Work Header

your kid

Work Text:

"I give up," Jessica says, groaning and leaning back in her bed, scooting until she could rest against the headboard and have just that little bit of support that does pretty much fucking nothing to help the fact that she has a giant ball of pain and sunshine sitting right on top of her bladder. 

Luke smirks from where he's lying down, arm under his head, happy as a goddamn man who hasn't ever been required to grow a little person inside their uterus. 

Jessica had complaints, many of them.

"I'm never having sex again," she says blearily, staring at a blank space on the wall.

Luke huffs a small laugh and rolls over, placing large, gentle hand over the top of her swollen stomach. She's torn between smacking him and asking him to rub his fingers over the bump in that way he does sometimes when she's cramping and pissed off at the world.

Okay, so fine, she's always cramping and pissed off at the world these days. If one more person, including Trish, tries to tell her she's fucking glowing even one more time, Jessica's going to have this baby in prison after committing murder.

She wants chocolate.

And pickles.

And some goddamn ice. 

What kind of fucked up is it that she's craving chocolate, pickles and ice? 

"You'd give up on being abstinent before I would," he says, and it's not even fair that's right. In her defense, he has the habit of walking around half-naked after his shower, dripping water down his back and chest and arms and you know what, it isn't like he's complaining when she throws him on the bed.

In retaliation, she leans down--and can't fucking reach him because her giant-ass stomach is in the way. She sighs and throws her head back, knocking it against the headboard again. She moans, because she's tired and she's hungry and she has to pee but only because there's somebody sitting on her bladder and every time she actually gets up to pee, wouldn't you guess it, she can't actually goddamn pee.

"Go get me chocolate," she says.

Luke heaves a big sigh but moves to get out of bed. 

"And pickles," she adds. "And ice," after that, because she might as fucking well have him get all of it.

He snorts and heads into the kitchen while she appreciatively watches him walk. He knows it too, because without turning, he says, "Stop looking at my ass," and she yells back, "Stop sleeping naked then!"

She winces when the baby decides it wants to participate in the conversation and kicks her in the gut. She rubs at her stomach, gently--she's still stupid terrified she's going to fuck this kid up somehow--and squirms as she tries, somehow, to find a way to sit that isn't horrifyingly uncomfortable.

Luke comes back in a minute later with a bowl of chocolate ice cream, a small glass of crushed ice, and one very large pickle. She lifts her arms and makes grab-hands for all of it. She takes a bite of each one, and Luke stares incredulously at her.

"That's disgusting," he says, and she replies, "Yeah, well, tell your kid that, because this is all her."

"It could be a boy."

"It's a girl and you know it."

"I'm just saying it's possible."

"You're trying to start a fight, is what you're doing," she says, licking the pickle juice off her thumb. 

He leans forward, bending down to place a kiss on her mouth. He makes a face and laughs. "Chocolate and pickles are really not going to catch on as a flavor."

"I hate you. Get back into bed and put your hands on my goddamned stomach."

"Yeah, yeah, alright. It's barely half-past three in the morning you know."

"Tell that to your kid."

He climbs in, laying down next to her, and slowly rubs her belly with those big, gentle hands of his. Eventually, she falls asleep sitting up, bowl of ice cream dangling from one hand, and Luke kisses her shoulder and mutters quietly, "Sleep tight," before closing his eyes to get an hour or two of sleep before their kid wakes them up all over again.