Ember L. Nicole

“Blaine gives Vaughn the side-eye. I tamp down my smile at his less than subtle warning that Vaughn might have said a little too much. Vaughn’s expression is sheepish as he shuffles from foot to foot. “Uh, did I say hours? I meant seconds. It took us exactly ten seconds to put together a crib with instructions that don’t make sense, and we have two extra screws that we desperately hope won’t mean the baby will fall through it and… well⁠—” “We tried,” Garrison takes over. “What Vaughn is trying to say is that we tried.” The lump in my throat gets bigger. It’s accompanied by a prickle behind my eyes so intense I blink rapidly, yet the urge to cry doesn’t fade even a little. I left, and they made a nursery for my baby, never knowing if I would even come back. I clear my throat to dislodge that gigantic lump. “The, uh, the extra screws are spares.” Vaughn tilts his head. “Huh?” “It’s so manufacturers don’t have to keep mailing out extras when people accidentally lose one.” They all stare at me. “My dad would always build stuff when I was a kid. Postage is expensive. Cheaper to add a couple spares than pay for postage.” They visibly deflate. “Thank fuck,” Vaughn breathes. “I was trying to get Garrison to climb in to make sure that it would hold the baby, but he wouldn’t do it.”
― Ember L. Nicole, Captive Omega

“fucking-”
― Ember L. Nicole, Knot in Trouble