JJ grips his toolbox tighter in his right hand, the litter of silver rings adorning his fingers scratching against the plastic of the handle, most he’d been wearing since he was a kid, some gifted by you, some he’d stolen. His wedding ring sits on his fourth finger, engraved with waves and your initials.

His heavy boots trudge against the wooden steps to your little home as he whistles casually to himself, some song he’d heard on the radio, or maybe from you, he’s not quite sure and he doesn’t give it enough thought before he’s wiping off his boots on the little ‘Welcome’ mat before letting himself inside.

you come around the corner from the bedroom, wearing just one of his old threadbare shirts, the neckline a little torn and stretched from where you’d cut it to make it an off the shoulder fit when you were around seventeen, and a pair of cotton underwear that hugs your newly thick thighs, the fat jiggling softly in the warm light with each step you take closer to him. His blue eyes widen slightly as he takes in the sight of you, his shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders, and the baby bump being noticeable . He meets your eyes with an appreciative hum and quickly closes the distance between you, pulling you into a sweet embrace in his strong arms, He carries dirty plates over to the sink and peers over his shoulder at you, stretching your arms on the chair, yawning softly, not even aware of his appreciative gaze. “You tired, darlin’?”

Your heart flutters at the pet name, “A little.” You sigh through a yawn, lifting your shirt from your stomach and your eyebrows furrow at the sight. “Look,” You mumble, bare feet tapping against the floor as you wander over to him at the sink. “My stretch marks are gettin’ so bad.” He sets the plate down he was scrubbing and turns to face you, his eyes immediately dropping to the faint marks. t. He reaches out and gently traced one of the marks with his finger, his expression softening. “They’re just part of bein’ a mama, baby. They don’t define ya.”