

He's really getting into it, though, so you let him have your chair and run downstairs to fetch a spare stool to sit on. It takes a little adjusting to get you both in the right position, but hey, you're not arguing if he's willing to come hang out on stream with you. Once the questions die down, you end up changing gears and opt to play some Jackbox games with chat instead. He kicks everyone's ass and you have to reassure your audience that you're not letting him cheat somehow; John insists that if anything, you'd sooner sabotage him, and he's right. Plus, most of the games are hard to 'cheat' at anyway. But you already knew that he's just a naturally funny, charismatic dude and now your audience is learning why you love him so much.

At about the two-hour mark, you decide to go for a real break, and John decides that he's going to go have a nap, so he says his goodbyes before you put up the BRB screen. You stand and follow him over to the door and pull him into your arms before he heads downstairs.

"Hey." You nose up against his cheek. "Thanks. That was pretty fucking awesome."

"Heh... it wasn't so bad after a while," he confesses, leaning into you.  "I'm surprised that everyone is so excited about the baby?"

"Mm." You're not surprised at all, but you don't want to belabor the point, plus he gives a big yawn, so you decide to let him go. "Enjoy your nap, hunny bun. I'll come down and join you when I'm done up here, alright?"

You pass another two hours, finding the most bizarre baby-related games you can on Itch, and answering more questions about your pending fatherhood. And through all that, you start to think John was right: you should tell more people.

/ / /

TG: hey rose

TT: Yes, Dave?

TG: could you do me a favor

TT: That depends on the favor.

TG: would you come on a video call with me and dirk and roxy

TT: I'd be happy to. But I have to wonder, why the sudden change of heart? You've not wanted to talk to our siblings for almost four years now.

TG: yeah well

TG: i dunno

TG: i feel like i should tell them they have a brother in law

TG: and a nephew or niece soon

TT: Of course. I'll see when they're available and get back to you.

TG: thanks rose

TG: sometimes youre the worst

TG: but right now youre the best

TT: I'm going to screencap this conversation for future collateral.

You exhale and lean back against Jade, easing your head into her lap. You're laid out on the couch while she sits there and runs her fingers through your hair. The others are out running errands, but you were still streaming when they left, and Jade wasn’t feeling up to it, leaving just the two of you in the house.

"So? What did she say?"

You like Jade a lot, and over time, you've filled her in on the broad strokes of your own family situation. She doesn't know nearly as much as John does, but she knows enough to know that when you say you're going to video chat your estranged siblings? That's a Big Deal.

"She's gonna get them together," you say, closing your eyes and enjoying her fingers in your hair. "Was kinda hoping she'd say no."

"Dave," she chastises. "What is the worst that could happen? If you don't like how things are going, just hang up and block them again!"

"Wow," you mutter, with just a dusting of sarcasm. "Who gave you the right to make such a sensible observation? Damn."

Jade laughs and you hear it reverberate through her diaphragm. "Someone in this house has to have a little sense!"

You huff and try to pretend that you're indignant but that's difficult when she still has her fingers in your hair and you're practically purring. But she's right. A video chat is the perfect middle ground between your desire to never talk to your older siblings again, and your need to let what family you do have know about your life. And Rose is clearly on speaking terms with both, which seems promising. She was always a little more resilient like that, though.

“Hey,” you say as soon as you feel yourself starting to drift off. “You wanna help me surprise the boys?”

“Sure! What did you have in mind?”

“Two words: banana bread.”

She laughs as she pushes your head out of her lap. “You are such a housewife!”

“You’re goddamn right, gotta get me one of those cute-ass little aprons. Red with polka dots and frills all around the edges. Oh and matching oven mitts.”

She swats at you as you ramble and the two of you make your way into the kitchen, but you know she's loving it, because you can see her tail wagging. It's almost enough to take your mind off your siblings.

/ / /

Your last bastion of hope for getting out of this video chat crumbles, when John says he wholeheartedly supports your decision. Even though you’re the one who asked for this call, you're still nervous. Rose says your siblings are a lot different now, but it's hard to imagine them ever changing.

You and Rose are on the call first, and it's nice to see her face again. You resist a weird-as-hell urge to lean forward and rub against the screen. You've just gotten so used to it with John's family that it's becoming second nature. But of course, that doesn't work through a screen. Fucking duh.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Rose asks, as a platitude more than anything.

"No," you admit, because you know she knows the answer already. "But hey. At least I'll have a clean conscience."

"Will you?"

You're about to protest but you see Kanaya come into frame and hand Rose a mug, presumably of tea, and they share a brief kiss before she leaves. You had to have a long think about whether you wanted John around for this or not, but decided that he should wait downstairs. If things went south, you didn't want to expose him to that. He said he understood, and you believed him. He's been nothing but accommodating of all your family bullshit.

"Bye Kanaya!" You wave as though you were actually in the room with them. Why are you like this?

"She can't hear you," Rose points out, gesturing to her headset. "But I'll give her your regards later."

"Oh, yeah, sure. I just—"

You're interrupted by the sound of someone calling into the group and Roxy's name pops up on screen, along with a picture of her face in a little circle. Oh boy. It's go time, you guess, but you still leave it to Rose to push the accept button, because you're too busy trying not to vibrate out of your seat.

"Daveyyyyy, hiiiii!" You forgot how... exuberant Roxy could be. You just give a half smirk and sarcastic wave. "Oh. Em. Gee. Just look at you! How are you?"

"Sup," you start, because you've got a lot of thoughts flooding your head all at once. Most notably, just as Rose mentioned, Roxy does seem different. "I'm fantastic actually. What about you? You look great."

"Yep!" She puffs out her chest, looking rather proud. "Eight months sober as of last week! And going strong. Crazy what a shitton of alcohol will do to a gal."

Ah. That explains it. "Wow. That's... really great, actually. I'm happy for you."

And you mean it. You are. You know that was the crux of Rose's complaints, and you understand why Rose might be more willing to re-engage your siblings now. But Dirk doesn't have the excuse of alcoholism. He was just a dick, so you're not sure how he's going to be different.

Roxy is in the middle of telling you about the program she's in when he calls. You only know it by his name, because his picture is a stupid stock photo of a horse wielding a sword. Dude's got some weird fetishes, but that one always creeped you out the most. You're not prepared for it when Rose accepts his call-in though, and the second you see his stupid pointy anime shades and his dumb over-gelled hair, your blood runs cold.

But of course, you try your level best to hide it.

"Sup," he says, tilting his chin up.

"Yo," is all you can think to say back. Oh god, he hasn't even said a full word yet and you're already thinking this was a bad idea.

"So," Rose interjects, sensing your trepidation, most likely, "Now that we're all here, I believe Dave had some news he wanted to deliver?"

"Oh. Yeah." You can just block them, you remind yourself, trying not to let Jade's words of wisdom go to waste. "Wow okay, so yeah, a lot's changed for me in the past year. And I figured you should know. I guess."

All eyes are on you. Well, naturally, because that's how video chats work. But Roxy and Dirk shift in their seats, focused on you now, and Rose just has a little knowing smirk.

"Where do I even start... okay, well, about a year ago, I moved out to Seattle," you start, since the beginning seems like as good a place as any, "And now I'm married, and we've got a baby on the way."

You didn't really plan to just blurt it out like that. You're a master at using too many words to say something so simple, but it just tumbles out, and you're skipping a lot in the middle there that isn't really relevant. You watch as Dirk's expression doesn't change, except for the minute raise of his eyebrows, and Roxy goes wide-eyed.

"Back up there, lil bro," she says, clearly in disbelief, "You and someone very very lucky are having a real, actual baby? I'm going to be an aunt?"

You nod in confirmation, and Roxy suddenly has all of the questions. All of them. Who's the lucky person? His name is John. When's the baby due? January. How did you two meet? Internet. When did you get married? At the end of May. You didn't invite us? It was a civil ceremony, you're holding off on the formal one for after things settle down with the baby.

Finally, she relents; Rose is smirking, and Dirk looks as impassive as ever. Neither has commented, the former because she already knows all this, and the latter... probably because he's an ass and doesn't have anything good to say, but knows he'd be outnumbered.

"Shiiit." Roxy exhales heavily and leans back in her chair. "I can't believe our little dude is gonna have his own little dude! Where did the time go?"

"Congrats," Dirk finally says, still stony-faced, but honestly, you'll take it. It's worlds better than the garbage you were expecting out of his mouth. You half expected a diatribe about being domesticated or something like that.

Rose just smirks. "Yes. Congratulations on your person."

As much as you give her a hard time, you love your twin a lot, and give her a little smirk. Roxy has suddenly come up with more questions and launches right into them, and you answer to the best of your ability; eventually, she transitions to talking about her life, and Dirk's too, because he doesn't seem inclined to do it himself. You do try to listen, but you're too busy staring at your brother, and despite the fact that you're on camera and not face to face, you think he knows. And you think he's staring right back at you.

You try to interject questions periodically, but you're distracted so you're not really absorbing it all. Not because you don't want to, Roxy seems a much more pleasant person when she's sober and you're really glad for her in that regard. But she was more Rose's burden than yours. Yours was—

"Hey," Dirk says, cutting Roxy off mid-sentence. "Not that I'm not loving this. Really. But can I get a minute with our little dude? Alone."

Roxy looks surprised, but Rose does not. You should have expected it. Rose said he wanted to talk to you, specifically, and he's been uncharacteristically patient, considering that there must be something on his mind.

"Dave?" Rose asks, the inflection at the end of your name speaking far more than the single syllable itself.

"It's okay," you tell her, shaking your head. "Don't go far though. I still want to talk to you both."

But not Dirk.

As soon as Rose and Roxy are off the call, and it's just you and your brother... suddenly, you feel anger well up in the pit of your stomach.

"Sup," you nod, voice pinched and trying to keep level.

"Just say it, Dave."

You pause, not sure what his play is here. You feel like there has to be some ulterior motive. But then you realize that you don't owe him this amount of fretting and worry. You don't owe it to him to second guess your every word. This man made your life a living hell for five years, and your rage stings at the back of your throat. It comes rushing out before you even know it's happening.

"Fuck you, Dirk. Fuck you, and fuck your swords, and fuck your... your everything!" You don't realize how much you're shaking until you bring a hand up to run it through your hair. Fuck.

Dirk is silent for a long while, and you're pretty sure he's going to hang up.

Instead, he takes off his shades and looks straight into the camera.

"You're right," he says. "Fuck me. I'm sorry, Dave."

Oh. That's... not what you were expecting. You stare for a moment, fingers carded through your hair and pressing one ear down. "Uh. Thanks?"

"I mean it, little man." He sounds sincere, but you're still wary. "Look. I pulled some shit on you. It wasn't right. Nothing's gonna make it right. You don't have to forgive me, hell, I wouldn't if I were you. But you should know that I regret it more than anything else in my life."

You can't believe it. He says all this and you're actually tearing up. You refuse to cry in front of him, though, both as a matter of pride, and because you're terrified of his response, even if he's 2000 miles away.

It takes you a solid few seconds to think of anything to say to that, and then all you can do is ask, "Why?"

"Why what?"

You scowl. "Why'd you do it, asshole?"

Dirk inhales and lets it out slowly. "What do you want here? You want an excuse? There isn't one. You want to know where my life went wrong? Why I thought that I was doing you a favor? Maybe it’s because I remember mom and dad leaving. Maybe it's because my foster parents were garbage excuses for people. Maybe there's just something wrong with my brain. Don't know. Doesn't matter. I was an adult, I knew better."

Now you're just confused, and you shake your head. "Where is this even coming from?"

"My therapist, mostly," Dirk shrugs. "And Prozac."

"You're in therapy?" That surprises you even more than his apology.

"Yeah. For the past eight months. Rox agreed that she'd get sober if I went to therapy, so now we're, in her words, 'accountabili-buddies'."

"Wow." You have to take a moment to digest all of that, and Dirk, for his part, just leans back in his chair and lets you.

There's a lot to think about, and you don't know if you have all the answers right away. The bitterness you've held onto this whole time is slowly being chipped away, and you're not sure if you want to try and reinforce that wall to keep yourself safe, or let it fall. You think about John, and his family. How much they all love him, and how much they all love you. You don't know if you can ever give him that in return.

But you also think about how excited you were before you moved in with Dirk. How much you wanted to be brothers and do brotherly things. And maybe you would have tussled, as all brothers do, but it would have been fun. Not terrifying. And you think about the few pockets that weren't entirely terrible. The moments where you could bond over a shitty movie on TV, or get excited about a new game together. How you wished it could be like that all the time.

You finally look back up.

“You weren’t an adult,” you finally say, and you’re not sure anymore if the bitterness is on your behalf, or on his. “You were 18 years old. You should have been, I don’t know, going to college and getting high at frat parties or whatever.”

He stares for a lot longer than is comfortable, his chin tilting up in much the same way it always did when he was about to make you strife with him. He can’t do that now, though, and you’re not sure if it’s posturing or just force of habit. It doesn’t matter much, because it still sends a shiver down your spine. He thinks you’re challenging him, when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

"Better the devil you know than the devil you don't. That's me. I'm the devil here," he finally says, his stance shifting to something more relaxed, and you let your shoulders slump. You might even chuckle a little.

“Yeah, I got that,” is all you can really say to that, because now that you've gotten that initial rush of fury out of your system, your thoughts are spiraling down the drain and you’re just along for the ride like a long-forgotten bath toy.

"Yeah. So. I'll let you get back to the girls," Dirk finally says, after a silence that stretches the 2000 miles between the two of you. "But it was—"

"Wait," you says hurriedly, before he can disconnect. "I'm not... done yet."

He looked like he was about ready to actually just walk away, but he stops, leaning back again and waiting for you to say whatever it is you have to say.

"I don't want to be enemies," you say, inhaling deeply. Because it's the truth. All you've ever wanted was a brother, not a bogeyman. And the little glimmer of hope deep down in your soul means that you might be on the verge of saying the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. "So. Look. I’d have to okay it with John and the fam first, but... would you and Rox and Rose want to come out? After the baby is born."

His eyes widen ever so slightly. Just a tick, and most people wouldn't notice. But you do. "Can't speak for the girls, but... yeah. I'd like that a lot, actually."

"Okay. Yeah. Sure." You pause. "Do you want to meet him?"

"Right now?" You nod, and you see the corners of his lips quirk up. "I'd love it. Want me to get the girls back on?"

"Yeah, if you could. I'll go get him."

John is waiting in the living room, scrolling through his phone and munching a snack bar of some kind. You lean over the back of the couch, putting your arms around his neck and resting your chin between his ears.

"Hey, what's up?" He tilts his head back, so you lift your chin and give him a kiss on the forehead.

"You wanna meet my sibs?"

"Um, yeah?” He attempts to twist around to look at you, but he's not that agile at present, so he pulls away so he can stand. "Of course I do! If you're okay with it."

"I am," you say with a nod. You want this. You want to share your family with him, just like he's shared his with you. Even if yours are a lot rougher around the edges. "You should know my brother's there too, but... he's different."

John tilts his head, his ears flopping to the side a little. "Good different or bad different?"

"Good different. I think." You hope.

"I haven't really been impressed with any of the stories you've told me about how he treated you," he says as he comes around the couch and inserts himself into your arms. "But he's your brother. If you say he's good-different, then I'll follow your lead. I don't want to be the one thing that keeps you from having a good relationship with your family."

How the hell did you get so lucky? "Thanks, babe. Let's head upstairs then."

He follows you up to your little attic getaway and you let him have your chair while you grab the stool, still up there from your stream together. Rose and Roxy are already back on the call and you can hear Roxy over your speakers before you've even sat down.

"Davey, you didn't tell us he's so handsome! You been holding out on us!"

You hear Rose's soft laugh, and when you finally get settled, you see that even Dirk has a vague half-smile.

"Right." You reach out and rest a hand on John's shoulder. "You've already met Rose. So this is Roxy and Dirk. Guys, this is John. I mean, obviously. I didn't go out and find some random pregnant bun to show off to you like some kind of weirdo or—"

"Oh my god," Roxy groans, exasperated with your rambling, apparently. "Dave! Shut up! John! Hi!"

"Uh, hi!" John gives a shy wave. "Rose, nice to see you again! Roxy, Dirk, nice to meet you finally!"

Predictably, Roxy has a hundred and one questions for John, some of which you've already answered, but that she apparently wants to hear from him, too. Rose interjects some commentary of her own, and while Dirk is still quiet, it's a lot less tense. Most notably, none of them seem at all too concerned with him being a bunny.

You pass an easy hour and a half just playing catch up, at least once Roxy has exhausted her seemingly endless well of questions. You're glad that she's eager to tell John about herself and Dirk, though, so you can fill in the gaps you missed earlier. You learn that Roxy has a new girlfriend, and that she's a fan of yours, which is an incredibly small world. They don't talk about your streaming antics often, so the baby was still news to her when you got on this call. Roxy promises to toss you her handle at some point. You learn that Dirk finally managed to get a foot in the door at Texas Instruments in their R&D department, which honestly, it's about damn time. You might have a rough history, but the dude knows his way around electronics. You all get to learn more about Rose's book, which she feels is nearing its first editing pass, which is pretty sick.

It all feels incredibly normal. And for the first time in your life, you feel like you might be on the verge of finding kinship with your elder siblings. There's still work to be done, but this feels like a good start.

You and John depart from the call when Dad Egbert calls you down for dinner, saying your goodbyes, giving promises to be in touch. Promises that you think you'll keep. Once Pesterchum is closed, John turns to you and takes your hands in his.

"I'm really proud of you," he says, and you lean forward, nuzzling noses with him.

"Thanks," you say, and you're so glad that this went well, and that he seems to get along with your siblings. You didn't expect him to pick fights, but when it comes to your family... you never know. "What would you think about having them out here after the baby's born? Maybe next summer?"

John hums, a soft sound of agreement. "I'd love that. Now let's get downstairs."

You head down to meet the rest of the family at the dinner table, and bask in the knowledge that—pending any major blowups—your baby is going to have the kind of family you always wished you had. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. It's probably more than you deserve, but it's what you owe your child, and you hope it'll be enough.

Chapter Text

When you moved back into your dad's house, you expected it to be a lot weirder. But when it comes down to it? You're really glad to have him there for you. Your name is John Egbert, you're presently 27 weeks pregnant, and you're starting to feel anxious about it. You're doing your level best to keep it to yourself, but your dad... he's just too perceptive and he knows you too well. He's been onto you for a few days now but has been silently biding his time, waiting for you to come to him. You would, if you even knew where to start. But you don't, and it paralyzes you.

One evening you're in the kitchen, seated at the table and peeling potatoes for dinner, because you insisted on helping and it was something you could do sitting down. Dave is streaming and Jade and Jake are out for a hike, so it's just the two of you right now. It's only then that your dad finally decides to broach the topic. He's at the counter, preparing the dough for a pot pie, so he's talking to you over his shoulder, and you prefer that to looking him in the eyes.

"John," he says, his voice a warm blanket draped over a deep well of concern, "Is everything alright?"

You debate telling him everything is fine, but he already knows something's wrong. It's just a matter of you telling him what. He'll know if you lie to him, and one way or the other, that never ends in your favor.

"I... don't know," you sigh, which isn't wholly inaccurate. You're just not sure how to word it, and he waits patiently for you to figure it out. "I just feel... a lot of things. I feel a lot of things and I don't know what to do about it!"

He hums thoughtfully. "Well, why don't you start with just one thing and go from there? The first one that pops into your mind."

Which makes plenty of sense and is the exact advice you'd give someone else in your position, so you probably should have thought of it yourself. Your anxiety just doesn't want to play nice with your common sense, you guess. You breathe in to steady yourself and grab another potato to start peeling. It makes a surprisingly good fidget toy.

"Hmm. For starters... I'm going to have a baby soon!" You figure that's probably the biggest and most pressing matter. "And the baby's going to have to come out somehow, so..."

"Of course," your dad says, with a soft chuckle. "It's scary. I know. Your mother was the same when she was pregnant with you. She told me once she thought the pain would make her hate you. But it didn't. It made her love you even more, if that was possible, because she worked so hard to bring you into the world."

Your dad has talked a lot more about your mom in recent weeks, which you're thankful for. After a certain point while growing up, you understood how much her loss pained him and tried to avoid asking questions whenever you could. But recently, it started with her wedding ring, which still sits safely in his office, waiting for the day that you and Dave can have a proper wedding ceremony. Then you started bringing him to your appointment with the midwife, and he shared what he knew of your mother's medical history. From there he would occasionally bring her up, either something that she liked to do to help ease the pains of pregnancy, or even just to comment on how much you remind him of her. You wonder if this is somehow cathartic for him. It seems like it is, because he still sounds sad when he mentions her, but more fondly than broken.

"Yeah, but what if the baby gets here and I just... can't do it?"

"What do you mean?" your dad asks, sparing you a glance.

"Like... what if I don't know what to do? Or it's too much?" Aw, jeez. You're getting all blustery. Your emotions have been all over the place since the beginning, and you're passively aware that you're getting all worked up, but you can't help it. You wish you could.

"Then I'll help you," your dad says with calm reassurance and confidence. "But I imagine that once you're holding that baby in your arms, it will all make a lot more sense."

"Maybe." You sigh and sniffle a little, because you're not going to salt the potatoes with your tears. That's a little too melodramatic for you, even in your emotionally compromised state. "What if it gets too much for Dave? And he leaves?"

You hear your dad set whatever utensil he was holding down and see him wiping his hands on a rag. He comes to stand in front of you and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Son," he says sternly, "I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you truly think he's going to leave."

You can't. You really can't. It's like your head and your heart are fighting, one with logic and one with fear. Logically, you know Dave's not going anywhere. He wants this as much as you do, if not more. But your heart is scared. The thought of being a single parent terrifies you. The thought of losing Dave terrifies you. Your dad did alright but that's not as comforting as you'd like it to be.

"Yeah, okay," you say, though you're not fully convinced. You just have to hope that your hormones will chill, and you'll go back to having normal thoughts.

Your dad gathers up the potatoes you've diced and brings them to the stove, dumping them in a pot of boiling water. With nothing to occupy yourself, you sit there, trying desperately to convince yourself that there's nothing to fear. Dave loves you. Your dad loves you. The whole rest of your family loves you. You're going to have support. None of that is going anywhere just because you're having a baby. If anything, having a baby has been bringing everyone together! Jade and Jake are here for an extended stay, and even Dave is talking with his estranged siblings again.

"I miss mom," you say quietly, after a long pause. "Even if I didn't know her. I wish she could be here."

Your dad is quiet for a moment, and you hear him sigh. "I do too, son. I do too. I know she would be so proud of you, though."

You want to think that's true.

/ / /

"Sup?" Dave turns his chair to look up at you as he's shutting down his streaming rig and you come up to the attic.

You carefully lower yourself onto the couch and heave a great sigh. "I don't know anymore."

The speed at which he's at your side is alarming, but you're glad for it. You lean into him, taking him in, warmth coursing through you, both by virtue of being mate bonded, but also because he's just so good to you. You love him so much sometimes and you have no idea what to do with all those feelings. They feel fit to burst out of your chest.

"C'mon." He slides one arm around your shoulders and takes one of your hands in his. "Tell me about it?"

"It' s... ugh. My emotions are just all over the place, and I hate it," you confess. "The other day I was telling my dad I was scared you'll leave because the baby is too much work. Even though I know it's not true!"

"Damn right it's not true." He gives your hand a squeeze. "But hey. No one's gonna blame you for being overwhelmed. You got this whole-ass little creature in you that depends on you, one hundred percent, for survival. And you're so fucking amazing for getting through it. Fuck. I love you so much, you know that? I love you and I love our Bean and I'm so fucking ready to be a dad."

You want to stay morose, because it feels like the right thing to do, but you can't help it. Your mood changes on a dime and you laugh. "Dave stop swearing!"

"What?" Dave pulls back, confusion written on his face. "You've never had a problem with it before. I mean, I should probably get out of the habit, but—"

"No!" you interrupt, "Bean can hear you!"

You haven't been particularly obsessive about all the developmental stages. You have a good idea of where your baby is at, but you never cared much for when certain parts were fully formed, or when certain body functions began. It just didn't seem helpful to you to memorize them. But this one stood out to you in particular: your baby is formed enough to hear you. Which is so weird. Like Dave said, there is a living thing inside of you. And it can hear words.

"What? Woah, you mean..."

"Yep," you nod. "We can talk to the baby. And play Mozart or whatever so that we have a genius baby."

"No way," Dave scoffs. "Try this."

He contorts, leaning in closer to your belly, and starts beatboxing. Because of course he does. You're laughing too hard to back him up as he starts laying out the sick beats.

"I'm feeling blessed, a little bit obsessed." You're not sure this is ad-libbed... it seems like he's thought about this already. "Got a bun in the oven, can't wait for the nest..."

"Seriously?" you interject.

"Seriously." He sits up and gives you a peck on the cheek. "Still working on it, but I'll have it ready for the big day. Promise."

"Ugh. You're so weird." You reach up and tweak his ear and let your fingers tangle in his hair.

"That's my best feature, besides my fine ass."

"What ass?"

He doesn't dignify that with a response, instead putting a hand to your belly. "Hey there, Bean. It's your daddy. Your other daddy. I love you, okay? And I can't wait to meet you. You're gonna be the raddest baby on the block—no, the entire West Coast. Those bougie Hollywood babies have nothin' on you."

He always knows how to cheer you up, even in the throes of a hormonal doom spiral. You'll never know how he does it. And if you were worried about him going anywhere, he's doing an excellent job of giving you more evidence to the contrary.

/ / /

It's the day before Halloween, and you're 31 weeks pregnant.

Truthfully, you're not in the Halloween spirit all that much, which sucks. Halloween is one of two days a year that you're allowed and even encouraged to prank people! But in addition to all the other things going on with your body, you can't see your feet anymore and your costume choices are limited. You staunchly refuse to dress up as a gumball machine or a disco ball or a pumpkin. You're seated on the couch, having a little pout over the fact that you're just not feeling it this year, and Jade and Jake are pressed up against each side, trying to soothe you.

"It's not that bad, is it?" Jade asks. "There will be plenty more Halloweens. And then you'll have Bean to dress with, even! Think of all the cute family costumes!"

This year, like most years of her adult life, Jade is going as a witch. It's tried and true, but she always comes up with a new and interesting costume every year. One year she was an ice witch, another year she was a forest witch. This year she's going for a witch queen sort of theme.

"She's right, you know! Think of all the absolutely precious baby costumes!" Jake adds.

Jake is going as some new action game protagonist, you're not really sure who. But they wear skimpy shorts and a thigh strap, so that's enough for him, apparently. Jake will take any excuse to be mostly naked, risk of exposure be damned.

"Uggggh," is all you can say in response for a good, long moment. "I just want this to be over with! I'm so tired."

Jade reaches up and starts stroking your ears, which always calms you down a little bit. "Soon. It will be soon! And then you'll be back to your old self."

You don't know if that's true.

"Hey, I've got an idea!" Jake says, and he detaches himself so he can pull out his phone and bring up a video. He holds it out so you can see: It's an old Kool-aid commercial with the giant sentient jug of juice bursting through a brick wall.

"What?" You're not quite following his line of thinking.

"We dress you up as the juice!" He explains unhelpfully, and when you keep staring at him, he continues. "We take some cardboard, cut it into shape, and paint it like the brick wall. We find you a red shirt and paint the eyes and mouth on. And there you have it! Instant costume."

That is one of the stupidest things you've heard, but he looks so excited, and his tail is wagging so hard you're scared he might break it. It wouldn't be the first time. You glance over at Jade and her smile is so broad, and her tail is wagging too. You just don't have the heart to tell them no, not when they're looking at you like that. It doesn't put you in the Halloween spirit, but it does put you in the spirit of making your cousins feel helpful, so you roll your eyes and shrug.

"Alright," you say. "I don't have any red shirts, though. Or any artistic skill."

"I do!" Jade interjects. "Well, the artistic skill, anyway."

"And I can run to the store and find a shirt, no problem!"

And so, you end up going as the Kool-aid man for Halloween that year, and as you pass out candy, the parents seem to get a kick out of it, even if the younger kids have never seen those commercials and have no idea what you're supposed to be. Most of them don't care. They're just happy to get their candy.

But... it is nice to not spend all night being a sourpuss, and even if it didn't succeed in putting you in the Halloween spirit, your cousins did accomplish one thing: cheering you up.

/ / /

It's Thanksgiving and you are 35 weeks pregnant.

You're only about a month out now, and everything is a lot harder for you, including sitting at the dining table. You do your best, but it's not really the same, and you need help getting at all the dishes to portion things out. You still want to do it by yourself, but Dave ends up lending you a hand, out of necessity. You hate it, but there's not much you can do about it, and it makes him feel useful, so at least there's a silver lining.

There is one thing you can always count on, though, and that's your dad's cooking being amazing.

Jane and Uncle Jerry are back this year. They have been allowed back at the table, though you know your father had a stern talk with both of them. True to her word, Jane is far more civil. You think she might still be avoiding Dave, but it seems less out of speciesism and more out of guilt. As the night wears on, she warms up a little, and as you're all having dessert, she looks to the two of you.

"So," she says, looking between you both. "I'm thinking of coming and staying here after Christmas. So that I'll be here to help with the baby as well. If that's okay with you?"

Jane and your uncle live nearby, but it's a 45-minute drive on a good day, more if there's traffic. So you can understand why she might want to stay, if she wants to be here when the baby is born. You don't have any problem with it, so you look to Dave and he gives you a reassuring smile, and then to your dad who gives you a nod. You turn back to Jane.

"I think that'd be great," you say. "We're probably going to need all the help we can get."

Jane looks incredibly pleased, and then abruptly turns to Dave. "So. Dave."

You see him flinch out of the corner of your eye, and your heart rate immediately spikes.

"Uh. Yeah?"

"I heard you wrote a song for the baby?" Jane has a devious grin on. "You should perform it for us!"

You snort. Okay, that is pretty evil of her, but it's the kind of evil you can get behind. You lean in and nudge Dave with your elbow.

"Yeah, let's hear it, daddy!" He's looking between you and Jane, with your matching wily smirks. His expression starts to falter, and his ears turn back a little. You rub your belly demonstratively. "I bet the baby would love it too!"

Around the table there's a chorus of 'Let' s hear it!' and 'Oh yes, play it for us!' and Dave realizes that he is outnumbered and defeated. Everyone retires to the living room for coffee and cocoa, and to hear Dave's impromptu performance. For someone who doesn't mind performing for hundreds of strangers over the internet, he sure does get nervous getting up in front of your family. A tinny beat from his phone's speaker is his only backup as he lays down the same sick beats he previewed for you a month or two back, and you're surprised at how complete it sounds. You told your family about it as a joke, but you didn't expect him to actually finish it.

Jade and Jake are among the most enthusiastic of his audience, jumping up and hooting once he's done. You agree with them in theory but just stick to normal old clapping like the rest of your family, who all seem to enjoy it for what it is: Dave's way of showing his love as a father-to-be. You watch as a cautious look of pride starts to creep over Dave's face. Even after a year, he's still getting used to the idea of having a supportive family, but you're glad you could give that to him.

The next day, you bring it up again after lunch, remarking how good it sounds. He disagrees, insisting that it's still missing something. You think you might know what.

You take him upstairs, seat him next to you at your keyboard, and have him do it again, placing chords to his rhymes, tapping out arpeggios underneath the natural cadence and syncopation of his voice. Together you perfect something that almost comes close to expressing how much love you both feel for your baby. Almost.

/ / /

It's Christmas morning, and you are 39 weeks pregnant.

You could have this baby any day now, which sort of takes some of the fun out of Christmas, but you try not to bring the mood down. Your family thoughtfully made sure that your Christmas gifts were for you. Not just baby things. That also means that there are a number of gifts under the tree labeled as "TO: Bean", which... honestly, is kind of touching. Everyone is so excited for your baby to be here, and you are too. But you were actually a little scared of going into labor on Christmas. Not only did you think it would ruin Christmas, but you would have felt guilty for giving your kid a Christmas birthday. They would have been sentenced to a life of dual-purpose Christmas/birthday gifts.

One of your gifts from Dave is a little toaster oven, and you have a hard time explaining to your family why that's so damn funny.

After the gifts have been opened and lunch has been had, you and Dave are snuggled together on the couch under a heavy knitted blanket. Dave's sister Rose sent it over, along with a smaller variant for the baby, and you can't wait to meet her in person. Your cousins are out for a walk, since it's unseasonably warm, and the dads are in the kitchen, talking about... dadly things, you guess. Neither you nor Dave are technically dads yet, so you guess you're not invited. That's fine; you much prefer snuggle time.

Dave's head is resting against yours, using your ears as a pillow, and you're pretty sure he keeps dozing off, pressing lazy kisses into your hair. You're watching whatever dumb Christmas movie is playing on TV this year, though the volume's low and you're also kind of drowsy. But just watching beautiful people hugging and kissing and falling in love in a winter wonderland gets you thinking.

"Dave," you start, and it probably seems a little out of nowhere. "Do you think I'll be attractive again after the baby?"

"Woah, woah." He pulls back a little to get a good look at your face, and you can see the confusion written across his. "Pump the brakes and back up a little? Who said you aren't attractive?"

"Um... I mean. Have you looked at me lately?"

You've never been particularly self-conscious. You had your moments in high school, but then again, what teenager doesn't? Aside from that, though, you've never cared much about your appearance... until now, apparently. It's been weighing on you for a few weeks, actually, but you didn't know what to do with it.

"Yeah. I have," he deadpans at you, bringing up a hand to your cheek. "And I see the most goddamn beautiful bun I have ever seen in my entire life."

"Bullshit," you scoff. "I look like a blimp."

"You look like the person who's carrying my baby. Do you know how hot that is?"

"Mmm..." You hum thoughtfully and mull it over. He seems sincere enough, and you've never known him to lie to you just to spare your feelings. But you still feel like there's something missing. You glance over your shoulder to make sure the Dads are still in the kitchen, and drop your voice. "I just miss how you used to touch me?"

"Is that it?" He seems affronted, even as he whispers back. "Hunny bun, sugar plum, my beautiful, gorgeous, amazing, adorable bunny boy. If you want me to touch you, that's all you gotta say. Just figured you wouldn't be interested, all things considered."

Oh. Well then.

That night, he gives you one more belated Christmas gift. It's all set up as soon as you head upstairs to bed: candles lit on the dresser and bedside tables, relaxing lo-fi music from his portable speaker, and a massage with warming oil to loosen your aching back and shoulders. Most importantly, he takes a solid few minutes just trying to get you comfortable with carefully placed pillows. Once you feel secure, he settles in behind you and touches you so sweetly and so reverently that you feel a bit silly for even entertaining the idea that he doesn't find you attractive.

When the candles are snuffed and you're snuggled into bed for the night, you sigh contentedly, and fall into the best sleep you've had in months, knowing that your husband is still in love with every part of you.

/ / /

It's January 2^nd, you are 40 weeks pregnant, and you are long overdue for this baby to just come out already. You already love your baby a lot, but they are taking their dear sweet time getting here! The last time you talked to your midwife, she mentioned scheduling an induction for you, which would be next week, in theory. She still wants to see if your body will do what it needs to on its own, but she's committed to making sure you and the baby are healthy, so if that means medical intervention, then so be it.

In practice, it's not going to happen, because sometime in the afternoon, you start to feel cramps radiating through your lower abdomen. You're just getting ready for bed when it happens yet again and you realize that this is probably it.

You're probably sitting on the edge of the bed for a lot longer than you realize, because Dave leans over and starts pressing kisses against the slope of your shoulder.

"Everything good, hunny bun?" he says softly, nuzzling at your neck.

"Mhm," you hum in response. Maybe you should tell him but... this is probably going to be a while. And you want him to get some sleep and be well-rested when you finally have to go into the birthing center. "Help me get comfy?"

He gladly assists you in positioning yourself on your side with your special pillow and everything, turns out the lights, he tucks himself up against your back. He slings one arm over your side, a protective hand on your belly. You'll wait a while before you get up, both to give him time to fall fast asleep, and... because you want to. Your life is going to be radically different at some point within the next 24 hours, so you just want to enjoy this quiet moment with him. The cramps keep coming, consistently spaced apart and not that painful. Not yet. You can put up with it for a little while.

It's around midnight when you finally crawl out of bed, which is a production in and of itself. It's a good thing Dave is a heavy sleeper and stays snoring softly into his pillow. You debate waking him up, if only to share your mix of excitement and fear with him, but you refrain. Remember. You need him awake and alert.

You head downstairs and make yourself some tea, then settle into the couch, putting on a random movie at a barely-audible volume. When coaching you ahead of time, your midwife told you that this period might last a while, and that you could do anything non-strenuous that you felt like doing. Of course, the whole house is asleep, so that sort of limits your options, but that's fine. You're kind of glad for it, actually. The last thing you need is all the fussing and fretting that's going to happen once everyone wakes up and finds out.

You're in the last twenty minutes of the movie when you hear a quiet voice from the side.

"John? Is everything alright?"

It's Jane, standing at the bottom of the stairs in her nightgown, ears angled forward and looking incredibly concerned. You flash her a smile. You guess the jig is up.

"I think the baby's coming?" you say, apprehensively. You're pretty sure that's what's happening, it's just hard to believe. "But it's going to be a while still."

"Oh, honey." Her brows knit together sympathetically, and she comes over, sliding down on the couch next to you and slipping an arm around your shoulders. "You won't mind if I stay with you? I don't think I could go back to sleep now."

"Yeah... actually, I'd like that," you nod. Of all the people to find you down here, Jane is probably the one you'd want to be here the most. She's grounded like your dad, and she knows you just about as well, but she lacks the sometimes-overbearing fatherly concern. Not that you begrudge your dad. But he can be a lot sometimes, and you don't need or want that right now.

You let Jane pick the next movie, and she picks Julie & Julia, which you've never seen. It's not a very action-packed movie, though, which is probably why she chose it. Smart of her. You lose track of the plot at some point, with the volume still low, and gritting your teeth through the intensifying cramps, but it's pretty easy to jump back into anyway. She makes you some more tea, helps you to the bathroom, and double-checks your go-bags just in case. They've been sitting by the door for two weeks, so you're thankful to know for sure what's in them.

When she finally settles down again, she snuggles up to your shoulder, and you sigh contentedly.

"Are you scared?" Jane asks, sipping at her tea.

"Terrified," you reply candidly. "I've never been more scared of anything in my entire life. I think maybe because I've had nine whole months to overthink it. Jane, why can't we just magically make babies with like, some kind of cool laser science? Get some... genetic samples, put'em in, and boom. Baby."

"John," she chides, but you can hear the amusement in her voice. "You're going to do just fine. This happens every day, and billions upon billions of people before you have been perfectly fine. And you, I know you're going to do your best!"

"I mean, this isn't like a test or something," you respond with a soft laugh. "I'm not trying to get a good grade on having a baby."

"Can I interest you in a gold star then, perhaps?" It's easy to forget sometimes, because she's a bit more reserved about it, but Jane can be just as goofy as you.

"Hmm." You feign serious consideration. "Only if it's especially shiny."

"Of course it is."

The cramps are starting to get closer together now, and a little more intense. Not rush-out-the-door intense, but enough that it's a lot harder to ignore. Jane holds your hand and lets you squeeze, though she also fetches a stress ball from her belongings at some point, which you're thankful for. You don't have to worry about breaking any bones in a stress ball.

You're in the middle of another contraction when you hear a gasp from the bottom of the stairs, and Jane looks up from where she was rubbing circles into your back to shush whoever it is. You find out in quick order as Jade comes over and slides into the empty spot next to you.

"Is it happening?" she says in a loud whisper. "Oh my god, should we tell everyone?"

"No," Jane says quickly, covering for you while you're still riding the pain. "He's not close enough yet, so we might as well let everyone else sleep."

Jade nods enthusiastically and joins in trying to massage comfort into your shoulders. At that point, the sensation has subsided, and you look up to give her a big dopey smile.

"Seems like everyone's waking up anyway," you point out. "Sorry if we disturbed you."

"Not at all!" Jade insists. "I got up to use the bathroom and saw the light on down here, so I came to see what was going on."

As much as you wanted to go at this alone, it does feel good having both of them at your side. Especially these two, who just sit and say gentle things to you and massage your shoulders while you ride out the twisting, clenching cramps in your abdomen.

Half an hour after Jade comes down, Jake does too, looking at the three of you quizzically at first, and then his eyes widen as he puts the pieces together. Since there's no room next to you on the couch, he comes and kneels at your feet, and takes your hands between his.

"We're here for you, Johnny Boy, we've got you," he reassures you, and you have to chuckle at that. Jake might not be the first person you'd go to for birth coaching, but he is definitely an excellent cheerleader to have in your corner.

Another contraction. By now, you're timing them. Or rather, Jane is timing them for you, and they're getting stronger and closer together. You decide to have Jake go wake your dad up, and Jade gets the midwife on the phone to apprise her of the situation. Your dad comes down in short order in a bathrobe and slippers, and immediately sinks into the spot vacated by Jade just a moment ago.

"Son," he says, his arm going around your shoulders. "Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

"Heh. I'm okay dad," you tell him, leaning into him.

"Should we wake Dave up too?" he asks.

You quickly shake your head. "No, let him sleep. He'll need it."

It's somewhere around 3:30 AM. Jade has your midwife on the phone and is having a quiet conversation with her. When she hangs up, she comes to stand in front of the couch.

"She says everything will be ready for you," Jade explains, "And to wait until they're a little longer and closer together to head in. About five minutes apart?"

You're averaging somewhere around 10, and they're lasting a good 15-20 seconds, so... that's close. That's pretty dang close.

Each in turn, your relatives go get dressed and ready. They make sure that someone is with you at all times, though. You don't really need to be babysat (hah) but it eases their worries, so you're alright with it. Your dad makes coffee for everyone and at one point you decide you want to move around a little, so he helps you up and you do a few laps around the living room. Jade sneaks into your room and grabs you a change of pajamas, and Jane helps you get changed in the bathroom. Even though you're just going to be getting into a hospital gown, you don't care. You feel more comfortable and that's all you care about at the moment.

And then you wait.

You feel bad, watching everyone hurry to get ready, then having to sit around waiting for your body to get with the picture already. You don't really have a lot of space to dwell on it at least, but it does occur to you. Then again, they signed up for this. Your dad invited you to live with him. Jade and Jake came to stay of their own volition. And Jane was sleeping over specifically for this reason. You really love your family and you're so glad that your baby is going to have these people around them.

While your cousins are having breakfast in the kitchen, your dad sits with you, an arm around your shoulder, and holding your hand in his. His thumb rubs over the back of your hand and you lean into him, just wanting to go back to sleep. You can't really do that when your abdomen is wracked with squeezing, twisting pain every few minutes, but. Gosh. You're so tired already. Your dad just presses gentle kisses into your temple and holds you.

"Dad?" you say, though you don't pull away to be more conversational.

"Yes, son?" His voice is so tender, and while your dad has always been loving and doting, tender is not a word you've ever ascribed to him.

"Are you excited to be a grandpa?"

Your dad chuckles. "More than you can know, John. More than you can ever know."

"Heh." You already knew the answer. You just... wanted to hear it. "That means you're going to have to start wearing suspenders. Because that's what grandpas do, they wear suspenders."

"Now, hold on a moment," he says, trying to put on his usual stern affect but failing miserably. You can hear the grin in his voice. "I'm willing to concede on the matter of bowties, but suspenders are a bridge too far."

You hum, amused, and snuggle into him a little closer.

Once breakfast is done, you all gather back in the living room. You can tell everyone wants to pile on top of you, and while you appreciate the thought, you also appreciate the fact that they hold themselves back. Jane takes the open spot next to you and holds your other hand, using that to help her time your contractions.

You have no idea how long passes.

"John," Jane says, gently as she can, though you can hear a tremor in her voice. "I think we're just about at the point where we need to get you into the car."

"Oh." That's all you can say. Oh. Despite all the pain, you'd kind of put it out of your mind. Like the pain was just a new reality of life, and not a temporary state in the process of having a baby. "Yeah... okay. Can someone go wake Dave up?"

Jade and Jake, who have both been bundles of nervous energy since they got up and joined you, both hop up and book it for the stairs. Jeez. Poor Dave. He's not going to know what hit him, literally and figuratively. Meanwhile, Jane goes outside and gets the cars started so they can warm up, and your dad gets your jacket ready. You just lean your head back and try not to freak out.

Your attempt at a moment of quiet meditation is interrupted when you hear three sets of feet pounding down the stairs, and you glance over to see Dave at the bottom, still in his pajamas, and flanked by your cousins. He's at your side before you can ever really register it, and you nuzzle into him.

"Yo, is this for real? Like, for real-for real?" he asks, cautious and seemingly in disbelief.

"Like, for real-for real," you murmur back, and he takes your hands, squeezing them. "Hey. Go get dressed. The cars are still warming up anyway."

He looks at you like he wants to say something, but then quick as a flash, he's gone for the stairs and disappears again. Jake and Jade chuckle between each other, and you give them a questioning look.

"What did you do to him?" you ask.

"Nothing!" Jade insists.

"We did what you asked!" Jake adds with a nod.

You snort and shake your head because you don't believe them.

Dave probably sets a record for getting dressed and is downstairs with you again before you even have time to miss him.

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" he asks, measured frustration in his voice. Like he wants to be upset, but there's so much going on that it's hard to focus on it.

"I wanted you to get some rest," you explain with a shrug. "I'm exhausted and it's not going to get any better from here on out so... I figured one of us should get some sleep at least?"

He sighs, but seems to accept it, and starts planting kisses all over your face.  "We're really doing it, huh?"

"Yep," you nod. "We're making it happen."

It doesn't take long for the cars to warm up, and your dad comes over, helping you get into your jacket, which you're thankful for. Jane and Jade grab your bags to put them in the trunk for you, and your dad and Dave hold your hands, leading you out to the car, and helping you get settled into the back seat. Dave climbs in next to you, attached to your side like a magnet, and your dad hops into the driver's seat. It's just the three of you in your car, since it already has the car seat, while Jane takes Jade and Jake in your dad's. It's nice, really. You love your cousins, but you need this moment of quiet.

"We still haven't decided on a name," you whisper, though you don't really need to. The topic has come up more than once in the past few weeks amongst all your family members, and everyone has their own opinion.

"Babe, I don't know how to tell you this, but I haven't changed my mind," Dave says matter-of-factly. "Tony Hawk or bust."

You hear your dad chuckle from the front seat and let your head fall back against the headrest.

"Nope, that's it, let me out here, I'm walking," you protest, except it probably loses some of the impact when you're still snuggled up against Dave's side.

Dave sighs. "Look. If you really have your heart set on Casey, then you have to promise me. The next one is Tony Hawk."

"Oh, we're sure there's going to be a next one?" you tease. But of course, there's going to be a next one. "Alright, fine. Next baby is Tony Hawk."

You hadn't even really been dead set on Casey at first, but the more you thought about it, and the more you joked about it... the more it grew on you. First name Casey. If it's a boy, middle name James, after your father. If it's a girl, Janine. After your mother.

Either way, in a few hours, little Casey will be joining this world.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Strider and you're pretty sure that this is the Big Earthquake or whatever that they're always talking about, the one that's going to happen when the Cascade tectonics collide, and Mt. Rainier explodes or whatever else is going to happen.

Wait. No. Not an earthquake.

Just Jake and Jade bouncing on your bed, tails wagging like little whips attached to their butts. You sit up immediately, wiping the sleep from your eyes and trying to focus on either one of them in the dark. They're too wired to sit still, though.

"What the fuck?" You protest, because that's your first thought. Your second thought is, "Wait, where's John, is he alright?"

"Hmm, yes!" Jade replies. "Well. That depends on your definition of alright. He's in a lot of pain because the baby's coming! But that's normal."

"Right, he's downstairs getting—"

You don't wait for Jake to finish that sentence. As soon as Jade's words process, you leap out of bed, briefly getting yourself tangled in the sheets along the way, and book it for the stairs, with Jade and Jake hot on your tail. You hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, spotting Jane and Mr. Egbert having a quiet conversation by the door, and John on the couch looking like death warmed over. You're at his side in an instant and take his hands between your own, trying to comfort him but also yourself as you make a valiant effort not to panic.

"Yo, is this for real? Like, for real-for real?" you ask, in complete shock and still trying to wrap your mind around it. Granted, you woke up less than a minute ago, so you're not firing on all cylinders, but you should already know this is an inevitability. The baby's gotta come out at some point.

"Like, for real-for real," John says softly. Oh fuck. Oh shit. It's real and you're going to be a dad in... what, hours now? It always seemed so far off, and now it's here and it's real and— "Hey. Go get dressed. The cars are still warming up anyway."

There's so many thoughts racing through your mind and you can't pick out just one. You're going to be a dad. You're both going to be parents. There's going to be a little creature that depends entirely on you for survival. How is he feeling? Does it hurt too badly? How long has he been awake down here, going at it alone, and why didn't he wake you up sooner? What is your baby going to be like? Will you actually love them as much as you think you will?

In the end, you bring none of these things up and instead bolt for the stairs. You're going to get dressed faster than any person has gotten dressed before. You don't even care what you're putting on, pulling on the first T-shirt you can find and a pair of jeans that you think are clean enough. Would you have liked to take a shower? Yes. But there's no time for that.

At least it gives you time to think about what you want to say to him, though. You're downstairs on the couch at John's side again in two shakes of a bunny's tail and taking his hands.

"Why didn't you wake me up sooner?" you ask, trying not to sound terrified, and probably coming off more accusatory instead. Shit. That's not what he needs right now.

"I wanted you to get some rest," he explains, shrugging. "I'm exhausted and it's not going to get any better from here on out so... I figured one of us should get some sleep at least?"

You know the logic is sound, you just wish you could have been at his side for this. If it had happened during waking hours, you would have been. But instead, you were snoring in your bed, completely oblivious and frolicking through dream land. You don't even remember what you were dreaming about, but it probably wasn't worth missing this. But… this was his decision. And you know that being well-rested will be better for both him and the baby, so you just accept it with a sigh.

"We're really doing it, huh?" You can't hold yourself back and start laying gentle kisses over his cheeks and jaw.

"Yep. We're making it happen."

You groan, because you really deserved that.

. . .

The birthing center is usually pretty calm, but as you and John and your entourage enter, you bust through the silence, and everything is suddenly bustling. There are intake forms to take care of, which Mr. Egbert graciously offers to fill out, while you follow along with John to the room. It turns out that he doesn't need to get into a hospital gown after all, so he opts to stay in his pajamas, only taking them off when he lays down on the bed so the midwife can do a brief exam.

"Good, John, you're doing wonderfully," she says as she finishes up and pulls her gloves off. "You still have a bit to go. You can stay right where you are, or, as you know, we have a number of tools and techniques to help you feel more comfortable."

"Yeah, uh... sure," he says, seeming uncertain, and concern spikes in your chest. It's all you can do to keep your tail from puffing up. "Would it be okay... could we have a minute or two alone?"

"Certainly," the midwife says with a soft smile, and she leaves the room while John's putting his pajama bottoms back on, closing the door behind her.

You take to the chair next to the bed and John reaches out, pressing his palm to your cheek. You place your hand over his, turning your head to kiss his palm.

"We made it," he says. "Can you believe it?"

"Yep," you reply, with practiced confidence. Because you want to put on a brave face for him, but actually? You're terrified. "Because you're awesome. And we're awesome. And our baby is awesome."

"Is it really?" he chuckles. "Is it awesome?"

"It is so damn awesome."

You both lapse into heavy silence for a moment, at least until John is squeezing your hand and you're just trying to comfort him in whatever way you can. He's got a grip like a vise, which is news to you, but you can take it. You just wish you could do more. When he finally exhales in relief, your shoulders relax, and you dip in to place a kiss on his temple.

"All good?" you ask quietly.

"All good," he nods. "Can you help me up?"

You do, and John decides he wants to move around the room a bit. You hold his hands and walk backwards with him, even though he's perfectly capable of walking around on his own. You don't care. There's a deep-seated need to keep touching him, to keep that connection with your mate.

"Hey," he says after your first lap around the room, "How did we even get here, anyway?"

"Well, babe, your dad drove us here," you retort with a stupid smirk. Yes, okay, even if you feel bad for how much he's going through right now, you can't help yourself.

"Gearing up with the dad jokes?" He laughs. "No, I just mean… I mean, you remember the very first time we talked, right?"

You bite your lip, trying desperately to recall the conversation. You can remember a lot of the dumb things you chatted about as kids, but truthfully, you can't remember which one was the very first. You sort of vaguely recall it not being particularly meaningful to you at the time.

"Sorry," you shrug. "Guess I don't."

"You were a total dick!"

~ ~ ~

GT: um hi!

TT: sup

GT: you responded to my post?

TT: gonna have to give me a little more than that brotato

GT: what? did you just call me a potato?

TT: yeah

TT: what post

GT: the one about little monsters! you know, the 1989 american comedy film starring fred savage and howie mandel?

TT: oh yeah that piece of shit

GT: it is not shit! it's a hilarious romp through a wacky fantasy world, full of hijinks!

TT: its full of bathroom humor

TT: the lowest form of comedy next to sarcasm

TT: but im sure you knew that already

GT: then why did you reply to my post?

TT: idk it was funny at the time

GT: wow

TT: im dave by the way

GT: i'm john! so what movies do you like, mr. movie critic?

~ ~ ~

When John tires of walking around and vocally complains of his back hurting, the midwife shows him a couple other tools they have in the room, and he eventually settles on a chair. He sits in it backwards and leans forward, exhaling in relief. Without prompting, you take up the space behind him and start rubbing his shoulders, and it seems to help him relax a little more. Dad Egbert is back in the room and has seated himself in a cushy recliner with a newspaper, though he seems to be distracted with watching you and John—but mostly John.

"Okay, so I was a dick," you say quietly. "But so were you."

"I was a perfect angel!"

"Bullshit," you murmur as you press a kiss to the back of his head. "But I guess I have your dickery to thank for my internet fame, so there's that."

~ ~ ~

GT: hi dave!

TT: sup

GT: what are you up to?

TT: not much just drawing a comic

GT: woah i didn't know you could draw!

GT: can i see some of your art?

TT: sure

TT: stairs.jpg

GT: oh wow.

TT: pretty sick right

GT: this is the ugliest thing i have ever seen!

GT: you probably shouldn't post this anywhere.

TT: johnathan you wound me

GT: david that is not my name!

TT: you know what

TT: now i have to post it

TT: i was just fucking around

TT: but now i have something to prove

TT: so thanks for that

GT: hahahah okay if you really want to!

GT: good luck. :B

~ ~ ~

John hums thoughtfully and looks for all the world like he's ready to pass out hanging over the back of the chair. You know he's going through the worst of it, but you'll be damned if you're not suffering a little yourself with an unquenchable urge to just lift this burden right off him.

"It really is amazing that we still managed to be friends," he mumbles, and you just keep rubbing circles into his shoulders with your thumbs. "How did we manage that?"

You chuckle. "Pretty sure that was all you, babe. You couldn't get enough of me."

He snorts, and it's weak, but you can see a hint of a smile on his face as he rests his cheek on his arms and gives you a sidelong glance.

"Yeah right, I'm pretty you were the one who couldn't get enough of me," he retorts. It's nice to see him smile, even just a little.

"Duh. Of course I couldn't," you say with a shrug. "But those things ain't mutually exclusive."

~ ~ ~

TT: yo john

GT: hi dave! what's up?

TT: i might not be around for a while

TT: im moving

GT: woah really? another family?

TT: sorta

TT: im moving in with my bro

GT: oh wow! congrats!

TT: yeah its gonna be hella tight

TT: were gonna do so much awesome bro shit

TT: go to the arcade and the skate park and watch awesome movies

TT: or shitty movies and roast them

TT: i bet hes great at it

TT: i mean he has to be

TT: were related after all

GT: heheh you're really excited for this. i'm happy for you!

TT: thanks dude

TT: im gonna get back to packing all three of my belongings

TT: just wanted to let you know what was going on

TT: i know how much you miss me when im not around

GT: okay! good luck with the move and tell your bro i said hi!

. . .

EB: hey dave hope the move is going well!

EB: it's john by the way.

EB: i had to change my username because some dude was trolling me and wouldn't stop.

EB: he just kept getting past my blocks? i don't know how.

EB: anyway that's all! miss you bud. :B

~ ~ ~

The midwife is attentive but not pushy, periodically checking in to see how John's feeling. After the first hour, she gives another brief exam, and then happily guides John to different areas, since the chair has lost its appeal. You help John to a floor mat where he can kneel and lean on a large rubber ball, slowly rocking back and forth. While you don't really understand it, he seems to like it for the time being, and that's all that really matters.

"Mn, you were gone for a long time," John mumbles, face pressed against the cool, smooth surface of the ball, and his voice reverberating through it. "Kinda thought you were never going to come back because your bro was so cool, but. I guess not."

"Pfft." Sure, your relationship with your brother is fraught, and you've only just started trying to mend it, but John should know better all the same. "Nothing could be cooler than you, babe. You're so cool it feels like the Antarctic in here, there's penguins and polar bears everywh--"

"There are no polar bears in Antarctica," he corrects, with a soft giggle at the back of his throat. "And I didn't know that back then! I just thought my best bud was gone forever. And then you came back, and it was... weird."

~ ~ ~

TG: yo

EB: you're back!

EB: i missed you and your dumb jokes.

TG: right back atcha buddy

EB: how did the move go? are you and your brother settling in?

TG: yeah

EB: so how is it? did you do any cool bro stuff yet?

TG: nope

EB: oh

EB: well that makes sense

EB: he's probably still getting used to you just as much as you're getting used to him!

TG: probably

EB: hey while you were gone i came up with a new song!

EB: wanna hear it?

TG: yeah sure

EB: okay just a second, let me upload it...

~ ~ ~

"...I didn't really know what to do," John admits, sighing.

"Babe. Baby-cakes. Hunny bun. You did pretty much the only thing you could," you insist, knowing that you've had this conversation before. "Like, what else could you have done being a kid and also being thousands of miles away?"

"I know, I know," John mumbles, face pressed back into the ball. You can tell he's hurting by the way he pauses, and you squeeze his shoulder, but he seems to be... getting used to it? If that's something you can even say about being in labor. "But it feels like you were always there for me a lot more than I was there for you."

You shake your head. "I'm going to tell you how you're wrong."

~ ~ ~

TG: dude i got your package

TG: these shades are sick

EB: they're the real deal!

TG: how the hell did you get these

EB: would you believe me if i said magic?

TG: absolutely not

TG: but ill pretend i do as thanks

EB: hehe alright then.

EB: happy birthday dave!

~ ~ ~

"I don't know if that counts," John protests. "I was trying to do something you'd hate but then you turned it right back around on me!"

You've never seen him this antsy. He doesn't  keep to one thing for very long, but the midwife says that's not abnormal, and he can and should move around as much as he wants. So he's decided to stand and lean against you; you hold him in your arms and rock him back and forth, like two dopey teenagers at the homecoming dance.

"You couldn't hope to out-iron the irony master," you retort, your face pressed into his hair. It's not as fluffy as it normally is, which is understandable. You wonder if the baby will have fluffy hair like him…

"Out-iron?" He pulls back and tilts his head up to wrinkle his nose at you.

You just snort. "I said what I said."

"God, it's a good thing you're cute."

~ ~ ~

EB: dave! i saw those selfies you posted!

EB: you're still wearing those stupid shades?

EB: also your ears are really cute.

TG: why wouldnt i be wearing them

TG: hell i never take them off

TG: i eat with them sleep with them bathe with them

TG: they never leave my face

EB: okay well that's definitely a lie. also stop deflecting!

TG: im not deflecting

TG: by the way did you catch the big game last night

EB: dave!

TG: alright alright

TG: thanks i guess

TG: for liking my ears

EB: i feel like i should send you something now.

EB: but i don't have any selfies!

TG: its cool ill just keep imagining you as some super hot vixen

EB: ummmmmm

TG: dude it was a joke

EB: i know but

EB: oh wait i think i have my school picture scanned!

EB: but you have to promise not to laugh

TG: i promise not to laugh

TG: too loudly

TG: cause my bro is asleep

EB: har har.

EB: anyway here you go

EB: me.jpg

TG: dude you wanna talk about ears

TG: bunny boy

EB: i knew you were going to go there!

EB: you know what these ears are good for?

EB: hearing your betrayal from 2000 miles away.

TG: youll get over it

TG: you like me too much

~ ~ ~

John decides that he wants to lay down again, which is great news for you. The bed's incline can be adjusted with the press of a button, so you set it out flat, and once John's settled and comfortable, you crawl up behind him and hold him. You don't know if this is even allowed, but after about a half hour of laying there quietly, no one bothers you, so you figure it must be alright. He puts his hand in yours, and you rub your thumb across his knuckles, and nuzzle into his hair.

"So are we just recounting our entire life together?" you murmur against his head. "Is this our Very Special Episode?"

John snorts, and you can feel his body shake, and then tense with discomfort. You try in vain to absorb the hurt through your hands or some stupid shit like that. It predictably doesn't work, but look. It was worth a try.

"Do you have something better to be doing right now?" John quips, and you huff into his hair. How he can still have a sense of humor right now is beyond you, and you love that for him. "I mean. Why not? We're starting a new chapter of our lives, and… it's nice talking about the chapters we've already finished."

"Okay Nicholas Sparks," you scoff, because that's not just cheesy, it's the entire charcuterie board. "What chapter comes after the Great Selfie Exchange?"

John pauses, and you're not sure if that's good or bad. You can't imagine how it would be bad, but you can't see his face, and you start to worry until he continues.

"The chapter where I realized I was in love with you."

~ ~ ~

EB: i know, i just had really high hopes for tonight. my dad bought me a new suit and everything! which i guess i can still use and i can probably use it next year even.

EB: it just sucks knowing all my friends are out there having fun with their dates and my options were go alone or stay home like a loser. they both suck.

TG: counterpoint

TG: youre here talking with me

TG: so it cant suck that much

TG: youre cool by extension

EB: i know you're just being a jerk…

EB: but i appreciate it.

EB: i do like talking to you!

TG: i swear man if i could i would go with you

EB: you'd go stag with me?

TG: hell no

TG: id be your date

EB: seriously?

TG: yeah dude get myself a beautiful gown and everything

TG: id look like cinder-fucking-ella

TG: my bro can play the evil step mom

TG: and rose and rox can play the evil sisters

TG: perfect casting no additional notes

EB: i mean, if you really want to wear a gown, i wouldn't tell you not to.

EB: but i kind of feel like you're doing your stupid irony schtick again and bull shitting me!

TG: nah bro totally sincere

TG: we would slow dance too

TG: here this is our song

TG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJWO4WaQh_Y

EB: now i know you're just making fun of me. i'm going to bed.

TG: dude wait

TG: im so hella not making fun of you

TG: im making fun of stupid school dances

TG: but i would go with you

TG: and i would dance with you

TG: and itd be awesome

EB: for real?

TG: for real

EB: for fun and not just as some irony thing?

TG: cant it be both

TG: but yeah for fun and not just some irony thing

TG: even if theres 0 irony to be found

TG: nary a single iron in sight

TG: just cause youre my biffle

EB: heh. thanks, dave. i'd dance with you too.

TG: any time man

EB: can i make a request though?

TG: shoot

EB: can we dance to this instead? i love this song.

EB: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlPlfCy1urI

TG: you know what

TG: sure

TG: anything for my best bud

EB: you're awesome. <3

TG: i know <3

~ ~ ~

John groans and all you can do is hold his hand and do whatever he asks of you. It's the least you can do, and you hate to see him suffering. You also know that as the seconds tick away, you're getting closer and closer to being parents. It will all be over soon, and then you'll have a lifetime with your husband and your child. You feel so sappy, and you realize that you were right: Cool Dave is long gone, and Dad Dave is here to stay.

The midwife bustles over and puts a soft hand on John's shoulder.

"Is everything alright over here? How are you feeling?" Even though her questions sound practiced, they still sound sincere. Compassionate. Man, you're so glad John looked her up at the start. You're gonna have to give her a five-star Yelp review or something.

"I feel like… I want to get this baby out," John murmurs.

"Do you feel like you're ready to start pushing?" she prompts, and you feel your spine go stiff.

"Yeah," John nods without any hesitation, "I do."

"Alright, why don't we check to make sure you're fully dilated," she says, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, "And if everything checks out, we can have you start pushing."

Reluctantly, you climb off the bed as the midwife brings it up to a reclining position. You've watched her give this exam a few times tonight, in between helping John try to find comfort around the room, so you don't even pay her any attention. You just try to get yourself in a position next to the bed where you can comfort him. Dad Egbert is on the other side now, having long set aside his newspaper, and brushes John's hair away from his forehead.

"You're doing great," he says tenderly, "Just a little longer."

"Well, John, I'd say you're ready whenever you get the urge!" The midwife sits back and changes her gloves right away. "Is this the position you'd like to start in?"

John adjusts the incline of the bed upwards a little more, shifts a little, and then nods.

And then… it's the beginning of the end. Well, the end of your life as two guys who don't have a baby. And the start of your life as two guys who do.

No amount of coaching or parenting books or soap operas or Lamaze classes could prepare you for just how raw this is in person. John grips your hand on one side and Dad Egbert's on the other, and the way he cries out when he starts pushing shatters your heart. All you can do is let him crush your metacarpals to dust, wipe sweat from his brow, and say sweet and encouraging things to him in between the midwife's coaching.

"You're doing great," you say in your gentlest voice. "C'mon, just a little more. I love you so much. You're so amazing."

And just like that. With one more push, the midwife ushers your new baby into the world. The newborn starts making strangled cries as the midwife gives it a quick check over, then situates the baby on John's bare chest. And… holy shit. You have a baby. A real, living, breathing baby. While you and John are busy staring in adoration, the midwife and her assistant are helping to dry the baby off and giving it a few more checks, but you barely even register that. You're too entranced.

Cautiously, you reach out, stroking your baby's hand.

"Hi, Casey," you whisper, "Happy birthday."

You hear John's tired laugh, but all you can do is watch as your baby looks up at the both of you with bright blue eyes, still squinting against the harsh light of the world, and then starts wriggling. The midwife notices too and helps John position the baby to start feeding. It's probably the second most beautiful thing you've seen in your entire life, the first being your baby, of course. Man, nature is amazing.

From somewhere to your right, you hear Dad Egbert crooning his own praise for John's hard work, and then saying that he can go let everyone know things went well. The midwife places a hand on John's shoulder, asking him if he would like his family to come and see him for a little bit, and John says yes. There's so much going on around you, but it's all approximately a thousand miles away from your stream of consciousness.

A baby girl. Inasmuch as anyone can be a boy or girl when they're born, you guess, but until she can tell you otherwise, you have a beautiful daughter. Her sex will be marked on her birth certificate, but her gender will have to wait until her 13^th birthday, when she'll decide for herself who she wants to be. Likely, she'll know long before then, and you wonder what shape her personality will take, what she'll sound like when she starts speaking, and if she'll stick with the name you've given her, or if she'll change it. You don't care either way, you're just eager to get to know her.

You're excited to see your person grow.

"Dave, will you take a picture?"

John's voice, exhausted but relieved, draws you out of your head and back into the moment. You gawk at him then look around. There are blankets draped over him and the baby, and you think at some point the umbilical cord was cut by someone, which you're thankful for. You would have loved to be one of those dads who does the honors, but it seemed too blood-adjacent to take a chance.

"Oh, yeah. Sure," you stammer out as his words finally reach the part of your brain that controls things like actually responding and doing anything other than staring at your baby.

You pull out your phone and lean in, turning on the front camera so you can get all three of you in there—you, John, and Casey. You're surprised John wants his photo taken after all that, but you can't blame him, either. You want to remember this moment as long as you can, so you snap a few selfies before leaning back to take a few pictures of just him and Casey, and then some close-ups of Casey alone. You put your finger in her tiny little hand and take an artsy shot to post on your socials later, when you have the mind to do it.

Your photoshoot is interrupted by the midwife telling John that his family is waiting outside, and they can come in whenever he likes, and he nods to have them let in.

They file in one by one, John's father first, followed by the cousins, and then Uncle Jerry, who apparently showed up at some point, and you realize you have no actual idea what time it is. A glance at your phone tells you it's 9:03 AM. Damn. You feel a little bad leaving everyone waiting in the lounge for four  and a half hours, as though that was something you, personally, did to them.

"Oh, John, she's beautiful," Jane says softly, as she steps up to the other side of the bed. "Did you decide on a name?"

You resist the urge to snarl at her. She's been nothing but cordial to you ever since her apology, so it's not that. It's just that… you're not sure? Something within you says that no one else is allowed to touch your baby, which is absolutely ridiculous. You force yourself to relax because, really, you can't go getting your hackles raised like this all the time.

"Casey Janine," John replies, and you hear Dad Egbert take a sharp breath. John told you why he wanted that middle name, so… you get it. 

"When do you think you'll be able to come home?" Jade asks from the end of the bed, and as you look over at her and Jake, you can see that they are practically vibrating out of their shoes trying to contain their excited energy. You debate suggesting that they go for a run outside or something, because it's putting you on edge.

"Oh… probably a few hours?" John says. The midwife has made herself busy elsewhere, so he has no one to confirm. "Since everything was pretty textbook and I didn't have any drugs or anything, I can go home a lot sooner. You all can go home now if you want? You don't have to wait here for me."

Jane reaches over and smooths John's hair out a little, though it springs right back into place. "How could we ever think of leaving you?"

"Well, I don't know, we should probably let them rest," Jade interjects, tilting her head.

"Oh, I suppose you're right," Jane concedes with a sigh. "Dave and your father will stay with you, right?"

"I'm not going anywhere this baby isn't," you answer quickly. Everyone seems to find that amusing to some degree, but you're dead fucking serious. There is nothing that could take you more than five feet away from this child. Nothing.

"Right then!" Jake chimes in, ever-chipper. "We'd best nip on back to the old Egbert homestead and double check that everything is ready for the baby anyway!"

"Yes, Jake is right," Jane sighs, "But I'll be looking forward to spending more time with her once you're home!"

"I'm pretty sure there'll be lots of opportunities to take her off our hands for a little while," John says with a weak laugh. "I hear babies are pretty tiring."

"Of course. We'll be right there whenever you both need a little nap." Jane leans in, giving John a kiss on the forehead first, and then Casey another, lighter one. The intelligent side of your brain recognizes that she is being perfectly gentle and acting appropriately given her relationship with John. But you'll be damned if your instincts don't flare up again.

One by one, the rest of the family comes to John's side to give him a hug or kiss, and for a chance to see baby Casey up close. Everyone is so in love with her, and despite the part of you that's on the defensive, you're also proud. Yes, this is your baby, yes, she is incredibly adorable and perfect in every single way, thank you very fucking much.

Overall, the visit is relatively short lived, maybe twenty minutes at most before the family files out again, leaving you and John and his dad in the room.

"Are you alright?" John turns to you as soon as the door closes, his brows knitted together in sympathy.

"Uh. Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?" You're better than alright. There's no words appropriate for how alright you are.

"Your tail?" He gestures with one hand, and you turn your head.

Oh. Your tail curling around your thigh is incredibly puffed up, and you hurriedly try to pat it down into a more normal shape. You thought you were doing a good job at hiding your protective urges.

"Sorry, babe." You lean over and press a kiss against his temple, and half-lay on the bed with him. You reach a hand over to caress the baby's head; she's done feeding now, it seems, and after being burped, has decided it's naptime. Honestly, you can't blame her. It's been a tough day for her, too. "I can't even explain it, I just. Didn't want anyone touching her for some reason?"

"That's not unusual," Dad Egbert steps in, giving you a reassuring smile. "I felt much the same way for the first few days after John was born. I don't know that it ever goes away completely, but it does get easier to manage."

You think that's reassuring. Because you know you want all these people in your baby's life, you want Casey to have the family you never had. That's going to be real difficult if you feel the need to chase them off all the damn time, so you'll take Dadbert's sage advice and hope you chill out once things are a little more stable and you settle into a routine.

"John. How are you feeling?" The midwife returns to the room, looking for all the world like she didn't have to get up at three in the morning for this. You guess it's just part of the job description. "You think you're ready to try to get rid of that afterbirth?"

Right. That part. You're torn, because again, this is another one of those things that's very blood-adjacent. You want to be at John's side, but you don't want to get sick all over him. Your problem is solved pretty quickly, though, when the midwife turns to you.

"Would you like some skin time with your baby, while I help him with this?" she asks.

"Yeah… I'd really like that," you say, wide-eyed and equal parts excited and nervous to actually have the chance to hold your baby. "So, what, do I just rip off my shirt like I'm a Chippendales dancer, or…?"

"Yes, why don't you sit on the recliner," she instructs, pointedly ignoring your poor analogy. "You can take off your shirt, and I'll bring her over and help you get her settled."

Dad Egbert takes your place at John's side with a nod, and you get yourself comfortable in the recliner, leaning back. You watch carefully as the midwife picks your baby up and brings her over, placing her on your bare chest and showing you how to support her head and body. She also brings over some blankets and drapes them over the both of you.

You're officially holding your baby in your arms, and it almost doesn't feel real. Your first thought is how soft and warm she is; she came out looking kind of wrinkly and purple, but now that she's dried off and the blood's flowing, she's a perfect soft pink and so warm against your chest. Your next thought is how tiny she is, how delicate. From her little ears to her little nose all the way down to her little, tiny toes.

Your third thought is how deeply you're in love with her, and your fourth is how you're going to do anything to keep her safe and happy.

You're not sure where Dad Egbert gets off to after the midwife is done with John. Maybe out for a celebratory pipe smoke. He's already vowed to cut back for the baby's sake, which you weren't too concerned about since he keeps to his study anyway, but if he feels so compelled, you're not arguing. It leaves you more or less alone with your baby. Now that everything is cleaned up, John has fallen asleep, exhausted as he was, and periodically someone checks in on you to make sure everything's alright, but that's it.

You rub your thumb along her little back and plant tender, delicate kisses on her little head. Getting here was a long road, but the one that stretches out in front of you is going to be even longer. And it's going to have some bumps and weird turns, you know that in the back of your mind. But right now, everything is perfect.

Your name is Dave Strider. You're a fox, mated to a bunny. A Texan, transplanted to Seattle. A streamer. A husband. And now a dad.

As you start down this path of parenthood, you can see off into the distance, and on the horizon is a life of love. Of family. Of birthdays and Disney trips and broken bones. And you and John and Casey. Once upon a time, you hated your life and thought you were doomed to misery. That such a life was never something you could obtain. Over the past year and a half, John and his family have shown you otherwise.

You smile and lean back in the chair, your baby sleeping soundly on your chest, and you rest easy knowing that, actually? This life is meant for you. And you deserve it. And you wonder why you ever worried at all.

	funny display name @turntechGodhead · 1m welcome to the world bean cant wait to watch you grow up and kick ass.

Chapter Text

Your name is Casey Janine Strider and you are 18 years old.

Your dad runs a social media empire, and frankly, sometimes it's a little bit daunting, having a minor internet celebrity as a dad. Your papa is a project manager for a Triple A game studio, which is also incredibly cool, and also thankfully a lot more lowkey. At least people don't recognize him in public, most of the time. You live in Maple Valley, Washington in a nice two-story house, and your grandpa lives with you, which is pretty awesome because he backs you up when you get into little arguments with your dads.

Your parents got married when you were just a baby. You were too young and have no recollection, except for what you watched later in life, on a recording of the wedding. You were very cute in your little dress but completely oblivious to the world around you. Your parents forewent the traditional first dance, and instead performed a duet. Your papa on piano, your dad singing, a song by some old British dude. You didn't really understand the significance until a year or two ago, when you asked your papa why that song was so important, and you saw his eyes with stars in them.

Your 4th birthday party was salamander-themed, and that's when your parents told you that you were going to have a little sibling. In the months at followed, as you watched your papa's tummy get round, you fell in love with your little brother, even though you didn't really understand it yet. Your dads thought it was funny to name him Carey. You disagreed for all of five seconds, until they set you up on the couch and situated him in your arms. You told him you'd protect him forever and ever.

During Spring Break when you were 8 years old, your entire family went to Disneyland. Your dad and papa and brother, but also your grandpa and great uncle and second- and third- cousins. (They were all aunts and uncles as far as you were concerned.) It was your favorite vacation ever, and you asked your dad if you could live there instead. He said sure, but you'd have to live alone in the Haunted Mansion. You decided you didn't want to live at Disneyland anymore.

When you turned 13, you decided to keep the name Casey and had your placronym engraved. You couldn't imagine being anyone else.

The summer following your freshman year of high school, you and your brother and some friends were jumping your bikes off homemade ramps. You ended up breaking your arm, and your dad said that you would never be allowed to ride a bike again. Thankfully, your papa talked him down from that assertion. So many people signed your cast, though!

Last year, your brother decided that he would officially go by his middle name, Hawke, though you'd been calling him that for some time already. It turned out he didn't appreciate having his name one letter off from yours, either.

Three months ago, you graduated high school. You already have a college lined up, and even though it's not that far away, you still have student housing so that you don't have to commute for two hours every day. You're trying to get ready to go, and your dads are not making it any easier.

"Dad, I promise!" you insist, "I won't go to any wild parties!"

"Good," he nods, but he's still holding your shoulders.

"...I'll only go to tame ones."

Your dad makes a strangled squawk of disapproval, and papa laughs from behind him, because you've learned well from him.

"Just because you were a prude doesn't mean our baby girl has to be," your papa says with a smirk, placing his hand on your dad's back.

"Hey, I don't recall you being much of a party animal either, hunny bun," your dad quips back, turning from you finally, to take your papa by the waist.

"I tried taking you to a party one time. Remember?"

There they go again. You roll your eyes and smirk, because when you're not being grossed out by your parents smooching all over each other... it's sweet. You hope you can fall in love with someone like that someday.

Hawke has been loitering around the porch steps like he doesn't know what to do with himself but comes forward while your dads are busy staring into each other's eyes like lovestruck teenagers. He's in that teenager phase himself, where he's supposed to be too cool to love his sister, but he does, in fact, love you very much. And you love him back, even if he's a brat sometimes, and even if he pulled your hair a lot when he was a kid.

You and your brother are similar in a lot of ways. You both have long, reddish-brown ears, not as tall as your papa's, but not as short as your dad's, either. You both have short bushy tails, and your papa's blue eyes, and your dad's freckles. The biggest difference is that you got your dad's straight blond hair, while Hawke got your papa's dark messy mop. He picks up a bag and helps you get it situated in the trunk.

"So," he starts, clearly looking for an excuse to talk to you, but one that is totally cool and not dorky. "Who's gonna walk you to school now?"

You laugh. Walking to school together in the mornings has been your routine for years. "Could I convince you to come with me?"

Hawke makes a funny face and glances over his shoulder at your dads who are having some quiet conversation that neither of you are paying attention to.

"Nah. Someone's gotta look after them," he shrugs. "Guess that someone's gonna be me."

"Wow, what a noble sacrifice," you laugh again, and reach over to ruffle his hair. He pulls away, and it does nothing to help the mess that you make. He tries patting his hair back into place, to no avail.

Hawke pouts for a moment, sizing you up as you continue loading bags and boxes into your already-stuffed trunk, and without warning, he throws his arms around your midsection and squeezes tight.

"Promise you'll come home on the weekends?" he mumbles into your shoulder.

You reach up and wrap your arms around his shoulders, giving him a squeeze in return. You'll really miss having him around every day, even if he could be the most annoying creature in the world sometimes. But that's what little brothers were supposed to do, and you have more fond memories than bad ones.

"I promise," you reassure him, patting his back. "This isn't even the last time you're going to see me today?"

Yes, you're going off to college. But you're not going that far away and your family is following you to help you get settled into your new room, so you're not sure why there are all these theatrics now, except that you know it's because they love you.

"We've waited eighteen years for this," your dad chimes in. "It's our right as your parents to break down sobbing on the curb while we watch our little baby girl drive away. Flying away from the nest, leaving us all alone, hoping that we did a good enough job raising you and—"

"Okay, okay!" Your dad can and will keep going if you let him. "You can cry on the curb if you really want to!"

"We just want to give you the full experience, that's all," your papa adds as he comes over and reaches up; you lean in so that he can give you a smooch on the forehead. Unfortunately for him, you and your brother both got your dad's height. "You are our baby girl, and now you're becoming a wonderful, talented, smart young woman, and we're so proud of you."

"I know," you say softly, looping an arm around his shoulders to give him a hug. "Thanks, papa."

Your name is Casey Strider. You live in Maple Valley, Washington, with your dads and your brother and your grandpa. And you love your family more than anything else in the world.

Chapter Text

Character Species

These characters were mentioned (or the media they star in) and I had a species in mind for all of them. These are pretty much based entirely on Vibes™️, and in the case of movies, vibes of their character in that movie. Really, it's mostly arbitrary.

OTHER HS CHARACTERS
Kanaya - fruit bat
Terezi - red panda
Vriska - horse
Nepeta - tabby cat
Karkat - honey badger
Aradia - sheep
Feferi - otter
Eridan - otter
Calliope - pangolin

NATIONAL TREASURE
Nic Cage - raccoon
Justin Bartha - mouse
Diane Kruger - ocelot

HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS
Kate Hudson - chinchilla
Matthew McConaughey - coyote

MAGIC MIKE
Channing Tatum - boar
Alex Pettyfer - brushtail possum

JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH
Brendan Fraser - brown bear

KINGSMAN: SECRET SERVICE
Colin Firth - lion
Taron Egerton - squirrel
Samuel L. Jackson - African wild dog

DIE HARD
Bruce Willis - dumbo rat
Alan Rickman - white tiger

THE FIFTH ELEMENT
Milla Jovovich - white-tailed deer
Gary Oldman - alpaca
Chris Tucker - ring-tailed lemur

OTHERS
Elton John - sun bear
Tony Hawk - sugar glider
Snoop Dogg - boxer dog
Julia Child - bunny