#not sure if i've made that terribly clear today.

[swiftzeldas]

The X-Files 4.08: Tunguska

[fxllfaiiry]

─ you're the sunflower ੈ✩‧₊˚

✶ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

✶ synopsis: everyone on the team loves you, expect miguel who seems to hate you more than anyone.

✶ warnings: angst!! major angst. sunshine!reader x grumpy!miguel. reader is nicknamed sunflower, mentions of death.

✶ notes: there's one spanish sentence in this, I'm not good with spanish so if I've made a mistake please tell me so i can fix it! part two is already up!!!

Everyone on the team loved you from the moment you joined, everyone, except Miguel. 

You knew Miguel was cold towards everyone, but he was extra cold with you. Maybe it was because of how different your personalities were. 

You were the embodiment of sunshine, always positive in any situation, putting others before yourself. Hence why everyone calls you sunflower, it fits perfectly, Miles was proud of coming up with it. 

Miguel on the other hand was cold and distant but that didn't stop you from trying to get him to open up. You'd try to have simple conversations with him but nothing, all you would receive in reply was an eye roll or a slight grunt, but you wouldn't give up that easily. 

Like today, you got him some coffee. 

"Morning, boss. Got you some coffee." You said in your usual cheerful tone. 

"Why?" He raised his eyebrows, looking down at you suspiciously. That's the most he's said to you all week. 

"Because I wanted to." You shrugged, placing it down on his desk. 

He steped down walking towards his desk, you couldn't help but stare at him, unfortunately for you, everything about him was so attractive, it's such a shame he hated you. 

"This isn't how I like my coffee." 

"Huh?" You snapped out of your daydream at the sound of his voice. 

"The coffee, it tastes terrible. Get it from another place next time." 

"Well, actually I made it-" But he had already walked away from you not listening to a word you said. "Alright, never mind, I'll just go back to work." You mumbled hurt by his words. 

"Wait, hold on." You looked up, thinking, maybe he'll say something nice after all. 

"Yeah?" 

"Take the coffee with you, I won't be drinking it." 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Girl, why do you look so sad? Did Miguel do something again?" Jess asked with a frown, she did not like seeing you sad. 

"No."

"Sunflower…"

"Okay, yes." Miguel being cold towards you was normal, he never spoke to you unless necessary. Out of everyone here, he probably hated you the most, even more than Miles.  

"Sunflower, I've told you to stop trying." Jess sighed. 

"I know, I know… why does he hate me so much, Jess?" 

"That's just the way he is, don't overthink it. It's his loss, baby." She replied, gently patting your shoulder. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Today was going to be a good day, you were so sure of it. 

But, of course, you were wrong. 

Everything was going great up until a few hours ago. 

Miguel had assigned you on a mission to catch an anomaly, alongside a few other spider-people. His instructions were clear, stick to the plan and catch the anomaly. It was supposed to be simple. 

If only you didn't disobey him. You screwed up badly, and because of that, you could have been killed. 

"Why don't you ever listen?" Miguel shouted. No one had ever seen him this angry. 

"I was just tryin-" 

"¡Ay, por el amor de Dios!" Being yelled at by your boss in front of your coworkers was humiliating, everyone was looking at you with pity. 

"I'm sick of this, why can’t you follow simple instructions? Is it that hard to understand?" He barked, towering over you. 

"It's not a big deal." You tried to keep your composure, you didn't want to humiliate yourself further by bursting into tears. 

"Not a big deal? You could've died! A simple mistake would have ruined the whole mission." 

Don't cry. Don't cry. 

"But we're all fine, aren't we?" You weakly chuckled. That was the wrong thing to say because it only made him angrier. 

"Oh? If that's the attitude you have then you shouldn't even be on the team." Ouch. 

"Miguel, I think that's enough-" Hobie said, quickly jumping in. 

"Not now, Hobie." He growled. 

Never once did you think that you'd be in a situation like this. 

"If you put more focus on trying to be good at your job, rather than impressing me, we wouldn't even be here!" Oh, so he did notice that. 

At this point, tears were streaming freely down your face and you made no attempt to stop them. 

"Yep, you got it, boss." You smiled up at him through your tears. It was pathetic, but you did not care, you just wanted to leave and never come back. 

"Next time make sure this doesn't happen." 

"It won't happen next time." That's because there won't be a next time.

[applejarjar]

Son of a bitch

[writingwithciara]

birthday cake -quinn hughes-

summary: quinn believes everyone forgot his birthday in favor of thanksgiving. but that's simply not the case

word count: 2k

pairing: quinn hughes x reader

notes: in honor of the love of my life's birthday, i decided to cook up this little gem. hope everyone enjoys it. (should've been posted on his birthday but i got super busy because of thanksgiving & other projects i'm working on)

"hey quinn. do you have any plans for monday?"

"actually, yes." quinn looked up from his phone as brock entered the room. "why?"

"my sister wanted to invite you over to her place for thanksgiving. she said she gave you an invitation the other day but you just shoved it in your bag and that you haven't said anything to her since then."

"that's what that was? i thought she was just handing me some mail that was put in the wrong box."

"have you not seen her since tuesday? you live across the hall from each other."

"i know but our schedules haven't given us the time to chat. she's working when i'm home, and vice versa."

"you should text her and tell her you're going to be busy on monday. i think it would be best coming from you. maybe she won't be upset."

"i'll text her after practice." quinn set his phone in his bag and finished lacing up his skates.

during practice, everyone was talking about y/n's thanksgiving dinner. quinn was the only one who wouldn't be attending. and while he felt bad about it, seeing as she was one of his good friends, he also started to feel bad for himself.

monday was also his 25th birthday but it seemed like no one remembered.

practice went well. so when quinn walked to his car, he sent a text to y/n to let her know he wouldn't be able to show up to her dinner. he made up a lie and said he wouldn't be home.

his plan was to just stay home and watch game highlights while cooking his own meal.

when monday rolled around, y/n and brock were finishing up the food preparations when a thought occurred to y/n.

"oh my freaking god. it's the 14th today. how could i be so stupid?"

"i would love to object, or even agree, depending on what it's about." brock looked at his sister with a curious expression. he couldn't quite read her like he normally could. "care to let me know what you're talking about?"

"october 14th. quinn's birthday! how could i forget? i bake him a cake every year." y/n set her oven mitts back on the rack. "i am a terrible friend."

"i'm sure it's fine. quinn probably forgot about the cake anyway. pretty sure you're in the clear, y/n."

"brock, i've made the cake every single year since we've been friends. he loves it. you should see the way his face lights up when i deliver it to him."

"are you sure it's the cake he likes to see every year?" brock raised his eyebrow, earning a slap to the shoulder from his younger sister.

"brock, no."

"look, just bake him a cake today and give it to him tomorrow. i'm sure he won't mind."

"i don't have the time or oven space to bake a whole new cake." y/n shook her head. "i'm gonna run to the store and buy him one instead.

"people are going to be here any moment. i'm afraid it's gonna have to wait."

"can you please keep them company? i'll be back in 20 minutes."

"you're lucky you're my sister and i love you." brock smiled. "now go fix your friendship with your neighbor."

"love you, brocky." y/n kissed his forehead and went out to her car. she hated the idea of buying a cake from the store. it didn't have the personal touch that her homemade cake did and she knew it wouldn't live up to it either. but she was desperate.

when she got back to her apartment, brock was the only one there.

"nobody's here yet?"

"not yet. mom and steve are almost here. been getting location updates from steve."

"did he let mom drive?"

"yeah. that's probably why they're not here yet." brock chuckled and grabbed the cake from her hands. "this looks amazing. are you gonna try to pass it off as your own?"

"no. i could never lie to quinn." y/n smiled and took it back, setting it down in the fridge. "i'm just going to tell him the truth."

"that's new for you. are you that honest with everyone?"

"i don't think so. there's something different about quinn. he makes me want to be honest."

"have you ever lied to me?"

"no. of course not."

"okay. good." he looked at his sister. "i want you to answer a question then. i'm only gonna ask it once."

"alright. shoot."

"is there something going on between you quinn?"

"no, brock. that would be ridiculous."

"okay. i'm gonna ask it twice. is there something going on between you and quinn?"

"no. you told me he was off limits for dating, as well as the rest of your teammates. but i would be lying to you if i said i didn't think he was really good looking."

"you really think so?" brock's eyes widened at his sisters confession.

"mhm. i do. like, super insanely good looking."

"okay. well, thanks for the honesty." brock couldn't help but chuckle.

before y/n could respond, there was a knock at the door, followed by a few voices.

"sounds like your guests are here. i'll let them in." brock went to the door and opened it, letting their parents inside, along with a few other guests.

y/n spent the first half hour finishing up the meal before brock served it to everyone.

conversation flowed easily around the table, but y/n was stuck thinking about quinn. all his friends were with her and he was most likely alone.

when she stood up abruptly, it caught everyone's attention.

"are you okay?" brock asked.

"yeah. i just have something i really need to do." y/n walked over to the fridge and grabbed the cake. she left her apartment without another word and knocked on quinn's door.

"hey. what are you doing here?" quinn smiled when he answered the door.

"happy birthday." y/n handed him the cake and walked back towards her apartment.

quinn was left standing in his own doorway, staring at the cake. he was used to getting a cake from y/n every year. it was always homemade & this time, it was store bought. but he didn't care. someone actually remembered his birthday.

y/n walked back into her apartment and sat back down at the table. she ignored the looks everyone was giving her and continued eating. everyone went back to eating and talking with each other, quickly forgetting that y/n disappeared for a moment.

a few hours later, everyone was heading out. brock stayed behind to help y/n clean up.

"what did quinn say when you gave him the cake?"

"how did you know that's what i did?"

"you were beating yourself up over missing his birthday. and you left right after i told mom about quinn's goal the other night."

"i wasn't even paying attention to the conversations around me. all i could think about was how quinn's friends were here and nobody mentioned his birthday. i felt bad so i took the cake to him."

"and what did he say?"

"i have no idea. i came right back over here." y/n finished washing the last dish and handed it to brock so he could dry it.

"maybe you should go see him right now. i'm sure he would appreciate some company for the last little bit of his birthday. Oh, and take him some leftovers. dinner was delicious and i guarantee he'll love it." brock grabbed a plate and put all the food he could fit onto it. when he handed it to his sister, she hesitated. "take it to him, y/n. you can't keep beating yourself up over forgetting his birthday."

"you're right." she took the plate and walked to the door. "i'll be back."

"i'll be here." brock chuckled and started putting away the rest of the leftovers.

y/n knocked on quinn's door and waited patiently. when he opened it, she handed him the plate. he looked at her and smiled.

"what's this for?"

"thought you might like some leftovers from today."

"oh. well thank you. smells delicious." he set the plate on the table by the door. "would you like to come in? or do you still have company over there?"

"just brock." y/n smiled and walked into his apartment. "so, how was your birthday?"

"it was good. i got to have breakfast with my parents and then i went to the gym for a bit. then i got a cake delivered to me. it was amazing, by the way."

"really?" y/n smiled. "i'm sorry it wasn't homemade this year. i'm ashamed to admit that i briefly forgot about your birthday and i didn't have enough time to bake you a cake. but i can make up for it if you want."

"look, it doesn't matter to me whether it was homemade or store bought. all i care about is the company that comes with it each year." quinn smiled. "also, thank you for stopping by today. i thought everyone forgot my birthday."

"but quinn, i did forget."

"you remembered eventually. that's all that matters to me. things like that stand out and i appreciate it. more than you think." he sighed. "other than my parents, you're the only one who remembered. so, thank you."

"you're welcome. and i promise i'll make up for almost missing your 25th birthday."

"you don't have to. you're here now. and honestly, your company is the only thing i wanted this year."

"wait, really?"

"yeah. it's the one thing i look forward to for every birthday, no matter how brief it is."

"are you serious?"

"yes. very serious." quinn hesitantly reached for y/n's hand and when she didn't yank it away, he slowly intertwined his fingers with hers. "i'm not sure if you can tell but i like you. i've liked you since the first second i saw you move in across the hall. but unfortunately, i can't do anything about this."

"and why not?" y/n was confused. she liked quinn and it was becoming evident he liked her too. but she didn't understand why nothing could happen.

"you're brock's little sister. it wouldn't be right. it just-"

quinn was unable to finish his sentence. he was pulled forward and y/n's lips were placed on his, softly.

"what was that for?" he asked when y/n pulled away from the kiss.

"your birthday present, dummy." y/n smiled. "and because i like you, quinn."

"you....you do?"

"yes. i don't bake a cake for anyone else's birthday, you know."

"but what about brock?" quinn looked all over her face.

"i'm 24 years old, quinn. brock can't tell me who i can and can't have feelings for." y/n smiled and leaned closer. "besides, i think he actually wants us to be together."

"what makes you say that?"

"he kept encouraging me to come over here to see you. even gave me the plate so i'd have a reason to come over here." she glanced at quinn. "not that i didn't already have a really good reason to come and see you tonight anyway."

"i'm really glad you came over tonight. and kissed me." quinn smirked. "god, i sound like a freaking teenager when he gets his very first girlfriend."

"it's cute." y/n smiled and looked at where her leg touched his. "i think i know the answer to this, but are you enjoying your birthday?"

"i really am." he couldn't help the smile that came upon his face. "i'm still trying to get over the initial shock of you liking me back."

"it's the same for me. guess we can figure it out together, huh?"

"yeah. i guess we can." quinn held her hand and looked at her fingers. "is every part of you just perfect?"

"yes. i do believe every part of me is perfect. perfect in my own special way."

quinn chuckled at the girl he oh so admired. "would it be alright if i kissed you?"

"quinn, you know you don't have to ask." y/n smiled and gave quinn what he wanted. really, what they both wanted.

[tothosewholisten]

Forever Healed | TUA insert

Chapter: 00

next chapter>>

Masterlist

…

On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989. 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began.

Sir Reginald Hargeeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible.

He got seven of them, yes seven.

..

MARCH 21, 2019

I have to be at least somewhat proud of myself for lasting this long. I thought as I sat on the bus, not everyday you are born with magical powers and are destined to save the world from evil. Yes, hearing myself think that sounds crazy. But that's normal in my life.

I had reached my stop after a half an hour of sitting with my earbuds in, listening to nothing at all. I just wanted to seem unapproachable on the sketchy city bus.

My destination was a terribly designed office building, the space was so crammed and ugly it made me want to turn right back around and get on that bus again. But I didn't because I was trying to convince myself that this would be good for me, but I didn't believe my words.

I was about to have a therapy session with some middle-aged white lady who has glasses and tell her all of my life issues, starting every week at 5pm..

It's not like I had anything else going on, I haven't had work for days now. So I thought I'd give it a shot.

The waiting process made me anxious as hell, I finally got the courage to walk up to the front desk and gave the man who sat there my name. And now I have to wait for this lady to get done with some other patient.

I sat on a chair and frowned, like she is really going to be focused on "my" problems and not the 30 other people she sees today.

I swear it was only a second into me zoning out when I heard my name yelled. "Y/n L/n? It's so nice to meet you!" A woman said, when i looked up at her i saw the exact lady i was describing earlier to the closest details.

I let her lead me to a smaller room that looked way better than the lobby. It had two chairs, a water machine, some fidget items and a large window view of the city. Gloria, I learn to be the name of my therapist, asks me to sit with her.

She clears her throat, "I know this is our first session so you may not be the most comfortable sharing details. But I'd like to know a little bit about you if you're okay sharing."

“Well, I’m 29 years old and a home care nurse.” I say slowly. Hearing the words leave my mouth I knew I haven’t amounted to a lot in my years.

"Oh wow, 29? I would've never guessed that Y/n, you don't look a day over 21" Gloria complimented me i give her a tiny smile in return.

I'm not sure why that is, I get that a lot in my working field. Older women saying that they wished they looked as young as me.

"That's a great start for today's session." She smiles, "A little bit me is, you know my name already but I'm 56 years old since Monday. I have 3 children and a cat named Mr. Furball."

I regret what i said earlier because I think I already like Gloria and not just because of Mr. Furball. But the fact that she has a calming sense about her. I find myself listening to what she's saying, and I rarely do that with people nowadays.

"But I would like to hear more about your upbringing, how’d you become the fine young lady you are today?" She says.

Oh, she wants to hear about my childhood. I mean I knew she would ask but so soon, I'm worried about saying anything. So I told her that.

"I'm worried about opening up to someone about my past cause well I've never done it before." I said.

She hands me a cup of water. "That's okay Y/n, we can take it at your pace."

“I grew up in a small house with my mom and dad until I was twelve. When I was scouted by Reginald Hargreeves because of my unique abilities. And I've been there ever since I was 18 when I moved out to live on my own.” I waited for the burst of confusion I was about to get from Gloria. Not everyday one of the Umbrella Academy walks into your office.

“Oh wow…” she says, eyes wide. “You're one of those superheroes? That’s amazing wow.” She nervously chuckles “I’m sorry I’m normally not this shocked about things, and I hear a lot on the daily.”

“It’s okay” I say, staring at my hands.

She clears her throat. “I'm sure being apart of the Umbrella Academy was big but could you tell me about your life before that?”

I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds, pictured my childhood in my brain and opened my mouth.

"Well, I'm sure to this day my father still thinks that my mother cheated on him, due to his "daughter's" virgin Mary-like creation since they were just newlyweds. He held it against my mother all of her life." I took a sip of water and continued.

"I'm not sure why he turned to alcohol. But that turned out as you could expect. He turned on everyone around him and acted like a beast. He regularly attacked my mom for anything she did wrong. But what made him more angry was that his freak of a daughter could heal her mother, after every beating."

"My mom told me before I left I had made her so much happier and in her words. She didn't even question these strange occurrences; she knew her baby was special." I smiled a bit.

I could tell that Gloria was painting a picture in her head of what I was describing too.

"And by the age of 8, I was standing up to my father, even if it didn't end so well. I'd get the beating instead but by the next day, my bloody body would be as good as new. On the surface at least, I had lots of internal issues from that time. But none of that stopped my father from trying to get equal with me.." I stopped talking after that.

My eyes could only focus on my right hand as it was picking at my left hand's skin. It was a habit I picked up as soon as I started to use my powers because I knew my skin would be right back to normal in the next few minutes.

"That's awful y/n I'm so sorry." She frowned. "Would you be okay with continuing?"

I blink up at her. “Yes, that would be okay,” I said. “Then there was this one day..”

..

17 YEARS AGO

“In five, four, three, two. This is Jim Hellerman, reporting live for channel 2 News outside of the Capital West Bank at Main and Sixth. A group of heavily armed men stormed the bank not three hours ago and took an unknown number of hostages.”

That was the big news update of September 2002, I remember. Well I don’t really have to think about it much because I was there with my mom at the bank. She planned on making some deposit when we were screamed at, not to leave by a man who had his gun pointed at us along with so many other civilians. He taped us up and told us to stand in a corner.

That was the first and only time I feared for my life. Police didn’t want them to start shooting, so they didn’t come into the building. Meaning that we were on our own and could die at anytime

One of the armed men walks into the scene unfolding. Sirens blaring, people getting shoved around and threats being made to the innocent.

“Now you’ve put me in a position where I gotta do something I don't want to do. Hmm?” He said talking to another person on his walkie talkie.

My mom brought me closer to her trying to use her body as a shield if things went south. And to us we thought they were about to be.

But strangely, a girl walked up to the man. She’d looked to be around my age in a school uniform and cartoon mask. Her loose curls bounced in the wind as she skipped up to him.

“Shit!” He screams putting his device down. Not noticing the girl until a few seconds after his outburst. “Hey, get back with the others.” He told her, trying to sound intimidating but she didn’t seem to fear him at all.

“I heard a rumor.” She spoke out.

He bent a little to reach her height and get in her face. “What? What did you say?”

She leaned in and cupped her hand to mimic whispering in his ear but loud enough for all of us to hear. “I heard a rumor that you shot your friend in the foot.”

Without any hesitation he did what she commanded and shot the nearest armed man who happened to be trying to rough up my mom. We screamed as he kept shooting.

“We just heard shots from inside the bank. It’s uncertain if any hostages have been harmed in that.”

“There’s some movement on the roof. Possibly law enforcement.”

A loud crash and a boy landed down from the roof. It was crazy he wasn’t harmed at all from that high distance. He was also wearing the same mask and uniform as the girl but he had blond hair. From where he landed he jumped on one of the robbers and started beating him to a pulp, and then throwing him out a glass window.

“Looks like one of the armed robbers had been thrown from the bank.”

Another boy with brown hair runs in from the opposite doors as the girl and yells. “Guns are for sissies. Real men throw knives.” He then threw one of his knives and it curved in the air hitting a robber no where close to where the knife had originally been heading. It was incredible.

“I've been in many hostage situations like this, and it can escalate very quickly.”

The original man hops on a table pointing his gun out at the two of the before seen children plus another one. “Get back you freaks” he says walking back and forth in fear.

“Hey, be careful up there, buddy.” The knife boy calls out.

“Get back now!” The man screams.

“Yeah, I wouldn't want you to get hurt.” The girls mocking voice says.

Right before my eyes another boy teleports behind the man, sitting criss-cross on the table. “Or what?” He said calmly.

The man turns around and shoots at him but before the bullets could hit he teleports again. This time standing up with his arms crossed, clearly not impressed. But the man tries to shoot again.

“Ooh! That’s one badass stapler!” The boy laughs. The man no longer had a gun anymore but a stapler placed in his hand by the kid instead. The boy shoves the stapler into his face and the big man falls back, head hitting the floor before his body does.

“Although there’s been no activity for a few minutes, we’re gonna stay live on location to make sure we don’t miss a thing. In this hostage situation at the Capital West bank.”

The five already counted for children make way for the last and shortest one to make his move. “Do we really need to do this?” He talks quietly.

The blonde one replies to him. “Come on, Ben. There’s more guys in the vault.” So his name was Ben huh?

Ben sighs, “I didn't sign up for this.” Before walking into the room with more people. Large black tendrils illuminated the room as men screaming could be heard behind the door. And a beast roars but then the sound stops and Ben walks out again, this time covered in blood and guts.

He breathes heavily. “Can we go home now?” I felt bad for him.

The kids untied our hands and told us to run. And once it was clear to go my mom started to run out of the doors thinking I was right behind her.

“Now we see the hostages. They— They’re free. They’re scared clearly but they do seem to be unharmed.”

But I was behind her trying to help this older woman who’d slipped on the floor. As I was helping her, the kids walked out too.

“People are coming out now. It’s not the armed robbers. These are schoolchildren in uniforms with masks on. Jim Hellerman, Channel 2 News.”

But there was one not accounted for robber, the one from earlier who had been shot in the foot. I started to run out and call out to my mom who was outside. When the man got up from the floor, cocked his gun and shot at the kids.

Fortunately, he missed them but the bullet hit me.

Questions being asked to the children stopped when they saw my body flail onto the floor outside of the bank doors. I was shot right in the chest. There was blood everywhere and it started to leak over to where the kids were standing. They turned around to see where it was coming from..

Everyone looked horrified and there was a bunch of screaming. Mainly from my mother who was wailing as she ran over to hold me to her chest screaming for me to wake up. And that will be engraved in my memory forever after this day, I never wanted to hear her like this ever again.

Police started to rush over but in a matter of minutes, a miracle seemed to happen. At least to the city that is. There was a yellowish glow around my chest and the blood seemed to have reversed back into my body. Even the stains on my blue dress were gone. The bullet even spit out of my chest; it was truly witchcraft.

My eyes then shot open as I started to breathe in and out.

I don't exactly remember what I felt during those moments but I'm sure I left those people around me stunned. After all this was their first look at powers.

I couldn't care what the paramedics were talking about above my body. I was focused on the 6 children looking at me bewildered as well as the old-looking man with them and whatever my mom was saying at the time.

I was put on a stretcher and rushed to a hospital for evaluations after the pandemics came but they never found anything. It was like everything was perfectly reattached.

But as I was leaving I could see the news reporters zeroing in on the kids trying to get the details on how these children saved the bank from thievery.

“Our world is changing.” The man spoke to the crowd. “Has changed. There are some among us gifted with abilities far beyond the ordinary.” He said looking back at the children. But they weren’t paying attention, some were staring at my ambulance and some eyes were on the ground.

“I have adopted seven such children. I give you the inaugural class of the Umbrella Academy.”

I now realize thinking back, the seventh person he was talking about was me..

..

PRESENT DAY

My mouth felt like it was moving faster than my brain so I took a pause and chugged the rest of my water cup.

Once again Glorias eyes were wide open. As she took some notes down in a notebook I never noticed beyond this point.

"Uh once I got home I remember the house phone noise filled my house with its nonstop ring, the other person on the phone would change my life forever when he came in.”

“And who was that person?" Gloria asked.

"Reginald Hargeeves, eccentric billionaire and caring father from what the public knew.." I rolled my eyes.

"So I'm guessing it wasn't really like that" she asked carefully.

"He was never a father really, more like a hard state-national basketball coach." She wrote that down.

"I guess it was a hard decision for my parents to make well, my mother. My father was ready to give me up as soon as Reginald stepped foot in my small house."

"And I'm sure they thought there was nothing bad about the offer they were given, he promised I'd be raised in a steady environment with the best schooling and my powers would be used for the greater good. And in exchange, my parents would get a large sum of money for my absence."

"What were you doing during this?" Gloria worried.

"I think I was just sitting right there next to my mom actually. I definitely didn't understand at that point what was happening to me. Still thinking about the events of that day.”

"And then I was being taken out of my only home in the blink of an eye. I resisted the people taking me, starting with screaming and then kicking and then running. Back to my mom's arms, Reginald himself had to pull me away from her. The deal had already been struck and there was no taking me back."

Now looking back at my hands I could only see small teardrops on my palms. Gloria reached for a tissue from the other side of the room. "Thank you," I said as I wiped my eyes.

"I like to think that my mom was upset that day but the memory has already started to fade as I reached adulthood.

You know after that day I was no longer 'Y/n L/n' no, I was known by my new name.. Zero Hargeeves."

..

I decided that was the end of my story, at least for now because I couldn't place the pieces together anymore. I was full-on sobbing at that point.

Gloria decided to bring up something more light to talk about next but I don't remember what it was because I'd zoned out and thought about the cat she'd told me about earlier.

The two hours seemed to fly by because the last thing I heard her say was if I didn't have anything else to talk about then that would be the end of the session. My legs seemed to move on their own as I walked out of that building. I would come back at the same time next week and honestly, I think therapy was for the best. I forgot about how I felt about all these things for the longest time.

I started the journey back to the bus stop, stopping to look in the windows of shops.

Shops like bakeries and bookstores and other things like that. Until I came to a stop in front of a store with a TV sticking out in the window.

My eyes scanned the screen and they went wide. The lady on the news had a somber expression as someone died. I was feeling sad for the person's family, but then I read the red-blaring headline.

The person who died was Reginald Hargeeves...

...

Aug 14 update:

If you'd like to be added to the tag list for rest of the series (starts at chapter 10) say taglist in the comments!

[ilovewrittingsmut]

Cause I don't want you like a best friend.

Only bought this dress so you can take it off.

Nanami x fem!reader

Nanami had been your best friend since jujutsu high, but deep down, you always harbored secret feelings for him.

For nearly 10 years, there had been an unspoken tension between you two, but now, the day, your birthday party, had finally come when you could no longer keep your feelings hidden.

Contents: Friends to lovers, little bit of suggestive content, YEARNING, love confession omg I need him so bad

an. this is my first time writing a long ass fanfic and first time posting here (disclaimer English is not my first language.) so hope you guys enjoy!!!

Btw this was inspired by the song “dress” by Taylor Swift so I recommend you listen to this song while reading.

Enjoy reading!!!

———————————————————

0:00

K.: happy birthday to my best friend, my one and only, I hope you have the best day and I will see you in this evening at your birthday party. See you!

The moment the clock ticked past 23:59, a short, high-pitched tone from your phone jolted you awake.

There he was...always the first.

Every year, he was the first to wish you a happy birthday.

He was just a very nice friend of yours—or so you kept trying to convince yourself.

You: Thank a bunch kento! See you at my party.

Today, you made up your mind to tell him everything—that his one and only best friend had always had feelings and pined for him.

You knew there was a real possibility that everything could go downhill, and you might be the one to ruin the friendship you two had built over nearly ten years, ever since you were just high schoolers.

But you just couldn’t hold back anymore.

It was terribly painful. You knew that telling him might be selfish, but holding back those heart-racing feelings, the soft words left unspoken, the lingering gaze, and the words "I love you" felt torturous—like holding a knife in your chest.

Only if he knew, all of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting.

The prospect of confessing your love to him consumed your thoughts throughout the night, leaving you restless. Countless considerations raced through your mind—what outfit would be most fitting, how should you apply your makeup, and the nagging question of whether you would be enough to capture his heart.

This might be your most bizarre birthday ever.

8:00

The dark circles under your eyes were a testament to the mere two hours of sleep you managed to get—or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a brief nap.

This year, you decided to treat yourself by taking the day off as a birthday gift to yourself, with that being said, you had lots of time to arrange the party and lots of time to…think about him.

K.: Don't worry about the party. I'll be at your place by noon, and I've bought plenty of food. Just take it easy, I'll be there to help you with the arrangements.

Speaking of the devil, Nanami himself texted you, almost as if he could read your very thoughts.

As always, there was the way he seemed to be able to read your unspoken message that was all over inside your mind, the way he seemed to reserve a special place in his heart just for you, the way he would turn himself against the world if it meant protecting you. It made you believe that, just as you were in love with him, he might have always been in love with you too.

But you still weren’t sure if he was just being a good friend or if it actually was something beyond than that.

You couldn’t help it, your heart just sank at the mere thought of him.

You just couldn’t take it anymore.

You knew you had to do something to escape these tangled, muddy thoughts. You decided to head straight to your closet just to clear your mind and looked for one of your favorite dresses—or to be honest, the dress that would draw all of his honey-brown eyes on you.

You dragged your fingers across the hangers, pausing as they brushed against one particular dress—your black, simply elegant dress. It featured a straight neckline with thin adjustable straps, a leg slit, and subtle pleat detailing at the waist. It was the dress that never failed to make you feel confident, alluring, and undeniably captivating.

You’d bought it a long time ago with the thought of him seeing you in it, imagining those hungry eyes fixed on you and only you. You’d been waiting for the right opportunity to wear it, not just because it looked absolutely stunning on you, but because it was for him, a manifestation of your hidden desire.

You took off your former clothes and slipped into the dress. As the fabric hugged your body, you couldn’t help but imagine his big stronger manly hands gliding over you, his hot lips whispering sweet nothings in your ear, him slowly taking that dress off, and his lips tracing every curve of your body. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, making your heart race even faster.

Your body yearned for all of it—you wanted it, you needed it. As your hands glided over your shoulders, down to your waist, and then between your thighs, you couldn’t help but wish they were his hands, not yours. The longing was almost unbearable, a deep ache that only he could satisfy.

Your head, your body, every part of you was consumed by thoughts of him. You couldn’t help it; your mind was completely clouded by the image of him.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, imagining his skin touching yours, his hot breath against your sensitive skin, his lips lingering all over your body. Suddenly, you were jolted awake by the high-pitched ringtone of your phone. You grabbed it irrationally, and all the annoyance on your face vanished when you saw his name flashing on the screen. You answered the god damn phone within a second.

“Hey, I got lucky and finished up earlier than I expected. I’m standing in front of your door, could you come and open it for me, please?”

His voice was so clam and gentle for you like always. You could listen to him rumbling all day long without getting tired.

And for heaven's sake, you hadn't even put on your makeup yet. Nothing had gone as planned. You had envisioned everything being perfect, wanting to look flawless, just for him. The anticipation of his arrival had derailed your carefully laid plans, leaving you scrambling to present yourself in the best possible light. You wanted everything to be just right, to impress him and make the moment unforgettable.

“What can I say? I haven’t done my makeup yet. Sorry if I sound a bit flustered, but I’d really rather you not see me without it.”

You had no idea what you just said, like what the fuck, why you had to said it out loud.

“You’re so funny sometimes. I’ve seen you without makeup countless times before. Remember? I was there through your emo phase. There’s nothing to be embarrassed to me.”

“Just shut up okay?, you were emo too at that time. Never bring that topic up again. Please!!”

Between you two, there were so many unspoken rules and inside jokes that no one else could understand.

You were flattered, sososo flattered, feeling your cheeks flush with warmth everytime as he teased you, though you hated how easily you blushed. You quickly ended the call and walked to the door, still wearing that dress.

Your hand rushed to open the door, and as it swung open, your gaze met his. His eyes sparkled with a warm, heavenly glow the moment he saw you standing there, and the look of delight on his face made your heart skip a beat.

“Can I come in?”

“Indeed”

You tried to act as normal as possible, but your heart was betraying you, racing wildly with every beat.

“You look great.”

He didn’t really stare at you but he did look at you with unspeakable things in his eyes for sure.

“Thanks”

Why the hell on earth you were so awkward like that.

“I have never seen this dress”

You had no idea just how much of his attention was always focused on you.

“Because I haven’t wear it.”

“You should wear it more often, you look good.”

He tried to turn his head away but his pupils just so flared for you.

God, did he just admit that you were so pretty, leading both of you to get very flustered

“Here, your favorite chicken wings,pasta from your favorite restaurant, some of frozen pizza and this..”

He reached into his bag and pulled out something.

“Bread…I baked it for you”

He pulled out a loaf of homemade, crusty artisan bread, baked just for you.

“For me?”

“Of course”

The small smile appeared around his eyes as you inhaled deeply.

“Thank you, you’re the best.”

“No need for that, also happy birthday and thank you for everything.”

“Thank you for always being by my side, I…”

He hesitated before speaking the next word, his fingers fidgeting as he wrestled with his nerves.

“I can’t imagine my life without you”

He turned his head sideways to avoid staring straight ahead, crossing his arms across himself as he stepped backwards.

Was he being romantic?

You had no clue what did that actually mean. You excessively swallowed all the tension as you shot him with your darting gaze.

Fuck, it was so hard to be just friends with him. You probably showed to much signs right now and he would probably could read all of that.

For god sake, you hated the way he could read you like a book that was why you always avoided the topic of romance because he always knew when you were lying so prevent confrontation, you just prefer never had a conversation about love with him.

The next words about to leave his mouth might very well make you crumble to your knees. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep your feelings hidden.

All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation that you hold back and it was killing you.

It was just an inch away—just one pathetic inch away that separated you from remaining friends and becoming something more.

You genuinely didn’t know why your brain just went blank when you looked at him. You were going insane.

The way that he always gawked at you, just friends didn’t look at each other like that…

Everything was so inescapable and you were not even gonna try.

Your hands were shaking from holding back from all these.

It was now or never.

“Kento…I don’t think that I can be your friend anymore”

The words were said by your shivering voice hung in the air, charged with a gravity that seemed to make time itself slow down. You could see the confusion flicker in his eyes, the hurt starting to take shape behind them.

“What…why? I’m sorry did I do something wrong? Can we talk about that? Please?”

“No it’s not about you…it’s about me.”

“I don’t want you like a best friend.”

You stopped. The silence between you two was heavy, like the moments before a storm breaks. Your heart pounded against my chest, each beat echoing with the fear of the unknown. You had spent so long wrestling with your feelings, trying to suppress them, trying to maintain the facade of friendship. But the weight of your emotions had grown too great, and now the truth had to be spilled out, threatening to unravel everything.

“I hate to risk our friendship, but I can’t keep this hidden anymore.”

You took a deep breath, the words spilling out with a raw urgency you could no longer contain.

“I can’t do this anymore, I fall in love with you so head over heels and fuck it I can’t not love you. It’s just not in me…shit did I just say it out loud?”

The confession hung between you, trembling with the weight of your unspoken desires and fears.

Kento’s gaze softened, his confusion giving way to a profound sadness. He opened his mouth as if to respond, but no words came. The vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much to bear.

You stood there, heart racing, feeling a mix of relief and dread. The risk you took was immense, but you knew you couldn’t continue living with the secret any longer. Now, the future of your friendship and potentially something more was uncertain, hanging in the thread of his response.

“I’m sorry.”

The feelings were so overwhelming as tears began to fall from the corners of your eyes as the weight of your confession settled over you. You feared that you might have already ruined everything, the possibility of losing him forever or changing everything you had cherished flashing through your mind. Each tear that slipped down your cheek felt like a tangible symbol of your anxiety and regret.

“Idiot, you are an idiot.”

His response took you by surprise. A small smile appeared on his face, and his tender, sweet eyes remained fixed on you, full of warmth and affection. The words you’d feared would end everything seemed instead to be the beginning of something new, as his gaze softened with understanding and something more profound.

“Why haven’t you said anything sooner?”

He took a step closer, tilting his head slightly to look at your tear-streaked face. His hands reached out, and before you could react, his strong arms enveloped you. The warmth of his body surrounded you, providing a comforting embrace that seemed to chase away the uncertainty and fear. In that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief and tenderness, as if everything you had hoped for was finally coming to fruition.

“I’ve loved you all my life.”

He whispered against your ear, his breath warm and intimate, leaving no inches between you two . The confession was soft yet profound, mingling with the beat of your heart and the steady rhythm of his. The closeness of your bodies made the moment feel both fragile and incredibly real, as if all the unspoken feelings and hidden desires had finally found their voice.

“I always thought you knew just how much I’ve been yearning for you.”

he said, frustration clear in his voice. He cursed under his breath, his eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and vulnerability. The emotion was raw and unfiltered, as he grappled with the reality of his unspoken desires and the intensity of his feelings.

“You know me better than I know myself. How did you not notice my feelings?"

“And I always thought that you would never look at me this way,”

he murmured, his voice trembling slightly.

“I mean, look at me… I don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you. You are… everything.”

His words, so full of vulnerability and self-doubt, seemed to echo in the space between you. The depth of his feelings was laid bare, each word imbued with a mix of longing and disbelief. You could feel the intensity of his emotions as he spoke, his face close to yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“I was a real selfish man. ”

Admitted, his voice filled with regret.

“I kept you all to myself as my best friend because… I thought it was the only way to be the man who was lucky enough to be near you.”

His confession was raw and honest, his eyes reflecting a deep, conflicted emotion. The vulnerability in his voice revealed how much he had struggled with his own desires and the fear of losing you. As he spoke, it became clear how profoundly he valued your presence in his life and how conflicted he felt about the boundaries he had set.

“I really enjoy every moment spending with you and you have no idea how much I have always cherished those days we went through together, I know…I know so well that I do not deserve any of that but…”

“I know I’m not good enough for you so I decide to love you as much as this man can do and…”

He had a hard time saying all of those words as you could see.

“Ken, with love, please shut up.”

You cut him off as his confession had overwhelmed you, and you no longer needed to hear any more of his heartfelt words. All you wanted in that moment was to kiss him. The intensity of your feelings was too strong to be contained by words alone, and you found yourself yearning to close the distance between you with a kiss that would express everything you felt.

Oh god you couldn’t believe it that you two were both pining like idiots for all these years??

“Yeah, okay I will shut up but I need to tell you something, so what if I dreamt about kissing you for almost ten years? Don’t we all do that with our best friends? …hm? What do you think about it”

“Best friends my ass” you thought and let a small giggle. He might have been serious no he wasn’t, but his playful tone made you laugh despite the intensity of the moment. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. Goosebumps spread across your skin wherever he touched, heightening the electric tension between you. His touch was both soothing and thrilling, making it clear that the line between friendship and something more had finally blurred.

“Ken…Just shut up and kiss me already. Idiot.”

“Your idiot, just yours,”

he murmured, his voice low and tender.

“Only a fool for you.”

He mumbled the words against your soft lips before slowly pressing his own against yours. The kiss that followed was everything you had always dreamed of, so gentle yet filled with an intensity that spoke of all the feelings unspoken until now.

And that dress was eventually taken off by your best mate that day or could I say, your future husband.

[soughtoutsliderr]

Tenya Iida x Rebellious!Reader

CW: No smut, just silliness!! Short fic where u meet him I'll make a pt.2. Very flustered Iida, Denki and Mineta as dating coaches, (what could go wrong) and a terrible pick up line.

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

Class 1-A was always goofing off. Everyone took them the most serious but they were a bunch of weirdos. To me, at least, and most of my peers in Class 1-B. I was walking down the hallway with my undershirt unbuttoned at the top and no tie. The school uniform didn't mean anything to the teachers here, but sadly it meant something to Class 1-A's stickler president, Tenya Iida. He's always targeting me. Is he always on someones case, too? Sure, but he bothers me extra. I'm pretty sure he hates me, but whatever. I don't even know the guy.

Speak of the devil, I turn a corner and see Iida’s back facing me, talking to two other boys. The blonde one had a big smile on his face, but the tiny one looked upset.

"Hey, there she is now! You should probably-" the smaller guy started until someone slapped their hand over his mouth. I knew that was Kyoka Jirou, I'd talked to her before. She's one of the only cool people in Class 1-A. She whispered something to him and walked away, saying, "Hey, (Y/N)," as she passed me. I waved at her and kept walking towards the three men, though I was worried I would get scolded by Iida for my uniform. I pass them and almost make it around the corner before..

"Excuse me," Iida says in his big, booming, serious voice.

I spin on my heels and cross my arms, "Yeah, whaddaya want?" I watch him tense up and lower his head. His short friend elbows his leg, and the taller one says 'you got this!'

He doesn't say anything and just stares downward for awhile.

"The hells wrong with your friend?" I ask the other two and point at Iida, "If it's about my uniform I'll button it up but I don't have a tie." His friends mumble some words I can't hear, and Iida finally looked up at me. He made intense eye contact with his darting blue eyes, like he had something to prove.

"I was wondering.." his voice is much less powerful now, but still serious enough, "Would you happen to have a Band-Aid?"

"Eh? Why don't you go ask the nurse for something like that-"

His voice is clear and the power is back, "It's only that, I've scraped my knee falling for you!"

"Uh, what's that?" I say in complete shock. He can't be serious. Why in the world would Tenya say something like that to me??

He looks back at the ground, "I-i only wanted you to know that earlier I couldn't decide which is prettier.. the weather, or your eyes."

I scratch the back of my head. The boys behind him look so proud of themselves. Well, the boy is cute, but the lines are certainly something.

"You're being serious?" I question him.

He nods his head slowly and the boys nod their heads and give me thumbs ups.

"Hm.. that's cute. Thank you, Iida,” I smile and tilt my head.

"P-please, call me Tenya! And I appreciate your kind words!" He bows and I narrow my eyes.

"You know, Tenya, if you're gonna hit on me anyway, you don't have to be so formal," my smile widens as the blush on his face gets even brighter.

I walk away from the three of them and before I turn the corner really this time, I have to ask, "I'm off the hook, right? You're not gonna report me for my clothes today? I'd hope not, I'm beginning to like you," I smile and wink, then walk away.

"She's totally hot!!" scream the boys who aren't Tenya. Well, he's probably too nervous to even say anything and even then he's not as loud as those two idiots.

I can almost hear that stupid hand motion in his voice when he exclaims, "I just ‘hit on’ a pretty girl!"

Spoke too soon, I guess.

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 11 (Part 2 of 3)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; EMDR (VIVID intro to revisiting traumatic situations); crying + feelings of sadness; heart issues (POTs); use of heart monitors; dangerously high heart rate; implied abusive situations; derogatory verbiage from past abuser; implied drug use; very unsanitary living conditions; visits to safe place; usage of containment strategy * * * revisited, vivid memories of sexual encounters; body changes as a result of pregnancy; talks of baby + pregnancy; pregnancy hormones (+ continuing to act on them ;)); reader and jake continue to be STUBBORN; cheating; heavy petting; forgetfulness (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter 11 (Part 2) Word Count: 23.9k+

a/n: i broke my promise, i know. :( i feel absolutely fucking terrible that i made you all wait, but life happens. :'( i wish this story was my main priority/job, but alas...that dream is not a reality. i need you all to know: when i say i'm going to do something, i fully intend on it, but...life (and crippling adhd + anxiety).

i am so incredibly sorry, my lovely readers. :(

also, life update to blame (only if you care to read). BUT, on top of trying to get my house completely cleaned/shit thrown away, i officially had to empty out my classroom (see also: due to toxic work enviro, i had to leave the career i've wanted to live out since i was six y/o). so, i'm currently in the process of completely shifting careers (going from one emotionally taxing career to another, but that is apparently the type of job my heart desires lol).

as always, big thank you to @joshym for being the best sister there ever was and supporting me in my writings + pursuits <3 i love you to the ends of the earth, lis. you're my person. <3

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤 (fr, i listen to it nonstop when i write this.... all of the songs are pertinent to the story and aid in telling it - either already or eventually.)

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

"I covet truth; beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; I leave it behind with the games of youth."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

-🌼🌼🌼-

Monday

December 12, 2022

“So, any news on the baby since I last saw you?” Gia started, a sure smile on her face that helped ease you. “You had your second appointment on Thursday, right?”

“No,” you shook your head. “Dr. Rose wanted to just wait until closer to Week 18 so we could find out the gender at one session rather than having to wait between week 16 and week 18. Knock everything out at once,” you explained, clearing your throat. Looking around the office, you admired the pieces of floral art littering the walls, as you always did. “We’re going this Friday now.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Gia asked, raising a brow. She was rolling to her desk, getting the (seemingly) last thing she needed for your session today and placing it in her lap. “Not stressed about putting it off?”

“No, actually. I’m not stressed at all,” you acknowledged, sticking your lip out in thought. You hadn’t even thought to be stressed yet. Progress? Sure seemed like it. “It’s strange; the longer time passes, the bigger I get. . . The worries just aren’t as prevalent. It’s like I can feel that the baby is okay.”

“Not strange at all, babe,” Gia reassured with a shake of her head. Her platinum blonde hair was wavy today, framing her angular face perfectly. “Completely normal for new mothers to sort of get used to the pregnancy enough to feel at peace, per se. And I am so proud of you for getting to that point.”

“Well thanks,” you grinned crookedly, trying your best to settle into the worn, camel-colored leather of her sofa. “Can’t say the same for today’s session though. . . I am nervous about it.”

Gia waved it away, showing you a look of ease on her stark features. “No need. You’re the one in control, girly,” she winked, placing both white-sneakered feet on the ground. 

She reached in her desk drawer for the little pouch, the familiar one that you knew held the device you’d be using today. A sudden wave of nerves began to crash over you as she unzipped it, revealing it and the paddles that would be the catalyst in placing your brain. . .elsewhere— somewhere. 

Somewhere bad? Good? In-between?

“Here’s the plan,” she started, wheeling her chair closer to the couch, where you were trying your damnedest to sit comfortably. “We’ll start with your safe place to give you some sense of peace and stability — gotta make sure it’s still fresh and open in your mind.” 

You watched as she turned the knob of the device, the little green light beginning to blink to notate that it’s on. “Then,” she continued, situating the device to look it over before her green eyes settled back on you. “Once you feel comfortable, I’ll tell you to begin walking away. Whatever direction you’d like to go, it’s completely up to you.” 

Gia held the paddles out in front of you, and with clammy, shaky palms, you tentatively took hold of them. One in each hand, just like last time.

You couldn’t stop worrying about where you’d end up, where you’d walk away to. Walking away from your beautiful field, from Jake. . . What if you couldn’t do it? 

“Will I. . .,” you cleared your throat, nervous. “If where I go is too hard, do I just—,” you panicked, unable to properly finish your sentence due to an onslaught of nerves. “What will I do?”

You were fumbling with your words and clarity, before she interjected, knowing just where your mind was going. “I’ll simply tell you to walk back to your safe place. I’ll be talking you through it, I’ll be right here the whole time — just gotta keep your ears open for me,” she winked, clicking open her iPad and testing her Apple pencil on the screen, readying to take notes. 

“And, if at any point I see your body language change to indicate any distress, I’ll guide you back to your safe place, okay?” She soothingly told you the words, her full pink lips widening to a sweet smile, clicking her pencil into its spot at the top of her iPad case. “Remember, my specialized area is EMDR. I’ve done it multiple times before this – successfully. I plan to complete this successfully with you, too, y/n.”

When you gave her a small, timid smile, she took that as an indicator to continue on with her little speech. The tiny faux grin on your otherwise concerned face was the most emotion you could muster in that moment. 

“It will hurt from time to time. I can’t take that away. It will be harder than most other things you’ve ever had to do.” She paused, her own brows curving to show care for your rigid state. Gia reached forward to unwrap your hands from the paddles gently. Once she had a hold on your hands, she rubbed the backs of them reassuringly, her thumbs so soft with their intricate patterns. You looked down to study the patterns, working to focus on something else and rid yourself of the nerves. 

“Y/n.” She stated your name, making you look up at her. Her seafoam-colored eyes grabbed yours. “Before we begin. . . I want to make sure – once more – that you are sure about this . . . that you want to continue. We’ve talked about it a lot, but I want you to be sure. There are other routes of therapy. . .”

“No,” you replied, completely sure of your decision. “No. I want to do this. I promise I haven’t changed my mind. I don’t want to change my mind,” you rushed out, desperate for her to understand you. “I’m just–just scared. Is that not okay?”

You didn’t mean to sound defensive, but your biting tone contradicted that. The nerves were wracking you, from the inside out. 

Luckily, Gia seemed unphased, keeping with her featherlight touch to the backs of your hands. “It absolutely is okay to be scared,” she confirmed, tone firm and soft all at once. “But, I need you to keep in mind: you are in charge this time. You have the power. We will approach these places in the now – you are in the driver’s seat of conquering these past battles. We’re in this together, love – and we will make it out stronger and better than before we started.”

Her voice assured you, of course. But the fear was still ever-present. 

Sure, you did have control. But what if you couldn’t control where you went? 

Where would you go? That was what scared you most. Your mind was bound to let loose. It was one telling part of this sort of therapy. You didn’t really know what had been hiding deep in the drawers of the credenza in your mind. . .  

Hence you being here.

You just knew, whatever it was lying beneath the surface — you knew it was. . . a lot. 

Then, as if she could hear the additional fearful thoughts swimming in your brain, she grasped your hands tighter in hers, moving to rub her thumbs over the tops of your knuckles. “You’ll be just fine. We’ve got a solid plan, babe. I just need you to trust me, and I need you to trust yourself. If you need to walk away, tell me and we’ll do it. That is in our power – your power.” Her pristinely white, pearly teeth were on display as she looked deep into your worried eyes. “We can do this, okay?”

We. I’m not alone. 

You’d never had a single doubt about Gia. Of course you trusted her. But. . .maybe the true problem was trusting yourself. . . Over the past several months, you were finding that to be a bit more difficult. 

But, Gia was right. You had to put some trust in yourself to know when you needed to step away. You could do it. You had to.

And knowing that she had a plan and had done it so many times before. . . Those were relieving thoughts, to say the very least. She knew what she was doing, and she knew what was best for you. 

I can do this, you recited to yourself. I can. . .

You sighed, out of both relief and persistent worry. “I trust you,” you told her, another somewhat forced smile following your words. “And I’ll learn to trust myself. . . I’ll try my best,” you grinned sheepishly. “We’ve got this.”

“Good deal,” she responded with a far more sincere smile than you could offer. “There’s just one more thing we need to do before we get started.” 

She clicked her iPad closed, wheeling back toward her desk, reaching down in the same drawer she pulled the device from. Only this time, she pulled out a large legal style, white notepad, and a large box of Crayola markers. Lastly, she grabbed a flawlessly sharpened pencil from the ceramic baby blue jar, covered in white roses, next to her keyboard. 

What could she be up to? You wondered, eyebrows drawn together. 

“I need you to describe something for me, something visual to lock any horrible memory away in.” She took a sip of her tea, which sat atop her desk, before she stood up from her chair. She came to sit directly next to you on her couch. The smell of eucalyptus that swirled off of her, from her perfume, was soothing. “You need to give it lots of detail, make it unique. I’ll even draw it for you,” she held up the notepad, pointing to it with a gentle smile. “Seeing it visually will help you when it’s time to lock the memories away mentally. Some people want a box, a filing cabinet, a treasure chest,” she laughed, and you giggled at that one, too. Jake would love that one. Buried treasure, like his pirate documentaries. . . “Whatever you want. You just tell me exactly what you want it to look like.” 

Something about this felt a little silly, but you understood the purpose for it. Just having a place to put the memories after you visited them, it felt like closure. A special sort of closure at the end of every session, just like your safe place felt like closure. . .

And then, you knew what you wanted it to look like. Saw the image, clear as day, in your mind. It felt significant to you, it felt right. There was no question. 

But, you had a thought.

“Would–would it be okay if I drew it?” You questioned carefully. 

She eagerly handed you the notepad, markers and pen with a huge smile. “Absolutely. That’s called trusting yourself big time, girly. This box is a special one!” Her voice was wet as she sniffled. “I’m not supposed to get so emotional with my clients, but I’m proud of you. You’re making great strides and we’ve barely started.”

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling a bit encouraged, your own throat tight as you reviewed her once more with a glance. 

Then, sticking the tip of your tongue out from the corner of your mouth, you looked down at the paper, and began. 

A small, wooden box was all you could see in your mind. So, you drew it out, as best you could, given your lack of artistic abilities.

One side, then the other, the bottom, the top. . .

Before you knew it, you had a perfect, rectangular box on the stripped notebook paper. Then, it was time for the important part: the details. 

There was only one element that felt right — felt safe — to decorate the box with. 

Scouring through the markers, you found two perfect shades of purple at the bottom — two very different shades, to add depth. You weren’t an artist, really, but you could pretend for the box’s sake. 

Then, you searched for the greenest green you could find. One more marker in a shade of dark brown, and you were ready to draw the box exactly as you saw it in your mind. 

You began drawing tiny individual stalks of lavender on top of the box. You filled in their blooms with the purples, drawing their stems underneath with the green. Their placement may have seemed scattered across the top, but you kept going. To you, it made sense. And that was all that mattered. 

One bloom in the top left corner, one diagonal from it in the bottom right corner. Then, there was one on the bottom left going straight up and down, with a slight curve to the stem. . . And one more, laying on its side directly in the middle. . .

It was perfect. Just as you’d imagined.

You filled in the blank spaces with the brown marker, immulating the antiqued, stained mahogany wood you were envisioning. 

And once you filled it all in, your vision had come to life right before your own eyes. It was the ideal picture of what you saw, and despite the fact that you were no artist, it was beautiful. You loved it. Looking at it forced emotions you weren’t expecting, so many big emotions that begged to be surfaced. 

And for whatever reason, looking at it made you think of the baby. This beautiful, hand drawn box held a strange connection to the life you and Jake had created, though you couldn’t explain how. . . 

But, you felt it. You felt it so strongly. 

“Lavender means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Gia asked you, smiling and wiping away a stray tear that sat on top of her highlighted cheekbone. “It’s very lovely, y/n. And I’m so glad that you drew it.”

You contemplated her question about lavender. You’d never considered just how prevalent it was in all of your happy places. . . But, it was. It meant so much. . . 

Who knew that such a simple plant could bring you so much comfort? So much peace? 

A tear came to your eye at the thought of how special the plant had become to you. . . It was really no secret why it’d become special. 

Gia leaned over, giving you a small side hug, but didn’t linger before making her way back to her chair. She sat at the edge of it, elbows placed on both knees as she clasped her hands at the front. 

“How are we feeling?” She asked, sniffling once more as she looked you directly in the eyes. “A little better now that we have our box?”

“Yes,” you nodded, wiping under your eye to rid yourself of any tears. “The box idea is genius.”

“The technical term is containment. Again, it’s simply where the client creates a space to store the distressing memories. I want to emphasize that the memories aren’t coming back to control you, rather you’re the one controlling them. And, the box’s containment of the unpleasant memories gives you a little extra control over these memories and the emotions attached to them. They’re yours to deal with,” she explained softly. “You done with the notebook and pens?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nodded eagerly, handing the materials back to her. You went over her words in your head, extra control. . . the idea of that sounded wonderful to you. Those words aided in lifting a decent amount of weight from your nervous body. 

She took the materials from you, and as she did so, you decided to take the paddles in your hands once more, feeling much more confident. 

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, rolling back in her tufted chair to put the markers and pencils back on the desk. “I definitely can’t take credit for the idea of containing those horrendous memories in a certain area. . . but it has proven wonderfully effective for every client I’ve practiced this form of therapy with,” she explained further, coming back to sit in front of you, wheeling smoothly back towards you. When she was about two feet away from you, she stopped and observed the picture of your box, the notepad still in her lap. “Do you have a clear idea of the box in your mind?”

“The clearest,” you affirmed, no question in your mind of the precise placement of each piece of lavender. The exact color of mahogany that you’d depicted for the wood, sealed in your brain. 

“Wonderful. Well, I’m going to hold it so I can get a good idea of it; just in case you need help finding it at any point,” she said, eyes scanning the page as she spoke. “I’d love to see this in real life – it’s gorgeous.”

“I think so, too,” you grinned, eyes twinkling. And, suddenly, your body felt light in a way that could only indicate one thing. . . you knew there was no time like the present. “I’m ready.” 

Gia looked up at your words, her own eyes donning a spark as she tucked the notepad onto her lap. “If you’re ready, I’m ready,” she smiled kindly, her eyes trustworthy and open for opportunity. “First things first. Make yourself as comfortable as you need to. Sit, lay down. . . it’s up to you.”

You kept yourself upright on the couch, allowing yourself to sink back into its cushions a bit more. And for some reason, the thought of crossing your legs, criss-cross applesauce came to mind. So, you did just that, bringing your legs up to the couch and criss-crossing one over the other. You looked at your belly as you did. A timid grin crept along your lips at the thought of knowing you didn't have much longer until you’d no longer be able to do this. 

Thank you, sweet baby.

With one deep breath in, you felt your stiff limbs loosen with the comfort of the new position you found yourself in. And with the exhale, you looked down at the paddles in your hands, holding them probably a bit too tight as you felt your nails digging into your clammy palms. Still yet, you kept your grip, somehow feeling a bit more secure that way. 

“Nice and comfy?” Gia asked, her warm, knowing smile aiding in relaxing your body even more. 

You looked down at your hands, smoothing your thumbs over the cool plastic of the paddles. You knew this was it, that this could begin to change a lot; it could change everything. The thought of change was a frightening one, but with this change would come a healing journey like you’d never known. For you, for the baby, for  Jake, even. . .

“As I’ll ever be,” you confidently answered. You were ready to embark on this expedition of mending. 

“Perfect,” she said, her voice soft, reassuring. “Close your eyes, take a few deep breaths. Let yourself relax.”

You did as she said, and with one breath in through your nose and blowing it slowly out of your mouth, you closed your eyes. 

You felt your chest rise and fall with each breath. You began to breathe deeper and easier the longer your eyes were closed. 

“Good job.” You heard her sweet voice, feeling comforted by the simple fact that you knew she was still with you. Though you could no longer see her, you felt her. And that was more than enough. “I’ll start the paddles off slowly, just like last time. Turning them on in 3, 2. . .” 

Your body instinctively jolted at the light humming sensation you felt against your palms, your eyes closing a little tighter. But, you quickly remembered the feeling from last time and it didn’t take you very long to get used to it. You even found a little relief in the alternating vibrations. Their consistent rhythm worked to ease your mind. Your eyes, though still closed, instinctively followed in the back and forth motion of the pulsations in your palms. 

“Does this speed feel okay?” You heard her ask, her voice suddenly becoming more distant as you let yourself focus on the steady thrumming of the paddles. 

“Yes,” you whispered, the sound of your voice echoing as though you were in a long, narrow tunnel. “Feels good.” 

“We’ll start with establishing your safe place, y/n. Go ahead and start walking to it. Lead the way.” 

My safe place. 

Suddenly, as though the mere mention of it had  some sort of ability to transcend you there, you began feeling the familiar cool breeze against your face. Faint sounds of the birds singing in the forest of trees filled your ears, becoming a bit louder as you found your footing against the lightly dampened grass beneath your feet. “The birds,” you felt yourself say. “They’re singing, their chirps are becoming clearer now.” 

“Wonderful.” Her voice was heard all around you, echoing against the wind. “Tell me what you see.” 

Your eyes, still physically shut, began to open in your mind. They squinted at the bright, warm rays from the sun. And as you turned your face upwards toward the sky, you could feel the radiance of the rays against your skin. 

And, as you peered a few feet ahead of you, you witnessed a beautiful family of deer were perusing the lush meadow. 

“The sun. . . It’s so beautiful and bright, but it doesn’t hurt to look at it,” you shared with her, squinting towards it with no negative effect, shocked by the fact. “And the deer. So innocent and pure. They’re so near to me, but not scared of me at all.”

“You’re doing amazing, y/n. Keep going, tell me what you can touch, what you can smell.” Her voice carried throughout the trees like the wind, meshing beautifully with the songs of the birds. 

Bending down, you ran your fingers through the dewy blades of grass. They felt cool, soft. Like a blanket of emerald velvet. “The grass. It’s soft, a little wet.”

And then, the smells. The fragrance of freshly rain coated grass, as though an evening shower had just finished nourishing the ground before you’d arrived. The rainfall, sustaining the life of the pasture, the jude green grasses, the illustrious amethyst plant surrounding you. . . 

The divine aroma from your favored flower overwhelmed your senses in the most alluring way. The bloomed field, surrounding you, holding you carefully in its gentle grasp. 

“The lavender,” you felt yourself say, eagerly. “I can smell it, so fresh and clean; the sense of calm it brings me. . .” 

You then felt the paddles pick up in their speed, ever so slightly, but enough that you could tell.

“Oh yes, your lavender,” Gia hushed as she positively tracked with you. 

My lavender. 

Gently, you sat your body down in the midst of the flowers. And once you did, you felt the urge to place your hands against your tummy, to feel the baby, just like last time. 

There you are, right where you belong, you thought when you felt the smooth bump beneath your hands. 

You felt nearly complete, nearly, but you knew something was still missing—someone. 

And just when you started to look beyond the stems of lavender to find him, there he was. 

Clad in the very same navy blue, three piece suit you’d seen him in the first time. The rays from the sun bounced off of his chestnut locks, his tanned skin radiant and glowing. 

With a soft, lopsided smile, he slowly walked toward you. The vision of him, walking amongst the stalks of lavender as they gently swayed from the light breeze against his calves. . . You felt yourself sigh with relief. 

This was safe. This was home. 

Once he approached you in what felt like no time at all, he laid down right beside you, extending one arm out for you to join him. And as you did, letting yourself at last melt into his warm embrace, you were finally there. 

Your safest place.

“I’m here now,” you muttered, feeling yourself smile warmly as you did. “And I’m safe.” 

“Enjoy it for a moment, let it sink in, put yourself at ease.” You heard Gia’s voice, but the more you focused on Jake, the more distant she became. 

You found yourself gazing into his eyes, sparkling like golden gems, as he cradled you in the crook of his arm. 

In his amber-brown eyes, you saw your haven, your sanctuary of serenity. 

A gentle smile graced his lips as he reached up, tenderly brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear. “It’s time to step away now, y/n,” he told you. Though, you knew it was truthfully Gia telling you, you heard Jake’s voice. You watched his lips move as he spoke, “You can do this. I’m right here.” 

Again, you knew the words were coming from Gia. But, hearing them in his voice, as much as you didn’t want to leave him, it was the final push you needed. 

It was time. 

With only a bit of resistance, you sat up, slowly standing to your feet and urged yourself forward towards the unknown. When you looked back, you saw Jake standing gracefully amongst the fragrant blooms of your lavender. 

Home, you thought. He looks like home. 

With one final sigh, and with the most strength you were sure you’d ever mustered, you walked away from him. 

Your hands found your belly for some extra courage as you stepped away, everything turning black for a moment once you got far enough. But, the further you went, a tiny, dim light caught your attention. It initially seemed like miles away, but with every step you took, it became worlds closer. 

A lamp. You could finally see it. It was old, dusty. It was sitting atop a table, from what you could tell. . . 

With one more step, the full picture started to come to you. You’d guessed right — it sat on top of a round, wooden table that only had one leg in the center, making it lean a little to the left. The white, canvas lampshade was stained so badly. . . 

The stains were reminiscent of those that come from years of smoking cigarettes near it. 

In fact, you were shocked that you could tell it had ever been white. 

As the image became more clear, you saw a black ash tray next to the lamp, full of cigarette butts, all but confirming your cigarette theory. You could smell the smoke, too, as though someone had just finished one off. The stench was putrid, the chemically treated tobacco mixed disgustingly with the other trash laying on the table. 

To the right, you saw a sofa. The blue cloth over the cushions, stained just like the lamp, was tattered and worn. It was full of holes. Tiny, black holes. Cigarette burns?

God, the smell was nearly becoming too much. It was so strong, potent. Cigarettes and filth. Utter filth. Filth that you suddenly began to remember being suffocated by as a child.  

No wonder you liked things so pristinely clean. . .

The shag carpet beneath your feet felt like it had never been vacuumed after years of wear. It was littered with half empty beer cans, more cigarette butts, rat droppings. . .

God — the fucking smell. A triggering smell—one that had your stomach turning to the point that vomit rose in your throat. 

The paddles sped up a bit more, much more noticeably this time as they forced your brain to grasp what you were experiencing. 

“Tell me what you see, y/n. Tell me where you are.” It was no longer Jake’s voice that you were hearing, it was once again Gia’s. And though you missed the sound of his, you were so happy to hear her, reminding you that she was still there. 

This was the past. Gia was the present. You were with Gia.

You stepped to the side, glancing around the room you were standing in, trying with all of your might to not allow the stench to make you sick. 

“It’s—I’m in a living room, I think. . .?” You noticed a television set, one from the late nineties with a built-in VCR, sitting on top of a makeshift table made of three small slabs of particle board. 

The more you looked around, you noticed there was only one average-sized window in the whole room, next to the white front door. The door was scuffed to hell and looked ready to give at any second. The blinds attached to the window were ripped to shreds, hardly hanging onto the frame. 

“Y-yeah, it’s a living room. It’s. . .It was our living room. One of them, at least. I’m fully beginning to. . . To recognize it. . .”

You’d lived in so many homes as a child, seen many living rooms. But this one, this home and the walls surrounding you. . .this one was different. While most homes from your childhood didn’t leave you with happy memories, this one felt—evil. This had been a personal hell.

Anxiety, heavy sadness. . . this room was wrought with it.

And as you heard a certain laugh, deep and throaty, from the next room over, your stomach churned and your mind went fuzzy. That sound. It was vile and thick with too many years of smoking. That particular laugh was associated with ugliness and gut-wrenching fear. 

The man that the laugh was attached to. . . This was his house. You remembered that now. There was no safety here. This place was only associated with feeling powerless, forgotten, and lonely. 

The paddles wiggled in your hands, the vibrations reaching your worn nerves.

Elsie was here, though. Somewhere. You knew that. 

And Elsie had helped in making it less lonely — just knowing she was in this past-tense moment filled you with ease. Your sister was here. 

Though, you knew for past Elsie, she was still trapped. Even though she comforted this adult version of you that was invading. . . there was still no escape for little girl Elsie. 

This place had been desolate, with no chance for escape. You’d been tied here by invisible rope.

Fuck. Where was your sister? You could feel her near, but she wasn’t in the living room with you. Your skin prickled at what she could be experiencing. . . You couldn’t fully wrap your brain around it. 

But this was the past. Right now, you just needed to focus on your surroundings.

Living room. The living room. 

Your mind was quickly skirting back to your present placement. And, rather than standing, you suddenly realized you were sitting on the ground. Strangely, your hands in the memory were free of the paddles, tucked safely in your lap, shaking. . . And not daring to touch the dirty, shaggy carpet. 

For a split second, you wondered. . . Why were you not sitting on the couch or a chair? And why were you sitting in a place you felt you couldn’t move from? Was this how you’d been placed originally? In the past? 

You observed the wobbly dinner table in front of you and realized it had zero chairs. And on a second glance around the room, you noticed something you hadn’t before. . . a sleeping form on the couch. 

So, it seemed, with the occupied couch being the only other piece of furniture in the living room besides the table. . . the floor had been your only option. 

You used the unconscious state of the room’s other occupant to your advantage and turned a bit to observe the person. The person’s face wasn’t visible and their body was covered in a blanket filled with holes and torn more than it wasn’t. But. . . You could see hair. 

Blonde. Yellow-blonde. Box-dyed with the cheapest dye. 

Long hair, ratty and knotted to the point of almost no fixing it. The way the strands shone a little bit under the dim lighting from the old, dusty lamp showed you it was very oily as well. . . It wasn’t a healthy shine. 

The person on the couch, from what you could see, was far from healthy in any capacity. The body looked malnourished through the blanket’s holes. At closer inspection, you noticed an arm dangling off the sofa, peeking from the blanket. 

The arm was littered in tiny holes and scars. . . from heroin injections, multiple cigarette burns. . . Then there was the red, irritated acne that littered the pale skin, between the various marks. 

Poor thing. What a dreaded way to live life. . . Your heart broke in your chest and tears sprung to your tired eyes as your hand clutched at your tummy. 

You could do that in the memory. You were you in the present, yet placed like you’d been in the past. . . so weird.

All you knew was you had a sense to protect the untouched life in your womb. The feeling of being a protector to your child was unparalleled to anything in this moment. . . You would never let the little life inside of you bear witness to anything like you had as a child. . .

Like your current situation. 

Or, past situation, rather. . . This was not real. Not in the present. This was controlled — controllable.

The paddles jolted in your real hands, helping you to center you.

“Y/n,” Gia’s voice broke through your psyche, touching your brain delicately. You let out a sigh of relief at the sound of her soft spoken tone. “Can you hear me, girly?”

You nodded, but weren’t sure if she could see it or if the action was only visible in your dreamlike stupor. This was so weird. . . 

So, you decided to respond the best you could with words. “Y—yeah,” you stuttered out, blinking rapidly as you tried (and failed) to keep tears at bay. “This is. . . So familiar, yet so forgotten. . .,” your voice faded out. 

Your eyes in the memory were now pinched shut, trying to keep the laughter you could still hear from the kitchen (because, yes, you somehow knew exactly where it was coming from) far away. 

But it just seemed to be getting closer. . .

“Tell me where you are, y/n,” Gia requested, soothing, yet strong. “Take me with you. You are going to be okay.”

“I—I can’t—,” gasping, you shook your head. 

Willing the menacing, thick chuckle to fade, you squinted your eyes open slowly, tried to refocus on the living room to tell Gia what you could. Your hands still held your belly, but your thighs came closer to your chest. You wanted to scrunch up and stay in your bubble. 

“Y/n.”

Your blood ran cold and your skin prickled harshly with goosebumps. Fear. Terror. Dread.

The voice wasn’t Gia’s. It wasn’t Jake’s. No. It was coming from behind you. The person on the couch. The worn down, baby blue fabric couch. The navy blue patterns of it, a distant memory, washing back quickly like a flood. . . 

This was definitely a memory. A real thing that had happened in the past. This had happened before. It was deeply repressed. 

A dark memory. Bad. So, so bad.

You felt dirty for more reasons than one now. . . 

Looking down, you noticed your outfit had changed. Though you still looked as you currently did in 2022, you were wearing an outfit you had as a child. The attire made your skin crawl. 

This pajama set, you were made to wear it more often than not.

A tiny, satin set. Too small for you to properly fit into. How old were you? Nine? Ten? Was this right before you went to live with. . .?

“Pig.”

No. Not that nickname. No no no.

You hadn’t heard that since your mother had called you–.

The person on the couch.

“Piggy.”

Did you have it in yourself to face her? Could you? What would happen if you didn’t? No. No.

You had to. The baby, safe in your belly. . . that baby needed a mom who could face her demons and not fall to them. 

. . .Fall to them like the shell of a woman, on the couch behind you, had fallen to hers. 

You felt crippled with fear, but brave beyond comparison all at once. . .

The steady tremors from the paddles in your hands were the best help you could’ve had in the moment, reminding you of your power. . .

And, once you’d given yourself the strength to swivel your body to meet her eyes. . . there she was. 

A woman whose face had become a shadow since she’d left you. The moment she’d left you. . .a mess of snot and tears, head throbbing as it laid on Elsie’s shoulder, desperate to understand a mother that had never seemed to love you. 

Your eyes were her eyes. Thankfully, that was about where the similarities in your features stopped. 

She was paler than you. Her lips, thin and cracked from lack of hydration where yours were full. Her cheekbones were sharp and protruded more than they should. . . Your cheekbones, defined, yet concealed under soft skin you took very good care of . . . 

And her face. . . It also lacked freckles. You had the tiniest spatter of light freckles that sat at the tops of your cheeks. Your freckles, mimicking angel kisses, which stayed mostly hidden save for the summertime when they’d make an appearance after exposure from the sun. Her skin was washed out, lacking color. It was as if she hadn’t even been exposed to the sun for a long, long time. . .

Perhaps you might’ve looked more like her than you could tell at this moment. But, right now, all you saw was a sunken face, holding more wrinkles and lines than a woman her age should hone. And, her eyes,  even if they looked like yours initially, were glassy and hollow from too many drugs. . . 

Right now, they held uncertainty and a rage that was becoming more and more apparent the longer you looked into her eyes. . .

She looked lost. . . Confused, yet furious. 

The fury, pointed towards you. 

“Get. Up,” your mother ordered, voice cracking a bit, spit flying past her chapped lips. The tone of her voice. . . it made your heart jump into your throat. “Do your job, Pig.”

Before you could respond, you felt heavy footsteps make their way into the living room, shaking the weak structure of the small home that seemed to be falling apart around you. 

“Move, you lazy drug slut,” a booming voice growled. You knew it was aimed towards your mother. “Give little Piggy some space to sit next to Mr. Morgan, hm?”

Mr. Morgan.

The paddles buzzed in your hands, re-centering you. 

You didn’t dare look at the man who’d entered the room behind you, knowing it was the same man attached to the laughter from the kitchen. 

So, it was only out of your peripheral vision when you noticed him round to the other side of you, getting close to your mom. The next thing you saw, faded from the corner of your eye, were fat, sausage-like fingers reaching to yank the thin blanket off your mother. The unmasked view of her figure broke your heart further, her body shaking, bones on full display through her papery skin, begging for a fix. . . 

It didn’t take long for those same fingers to forcefully clutch her shoulder and yank her up. You could’ve sworn you heard the bones in her shoulder crack, but she barely let out a yelp. It was more of a tired groan, eyes closed and eyebrows drawn in with irritation towards being disturbed. 

But, she shook more. . . Her bones, most likely rattling under her skin. And this time, you knew it was more from nerves and terror, than lack of drugs. She was just trying to play tough.

Mr. Morgan (the name, making bile rise in your throat) came to sit at the end of the couch, but your eyes once again drew shut and your body became rigid. Even if you were facing the couch, you still only kept your body towards your mother’s. She wasn’t safe, by any means. But she wasn’t Mr. Morgan. 

You couldn’t look at him. The vile smell of him alone, sweat and grime from lack of showering. . . You were going to hurl on the spot. The way the nausea quickly began to rise in the hollow of your throat, you knew there was no time to get out now. . . Your heartbeat was thrumming so vigorously in your chest, you felt like you were going to choke on its strength.

Then the ugly, bitter laughter was back again. . . Right in front of you this time, your mother moaning next to him. . .

A distant beeping in the background. . . what? Where was that coming–?

The intensity of the paddles increased, the vibrations working to balance you amidst the fear.

“Open your eyes, Pig,” Mr. Morgan grunted, reprimanding you. His voice was stark and loud against the decaying walls of the living room. You winced with what you imagined to come, your heart accelerating and your blood running colder than cold. “Open. Your. Fucking. Eyes, my little whor–.”

The paddles were working so hard to bring you back, but you couldn’t–.

“Y/n.” Gia’s voice rang out through the disgusting home, flowing into your ears, reassuring you. “It’s time to leave, y/n. Find your safe place.”

You didn’t have to be told twice, not with the tears streaming down your face and the way your breath was stuck in your lungs. Your chest stung from the way your heart rate wouldn’t let up. . . the way your heart raced, unrelenting and beating harder every time. . . . The pain was excruciating, making you want to keel over from the intensity. 

There wasn’t a memory of leaving the room, you just knew you had left as you ran. 

You ran as fast as your legs could carry you, eyes still shut to avoid being used by him–Mr. Morgan. God. You hated that man. You hated your mother. 

But, you weren’t with them anymore. The rotting smell of the home and the body odor that reeked from the two people in your vision – it was all gone. You were out. So, you decided to open your eyes. You had to open them to find the place you’d created for a time just like this. . . 

Your place. Your home. The field of lavender. Jake. Peaceful serenity, awaiting you amongst the birds chirping and the light blue skies. . .

So, with eyes open and tears streaming down your cheeks, you decided you needed to be there now. Now now now now. . .

And before you could request it any further, your feet were touching the lush grass and the skies were clear and powdery blue above you. . .

“Are you safe, y/n?” Gia asked, her voice much clearer when you were in the field, surrounded by nature. Your sanctuary. 

“Yes,” you breathed, voice cracking just a little on the word. You hadn’t spoken for a while. . . Too scared to do so. Clearing your throat, you tried once more. “Yes. Yes, I’m safe. I’m in my safe place. The lavender. The beautiful, tall trees filled with green leaves. The breeze is perfectly warm against my face. . .”

“Wonderful,” Gia said, sounding relieved and stoic all at once. “You are okay, girly. You are okay. It’s not your current reality. It’s not right now. This is right now. You are safe.”

Yes. I’m safe. 

Your breathing was coming much easier and your heart wasn’t pounding in your ears any longer. 

Your hands found your belly, the sweetest little round bump.  But where was. . .?

Then, you felt him. Jake. 

Solid and sure behind you, his chest meeting your back. His arms, coming to wrap around you, cradling you and the belly that held his baby. Your head, falling of its own accord to lay back on his shoulder. . . 

You were finally able to relax. Let go. The tears poured from your eyes, wetting your cheeks with steady tracks.

“Shhh,” Jake shushed you, the minty smell of his toothpaste lingering on his breath as it washed over your features. The sandalwood-vanilla of his cologne was reminiscent of heaven, you were sure of it. “It’s okay, baby.”

He swayed you a little, your eyes falling closed in peaceful surrender to him and this moment. . .

“Y/n, I want you to think of your box,” you heard the words, knowing it was Gia. But, you felt Jake saying it. Even if she was the one saying the words, you wanted him to help guide you, too. Your mind was a funny place. 

His voice kept soothing you, “Think of the box and open it. Open it and place the memory you stepped into today inside of it. Secure that memory inside of the box.”

So, with one fleeting glance at the disgusting past you’d had to re-experience today, you mentally opened the lid to the box. And, as the lid opened, you let the people and the stingy place flow quickly into the sturdy wooden structure of the box. 

You could have spit on the people and the place and the smells. . . Fuck it all. 

The sureness of the box truly calmed you as the last little bit of the memory faded into the box. 

“Tuck it away in your box. Just keep it there until you’re ready to revisit it again. . .,” Gia counseled, her words yet again came through as if Jake were saying them. His breath was warm against the column of your throat, lips near to your ear. “You have control of it, y/n.”

Once you knew it was all inside, you let the lid click shut. The little pieces of lavender you imagined to be skillfully painted atop the box assured you that it would all be over soon. 

Beep beep beep beep. The beeping again. Familiar. You’d heard it momentarily at the disgusting, decrepit house. What was it?

“Y/n,” you heard Gia again, her words no longer masked by Jake’s voice. “Are you ready to come back to the office?”

As much as you wanted to never leave the man who still held you, you knew that the sooner you left the safe place, the sooner you could actually see him. He was waiting for you. In the lobby. In the present. 

“Yeah,” you sighed with a sniffle, most of your tears dry after the safety you’d felt in the field of lavender. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

“I’m right here with you,” Gia assured you, her voice the closest it had been since initially closing your eyes. 

You closed your eyes once more, your body feeling lighter. Letting yourself sink into real time, you felt the soft, camel leather of the couch under you, around you. Then came the smell of Gia’s essential oils, filtering in through your senses. Things were okay. 

When your eyes cracked open, so tentative and slow, Gia was ready and waiting with open eyes. 

But the beeping. . . It was still happening — it was incessant. And it was fully apparent now that the sound was coming from your belt bag, hanging on Gia’s office door handle. 

Your heart monitor. 

Shit.

“How long has that been going off?” You blanched, eyes bugged as you got off the couch to grab your bag from the handle. Though, your legs were weaker than you expected, body worn down. It forced you to sit back down to gain your wherewithal.

Noticing this, Gia stuck a hand out to get you to pause from trying again. “I will grab the bag,” she soothed. “You stay there. Give yourself time to adjust to the present time. You’ve been through it, babe.”

All you could do was nod and swallow thickly, your heart no longer beating hard enough to make the phone go off. But apparently it had accelerated at some point. . . 

And then you remembered. 

Mr. Morgan. He’d made your heart rate go ballistic. 

When he’d approached, commanded you to open your eyes, and almost called you that horrible name. . . it had gone insane. 

Your chest had been in so much pain, and you could remember hearing the incessant beeping, now. . .

“Fuck, Gia,” you combed a hand through your hair. “My heart . . . I remember. . . my chest was hurting like a bitch.”

Gia inhaled deeply. “Yeah. . . You know, how about I hold the phone that tracks it from here on out? To keep an eye on your heart rate?” She suggested, raising a brow as she walked back to you with the belt bag. Raising a brow, she eyed you as she got close enough to hand your belongings over to you. “We need to be aware of your health and the baby’s first and foremost, before anything else.”

You swallowed with a slight nod, not wanting to see where your heart had skyrocketed to. But you knew you had to see it. So, you unzipped your bag and shakily got your monitor phone out.

When you slid the screen open to check, your breath caught in your throat. Tears welled in your eyes at the very large number, flashing at you in red. 

Shit. 185. What the fuck?

That could have gotten really bad, really fast if Gia hadn’t stopped you when she did.

“So. . . What had it gotten to?” Gia questioned carefully, wide eyes serious and ready to help. 

You observed her for a second, not wanting to divulge just how high it had gotten for one reason in specific. . . The fear that Gia would make you stop EMDR if she knew just how high it had gotten — that possibility kept your lips sealed.

“Girly, I really feel it’s incredibly important that we keep track of that. I didn’t want to be invasive while you were under, but I heard it and I knew what it was. . .,” Gia tried to counsel you, taking your skeptical gaze as you finding her invasive. “I really didn’t like not knowing what your heart rate was. It’s best we stay aware of that. We have to be so careful of that, girly.”

You wanted to tell her. Duh. Why wouldn’t you want to? You told her everything else. . . The possibility of not being able to—.

“We will still continue our EMDR, y/n,” Gia grinned warmly with a wink. “I know that’s what you’re worried about. . .”

Your mouth puckered, as you took in a deep breath, gawking at the tall blonde across from you. 

You couldn’t help the bubble of a laugh that spurted from your lips, in spite of your worried thoughts. You were in awe of your therapist’s intuition. “How did you know?” You questioned, already mostly knowing the answer.

The answer was: people in this profession were really very incredible. . . And Gia — she, in particular, was so empathetic and so aware of everything that mattered to you. . .

“It’s my job to tune in to that shit,” she grinned, sitting back in her rolling chair, one leg crossed over the other. 

After sharing a smirk with her, you decided you might as well tell her. You were nearing the end of your time, and you assumed she still wanted to be filled in on what had happened during your time under. 

“My BPM was. . . in the 180s,” you divulged, wary of her reaction. “That’s um—that’s really high,” you tagged on to the end, blowing out a breath, still shocked at the number yourself.

“Ho-ly fuck,” Gia stated, eyes wide and mouth in a straight line as she shook her head. “No shit that’s high.”

“We’ll figure it out?” you stated the question, hoping it would be ammunition for Gia to agree. 

“Of course,” she nodded adamantly. Sitting up in her chair, she leaned forward. Her elbows, on the ends of her thighs, near her knee caps. “When do you turn it in? How long do we have with it?”

“I turn it in next week,” you answered, curious where she was going. “Hopefully I’ll get some results and sure answers. . .” Trailing off, you decided to shut up so she could get to her point. 

“Well. . .,” she started, rubbing her palms together, eyes glancing down and back to you, “Would you be opposed to me attaching another monitor to you during our sessions? After that one is turned in?”

“That’s a great plan,” you answered, nodding with pursed lips. “Sounds safe.” Though, you paused. One more question. “And you’ll keep watch of it next time?”

“If that’s what you want from me, I’d love to be able to help you in that way,” she answered with a reassuring sureness in her tone. 

“I do want that,” you replied with a sheepish grin. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course, girly,” Gia smiled, lopsided and full of ease. “We’ll make sure to get you through this therapy the safest we possibly can. Gotta protect you and that baby.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

After filling her in on everything from your EMDR vision, she’d given you a few more pieces of therapeutic wisdom and advice. Little things to follow if the memories came back with a vengeance. 

But, you’d gone more than five minutes over your session’s time at that point, pushing her other appointment back. 

So, you didn’t get long before the two of you had to bustle out. You’d been about eight minutes past session end time when you officially exited the small room, the session having just ended. 

A long fucking session.

Your body was extremely weighed down by fatigue and exhaustion. So, when you finally connected with Jake, you sunk happily into his warm, safe embrace. 

It seemed walking directly into Jake’s arms was exactly what your body longed for after leaving Gia’s office. You’d had little to no choice in where your body had guided you.

He had already been standing, waiting for you. His amber-brown eyes, wide open and full of readiness to help you. He’d seemed anxious to see you. You could tell as much by the tapping of his foot, the way he’d been worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, the wrinkle of his brows. . .

So, of course, as soon as you approached, his arms had widened to welcome you in. 

Surprisingly, you hadn’t cried when you met his arms. . . Honestly, it was probably because you’d exhausted your tear ducts during your session. And all that you felt now was pure numbness. You didn’t know how to feel – just knew that you were tired and needed someone to be close to.

And Jake was the person you wanted most. 

Once safe in his embrace, you didn’t have the mental energy to even think about how it would look to Gia – but you knew she’d understand. 

You felt Gia come up behind you, even halfway heard her introducing herself to Jake. 

And even though you were out of it, you still heard Jake respond kindly, hearing the smile in his voice. When he moved his hand to shake hers, you didn’t turn around, just kept your face tucked into his shoulder, one of his arms still tightly hugging you to him. The pressure was really nice – it really calmed you down to feel so secure with him. 

It felt like the field of lavender, but this was really real – and that made it inexplicably better. 

Thankfully since you’d quickly scheduled the next session in Gia’s office, you didn’t have to wait much longer to head home. You didn’t want to leave his embrace, but you ended up turning out of Jake’s arms to tell Gia goodbye. 

When you reached forward to give her a hug, she whispered calmly in your ear. “You’re safe. Everything is okay in the here and now. I’m proud of you, y/n. You are already making great strides.”

After telling her a quiet ‘thank you’, you turned to Jake. 

“I’m ready when you are,” he assured you, lips turned up in an easy grin. His eyes were soft in a way that showed you he really was ready to be whatever you needed him to be. 

You didn’t need to be told again. You were ready for food and sleep. So, after the two of you waved to Gia over your shoulders,  Jake let you lead him out, opening the door for you from behind. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

When you snapped out of your daze and found a bit of energy, you decided to divulge to Jake just how high your heart rate had gotten during the session.

You had expected him to be a little worried on your behalf, but he’d gotten. . . really, really worried. You’d go so far as to call it a minor anxiety attack. 

His eyes had bugged, face had paled, and his breathing had gotten choppy. . . All signs of some serious anxiety on his end. 

His care for the situation was apparent, that much was for certain. He’d babbled in a rush of words – voiced a lot of concern on your behalf and the baby’s. . . Well, that was what you could catch in his raspy, frenzied tone. You’d missed a few things as he’d rushed the words out.

It was really sweet how much he cared. You had to work to keep the tiny grin off your face in response to his obviously sincere regard for your health (and the baby’s). You’d kept your quiet smile at bay the best you could and calmly reassured him that you were wearing a heart monitor for a reason – so the doctors could track those weird things and get down to the root of why your heart sucked ass at times. 

You’d explained that medical professionals had started dealing with it the night at the emergency room and would continue once your monitor got sent in within the next couple of weeks.

“I know today’s already been a lot, but do you have it in you to explain more about that night?” Jake asked, his breathing evening out as he rounded the curb, out of the office parking lot. “The night you went to the emergency room?”

“Yeah, totally,” you readily agreed, jumping at the opportunity to not think about the muddled images still flashing in your mind from your session. “Where do you want me to start?” You wondered aloud, peeking at him as you picked with a loose string on the seam of your leggings.

He cleared his throat in the way that indicated he was a little nervous. “What triggered it, exactly? Had you been okay at the bar that night? Was it because of something that had happened there?”

“It wasn’t really because of anything that happened at the bar, no,” you shook your head, looking down at the string you were pulling at, giving it a good yank to do away with it. “And I was kind of okay that night. . . Same as I’d been every other day around the time,” you laughed humorlessly, not missing those days at all. 

But, you couldn’t help reflecting on the events at the bar. . . since he'd brought it up. That night, just thinking of it still gave you butterflies. . . The way he’d feasted his eyes on you as your song played. . .

Stay focused, y/n.

“Um— during those earlier days, I’d had several days where I’d been really fuckin’ dizzy. . . could hardly eat most days, always nauseous and puking. . .,” you crinkled your nose at the thought, shivering at the memories. 

After getting over the thought of the constant vomiting, you stopped your train of thought to consider the fainting. All of the factors. You were not sure what to blame in particular. Though, you remembered Dr. Stevens’ opinion. 

“Honestly, more than one factor triggered it. . . but. . .,” you drew in a breath, pinching your eyes shut at the worst part of the night. “I actually blacked out and fucking fainted,” you cracked one eye open to look over at him to gauge his reaction.

“You blacked— you what?!” His voice rose a little bit at the idea, the car swerving the slightest bit when he glanced at you.

“Focus on the road!” You shook your head, eyes now opened wide at his swerve. However, you did find his reaction a bit funny. “I’m fine now, Jake,” you reassured, reaching over to give his arm one squeeze. 

But quickly, you placed your hand back in your lap to avoid any sort of awkwardness. 

You offered him a smile as your hand moved, looking up at him from your twitching thumbs, just as he glanced down at you. 

His eyebrows were still knit with worry when he faced the road again. “You’re sure?”

“Mostly,” you answered, thinking of the heart monitor’s job, peering down briefly to where it stayed on your chest. “They’re tracking my heart rate to make totally sure. And I’ve even kept an eye on my hemoglobin — which is doing much better, too. Not that you care about that part—.”

“I care about it all,” Jake interrupted, his tone insistent enough to make you pause and look over at him. 

Let him care, y/n. He wants to. . . Don’t tell him what he cares about and what he doesn’t. . .

From under your lashes, you studied him. You were glad he was now stopped at a light, giving you a little time to share a look with him. His eyes were full of warmth. . . The deep brown of his irises, capturing you. His eyes held yours so tenderly, desperate for you to understand he meant what he said.

And you did understand. You understood that he truly cared for you. . . and that his patience for you was incredible. You just felt completely undeserving of the amount of chances he’d given you after you’d hurt him so badly. 

The look in his eyes had you trapped, completely enamored by all of him. . . Your heart beat was pulsing in your ears, helping you to feel light as a feather under his stare. 

But, when a car honked to let you both know the light had turned green, it jolted you both, effectively tearing your focus from the other. He was driving again and you were back to looking through the windshield to continue your story. 

You cleared your throat to break up the air.

“We um— we checked all the boxes, you could say. The doctor was sure to put measures in place to keep an eye on all of the things that could have been a major issue to trigger that,” you spoke confidently, to give him affirmation that things were okay. “So, yes, I’m sure I’m fine now and I’m going to be fine in the future.”

Out of selfish desire, you let your line of sight float back to him. Yet again. It was just so easy to sit and admire his natural beauty. . .

Jake sucked in a breath, so deep from his chest. You could tell he was considering your words, one brow still arched in contemplation. 

“Okay,” he sighed his response, relief evident in his looser posture. He eased up his grip on the wheel, leaning back in the seat. You tried not to watch the way his jeans stretched over his lap. “So,” he started, “is there anything else you found out that night? A big, prevailing reason you quite literally blacked out?”

“The doctor I spoke to thinks it’s because of this underlying condition I most likely have — called POTS.”

“POTS?” He asked, his tone curious. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that.”

“It’s just a blood circulation disorder. I think I’ve had it nearly all my life. But it can be brought on by stress and cause things like fainting. . .,” you trailed off, glancing down at your belly. “Which I was obviously feeling a lot of with the baby. I mean, talk about massive life change,” you smirked, rubbing the bump that was more and more noticeable every day. 

“And I was the only one who knew this giant thing for a bit. . . then only Elsie knew. And, yeah, when Josh found out, I was feeling a little better. Felt lighter. . .,” you paused, your next words, being important to you. “But I still wanted to tell you most,” your lips lifted in spite of yourself. “But, we weren’t really talking because of all the shit that happened between u–.”

You stopped yourself at that, though. Shit. Today didn’t really seem like the time to get into all of that. It had already been such a long day. 

The car stayed silent for a few beats. 

Once Jake started speaking again, your eyes found his handsome profile.

“Yeah. . .,” Jake offered in response to that, his jaw clenching. His eyes were dead-set on the road. The expression on his face, hard. Yet. . .it wasn’t angry. Not angry at all, just thoughtful. 

He seemed to be contemplating it all.

He proved you right with his next words, bringing you back. “I need you to know—I’m really fucking sorry for not being so present—for not noticing more. I wish I would’ve been more aware and been there for you. . . Shit, I should have noticed you weren’t eating normally and were constantly sick,” he rubbed his forehead once, jaw tight again as he spoke on the subject. “I was still just stuck in my own head over stuff — really hurt. I still am, I think. But, I also, more importantly, had no way of knowing that you were carrying my kid, so. . .,” he trailed off, clearing his throat. “So I didn’t watch too hard for things out of the ordinary — my mind was in other places.” 

Other places, your mind repeated, mocking you. Like Maya. . . 

Your stomach was still churning at the depressing thought of him having ignored you and still being hurt (albeit, you’d deserved it), when his voice echoed back through your train of thought. 

“I did notice you weren’t home that night, though. . . After dropping Maya off at her place, I got home and you weren’t there. I. . .,” he sniffed, running a nervous hand through his hair as he looked both ways to make a turn. “I panicked, noticed your chapstick and house key were on the ground outside — it made no fuckin’ sense. I called Josh to ask him where you were — assumed he’d know. And, he did. But he told me the bare fucking minimum. I didn’t even know you were at the emergency room. He just told me not to worry and cut me off with an ‘I love you’ before hanging up on me,” Jake rolled his eyes at the memory, fists gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. “Now I know it’s because you obviously really needed him. . . But at that point, I was so pissed. Obviously, you were in some sort of bind and there was nothing I could do to help since we were. . .,” he let his train of thought fade into nothing. Your mind was a frenzy of everything he was telling you, but you tuned back in when he began speaking again. “And then your heart monitor came in the mail. . . I didn’t even think about how they could be connected. I just knew the very little Josh had told me from that night and then I saw a damn heart monitor show up. . . I was just super fucking confused and terrified for you. . . I was trying my best to connect all of the dots.”

“Well. . .,” you started, not sure if you should say what you were thinking. But still, you did. “It wasn’t really any of your business at that point. I didn’t want to make you— it was just a lot to process for me and we. . .,” you trailed off, at a loss. Still so tired from the session. “I don’t know. . . I had reasons.”

“I know, y/n,” he responded, voice tight with masked emotion. 

You didn’t know what to say after that. Your eyes were trained on what was outside the passenger side window.

The air in the car was dense, slightly awkward on your end. 

It was strange how weird things could feel after a damn conversation when, just a week ago in this very car, you’d had him in your mouth. 

It was slightly embarrassing that a hard conversation topic was what it took to make both of you freeze up. But, somehow, you could still find the wherewithal to have your mouth on his. . . Mhm.

That was what you got for making sex such a giant thing before. . . now you’d made that easy and everything else fucking taboo. 

But the sex had just been too good to not make it something you did all the damn time. . . 

God, you missed sex with him. . . Him, inside of you, his hips going at a perfect pace. . .

Thanks to your motherfucking hormones, you were back in the living room floor with him. . . So often, you went back to that one rainy morning with Aretha Franklin on the turntable. . .

The look on his face when you fucked him, one of your favorite sights. That morning, just like always, he’d watched you so closely. . . Your face, your breasts, your ass, or your pussy that was wrapped around him, so tight. 

As he fucked you so slow and purposeful, a hand raising your leg to get a better angle, he hit a secret spot inside of you. Your toes had curled as you whined his name.

And just as his name fell from your lips, he’d scrunched his brows, and let his mouth fall open with certain movements of his hips. His jaw, clenched, when you’d flex around him or biting his lip when you’d let out a shaky breath. . . 

“Y/n?”

“Yes?” You shook your head of the fucking delicious scene in your memories. 

Now was not the time. 

To show respect, you did your best to wipe the picture and put your full attention on him. You glanced at him. He looked so beautiful under the natural light of the early evening and the streetlights. And his hair looked so healthy and long. . .

“I’m not upset or anything that you kept any of it from me,” he ventured to explain, your mind coming back to the topic at hand. “I need you to know that.”

“You’ve kind of already told me all of this before,” you started with a smile, eyeing the radio for a bit. 

Music. You needed music. 

You began to mess with the buttons, turned down the volume, and hooked your phone up to the aux. “I know you, Jake,” you continued with a sigh, scrolling your playlists, finding a song you were suddenly craving to hear. “I know you well enough to know you aren’t upset with me for keeping it all from you for a bit. You have a good heart.”

“You give me too much credit,” he humorously laughed. “I’m not always so sure about how good I am these days — kind of always doubted that about myself and right now is no different.”

At his words and sound of disbelief, you looked over at him with a wrinkle in your brow. His own eyebrows were set with an odd, unreadable emotion. You hadn’t clicked the song to play yet. This was too important to not address.

“Jacob,” you said sternly. His eyes stayed glued to the busier street. “I don’t give you ‘too much credit’.  I just see you and know you well – anyone who truly matters sees you for who you truly are. I, like all of them, love y— appreciate everything you are.” 

Shit. What was that that almost slipped from your lips?! Nothing. It was nothing. Ignore, ignore, ignore. . . 

You were just hormonal and emotional. 

You continued with intent to make your point known, doing your best to forget the slip-up. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes – we all have. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m not about to hold anything against you right now.”

Cracking a smile, you decided you wanted to throw in a bit of a joke. “I mean, I would have to hold it against you if you killed someone or some shit,” you giggled, his own raspy laugh joining you. 

But fuck, you couldn’t ignore that one emotion you were feeling. . .

It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. You didn’t know why the fuck you’d said that word of all words.

But this feeling. . . It was intense like love could be. It had your heart in your throat and your tummy tied in nervous knots. . . 

You’d felt a need to say the words. A need for him to know how much you. . . how much you. . . How much you what, exactly?!

This was going to drive you fucking nuts. 

So, to break the nonstop, crazy wave of thought, you played the song you felt like playing at the moment. 

The song was “In the Moment” by Snoh Aalegra, one of your favorite R&B goddesses. 

And, of course, the lyrics matched your heart. Perfectly. Oddly. Precisely. Music was your favorite language.

Do you mind if I try to come apologize to you?

'Cause I said some things that I realized wasn't true

You couldn’t stop your movements when your head slowly turned to look in his direction. His sunglasses were off due to the darker sky, so you could see every blink of his pretty eyes, long lashes touching the dark circles under his eyes with each blink. He watched the road carefully, maneuvered around cars with an ease that had you hoping he’d be around to drive you to the hospital on a certain day in May. . . 

Your heart swelled in your chest at his attention to the road. This particularly protective nature of his, as the driver, was new. . .

And I'm sorry for it 

I'm emotional 

This is your fault 

Please listen when I say 

I care about you

You tried to look away from him. Really, you did. It just couldn’t be helped. The way these lyrics kept pulling something from deep within your soul as you watched him drive. . .

But you still couldn’t figure out what was getting pulled in you, exactly. It felt weird, but only in a fulfilling way. . . Your heart ached, your head clouded with all things surrounding him. 

And then, just as he stopped at a red light, his eyes met yours. 

You had been caught red handed in your stare, but it didn’t seem to matter. Not to you, not to him. He smiled at you, the same, warm smile you knew all too well to be uniquely his. (And hopefully your baby’s.) 

The lyrics and melody of the song were adding to your already emotionally-tangled state. You just wanted to be with him always—hold him tight so he couldn’t leave. Never wanted him to leave.

Out of pure instinct, your hands found rest on your tummy, tucking underneath the bump. His smile only grew, stretching wide on his lips as his eyes followed the movement. Your heart did a little flip in your chest. 

This moment. . .

His foot let off the brake when the light turned green, pulling his eyes away from yours. The music coasting through the speakers said all the things you so desperately wanted to say. Though, Snoh sang them far more beautifully than you could ever say them yourself.

I was in the moment

I ain't really mean what I said to you

So put away your pride, baby

We can work it out if you want this, too

You hoped on every star in the winter sky that Jake was listening to the words, somehow feeling them as deeply as you were.

But if I could stay, I’d stay with you. . .

Your phone ringing snapped you out of your reverie and when you looked down to see who it was, you were not expecting the contact you saw. 

The OB office. 

Your heart started speeding up in your chest again, breath catching and nerves wracking your system at the most inopportune time. As you turned down the song to talk to the person on the other end, you contemplated why they were calling. . .

The appointment had already been rescheduled. . . So what else could be needed? Was something wrong?

You felt Jake’s palm splay across your thigh, fingers giving light, pulsing grips to the muscle through the fabric of your leggings. Skin heating at his touch, you looked up and over at him. 

“Who?” He whispered, quietly as he could. 

“OBGYN,” you mouthed back, clicking the green button to answer at the same time that he raised a brow in confusion.

“Hello?” You spoke into the phone, trying to keep your voice even-toned for whoever called you.

“Miss y/n?” Dr. Rose responded. Her Southern accent, friendly, on the other end, sounding happy as a lark. 

Hearing her sound okay helped your nerves ease up – weren’t quite as frayed as they had been to begin with. Jake’s hand was still on your leg, offering reassurance. But while his touch did comfort you, it also made your heart rate speed up and head swim for another reason entirely. 

Thankfully, considering the baby, your heart was slowing down. . . If Dr. Rose sounded fine, then surely things were fine, right? 

“Hi, Dr. Rose,” you said, voice perking up just the slightest bit. Looking out the windshield, you focused on the pretty colors in the sky. All light pinks, oranges, and the prettiest periwinkle thanks to the winter evening’s premature setting sun. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, more than, Sweet Cakes! Just checkin’ in to see that Friday still works for ya,” she explained, her drawl not quite as thick the more she spoke. But it was still there and it made you feel warm inside for some reason. 

Admittedly, you knew it was partially due to the fact that she seemed to only be calling to confirm your appointment. According to Dr. Rose, everything was ‘more than’ alright. . . you released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“Yeah. It works for me,” you sighed, running a nervous hand through your hair, knee still bouncing with the unexpectedness of the phone call. “Let me check with Jake real quick. I’m with him right now,” you held your hand over the speaker, looking over to your handsome driver. He’d just made it onto a highway, but momentarily glanced down at you. You hushed your next question, not wanting to disturb Dr. Rose. “Does Friday still work for you? For the week 17 appointment?”

Jake’s face opened up at the question, his eyes brightening with a smile that lifted the corner of his mouth. “Of course,” he quietly responded. “I have the whole day blocked off just for that.”

Your stomach did somersaults at him being so excited for the appointment, but you still dipped your eyebrows in at him. “You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered back. “Take the whole day for it.”

Jake shook his head, and with a dimple in his cheek, he just looked back at the road. Didn’t even acknowledge what you said any further. 

You closed your eyes, a small smile on your lips at his desire to be fully available – it gave you butterflies. Back to the phone call at hand, you faced the windshield again to continue the call with your OB. “Dr. Rose?” 

“Yes ma’am,” she excitedly greeted back.

“It still works for us,” you said, the smile not fading from your lips. Us. You really, really loved the sound of that word coming off your tongue. “Are you sure you’re still okay doing the appointment before week 18? I know how you feel about all of that. . .”

You didn’t know why you were asking – shouldn’t have even said anything. The idea of putting it off any longer was not what you wanted, and you didn’t want to make Dr. Rose think you’d be okay with that. But, it was too late now. You’d already asked. 

“Oh, yes, babygirl. I’m the one that made ya wait past week 16! I felt bad, but I didn’t want ya to have any lull period,” she boomed on the other end, sounding so genuinely kind-hearted. It made your heart feel so full. “Completely fine with me – why I offered it to ya! I gotta admit, I’m a little excited to be findin’ out the gender a week earlier than normal. Ya know I never do that for my girls, but you’ve just seemed very special to me since the day you walked in. You’re a good seed in a bag ‘a bad ones, sweetie pie. So, I just had to make an exception.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Rose,” you gushed, a tear coming to the corner of your eye at her sentiment.

“I knew it would drive ya nuts havin’ to wait.”

“It would have,” you giggled, agreeing with a sniff to attempt to rid yourself of the tear. 

She laughed heartily on the other end. “You have a beautifully passionate heart, little miss y/n,” she remarked. “You’re goin’ to be a wonderful mama for it.” 

Aaand, there was no stopping the tear as it turned into a couple more, drifting down your cheek. 

Jake must have looked over at the perfect time, because as soon as the tears fell, he was squeezing your thigh once more. His hand had never left your body. 

But, you really needed him to stop holding you and caring because you were going to pounce on him. No questions asked. . .especially with the fluffy headspace you were in. 

Emotional over a phone call or not, your body reacted to him in ways you couldn’t stop.

“How’s your heart?” Dr. Rose was in your ear again, bringing you back. She was in no rush whatsoever. You were shocked that she seemed to want to keep the conversation going. Even after the first question, she continued with another. “I know ya filled me in on it a little bit last week on the phone, but any more updates?”

“Doing alright, I think,” you responded, sniffling at her eagerness to stay updated on your wellbeing. Was she just being a good doctor? Probably. But, still. It meant a lot to you. “I will send my monitor in on the 17th. I’m so ready to be done with it,” you replied with a huff of a laugh, looking down to mess with a loose string on your oversized jacket. “And I think everything else has gotten much better since that ER visit, too. Just keeping an eye on things,” you finished, happy to explain everything to her. 

This phone call was officially a highlight to your day now that you knew there was no reason to stress over it. Dr. Rose just made you feel good. You really enjoyed talking to the older Southern woman. Her heart shone through her personality. And, whether she made these efforts for all patients or not (you were sure she did), it just meant the world to you that she seemed to be so thoughtful. 

She seemed to take very seriously that it was a vulnerable time in any woman’s life. Dr. Rose just seemed to do very well at her job. You were grateful for her.

“When Mount Sinai sent over that information all those weeks ago, I gotta be honest, it stressed me for ya for a bit,” she said, voice suddenly thick with a sort of concerned emotion. Not worried anymore, you could tell that much. But, it was obvious she had been troubled by it when it initially happened, from the way she sounded now. 

“Although, when I read all of their tests on my end, I knew you’d be okay. Just a bump in the road, sweetie – it happens. You will be just fine!” She reassured you in her twang, the words made your head clear in a way you’d needed since the night at the hospital. “And, that sweet baby was doing so great still, in spite of it all. You’ve got a strong one, mama.”

Yeah, there was no stopping the onslaught of tears at those words. Your baby was strong. You were so proud. 

“Yeah?” You sniffed. “You think so?”

“I know so. That little one was movin’ and groovin’ already that first day. . . that sure doesn’t happen with every baby! He or she is very special – just like their mama,” she emphasized, sniffling on her own end of the phone. “Well. . . . as long as this Friday still works for you, I think I can let ya go, honey bun.”

“Yes, it does,” you confirmed once more, pulling the sleeve of your jacket over your hand and patting your cheeks with it. “Thank you again.”

“No need to thank me, Sweet Cakes.” You could hear her smile through the phone, imagined her lips covered in the prettiest bright red matte lipstick. “You have a good nigh– oh! Before ya go. . . .”

“Yes?” you questioned curiously, eyebrow raising with a little grin on your lips. 

“You mentioned a Jake earlier. Does this Jake happen to be the baby’s daddy?”

You blushed, looking over at him. He glanced over at you at the same time, an eyebrow raising when you caught his eye. Your cheeks heated even more when you looked into his eyes. Your baby’s daddy. 

“He is the baby’s daddy, yeah,” you explained, continuing to watch him as you said the words. He had to keep his eye on the road, but you saw how his lips stretched, the smile showing his pride at the title.

“And he will be comin’?”

“He will be there,” you affirmed, your heart racing in your chest at the idea of him being there with you. It had you equal parts jittery and utterly overjoyed to have him be present at the appointments.

“Wonderful. Sounds like a good daddy already,” she gushed from her end of the phone. 

And when he came to the next light, much nearer to the complex, you watched him and waited until he looked over at you. When his eyes found yours, glowing amber-brown in the nearly-set sun, your heart squeezed inexplicably in your chest. 

“He is a really good daddy,” you answered, tears threatening to clog your throat. 

After you said the words, you watched his eyes become wet with an unnamed emotion. A wide, slightly shaky grin on his pretty lips. With the addition of a pink blush in his cheeks, you wanted to be able to read the exact way he was feeling. 

But. . . at the current moment he suddenly seemed impossible to read. There was something behind his eyes that seemed so familiar and so hazy all at once. . .

Or maybe you were just really, really tired.

-🌼🌼🌼-

“I don’t have to go to this tonight,” Jake offered, pulling into the complex. 

You raised a brow, looking at him. As much as you wanted him to stay with you after today’s session, you knew that sleep was the first priority. He’d end up sitting around most of the night anyway.

If things were different, you would ask him to lay down with you. You’d keep him close. But. . . That wasn’t how things were for the two of you. 

You needed a nap and he needed to be with his girlfriend. As much as it sucked, she took priority over you. He wasn’t yours.

You already felt selfish enough for taking his entire early evening away from him. You didn’t want to steal any more of his night. 

“No, Jake,” you giggled, trying your best to play off the want to have him near. “I’m good. You’ve done everything you can for me tonight. Don’t need you for anything else — you’re free.”

It was silent for a little bit as Jake found his parking space. You were too tired to keep any sort of conversation going, preparing to doze against the window as he went to back into his space. 

Though, when he placed his hand on the headrest behind you to back in, you couldn’t help but turn to glance up at him. 

The way he held his bottom lip between his teeth as he focused on situating the Jeep into the parking space, just right. . . You felt guarded and protected by the placement of his arm above you. It made your tummy flip. 

And the mustache that kept making a reappearance on his pretty face, accentuating his plush lips perfectly. . . 

You licked your lips as you watched him, your eyes lazy as you let your stare wander down his body . . . 

But before you could get too far, Jake’s deep, raspy tone broke through to you.

“Hey.” 

Fuck. Your tiredness was quickly becoming enemy number one, exposing you.

Quickly, you flicked your eyes up to him, swallowing thickly, awaiting him with vulnerability clear on your features. 

For some reason, you expected to see him grinning at you being caught. But his features were unwaveringly straight, studying your face with his eyebrows drawn in concentration.

“Are you sure?” He asked, his eyes soon finding yours to pierce through. Damn, you felt naked under his stare. No two ways about it. 

Your eyes sunk into his, wishing you were naked—.

“You’ve had a long day and I want to be available—.”

“I’m sure,” you cut him off, needing to get out of the car before you made a stupid move. You just needed rest; your tiredness was making you weak. 

“Please. Go have fun,” you encouraged further, looking down to observe your nails, desperate to be repainted. Shaking your head, you continued to solidify your point. “You’ve done enough for me. You have a girlfriend who’s expecting you to be with her tonight.”

And if you stay here tonight, there’s no telling what I’ll try to do with you. . . 

“‘Kay,” he responded. At his short tone, your eyes floated up to check on him. You watched as he quickly grabbed his keys out of the ignition, refusing to look at you until the last second. “I’ve gotta get going pretty soon then.”

“Yeah,” you breathed with a shake of your head, unsure of what else to say. And before he could get your door for you, you were doing it yourself — didn’t want to get in his way. 

Whatever this conversation had become, it was far too much for your brain to wrap around at this moment. 

You needed fucking sleep.

-🌼🌼🌼-

After you’d filled your Stanley and sat it on your bedside table, your next mission was to change into looser, cozier clothes. You stripped your pants and bra, and found a giant t-shirt. And your softest fuzzy socks had been a last minute must have before finding your bed. 

Finally.

Almost as soon as you landed on your bed, your eyes were fluttering closed. The softness of your sheets and duvet, the cleanliness and the comfort of your bed was too incredible for you to resist sleep for long. 

At the same time, Jake was getting ready for his time with Maya, and had apparently decided to shower. When the steady stream of water sounded through the wall, you relaxed even further. You focused on the soothing sound of the shower running and imagined how near he was to you. 

He hadn’t left you yet.

Admittedly, putting your mind on Jake going about his business made you feel quite at home. 

And that thought had been the seemingly final step to finding rest, sleep finding you quite easily with easy thoughts of your handsome roommate. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

But, to your disdain, the nap didn’t last as long as you’d hoped. 

After only a couple of hours, you’d woken up and couldn’t go back to sleep to get any more rest. You tried to fall asleep again. It was all you’d wanted after your emotionally exhausting day. 

The longer you laid in your bed and tried to find more sleep, you realized it was just not going to happen. The small apartment felt too big and empty and your mind raced with the scene you’d witnessed during EMDR. 

To your demise, the little wooden box had somehow cracked open a little while you slept. You figured it was because you’d dreamt of what you’d seen in therapy. Your subconscious was working without your complete consent. 

That man with the thick fingers and clenched fists. . . He’d come floating out of the box first as you laid underneath your fluffy, white, clean bed covers. . . 

Mr. Morgan. . . Who was he? You could not place his role in it all yet. . . While you were able to remember him and his living room now, that was about where it stopped. 

The smell of him had stuck with you most since the memory. The potentness of his body odor in your subconscious had been a severe trigger – a trigger to things you weren’t capable of remembering yet. 

But, you knew that whenever those things did get conjured up again, you wouldn’t be ready. You just knew. The feeling alone that came associated with him and seeing him again. . . made you feel grimy – made your skin crawl like bugs were living underneath your flesh. 

Then there was your mother. You hadn’t been able to recall the distinct features of her face for years. Your grandparents didn’t have pictures of her up in their home – only ones of you and Elsie through the years. It was like she hadn’t ever existed. 

But today? Today she was back. Full force. You felt her. You smelled her. You saw every. single. feature. 

The stringiness of your mom’s hair when she’d been with the man in the recollected vision. . . 

You couldn’t help but compare the hair in the vision to the fullness of it in small memories you cherished. . . There was a certain Christmas memory you kept close, her sweater had been brand new. Her hair, naturally brown and billowing out beautifully behind her. You had a few of those moments in time. A few decent memories you’d never let go completely away. No matter how much time passed or how foggy they became, you held onto them.

What struck you as disheartening was the way the woman transitioned from one version of herself to another in the fragments of time you could grasp. You remembered, it was rare to consistently witness the same mom growing up. You’d been forced at a young age to confront the fact that you never truly knew the woman that gave birth to you.

She’d been very dirty more times than not, you could remember that much now. From what you were beginning to recall, she rarely smelled good. Showers hadn’t seemed to be her forte from the grease that had been constantly caked in her hair if she wasn’t with your grandparents. Her skin had even been oily from her lack of showers, just as greasy as her hair. 

The houses she had you living in, too. . . you could vaguely picture a few of those (besides Mr. Morgan’s). The one you were in within your recollected memory today had been so filthy. The grossness of the environment was coming to you in small bits. There’d been times you’d seen families of cockroaches climb into the pantry. . . Or when an occasional rat would scurry across the stained carpet, right past your feet. . . 

You shivered in your bed at the thought, toes wiggling against your soft socks and covers. The loose sheet and duvet came closer to your chin as you tried to completely envelop yourself in your current reality. Things were safe.

It was just a-fucking-lot to process alone. And the last thing you wanted to do was burden anyone else with it. So, even if Jake had stayed with you rather than Maya after therapy, you knew you’d still be swirling in circles in your mind. 

You were just glad you only had to wait a week for therapy to continue digging through this with the help of your therapist. 

The images of the man and your mother kept flip-flopping in your mind, not leaving you alone — each taking turns in mocking your peace. It was enough that you felt your breath become choppy and your heart begin to race in your chest. Your clammy hands were clenching and unclenching over and over again, trying to find some sort of relief and distraction from the thoughts. The smells were coming back to you, vivid as they’d been during your therapy today. . . 

And the moment you began to hear that distant, haunting chuckle from your past, embedded in the new flashes of memory, you shut your eyes. You squeezed your lids together so tightly. Your fists came to cover your eyes, pushing down on them just a little to see stars alongside the black. 

Yet, the sound continued to get closer and closer to you. Desperately, you thought back on Gia’s advice should this happen. 

One of the small pieces of advice she’d given you, when the session’s time was five-minutes passed.  

“Now, if these things come back or more memories come to you and you would rather not think of them in the moment they do: take a break,” Gia had advised, going to hold your hands in hers between the two of you. “Take a break, wherever you are, and go to your safe place.”

She’d given you a couple of other things to try, but she’d stayed insistent that you try the safe place first. Every time. Get used to the place, make it a habit to run to it in these times. 

So, you tried your damnedest to shut the thoughts out like you would on her soft, camel leather couch. Your eyes closed as you tried, working to focus on the idea of traveling to a field of lavender and Jake. 

Though before you could get any further, your eyes snapped open, knowing you had one more step before you went there. 

You tried to even your breathing, unclenching your fists. Once you’d relaxed enough to loosen your hands, you searched for some meditation music on Spotify. 

And once you’d found a dreamy playlist, you laid back to feel it. Your goal: feel it enough to let go. 

This time when you closed your eyes, you did it with less force and breathed in and out, in and out. Once again, everything was black. . . but just for the first minute or so. 

It didn’t take long for you to hear the birds chirping and to feel the solid chest breathing beneath you. He breathed deeply – in and out, in and out, just as you did.

Almost as soon as you felt your body settle into him and the soft ground of the earth, you heard him speak, too. It was like you were hearing him through a rush of warm wind, a breeze drifting across your face. “You’re doing great, baby,” he soothed you in his velvety tone, running a sure hand through your hair, fingers tracing your scalp. You shivered, enjoying the wonderful feeling it gave you, all the way to the tips of your toes. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Further, you pushed into him, wanting to be as close to him as you could be. You wrapped your arms around him the best you could while laying down, needing to feel his body tightly against your own. When you did this, he wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you into him. Your round belly, pressed between the two of you, made your heart settle into a soothing thrum in your chest. 

No other words were said as you laid there, the sky blue when you finally opened your eyes to the new place. The field of lavender, so lucious and smelling heavenly around you. The purple flower surrounding you smelled clean, peaceful, and a lot like. . . love. It was a strange idea that a flower would smell like love, but you’d come to associate it with someone who–.

Knock, knock, knock, knock. 

Your eyes opened at a moment’s notice when you heard a knock on the front door. Somehow, the sound against the door managed to break you from your hypnotic-like reverie. The knocks weren’t small or soft thuds by any means, but it was odd that you’d heard them all the way through to your sacred place. All the way through your bedroom door. . . 

Though, thankfully, after having a bit of time to visit the safest place your mind could conjure up, you were on the path to feeling fine again. So after laying in bed for a few more seconds, you got up and padded to the door in your fluffy socks.

Before you opened the door, you peeked through the peephole. 

When you did, your eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. Your breathing evened out significantly for the first time since waking from your nap. And without any hesitancy, you unlatched the chain and unlocked the knob and deadbolt. 

As soon as you opened the door, you were greeted by Jake, a very apologetic smile on his face. One of his hands covered his eyes in feigned embarrassment, making a slit in his fingers to look at you through them. His other hand was tucked in the front pocket of his black slacks. 

He’d changed clothes after dropping you off. 

Duh, he’d showered, y/n. He wouldn’t be wearing the same dirty clothes afterwards . . . 

He was now dressed very nicely, his hair looking so healthy and full. A few strands were still damp here and there, from the shower you’d heard him start as you’d fallen asleep for your nap.

And goddamn. He smelled so fucking delicious – you could’ve melted into him. 

Rather than focusing on the way the hints of sandalwood and vanilla in his cologne made you feel airy, you asked the question you couldn’t help but wonder. “Where is your key?” 

A hint of a laugh was present in your tone as you crossed your arms over your boobs – which you noticed were slightly less sore than normal. 

Pleasant surprise. 

Oh, fuck. Your boobs. No bra. Only wearing a giant t-shirt and fuzzy socks. The thong you were wearing was a poor excuse at covering your ass. 

Glancing down briefly, you were reassured by the length. It was long enough to fully cover your backside, went down your thighs a bit. . . but you still felt very bare. 

When you looked up, you found that Jake had noticed your lack of clothing at the same time as you. His stare burned through your t-shirt, all the way down to your blushing skin. Your chest was heaving of its own accord, nipples hardening at the attention from him. . . 

His gaze soon dropped down to your lips, his own parting as his tongue went to wet his mouth.

No. You had to be the responsible one here. You could do it. 

So, you forced a subtle short cough, toes wiggling in your fuzzy socks. And, thankfully, it brought him back to the current situation. 

His wide, brown eyes snapped to yours, staying there momentarily. It made your cheeks pink — the way he was unashamedly sharing this moment with you. He didn’t seem embarrassed at all as he bit his lip with a grin stretched over his lips. 

Fuck.

“Your key?” You tried again with a squeak. Rolling your eyes, your short cough was real this time as you had to clear your throat. Ridiculous.

Not saying anything, he responded like nothing had occurred before. He motioned with his head towards the kitchen bar behind you. Your head turned to follow his eyes. And, you found his keys, still laying on the counter, not having been touched since before he left. 

“Did Maya pick you up?” You asked him, arching a brow at the keys. 

“Yes.”

“How’d you get back?” Okay, y/n, now’s not the time for twenty questions. 

“Uber,” he simply answered, a little hiccup following the word.

“Well. . . did you come back for them to drive yourself?” You asked, turning back around to face him, hoping he wouldn’t say ‘yes’. You selfishly wanted him to stay. 

For the first time since you’d woken up, your body felt light. . . . And, you’d noticed it had happened the exact moment you saw him outside your door. 

Shaking his head, he finally looked at you head-on, and you could see his eyes were the slightest bit unfocused. 

Oh. . . A smirk rested on your lips as you crossed your arms once more.

He had a goofy, carefree smile on his lips. And then you smelled it — the slightest tinge of alcohol on him as he swayed a bit towards you. 

Raising a brow, your lips continued to match his grin. Giggling, you pondered aloud, “Did you have a drink or two, babe?” 

You didn’t say that last word. Nope. 

“Maaaaybe,” he said, shrugging with both hands in his pockets now, the silly smile still plastered to his lips. “It was a party, after all,” he tagged on to the end, a bit of a British lilt falling over his words. 

A party. Hm. For some reason, you hadn’t even thought of that as a possibility. Why did the fact that it’d been a party make your stomach turn a little bit? 

“A party?” You inquired, tucking your arms a little closer against your chest. And there was the tenderness again. 

“Maya’s baby sister— eight years younger than Maya,” he over-explained, tripping over himself a little as he made his way through the door without any warning. “Turned twenty one today.”

Oh, that explains the excessive drinking, you gathered mentally. 

But, as you stood there connecting the dots, you didn’t focus enough on the fact that he was falling into you through the door frame. Thankfully, you put your arms out in time to stop him from bumping into you to the point of knocking you over. But when you put your arms out to stop his fall, he got the wrong idea and put his arms out as well, crashing into you a bit as he wrapped them around you in a secure embrace. 

It took a bit for you to register what was happening as you stood in shock at the gentle gesture amidst his drunkenness. And while you were registering it all, he must’ve gotten the idea that you didn’t want him so close to you. So, very slowly, he pulled away. 

Rather awkwardly, you just stood there, arms still held out in shock from the sudden hug. 

Why were you surprised at all? He’d been like this recently – just today at counseling, he’d been extremely attentive, holding you when you’d needed him. . . 

Was this time different? Was it because now he was doing it for virtually no reason at all? You weren’t in need of his help or his comfort (that he knew of) at the moment. And, he still wanted to hug you – that was what caught you completely off guard. 

He’s drunk, y/n, a voice reminded you. Don’t overthink it. It’s just because he’s inebriated. 

And while you stood in the doorway, he continued to traipse past you, body lopsided and shaky. He was being very careful to not bump into you again, turning his body in odd ways. 

When you turned to observe him, as he made it past you, you noticed that in the process of trying to steer clear of you, he was losing his balance – quite quickly. 

So, you did the only thing you could think to do and followed behind him to help however you could. 

He wouldn’t remember it anyway.

When he started putting too much weight on one foot and started tilting a bit too far to the side, you acted on instinct. 

You wrapped your arms around his midsection. 

It proved to be a bit of a feat to keep him upright and on his feet, but you tried your hardest. The man was wonderfully built. . . but solid as a rock.

Has he been working out? You couldn’t help but wonder this as your arms pressed a bit more into his strong abdomen.

You realized that thought process could become a distraction to the task at hand in no time, so you put it to the back of your mind. Instead, you just put all of your concentration into helping him stay on the track he desired. . . . Which happened to be his bedroom. 

While trying to keep him stable, you felt your belly press further into his back. The baby felt safer there, between the two of you. It felt right to be so close. . .

But, again, you focused on the important goal of getting Jake in bed. You just kept him pressed to you the best you could with a baby in the way. Matching his footing from behind, you walked in even step with him. 

Once you were officially at his door, you reached around him to open his door for him. When your hand met the knob and twisted it, he reached forward, placing his hand over yours to open it with you. The gentle action made your skin flame. 

Though, it didn’t last long. You didn’t pause, instead continuing into the room. And the moment you walked into the room, he tapped your arm, presumably to let you know he was okay on his own. So, you tentatively let go. 

Your arms suddenly felt empty, but you didn’t want to overstay your welcome. 

He seemed to be a little better now, sitting down on his bed. He did it with more effort than normally necessary, but he still seemed more capable than he’d been a few minutes ago. 

So, without a word, you went to head out of his room. Right before you could walk out the door, though, you heard him from behind you. 

“Where you going?” He asked sadly, sounding more like a neglected child than a grown man. 

Turning around with a brow raised, you asked the question with your eyes before saying it aloud. “Why? You’re good now, right?”

His eyes zoned out momentarily on your face. You just blamed it on the alcohol, feeling woozy. When he came back to Earth, his eyes met yours. His eyes suddenly seemed much clearer than before. All of the air in your lungs evaporated at the look he was giving you. Desperation was the most fitting word for it. 

“I’m not good without you,” he offered, his eyes darting to his feet almost directly after saying the words. He leaned down to sloppily take off his boots, but still neatly placed them next to his bed after taking them off. 

It was honestly pretty funny to watch. You would’ve been more amused if your mind wasn’t still reeling a bit from his words. You zoned out on his guitar, placed neatly on its stand.

He. is. drunk, y/n, your internal heckler reminded you. Stop overthinking.

But. . . drunk words are honest –.

“Can you help?” Jake asked, sounding desperate while trying to achieve a task.

You looked over at him, finding him standing now and struggling to take off a necklace. Without argument, you left where you’d been standing, dejected and confused, by the doorway, to help him. 

When you made it over to him, you tapped his hands where they struggled with the latch at the nape of his neck. 

“Let me,” you insisted, replacing his hands with yours when he moved them. 

Once the necklace was taken off, you made your way around him to place the jewelry on his bedside table, whose lamp bathed the room in golden light. 

You glanced down at the necklace, running a finger down the face of the medallion. Medusa. That was who was etched into the gold metal. 

“You into Greek mythology right now?” You questioned, peeking over your shoulder at him.

When you did, the sight that beheld you took you by total surprise. Shirtless. Shirt gone. No shirt. Jake, halfway naked. 

“Oh,” you uttered the word in a moan more than anything else. You even felt your jaw drop the slightest bit. You didn’t really think anything of it. You didn’t really care to control your reactions. He wouldn’t remember any of this. You just kept telling yourself that.

And with the way the heat flooded from your head all the way to your chest, blossoming to the pit of your tummy – you didn’t think you could control your reactions. Then, when he absentmindedly adjusted himself in his pants. . . Yep. 

You bit your lip, tucking hair behind your ear. Suddenly, you felt completely out of control of your body. . . Your hormones were calling the shots – they (and Jake) were making you feel unsteady in the best possible way. 

The only downside was: there wasn’t anything you could do about it. Morals stood in the way of your bodies colliding and fucking it out. 

You understood that the Jeep incident had happened. Of-fucking-course — there was no forgetting that shit. But a big part of you also thought it would be best to leave the other night in the Jeep in the past.

It wasn’t fair to anyone involved. Right? 

So. . . You just focused on the present moment. No sex. Just Jake in front of you. Tried to ignore the surge of want for him at seeing half of him bare. 

But goddamn — what a beautifully welcome sight. . . 

His body had changed in the handsomest of ways. His thighs, as you’d noticed recently, were thicker than before. And he was. . . just broader than before. It started at the width of his shoulders, and worked down his abdomen to fill out with toned, tight muscle — his new addition of muscle was thick beneath the surface. There was just more of him altogether. The perfect amount of body for you to touch, kiss, lick. . . . . goddammit.

He still wasn’t looking at you, instead making his way to the laundry hamper across the room. You observed the way the muscle in his back flexed as he walked. The expanse of skin under his shoulder blades — his back was thick with new strength. . .What in the sweet hell? 

When he carefully swiveled on his heel to make his way back to you, after tossing the shirt in the basket, you still didn’t take your eyes from him. Just admired the sight and the fact that watching him could be your own little secret. . . 

A secret not even for Jake to know.

Though, as if on cue, his line of sight connected with yours. And when it did – damn. Your heart hammered hard in your chest. Your breath was trapped in your throat, all of it stolen from you. 

His chocolate eyes, although hazy from alcohol, were so fucking dark. Dark in the same way they’d been in his Jeep last week. 

He looked the same as he had right before you’d bent over his lap. The same way he’d eyed you as you’d been on top of him – licking him, sucking him, touching him. . . 

So, instead of holding his eyes, you decided you had to look away before you made matters any worse than they were at the present moment. 

Awkwardly, you started your next sentence without taking time to think about it. “You good now, Ja–?”

“What was your question?” 

When he interrupted you, you wanted to look back at him. But you didn’t. Not with the way his voice was suddenly much fuller – deeper, raspier. . . 

Coughing to mask any sort of embarrassing action, you tried your best to think back to what you’d asked. You couldn’t even remember. . . oh. Medusa. Pointless question. Didn’t matter.

“It was noth–.”

“I don’t care. Still wanna know.”

“Jake, it seriously doesn’t matt–.”

“Look at me, y/n,” he demanded, daring to be argued with. “Quit acting like we’re strangers.”

God. Your teeth found your lip, biting harder with a deep inhale. You let the plumpness of your bottom lip fall from your teeth with a tight exhale. Your tongue pressed into your cheek, eyebrows knit with frustration, when you peered up at him. 

Fuck it all. This was why you hadn’t let yourself look at him. 

His hungry eyes scanned your body when he got his way. He stood there admiring all of you, but his eyes were zeroed in on your ass, not leaving it.

You looked down to get an idea of what he was looking at. 

And, to your horror, you noticed that the t-shirt had ridden up, completely exposing the bottom curve of your ass cheeks. 

But, you didn’t move to change it. Instead, you decided to just stand there. Let him look. You wanted him to. This wouldn’t even count in the morning when he forgot it all.

You definitely weren’t offended by his staring. Not in the slightest. Just sort of made you nervous where things would lead if he didn’t stop observing the exposed skin.

Diversion. 

“Jake,” you purposefully spoke his name, vying for his attention up top, rather than having his eyes on your ass. 

You got your wish. Sort of. His eyes dragged from your ass to your thighs. . . Only to stop at your tits. Your skin was flushed and your skin was tingling. Your breasts, heavy under his stare and nipples tightly peaked against your oversized shirt. 

Fuck. Your body really was your worst enemy — constantly gave you away. Pregnancy hormones were a pain in the ass. 

So, you did the only thing you could think to do: you watched him watch you. The idea of his eyes burning into you without the ability to control it. . . It was almost too much for you to handle. 

Then, he wet his lips, afterwards biting into his plump bottom lip. You might as well have been naked under his stare, completely at his mercy. 

His gaze stayed consistent on your chest, residing long enough to have you feeling so desperately needy for him. . . but, eventually, his eyes moved up to your face. 

You missed his stare on your body as soon as it was gone.

“You’re so fucking—goddamn,” he breathed, his expression still dazed. But, now it was from more than alcohol. Maybe not from alcohol at all. “Do you know how good you look carrying my baby?”

Your head became a flurried mess at his words, the feeling carrying all the way down to your toes. 

“Jake,” you tried, not sure what else to say besides his name. 

But he didn’t respond with words. No, all he did was walk closer to you, still half-dressed. Seeing so much of his body made you feel so utterly pathetic for him. 

In a split second, before you could even wrap your mind around it, his hands found your waist. A soft, yet firm hold of your body. His eyes were locked on your parted lips, his face slowly leaning in and coming dangerously close to your own. 

And just as he was with you, your eyes found his lips, plush and wet from his tongue gliding over them. So kissable. All you wanted, all you needed, was to feel them collide with yours. To taste him again, to savor the sweetness that you knew to be Jake. 

He was so close that you could smell the bitter remnants of alcohol on his breath. His breath, that felt so warm against your flushed skin. You couldn’t help it as you slowly let yourself lean into him. All too well, you knew how wrong it was. . . Yet, you were having the worst time finding it within yourself to care any longer. 

Amber-brown eyes flicked up to yours, golden flecks glowing from the dim yellow lamp lighting. Your own eyes were wide under your fluttering lashes. 

The drunkenness wasn’t as prevalent in his stare as it had been before. This felt so eerily intimate — like it had happened before. You couldn’t fucking shake the feeling this moment was giving you. The dim lighting. Him so close to you—tempting you. . . 

For some reason, your eyes fluttered down between the two of you to your small, rounded tummy. 

Jake’s lips brushed your forehead with the action, his hand coming to tuck hair behind your ear. 

Your belly—it was nestled so well in the middle of your bodies, brushing up against his firm stomach. Protected.

And then a memory, clear now, came rushing back to you. It was coming out of the shadows, having been foggy and faded, but not anymore. 

The only place to go was your room, your door ajar just enough that it opened easily on its own. Jake had reached a hand behind him to close it gently– not wanting to wake anyone. 

Your lamp, still left on, just as it had been earlier in the evening, shed the perfect amount of golden glow. 

You’d grabbed his face, pulling him away from you momentarily to appreciate his features. Finally out of the dark you could look at him. 

And, God, you loved his face. Everything about it, having been so intricately and delicately created — making the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on.

A quiet smirk had graced Jake’s perfect lips, his eyes tightly locked with yours. 

“What’s the matter?” He’d asked, his hushed, now-sultry voice making your need for him that much more heightened. 

You thought a moment before you answered. 

With all of your feelings for him finally becoming realized in your own mind, there was just so much you felt you needed to say. So much you needed him to know. 

As you’d stared in his sparkling eyes, pupils pure black from the weed and his need for you, the only word your mind could conjure up was love. Over and over again. Not just the word, but the feeling; the new desire for him that went far beyond the purely physical one that you’d tried so hard to convince yourself of. 

But it wasn’t new; it had been clear all along. You’d just shoved it down to the deepest trenches of your mind, only to be discovered by the most skilled explorer. 

There was so much you had wanted to say, but you just couldn’t conjure the proper words. 

You decided your body could do all the talking. It could say more than your voice ever could.

“Nothing,” you’d whispered against his lips as you pulled him in for the deepest kiss you were certain the two of you had ever shared with one another.

You gasped as you looked up at him. The night you’d conceived—.

“Y/n, sweet girl,” Jake’s smoky voice brought your attention back to the situation. You let your body melt into his even more, needing him near. 

The reality of it all suddenly began to set in when his hands, slow and steady in their pace, moved up your waist. Strong hands now moving under your shirt, set in their direction of ascension. They came to a steady stop just beneath the curve of your tender breasts. 

“You know,” he breathed, breath washing over your lips. You blinked up at him, at his mercy. “I wanna do so much more than just hold your pretty tits,” he whispered, his lips brushing ever so lightly against yours. “How do they feel?”

“H-heavy,” you stuttered, shivering against his touch while his thumbs met at your sternum, tracing delicate patterns. 

His palms suddenly dropped from beneath your shirt. You sucked in a breath, whining as your breasts pushed out for more. Your skin begged for his touch, on fire for him. 

Before long, though, his hands came back to their spot over the fabric of the t-shirt this time. 

And, over your shirt, he cupped as much of your chest as he could, keeping you in his hold as he gently massaged. 

Stars. You saw so many stars. 

“But, not—not as sore tonight,” you sighed, settling into his grasp. There were no worries evident to you right now. 

All that mattered was Jake and his searing hot touch.

You felt him smile as close as he was, his lips almost connecting with yours as you fought back every desire to kiss him. “Yeah?”  He whispered again, raspier, while his thumbs lightly grazed your hardened nipples through your shirt, your breath catching in your throat. “What do you need right now, baby?”

The moan that escaped your lips should have been embarrassing. But it wasn’t. Not at all. It fit quite well with the way his fingers continued in their path over your nipples, circling them. He was stealing every bit of air left in your lungs, making your eyes roll back in your head.

“Tell me, baby,” he growled, lips touching yours with each word. 

Closing your eyes and biting your bottom lip, you answered silently. You, Jake. I fucking need you. 

He returned to his grip underneath your breasts, over the shirt still, cradling them so well. . . Your body just fit with his. The touch of his hands cured even the most uncomfortable changes in your body. 

You whined, not able to help the effect he was having on you and your aching body. “Jake, I need–.” Fuck. 

No. This was wrong. He was drunk. Odds were, he wouldn’t remember this. You were the one letting it happen, letting it get much further than it should have. 

“Tell me, y/n,” he repeated, brushing his thumbs once again over your taut nipples with more intent this time as your body began to tremble. “Tell me what I can do for you–.”

“I’m hungry,” you muttered out of nowhere, shaking your head as you effectively interrupted him. You pulled away, getting yourself out of another situation that could turn sticky real fast. (Yes, pun intended.) 

And you really were very hungry. Hadn’t eaten for hours. So, it was the perfect mood killer. 

“O-oh, yeah,” he breathily spoke, eyebrows dipping in just a bit as he dropped his stare. His long hair waved out around his shoulders when he shook his head. The sound of inebriated haziness was evident in his tone still, but you could tell he was quickly coming back to himself. 

And that also terrified you. The moment just now. . . Had that brought him back? You’d seen his eyes brighten when you’d leaned into him. 

He went to move past you, his body nearly meeting yours. You put out a hand, millimeters away from his heaving chest. But you couldn’t touch him yet. Not yet. Had to clear your mind. 

“Want me to make something for you?” He wondered, sounding ready to help even amidst his tipsy state. 

“I can do it,” you assured him with a small sigh and grin. “I’m capable.”

“You sure?”

“More than.” 

Your eyes held one another’s for a heavy minute. He was trying to make sure you were being honest, you could tell. 

You just encouraged him to believe your statement with a little pat to his warm, bare chest. Shit. 

You had to go. Get out of the room. Make some damn food. 

But he was right there. . . 

No. 

You quickly took your hand away before he could do something like hold it there. He didn’t get the chance, thanks to your reflexes. 

Your hands interlocked under your belly as you peeked up at him through your lashes. “I promise. I do things for myself all the time. Please let me.”

“You don’t have to ask for–,” hiccup, the sobriety still not fully present. He held a fist over his mouth, trying to be polite. Your smile met your eyes, so gone for him. . . “For my permission, y/n. Seriously. I just want to help you however I–,” hiccup, his eyes bugged a little. The giggle that came from you couldn’t be stopped. “ I can. Jesus.”

“Go to sleep,” you tried, wracking your brain for the best possible plan for him to feel better. “I’ll be okay.”

“Nah. Not yet. Wanna take a shower first,” he iterated, eyebrows drawn together with the sureness of his plan. “It’ll help.”

“Okay,” you smiled, inhaling a breath before shaking your head and moving to open his door. 

Rather than letting you get it, he raised his arm above your head, holding the door to do the job himself. You watched as he opened it wider, seeing his bicep flex with the action above your head. He’d opened it just enough for you to exit. 

You connected eyes with his, looking at him over your shoulder. 

The grin that lifted your features occurred on its own. Everything he did was making you swoon. The fucker.  

He snickered a bit at you, his teeth coming to show past his pretty lips. Dimples fully present with his knowing smile. “Go eat,” he motioned with his other hand before stepping towards you, planning to exit behind you. “My baby momma needs sustenance.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

About forty-five minutes passed. 

You’d eaten an entire box of macaroni and cheese. The noodles and yellow-y, plastic cheese weren’t making you want to gag anymore. Thank god, because it really was quite delicious. 

Now, to wash your dishes and go to bed.

You’d just heard the shower shut off about ten minutes prior to the moment you heard footsteps approach in the doorway to the kitchen.

Jake. 

“Will you come sleep with me?”

You spun to give him a questioning look from over your shoulder that held a million questions.

“Wh-what?” You stilled your task of washing the bowl you’d had your quick meal of macaroni and cheese in.

But, now, you weren’t thinking of mac and cheese. No, now you were thinking of what he just said.

When you’d looked over your shoulder at him, your eyes stuck naturally on the man standing at the doorway of the kitchen. The gesture that was meant to be quick, definitely turning into a whole-ass Jake Appreciation Fest.  

Just like earlier that evening, there he was. Shocking every nerve in your system. 

Pajama pants, slung low on his hips. . . his handsomely tanned and toned chest, still bare. His wet hair, laying on his pecs, dripping water onto each muscle. The drops of water made their way down his hard nipples, probably chilly from his shower, down his sculpted obliques and solid abdomen. . .

. . . And down, past the waistband of his plaid pajama pants. Your favorite ones. 

The pursuit you took with your line of sight was unstoppable. You had to know if he was wearing them. . . And, to your complete gladness, you saw just enough of an outline of him as he leaned his weight on one foot. . . That was all it took to know. . .

“No, I’m not wearing underwear,” he smugly remarked. 

His tone and words made your heart flutter and your cheeks become the deepest shade of crimson. Fuck. He’d caught you.

Deciding to ignore his little remark, you went back to washing the dish, still being held over the sink. In a much looser grip thanks to his comment. Gripping the dish tighter, you put all of your spinning nerves into washing it properly. You fumbled a little, but hoped he didn’t notice. 

“What did you mean before? About sleeping together?” You tried, working to maintain enough attention on the dish that you wouldn’t drop it against the sink and break the thin Corelle. 

“Just sleep,” he emphasized with a chuckle, sounding more and more like himself the longer he stood there. “Nothing more. Cross my heart.”

“Oh,” you offered lamely, heart thumping a hundred miles an hour in your chest, boobs suddenly aching for. . . Fuck. 

Why was he asking you to simply sleep with him? What the hell? 

God. . .

Should you? Was it a good idea? Well, no. You could answer that. It wasn’t a good idea. At all. 

But. . . should you go lay with him? Maybe fall asleep in his arms. . . Would it help you sleep easier after your short, uneasy rest from earlier in the evening?

Shit.

You knew the answer. Knew the answer very well. Even before EMDR, when the bad dreams would occur, they were always better – tamed, happy, or gone completely – when you slept in the same bed as Jake. 

“Yeah,” you said, not taking any more time to contemplate. “I will.”

“Alright,” he replied, sounding relieved behind you. Why did he sound so happy? Surely it wasn’t that big of a deal to him. He still had alcohol in his system. That explained it. 

 You rinsed the rest of the bubbles from the bowl when you heard him speak up again. 

“Want me to wash it?”

“N-no,” you stuttered nervously and shook your head, focusing on the sudsy dish. “I’ve got it.”

“Okay. You full? Get enough to eat?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he answered, the smile evident in his tone. “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t,” you reassured, willing your pulse to return to normal. 

And, seconds later, you were hearing his footfalls against the carpet as he made his way back to his room. 

Well. 

Finishing the job of the bowl, – taking much longer than needed – you contemplated. 

You guessed his tone was still a little wavy, but you knew better than to think he was still drunk. 

He definitely wasn’t.

Had the shower helped that much? Had it been the moment in his room? Both combined? 

After the equally clean saucepan was put away in the drawer below the oven, you dragged your feet a bit more as you went to check on Stevie and put some more food in her dish. When her tail swished across your calves, you felt a bit of calmness return to you. 

Your heart was still thrumming in your chest. But you were able to slow your thoughts down enough to feel more at peace as you took notice of yourself in your full-body mirror.

Damn. . .oooo-kay, y/n. . . 

Why did you suddenly feel completely confident in your body? You turned, getting every angle. 

It just felt so great to not doubt your appearance. It was just like last Monday. You could get used to this feeling. 

Your boobs looked fantastic and big under your gray t-shirt, nipples peaked as they most-often were these days. Your ass looked perfectly rounded out from the way it peeked out of your soft shirt. . . And, lifting your t-shirt, you looked at the little bump of your tummy. 

The best addition to the entire look. Your grin was natural as you admired your baby. . .

Your tummy was growing steadily as you still sat on the bigger side of pregnant bellies. Your bump wasn’t a little subtle thing. No, it was an obviously pregnant belly. 

Small, but definitely still noticeable. And it was just cute as hell. 

After rubbing a gentle hand over the expanse of skin on your belly, you pulled your shirt back down over it. 

And with a final fluff of your hair, you grabbed your Stanley from the nightstand before making your way to where you’d find sleep tonight. 

You were just going to get good rest for your baby. It was for the baby. 

That was what you worked to convince yourself of as you walked with quiet purpose to his bedroom. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

“Why did you come home?”

You were laying in his bed. Just like old times. 

Except, in the past, where you would’ve most likely been naked, you were not tonight. 

Everything else though? Same as always.

Your legs were tied into his, looped around his just right, playing footsie with him beneath the covers. Your head rested on his bare chest, your hand underneath your cheek as it laid so perfectly well on his exquisitely strapped pecs.

Oh, also. . . One more thing different than before: the bump. The baby, tucked snugly against his side where you were turned into him. 

It was heaven. That was what it was. 

A yawn emitted from deep in his chest. You knew sleep was finding him faster than you would’ve liked. Naturally, a little yawn found you as well.

Sighing heavily to follow the yawn, you felt his hand that laid above you come to comb through the strands of your hair.  “I don’t like being away from you.”

Your heartbeat was heavy in your ears – did your best to ignore it.

“Was Maya mad?”

“Yeah.”

“Jake,” you scolded, for no reason. You didn’t give two shits about how she felt. But. . . you did care about his happiness – didn’t want to ruin his relationship when it made him feel happy and whole.

“She’ll get over it,” he reassured with another yawn that lifted your cheek with his rising chest. “She was drunker than I was.”

“Are you still drunk?” You pondered aloud with a yawn and a giggle, naturally emitting in his presence. 

But. . . you knew better. Didn’t even have to ask. It just made all of this more understandable if he were to still be drunk. It made this easier to submit to. 

You didn’t know why the prospect of simply laying beside him was harder to come to terms with than having his dick in your mouth. Just like it’d been a week ago. 

Your cheeks heated at the thought. Of its own volition, your thigh came to momentarily graze past his crotch.

“Not really,” he answered, sounding a touch offended that you’d even asked. “Pretty sober now, honestly.”

The more coherent he sounded, the more intimidated you became. . . 

Best to let him find sleep. You’d answer to this in the morning. . . For now, your eyelids were getting heavier and heavier by the moment. 

“I believe you,” you settled with a contented yawn of your own, nestling into his chest. Couldn’t help it. Had to be closer.

You blinked, slower and slower. So sleepy — just felt so right in his arms. His hand came to hold the base of your skull as a thumb traced your head so lightly. 

Goosebumps rose on your skin from his precious gesture. . . It felt so damn incredible. 

“You should,” he iterated, his lips coming to meet the crown of your head, giving you a feather-light kiss. 

And, within a minute, he was lightly snoring. 

It took almost no time at all for you to follow him to slumber. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Just like you would’ve guessed, the bad dreams didn’t come that night. 

. . .Because Jake made everything better. That was just it. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

December 16, 2022 

As you sat in the waiting room, you surveyed him and noticed he wasn’t wearing the Medusa medallion. The newer one you’d noticed on Monday. 

“No Medusa?” You questioned, at a decent enough volume to not disturb the few other mothers and fathers in the waiting room. He flicked his amber-brown gaze over to you, caught in a trance by the beautiful, light decor of the clinic. 

Once he looked at you, his eyebrows only dipped at your words, not understanding. You motioned to his neck with a slight flick of your wrist. “Your Medusa medallion. I noticed it the other night.”

He snorted, lips quirking in a small grin with a shake of his head. “That was a stupid gift I got from Maya’s little sister,” he explained, scratching the back of his head. 

“Jake,” you disciplined his words, but you couldn’t help the tiny giggle that slipped past your lips. It was kind of funny that he found it stupid. 

“What?!” He turned to you, a full smile on his face. You raised a faux disappointed brow at him and he contended that with his next remark, “Okay, yes, I know I shouldn’t call it stupid. Maya said it’s because of her sister’s little crush on me. . . But it was kind of funny that she showed up with it at her birthday party, for one,” he explained, crossing his legs at the knee. “And for two, Medusa? A Greek goddess? Since when is that my primary interest?”

You shrugged at that, a small smile stuck to your features. He was adorable.

He continued on, “For some reason, Maya struggles to differentiate between pirates and mythology. . . and no matter how many times I explain they’re different, she doesn’t catch on to it.” 

He shook his head, tousling a hand through his long, wavy hair as he placed the other hand on his knee. His rings weren’t present today, so you got to truly appreciate the curvatures of his tanned, masculine hands. 

“You should still acknowledge that Maya’s sister’s–what’s her name?”

“Kaia. K-a-i-a. . . Different from Maya’s by two letters. Sound the same, though,” he snickered.

Kaia and Maya. . . so they’re a rhyming name family. For some reason, the thought made you snort a laugh, a grin claiming your lips. 

“I know,” Jake said, a little humorous in his own tone. “Kaia and Maya. Can we agree to not name our kids rhyming names?”

Our kids? As in, more than the one in your belly?

You took note of him and his reaction to his mistake, watched the way his eyes continued scanning the walls of the white and blush waiting room. 

He seemed to not notice his mess up, still going about his business as usual. His foot tapped against the bamboo flooring to the beat of the classic rock radio station playing. 

You decided to ignore his words. It had been a slip up. Just like your own slip up in the car the other day. 

You, speaking of love. 

Jake, mentioning multiple kids. 

You both were just in a state of stress with the life change. . . it wasn’t anything. Just a couple mis-worded moments.

You continued on, looking down at your belly briefly, smoothing your hands down your sweater to flatten any weird lines. “. . .Kaia’s sentiment was kind. Her little crush is sweet,” you iterated, sounding more like a mom everyday. “I hope you told her thank you.”

He chuckled, raspy and light, at you. Switching your line of sight up to him, you saw his eyes read a sense of fondness as he cast his gaze on you. 

“I did,” he smirked, winking at you. Your tummy fluttered with butterflies. “You are going to be a fantastic mom, y/n. I’ve known it for a long time and I know it more and more with your little coaching moments.”

Your heart went crazy at the thought of him imagining you as a fantastic mother. And he’d known it for a long time? How long? What did that mean? 

“Thanks, Jake,” you blushed a light pink, matching the colors of the crepe walls. There was one more thing you wanted to say though. 

“However,” you cleared your throat, glancing at him momentarily from the corner of your eye. He was heeding you, brow arched as he waited for your next words. 

“I can’t say anything to excuse Maya’s non-acknowledgment at the obvious contrasts of pirates and mythology. They are two completely different beasts,” you emphasized, turning your full attention to him. He was still watching you. The flush was back in your cheeks. “I’ve seen enough of your documentaries about pirates and I’m an English major, for God’s sake. . . so I know these things.”

The way his features brightened was precious – like he was being seen. 

And he was seen. He would always be seen if you had anything to say about it. 

Also, you did know the difference, you weren’t lying. None of what you said was a lie. You’d said what you did because you needed him to know that you understood. His interests mattered to you and they should to Maya as well. They should matter to her more-so. 

The moment was cut off quite quickly, though, as you were hearing your name being called to the back for your appointment. 

You were about to see your baby again. With Jake. And you’d know by the end of the hour if it was a boy or girl. . . 

The blood was pumping in your ears as Jake fell in step beside you on the way to the back. You smiled up at him, where you were met with his sparkling eyes. Both of you were obviously giddy with eagerness and excitement. 

Your thoughts were filled with everything that was to come. All sunshine and pale colors – so much love.

Here we go. . .

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: ...i wonder if you can guess the name/gender after this chapter part... ;) see you soon (next part is almost finished, my loves) :) feel free to always come to my ask box or message box! i'm always down to talk when my adhd/anxiety doesn't attack me <3

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[anundyingfidelity]

YES, MA’AM — Sam Winchester/Sam Wesson ft. Dean Winchester/Dean Smith (Chapter I)

Summary: Sam is the new tech support guy at Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc., and he thinks you, his supervisor, are related to him in ways more than professional. He not only dreams of ghosts and Dean Smith, the sales and marketing director, but you, the pretty boss who seems very fond of him, maybe a little too much.

Word count: 1.3k.

Pairing: Sam W./Sam Wesson x female reader (main), Dean W./Dean Smith x female reader. Situated in 4x17 - It's a Terrible Life.

Warnings for this series: smut with plot, sexual tension, sub!Sam, dom!reader, switch!Dean, co-workers with benefits with Dean, boss/employee dynamics, canon violence and stuff. Slow updates oops.

Notes: welcome to my very first spn fanfic, hope you enjoy this short series of Sam and Dean!

If you'd like to be added, the taglist is here!

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

Chapter I | Chapter II

Chapter I: A Boring Life

Taking a quick look at the clock on the corner of the screen of his computer, Sam let out a long sigh. Lunch hour was far from near. He continued drawing the monsters he saw in his dreams on the notebook, those who wouldn't let him continue his abnormally boring and stupid life.

"Hey, Sam," a voice called, making him jump slightly on his seat.

He cleared his throat shutting the notebook and sitting right this time as he took in your figure towering over him in the cubicle with a smile on your lips.

"Hi, uhm... Is something wrong?"

You chuckled slightly. He wanted to slap himself for saying that. For Sam, bosses coming to him meant he might have done something wrong. He didn't want to know what he screwed up. Barely three weeks have passed since he started working there. As much as things were strange and weird around, Sam just wanted a quiet life.

"Not at all," you answered in a friendly manner. "Actually I just wanted to give you kudos. I've received good compliments from customers who called for help, you're doing excellent!"

Sam breathed out, feeling a heavy weight on his back dropping. He smiled. "Well, thank you. It feels good doing that."

But a raise or something would feel absolutely better, he thought.

"Sure! You're brilliant, have you ever been told that?"

"Uhm, not here. I mean- I want to say you're the first one. Sorry, the first one to say I'm brilliant, I- uhm I never really got kudos before? I don't think so but it does feel great."

He stumbled so much with his words that it made you laugh a little but he noticed you tried to suppress it. So you gave him a nod.

"Yeah, of course. I also see you're very organized with your stuff and reports," you remarked before taking a quick glance around and leaning a little bit toward him, your face morphing into a shy look. "Probably I shouldn't but could you help me with some reports today? You'd be off the phone, I just really need to send them by the end of the day and I'm extremely busy."

You bit your painted lower lip with big doe eyes, waiting for an answer. Since the first day he saw you around the company, he thought you looked extremely familiar. Like he had seen you before. Hell, it was like he knew you ages ago. But he wouldn't say it out loud, he might look like a creep.

You'd usually come like this to his spot just to talk and get into business, sometimes he'd go to ask you something he wasn't sure about from a call, but he never, ever herd from a complaint or that his work was shit from you. In fact, you were very kind and smart, always letting him know you were there if he needed anything. And you were pretty. So damn beautiful that you got his heart agitated and his body aching when you bent over a desk wearing tight black pencil skirts and those matching high stockings. He began to think probably you liked him but you used to get close to all of your employees on the tech support floor. You were just being nice to everyone.

"Uh, sure. I can do that," Sam curved his lips into a smile.

"Thank you, you're a lifesaver! I'll send you those in your email, ask me anything if it's difficult, okay?"

You responded with happy demeanour and quickly walked away back to your office, leaving him alone before he had the moment to say something. Just two minutes later he received an email from you with a bunch of reports and data to organize.

Sam scanned the files quickly while hearing the sounds of a chair rolling to his side.

"I think she likes you, man," Ian, the messy and chill coworker of his, teased. Sam chuckled.

"Nah, she's just nice to everyone. Besides, she needs help."

Suddenly, a notification popped from the side of his screen on the computer.

It was a message from you. It read:

Put on the headphones and listen to some music if you want ;)

"You were saying?" Ian joked again.

He smiled. Well, at least he'd be off the phone. Shouldn't be that hard, right?

The night fell and Sam found himself alone on his desk at eight o'clock working on your reports. Seeing the long reports and files he thought could make it on time to finish his shift at four and leave on time. It was fucking Friday. Poor him.

At least you ordered delivery for dinner for both of you. The good thing was that he wasn't really alone on the floor, you were in your office but soft music played as you worked on your stuff. Moments later, you found yourself sitting by Sam's side as he worked the final things on the last report.

"It's done," he announced, his body falling to the backrest of his chair.

"Thanks," you whispered shyly as he sent the finished files back to you. "I'm so sorry though, it's so late."

"Well, didn't have anything to do either."

"Really?!"

Your surprise made his eyes fall on you. He shrugged. "Just sleep."

You raised your eyebrows. "I thought maybe a girlfriend was waiting for you or something?"

He shook his head, pressing his lips together. "No, nothing like that."

The question was odd coming from you, so he decided to play a little.

"What about you?"

This time you shook your head. "Just my books and my TV."

Sam hummed. "It's a boring life, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well I get to pay my bills by the end of the month... And I meet nice people here... And I see you- Sorry."

You cut off your words all of a sudden, your eyes blinking rapidly saying you realized what you just said.

"My bad. We should get going."

You gave him a smile to try and brush off your words, but they were strong enough to get in Sam's head unnoticed. He watched you walk away, turning your computer and lights off on your office as Sam did the same on his spot. Once done, you walked out the floor together in silence.

"Thank you again. I don't think no one would ever do this for me here," you admitted with a deep exhale.

"Yeah, no problem," Sam smiled kindly as you got closer to the elevator.

"Really, I owe you. Do you have a car to get home or something? I can give you a ride if you need."

"I do, don't worry," he said as you stopped in front of the elevator, the doors opening.

"Great, so I think this is it," you grinned at him. "Have a good night."

"Thanks. I hope you have a good weekend, boss."

You nodded. "You too, Sam. Take care."

He saw you disappearing inside the elevator with a wave of your hand and a beautiful smile on your face. With a sigh, he made his way to the locker room and took his briefcase and stuff out. It was just a couple of minutes that he saw you leaving when he went back to the elevator. Checking his watch, the lift arrived and before he could get inside, he got a shocking picture in front of him.

Dean Smith, the marketing director, had you pinned against the wall and kissing down your neck. Your blouse unbuttoned, skirt up, lips open and eyes closed in bliss. Dean noticed the doors were open, pulling away his plump lips from your skin.

"Sorry buddy, wrong floor," he beamed and pushed the right button.

When you opened your eyes once again, you met Sam's open mouth and wide eyes as the doors closed. Great, now he might think you're a slut. 

[misc-obeyme]

I tried to resist. (I didn't try at all.)

Instead I got carried away and wrote this.

*drops the Satan cat collar smut and runs*

(Special thanks to everyone who gave me some input on this idea. I'm still rusty with writing at the moment, so I apologize if it's terrible. I'm considering writing an alternate version involving some pegging... so let me know if you wanna see that lol.)

Okay, you can read the alternate version here.

GN!MC x Satan

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: soft dom!MC, cat collar with bell and cat ears, praising, use of Tantan as a nickname (because I love it lol), lil bit of biting, penetration (reader receiving), please let me know if I've forgotten something

It might be difficult to tell from an outside perspective, but you knew that Satan was soft for you. The way he trusted you entirely with his feelings, even his anger, let you know that he was perhaps more comfortable with you than anyone else.

So it wasn't entirely a surprise when you started to pick up on some little hints of something he didn't seem to have worked up the courage to ask you directly.

You weren't sure what was happening right away. It started one day when he showed you a collection of cat collars that were for sale online. He scrolled through the pictures on his phone, finally stopping on one with a little bell.

"This one is especially cute, don't you think?" he asked.

You smiled indulgently. "Yeah it is. Are you going to get it for one of the strays in the garden?"

Satan blinked as if he was surprised by this suggestion. He looked at you and the confusion in his eyes was clear. Then you watched as a deep blush spread across his face. "R-right," he said. "Yes."

He immediately changed the subject, but you couldn't stop thinking about his reaction. Like maybe the two of you had been talking about different things.

You puzzled over this for a little while, a suspicion starting to form in the back of your mind.

Confirmation came in the form of a cosplay catalog that Levi left in the common room. The cover featured an anime character wearing cat ears and a collar.

Satan picked up the catalog and you could tell that he had known it was there. "Levi must have left this here," he said. He showed it to you. "Wh-what do you think?"

You looked at the cover. "Hmm," you said. "I like the cat ears. The collar should have a bell, though."

You watched in satisfaction as Satan's face flushed so hard and fast you thought steam might come out of his ears.

After that, you knew what you had to do.

You were careful about your purchase. You made sure it was obtained discreetly.

The collar itself was thick and black with a large silver buckle and a round silver bell. You had chosen black cat ears to match. You left them on Satan's bed with a note that said, Is this what you had in mind? MC.

And then you waited.

The next time you saw Satan was at breakfast. He sat across the table from you and met your eyes directly. He held your gaze for a moment too long before looking away. Nobody else seemed to notice and he acted completely normal the rest of the day.

You had no other indication of his reaction to your gift. For days, you waited for him to do something or say something. Was he upset? He wasn't acting angry.

And then one day you walked into your room and nearly died on the spot. As soon as you recovered, you closed the door and made sure it was locked. And that's when you remembered that everyone else was out of the house today. Was that what Satan had been waiting for?

You turned back to your bed to take in the sight of him.

There he sat, on his knees, with his hands pressed onto the bed between them. The collar was clasped perfectly around his neck, the bell and buckle shining. The cat ears were nestled in his hair, their black tufts a nice contrast to his bright blond. He was frowning, his eyes were closed, his face flushed, and he wore absolutely nothing else.

You slowly approached him, watching him as he stayed still. When you got to the edge of the bed, you stopped. You cupped his cheek, tilting his head to look up at you, even though his eyes stayed closed.

"Look at you," you said softly. "What a beautiful boy you are."

Satan's blush deepened, but he opened his eyes. You saw desire and pleasure and nervousness and embarrassment tumbling through the shades of green.

You brought up your other hand and held his face. "Don't be embarrassed. You look amazing."

The frown eased just a little. "I didn't think you would actually want to do this."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "What? Why would you think that?"

Satan looked away from you. "It doesn't… make you uncomfortable?"

You rested your hands on his shoulders and kissed his forehead. "No. It makes me horny as fuck. And I can see what it's doing to you, too."

You looked down deliberately where Satan's cock had been steadily growing as soon as you got close.

Satan buried his face in his hands, causing the bell around his neck to jingle slightly.

"No, no, no," you said softly, pulling his hands away. He opened his mouth like he was going to protest, but you cut him off with a kiss.

Satan responded to you instantly, opening his mouth for you. As your tongues entwined, you let go of one of his wrists to reach up and grab the collar. You used it to pull his head back, giving you easier access to his mouth as his hand now tugged on the edge of your shirt.

You pulled away to kiss the wrist of the hand you still held, trailing your lips down his arm and up his shoulder. He was breathing heavily as you traced your tongue along the edge of skin where the collar stopped, ringing the bell playfully with your fingers.

Satan moaned, his tugs on your shirt feeble but persistent.

You gave in, moving away from him to remove the shirt quickly, along with all the rest of your clothes. He waited patiently, mouth open, skin flushed, cock straining.

You sat beside him on the bed, putting two fingers beneath the collar to pull him toward you. He moved easily with your guidance, the bell tinkling ever so softly as you caught his swollen lips with yours again.

You ran a teasing finger along the shaft of his cock and it came away covered in pre-cum. Satan whined against your lips and the sound of it sent a shiver through your body.

You pulled away just a little bit. "Use your words, Tantan. Or would you rather meow for me?"

Satan shuddered and the bell tinkled. "Please, MC," he said, his voice low and gruff. It seemed he wasn't quite comfortable enough to meow and his eyes were closed again, his face turned slightly away.

"Look at me," you said.

Obediently, Satan opened his eyes and looked at you. He might have been frowning if he wasn't so overcome with lust in that moment. You took in the darkness of his eyes, the heat clearly visible on his skin, the expression that vacillated between need and embarrassment.

You realized you could tease him for hours if you really wanted to. You also knew that he would let you. Something about the way he was looking at you let you know that he was trusting you entirely. That he was putting himself in your hands, letting you do whatever you wanted to with him.

Certainly, part of this had been previously discussed. The two of you had an established routine, after all. But he was entrusting you with more than he normally did and you recognized that extra vulnerability.

The light of your room hit the silver of the bell around his neck. You took in the collar, the ears. Maybe next time, you could get him to meow for you.

For now, though, you wanted nothing more than to hear that bell chime with every thrust.

You leaned forward, running your fingertips down his cheek. "You're such a good boy," you said, loving the way he seemed to melt whenever you praised him.

You took hold of his collar again, this time pulling him with you as you lay back on your bed. You had considered other positions, but you wanted to see that bell as it sounded through the room.

Satan moved where you guided him, but when you let go of the collar, he no longer waited for your direction. He put his lips on your neck, his hands on your hips, and you could feel the tip of his cock pressing gently against you.

Satan hesitated, pulling up to look into your eyes. It was as though he caught himself being too eager and now he needed your confirmation.

You smirked. "Go ahead. You've earned it."

Satan didn't wait for anything else and he sank his cock into your heat. You arched as sensation filled you, your eyes fixed on the brightness of the bell around his neck.

To your great satisfaction, that bell did indeed jingle with every thrust, louder than it had from anything else. The sound mingled with your own moans as you gripped Satan's arms. He was rumbling deeply, seemingly okay with purring if not meowing.

Satan didn't seem to notice anything other than what he was feeling inside you, but he couldn't hold back from nipping at your skin. You gasped every time his teeth pierced you, a little zing of pain to go with your overwhelming pleasure.

"S-Satan," you moaned out, feeling yourself getting close, the tension rising.

Satan seemed to understand what you needed. He reached between your bodies so he could stimulate you further with his hand. You gasped and your hips rose up into him.

You reached up to grab the collar, wanting to hold onto it as your entire body tensed hard, the brightness shattering behind your eyes as you cried out Satan's name, the bell continuing to tinkle merrily through it all.

Satan strained hard against the collar, but you still had it in your grip. You felt the warmth of his cum filling you and your fingers slipped away as you collapsed back against the bed.

Satan looked at you, a question in his eyes. The cat ears were still on his head, but they were askew, poking oddly out of his blond hair.

You reached up to fix them. "Promise me you'll wear these again."

Satan let out a huff, frowning. "I couldn't refuse you even if I wanted to."

You smirked. "Good thing you don't want to, then."

Perhaps next time, you would bring a little leash, too. You were curious about how he would react to such an addition. Although he seemed unlikely to do this again when his brothers were around, so you might have to wait. You caught yourself kind of hoping one of his brothers would come home just to hear the consistent jingling of the bell on Satan's cat collar.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Shades of Red

art in the cover by @ave661 and @shkretart !

chapter one | chapter two | ao3 | masterlist ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x civilian f! reader ✦ Summary: The sole survivor of a terrorist attack that killed over a hundred. The soldier responsible for saving her. He wants to help you, but his own trauma make him withdraw when he wants to get closer and intoxicate when he wants to remedy. He kisses your scars and hopes you'll runaway. He wants you to run away. But you won't. ✦ TW: NSFW, explicit, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, canon typical violence, mentions of abuse and trauma/PTSD, bit of gore, mental illness mentions, slowburn;

A/N: Hello girlies! This is the very first time I get the courage to actually post something I wrote. I've been reading y'all fics behind my screen for so much time now I figured I could start postingggg; so please be gentle with the feedbacks, but be also sincere ♥ also, English is not my first language and although I'm fluent, there might be a mistake or two along the way. Don't feel shy in pointing it out if you see any! Moreover, this will be a long ass one I'm pretty sure, but I might get myself some more courage to post my smut oneshots in some near future. Hope you enjoy! x

Chapter 1 - The Incident | 3.3k

There was ash in the air everywhere. That scenario didn’t frighten him – in fact, Ghost was absolutely sure that at that point in his life, almost nothing could fright him. He had seen much worse things before, he thought silently as he walked towards the building completely destroyed. There was debris everywhere – the building had not collapsed completely, but some parts did not survive the flames and now there seemed to be not even a little bit of life in that place. There were still small portions of flames spread through a few heaps of debris, a terrible smell of wood and burnt concrete; but nothing of that could be worse than the smells of dead, flattered human flesh that once or again invaded his nostrils.

His eyes rolled around in search of any record of life. In vain, he knew: there was no chance that any civilian had survived that. A cruel, dark bombing, a violent and destructive terrorist act. The only goal was to destroy any form of life that could inhabit there, and possibly it had been obtained without any further circumstances. When Price sent the radio search order to all members of the 141, he made it very clear that those efforts were in vain. They would find nothing. We lost today, he said. We could not foresee this, nor can we remedy it. It was a burden they had to cope with on a daily basis - the often inability to do something, to act, was a burden that a soldier should carry. It was part of the job.

Ghost pressed the point button in his ear. “Is anyone listening?” He asked, his eyes checking the entire perimeter of the building behind the skull mask that covered his face. “Have you found something, LT?” Soap answered, his voice hushed by the efforts. “No. I’m making an entrance, there’s nothing out here.” the lieutenant stated, kicking off a few remaining pieces of concrete from the front of his feet and laying the rifle in his hands. Ghost stood in front of the main entrance to the building – that place that should have looked like a reception at some point in the near past - and the movement of his boots against the ground caused the roof above his head to shake a little, and some ash particles fell onto his helmet. He observed the movement, standing still for a few seconds, only for warranty; he did not want to end up becoming one more of those burial victims. 

When the concrete whisper finally stopped stirring his ears, he entered. The lamp of his helmet lit up, and he looked around. His eagle eyes did not lose an inch of that entire perimeter, his ears attentive as those of a bat. He was looking for a sign, whatever it was: a presence, a scream, voices, calls for help. Anything. Anyone.

All he could hear were the sounds of the structure of the building, apparently ready to give in. Ghost tried to enter one of the apartments; his boots sole hit the semi-destroyed grinded surface of the door, and he broke in. He looked around. An enormous smashed chandelier rested violently against the bloody body of a child. 

Many people said Simon was the type of man to have no feelings anymore. That time, scars and trauma had taken from him all and every kind of humanity. He had become a soldier—one of the good, one of the invincible, but nothing aside from that. Nothing but a soldier.

Perhaps that sentence became so repetitive that at some point, he, himself began to believe it. His face remained motionless. The sound of the blood drops hanging on the floor filled his ears, and he snorted for a moment, pressing the point into his ear. “First floor, apartment 102,” he said, coordinating other operators to head to start collecting the bodies. 

His eyes went up to the ceiling, facing the huge blunt in the structure that caused the luster to fall. Maybe the parents' bodies were still there somewhere to be found, he thought. But that wasn’t his job, and unfortunately he didn’t have all the time in the world. He then traced his steps out of the apartment, looking around. As he kept going upstairs, the lantern lit up one hand or another thrown out of a pile of debris. Broken legs, the kinds of horrors that haunt the dreams of ordinary people. 

As Price had said and as he imagined to be fact, there were no survivors. Even when he reached the last floor, without any hope that he would find any movement that were not spasms of lifeless bodies, he tried. He tried to find someone, to do his job with all the mastery he could. His voice echoed through the entire floor, looking for anyone who could answer, but as expected, there was no response.

All that was left was the subsoil, the garage. When he came down the lobby again and found a portion of the staff dragging out some bodies, placing them in black bags, one of the doctors caught his attention. “Lieutenant. Have you finished checking around? Nothing up there?” The man asked, pulling his glasses from the tip of his nose. Ghost is negative. “No, nothing,” he said bluntly.

The doctor seemed to bite his own jaw with some strength, in disappointment. He has baffled. “You don’t even have to check down there. If those above didn’t survive...” he said, giving on his shoulders. Ghost watched him in silence for a few seconds, before finally answering, “Focus on your work, doc. I’ll finish my own.” He said in a nod before starting to push with his crude hands the stones that covered the entrance to the stairs that led to the garage.

His steps echoed. Ghost walked through the parking lot, passed pillar by pillar, checked every car. There were bursting pipes releasing hot steam, a gas leak as well he could tell – and he didn’t want to be there to see what would happen if some kind of ignition occurred. He hastened his steps. He took a deep breath; he was about to press his point and give up, claiming that there were no survivors, but a stifling sound interrupted his action. He looked around, looking for the source of the heavy breath and the little grumbling of pain he heard. His eyebrows cracked almost instantly and he turned around himself, looking around. All his senses were activated at that moment – he began to walk through among the few cars there, following the sound he had heard and then, a hand hitting the air dropped debris to the side of what seemed to be a body. He approached cautiously, throwing the light from his helmet’s lantern in the direction of the sound, and to his surprise, although not perceptible, there was the only survivor of the bombing: you.

A small, female frame shrunk from a pile of debris. Your hair was covered in ashes, your face - the dirty cheeks with the blackness of the material, your arms painted in the scarlet of your blood flowing freely to the ground, glass blades attached painfully to your soft skin. There was a cut down from the top of your forehead until the beginning of your left eyebrow. The completely messy strands of your hair fell against your face, opaque, bright. The expression of fear on your eyes turned into pure terror the moment they met his own, those small cold orbs inside the mask. You instinctively tried to move away from him, push your body away from those debris, away from that huge and frightening man.

When you threw your body to the side, all you could feel was your back against the cold floor, your left leg refused to work. You felt nauseous, stupid, your head turned. Your mouth trembled in a failed attempt to say something, the silence already lasted for seconds enough for you to fear his frame standing ever so tall and quiet. “Please don’t hurt me.” You managed to say, your voice engulfed in a cry that refused to go out. It wasn’t as if it was going to work; if he was one of the terrorists who caused this incident and really wanted to hurt you, then you were at his mercy and there was little you could do about it.

Maybe, if you were in a better mental and physical condition, you’d be able to identify that the rifle in the hands of the man in front of yourself was of a military model. That all his gear pointed out that he was an operator, someone willing to help. Your mind could not process all the necessary information about him at the given moment, although.

“I will not hurt you, lass.” He explained, and for a moment you felt your chest swell in air and it was hard to contain the immense desire to cry. The heavy steps of the man were made against your small, wounded body. He lowered himself, letting the rifle rest next to him quietly. You gulped in dry, still nervous with your eyes raised to his, now a little closer to you. He wasn’t looking at you — he was looking down, seeming to assess how hurt you were. “I’ll tell you what’s happening now. Okay?” He asked, slowly and calmly, his cold eyes now facing your own, visualizing your soul behind the cover of this hurt shell of yours. You stumbled, and he continued. “I’ll take that away from you, and I need you to help me helping you. Alright? You will be well. I just need you to hold your leg and when I push it over, you roll. Understood?” The man asked, his firm and deep voice being the first source of human contact you had since the lightning caused you to wipe out unconscious hours before. You came in for confirmation.

Ghost nodded back and raised his fingers, counting to three. Contrary to what you might have imagined, he didn’t need to do much to lift the huge concrete block that blocked his left leg from moving — he even had some ease in doing so. He held the concrete above his body, his arms backed over you, he sat down. “Roll.” he commanded, and you obeyed as you could. You leaned her hands on the ground and gave a boost; one of your hands instinctively went to the wounded leg, in an attempt to warm up the pain now felt by finally having released it from the rubble. You couldn’t hold a moan of pain, but he was quickly stifled by the sound of concrete hitting the ground when Ghost let it fall back.

You mentally begged that you could endure that. Your eyes were filled with tears, and a certain despair arose through your throat, your mouth. The anguish of finally feeling the unpleasant smell of the environment, the nervousness of realizing that very possibly, few other people survived that disaster, it was overwhelming your already troubled mind. 

Ghost didn’t lose a second in time; he finished positioning the rifle around his body and you felt his arms wrapping you by the waist and the folds of your knees, and he lifted it up with immense ease – it was as if you were featherweight. The gloves in his hands were rough against the sensitivity of your skin, but his touch was as cautious as possible. You could say without a doubt that this soldier of at least twice your height was doing his best not to hurt you any more than you’re already wounded.

“What is your name?” He finally asked, his rifle resting on his back, and you resting over his arms. He wasn’t looking at you – his eyes were fixed ahead, in the direction he was carrying you to, the exit. You answered, and he nodded in acknowledgement. “You can call me Ghost. I am a soldier, yes? We will take care of you.” He said in a clear tactical attempt to calm your nervousness down.

You sat down with your head. “Amelie Miller... Did you find her? My friend, she... did you find her?” You asked, your body trembled as you came to realize his eyes were now boring into yours.

He seemed to look for words that would not hurt you as much as the ones he had to say, but he for one, was not good with words or comforting.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he whispered, in a sigh. “there are no more survivors. You were the only one.”

~ x ~

Your head hurt. Everything hurt; body, arms. There was a blanket around your shoulders and a bottle of water still sealed in your hands. The look in your eyes was empty, blurred; there were a lot of people there. Many doctors, many operators - soldiers like Ghost. One of them wore a mohican, the other had thick eyebrows. The captain was talking to them in an isolated corner, the doctors were talking to each other about your condition, about what should be done from now on. There were agents from the British intelligence surrounding the site, and there were about hundreds of black bags stretched on the floor, closed. You still felt pain, although the healings now prevented blood from flowing freely through your forehead as before. The glass pieces had been removed from your arms, your face was clean now and even so, you never felt so dirty in your entire life.

Every time you dare to blink, you could swear that you would faint. Your hands were getting weaker, loosening around the bottle. The sudden sound of the bottle falling to the ground caught the attention of one of the men there – the captain. As far as you could realize, he called himself something Price.

“Miss.” He said, coming closer to you. Suddenly, there were eyes on you from every angle possible; all of the other soldiers turned to the ambulance where you were sitting now. You slowly raised your face to look back at Price, and he continued. “I’m not going to ask if it’s okay, this question is rhetorical. You need to be hydrated.” He was bowing down in front of you, taking the bottle he dropped and opening it, offering it to you. Your eyes checked at the bottle for a few seconds and your trembling hand finally grabbed it, drinking until the last drop you could - all at once. You could feel your throat burning, your skin seemed to be in living flesh. The appearance of your wounds was not as unpleasant as the feeling of having them, but you knew that all that would leave you some ugly scars.

You could not care about it now – in fact, couldn’t care about anything at all. Your mind was empty and you never felt so apathetic in such a distressful situation. 

“What am I going to do now?” You asked, in a whisper, your eyes completely lost. “I—what am I going to do...?,” you repeated, and there was nothing but an absolute feeling of raw pain and loss in your voice right at that moment, for as much as you tried to hide it.

Price swelled his chest, and his lips compressed into a line. “You don’t have to worry about anything now. We’ll take care of everything,” he assured. “The government has a great defense program for disasters like this, you won’t be without a roof,” he finished, trying to calm you down. You closed your eyes and shaken your head, but you did not respond. There was nothing to say, nothing to do; what could be done besides trusting that everything would go well? Trust that they would have a plan for you, a shelter, doctors, a chance of living after you were supposed to die in such a horrific way?

You didn’t even know if you wanted all that. Didn’t even knew if you wanted to be the only survivor. Surely not: at that time, you would rather have died among the other more than a hundred people who were now in black bags scattered on the floor in front of you. You felt so much - you felt gratitude for their work, for saving you, but at the same time you couldn’t help but to feel like a fraud for surviving while other died. Others that, somewhat, deserved more than you to live. There was so much in your mind now, but little that you could really synthesize and make sense of.

You drowned your face between your hands, unable to cry, but wanting so deeply to hide from them, from those men, from doctors, from the press, from everything. Wanting to be away from everything, wanting to be dead for once.

A little further away, Ghost observed you. His broad arms crossed, his posture relentlessly perfect as always. His eyes looked at your gestures, scanned your body —all those wounds, poor girl, he thought. Although he was sure there was no more of a heart in his chest, he felt comprehensive towards your emotions. The horrors you had lived in such a short space of time, the unbearable consequences that that meant for your poor mind. The trauma. The pain.

He could not help but think that he saw a bit of himself in you. Not a bit of Ghost – a little bit of Simon. A little bit of the little Simon who felt an immeasurable strain in his chest, a void that could not be filled. 

When the doctors finally helped you to get up in the ambulance and sit on one of the available chairs, your face turned over your own shoulder and you found his eyes stuck to yours. It felt intimidating in some way; perhaps the way his confidence didn’t allow him to look away while you stared at him, or something in the way he seemed capable of reading right through you like a good book of his. He was a savior to you, and somehow it still seemed his persona was conflicting with the one of a savior. He was something else, perhaps still a benefactor, but somehow, a very dangerous man.

There was not a single feeling in his eyes, quite the opposite. There was pure coldness, and yours on the other hand carried some gratitude and ingratitude at the same time. You felt grateful that he had saved you, but at the same time, felt angry at him for not having let you die. You entered the ambulance, and your eyes continued to lock a gaze against his until the moment someone closed the car door from outside.

Ghost turned his eyes at last, and saw Price approaching.

“Fuck.” The captain whispered, laying his hands on his waist, looking at all the misfortune that the incident had caused to that place. “How many bodies?” He asked, looking at Simon with the corner of his eyes.

“A hundred and two so far.” Ghost answered quietly.

“And have you found the bodies of the sons of bitches who did this?” Price said with some disgust and hatred attached to his voice. Ghost assented positively, which made Price crack the dust almost instantly into a distressed expression.

“Motherfuckers.” He grunted, turning to the rest of the team. Soap, who had been remaining in silence for thorough all the search, dared to finally speak.

“We have a lot to report, hm?” He raised his eyebrows, and received a Price assent in response.

“To the headquarters." The captain ordered, making his way to the helicopter that awaited for them, and they left.

[vodika-vibes]

Hey idk if this has already been done but an Echo x reader enemies to lovers like reader is a separatist.

First Burn

Summary: The Separatists have won the war. The Republic lies in tatters, and the Clone Army has been repurposed for use for the Separatist Army. You are a member of Serrano’s Intelligence Department, and you just found out that you’re being gifted a clone to help you with your work. Needless to say, no one is thrilled about this.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Echo x F!Reader

Word Count: 2484

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Alright, sorry that this took so long, but I've been working on it since I got it, basically, and I only managed to think of an ending that made me happy today. I hope you like it! The title comes from a Hamilton song, I think. It doesn't have anything to do with the story, but it's what I was listening to when I started writing. And, for all that this is an AU, it is not part of my AU event.

“I’m not sure I understand,” You say blankly as you look from the irate-looking man, clapped in chains, over to your direct supervisor, “Has my work been less than satisfactory?”

“Not at all.” Your Supervisor, who also happens to be your uncle and your warden, replies as he roughly claps you on the shoulder, “Count Dooku is very happy with your work. Which is why you’re getting a clone.”

The clone in question glowers at your uncle, and you’re not sure you blame him.

“You want someone who, up until a month ago, was an enemy against us to work in intelligence? Does this seem...wise?”

“It’s fine. It’s hardly clever enough to interfere.”

You’d be stunned by your uncle’s casual racism if you weren’t used to it. So you sigh and rub the back of your head, “Alright. But when this goes terribly, I reserve the right to say, ‘I told you so’.”

“Ha! You won’t have to.” He claps your shoulder one more time, “Have fun!” And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with a man who, you’re sure, would sooner put a blade in your throat than anything else.

“Right, well...what should I call you?” You finally ask.

“CT-1409.”

“...right. I’m not calling you by a number.” You can’t help but wonder if the Republic ever gave him a name. It would be awful if they hadn’t.

You’re surprised when he looks surprised. What kind of awful stories must the Republic have spread about your people for him to be surprised at your statement?

“...My brothers call me Echo.”

“Echo,” You nod once, committing his name to memory. And then, almost carelessly, “Nice to meet you, Echo.” You absolutely need him to see you as a person, rather than a Separatist. Because if he wanted to hurt you, no one would come to save you.

He shoots you a look, “Where are my brothers?”

“No idea. But I can look into it if you want.” You turn and head deeper into your domain, “Follow me please, there are some safety things we need to cover.”

“Like what?” Echo sounds sarcastic, though he is following you, so you’ll accept the small win.

“Well, primarily, this facility is located deep underground. Most of the machines down here are dedicated to life support. If any of them stop working, we die before anyone even realizes that there’s something wrong.” You reply.

“It would take time to run out of air.” He argues back, logically.

You pause and look at him, “You misunderstand. If any of these machines break down, this entire facility will be filled with toxic gas. We’d be dead before we even knew what was happening.”

Echo stares at you, “What.” It doesn’t sound like a question.

“Toxic gas. Dead instantly. I’m not sure what wasn’t clear about that.”

“I’m more confused by the fact that this sounds like a prison rather than a place spies hang out.”

Well. He’s not wrong.

You shrug but continue, “We have a small army of maintenance droids whose sole function is to keep the machines working. Please don’t mess with the droids.”

“Noted.” He follows you further into the facility and then stops, “Aside from the droids, I haven’t seen any other people.”

“Yeah, well. That’s because there aren’t.”

“So, what,” Wow, his sarcasm could be used as a weapon with how skillfully he wields it, “You work alone in intelligence?”

You shake your head, “There are plenty of people who work in intelligence, but I’m the only one who works here. I’m the best analyst that Serrano has.”

“So you work alone.”

“Well, it’s not like I can leave, now is it?” You start walking again, “Keep up, Echo.”

He falls into step next to you, though he doesn’t say anything as you show him around the facility. It’s not large, all things considered.

The majority of the space is filled with all of the machines and computers needed to run the life support. Your working area is a decently sized room that could probably fit ten people comfortably, for all that you use it alone.

The living space, though, is much more homey.

“So, this is where we sleep. And eat.” you pause, “And basically do everything that isn’t work.”

It’s not tiny. There are two distinct bedrooms, on opposite sides of the living room, and each bedroom has a fresher attached to it. The kitchen is decently sized and has all of the appliances that you might need to survive.

“My room is the one closest to the door,” You motion to the door, and then you motion to the other one, “That one’s been empty since I was moved in, but I air it out and clean it weekly so you don’t have to worry about dust or mold.”

“Moved in—”

“Sorry?”

Echo glances at you, “You said you were moved in, not that you moved in.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, taking your time to consider your words carefully, “Once, there was a group of people who felt, strongly, that the way that Dooku was doing things was not beneficial to Serrano as a whole.” You finally say, “Unfortunately, being a former Jedi is like having a cheat code for life, so—”

“So this is actually a prison then.”

You smile bitterly and hold your hands to the side, “And we both have life sentences.”

Something softens in his hard gaze, “I’m sorry.”

You shrug, “Don’t be. I made my choice, and I made it knowing what the consequences might be.”

“Brave.”

You laugh, “Well, you’d be the only one who thinks that.” You head into your kitchen and wave your hand over the holo-computer to wake it up from its sleep, “Anyway, this is where we order food, clothes, and personal things that we might need.” You explain, “Orders need to be submitted by 6 pm on the last day of the work week, and everything we order will be delivered by noon the next day.”

You move one of the holograms, showing a half-formed grocery list.

“And it’s delivered accurately?”

“Yep. If we can’t get a specific item, a message will arrive to my personal comm.” You explain, “I’ll add you to the contact list so you can get those comms too.” You fold your arms, “What else—”

Echo leans in and adds a couple of food items to the list, looking impressed when the list shifts and adjusts itself so it remains sorted logically.

“Ah! Laundry!” You walk over to a sliding wood door and pull it open, “Washer, dryer,” You point to each object individually, “We’ll probably want to work out a chore schedule, but I don’t have a problem doing all of the laundry.” You point to three baskets, “Darks, lights, towels. Our dryer isn’t the best, so towels need to be dried on their own or nothing will get dry.”

Echo stares at you, and then his gaze slides around the room. “How long have you been down here?” He finally asks.

“I was thrown down here 6 months after the war started.” You reply honestly.

Echo turns his gaze back to you, “You’ve been down here for almost two years? Alone?”

“Well, it’s not so bad.” You lie with a shrug, “Nothing was stopping me from enrolling in the local University so I got another degree. In Communications. And I learned how to cook.”

“You had to have been lonely though.”

“Well. Loneliness is relative. Better here than dead, right?”

“I guess.” Echo looks around for a moment, “You never tried to escape?”

“Yeah, I did mention the toxic gas, right? Kill us instantly?” You shrug, “Besides, where would I go? My uncle is the warden.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Anyway, you should probably go and put in an order for clothes and hygiene stuff. There’s enough clothes in storage that you’ll be fine for a bit, but they’re old.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” He murmurs.

“And you wanted me to look in on your brothers, right? Got any names?”

“My twin brother, Fives. And a couple of others. Jesse, Rex, Kix—”

You pass him a pad of paper and pen, “Here, write them down. And I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank me after I find you answers, and not a moment sooner.” You flash a small smile at him and then turn to head back to the storage room. Echo needs the spare clothes from previous prisoners, and he’s going to need time to write down names.

Still, it is nice to have someone to talk to after all these years.

You hope that he warms up to you eventually. Or this is going to be a very long life sentence.

Eight months into his life sentence, Echo has to admit that it’s not terrible.

Oh, it’s not great by any definition of the word either. But it could be worse.

His cellmate is a stellar chef, a talent created through years of experimentation. Not to mention she’s quick-witted and clever, able to exchange quips and barbs with him without stumbling over her tongue.

She does talk a lot, though. Non-stop, almost. 

He’s not dumb, he knows that it’s a habit that she developed over two years of isolation to keep herself sane. Honestly, she talks almost as much as Fives does. Luckily, he’s used to that.

And, begrudgingly, he likes her. Likes her enough that he gives her a nickname, Firefly.

Likes her enough that, four months ago, his plans for an escape morphed into plans for the both of them to escape. He just has to work out a couple of bugs. 

Like how to keep them from dying when the poison gas fills the prison to kill them.

He frowns at the pad of paper, absently tapping his pencil against the diagram that he’s painstakingly mapped out. Echo never uses a datapad, if he can help it.

Fortunately, firefly keeps a bunch of notebooks on hand, and she doesn’t question him when he asks her to destroy a sheet of paper…or twenty.

“Whatcha working on?”

Echo glances up at her, “You really want to know?”

“Well, yeah.” She waves her pen at him, “You’ve been working on… whatever it is for the last eight months, and I’m curious.”

Echo leans back, “It’s an escape plan.”

“You’d leave me?” She asks immediately.

Echo rolls his eyes, “And escape plan for the both of us.”

Surprise flashes across her face, “You’d take me with you?”

“Would you prefer that I left you behind?”

“Ah, no.” She grins at him, “Honestly, I thought you hated me and were just being polite.”

Echo stares at her, “I gave you a nickname.” He says, exasperated.

“True, but as a friend or foe, you were very unclear.”

He laughs, “Who gives foe nicknames?”

“You clearly never met my friends.” She replies, “My bff had a nemesis who she called Furnace.”

“Do people have nemeses?”

“Uh, they do if they’re dramatic.”

He laughs again, “Well, I don’t do foe nicknames.”

She hops to her feet and crosses the living room to drop on the couch next to him and she flings her arms around his neck, “You loooove me~”

Echo presses his hand over her face and pushes her off of him, “Stop being silly.”

“Never.”

He rolls his eyes, “Anyway, this is what I have, but I’m stuck on how to deal with the poison gas.”

She ducks under his hand and leans against his shoulder, scanning the map. A thoughtful escapes her, and then she taps a spot on the map, “The Maintenence tunnels.”

“No, I considered that. They get too hot for a human to survive.”

“Yes, they do.” She agrees, “But if we alter a maintenance droid, the maintenance tunnels will stay cool enough for someone to survive the tunnel.”

“But the poison gas—”

“Is light.”

“Sorry?”

“The gas is very toxic, but it’s also a very light gas. It rises.”

“So, if we’re already in the maintenance tunnels—”

“And the temperature is high enough to hide our heat signatures—”

“Then by the time the gas fills the entire prison, we’ll already be gone.” Echo finishes, and then he pauses, “I thought you never tried to escape?”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t make plans. Hundreds of plans, each more impossible than the last.”

“Why didn’t you try to escape?”

“Escaping the prison is the easy part, Echo. Where would I go? I was a Separatist, the Republic never would have taken me in. It was just safer to stay here.”

“And now?”

“The Republic is no more, and the average person is finally starting to take off their rose-color glasses.” She shrugs, “We might actually be able to steal a ship.”

“Steal, huh?”

“Yeah, well. No one is going to just give us a ship, Echo.”

He laughs softly, “You ever hotwire a ship before?”

“You haven’t?”

“Oh? Where does a nice girl like you learn how to hotwire vehicles?”

“I had a very formative childhood.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Echo leans in so that his face is only an inch away from hers. “You know, I changed my mind. Maybe I do love you.”

“You only love my ideas.”

“Your body isn’t that bad.”

“Rude!”

His grin widens, “So, when can we make this happen?”

“Mm…a week? Maybe two.”

“That soon, huh?”

“That soon.” She agrees.

They fall into a comfortable silence, and then Echo smirks, “So, how do we keep them from getting suspicious?”

“Well, we have to act normal.”

“And when we start spending all of our time together?”

“I dunno, I’m sure we can come up with something.” She says with a sigh.

A slow smirk crosses his face, “I think I have an idea.”

“Oh? Wha—” She squeaks when his lips land against hers, coaxing her into a deep kiss. His tongue slides against her lower lip, as he presses her back so that she’s half lying under him.

“Like that.” Echo breathes out as he supports his weight over her.

She blinks at him, wide-eyed, and deeply flustered, “Yeah. That’ll work.”

“Great, I’ll move into your room, cyare.”

“Um…okay. But the beds aren’t that big.”

Echo leans in and kisses the tip of her nose, “You let me worry about that.”

“And later? When we’re free from Serrano?”

“We stick together. After all, I can’t just abandon my girlfriend, right?”

“Girlfriend?” She asks softly.

“Girlfriend.” Echo agrees, “Unless you’d rather not?”

“Well, I’m not opposed.”

He grins at her, wide and boyish before he leans in and kisses her one more time, “Alright. I need to move my bed into your room. Wanna help?”

“I suppose I’d better.”

Echo rolls off of her, and offers her his hands to pull her to her feet. Fives is going to find this hilarious. He goes to prison and comes out on the other side with a girlfriend.

[bonny-kookoo]

Hi Ms Bonny

So I remembered you said no one sends asks for the ilysib couple anymore, and I just had this idea last night but didn't have the energy to pick up my phone again💀

Okay so, basically kookie shaves his head right, maybe for the weather or his hair was damaged or I don't know really I'll need your creative mind for that part👀 and he becomes a little self conscious and oc comforts him by saying he's still😋 and he doesn't believe her. So she takes him out on a date and like before, everyone is looking at him and basically building his confidence back up.

PS I really hope you get this ask because I've sent some for this couple before and it was never answered

Tumblr sometimes eats asks, I'm so sorry :(

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──💜── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

He's avoiding you- and that's just so not your Jungkookie.

You thought everything was going well between the two of you- but apparently something must've happened to make him so withdrawn again, refusing to see you, refusing to meet up, refusing to show himself. You're not sure what's wrong-

But you're about to find out.

"You know, I'll just camp outside then, I don't care!" You threaten, sitting in front of his apartment door, stubborn as ever- when his voice is finally heard.

"You'll laugh." He whines, before you can hear something slide along the door before it falls to the floor with a thud- he's probably sat down on the other side of the door. "You'll.. I look stupid." He says.

"Did you dye your hair or something?" You ask, and he's quiet, making you angry. "Jeon Jungkook you could've buzzed it all off and well full on Vin Diesel on me what do I care! Are you serious right now?!" You get up to knock on the door and right his doorbell again. "Open that goddam door, I'm worried about you, nerd!" You cry out again, even stomping your leg in anger.

"No, I'm.. I'm fine. Just.." he stumbles over the words, clearly panicking.

"I'm sorry." You say, and it's quiet. "I.. I'm sorry if my constant joking has gone too far at some point, if I made you feel like.. self conscious or something, I swear I never wanted to do that." You confess, feeling terrible. This must be your doing, right? It has to be your fault. Because you're insensitive as fuck, and you can't read a room, and you got way too comfortable with him and-

The door opens. He stands in front of you, beanie on his head.

"Its.. it's not your fault." He tells you. "You didn't do anything." Jungkook mumbles, and you can't help yourself.

You basically tackle the poor guy, door falling out of his grip and closing behind you, making you successfully infiltrate his home. He holds you because he's missed you too- he hates the fact that he couldn't have you this close for days by now, no physical contact with you whatsoever, no visual sight of you. It felt like torture-

But he just feels like he can't face you.

"Why are you doing this?" You whine, tears clear in your eyes, making your eyelashes already heavy with them. You're not even wearing makeup today, he notices. This must've really gotten to you.

You're still so pretty.

"What happened?" You worry, and he begins to bite his lips, a nasty habit he has whenever he's nervous. "Jungkook.." you say his full name, no variation of it, no silly petname.

He knows it's serious.

"I.. look stupid." He confesses. "I.. had an accident, a few days ago, in the bathroom." He sighs, sitting down on his couch with you, while you listen. "I slipped when I stepped out the shower, and hit.. my head on the edge of one of the cabinets.."

"Oh Jungkookie-" you whine.

"And- and they had to like.. cause my hair was so long they couldn't stitch it without, you know, shaving it, and it looked dumb when I came home so I thought might as well buzz it all off-"

You're quiet, staring at him.

"Are you okay now?" You ask, oddly serious.

"Yeah, they kept me overnight to make sure I was fine-" he answers, before you shove him, hard, angry.

"You stupid idiot!" You scold. "You're so dumb! What the fuck?!" You complain, angry tears in your eyes. "What the hell do I care about your hair?! You could've died or something, and all you thought about was how you could look to me? Am I that shallow to you?" You ask him, and he shakes his head.

He deserves this. You're right.

"No.." he denies, taking the scolding like a dog that's being told off. "No you're not. I just.. felt weird. Like I'm not.. fit for you anymore. You should have a nice looking boyfriend and all that, and you always said how you love my hair-"

"I love you most!" You whine, leaning forward to climb on his lap, and cling to him. "I love you, not your body. That's just.. that's just the only thing I can touch, so I want you to take care of it.." you explain into his chest. "..so it'll be here for as long as possible.. until we're all wrinkly and old.."

"Oh." He hums, realizing what you mean.

He's never thought about it that way. But you're right- he doesn't love your body first and foremost either, but you- your personality, your soul, your mind. Your body is simply the vessel you live in, and he'd want you to keep it up and running for as long as he's alive too.

"I'm sorry." He confesses. "I'll never do that again."

"I sure dare you to, I swear I'm gonna break in next time!" You threaten, letting him dry your tears before your hands reach for his beanie. "..can I see it?" You wonder, and he looks down, shrugging.

"I guess." He confirms.

The moment you skip his hat off, you search for something- finding the small stitched wound near the tip of his ear, making you immediately coo at it, fingers carefully touching it. "Does it still hurt?" You wonder- and he shakes his head.

"Just a little, if I lay on it or something." He admits.

"Oh my baby-" You whine, before you rub his head. "This feels weird though. How is it still soft?" You wonder, taking the pressure away from the situation, making him laugh. "And you honestly rock this look. Now you really do look like a guy who can throw a punch."

"..I can and will, for you." He mumbles, making you laugh again.

"Heh, and I lo~ove you for it!" You sing a little, kissing his nose before you kiss his lips a couple of times, cheeks held in your hands.

And he can't believe he's been living without this for just a week.

He never wants to miss you ever again.

[yelenasdiary]

Platonic idea! Nat meets reader (female) undercover while on a mission. Maybe R’s a waitress trying to make ends meet for her kids, while Nat frequents the restaurant for her mission as that’s where she meets her target. They develop a friendship, but R doesn’t know nats true identity. One day, shit hits the fan w the mission and R is caught in the crosshairs. Suddenly her “friend” is in a fight with random people. But Nat makes sure to protect R. When it’s all done, Nat explains herself and her true identity. Bonus points if she helps R w her financial situation. Thanks!

You're Too Nice!

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Single Mom! Reader (Platonic)

Summary: With struggling to make ends meet with your current job, you were surprised when a guest tips you every time she comes to eat, leading to an unexpected friendship.  

Comfort? | Slight Angst | Mentions of Blood | Gun Violence | Reader has 2 children | Held Hostage | 2K |

AC: Thank you for sending this!! I miss platonic Nat!! I hope you enjoy this x

"What can I get you today, Nat?" you smiled softly at the red head as you came up to her table. The new guest now eats regularly at the restaurant you worked at. She told you she'd just moved to town and was a terrible cook and enjoyed the food here. Although, this place wasn't a place you thought somebody could afford to eat at almost every night for dinner, but it was clear that Natasha had money, with every tip she left you was bigger than the last. 

"I think I'll have the rib-eye steak tonight" Natasha looked up with a smile.

"Good choice, would you like a wine to go with it?" you asked, dotting down her order. 

"Sure, what not. Surprise me, I trust you have good taste" she replied.  

"I'll be right back" you gave the redhead a light nod before walking over to the bar and getting your co-worker to find the best wine that would go down with her order. "What's her deal? She eats here every night" the bartender asked. 

"She just moved here and enjoys the food" 

"Ha! I wonder how long it'll take until she gets bored of this place" your co-worker poured a glass of wine before handing it too you, "I don't know, she seems different" you took the glass and made your walk back to Natasha. 

"Here's your wine, your food shouldn't be too far away" you smiled once more, placing the glass on the table. "Thank you" Natasha smiled but her eyes stayed glued to the table of gentlemen a few tables away. A group of 17 men all in suits, laughing over poorly made jokes as they sipped on their beers, whisky. You tried to work out, slyly, which gentleman she was so intrigued by, but you noticed she wasn't just watching one, but all. 

"If those gentlemen are too loud, I'd be happy to move you to another table" 

Natasha looked up at you then back at the table of gentlemen, "no it's okay. I was just wondering what they were laughing at" she replied, brushing off your offer. "My mistake, I'll be back with your order shortly" 

That you did, you placed her order on the table and told her to enjoy and that if she needed anything just to holla. You waited on other guests while Natasha sat by herself, eating her dinner and sipping her wine. By the end of the night, Natasha along with the table of gentlemen and a few others, were the only ones left. 

Natasha waved you down and asked for the check as she got out her purse. You returned to her table not long after, placing the check on the table. "I hope you enjoyed your meal tonight" you smiled. 

"It was lovely, and the wine went down just as well, I knew I could trust you with" Natasha replied, placing $300 on the table. "Oh, please. this is too much!" You looked to her, she was tipping you $150 for your service. "Please, take it. You deserve it. I've seen how hard you work and how little you get. Also, it seems you need to get home to your child or children so you're not paying the babysitter too much, right?" she explained to your surprise.

You nodded, "How'd you know?" you asked. 

"You keep checking your watch and the butterfly sticker on your name badge gave it away. How old?" 

You totally forgot that your 4-year-old daughter had placed a blue colored butterfly sticker on your nametag before your shift started. Money is tight and you try your best to not work late as the babysitter charges by the hour, on some occasions when you knew work was going to be busy around the holidays, you'd ask her for a flat rate which she was kind enough to set a price but you always felt bad that you were taking from her rather than giving. 

"My daughter is 4 and my son is 6" you answered the redhead with an almost embarrassed look. 

"They sound lovely" Natasha smiled, handing the check back to you, "If you're working tomorrow night, I'll see you then" she added before standing up from her seat.

----

It's been a few weeks since you told Natasha about your children and since she was new to town you offered to show her around on your day off. Quickly, the two of you formed a friendship that honestly surprised you. Going from waiting on her whenever you had a shift to now sitting in a park drinking a hot coffee while your children played. 

"What made you move here?" you asked, dying to know. 

"I heard it was peaceful and I need peaceful in my life right now. Besides, the café near my apartment makes great muffins" she replied before taking a sip of her coffee. 

"I've got to ask, do you not know how to cook?" 

Natasha laughed, "I guess you can't count making peanut butter sandwiches cooking, can you?" 

You shook your head, "not, that's barely a meal!" You chuckled, "Look, I love cooking. I'd be happy to cook a little extra and drop it off to you. It'll save you from having to come to the restaurant every night, which now sounds really bad like I'm trying to drive you away from us" you offered before blabbering on. 

"I don't mind it; in fact, I enjoy it. The service is really good" Natasha replied with a chuckle. 

"Maybe you should get a job there, you've seen pretty much how it works and what we do, how we do it. If you're looking, I can talk to the manger" you offered before taking another sip of your coffee. 

"You're too nice, did you know that?" Natasha turned to you, "is that a bad thing?" you questioned. 

"It can be. Some people might take that for granted" 

"The world is already full of crappy people doing crappy things, there needs to be more people doing kind things" you explained, making Natasha chuckle at your choice of words. "Crappy things?" she questioned with a raised brow. 

"Sorry, I try to reframe from swearing. I don't want my kids to swearing just yet" you explained.

 Natasha nodded, "So if you think that there needs to be more people doing kind things, why do you try to refuse to take my tips every night?" 

She had you there. 

"W..I..well, I am very grateful for your tips but I feel bad for taking them. I give you the same service I give any other guest an- "

"and they don't see how wonderful your service. Lets make a deal, I'll let you drop off some food if you take my tips without trying to get me to stop, deal?" She interrupted you. Again, she had you. 

"Fine, deal" you playful shook your head. 

----

The night started off normal as usual, except Natasha hadn't come in. A table of 3 gentleman in suits waited patiently for a fourth member and none of them seemed happy to be there. But regardless of their rudeness towards you, you gave them your best service and did your best to make sure they would leave without complaints.

"That wasn't the deal!" one man shouted as you quietly came up to their table, placing their second round of drinks on the table. "I don't care if you don't think it was the deal, it's the deal now!" another snapped. 

"That's it!" the first man replied with anger before standing from his chair. 

"Sit down! Don't make a scene" the other muttered, "I'm sorry miss, somebody has had one too many drinks tonight" He looked at you with an apologetic smile. Before you knew it, your life flashed before your eyes as the angry man wrapped on arm around your neck, trapping you in a headlock while having a gun pointed to your left temple. 

You instantly dropped your notepad and pen in shock. Other guests took cover under the tables while staff called 9-1-1. 

"Let her go, idiot! You're over reacting" one of the gentlemen spoke. 

"We had a fucking deal! If you do this, my entire business will go under and I won't let you do that to me! Not again!" your attacked spat back, pressing his gun harder against your temple. 

"P-please, let me g-go" you sobbed, tears rolling down your cheeks. All you could think about were your children and how badly you just wanted to get home to them. "Shut up! And as for you bastards, if you do this, I will make sure the entire world know what you plan to do!" 

"Damn, looks like you guys beat me to the fun" a familiar voice caught your attention, Natasha. "Who the fuck are you?" Your attacker turned you both slightly to face her. "How about you let her go and I'll show you who I am?" Natasha replied with a light smirk, her own weapon pointed at the man holding you tightly in his hold. 

 The man pushed you to the floor and quickly fired his gun at Natasha, missing her as she took cover and taking him out with a clear shot between the eyes. The other man quickly jumped up from their seats with their own weapons pointed at the red head you considered a good friend. Meanwhile, you took cover under a table with other guests while the sounds of guns and bullets flew across the restaurant. 

Moments passed and you along with all the other guests were too shaken up to come out from under the tables as the restaurant grew with silence. Some guests began to emerge from the safety, "It's safe now everybody, you can come out" Natasha announced but still, you couldn't bring yourself to come out from under the table until Natasha came to you. 

"Are you okay?" she asked with worry in her eyes. 

"W-what, I m-mean who are you?" you asked, hesitant to take her hand. "How about we get you home and I'll explain everything" Natasha offered. You had no reason not to trust her, she did just save your life. So you took her hand and nodded softly, still in shock. 

----

"So you're an avenger? That explains why I've felt like I've seen you before" you looked up at Natasha she handed you a cup of tea, Nat chuckled, "I couldn't say anything. I was undercover and I'm so sorry you got in the middle of all that" she sat down beside you. 

"Hey, the way I see it, I now have a fun story to tell the kids later on when they're older" you chuckled, taking a sip of your drink. "I guess you'll be moving back to New York?" you asked, your eyes dropped to the mug in your hands. 

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we still can't be friends. I'll give you my number and we can catch up whenever. Besides, I think I'm going to really miss the food" Nat smiled softly. Making you playfully shake your head at the Avenger, "I should get going, I have to report back to my team but I'm going to write down my number and leave it on the fridge for you, okay?" she added. 

"Sure" you smiled, "thank you for the lift" you added. 

Natasha left, leaving her number stuck on your fridge for you to put in your phone later on. You placed your now empty mug in the sink for tomorrow's problem when you noticed a small bag on the countertop, you did recognize it and assumed that Natasha had left it behind, so you called her. 

"Hey Nat, it's Y/n. You left a bag in my kitchen" you spoke when she answered the phone. 

"Open it, it's yours" Natasha replied, "I'm going to hang up before you can say anything about it" she chuckled before she hung up. Slowly you unzipped the bag to be greeted with a sight of cash, more than enough to help you get on top of rent for months to come with a little left over to buy general things for your kids. On top of the cash was a note;

"Just a kind person doing a kind thing, don't think too much about it. Thank you for your lovely service, I'll see you again soon. 

 ~ Nat x"

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[reaper2187]

Navia x female reader

The wind in Fontaine always carried a distinct scent, a blend of the salty sea and the fragrance of blooming wildflowers that bordered the cliffs. Y/N loved it here; the peaceful atmosphere made it easy to forget the worries of the world. However, today, her heart was racing, not because of the idyllic surroundings, but due to her companion, Navia.

Navia, the ever-enthusiastic and kind-hearted girl, had invited Y/N to explore a hidden cove she'd discovered recently. As they walked side by side, Navia's golden hair shimmered in the sunlight, matching the glint of excitement in her eyes. Y/N found herself stealing glances at her, unable to resist the allure of Navia’s vibrant energy.

"So, what do you think?" Navia asked, her voice filled with eagerness. "Isn't this place just magical?"

Y/N smiled, nodding. "It's beautiful, Navia. I can see why you love it here."

They arrived at the entrance of the cove, a narrow path that led down to the secluded beach. Navia went ahead, her steps confident and sure. Y/N followed, a bit more cautiously, but with no less enthusiasm. The path was steep, but Navia's presence made Y/N feel safe.

As they reached the bottom, the sight that greeted them was breathtaking. The cove was a hidden paradise, with crystal-clear waters lapping gently at the sandy shore. Jagged rocks framed the small beach, and the sound of distant seagulls echoed softly.

Navia turned to Y/N, her face radiant with joy. "I knew you'd love it! It's our little secret spot now."

Y/N couldn't help but laugh. "Our secret spot, huh? I like the sound of that."

They spent the next hour exploring, collecting seashells and skipping stones across the water. Navia’s laughter was infectious, and Y/N found herself grinning ear to ear. Every now and then, their hands would brush against each other as they bent down to pick up a particularly interesting shell or when they stood close to the water’s edge, gazing at the horizon.

Eventually, they settled on a flat rock overlooking the sea. Navia sighed contentedly, leaning back on her hands. "I could stay here forever," she murmured.

Y/N sat beside her, feeling a sudden surge of courage. "Navia, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Navia turned her head, her eyes locking onto Y/N's. "What is it, Y/N?"

Taking a deep breath, Y/N decided to take the plunge. "I really enjoy spending time with you. You make everything feel so special and exciting. I… I think I've developed feelings for you."

Navia's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, Y/N feared she had made a terrible mistake. But then, Navia's expression softened, and a warm smile spread across her face. "Y/N, I’ve been feeling the same way. I was just too afraid to say anything. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship."

Y/N's heart soared at Navia's words. "Really? You mean it?"

Navia nodded, reaching out to take Y/N's hand in hers. "Of course, I do. You’re amazing, Y/N. Being with you makes me so happy."

Y/N felt tears of relief and joy welling up in her eyes. "Navia…"

Navia squeezed her hand gently. "No more words, Y/N. Just this moment."

They sat in silence for a while, simply holding hands and watching the waves. The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the water. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

As the first stars appeared in the sky, Navia turned to Y/N, her expression thoughtful. "We should probably head back before it gets too dark."

Y/N nodded, but neither of them made a move to get up. They were too wrapped up in each other's presence, savoring the newfound closeness.

Eventually, they reluctantly stood and began the climb back up the path. The journey seemed shorter this time, their hearts lighter and their spirits buoyed by their shared feelings. When they reached the top, the moon was already shining brightly, casting a silvery light over the landscape.

Navia walked Y/N back to her home, their hands still intertwined. When they reached Y/N's door, they paused, reluctant to part ways.

"Thank you for today, Navia," Y/N said softly. "It was wonderful."

Navia smiled, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "Thank you, Y/N. For everything."

There was a brief, charged moment of silence before Navia leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's cheek. Y/N's breath hitched, her heart skipping a beat.

"Goodnight, Y/N," Navia whispered, her lips lingering close to Y/N's skin.

"Goodnight, Navia," Y/N replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Navia turned and walked away, glancing back once with a smile that made Y/N's heart flutter. Y/N watched her go, her hand touching the spot where Navia's lips had brushed her cheek. She felt a warmth there that seemed to radiate through her entire being.

As she stepped inside, Y/N knew that her life had just changed in the most beautiful way. She had found something special with Navia, something she hoped would grow into a love as deep and boundless as the ocean they had shared today.

[warping-realities]

Dalton Academy - Hedonistic Behavior

That had been a strange day for Jaime.

Things looked messed up. He knew he still hadn't made friends at school but at the same time there was that feeling that it shouldn't be like this, that something was wrong. He passed a few people in the hall that he could have sworn he knew better, Jonathan Roberts, Edward Chang... and seeing the two of them arguing in the cafeteria gave him a feeling of deep sadness that only increased when he saw the boy of Chinese origin sit at the table with Chadwick Hartfield and Michael Jones.

Michael Jones, here's another name that constantly came to his mind throughout the day, because every time he thought of that name, the figure of a thin black boy came to his mind.

Michael Jones was obviously black, but he was also huge and this contrasted terribly with Jaime's memory. And then there was the fact that he'd called for a Michael in his sleep if he could take Jacob’s word for it...

Damn Jacob and his inability to keep his mouth shut. Now the whole school was talking about his nightmare and some nasty coments greatly increased what happened, making that day even worse.

Stranger than everything is that when he looked in the mirror in the morning he could have sworn he had lost some weight. Nothing too big, but enough to make the uniform baggy in some places . He'd explained it away as a result of stress, but with an uneasy feeling.

Worst of all, he found himself answering things in class that he was sure he wasn't supposed to know, about economics and politics, and then found himself almost agreeing with a statement Chadwick made.

And when this one along with Michael and Edward performed that idiotic burping demonstration at lunchtime he found himself laughing along.

As the afternoon progressed, it got worse, he found himself invaded by a mixture of tiredness and random flashes of alternating anger and satisfaction, totally out of his control. What was making him question his own sanity. Until finally the most violent wave of tiredness he had felt until then forced him to sit in his bed, untill he fall asleep.

....

He was again in the clearing in front of the cave. This time with no sign of the pups or the wolf, the wind was also calm, bringing with it the scent of sugar and cinnamon that he associated with his grandmother. But she didn't show up. Without any control on his part his legs kicked into motion, carrying him towards the gigantic, dark mouth of the cave. A feeling of dread inside him increased with each step, until the voice he associated with the scent whispered in his ear:

"...la fuerza de este lugar aumenta cada día mientras la tuya disminuye, hijo, sal de allí...

He crossed the threshold of the cave and found himself in the entrance hall of Dalton's central building, his feet carried him through corridors and staircases until he reached a huge door that opened as he approached, putting him in a room richly furnished. He continued walking until he reached a shelf, full of trophies, photos and clippings from newspapers and magazines, some dating back almost a century, all with reports on important and successful men. Right in the middle was a gilded plaque with a engraved phrase: "The Dalton's Crows, may their deeds endure through the ages." How pretentious... but it was then that he got a big fright.

"...no, Mike is doing the job. I know I should be there. Don't worry I'll be there for the finale, but I needed to talk to you.

Yes, I trust him completely, it's like you said it would be. Although you didn't warn me that the bond would affect me in other ways... I exhibited some unusual behavior today that concerned me and it could only have come from one of them.

Yes, I've seen your relationship with them all my life , I just thought it came about over time and not from some kind of magical bond. I understand. But even the minimum possible of them leaking into me is much more than I would like. After all, the reasons for they being chosen...

Standing by a window, looking towards the Dalton sports complex and talking on a cell phone was Chadwick Hartfield, dressed in gym clothes and fully engaged in conversation with the person on the phone.

"...the other reason for my contact. What kind of reactions can we expect in the Source?

I see. But from what Carmichael says he’s the most powerful in a long time, enough to guarantee our plans and Dalton’s stability for a long time, but if he's that strong...

I know he's untrained and vulnerable, but still...

Okay father, I just want to make sure everything goes according to plan, after all I'm the one who will have to deal with the results.

Yes, you're right, I should have complete confidence in our planning. And I do, I just want to know how it went with you, what happened to your Source?

Uncle Brent ?Really? Yes, it calms me down a lot."

That dream was even more bizarre than the last...

"...Chang is about to join us completely and the others will not be long in coming. Once the Source runs out of power he will join us of his own accord. And when that happens he will be unable to recognize himself." - Said Chadwick, seeming to look directly at where Jaime was.

However, before their eyes met the dream dissolved with that strong smell of cinnamon and Jaime woke up in his own bed, soaked in sweat, completely scared, but with the certainty that there was something very wrong with Dalton.

....

Jonathan knew that his life in Dalton would not be easy. But he wasn't the type to give up in the face of challenges, on the contrary, the bigger and more difficult the problem, the harder he dedicated himself to solving it. It was simply part of his nature. But if he was honest with himself maybe this time he had bitten off more than he could chew. On paper it hadn't been such a bad idea. After all, Dalton was the source of several successful men and having graduated there was the key to entering the best universities in the country. Of course, all these men were representatives of what he abhorred in society: power-hungry, concerned only with profits, capable of anything to ensure that his most sordid desires and pleasures were satisfied. But he'd justified it to himself and to his father that it was his chance to fight the system that created that kind of man from within. He knew the invitation could be a poison apple, but he had been willing to take the risk. Now as he walked into his dorm late at night, after being shooed out of the library the only place he liked in that prison he wondered if he couldn't talk to his father and ask him to get out of there, the only thing that stopped him from doing that was the shame of such an act. His dad has been through far worse than putting up with a bunch of snobs from a fancy school, what would he think of his son for dropping out so quickly? And he knew he wouldn't forgive himself for not trying harder. For not making those arrogant idiots even recognize their privilege. But try with whom? Certainly not with his roommate, who was currently sleeping indecently in the bed next to his. Eddie Chang was the epitome of everything that bothered him. He was cocky, aggressive, elitist, show off, and... very hot!

Obviously Robert wouldn't admit that to anyone. He wasn't ashamed of his sexuality, he had dated before, both men and women, he considered himself an open mind, but not so much to the point of being interested in someone like Chang and that was eating him up inside, because the problem was that despite out of all the denial this is exactly what was happening. But he was going to persevere and hope that his colleague never noticed. It was with that thought that he lay down on his bed, making a tremendous effort to look in the opposite direction. If he had given in to temptation he could have seen the other boy staring at him with eyes that glittered with mischief and a smug smile.

…..

Jonathan woke up feeling a very characteristic smell in the bedroom.

"What the fuck! Are you smoking weed, Chang?"

"Want a toke, Roberts?"

"What are you thinking? What if someone from management smells it?"

"Easy Roberts. I thought you, with all your 'think green' and 'no global warming' crap, would be a pot lover."

"I...I support medicinal use and..."

"Are you kidding me? You never smoked a joint? What did you and your liberal friends do for fun?"

"My friends used it, but I never wanted”

"Why not, man? There's nothing better for relaxing."

"I don't like feeling out of control."

"No kidding... I didn't even notice that you walk around looking like you have a stick up your ass..."

"Shut up and put out that damn joint."

"Fine, killjoy. But I tell you what, one of these days you're going to explode if you don't relax a little." - Edward replied leaving the half-smoked joint and the lighter on top of the bedside table and then getting up from the bed and taking off his underwear. Thus exposing all of his glory for Jonathan to admire, that is if he hadn't looked away.- "Dibs on the shower man."- Edward said as he walked, his cock swinging happily, making Jonathan look away again, this time towards the lighter, the joint and a huge sweaty underwear.

....

"So how's the situation?" Did he take the bait?"

"Which one?"

"Answer the question, Chang!"

It was mid-morning on Saturday and the boys didn't have school that day. The Crows were gathered at that moment in the headquarters, sharing some of the worldly pleasures that eighteen-year-olds weren't supposed to enjoy, but when you had the money, the right connections, and the right location, anything was possible.

"Not yet, but you were right Hartfield, he doesn't take his eyes off me when he thinks I'm not looking."

"And you have a problem with that?"

"Why would I? A hole is a hole. Don't get me wrong, one day I'm going to marry a beautiful woman who will raise my children and ensure my lineage continues. But until then, there's nothing wrong with having a little fun. And given the lack de of options for the opposite sex in Dalton... Roberts wouldn't be my first choice, but if what you say is true things might get more interesting."

"Things are going to get interesting I can assure you. But for that he needs to make the first move and soon. Dalton is sucking the Source right now and I need to secure Roberts and Miller on our side before Sanchez succumbs."- Chad admonished.

"I don't understand why Jones doesn't work with Miller while I take care of Roberts."

"I asked the same question bro. But apparently there's a sequence to follow according to the plan and..." - Started Mike

"....we shouldn't leave the plan." - Completed Eddie.

"Listen here you idiots, things have worked like this in Dalton for nearly a century and they continue to work for good reason. What we're doing here will secure our future. So make sure he takes the bait."

"Don't worry, Chad. He will, every one of them. And I'll be there to see it through."

….

Jonathan was sitting in the stands at Dalton Stadium watching with little interest the game unfolding in front of him. Surely he'd rather be doing something else right now, but when the closest thing to friends you had decided that chasing a ball was the best thing to do on a Saturday morning... The Miller twins weren't the kind of friend he would have at his old school. Coming from a small town in the countryside, they weren't quite rednecks, but by a slim margin. Thanks to their father, who despite working in the slaughter of animals wanted something better for his children and insisted that they receive a good education. They still had that country boy look and a strong south accent. But they were ordinary people, real people, that Jonathan could relate to... or so he thought. The truth is that it was difficult because they didn't have many interests in common. The situation with the third member of the small group was also not the best. Leonardo Reis was the son of Brazilian diplomats, what could have brought the two together, but Leonardo refused to discuss politics with him and only after much insistence he found out why, his coleague vehemently disapproved of some of the US foreign policies. Criticizing what he called the "cultural imposition" that the country took to other countries, including his. Jonathan wasn't oblivious to what his colleague said, but he was still a patriot and when he tried to talk about the good things America did for the world...

"The whole continent is America, Roberts. When you were interested it was America for Americans. All Americans. When interest diminished the size of America diminished with it, and so did the definition of American, didn't it?"

It had hit Jonathan like a blow. And after that moment he avoided having political discussions with Reis, but that left them without many subjects in common. The closest they came to saying anything interesting was when they talked about the Miller brothers at breakfast that morning before their arrival. After all they were the perfect picture of the ignorant American which apparently should irritate him far more than a potential ally like Jonathan.

"I understand you find my friendship with them weird, but I don't discuss politics with them, there's no reason for that, I know they are ignorant, but in addition they are good people, sincere and humble, without a trace of vanit. So, the blame for their ignorance lies with the politicians who want them to stay that way."

Ouch, that had been another blow, apparently the stereotype that Brazilians were a friendly people did not extend to children of diplomats. Leonardo's abrasiveness prevented Jonathan from taking the discussions further. Although he had been irritated to the point of asking why his colleague didn't do anything to try to modify his friends' ignorance and thus discovered the difference between the two:

"Roberts, they're the only friends I've made in this damn place and unlike you I'm not on a crusade, I don't want to be a politician and I only replied to you so you can stop bugging me. I really don’t care. So if the Millers want to shout to the winds about the wonders of the USA for me that's fine. As long as I can still discuss sports with them and play ball on the weekends maybe I can make it through the year without going crazy. And maybe you should do the same and stop trying to preach to a people you won't convert. Save your energy for when you get out of here , until then try to relax a little before you explode."

That speech kept reverberating in his head, Chang had used the exact same expression that morning. Not that he would listen to anything someone like Edward had to say, but Reis was different. Was he right? Was it better for him to keep quiet and stoically endure the year to end? It was so contrary to him that it seemed to deny nature itself. But it was being difficult, very difficult. He thought as he watched the Miller brothers run around with not a care in the world but to enjoy themselves.

And so he made a decision.

….

Jaime woke up that morning feeling again that he hadn't slept enough. But this time he knew why. His grandmother had tried to warn him twice. He should have listened the first time and gotten the hell out of there. His grandmother was special, she had been known as a healer in the small town where she lived in Mexico before the family immigrated to the United States and even there, people in the community who could not afford medical care often sought her out. Some others, mean ones, called her Bruja behind her back, which infuriated him when he was little. But she just laughed at Jaime's indignation and told him that was exactly what she was. After his grandmother's death he never thought about those conversations again, until now.

He thought about when he got out of bed and took off his pajamas that for some reason looked like they were made for someone much bigger than him. Which he didn't pay much attention to, with the flow of ideas of how to get out Dalton occupying all his thoughts until he was paralyzed when he saw his own image in the bathroom mirror. There was something wrong, he was absolutely sure of it, but he couldn't say what it was.

The image reflected was that of an eighteen-year-old boy of Mexican origin, fit and… handsome, very handsome. And that... that was who he'd always been. He thought giving himself an imaginary shake and going to shower. He had to get out of there, he would have plenty of time to admire himself in the mirror when he was away from this place.

….

Jonathan gave up feigning interest in the game and left the stadium, skirting it until he reached the woods that surrounded the entire property. He walked aimlessly until he found a clearing where he could sit. For the thousandth time since early morning he asked himself what the fuck he thought he was doing as he pulled a lighter and Edward's joint from his pants pocket.

Everything happened very quickly, while he heard the shower in the bathroom, he found himself strongly attracted by the three objects that his colleague had left behind. The desire to take Chang's underwear and smell them, to feel the pungent smell of his colleague was so strong that... without stopping to think he took the lighter and the joint, dressed quickly in the first clothes he could find and left the room running before the other boy got out of the shower.

After that, the day only got worse, from the altercation with Leonardo at breakfast to his inability to participate in the soccer game because his fear of running into Chang if he went to the dorm to change his clothes and ended up being interrogated about the whereabouts of his stuff. Just imagining his colleague's smug look... of course he could tell he had thrown that crap away which is exactly what he was supposed to do. But if he threw it away he couldn't use it. And that was the problem, he wanted. He wanted a lot. He had tried to tell himself no, that this was the result of Chang's teasing, or Leonardo's aggressive comment. But the truth is, he wanted it. It was ridiculous but apparently the school had beaten him in just two weeks. He thought what his father would say about that. Well... as far as he knew his dad had his fair share of drug experiences in his youth, although the general public didn't have a clue about that. Still, that wasn't him, he should fight that...

"... if you don't relax a little you're going to explode, Roberts..." - He heard himself say it out loud, while without even realizing it he lit the joint and slowly brought it to his mouth, his hand shaking. He hesitated for a final moment, closed his eyes and breathed in..."

...

"Let me get this straight Mr. Sanchez, you want to drop out of school? Right at the beginning of the semester."

"I haven't adapted sir, I really think it's better for me to go back home to my old school and maybe you'll find someone better to take my place."

"Someone better? Do you think so little of yourself and Dalton, Jaime?"

Principal Carmichael asked from behind his desk, giving Jaime a look between disappointed and challenging.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you sir. But I really don't think I belong here."

"Did you even try to fit in Jaime?" - Retorted the director, seeming to know that all the boy didn't want was to fit in. - "I want you to put aside my disappointment, although you are right to believe that you have let me down. For I see great potential in you boy, you remind me of many young men who passed through here." Continued the director with his first smile since Jaime entered the room. - "What I want you to worry about is the disappointment you'll cause your parents. I was the one who talked them over Jaime, remember that. The pride in their eyes... are you prepared to see disappointment instead? Without even have tried?"

The bastard was good at manipulation, Jaime thought. And the worst part is that he wasn't mistaken, Jaime's parents were going to be really disappointed. And that was really crazy, wasn't it? Give up a place at a school like Dalton because of some weird dreams? It was insane and... a gust of wind came in through the open window of the principal's office, carrying a scent of sugar and cinnamon.

"They will understand sir." - Jaime persevered, even as he saw the headmaster's brow tighten into a frown. Making the boy shrink in the chair waiting for the explosion that ended up not happening. Carmichael got up and went to the window and closed it, before turning to Jaime with a wide smile on his face.

"All right, Mr. Sanchez, if that is indeed your wish I won't hold you."

"Thank you sir." - Jaime said getting up and letting out a sigh of relief.

"Submit a formal notice of termination on monday when the school is open for business so that the responsible sector can carry out the necessary formalities."

"What? What do you mean?"

"It's the weekend Jaime, most of our employees are at home."

"But...but could you..."

"Oh no, I'm afraid I can't. Here in Dalton all the things are done in the right way, Jaime. Which brings me to another matter. Those clothes of yours are awfully big, please find pieces that fit your size while you're staying here. Even if it's only for a few days. I’ll see you on Monday. I suggest you use this time to think and try to adapt, maybe by then you'll realize that Dalton is where you belong."

….

Jonathan seemed to float, at least that's what he thought, as he could barely feel his feet touching the ground, while the trees around him became an indistinct blur and then gave way to a lawn that resembled a giant tapestry. He didn't know if it was normal to feel that way when you were high and in reality he didn't care at all. He didn't care! And that was sensational. He walked through the school grounds as if he were gliding through a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations and joy, joy like he had never felt before. That walk took him to the edge of a court, where a bunch of young men were running after a ball. A few minutes ago he had found that kind of thing boring, but a few minutes ago he hadn't felt that joy. He sat on a bench and watched with a goofy smile onand all the attention span he could muster the ball passing from hand to hand.

If he hadn't been in that state maybe he would have realized that as he watched the boys they watched him too.

"Looks like Roberts has finally taken one of your baits." - Commented Chad to Eddie.

"I told you it was only a matter of time."

"Is he high?" - Mike asked laughing.

"Uhum, and that's strong, I don't know where you got it Hartfield, but a few puffs nearly knocked me over, at this point Roberts probably doesn't even know who he is."

"What is our goal isn't it?" - Mike commented.

"Yes, but I confess that I would rather he had taken my underwear. That way it would be over and I could have had my fun."

"Disgusting, Chang"

"Not everyone is a prude like you, Hartfield."

"I'm not prudish Chang, I'm just classy."

"All your class and no fun, brother."

"If you want to have fun so badly do your job with Roberts."

"With pleasure! Watch and learn, dickheads." - He said walking confidently towards Jonathan. Who in turn only noticed the giant approaching when he stopped before him obscuring the sunlight.

"Wow, man. You're huge."

"You can't imagine how much… So Roberts, I would never imagine a guy as correct as you taking other people's things..."

"Says the guy who stole my sneakers."

"Ah, so you noticed? But I'm not a correct guy Roberts, you've made that clear several times. So if you do what I do what does that make you?" - Eddie asked as he sat down next to Jonathan on the bench, his smile growing.

"I don't know man…leave me alone."

"Oh but I can't do that Johnny Boy..."

"Do not call me that."

"Why not? It's just a nickname, something between friends."

"Because I'm not like that surfer guy and and you're not my friend!"

"You hurt my feelings, I thought we were doing so well, sharing things like real friends do, no worries at all, no sir, no worries, just enjoying life, Johnny Boy."

"I told you I'm not like him!"

"Aren't you? Really? Aren't you high as a rocket? And you're not high because you stole your roommate's joint? Aren't those things he would do when he was your age?"

"I...I...no...I just wanted to..."

"What did you want? Come on, J.B. tell your friend Eddie." - Eddie said putting his arm around his colleague's shoulders. Making the smell of sweat mixed with expensive perfume hit Jonathan full force, overloading a brain already at the limit.

"You smell… good..."

"Not quite the answer I was hoping for but... I know, we'll get to that part soon J.B., but no skipping steps. Our another friend Chad doesn't like that at all."

"Chad is … a fucking …. asshole..."

"I know, I know, but so do I, and you're my friend, you're friends with a fucking asshole, so what does that make you?"

"I'm not... am I... am? I don't know..."

"Fuck man and you were supposed to be some kind of political genius. Either it was all bullshit or this weed is way more potent than I realized."

"Huh?"

"Nothing man, nothing. How about you let your friend Eddie help you? Because that's what friends do, isn't it?" - Eddie said, getting closer to his colleague and ensuring that he received another hit of his potent musk.

"Sure... that's what friends… do.”

"Great! And you know what else friends do J.B.? Have fun together! And that's what you want, isn't it, have fun. It's what you've always wanted and if you have to break some rules for that, that's fine."

"Ahn, no... rules are important, they are the... aaaa.... struc… structu… fuck… structure of society."

"True, but the rules don't have to apply the same way to everyone, do they? If you can twist them a little bit, like you did this morning, it's no big deal, is it? You didn't stop being a nice guy because of that. You just did what you needed to do to have a little fun. And society didn't fall apart. So we're going to agree on one thing, a promise between friends. Soon the weed effect will wear off and the fun will go away. But you don't want that, do you?"

"No…I want to…have fun!"

"Finally!"

"Huh?"

"Damn it, I'm already getting pissed at this slowness.... pay attention to your friend Eddie, J.B. Pay attention! You’re going to sleep soon and when you wake up you won't remember our little conversation. But you'll remember two very important and irrefutable truths about yourself, the first is that you want to have fun, feel good is the most important thing for you and you want your friends to have fun too, especially your best friend Eddie ."

"Eddie... friend... fun."

"That's right, J.B., we're almost there. And because you want your friend Eddie to have a good time in the next few hours you're going to do whatever he asks of you, prove whatever he offers you, believe whatever he tells you, even be whatever he wants you to be, do we have a deal?"

"....do we have a deal…?"

"Yes, we have. And we're going to enjoy every moment of it. Chad, Mike help me out here, he’s off. I've never seen weed do that man, are you sure we didn't fry his brains?"

"There's nothing different about the weed. It just opened a door. What you saw is the force of the contract in action. And that's not even going to be the most impressive part I can assure you."

"Well, then help me carry him, I can't wait to introduce you to my new friend, J.B." - Eddie replied with a smile that mirrored their own.

….

"I've put together a pile of materials on Dalton's history, Mr Sanchez. Unfortunately some of them have not yet been digitized and can only be seen here in the library as they date back to the beginning of the last century."

"No problem, ma'am. I don't mind, I can study here."

"Academic work?"

"No ma'am. Just personal interest."

"I am happy to see a student dedicating himself to researching the history of the place. Dalton has a rich and vast history."

"Well, I feel like if I don't find out I'm going to deeply regret it."

....

Jonathan woke up with the worst headache he had ever had. The simple act of opening his eyes was a huge effort. At least he was rewarded by a vision that was both wonderful and frightening.

"Good afternoon, sleepyhead"

"E-eddie?"

"J.B.” - Replied the colleague, smiling when called by his nickname.

"What happened, where are we?"

"You blacked out, man, in the middle of the schoolyard, so we had to bring you here." - Eddie explained, his smile even more pleased to see that J.B. had responded to the nickname without even realizing it.

"Thanks, man. But where exactly is here?"

"A place only a select few have ever set foot. Welcome to The Crow's Nest, J.B."

"What? Why would you bring me here?" - Jonathan asked indignantly.

"Don't be ungrateful J.B, you just look skinny, but you must have some muscle around, or those bones are made of lead. Carrying you around the whole school discreetly wasn't easy."- Commented a black boy sitting in front of a gigantic television and holding a video game controller.

"Do not call me like that."

"I thought that was your nickname"

"It's not…well it is in a way…but only Eddie calls me that and that's only because we're friends."

"Well then, next time you get wasted I'll drop you where you fall."

"Mike, leave the guy alone, he just woke up and he's never been through this before."

"Fine, but a thank you wasn't going to kill him."

"He's right, J.B."

"I didn't ask anyone to carry me, let alone this far."

"Apologize J.B. and stop being a pain in the ass, Mike is cool."

"Okay, thank you very much Michael for carrying me to an unknown place without my consent and I'm sorry if I got mad about it."

"J.B.!”

"Okay, okay. Thanks man."

"It's nothing J.B. - Mike replied smiling and staring at his colleague, who even started to form a sentence but stopped abruptly when he received a glare from Eddie.

"So where did Chad go? I hate playing alone. And I don't play with you anymore.”

"That's because you lost."

"No, it's because the time I won you almost broke the video game and my face."

"Fair enough. Chad went into town to get food. So why don't you ask J.B. to play with you?"

"I thank you again for the help and all…but I'm not hungry and I'd actually rather go back to the dorm."

"Liar." - Mike said still smiling.

"I beg your pardon..."

"Man, you smoked a joint potent enough to take you to the moon, you sure as hell want to eat a lot." - Mike retorted and suddenly Jonathan realized that that was true when he felt a gigantic hole in his belly that chose that moment to let out a very noticeable snoring.

"Told ya! Come on man, sit here, I won't bite you if you promise not to bite me, hungry boy." - Said Mike smiling, while Eddie stood up flexing his giant muscles.

"It'll be easier for you to get food from us than begging in the school kitchen, Chad should be here soon. So why don't you enjoy a little fun playing with Mike. In the meantime I'm going to take a shower, I stink. Chad will Kill me if he find’s me like this." - Said Eddie pulling an indignant Jonathan by the arms and placing him in the armchair next to Mike at the same hitting him with that pungent combination of sweat, expensive perfume and... hotness. Leaving him to such a stunned point that he only realized that Mike handed him a control and started the game when his colleague poked him.

"Pick one, J.B."

"Mortal Kombat, really?"

"Do you have a problem? We have other options, COD, Madden, Fifa and even some RPGs that maybe be more your thing. But sometimes all you need is to blow some heads with your bare hands. It's very useful with Eddie, he He's the type who'd love to blow some heads off in real life, so playing a game ends up being a safer option."

"Didn't you just say you didn't want to play with him anymore?Because he wanted to beat you up."

"Yeap, we're obligated to let him finish us in the game or he'll finish us in real life." - Mike said laughing.

"Classic Eddie." - Jonathan agreed, laughing along as he swiped through the game's fighter panel.

"But don't expect the same leniency Johnny B. I've been itching to crush someone for days. Chad just wants to play NBA, he's really obsessed with basketball, there's no way I can beat him even though I'm still better than him where it really matters, on the court. But when the new NBA comes out in a few day forget about your chance to play anything different for a long time J.B."

"You say it like you expect me to come back here." Commented Jonathan still looking for a fighter.

Why not? You're Eddie's friend, Eddie is our friend. It's natural that we spend more time together and even you have to admit that the Nest is fucking awesome.”

"Things aren't that simple, Mike." Jonthan answered still undecided about which fighter to choose.

"Of course they are, man. And you know what else is simple? Pick a fucking character." - Mike replied taking the control from Jonathan's hand and choosing for him.

"Hey! Not cool, man. Johnny Cage? You've gotta be kidding me."

"A Johny for a Johnny. See, simple. You gotta learn to relax man, I actually think you could learn a thing or two from that Johny." Said Mike pointing to the screen while returning the control to Jonathan.

"Like what? Being an arrogant asshole? That think he's a kind of God's gift to mankind?"

"What you call arrogance I call confidence. Wouldn't you like to be more confident?"

"I'm confident, man!" - Jonathan replie. His voice firmer, posture straighter, with a hintof smile that could be described as bordering on arrogance.

"Definitely you are, if you think you can beat me. But what your problem with Johnny Cage is?, If it's not about his confidence."

"The guy has no commitment, he's in a life or death situation and he still cracks jokes."

"He's a chill guy, better to laugh in the face of danger than to be terrified. And certainly better to chill out than spend all your time tense and worried about imaginary problems like you are." - Answered Mike while attacking with everything his colleague in the match.

"I don't get tense all the time, I can be chill." -Jonathan snapped, posture relaxing, legs spread and looking comfortable for the first time.

"Fine, you're confident and chill like him, so what's your problem with him?"

"The guy is an exhibitionist, bro"

"He's a movie star and has a badass body of course he's going to show off. If you had a body like his you'd show off too."

"I may not have a body like his, but I'm not that bad." - Answered Jonathan flexing muscles and taking his clothes to the limit.

"If this isn't showing off J.B...."

"Man, I might not be a monster like you guys, but I worked hard to get what I got, nothing fairer than showing off a little bit."

"Exactly like Johnny Cage."

"I know man, you chose well, he's my favorite character. So much so..."

"Finish Him - A well-known macabre voice echoed through the room shortly after J.B. performed a series of blows. But it didn't stop there, as the boy began to press the buttons in a specific sequence with the dexterity of a professional in the subject. - Johnny Cage Wins! Fatality!"

"Suck that Big Mike."

"Oh, come on, this whole time you were hiding the game, man?"

"You jumped to the wrong conclusions, man. Ready to lose again?"

You wish. I'm going to rip your virtual ass, asshole."

"Keep believing that, bro. That way I keep having fun at your expense."

"Jerk."

"I thought it was mandatory to hang out with you...”

"An answer worthy of your namesake, J.B."

"What to do if this is how I am?"

….

Jaime had scoured the pages of the books about Dalton and hadn't gotten much information other than what he had received from the institution itself. The academy was founded by elite families at the end of the 19th century, the land where the school was located had been donated by Dalton Hartfield, one of Chad's ancestors, who did not see the completion of the work and was honored by the first board of directors of the academy. Since then big names from the most diverse areas had passed through those corridors... and the same propaganda as always. Information was even more scarce in relation to the history of the clubs. There were five of them, each connected to one of the Dalton founding families. But so far he hadn't had much luck identifying much more than that. It didn't help matters that for much of the time he had been researching he had been overcome by a feeling of intense drowsiness, even dozing off for a few minutes. And the worst thing was, when that feeling passed, it was replaced by a hunger so intense that it made him eat lunch, twice! Which in turn made him feel drowsy again... that sequence of inconveniences combined with the lack of information probably were the main reason for the irritation he felt. He couldn't leave that place, he couldn't get information that would help him understand more about it and he was... terribly bored.

Jaime was never the type to do crazy things, or use drugs. He was quiet, studious, a little inquisitive perhaps. But today, just when he needed it most, he had an absurd desire to do nothing. No, that wasn't exactly it, he wanted to do something for fun, at the same time that he could just… relax. There was no point finding out what was going on in Dalton if in two days he would be out of there. He almost talked himself into giving up, but as he started to gather the books he noticed one he hadn't seen before.

"A Brief Account of the History of Dalton and His Accomplishments. Written by the Crows Club in the year 1956 under the chairmanship of Chadwick Wentworth Hartfield." Jaime read aloud, then opened the book and leafed through it until he found a photo of the authors.

He then sat down and went back to the beginning of the book with his interest fully renewed.

....

"Can any of the wankers help out here?" - Chad asked carrying who knows how enough food to feed a small family for a week. Although given his gigantic size maybe that wasn't such a big exaggeration.

"Here man, let me take these." - Said J.B. taking at least four boxes of pizza, while Mike grabbed two packs of beer, leaving Chad with just a few bags that he deposited in table before shooting Jonathan a smile he never thought his colleague would be able to give. He still had that air of arrogance, but also joy, as if he was genuinely happy that Jonathan was there.

"Hi Roberts, glad to see you made yourself at home."

"Sorry if I intruded on your space Chadwick, but the guys insisted I stay and besides, you guys brought me here."

"Relax, Roberts. I was just kidding, a friend of Eddie's and from what I'm seeing a friend of Mike is a friend of mine too."

"Then you can call me J.B. since it looks like I'm going to have to get used to that stupid nickname."

"Since we're exchanging pleasantries, you can call me Chad and help yourself to J.B." - Said the boy opening one of the pizza boxes and making Jonathan's hunger reach painful levels.

"Thanks, man. But shouldn't we wait for Eddie?"

"With the way Chang takes so long to get ready all the food will be rotten by the time we eat."

"I heard that, Hartfield, and I think it's a enormous hypocrisy on your part since you're the only one of us who's always dressed up." - Said Eddie Chang entering at that moment dressed in a much simpler way than his friend and bringing a bottle in his hand.

"What do you have there, Eddie?" Mike asked curiously.

"A little treat for later. But now I want to eat. - Eddie replied before turning to J.B. and seeing that his colleague still hadn't eaten anything. - Why aren't you eating yet, man? You must be hungry."

For the first time in what seemed like hours Jonathan felt like he was himself and not some inconsequential asshole who thought he could do whatever he wanted without care. But at the same time his three classmates had been nice to him in a way he hadn't thought possible and he had really enjoyed himself. Not knowing what to do, he opted for the safest option.

"I think I'd better go and let you eat, thanks for the afternoon guys."

"What the fuck do you think you're doing bro?" - Eddie replied irritably. Scaring Jonathan who had forgotten how explosive he could be.

"I... I..."

"Sit your goddamn ass over there and eat a slice of the pizza Chad get the trouble of getting to you."

Shocked and half numb Jonathan sat up and picked up a slice of pizza, took a bite and felt like he had never eaten anything so good in his entire life. Without stopping to think, he devoured the rest of the piece in a few seconds, accepting the beer that Mike held out to him and taking a long drink, feeling the icy liquid go down his throat with another wave of pleasure.

"Great, that's my man! Now that you're out of the loop can you tell us why the fuck you wanted to leave?" - Eddie said, his voice ranging from pride to irritation in an instant.

"Sorry guys. It's just that you've been nice to me and I didn't want to pick a fight so I thought it would be best to just leave."

"And why did you think you would pick a fight, J.B? Did we do something to offend you in any way?"

"It's just...never mind."

"No, you can talk, man. We're all friends here, aren't we? And while you're talking, you can eat and drink as much as you like, it's on the house."

"So, that's exactly the problem. - Jonathan said as he helped himself to another piece and faced his colleagues sitting around him, each one also holding a piece of pizza and a beer. - The On The House. Don't get me wrong, you guys are cool, but it's about privilege, about bending the rules. There's no way you could have gotten those alcoholic drinks within the law. Or the fact that apparently you can come and go from school as you please."

"I understand you, man. But that's kind of hypocritical of you, isn't it? Mister son of a senator? - Mike started causing a feeling of deja vu in Jonathan. - You came from privilege, I didn't."

"It's different man. I didn't deliberately choose to be who I am and I never purposely used my father figure to get something. Whereas you chose to share in the perks that Eddie and Chad's privilege affords."

"How can one thing be different from the other? You say you didn't deliberately choose to use privilege, but you're here at Dalton, an elite school, home to some of the greatest examples of privilege in our history. By your own choice. There is no difference at all. I just accepted who I am instead of hiding."

Jonathan felt uncomfortable both physically, as it felt like his clothes were suffocating him, and mentally, as he found himself agreeing with Mike's argument. Though a part of him told him there was a flaw in his colleague's logic. But that part didn't have a chance to speak up, because while he was trying to collect his thoughts, between one drink of beer and another, it was Chad's turn to speak up.

"J.B. you complain about our supposed privilege. But here in Dalton it's no different than anyone else, anyone with a car and permission can go out for the weekend. And that's fine, alcohol shouldn't be here, but the way you're drinking that beer is certainly not the first time you've had it. So maybe it's time for you to stop judging others. And especially stop judging yourself. I think that you might have what my father calls the Underdog Syndrome. You are ashamed of the position you have, of what it represents and in an attempt to have the sympathy of others and be accepted you diminish yourself and deny who you are. And that's why you get so angry with Dalton and with us, because you're afraid of realizing that you might have chosen exactly the right place for you. And everything you've done today just showed you that maybe it's time to accept yourself."

Hearing that irritated Jonathan, because it wasn't true, it couldn't be true. Yet he was here, in Dalton, he had had fun with the others, even struck up friendships with them. Was he really that different from the others? Damn it, why were his clothes so tight? That T-shirt was going to end up suffocating him.

He remembered while playing with Mike. The joy, the fun. He knew that was who he was, chill, confident, fun. So why did he insist on making things complex? Why did everything with him have to be so much work? Maybe Chad was right and he should assume he was like the others at Dalton. No! He wasn't, he had goals, he had plans and he... just wanted to relax sometimes and have a little fun. Damn restrictive thing! He thought right before ripping his own shirt with his hands.

"Suffocating crap shit!" - He shouted. Not knowing if he was talking about the T-shirt or his own life. Staring angrily at the fallen pieces of fabric until Eddie started laughing, and then he was laughing and suddenly they were all laughing out loud like this was the funniest thing that will ever happen to them.

"Man that was fucking awesome! You looked like the Hulk!"- Mike said, amazed.

"Well, the t-shirt sure was tight, I don't know how I managed to get it on in the morning!" - Commented J.B. back to a chill attitude.

"And the funniest thing is that the pants held up, barely but they held up, like in the old Hulk comics. The only thing missing was being purple." - Mike completed.

"I think the conversation around here has gotten unnecessarily complicated. It's a fucking Saturday afternoon, we should be having fun and not discussing that sort of thing. Which brings me to this beauty here, I chose this one in honor of you J.B." - Said Eddie taking the bottle of drink he brought with him and showing the label to his colleagues: Johnnie Walker Private Collection. - Now sit there and enjoy a classy man drink with your friends. And if you make a scandal like that again, you'll have to settle it with me." Eddie concluded, handing his friend a glass of the golden drink. Which he accepted, sat down and smiled a totally different smile from his usual but very similar to others in that room.

"You chose well Eddie, nothing pleases me like a respectable drink a good company."

….

"The history of the city of Dalton is intertwined with the history of the academy of the same name, as one would not exist without the other. The lands that gave birth to both were originally owned by Dalton "The Crow" Hartfield and were received from as a reward for his participation on the side of the Union in the Civil War. Although for many that was a poisoned reward because the lands located in northern New Hampshire were considered cursed since the time that the Algonquian natives inhabited the place.

Dalton Hartfield a successful businessman in full maturity, didn't care about what he considered outdated superstitions and decided to use the land to create a school for young men that he could shape in the way he saw himself and with which he raised his own children: to be strong and powerful men both physically and mentally.

During his life he repeated several times that he valued ambition and insight in a young man more than purely academic achievements." -Read Jaime thinking that old Dalton had indeed successfully gotten what he wanted if he counted most of Jamie's peers at the academy.

Before continuing reading, he stared for a long time at an image of Chad's ancestor who, in a way, was responsible for what was now happening to him.

"... however the construction of the school faced problems from the beginning, due to material, animal and finally human losses. After a while the construction team itself had to be replaced by men sent from other states, and even these began to accuse those lands from being cursed. It was necessary for Dalton himself to go to the construction site and decide to spend a night alone in the place that everyone accused of being the lair of some evil spirit. When the construction teams returned the following day, they found the Lord Harrfield still alive, still imposing and assuring them that from that moment the work would continue without interruption. The work however would not be completed until 1873 shortly after Dalton himself died. His only requests were that he be buried in the place he he put so much work into building it and he couldn't see the whole thing being named after him, not the family name but his first name.

His son Dalton Hartfield Junior was the first chairman of the board of directors and with unanimous votes from the other members of the council made up of members of other powerful families of the time accepted both requests of the late father. The city of Dalton emerged as a result of the departure of professors and employees to work at the academy, and even today most of its residents are connected in some way to our institution."

"Wonderful, I'm in a prison surrounded by miles of forests and even if I manage to get out of here I'll run into more jailers." - Thought Jaime being invaded by a feeling of frustration that seemed more intense than expected. Pushing that feeling aside, he flipped through the book until he found another passage of interest.

"Regarding the clubs. The tradition of Dalton's clubs would only be established in 1888 with the creation of the first of them, the Dalton Crows, by Dalton Hartfield IV. The name was chosen in honor of his great-grandfather's nickname. The other clubs followed the tradition of choosing animal names, usually choosing names linked to totemic animals of native peoples in honor of the first inhabitants of the region. - Read Jaime - Beautiful homage, first they exterminate, then occupy the land and finally make a cultural appropriation." Jaime commented to himself, frustration rising inside him, like boiling hot water.

"... since then three more Hartfields have occupied the chair of president of the Crows, including the current president Chadwick Wentworth Hartfield. As for the traditions and rituals of each club, we will not talk about them because they are exclusive knowledge of its members. But we advise every Dalton student who reads this manuscript to join one of the clubs and experience the values of brotherhood, companionship and masculinity that they are sure to provide." - Finished Jaime turning the page in the hope of finding some useful information even though he knew it would be unlikely. But even knowing that, the anger he felt when he didn't find anything made him explode in an unexpected way.

"What the fuck, stupid book, stuoid school that won't let me out!" - He shouted, the screams echoing in the empty library. But that wasn't the worst of it, as he was immediately overcome by a fit of alien and uncontrollable laughter. When that too ended he sat down again, put his hands on his face and cried thinking about the possibility that he was going crazy little by little.

....

"So, J.B., what's it like being a senator's son?" Mike asked his friend.

"I don't know man, most of the time it's cool, my dad works a lot, we don't see much of each other, but whenever we see each other it's cool."

"Really? Senator Roberts has always struck me as the demanding type. Doesn't he push you a lot?" - Chad asked.

"Pressure in what way?" asked J.B.

"I imagine he pressured you to participate in campaign, fundraisers, do some social work, that sort of thing. Not to mention he must expect you to follow in his footsteps. There must have been some pressure in that regard, no?"

"No man, my dad is cool, yes I did all those things, but because it was in my best interest to do it and not because he pushed me. And as for following in his footsteps, well, he's always made it clear that he doesn't want to build a dynasty, that he is precisely against this kind of family power, but that I am free to pursue a career in politics if that is what I want."

"Seriously man, do you really like this shit?" - Mike asked.

"Of course I like it, why would I do something I don't like?" - J.B. retorted, taking another sip of Whiskey and savoring the intense flavor with pleasure at the same time the drunken feeling that had settled in his head over the last few hours intensified.

"Well, it doesn't seem like your kind of thing." - Mike replied, seeing his colleague bring one of the very expensive Cohiba cigars that Chad had offered to his friends to his lips.

"In what way?"

"What Mike is saying is that you are a guy who likes to enjoy the finer things in life, a drink and a cigar with friends, play video game or ball, sometimes smoking a joint followed by a good meal. Not counting the hours you spend at the gym working those muscles and feeling the pleasure of seeing them grow." - Chad replied, while sipping his whiskey."

A sense of confusion added to J.B.'s drunkenness. That person wasn't him. It couldn't be. But at the same time he had done most of those things that very day and was still doing them, as the cigar and whiskey in his hand attested. And no one was his size without dedication to the gym. Besides, he had vague memories of playing ball with his friends. Alright, he liked a good time and who didn't? But that didn't stop him from doing other things, useful things, important things!

"I don't see how one thing excludes the other, guys." - He replied.

"He's right. - Eddie agreed. - You're forgetting that J.B. is a man from Dalton, he has his ambitions, his goals and if for that he needs to endure fundraiser and social work, it's part of the process, right? But I bet you took advantage of some events to have a few drinks and others to slip into some skirts or pants. Being the senator's son must have been easy, right J.B., you degenerate?"

No, he would never do something like that, that went against everything his father believed in! - He thought dropping the cigar and whiskey and holding his face with his hands... - But he wasn't his father, he was a man and had the right to his opinions and his pleasures. Besides, what his father didn't know didn't hurt him. And there was nothing wrong with him making out with a campaign agent or letting a loyal voter give him a blowjob... and the drinks were there for drinking, wasn't it?

In those few moments his body went through another expansion, pectorals widening, arms the size of cannons, legs the size of tree trunks taking his pants to the limit and leaving him the approximate size of a mammoth, that is, the same size as his friends. The face that was already handsome also took on the same predatory beauty as the others, wrapped in the characteristic air of arrogance and superiority. The malicious smile partially hidden by the return of the cigar to the mouth and the eyes shining with mischief.

"You know me too well Eddie."

"Not as much as I'd like."

"Dude, come on, let it flirt when we're not around." - Mike spoke indignantly.

"You can relax Mike, nothing is going to happen between us. As much as I love a good Wagyu steak, being with Eddie would be like being with myself, we are too similar."

"Apparently not enough for you to know I'm Chinese and wagyu beef is Japanese, asshole."

"And who cares?"

"You should if you want to avoid a diplomatic incident while working with your father." - Commented Chad smiling.

"Please, dude. More respect for my abilities. I would never make a gaffe like that with someone important."

"You're asking to get your ass kicked Roberts and not the way you like it."

"Damn, you're really hot when you're pissed off. But no way man. We can be each other's wing man and pick up some holes to fuck.At least until Chad gets us the bridesmaids of his snotty future wife. And even after that if you don't lose balls once married."

"Fuck you, asshole. - Eddie replied but smiling. - Although it's not a bad idea.

"You assume I'm going to invite you to my wedding." - Chad spoke.

"What's the use of this little club here if it's not to strengthen the bonds of friendship and fellowship of Dalton's promising young men?"

"As far as I know you are not part of the club J.B." - Mike replied with a smile identical to the others.

"So what's the point of all this courting? Obviously you want me at the club and that's fine with me. We're going to have a lot of fun together."

....

Jaime found himself in the Crows' headquarters again. Two of them, one shirtless, were playing video games while exchanging insults in a friendly manner. Jaime couldn't see their faces at first, until the shirtless one turned around.

"Hey Mike, bro, get me another beer."

With a shock Jaime realized that it was Jonathan Roberts, but a very different version of the one he knew.

"I'm not your employee J.B. Get your ass off the chair and get it yourself." - Mchael Jones replied, sitting in another armchair talking to Chadwick Hartfield, but there was something behind him, a kind of shadow.

"If I lose here you're going to have to play with Eddie."

"Good point!" - Answered Mike getting up and taking a beer to his colleague. And so Jaime was able to see what was behind him. It was the shape of a thin boy. And as he followed with his gaze he saw that both Jonathan and Eddie had figures behind them. He approached Chadwick trusting that his colleague wouldn't be able to see him and was surprised because even he had a figure behind him, not as thin as the others, but still something that put him on the same level as his colleagues. As he watched Mike sat back down.

"Now what? J.B. is fully integrated. What's next?"

"Tomorrow we'll take a little field trip and secure Miller. Then we just wait for the Source to come to us."

"Just that?"

"From what my dad and Carmichael said after the Source joined us, yes. Just that."

"But...?"

"No buts, Mike."

"Come on Chad, I think that despite the short time we've known each other we're friends. Besides, we're so similar that I can recognize the same signs of concern in you that I recognize in myself."

"It's just that we're very close and I fear that something could fail at the last minute, some unforeseen event. I've already had to deal with the little things that each of you brought to the group, and to my... personality. I'm afraid of failing Dalton ."

"You knew when you started the job that it would be a challenge and so far you've done it well. You are a descendant of Dalton and you fulfill the role perfectly."

"But I wasn't always like this. Before you I was the first to be here. The first on the Contract. Tell me Mike, what do you remember from before?"

"I don't know man, I know that Dalton changed me and I know that you had a part in that, just like I had in what came after. But I don't remember before and to be honest I don't even want to, for me my life has always been like this way and I like it, I like it a lot. I like who I am, I like being like this and I like you motherfucker"

"But that's what worries me man, I like you too and those two suckers over there. Really. I believe little about me must have changed when I came here, after all the source wasn't even here when I came and I'm a Hartfield, we are bred from the cradle in the Dalton ways. What worries me is this... fraternity. When I started the job I was impeccable and relentless. And now I'm here talking about my feelings and apprehensions. That doesn't it came from me. And I'm afraid I'm failing Dalton in that."

"Man, Dalton valued ambition and relentlessness. But he also valued companionship and friendship between his men. It's all in those damn books you made me read. Another thing, you talk about like the old man is still around."

"But he is Mike. His bones are here in this place and more than that, his very essence. It's what guides us and points the way. It's why all of you are here."

"Now you said something I've been itching to ask for days. Eddie and J.B. I understand, but me and Miller? Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the opportunity and like I said I'm very happy. But I don't understand."

"Come with me, we're already on the final stretch anyway. You two too, follow me." Chad said, guiding his friends to a red door at the back of the room, where they entered one by one. Jaime stood for a moment staring at the door before deciding to follow them.

….

Jaime walked through the door and found himself back in Dalton's library, wrapped in the familiar scent of cinnamon. Open on his study table was one of the books he had been reading, scribbled on the edges of the pages a proverb he knew, but slightly altered.

"All work and no play makes Jaime a dull boy."

He read it aloud, feeling invaded by a feeling of uneasiness. How did he know that phrase? As he tried to remember he heard a puppy yelp coming from a hallway between bookshelves. Following the noise he found himself in front of an empty corridor.As he turned to return to the starting point, a book fell in front of him. Jaime picked it up from the floor and read the title.

"Doctor Sleep. A Sequel to The Shining"

And suddenly he understood where the sick feeling had come from. He watched the Kubrick movie only once and it traumatized him so much that he never even considered reading the Stephen King book, let alone the sequel. But if for some reason these visions were showing him that book, that must have mattered. As he prepared to open it he was interrupted by a growl.

When he turned to see where the noise had come from, he found himself facing two huge wolves, different from the one in his first dream. Without stopping to think he broke into a run, the wolves in hot pursuit, when he reached the end of the corridor he ran into that first wolf. He dodged the other way, dropping the book in the process. Without looking back he continued to run desperately until he found a room with an open door. He rushed in and closed the door behind him, letting out a sigh of relief. He could hear the howling and scratching of the wolves at the door behind him.

Breathing relieved he heard that first yelp again, coming from the back of that room. Adjusting his eyes to the dim light he saw a huddled shape leaning against a corner of the wall. It was too big to be a puppy, and it was shaped like a human being curled up in a fetal position.

As Jaime hesitated in approaching to check who it was, the yelps suddenly became howls, similar to those outside the room, as the figure in front of him began to grow, muscles expanding and tearing the clothing, his size seeming to double. Jaime in desperation looked for another way out and found it next to the strange creature that was now panting amid the howls.

Creating courage he started to run again to that door, but when he turned the handle he realized that it was locked. Panicking, he turned and finally found what it was he had been looking at.

Before him was that new version of Jonathan Roberts, staring at him with a maniacal predator's grin, not far from a wolf's grimace. But this time it wasn't a howl coming out of his mouth when he opened it.

"Here's Johnny!" - He said in a perfect copy of Jack Nicholson. And just like Shelley Duvall Jaime screamed.

…..

"Mr. Sanchez, wake up, Mr. Sanchez." A female voice spoke to him at the same time as a hand shook his shoulders lightly.

"Ah, what…where am I?"

"I believe you fell asleep while reading Mr. Sanchez."

Jaime was in the library, but there were no wolves or homicidal colleagues around. Only Mrs. O'Malley, the old librarian and one of Dalton's few female employees, who was looking at him very reproachfully at the moment.

"I'm sorry Mrs. O'Malley I really lost track of time." - He said stretching the compact but powerful muscles of his arms and back, testing the limits of his shirt and making him feel at the same time pleasure and a feeling that there was something wrong with it, although he didn't know what.

Deciding to go after what he was sure was wrong, he decided to clear up some of his doubts with the source of information he had in front of him. He started with the easiest.

"Mrs. O'Malley, I'm sorry to bother you but where can I get a copy of The Shining or Doctor Sleep in the library?"

"Mr. Sanchez you don't bother me, as long as you promise me that this situation won't happen again. And unfortunately I can't help you, Dalton has an extensive collection of Mr. King's works, after all he is one of the great writers of our time and was born in New England, but curiously we don't own those two specific titles. I suggest you buy a digital book to read on one of those awful e-readers. - She said as if that was the most inappropriate thing in the world, even more than sleeping in her precious library - Or order a physical copy in the city of Dalton."

"How? If I'm stuck in here?" - He asked bitterly.

"I beg your pardon. You certainly aren't stuck in Dalton. Also, today is a free day if you want to go into town."

"Really?" - That could be his chance to run away, but did he really want that? Now that he knew what had happened to his classmates, that somehow they had been altered by some evil force. And wouldn't it be better for him to run away precisely because of that? The battle of conflicting thoughts was interrupted by the librarian who answered him curtly, probably still offended by his behavior.

"Perhaps you should pay more attention, but yes, today Dalton students are allowed to go into town, as long as they have a permission and car to go with." She replied making him go from joy to frustration, where would he get a car? Who would he hitchhike to? Deciding to deal with that later, he continued to dispel his doubts, adopting a rather smarmy tone of voice in an attempt to gain the old hag's goodwill.

"Mrs O'Malley I'm sorry if I made it sound like I'm not pleased to be at Dalton, nothing could be further from the truth than that. I'm very happy and honored to be here. And also for the help you've given me. I would also like to thank you for the books you got me, they helped me a lot. However, I still have a doubt and as you are probably the greatest holder of knowledge about Dalton, a true pillar of our community I would say, could you clarify it?" - He said with a bright smile appearing on his face almost as if it was second nature.

"Boy, thanks for the kind words but I've lived with generations of Dalton lads, don't think I don't know how to recognize a smarmy smile. But I congratulate you on the initiative, it's the kind of attitude Dalton Hartfield would have approved of. So yes, I'll help you with what I can."

It hit him like a blow, was he acting the way the others in Dalton acted, the way Dalton himself would have wanted him to act? But he needed to know more and if he had to use the enemy's weapons to get what he wanted, then he would.

"You hurt my feelings Mrs O'Malley, my words were not only kind but true. So, I read that Dalton Hartfield was buried on the school grounds, would you know the location?"

"I'm sorry lad, but it looks like all your kind words won't do you any good today. The exact location of Dalton Hartfield's grave is unknown and has been the subject of speculation over the last century, so neither I nor anyone else could help you with that. Unless..."

" Unless?"

"Well, one would assume that the Hartfield family might know something about it and choose not to share."

It made sense, because if what he thought was true was indeed true, the Hartfields wouldn't want anyone to know that location. He would have to take a risky step.

"Chadwick Hartfield certainly has a car, doesn't he?"

"Another question I can't answer, but it's completely beyond my purview, dear."

"I'm sorry Mrs O'Malley, I was thinking out loud. And you were a great help." - He replied smiling that bright smile, while thinking that the time had come for him to meet with the infamous Dalton's Crows Club.