Ellie was... reckless. Yeah, that's the word—at least, for this situation. She could be thoughtful, sure, even calculating when she wanted to be. But not when it came to you. And you? Sometimes, you had to admit, you indulged in that recklessness right alongside her.

Maybe a little too much.

Like that night when she was practically begging to be inside you. All needy and flushed, whimpering against your skin like she'd fall apart without you. And you—you had forgotten to refill your pills in time. But in the heat of it all, you gave in. How could you not, when she looked at you like that? When she made such pretty sounds just for you. So desperate. So needy. So soft. So... tempting.

Well. That resulted in a baby.

Way, way earlier than you were planning to have one.

And just like that, everything shifted fast. Nights spent tangled in her sheets, passing a joint between kisses and talking shit about the world, turned into morning sickness and prenatal appointments. Suddenly, Ellie was taking every freelance coding gig she could find.

Sleepless nights. Endless expenses. Diapers, bottles, tiny socks that cost too much. You had to find a new place because her little garage setup—warm, cozy, very Ellie—just couldn't fit a crib, let alone a child. There were hard conversations with your families, the awkward explanations, the judgmental looks in public. Like, yes, you were young. Yes, it wasn't exactly planned. And no, you didn't need their opinion on any of it.

You were desperate when the test turned positive. You felt sick—not from the pregnancy, but from the overwhelming weight of it. It wasn't just a bump or a baby name. It was everything. A lifelong responsibility you weren't sure you were ready for.

But nine months passed, like they always do. And the baby came. A chubby little thing with skin so pale it made you worry, faint freckles already dusting their cheeks, huge green eyes that blinked up at you with slow, unbothered curiosity, like you hadn't just spent nine months enduring kicks, nausea, and rearranged organs for this.

Ellie's baby. Through and through. Not even a hint of your features. Really? It felt like a joke. Like you'd just been the rental space and Ellie had moved in, decorated it her way, and left.

What followed, though, was... surprising. Ellie became the softest, most attentive parent. Almost obsessively so. She'd neglect herself without thinking twice, but never you. Never the baby. She wouldn't let you lift a single finger. She washed everything, folded the tiny clothes, learned to swaddle from youtube like it was code. She even tried cooking your favorite meals—and the few strange cravings that persisted even post-partum—just because you wanted them, even though she barely knew the basics. Just to see you smile.

She worked herself to the bone. Freelance gigs from bed, from the couch, from the bathroom floor while rocking the baby with one arm. All of it thankfully from home. That flexibility meant she could still do it all. And somehow... she did do it all.

Of course, she had her moments. Like when the baby puked all over her ratty old t-shirt and she just let it dry there, muttering something about "not risking it happening again" while she held the baby.

But still. Things were better than expected. Messy, but manageable. And most days—even the chaotic ones—you caught yourself smiling.

Now here you were, months in. Almost a year, actually. The baby had finally gone down for a nap after a long night, and you were in the kitchen when Ellie came up behind you. Baby in one arm—because they'd woken up again, of course—and her free hand found your waist. Her grip was warm, a little possessive, like she needed the contact just to stay grounded.

"Hey, mama." Her voice was low, affectionate. You could smell her skin—faintly warm, still carrying that baby scent. She kissed the edge of your jaw, then the slope of your neck, lips brushing gently as she trailed toward your shoulder. "Need some help?"