#smart learning tablets

[edutechera]

The Role of Technology in Education - AI Learning Revolution

Transforming Education: How EduTech Era is Redefining Learning with AI

In today’s fast-paced, ever-evolving world, technology in education has moved from being a supplemental tool to becoming an essential driver of how we teach and learn. The global education landscape is undergoing a dramatic shift, fueled by digital education solutions, artificial intelligence (AI), and smart connectivity. Students today are not just passive recipients of information, they are active participants in a dynamic, tech-powered learning environment.

One of the key ways EduTech Era is redefining learning is through its AI-powered learning tablets, designed specifically for students from preschool to 10th grade. These tablets are more than just digital devices; they act as intelligent companions that adapt to each child’s learning style, pace, and academic needs. By analyzing student performance in real time, the AI-driven platform personalizes lessons and suggests targeted practice activities, ensuring no child is left behind. This level of customization helps foster a deeper understanding of core subjects like mathematics, science, and language arts, while also nurturing curiosity and a love for learning.

Moreover, EduTech Era’s solutions are tailored to support both school-based and home-based learning environments. The intuitive interface and engaging content keep young learners motivated, while the built-in progress tracking tools empower parents and teachers to monitor academic development closely. With features like interactive video lessons, gamified quizzes, and voice-assisted guidance, these tools are designed to create a rich, immersive learning experience that aligns with modern educational standards.

In a broader context, the use of AI in educational technology is paving the way for a more equitable learning system. EduTech Era’s platform bridges the digital divide by providing affordable, accessible learning tools that can reach students in remote or underserved areas. This democratization of education ensures that every child regardless of geographic location or socioeconomic background has the opportunity to access quality learning resources. By combining innovation with inclusivity, the EduTech Era is not only transforming the classroom but also contributing to the creation of a more empowered, educated future generation.

The Evolution of Educational Technology

Historically, education was confined to textbooks, chalkboards, and traditional lecture methods. However, the advent of digital tools and the internet has redefined how information is accessed, shared, and retained. Students now have the ability to explore, practice, and master subjects using smart learning technology tools that adapt and respond to individual needs. This shift marks a paradigm change where personalized learning with AI is not a future concept but a present-day reality.

What sets the EduTech Era apart in this evolving landscape is its commitment to making education both engaging and effective. The platform’s AI algorithms are designed to assess each student’s performance and adapt the content accordingly, ensuring that learners are always working at an optimal level of challenge. Whether a student needs remedial support or is ready for advanced topics, the system intelligently adjusts the difficulty, pacing, and type of instruction provided. This adaptive approach not only boosts academic outcomes but also builds confidence and independence in young learners.

Beyond academics, EduTech Era’s technology also fosters critical 21st-century skills such as problem-solving, digital literacy, and creative thinking. Interactive simulations, story-based learning modules, and collaborative tasks allow students to explore real-world scenarios in a safe and stimulating environment. As a result, education becomes more than just rote memorization; it evolves into an engaging journey that empowers students to think critically, ask questions, and apply knowledge in meaningful ways.

EduTech Era has embraced this evolution by offering smart, tablet-based educational tools that blend AI, interactivity, and curriculum-aligned content to deliver an immersive learning experience.

Why Technology in Primary Education Matters

Early childhood and primary education are critical stages for cognitive development. Children are naturally curious, and when their curiosity is nurtured with the right tools, learning becomes an exciting adventure. Integrating technology in primary education makes lessons more engaging, interactive, and effective.

EduTech Era’s platform empowers young learners through:

Gamified learning modules to increase motivation

Visual and auditory aids to suit different learning styles

Immediate feedback through AI tools for self-paced improvement

Progress tracking for both students and parents

These features not only enhance academic performance but also foster creativity, critical thinking, and problem-solving skills.

EduTech Era’s AI-Based Learning Approach

The EduTech Era doesn’t simply digitize textbooks. It re imagines learning through the lens of AI-based learning for students. The platform utilizes machine learning algorithms to assess a child’s learning behavior, performance trends, and engagement levels. Based on this data, it provides a personalized learning experience tailored to each student’s pace and style.

For instance, if a child struggles with multiplication but excels in reading comprehension, the AI adjusts the content difficulty accordingly. It might provide more visual aids, practice problems, or even real-time tips to improve understanding.

Key Features of EduTech Era’s AI-Powered System

Diagnostic Assessment: Identifies the learner’s current level and pinpoints strengths and weaknesses.

Adaptive Content Delivery: Offers customized lessons based on the learner’s evolving needs.

Performance Analytics: Provides insights to parents and teachers about student progress.

Engaging User Interface: Keeps students immersed through storytelling, animations, and interactive exercises.

Such smart learning technology ensures that no student is left behind, while advanced learners are continually challenged.

Digital Education Solutions for Modern Classrooms

The classroom is no longer restricted to four walls. With EduTech Era’s digital education solutions, learning can happen anytime, anywhere. This is especially vital in today’s context, where hybrid learning environments blending physical classrooms with online education are becoming the norm.

EduTech Era10’s offerings include:

AI-powered tablets with curriculum-aligned content

Offline functionality, making education accessible even in areas with limited internet

Teacher tools for lesson planning, assessments, and feedback

Interactive dashboards for parental oversight and involvement

These tools make the job of educators easier while providing learners with enriched experiences. It bridges the gap between conventional teaching methods and modern learning needs.

Personalized Learning with AI: A Game-Changer

One-size-fits-all teaching models have long been a challenge in the education system. With the integration of AI, personalized learning with AI is now a viable solution. EduTech Era’s AI algorithms learn and evolve with each student, offering lessons that cater to individual needs and ensuring mastery before progression.

This approach fosters a growth mindset in children by:

Allowing them to learn at their own pace

Encouraging active participation through interactive lessons

Reducing frustration caused by overly difficult or irrelevant material

Building confidence through small, measurable successes

For parents and educators, it means better outcomes with less guesswork.

Empowering Teachers with Smart Learning Technology

While the student experience is a major focus, EduTech Era also supports educators with cutting-edge smart learning technology. Teachers can use EduTech’s platform to:

Track student engagement and comprehension

Create differentiated lesson plans

Access a wealth of teaching resources aligned with learning objectives

Provide instant feedback and remediation

By automating repetitive tasks and providing actionable data, EduTech allows teachers to focus more on teaching and mentoring.

Technology and Equity in Education

One of the most significant advantages of digital education solutions is their potential to democratize education. EduTech Era’s tools are designed to be affordable and accessible, bridging the digital divide and ensuring that quality education reaches even underserved communities.

The platform’s offline capabilities and multi-language support make it ideal for diverse learners. It empowers students in rural and low-resource settings to access the same high-quality educational content as their urban counterparts.

A Parent’s Ally in Home-Based Learning

With the rise of home-based learning and homeschooling, parents are increasingly seeking reliable and effective educational tools. The EduTech Era is a perfect partner in this journey. It not only delivers top-tier content but also offers real-time insights into a child’s academic progress.

Features like:

Weekly progress reports

Suggestions for areas of improvement

Recommended learning activities

allow parents to stay involved without needing to play the role of full-time educators. This makes EduTech Era’s platform ideal for supplementing school education or serving as the backbone of a complete homeschooling program.

The Future of Education with EduTech Era

As we move deeper into the digital age, the role of AI and smart technologies in education will only grow. The EduTech Era is already laying the groundwork for the next generation of learners by combining the best of technology in primary education with an understanding of how children learn.

Future plans for the platform include:

Voice-enabled AI tutors

Augmented Reality (AR) lessons for deeper immersion

Collaboration tools for group-based learning

Lifelong learning pathways from early childhood to high school

These advancements aim to make learning more intuitive, inclusive, and impactful.

Conclusion: Leading the EdTech Frontier

The integration of AI-based learning for students, smart learning technology, and comprehensive digital education solutions is not just transforming how education is delivered, it’s redefining what education means. The EduTech Era is at the heart of this change, driving innovation and inclusivity in education across India and beyond.

By prioritizing personalized learning with AI and ensuring access to technology in primary education, EduTech Era is not only preparing children for academic success but also equipping them with the skills needed for the future.

Whether you’re a parent looking for a better way to support your child’s learning or an educator seeking to elevate classroom engagement, EduTech Era provides the perfect blend of technology and pedagogy to help every student thrive.

Parents’ #1 Choice for Smarter Education at Home — BUY NOW

#AIinEducation #EducationalTechnology #SmartLearningTablets #PersonalizedLearning #DigitalLearningTools #AIPoweredEducation #KidsLearningApps #InteractiveLearningTablets

[calyxcurl]

proud to be the (so far) 0.5% of people who use a phone with a smart stylus

if you use multiple, pick the one you use the most, not your preferred one.

[yaut-jaknowit]

I just had a thought that I personally find hilarious. A yautja hunting a human in the woods, actively chasing her. But the human is a botanist who was out there studying plants and keeps calling time out on the chase to prevent him from stepping on different plants. "Don't step there that plant is endangered." "Not there either, it's vital to the local beetle population." "STOP! That one is my favourite!" And it happens enough times that the hunter eventually stops and says the yautja equivalent of "Lady, sort your fucking priorities out."

And maybe he's impressed and slightly smitten by her sheer fucking audacity but that's neither here nor there

Watch Your Step

Pairings: Vic'tao (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1616

Summary: A botanist who is exploring an alien planet when you start to get hunted by an unknown figure. But every time he gets close, she screams at him. Pleading and demanding he doesn't step on this plant or that plant. Vic'tao is confused and wants you figure out your priorities.

Author Note: When I was writing this at work, I kept on smirking and giggling to myself. My coworkers were so confused on why. If only they knew what I wrote. This was adorable to write too! Thank you for the ask.

Masterlist

Ao3

One of your scientists urged you to take him along since it was dangerous out there. This was a lone expedition you were taking though. Nothing out there would harm you. This planet was one you’ve been studying for some time. Sending all of your research back home to earth for others to analyze as well. Here has given you plenty to research about.

After leaving the safety of the small pop up research building, you followed down a path you were well acquainted with. Being on this planet for so long has taught you the surrounding area. It was beautiful and offered plenty to learn. Not only about the plants but the wildlife as well. An opportunity that you wouldn’t give up. A once in a lifetime chance you get to take.

Along the pathway that led to a spot you were meaning to visit, you saw an unlikely plant that had decided to take root. Amazed by its resilience, you took a detour and knelt down in front of the plant. Small but mighty thing. You used the device in hand to take a few photos and marked it’s spot on the map. In the pictures though, you noticed something reflective.

Confused, you lowered down the tablet. Just like in the pictures was an object reflecting sunlight off of it. You go over to the spot carefully and furrowed yours brows together.

A knife?

It was beautifully and expertly crafted. Yet, here it lay. Discarded. A confused noise left you before the weapon was picked. The knife was light despite meant for someone with larger hands. You tossed it from hand to hand, testing out the weight of it. Though it was too big for you, the craftmanship made it worthy to keep. You carefully placed it into your pack before pressing on.

Sharp eyes watched you. The hairs along your neck prickled at the unease feeling growing inside of you with each step you took.

Along the way, you felt obligated to stop right in your tracks. Frozen to the spot, your eyes scanned around you thoroughly; going over every bush and tree. Nothing seemed of visually but clearly your sense were tingling. They knew something was wrong, was amiss. You go to take a step when you felt a towering figure stand before you. A form you couldn’t see beside the distorting air. You screamed only to cry out louder as the figure become reality.

An alien!

The thing was massive. Fear shot straight up your spine to settle in the base of your skull. Smart enough, your first reaction was to turn tail and sprint away from the yellow and blue humanoid like mad man. It barks out some sort of command in what was its native tongue and gave chase.

In your haste, you abandoned the path all together and carved your own randomly. Only to recognize the area were only a special, specific plant could grow. Nowhere else on this whole planted did this plant grow. You glanced over your shoulder and gasped in horror. Your heels dug into the dirt, skidding to a stop. Both of your hands held out as if you were trying to push him back through the air.

“Watch out!” you cried and prayed he could hear you while listening to your plea. “That plant is endangered.” It’s the only one in this are with that kind of mutation. The alien jerked its massive head back with a confused noise. It had stopped in its tracks and looked down towards it feet. Right below his foot was a small, but colorful plant. Slowly, he placed his foot back down next to the plant.

When he went to make chase again, he only got two steps in. “Don’t step. That one is vital to a beetle population!” What in the world was this thing thinking? To step on either of those would greatly hurt the ecosystem. At least it had the mind to listen to you enough not to step on the plants. It stood there with one foot raise, about to take a step yet your plea stopped him. The metal mask on its face blocked out its features but you could read the confusion plain as day.

Then, the creature stepped over the plant and lunged at you. A yelp surged past your lips. Swiftly in a burst of energy, you dove out of the way. Deadly claws swiped at the area you once stood at. It crashed into a pile of rare flowers. That broke your heart. Those were special to you.

Before you had time to mourn the killed flowers, the beast was already getting back to its feet. A squeak left your lips as you turned tail and bolted into the foliage. Heat washed down the nap of your neck.

Your foot caught on a root and sent you flying forwards. Your hands scrapped against the forests floor, cuts slicing through your skin. A hiss left your lips as you cradled them to your chest, rocking back and forth.

A heavy shadow fell over you. All of your muscles tensed, head rising slightly to find the yellow and blue figure advancing towards you. Your eyes snapped wide, bloody palms shoot out to stop it. “No! Stop. That’s my favorite plant,” you cried, begging that it spares that one as well. What is it and it wanting to crush everything that’s pretty and rare?

The humanoid beast snarls and clenched it fists tightly. But it doesn’t step on the plant. It stops in front of your sitting, bruised form and towers over you. Then, it bends at the waist and gets in your face. Fearfully, you flinched away from its metal face but long, lethal fingers gripped your chin and turned you back.

“You are either really brave or extremely stupid,” his voice growls deeply behind his mask. You swallowed down the lump in your throat. “Either way…” he trails off while his other hands snatched the cross body pack you had. You opened your mouth to argue when the knife from before was pulled out. The fear from before came in as the blade glinted dangerously in the forest’s light. “This isn’t yours to take.”

He lets the knife dance between his fingers, show casting his expertise with the weapon. It fits into his larger hands perfectly, making it known this was his.

Your shoulders scrunched up. “I-I didn’t t-take it! I found it on the ground. You must had dropped it.” Oh, why were you pleading your case with an alien hunter that could easily kill you with little remorse. There was something that hung around it that breathed an air of deadliness.

A snort comes from behind the metal mask. “So it is stupidity that drives you,” he laughs and releases his hold on you to stand back up. The pack is deposited back in your lap. You slowly stood back up and put a couple of feet between the two of you. You couldn’t help the wince at the usage of your hands. The palms had countless cuts and a few splinters. Though, the mask covered his features, you could feel his eyes on you.

There was a short, awkward pause until the creature growled then grabbed one of your wrists. You gasped and tried to jerk away from him but his hold was firm. “Quit it!” he grumbled and observed the newly acquired cut son your hands palms. He keeps holding your wrist as he reached over his shoulder and pulled a small metal pack out. You watched as he used the crook of his elbow to balance the pack. The alien opens it up to reveal medicals supplies. Was he going to help you? After he just chased you and scared you to death.

A pair of tweezers were pinched in his hand. It took him some time to carefully go over your palms thoroughly to ensure there wasn’t anything left. Then, with some sort of white paste, he had cleaned and coated the skin carefully. Once he deemed you well enough, he steps back and slips the pack back into its place. The alien grunted then turned to leave, but you reached out and softly gripped his bicep. He stopped and glances down at you, head tilted to the side.

“Wait… I just wanted to ask for your name. Please?” your voice was soft and small. His piercing gaze behind his mask could be felt looking into your soul before he sighed.

“Vic’tao.” He stand there for a few more seconds than takes his leave. You watch him leave and disappear through the foliage. His steps mindful of any plant life.

You returned back to the hub. The other’s find it strange you’ve come back early but you just brush it them off and go to your room. Then, you go online and did your best to figure out what you had just faced.

Only to realize that you should’ve been dead.

[syoddeye]

Seconds. Ghost x f!Reader.

Tidal disruption events occur when a star passes too close to a supermassive black hole, and is pulled apart by the black hole's tidal force. AT2018fyk is the name of a tidal disruption event in which a supermassive black hole devoured a star, then came back for seconds.

He doesn't believe in fate, but he believes people are creatures of habit.

And what luck, she is.

She slips into the pub quietly, her arrival swiftly overshadowed by the crowd. Rainwater trickles off her jacket, puddling on the wood beneath her as she keeps her hood drawn, hiding her face until she finds her usual corner. There, at the end of the bar where it bends into the wall, she sits, peeling off the outer layer to reveal the dark, muted clothing beneath. Barely a sliver of skin exposed. A mouse, just as skittish and meek as he remembers.

The glasses are new. Thin frames, like a librarian. His fingers twitch with the thought of plucking them off her face. The thing in his chest purrs.

He could move. Let her see him, watch the fear bloom on that soft face of hers in real-time. But no. He's not in a rush. He's had days to settle, to breathe. To cram himself back into the worn shell of Simon.

No more adrenaline coursing through his veins, no caffeine pills burning his insides. Just paracetamol and ibuprofen dulling the ache in his bones. But there's an ache deeper than that, which no pill or tablet can touch.

She isn't supposed to be here. Not again. He told her that when he pulled out and rolled her over.

If I see you again, it's for keeps.

The hunger pulls. 

Rears its ugly head at the sight of her and gnashes its teeth.

Inevitable, inescapable, it tears him apart in violent tides. His ribs press too tight around what wants her, threatening to snap open like a steel trap. It pulls his reason gossamer thin, then shreds it. Patience crumbling into dust.

This mercy he's giving her? Letting her have one round in peace? It's the most of what he'll be able to give her.

He thought he'd had his fill. Thought she'd be smart enough to heed his warning. He had ripped her apart, drank down the heat of her, and left nothing but the cooling remnants of a weepy girl who could barely get the words thank you out of her mouth.

He remembers how she burned, coming undone in his hands. Whined about too much and too big. And yet, she lived.

Clever thing, piecing herself together while he rinsed off, turning tail out of the dingy motel room. Hurtled right out of his reach. 

He never had the chance to track her down, shipping out the next day. Never the chance to change his mind.

He shrugged it off. He could live with it. He'd learned to live with a lot of things he wished were different.

But his hunger is a thing with memory. And as soon as he sees her, nursing a drink with her nose in a book—he knows he's not done.

Some things circle back whether they mean to or not.

[popcornpoppypop]

Babies Love Full Moons

Summary: Katherine and Robby welcome their baby and are reminded that they have family to help. Requested.

TW: Childbirth, tooth rotting fluff

A/N: This fic got away from me a bit, so it's a bit long. I'm a sucker for previously broken men getting their dream family. That man was meant to have babies and I'll take no arguments. Thank you. As always, no beta, edited by me and my tired eyes. The bottom gif is how I imagined him the entire fic, that stupid adoring face kills me. Sir, I need you to control those loving brown eyes before I have an MI.

It was a slow morning in the Robinavitch house. The two inhabitants, soon to be three, were moving at a leisurely pace, neither too concerned with time. Katherine was on maternity, she had nowhere to be anyway. Robby was prolonging the inevitable.

“But if you say you’re having contractions, I get to stay home.” He sipped his coffee, watching her face break into the kind of smile that made the world stop.

“It would also be a lie. Or manifesting. I don’t want to put bad luck on our heads.” She shook her head.

“Fine, fine.” He groaned as he leaned over and kissed her, Katherine reveling in his coffee breath as it was as close as she could get to drinking it.

“I promise to let you know if anything changes.  Abbot will have your ass if he has to pull a double for no reason.” She got up and padded to the fridge, pulling a lunchbox out and handing it to Robby.

“He’d survive, probably.” He took the lunchbox as he grabbed his keys.

“Try not to be too grumpy with everyone today. The interns don’t need to deal with all that.” She kissed his cheek.

“Kit, I promise to do my best, but they somehow know the exact buttons to push.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, I know. But they have to learn to not be annoying. It’s part of the process.” She smiled, her hand absent mindedly rubbing up and down his bicep.

“Call me if anything change. I mean it,” He rested his hands on her shoulders, pushing the point further. “even if it’s a headache or just a general malaise. I want to know about it.” He made hard eye contact.

“I swear, anything happens besides a sneeze and you will know. Why are you so jumpy this morning?” Katherine crossed her arms.

“I want to know about the sneezes too,” Robby grabbed his airpods from the counter, “It sounds stupid, but it’s a full moon tonight and babies love being born on the full moon. And it’s a gut feeling.” He shrugged.

“Okay, I guess I can’t argue with crazy.” Kit chuckled.

“You married crazy.” He pulled her close, as close as possible, and kissed her.

“Dr. Robby, you can’t kiss a girl like that and leave.” She scolded.

“Oh, that is not fair.” He let out an exasperated laugh as he dropped his head into the crook of her neck.

“Go! You’re going to be late and then Abbot will send me angry texts all morning. I don’t want to deal with that.” She pushed him off her. Robby let out a loud groan as he left the house.

The Pitt was having a relatively quiet day, though no one would say those exact words. They were all just enjoying the peace. Robby had to break up a few people from gossiping in corners, the downtime poisoning their efficiency just a bit. He couldn’t be too mad, though; they never had days like this.

“When’s your paternity start?” Dana asked from her computer.

“I have been told by the boss that it starts when contractions start.” Robby sighed, his glasses sitting low on his nose.

“Gloria said that?” Dana looked up at him, shocked.

“Nope. Kit. She doesn’t want me bothering her. Thinks I’ll go stir crazy.” He said as he typed up his charts.

“Smart woman.” Dana laughed.

“I tried to get her to let me start today, but she’s too fucking virtuous. Doesn’t want to put bad luck on us and all that shit.”

“She’s trying to keep you an honest man. Tough job.” Dana jotted down notes on her tablet.

“I told her babies love being born during full moons and tonight is a full moon, but she didn’t take the bait.”  Robby scratched at the back of his neck.

“It’s a fair point. But have you stopped to think, maybe she’s trying to enjoy her last moments of autonomy?” Dana raised her eyebrows at him.

“What?” Robby pulled his glasses off.

“Think about it. Once this baby is born, there will be a person attached to her all day, every day for the foreseeable future. She will be someone’s mom before anything else. Maybe she wants to revel in still being somewhat her own person. That’s why she wants you out of the house.” Dana leaned back in her chair.

“I guess I never thought about it like that.” Robby crossed his arms, brows knitted together as he took in the information.

“Just make sure she knows, you’re going to give her space once the baby is born. Remind her that she’ll be your wife too, not just mom.” Dana gave a empathetic smile.

“Yeah, thanks.” Robby nodded.

“Um, Dr. Robby I need some help with a case in bay 4. I-I can’t get the discharge to stop.” Whitacker came running up, gloved hands held high in the air.

“let’s start by not leaving the patient with discharge seeping out of them, pressure dressing now. Go.” Robby sighed.

“Go easy, Cap. Shifts almost over. You can handle one more hour.” Dana laughed.

Robby was practically vibrating in his seat with anticipation. He was so ready to run home. The sight of Jack Abbot rolling in for his shift had him jumping up and ready to rattle off the cases.

“I don’t like you this excited, it’s like seeing a dog walk on two legs. Not natural.” Jack said as he dumped his pack at the hub.

“Give the guy a break, let him be excited for once.” Dana chuckled.

“If you two are finished, I’d like to get home to my wife.” Robby’s voice laced with snark.

“Why? Not like you’re getting any this late in the game.” Jack laughed.

“What is wrong with you?” Dana shook her head.

“Easy night, one boarding in psych, three food poisoning, four flu, one head trauma that is waiting on repeat CT and an anaphylaxis case that is here for observation.” Robby rattled off.

“Any trouble with the anaphylaxis?” Jack looked over the chart on his tablet.

“No, gave her the Benadryl and steroids and she started clearing up. No need for-” Robby’s phone buzzed in his pocket, a message from Kit.

Kit: Hey, I know you’re probably getting off. I just wanted to let you know, feeling a bit crampy. Could be nothing. Who knows. Pick up Pizza or don’t come home.

“Robby, all good?” Abbot’s voice snapped Robby back.

“Yeah. Yeah, pizza with a threat of violence. You need anything else?” Robby asked. Jack laughed and shook his head.

“Nope, you get your pizza before we never see you again. Full moon tonight.” Jack cocked his eyebrow.

“Oh I am very aware.” Robby sighed.

“Good luck, Brother. Call if you’re not coming in tomorrow. I’ll make Shen stay.” Abbot walked off as Robby grabbed his things and made for the exit.

Robby: Don’t get my hopes up. Keep an eye on it. Getting off now, will grab pizza per previous threat.

Robby didn’t actually realize how hungry he was until the hot pizza filled the car with it’s delicious aroma. If he wasn’t afraid of losing life or limb, he would have eaten a slice on the drive.

Kit: May be more than cramps. You’ll know when it’s a threat, Big Guy. :P

Robby felt his body tense a little and his footstep a little harder on the gas. He may have pulled into the driveway a little harder than usual, his breaks squealing in protest. He took a second to breathe before grabbing the pizza and going into the house.

“I made sure there was an obscene amount of mushrooms on it.” He called as he kicked his shoes off and walked into the kitchen, expecting to see Kit. When he wasn’t greeted by anyone, not even the dog, he started to get a little worried.

“Kit? Kitty?” He called into the house. He was met with a groan from the bedroom. He took off like a light toward the sounds. He found Katherine standing leaning on the dresser, her head hung low and doing her best to take deep breaths. The dog sat at her feet with a concerned look on his face and small whine as he watched over her.

“Not cramps.” She sighed.

“No, I can see that.” Robby walked over a smile on his face as he rubbed her back and kissed her shoulder.

“Pizza?” Kit asked as she lifted her, the contraction ebbing away. She wrapped her arms around Robby’s neck.

“In the kitchen. How long?” Robby’s brown, puppy dog eyes made Katherine’s stomach flip, the kindness in them took her breath away.

“Started around 2pm I think. Not anything bad so I ignored them. They got harder to ignore around 7pm. I promise, I thought it was nothing.” She said as she walked past him, heading straight for the pizza, the dog hot on her heels.

“I believe you.” He laughed as he watched her shove a slice in her face like she hadn’t eaten in days.

Robinavitch: You’re never going to guess what’s happening tonight.

“There like 15 minutes apart, I don’t think we’re going anywhere soon.” She said through a mouthful of food.

“You never know. But probably. You need to keep your fluids up too.” He said, raising his eyebrows.

Abbot: Babies love full moons, I’ll let Shen and Gloria know.

Abbot: Good luck. Take good care of her.

Abbot: Call if you need ANYTHING.

“Aren’t you Mister Popular?” Kit laughed as she moved to the couch with the pizza box.

“Just Abbot. Need to make sure they know I’m on paternity leave officially.”  Robby fell next to her with a sigh.

“He’s so nosy. He acts like he doesn’t care, but I can tell he’s just as excited as everyone else.” Kit laughed as she flipped through the channels.

“He’s got a reputation to uphold.” Robby rubbed his hand up and down her thigh.

Robby: Just a heads up, won’t be in for the next eight weeks.

“Did you put the car seat in? I feel like I remember you putting it in but I can’t really remember, ya know?” Kit asked as she settled on Bob’s Burgers.

“Put it in three days ago. Bags are packed and by the door. We are as prepared as anyone can be.” Robby smiled as he massaged the back of Kit’s neck.

Dana: Yay! Let me know when Baby Robinavitch arrives! I’m bringing food for you two. It takes a village an all that shit.

“We shouldn’t name the baby Tina, right?” Kit asked, her hand absent-mindedly rubbing her belly.

“You’ve suggested worse.” Robby chuckled as he grabbed a slice of pizza.

“We’ll know when we see them.” Kit nodded, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Robby watched her carefully, noticing the change in energy from this morning.

“Dana said she’s bringing food over once the baby is here.” He noted.

“Oh that’s nice. We forgot to get food for us ready.” Kit snorted.

“Yeah, well, easier to feed ourselves with all the delivery stuff.” He shrugged.  Kit nodded, her hands holding her belly as she took in a sharp breath.

“Do you want me to talk you through it or should I be quiet?” Robby asked as he rubbed a hard circle at the base of her spine, trying to comfort her.

“Talk, please.” She said through gritted teeth. Robby sat up a little straighter.

“Deep, even breaths. In through your nose and out through your mouth, you’re doing great.” He told her as he kissed her shoulder.

“This kind of sucks.” Kit sighed as she fell back into the couch, her head falling all the way back.

“I know. I’m sorry. Do you want the ball? I got it ready the other day.” Robby asked, one had tracing patterns on her arm while the other caressed her belly.

“Not right now, but probably soon. My energy is getting too wired.” She shrugged.

“Let me know what you need and I will make it happen.” He smiled down at her.

“I know you will, Big Guy.” She cupped his face with her hand, rubbing a thumb across his cheek bones.

“I can’t believe it’ll be three of us this time tomorrow.” He said, the air feeling heavy in his lungs as his eyes became glassy.

“I know. The house won’t be quiet anymore. It’s kind of scary.” Kit shifted to sit up.

“We’ll be okay. We always figure it out.” He kissed her cheek.

“I called my mom today.” Kit cleared her throat. Robby sat back, searching her face for any emotion, any clue as to what she was feeling.

“Yeah? How’d that go?” He knew she had never had an easy relationship with her family, particularly her mother. But she found herself wanting to try and include them in their life as the baby grew near.

“Well, she asked if you had stuck around to the end. I told her of course you did, we’re married and everything. She asked if I wanted her here.” Kit sighed.

“What’d you say?”

“I asked if she wanted to be with us. She said it wasn’t a good time and she didn’t want to be underfoot while we figured out how to keep our lives together.” Kit shook her head.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Robby could throttle that damn woman for how she treated his wife.

“She went on to say that with the baby being yours, it would probably be born with some mental health issues. To which I told her to shut her damn mouth and show some respect to my husband. She shouted about how ungrateful I was and my kid was going to be a brat with no future, just like me.” Kit rubbed the tears from her eyes.

“You’re so much better than them. I know you wanted this baby to help change things, but maybe it’s for the best.” He pulled her to his chest.

“I wanted my mommy.” Kit said, starting to cry.

“I know.” Robby sighed, doing his bests to hold her together. “Nothing can replace your mom, but we can always have Dana come over if you need that feminine energy.” He said.

“That’s asking too much.” Kit shook her head and sat up, trying to keep from falling apart further.

“No way. Dana would love to be here, are you kidding? She’s been berating me for updates every shift! She’s family, she’d drop everything for you.” Robby dropped his head, forcing Kit to keep eye contact.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “I’m just going to check the nursery one more time.” She changed the subject and made for the nursery. Robby didn’t push it. He pulled out his phone again and dialed Dana’s number.

“Cap? What’s going on? Everything okay?” Dana’s voice was quick and concerned.

“Everything’s fine, no fire, calm down.” Robby laughed.

“Jesus, I wasn’t expecting you to call! You never call! I thought something was wrong.” She let out an exasperated sigh.

“I know, I’m sorry. I needed to run some info by you. Are you busy?” Robby looked down the hall to make sure his wife was still out of earshot.

“Not busy. At least not for you guys tonight. What’s up?”

“Kit called her mom today.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Needless to say, it didn’t go great. I think she’s really feeling that hole right now. I told her you’d come be with her if she wanted a woman’s presence. She thinks she’s asking too much.” Robby ran a hand down his face, unsure if he was doing the right thing.

“Of course that’s not too much! I’d do anything for that girl. The way she takes care of everyone else but thinks it’s too much for us to do the same. If I ever see that mother of hers, it will be bloody.” Dana snorted.

“Maybe you can swing by under the guise of dropping off something, I don’t know. I can see her starting to break and this is the worst time for it.” Robby sighed.

“Yeah, course. I was just getting the lasagna out of the oven for youse anyway. I’ll be by in a bit.” Dana said before hanging up.

Robby walked into the nursery and saw Kit going through the drawers and looking over all the onesies. Her hands gliding over the soft fabric, admiring the colors, reveling in the fact that they would be worn soon.

“You’re hovering.” Kit didn’t look up, just smiled.

“I can’t help it. Instinct. I know you’re in labor and I can’t stop the primal man brain from worrying.” Robby shrugged.

“You should shower. Who knows when you’ll get to next.” She noted.

“I’ll get to it. I’m making sure you’re okay.” He cocked his head, watching as she closed the drawer and turned to face him. She had been crying again; he could see the redness in her eyes.

“What if…what if I turn into her?” Her voice cracking. Robby took in a sharp breath as if the words had punched him in the chest.

“My love, I can assure you that you will not be like her.” He said as he moved to stand in front of her, cupping her face in his hands.

“What if it’s genetic and I can’t escape it?” She couldn’t look up.

“Kitty, I have seen how hard you care. I have seen you take care of every person that you come across, strangers on the street sometimes! You have more compassion and kindness in one eyelash than that woman has in her whole body.” He tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Sometimes, I feel myself get angry and it scares me. I don’t want to be like them.”

“I know. But being angry sometimes doesn’t mean you are. It’s okay to be angry, it’s what you do with it that makes the difference. I’ve never seen you take your anger out on anyone, I wish you’d stop taking it out on yourself.” He smiled down at her.

“I love you.” She reached up and kissed him.

“I love you too.” He caressed her back.

Kit took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around Robby’s neck and burying her face in the crook of it, moaning as the pain took over.

“You’re doing great, love. Good breaths.” He said as he put counter-pressure on her hips. She moaned into his neck, he felt the tears hit his skin. The doorbell went off and the dog started barking.

“who’s that?” Kit groaned.

“Don’t worry about it, you just focus on breathing.” He told her. He held her until the contraction passed.

“I thought everyone knew what was happening.” Kit breathed, the dog still barking.

“They do.” Robby went to get the door. “Hawkey! Stop!” He scolded the dog. He opened the door for Dana, hands full of more food than he was expecting.

“Hey Robinavtich family! I come with the gift of carbs!” She smiled as she let herself in.

“Dana? I thought you were coming tomorrow?” Kit asked, shooting Robby a killer look. Robby put his hands in the air in surrender.

“I got too antsy waiting at home. Thought you might want some company from someone who's done this before.” She went over and pulled Kit into a tight hug.  “This one let slip that you might need a woman around.” She nodded her head to Robby.

“That was very presumptuous of him.” Kit snapped.

“Aw, he’s just looking out for you, kid.” She chuckled. “Besides, isn’t it better to have another pair of hands when things get crazy?”

“You have a family to take care of, too.” Kit shook her head.

“They’ll keep. My husband is more than capable of keeping one teenager in line for a while. As much as anyone can. But if you really want me to go, I won’t force ya.”

“Well, you’re already here.” Kit shrugged.

“Thought so.” Dana wrapped an arm around her shoulder and brought her to the couch. Robby followed, getting the dog and putting him on his bed.

“I’m here for moral support. I’ll let the big guy do all the coaching and such. You just yell for what you need and I’ll get it.” Dana smiled.

“Well, since you’re here now, Robby can go shower.” Kit winked at him.

“That sounds like a great idea. Cap?”

“I don’t smell that bad.” Robby shook his head.

“Ya know, I used to think that too. But since I haven’t been in the hospital for a while, there is a smell. Antiseptic, metallic. Maybe it’s the pregnancy making me pick up on it.” Kit laughed.

“Okay, okay! I surrender. I’ll shower. Yell, if you need me. I mean it.” He pointed at both women.

“We’ll be fine.” Dana waved him off. “So, how far into the panic have ya got?” Dana turned to face Kit.

“I-uh, what?”

“Oh sweetie. Everyone panics. They all say it’s something to do with adrenaline and hormones, but it’s more than that. We were raised by our parents and it’s every new parents worst fear that they’ll turn into them. Honestly, most don’t, but it’s a real fear until you get into the groove of it.” Dana said.

“I’m so fucking scared I’ll be like her. I’d never forgive myself.” Kit felt her hands start to shake.

“Honey, I met that woman once and I can say with my whole chest that you are nothing like her. I’ve seen a lot people have babies that had no right to be parents and you and Robby are two of the few people I truly believe should be.” Dana smiled.

“Thank you I-” Kit was cut off as the pain crashed over her.

“Easy, you got it.” Dana consoled.

Robby hadn’t showered faster in his life. He felt like the second he stepped into the water, something was going to go wrong. The fact that he couldn’t keep his eyes on Kit made his anxiety rise like his blood pressure. He threw on his sweats and a t-shirt and was about to go back out when something made him stop. God, he hoped he didn’t fuck this up like his dad.

“Hey, everything okay?” He smiled as he came back out.

“Yeah, I’m an emergency room charge nurse with over 20 years under my belt. I think I can handle a healthy woman in labor, Cap.” Dana laughed, her glasses on the end of her nose as she braided Kit’s hair.

“Wow, I forgot how snarky you get off the clock.” Robby quipped.

“You’re not the boss here.” She smiled.

“Baby, can you get the yoga ball? My hips are getting tight, starting to bother me.” Katherine sighed.

“Course, I’ll get you a Gatorade too.” He kissed her cheek and left the room.

“Such service. I need me one of them.” Dana laughed.

“I can’t complain. Though he does leave his underwear on the floor next to the hamper. But I’ll train him out of it one day.” Kit chuckled.

“Let me know how you do it, mine still does it.” Dana patted her shoulder. “All done, sweetheart.”

“Thanks for doing that. It’s harder to reach behind myself these days.”

“I’m not as good as you, but it’ll hold.” Dana smiled.

“Oh, I never braid my hair.”

“But, you’re always coming in with perfect braids. Straight out of a YouTube tutorial.” Dana looked at her, confused.

“That would be me.” Robby came back in, winking at Dana.

“You’re shitting me.” She scoffed.

“Nope. I braid her hair most mornings.” He said, handing the Gatorade to Kit.

“Why?”

“Because she asks.” He shrugs. “And it’s good for dexterity, keeps my hands from getting too stiff.” He helped Kit get on the giant yoga ball, keeping her steady while she got comfortable.

“You are full of surprises, Robinavitch.” Dana got up and went to the kitchen.

“You feeling okay?” Robby knelt next to Kit, rubbing her back.

“Yeah, tired. The contractions are getting longer, which I know is a good thing but sucks. I’m anxious to be over with this but at the same time I don’t feel ready. But how does anyone feel ready for this and my body is on fire and I’m nauseous and hungry all at the same time. I want to scream but also cry and also neither. So, ya know, fine.” Kit muttered out in one breath. Robby stared at her for a long moment, unsure where to start.

“Well, that’s all normal.”

“I know that’s normal, I’m doctor too Michael.” Kit snapped.

“Yep, nope, sorry. Wrong thing to say.” Robby rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh my god, what was that? I don’t do that! Why am I acting like this?” Kit’s hands flew to cover her mouth in shock.

“Hey, it’s okay. Honey, you’re body and mind are going through war right now. I’m not taking offense to anything. Okay? If you need to snap and yell at me to get through this, then I can take it.” He massaged her thigh.

“I don’t want to be those women who bite their husbands' heads off. I want to be rational and normal!” Kit threw her hands in the air.

“Honey, rational and normal don’t exist when you’re going through labor.” Dana came over and put a plate of watermelon in front of her. “Eat, it’s good for nausea.” She nodded as she disappeared again.

“She’s right.” Robby smiled.

“Ugh! I hate this- Oh my god…” Her voice trailed off into a low moan as she grabbed onto Robby’s shoulders.

“You’re doing so good, Kit.” He said, her groans getting louder, tears falling down her face. Robby reached up to wipe them from her face when he heard a low growl from next to him.

“Haweye! Out!” Kit snapped. The dog didn’t move.

“My fucking dog and he’s going to bite me for you. If that isn’t fucked up I don’t know what is.” Robby chuckled.

“Fuck! Michael!” Kit yelled, the pain overwhelming her.

“You’re okay, I’m right here.” He told her, putting pressure on her hips. “Follow my breaths.” He said as he put her hand on his chest and started breathing slowly. Hawkeye started growling more.

“Buddy, I need you to not do this right now.” Robby tried to reason with the dog.

“He always liked me better.” Kit sighed as the contraction ended.

“Everyone likes you better.” He smiled, kissing her hand.

“What should I do with him?” Dana asked.

“I’m going to take him to the neighbor. She’s a vet, said they’d watch him for us. We knew this was a possibility.” Robby sighed as he gathered some of the dog’s things. “I’ll be right back.” He said as he grabbed Hawkeye and ran out the door.

“What do you need, hun?” Dana rubbed circles on her back.

“This to be over.” Kit cried.

“I know sweetheart. Soon. You’re already up to eleven minutes apart.” She informed her. Robby came sprinting back into the house out of breath.

“Rachel says hi.” Robby cleared his throat as he came back over.

“I’m sorry he growled at you.” Kit’s voice cracked as she lolled her head back and forth, stretching her neck muscles.

“He’s doing his job. Keeping you safe, he thought I was doing it.” He stood behind her and started kneading her neck muscles.

Robby did his best to be present and not worry about what was to come. He did everything that Katherine asked of him: Knead the muscles of her back, counter pressure to her hips, not touch her, not stop touching her, wipe the sweat off her forehead, dance through the contractions with her. If she needed it, he did it. Dana ran around them making sure anything needed was in arms reach and offering encouragement the one time Robby went to the bathroom.

“Good, Kit. Nice deep breaths, keep control of your breathing.” Robby was holding her up as she draped herself on top of him, swaying them back and forth.

“Ugh, it won’t end!” Kit cried, her grip on the back of Robby’s shirt tightened, her knuckles going white.

“It will, Honey. Getting longer means you’re closer. Blow the exhale out, focus on controlling the breaths.” He said, looking over to Dana and mouthing How far apart? To which she replied 9 minutes. Robby’s heart skipped a beat.

“It’s getting so hard.” Kit tried to catch her breath as the contraction ebbed away.

“Kitty, you’re at 9 minutes apart. The plan was to head in around 10 minutes.” Robby tucked a loose strand behind her ear.

“I wanted to wait until my water broke, I don’t want to be there longer than I have to.” She sighed.

“We can wait a bit longer if you want. I’ll have to pull the doctor/husband card here and say no later than six minutes.” Robby warned her.

“No, let’s just go now. I just had a flash of you delivering the baby on the side of the road and it freaked me out.” Kit sighed.

“Yeah, best to avoid giving birth in the backseat.” Dana smiled.

“Will you stay with her while I get everything in the car?” Robby asked, running off before getting his answer.

“You’re going to start seeing panicked Robby. Enjoy it, pretty funny.” Dana laughed as she held onto Kit.

“Why does he run like that?” They watched Robby grabbing bags and running in and out of the house.

“Gotta be something wrong with his knees.” Dana shrugged.

“You don’t have to come with us. It’s gonna be a horror movie from here out.” Kit laughed.

“If you want your privacy, I’ll respect that. But if you do actually want me there and you don’t say, well, I’ll be upset then.” Dana smiled.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve such a beautiful friend.” Kit wiped the stray tears from her face.

“Oh don’t get soft on me kid.” Dana chuckled, trying to hide her glassy eyes.

“I think we’ll want our privacy though. I’m not keen on that many people having that image of my vagina in their heads.” Kit laughed.

“Okay, I’ll make sure this place is ready for ya. You call me the second you’re ready for visitors. I expect to be the first one.” She scolded.

“I p-promise, oh fuck…” Kit groaned hanging onto Dana.

“You’re doing great, you hang onto me if you need.” Dana kept her on her feet.

“So much fucking pressure!” She yelled. Robby was running back inside when Kit cried out.

“What? What happened!?” He came barreling around the corner.

“My fucking water broke on Dana’s shoes!” Kit’s face was beet red.

“Honey, these shoes have seen much worse. Let’s get you cleaned up and in the car. Okay?” Dana guided her to the closet seat.

“Fuck, Michael.” Kit looked up at him dazed.

“Yeah.” He gave a breathy chuckle as he brought the baby wipes over and cleaned up her legs.

“This is actually happening.” Kit shook her head in disbelief.

“Hey. We’ve got this. Okay? I promise.” He held her face in his hand.

“Alright love birds, let’s get you in the car. I’ll clean this up, don’t worry about it.” Dana said, her nurse voice coming out of nowhere.

“Remind me to never be one of your patients.” Robby chuckled.

“My patient satisfaction scores are great.” Dana scoffed as she helped him walk Kit to the car.

“Thank you, seriously.” Robby pulled her into a quick hug.

“It’s what we do. You take care of her, I want pictures the second you two stop crying.” She smiled and waved them off.

“Do you want the playlist on?” Robby asked as he fiddled with the radio.

“don’t care.” Kit huffed.

“You okay?” Robby’s head snapped to look at her.

“There’s no buffer now. It’s sharper.” Kit groaned, clinging onto Robby’s bicep.

“We’ll be there in five minutes.” He told her, letting her dig her nails into his skin.

They arrived at the front entrance of the hospital, the valet taking care of the car. At least Gloria let them use the valet, not that they had any other good benefits, Robby thought. They were settled into a private room with Kit gowned up and hooked to the monitors.

“You want your robe? You’re shivering.” Robby noted.

“It’s cold in here.” Kit nodded. Robby grabbed the fluffy pink robe from one of the bags and wrapped her up.

“I put your electrolytes in the water bottle.” Robby handed her the bottle.

“Thank you. Do you need anything?” She looked up at him with her big doe eyes and his whole soul melted.

“How are you asking me that right now? Honey, I’m fine. Today is about what you need. You don’t need to be worried about me.” He kissed her, dumbfounded at how she chose him.

“I always want to take care of you.” She sighed.

The closer it got to the baby being born, the more nervous Robby got. He was doing his best to downplay it and focus on Katherine. He was pretty sure that she could tell anyway.

“You’re doing great! Kit, you’ve got this!” Robby held her hand as she yelled through another contraction.

“Oh fuck, Michael!” Kit’s eyes went wide.

“Baby, what is it? What’s going on?” Robby brushed the hair from her face, trying to get her to focus.

“I-I think I’m pushing. I didn’t mean…yeah, get the OB. Now!” Kit barked. Robby slammed the call button.

“It’s okay, listen to your body. If you have to push, go for it.” He said, waiting for anyone to answer the call.

“Dr. Robinavitch, how can-”

“Get Dr. Smith, she’s pushing.” Robby snapped at the nurse's laissez-faire attitude. The nurse nodded and ran off. Robby ran over to the wall, grabbing some gloves and running back.

“Is this too fast? I can’t fucking tell anymore!” Kit groaned.

“Nope, not too fast. Good vitals, everything is going great. Kit, I’m going to check how close you are.” Robby said.

“Don’t use your doctor voice on me, I hate it!” Kit cried, gripping the guard rails.

“Kitty, you’re doing great. I can feel the head, okay. When you have a contraction, chin to your chest and push.” Robby said.

“Dr. Robinavitch, I didn’t think you wanted to do the delivery.” Dr. Smith smiled as she walked in followed by three nurses bringing in supplies.

“I don’t! Thank fuck! I got nervous for a second there, Smith.” Robby sighed as he took his gloves off and moved to hold Kit’s hand.

“Well, Katherine, you’re baby is eager to get here. Let’s get you propped up.” Dr. Smith said as she put her gown on. One of the nurses moved to prop the head of the bed up.

“Thank God it’s almost over!” Kit groaned. She latched onto Robby’s hand as she started pushing again.

“You’re doing great, Kit. Keep going, good! Okay, rest!” Robby cheered her on.

“I’m never doing this again!” Kit yelled.

“Never, I swear.” Robby chuckled as he kissed her temple.

“Try and hold that push for ten seconds.” Dr. Smith said as she settled between Katherine’s legs.

“You want to do this!?” Kit barked. Everyone laughed.

“Oh, I have three kids. I’ve done this plenty. That’s how I know you can do this too, Katherine.” Dr. Smith’s kind eyes smiled, her mask obscuring her face.

“Michael!” Katherine yelled, overwhelmed and unsure of herself, seeking something to ground her.

“I’m here, I’m right here. Not going anywhere. Deep breath, push!” Robby held onto her hand, the other supporting her neck as she pushed.

“…6,7,8,9,10! Relax, breathe!” Robby wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“You’re nearly there Katherine. I know it’s a lot, but baby is almost at a full crown.” Dr. Smith adjusted the light.

“You’re almost there, honey.” Robby kissed her cheek. Katherine nodded, looking up at him and breaking his heart.

“Nice, big push for me Katherine.” Dr. Smith instructed and Katherine begrudgingly complied. She screamed as Robby did his best to comfort her. He hated how helpless he felt. He wasn’t used to being on the sidelines. When people hurt, he helped. He couldn’t do anything but offer words. It was eating him alive.

“Alright, next push and baby will be here!” Dr. Smith announced.

“You’re such a fucking superstar.” Robby kissed Katherine’s head.

“Fuck!” Katherine screamed as she pushed again. Robby cheered her on as he looked over the drapes on her legs to see the baby slide into Dr. Smith’s hands. His heart stopped at the sight. He looked up at Katherine who had wide eyes, tears falling silently down her cheeks.

“You’re amazing, you’re so fucking amazing!” He smiled, kissing her face all over.

“Michael…” Kit looked off at the warmer.

“Everything okay, Dr. Smith?” Robby’s voice cracked.

“They aren’t crying. Why aren’t they crying!?” Kit yelled.

“Give them some time, it can take a second.” One of the nurses who was cleaning Kit up told them.

“Dr. Smith!” Robby barked.

“Robby, I’m working!” She snapped.

“Michael.” Kit sobbed. Robby wrapped her up in his arms.

“It’s okay, they’ll be okay.” He told her and himself. The next fifteen seconds felt like hours. The room was suddenly filled with a harsh cry, sending both Robby and Kit into hysterical sobs.

“She was being as stubborn as her father, it seems.” Dr. Smith smiled as she brought the baby over and laid her on Kit’s chest.

“Sorry.” Robby said, not looking up from the baby.

“No apology needed. You have a healthy little girl. Congratulations.” She smiled.

“Oh my god.” Kit’s voice barely audible.

“She’s perfect. She looks like you.” Robby sobbed.

“Don’t scare us like that again, little one.” Kit scolded the baby, a smile plastered across her face.

“Do you two have a name?” One of the nurses asked.

“She needs strong women to look up to. I think it should be after your grandmother.” Kit looked up at Robby. As if his heart wasn’t already aching with love, it still found more room.

“Abigail?” His voice cracked.

“Abigail Robinavitch.” Kit played with the sounds.

“What about a middle name?” the nurse asked.

“The only woman that’s ever taken care of me is Dana.” Kit’s voice cracked.

“Abigail Dana Robinavitch. It’s perfect. She’s going to lose it when she finds out.” Robby laughed.

“What a perfect little name for a perfect little girl.” Kit sang to the baby.

They all stayed like that in a perfect little world for an hour before, Katherine couldn’t stay awake any longer. The baby was taken to the nursery for sleep. Robby dozed off here and there, but kept waking up to check on Kit. He knew the nursery nurses and he hadn’t met one that didn’t keep the closest eye on every patient. They often scared him. He worried, but knew it was instinct and not needed. Kit, he knew he had to watch. He’d seen the statistics of mothers dying because no one listened.

When breakfast rolled around, the tray of cafeteria food made Katherine cry. Robby was sent to get McDonald's. He decided to walk through the ER, he wanted to show off a little.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Abbot perked up seeing Robby.

“Dr. Robby! How’s Dr. R?” Mel came rushing over.

“Everyone is good, healthy, and getting rest.” He announced to the small group gathering.

“Do you have pictures?” Princess begged.

“Yep, do not drop my phone.” He warned as he handed it over to them.

“What’s her name?” Javadi asked.

“Abigail.” He smiled. Jack wrapped him in a rough hug, patting his back.

“You did good, man. She's doing okay?”

“Yeah. Man, she was a star. I don’t know how I got this fucking lucky.” Robby sighed.

“Neither do I.” Abbot chuckled.

“Alright, phone, please. If I don’t deliver breakfast hot, I fear I will lose a limb.” Robby took the phone back.

“When can we come say hi?” Perlah asked.

“Later. They both need rechecks and Dana called first dibs.” Robby smiled, seeing how excited everyone was. It was a nice reminder of how big their family was.

“Your Mcgriddle and hashbrowns, my love.” Robby handed the bag to Kit who immediately started devouring the food.

“If I wasn’t so sore, I’d take you right now.” She smiled.

“Wow, that’s dedication.” Robby chuckled.

“Dana is on her way. How was downstairs?” Kit asked.

“They were very excited to see pictures. Asked when they could come up. We’ll have to figure out rotations.” Robby sat next to her.

Jack Rabbit: Good job, KitKat. I’ll be up before I leave.

“What a softy.” Kit laughed her phone.

“Jack?” Robby asked, Kit nodded. “Only for you.” He laughed. There was a knock at the door as the nurse rolled the crib into the room. Robby jumped up and grabbed the baby.

“I may want to hold her at some point, just saying.” Kit chuckled.

“Naw, she’s mine now. You had her for nine months. We’ve got time to catch up on.” Robby gave a curt nod.

“I can’t move without searing pain, so I won’t fight you yet.” She threatened.

“I think I can take you.” He said as he bounced the baby. 

"She's got your eyes, Michael." Kit smiled, watching her man swaying with her baby in his arms. "They'll be those big, brown doe eyes before we know it."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Only because I could never say no to those eyes. Those eyes got us in this mess." Kit let out a contented sigh. Robby gave her a soft smile.

There was a knock at the door and Dana’s head poked in.

“Everyone decent?” She asked.

“Yes, all bits are covered,” Kit said. Dana came barreling in and wrapped her up in a tight hug.

“I was more worried about him.” She chuckled. “I heard you were a superstar. Knew you would be.” She smiled.

“I’m always an A+ student.” Kit laughed.

“Alright, let me see that baby.” Dana smiled as she got up and went over to Robby.

“Careful, he’s barely let me hold her.” Kit winked at him. Robby scoffed as he handed the baby to Dana.

“Oh wow, yeah, that’s a good baby.” Dana laughed. “She’s beautiful. You two did good.” She smiled. Robby sat next to Kit, wrapping his arm around her. “Her name is Abigail.” Robby said.

“Abigail Robinavitch. You are going to do great things.” Dana hummed to the baby.

“Abigail Dana Robinavitch, actually.” Kit smiled. Dana stopped and looked up at them with glassy eyes.

“We wanted her to have strong women to look up to.” Robby said, his voice giving his emotion away.

“Well, isn’t that something?” Dana’s voice shook. “I know she’ll do us all proud.” Dana smiled. “Come take your baby before I cry all over it.” Dana laughed as Robby jumped up and grabbed the baby, putting her back in the crib.

“Room for one more?” Jack barged his way in.

“Not even a knock? I could have had a tit out.” Kit threw her hands in the air.

“I’ve seen worse.” He snorted. “I wanted to stop by before I went home to pass out.” He said, going to give Kit a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, since you’re both here, no more convenient time to tell you that you’re the godparents.” Robby said.

“How unceremonious.” Kit shot Robby a look.

“I hate ceremony.” Jack snorted.

“You’re supposed to say that you're honored and things like that.” Dana elbowed him.

“You cried on the baby, didn’t you?” Jack laughed. “Of course, I’m honored. I expected it, but I’m happy to do it.” He said, patting Robby on the back.

“I didn’t cry on the baby.” Dana muttered.

“Oh thank god she looks like KitKat. I was worried.” Jack said.

“Easy.” Robby warned.

“She’s damn near perfect. Smith said she made you two panic when she was born.” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Why are you talking to my OB?”

“We ran into each other on the elevator. Longest 20 seconds of your life or what?”

“She’s already got the Robinavitch stubbornness.” Kit rolled her eyes.

“She’ll fit right in.” Jack said as he picked her up, the baby fussed before settling quickly in his arms.

“How did you do that?” Dana asked, looking dumbfounded.

“Babies love me. I have a general calm and steadfast demeanor that they respond to.” Jack said as he bounced with the baby. “We’re gonna cause so much chaos together, right, Abby? Yeah, you already got that look in your eye.” Jack nodded to the baby.

“You can’t start teaching her tactical airway until ten at least.” Kit chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Your mom doesn’t need to know about our shenanigans.” He smiled at her. They all watched in awe. Jack never really let himself be soft around anyone. This little girl was already melting him.

“She’s already smarter than most of management.” Dana chuckled as she walked over and peered over Jack’s shoulder.

“Like that’s hard.” Jack snorted, running a hand over Abigail’s soft hair. “She’s already smiling.”

“That is not possible.” Dana scoffed.

“No, she is. She already knows good comedy when she hears it.” Jack smirked.

“Or she needs a diaper change.” Dana laughed.

“Two things can be right at the same time.” Jack huffed.

Kit and Robby finally felt at ease, all the anxiety washing away. Seeing that they wouldn’t have to do this alone, they had family to help. They would be okay.

[charliemwrites]

Part 7 is finally here! I only gave this a quick look over so if there are any glaring issues (like a random cut off sentence) please let me know! I was just so excited to get this one out.

Content: Brandon.

For all the power and influence it has amassed, SpecGru is a notoriously discreet and secretive operation. Mind, no one’s ever strolling down the street shouting their criminal affiliations for God and everyone to hear, but even by criminal standards, SpecGru is like a collective boogeyman. By the time most anyone knows they’re there, it’s already too late – and the rare (verbal) survivors only ever see masks and guns.

Granted, no small part of SpecGru’s prestige comes from whispered stories and unconfirmed rumors. Criminals are locker room gossips, the lot of them. Not that it’s completely unfounded. An execution is an execution, whether someone died with all their teeth and nails or not. (Usually not)

Few people know Price as more than a shadowy theoretical. (Someone must be in charge, that’s how the mafia works.) Even fewer know his face, never mind his name. It’s just good business that way.

In fact, SpecGru’s entire inner circle is shrouded in mystery. There’s not just the gray silhouette of the Don looming over their enemies’ heads. There are the lieutenants to contend with as well, acting on his direct authority, speaking on his behalf (with permission, of course) in his absence.

And then there’s Price’s right hand, the de facto boss should something happen. His heir, for all intents and purposes.

For those that have met Price in person, and by extension his few but devoted confidants, there’s always debate.

Is it Soap, loud and brash, but sharp as a whip? A decisive man, affable with a hidden mean streak?

Or is it Ghost, the quiet and calculating figure always at his side? A deadly and brutal enemy, shrewd and observant?

Kyle lets them stew in their assumptions and reminds himself that they’ll learn eventually – or they’ll be dead. He’s not fussed either way. It would suit SpecGru just fine if a few of those knobs keeled over sooner rather than later.

If only they knew that the hand that would one day grip their leashes was currently holding your purse so that you could pet a cute dog.

Not that Kyle minds; you have good taste. In purses, that is – though the dog isn’t half bad. A fluffy white and grey thing with a stumpy tail, practically crawling onto your pretty blue skirt as you coo and fawn. He started recording the minute you handed him your bag. (Price owes him for this.)

“His name is Mister Beans,” the uni girl enthuses to you.

You practically sob. “Mister Beans!”

He’s loath to hurry you along, but he’s supposed to meet up with Price for a Business meeting in only a half hour. Thankfully, you’re a considerate sort and don’t linger for long.

“Thank you so much, have a great day!” you cheer to the young woman. Then you turn back to Kyle, smiling huge. “Wasn’t he so cute?”

He chuckles. “It was. Wish I could have pet him, but white hair on this suit…”

You hum sympathetically. “I have a lint roller in my apartment.”

“I’ll scratch the next one,” he promises, offering your purse back.

You take it with your far hand and another mumbled “thank you,” then loop your closer arm through his. Don’t even seem to think about it, just accept the escort automatically. Kyle tries not to beam with pride. He used to have to prompt you, holding his elbow out at an awkward angle for you to get the hint. Now, you reach for the arm of whoever you’re with on instinct – as you should. (Another thing Price owes him for.)

“Do you like little dogs?” you ask, strolling with him for your apartment.

In the office, you’re a speedy little thing. Zooming from your desk to Price’s and back at velocity deserving of a ticket. Soap calls you a busy bee and it’s apt. Fluttering to and fro with stacks of papers or your tablet (“Reginald” you call it) everyone knows to make way at the click-click of your smart heels.

Outside, though, your purposeful stride slows to something less awe-inspiringly machinelike. Little Miss at work is a much different creature from Little Miss off the clock – but Kyle quite likes both.

“My mum had a little white dog while I was growing up. Crusty old thing,” he explains. “Prefer medium sized myself. Like a corgi.”

You giggle. “Like the royal family?”

“Oi, I liked ‘em before that.”

You just laugh harder at his defensive tone, patting his arm. He’s always impressed by how fearlessly you joke and tease him and the others. Have taken everything in stride from the beginning, didn’t even flinch when you first met Simon. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think you had no idea just who you arched your eyebrows at this morning because of a “scheduling disagreement.”

“Speaking of dogs…” you mutter, mirth disappearing.

He follows your gaze through the clear glass of the building’s entry vestibule. Your ex is standing inside, already spotted you and fluffing up like the cock he is.

“Mind keeping back, doll?” Kyle murmurs.

You make a noise of protest even as you hand him your keys. “He’s not going to do anything after what Soap did.”

There’s an ugly black cast around his hand and up his wrist. Kyle smirks at him through the door.

“Rather not take any chances,” he replies.

You huff a bit, but quietly slip your arm from his, letting him take the lead into the building. (He still holds the door for you of course – he’s not a numpty.)

“Get the fuck out, mate,” Kyle says as soon as the door opens.

Brandon looks downright taken aback. “And who the fuck are you?”

“None of your business,” you interrupt, stepping up beside Kyle.

“The hell it’s not!” Brandon replies, taking an angry (stupid) step forward. Kyle mirrors him, making a point of loosening up his shoulders. In a surprising display of good sense, Brandon stops there. “Look, bunny, a high-value man needs a high-value woman.”

Your voice comes out flat and unimpressed. “And that’s you, is it? A high-value man?

Brandon rolls his eyes but sighs, as if he’s trying to be patient with you. Kyle’s fingers twitch. His piece is burning a hole against his back.

“Obviously. I have a degree, a six-figure salary, and two properties – all under forty. I’m objectively attractive, work out regularly, don’t smoke. I’m a good catch, don’t kid yourself that you can do better.”

At Kyle’s elbow, you go very still. The type of still that precedes blood and screaming. He’s seen it in Ghost before.

“Then why are you here?” you ask, tongue dripping acid. “Since you’re such a catch.”

Brandon sighs and shakes his head, trying for fond exasperation and only achieving constipated.

“I’m not willing to just throw away two years. I’ve invested a lot in this relationship, and we can still make it work.” It actually starts to make Kyle nauseous, the way he talks about you like a business decision. “I mean, you have some things to make up for but eventually, we can go back to the way we were.”

“And what,” you say through gritted teeth, consonants sharp enough to pierce skin, “do I have to make up for?”

Kyle listens, flabbers absolutely gasted, as Brandon answers.

“You ran off to play desk bunny for a man I don’t know. God only knows what ‘favor’ you did to land that job. You’ve lowered your value as a marriable woman but there are ways to make it up to me—”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

Kyle’s ears ring like the first time he heard his mum curse.

Brandon looks taken aback too. You don’t give either of them a chance to respond.

“I know it’s not fucking me. Because if you were talking to me, you’d be stupider than you look.”

Brandon’s face flushes with anger. He takes another step forward. Kyle takes two in return, shaking his head in warning. Unfortunately, Brandon doesn’t know how to read his face any better than yours.

“C’mon, mate, it’s common sense. A lock that opens for any key and all that.”

Kyle’s heard it before. “Women ain’t locks, mate.”

“If you don’t get out of this building right fucking now, I will ruin your life,” you snarl.

Brandon does a double take. “Is that a threat? You can’t—"

“You bet your pasty ass it is,” you reply without missing a beat. You raise your voice every time he tries to interrupt, barreling through his weak protest like a train. “Fifteen fucking minutes. That’s all it would take to destroy you, your stupid sister, your bitchy mother, your pervert father, and that fucking slag you got pregnant twice.”

Kyle’s eyebrows rise with each word until he’s fairly certain they’ve floated up to the ceiling somewhere.

Brandon, though… Brandon’s face is ashen.

“How… how did you…?”

“Get. The fuck. Out.”

Kyle doesn’t give him the option to refuse. He scruffs Brandon by the back of his bland suit and shoves him out the first door of the vestibule. It closes and locks just as he turns around, a rebuttal finally juddering to his bloodless lips. You haven’t even turned to watch him go.

Kyle approaches you feeling a bit like he does coming to Price with shit news when he’s already pissed.

He almost says, you sure know how to pick ‘em – but thinks better of it. There’s practically frost forming beneath your feet, the air around you is icy.

“Walk you up, little miss?” he asks, offering his arm.

You gently take his arm and exhale heavily. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

You invite him in at your door. Your hands are shaking a bit. He politely accepts, shooting Price the others a text that he’ll be a bit late. He’s not about to leave you in a state.

As usual, you step out of your shoes at the door, leaving you in your shimmery stockings, then pad to the kitchen.

“Tea?” you ask as he follows.

“I haven’t the time, doll, I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re alright before heading out.”

You turn, expression softening. Just like that, you’re back to your usual self, sweet as honey.

“I’ll be alright, I think,” you reply, sighing. “That was a long time coming.”

He leans his shoulder in the doorway, unable to help chuckling at the memory of your ex’s gobsmacked expression. The corners of your mouth curl up in shy amusement.

“Seemed like it,” he replies. “We should weaponize those f-bombs you dropped.”

That coaxes a giggle out. “Graves would be first on my list.”

“The boss’s too.” And oh, Kyle can’t wait to tell Price about this. (As if he needed another reason to hate Brandon and adore you.)

“Christ,” you groan, “you’re going to tell him about this, aren’t you?”

He’s at least able to muster an apologetic grimace. “You know I have to, sweets.”

“Suppose I’ll get the really good tea tomorrow,” you muse.

“He liked those pistachio scones from the corner café, too.”

You light up. It just so happens that they bake your favorite muffins too. “Good idea.”

“I’m full of ‘em.”

You snort, but there’s a fond smile on your face. Regretfully, he notes the time on the stove clock behind you.

“You’re sure you’re alright here by yourself?” he asks.

“I’m sure,” you promise, crossing to give him a warm hug. “I lock the door and windows like Simon told me.”

“Atta girl,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, yeah?”

“Seven sharp!” you chirp.

He pauses at the door, “You call if there’s any trouble.”

You poke your head around the corner. “You don’t sign my paychecks; you can’t tell me what to do.”

He points right back at you. “That’s from the bossman direct.”

“Then he can tell me himself.”

He arches his brows. You blink.

“Don’t tell him I said that.”

He chokes back a chuckle. “Sweet dreams, little miss.”

“Get home safe, Kyle!”

As far as business meetings go, one with Los Vaqueros is almost pleasant. Sure, they always try to overprice their products, but haggling them down is practically a game between Price and Vargas by now. The shipping agreement between them and SpecGru is long established by now, a major link in the international arms market.

“Negotiations” are relaxed enough that Rudy and Valeria are playing cards with Ghost and Soap at the sitting table, whiskey glasses at their elbows. The plan for the next six months is all but set when Price suddenly jerks. In an instant, his face goes dark, shoulders tense.

“Something wrong, hermano?” Vargas asks.

“I’m getting a call.”

Soap and Ghost snap to attention.

There are only a handful of people that can reach Price during a meeting. All but one is in this room.

As he brings the phone to his ear, Kyle sees your name on the screen.

“Yes, love?” he answers.

Even from a couple feet away, Kyle can hear your voice through the receiver – high and panicked. Kyle’s already reaching for his keys.

“He fucking what?” Price barks.

Soap and Ghost jump to their feet, cards and drinks forgotten.

“Barricade the door, get a knife. We’ll be right there.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[solar-wing]

⚣ Protective Lover 🥰

⚣✋🏻 A/N → Another idea partly inspired off one of my previous Jason posts. Dude is the definition of scary dog privilege. "and my man, thank you to my man." WARNINGS: Jealous/Possessive Behavior. Minor Swearing and Threats of Violence. Cute Fluff.

⚣✋🏻 Summary → It's no secret: Jason is a jealous and possessive boyfriend. But, many don't think about the benefit that comes along with that. He's hella protective. Sometimes it's overbearing, other times, it's very helpful.

⚣✋🏻 Words → 1.4k

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🥰

At some point, Y/N had gotten used to it. Was it annoying? Yes. Did it feel overbearing at times? Countless. Did he secretly love it and felt the world’s most (concerning) validation from it? Absolutely.

But, when looking at the situation and its circumstances as a whole, it made sense.

When he and Jason first started dating, there was definitely a vibe of him being a gruff but soft teddy bear who was clingy and needy for love and attention when with his chosen lover. But, when around literally anyone else who was not said lover or other people were in the same room as his chosen mate, he’d turn into the world’s scariest guard dog.

It was the general rule of Scary Boyfriend Privilege. Only the designated boyfriend could see their boyfriend’s soft and needy side. Anyone outside that got the ‘murderous if you get too close’ grizzly bear side.

Extremely hot and sexy, but it could be a bit (a lot) much at times. 

Y/N tried to get Jason to calm down, always showing that he could take care of himself and there was no reason for him to worry. But, living in a city like Gotham and given the vigilante’s past (hence the aforementioned situation and circumstances), there really was no calming him down.

But let’s look on the bright side here. With said privilege and the kind of boyfriend Jason was, Y/N never felt more safe and secure in his life. It was like walking around a video game world with the most overpowered gear on. He was basically untouchable.

Examples? Why, of course!

When it came to school, Y/N always preferred studying and doing his homework with Jason since he would help him stay focused and assist him with subjects that he struggled with. 

Y/N was not the first but certainly the loudest to say that Jason did not get enough credit for how smart he was. Yeah, he typically lived by street smarts, but he was big on book smarts as well. He just had to learn how to communicate the information in ways where it wasn’t confusing for both him and his boyfriend.

Plus, in dating Y/N, he learned the art and benefits of positive reinforcement which anyone could probably imagine taking a magnifying glass to their relationship, it was something the Y/N had to use a lot for Jason. Now, the vigilante was doing the same for his boyfriend by giving him little rewards for finishing his work and getting good grades like take-out dates, letting him play in his hair, and more often than not, a good dic-

PAUSE

Oh for fucks sake, are we doing this again? Why does it have to be PG-13? Well, no one said– Ugh…Fine.

A good fitness workout that involved lots of cardio, sweating, and soreness, but the good kind.

Happy?

But, the week of midterms turned out to be an equally busy week for Jason as well. He was knee-deep in a big crime plot and was getting closer and closer to solving the case. Y/N understood and didn’t want to get in the way of his boyfriend's duties. It still sucked though because it meant he wouldn’t be able to study in his apartment as he’d find way too many ways to get distracted. So, he had no choice but to study on campus, and figured what better place than the library?

Turns out there could have been better places.

Y/N was sitting at a large table by himself with various books in front of him along with his tablet and laptop reviewing his notes for a huge test he had the next morning. He wasn’t the only one who had the idea of going to the library to study as it was packed full of students trying to do last-minute cramming and studying.

Jason, as usual, called him to make sure he was okay and that he had gotten to the library safely even though Y/N was well aware his boyfriend had many different ways of tracking him and making sure he was where he was supposed to be. At first, he found it creepy, but when he got to know Jason’s family, he understood.

When Jason didn’t hang up the phone long after Y/N had already sat down and began reviewing, he decided he wasn’t going to hang up either, feeling more relaxed and calm while hearing his boyfriend’s voice and breathing through his earphones.

Now and then, Jason would call his name and check to make sure he was focusing and not slacking off or scrolling on social media and Y/N would turn and scold him for trying to check him when he should have been focused on fighting criminals.

“That’s the thing, babe. I can focus on more than two tasks at the same time. You, on the other hand, still can’t manage to focus on one task for more than 10 minutes without getting distracted by something else like your favorite song and flooding our apartment.”

“I told you to let the bathtub thing go!” Y/N whispered loudly into his earbud mic with a goofy smile on his face still.

“I will never let the bathtub thing go.”

They continued their playful back and forth while Y/N continued studying until he was interrupted by another student, a guy from one of his history classes. This guy was more or less a bit annoying and creepy and had been bothering Y/N for a while with his persistent quest to ask him out.

No matter how many times he rejected him, the guy always tried again and again. He never got forceful, or at least he never had the chance since Y/N always made sure there were people around or that he got to an area where other people were nearby just in case he tried something.

He wasn’t judging him, but he took Jason’s words and lessons very seriously when it came to his safety. He’d seen enough of his boyfriend’s cases where people didn’t take the necessary steps to keep themselves protected and safe because they didn’t imagine it would ‘go that far.’

The creep only left him alone when he saw Jason was with him. Truthfully, many people tended to steer clear of Y/N and his massively scary boyfriend whenever he was with them on campus besides his friends. They were even put off by Jason at times whenever they hung out with their friend cause they’d catch him at times giving them weird looks and glares if they touched or just got too close to his boyfriend for his liking.

Plus, after the one incident of the guy who tried to pick a fight with Y/N and pushed him, thus having to deal with Jason in the aftermath, everyone learned it was just better to steer clear.

So, when Jason wasn’t anywhere in sight, Y/N’s creepy stalker saw it as a perfect moment for him to try and make a move on his classmate, not expecting the very person he was hoping to avoid being on the phone the entire time.

It wasn’t until he saw Y/N unplug his earphones and hand him his phone that he realized he was indeed on a call, and after receiving possibly the most violently worded threat he had ever heard he decided there were plenty of other fish in the sea.

He handed the phone over to its owner before scurrying off like a scared mouse, Y/N watching with a confused but also amused and relieved look.

“Hi baby,” Jason immediately responded to Y/N’s ‘hello’ in his little delightful and excited tone whenever he heard his boyfriend’s voice.

“Jason, what did you say to him?” Y/N immediately asked.

“Hey! It’s babe, baby, sexy, honey, or Jay at the slightest to you, mister. Only my family calls me that.”

“Jason…”

“Babeee, stop it! I don’t consent to this treatment. No means no!” Jason protested in a whiny voice.

“You’re such a baby,” Y/N chuckled.

“Only for you, hot stuff. But we’ll be having a long talk when I get home about you not telling me about creepy guys bothering you.”

“How did you know?”

“Babe, you know who you’re dating, right? There never will be something that bothers you that I won’t know about. I’m always gonna protect you, even if it annoys the hell out of you.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the big smile spreading across his face at his boyfriend’s words, knowing he meant every single one. Jason would always be his protective lover.

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[julietsf1]

Factory Reset - Franco Colapinto x Engineer!Reader

summary: After a major crash, Franco Colapinto is sent to the Williams factory to work alongside the engineers repairing his car. Tensions run high as he’s forced to confront the realities of their work and the sharp wit of performance engineer Y/N. What begins as a clash of worlds becomes an eye-opening experience for both. (6k words)

content: overconfident Franco; smart but salty Y/N; 3rd person POV; written by someone who doesn't know much about engineering lol it's the vibes that count innit

an: Sorry for disappearing cuties! I had some unexpected work obligations but will be uploading all my WIPs today! thanks for sticking around <3

---------------------------------------------------

The tension in the Williams Racing debrief room was almost as palpable as the screeching halt Franco Colapinto’s car had come to in Las Vegas. The crash had been spectacularly disastrous, with debris scattered across the strip like confetti. And now, here he was, summoned not to a glamorous event or strategy meeting but to a mandatory visit to the Williams factory in Grove. Franco couldn’t remember the last time he felt this much dread walking into a building.

James Vowles stood at the head of the room, his usual calm demeanor carrying an edge of authority that demanded attention.

“We’re implementing a new initiative,” James began, his sharp eyes darting between Franco and the engineers gathered. “To strengthen team spirit and accountability. After a crash like the one in Vegas and our previous years with many crashes, it’s crucial to recognize that Formula 1 isn’t just about what happens on track. It’s also about the people who make it all possible behind the scenes.”

Franco leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He wasn’t a fan of the lecture tone, but he wasn’t about to interrupt.

“This initiative,” James continued, “involves drivers spending time at the factory. Working alongside the team. Seeing firsthand the hours, the sweat, and the dedication it takes to repair the damages—damages that fall under the cost cap.”

There it was. The thinly veiled jab. Franco sat up straighter, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sure we all agree,” James said with a smile that wasn’t entirely warm, “this will benefit everyone. Franco, you’ll spend the next three days with us here in Grove.”

The engineers in the room exchanged glances. Some smirked, others looked indifferent, but one person in particular didn’t even bother to mask her displeasure. Y/N, one of the team’s senior performance engineers, leaned back in her chair, arms folded, with an expression that screamed, “Of course it’s him.”

Franco noticed her immediately. He’d seen her around the garage before but had never exchanged more than a brief nod. Now, as her steely eyes bore into him, he felt the weight of the animosity she clearly didn’t bother to hide.

“Any questions?” James asked, breaking the silence.

Franco raised a hand half-heartedly. “Yeah. What exactly am I supposed to do for three days?”

James smiled, his tone sharper than the words themselves. “Learn.”

…

The hum of machinery filled the Williams factory, a symphony of clanging metal, whirring drills, and distant chatter. Franco stood awkwardly at the edge of the main floor, dressed in a team-issued polo and jeans, feeling painfully out of place. Engineers bustled past him with purpose, pushing carts laden with parts or gesturing at detailed schematics. Everyone seemed to know where they were going—everyone but him.

Y/N emerged from a row of workstations, a tablet tucked under her arm and a look of mild irritation on her face. Her presence was commanding, despite her relatively small stature among the towering racks and machinery. When she spotted Franco, her expression tightened further, as if this entire ordeal was a personal inconvenience.

“Right,” she said, stopping in front of him. “Let’s get this over with.”

Franco raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You really know how to make a guy feel welcome.”

Y/N didn’t bite. Instead, she thrust the tablet toward him. “Here’s your schedule for the day. You’ll shadow me for the morning. Try to keep up.”

“Keep up?” Franco smirked, taking the tablet. “I’m an F1 driver. I think I can manage.”

She didn’t even look back as she turned on her heel. “We’ll see.”

The morning was a whirlwind of tasks that Franco barely understood. Y/N walked him through the telemetry department, where engineers analyzed data from his car. The lead analyst, a middle-aged man named Paul, greeted Y/N warmly but barely spared Franco a glance.

“So this is the data from Vegas,” Y/N said, pulling up a graph on one of the monitors. “See these spikes here? That’s where you oversteered.”

Franco squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the jagged lines. “Okay, but in my defense, the rear was completeshit by that point.”

Y/N shot him a sharp look. “In your defense? Do you know how much work it took to rebuild the floor after that?”

Paul cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. “It’s not all bad,” he interjected. “We did get some valuable data—”

“Valuable data doesn’t fix a wrecked car,” Y/N cut him off, her eyes still on Franco. “Next time, maybe don’t treat the car like it’s disposable.”

Franco clenched his jaw. He was used to criticism from team principals or the media, but this felt different—more personal. “I don’t crash on purpose, you know,” he muttered.

Y/N turned back to the screen. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The tour continued through the machine shop, where technicians were crafting replacement parts, and the aerodynamics lab, where wind tunnel models were being adjusted. Franco noticed that while most people greeted Y/N with respect, their reactions to him ranged from polite nods to outright indifference.

By the time they reached the assembly area, Franco was bristling with frustration. “Is everyone here always this friendly, or is it just me?”

Y/N glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “They’re busy. Unlike you, they don’t have time to play the victim.”

Franco stopped walking, forcing her to turn around. “What’s your problem with me?”

“My problem?” Y/N folded her arms, her voice low but pointed. “You think this team exists to make you look good on Sundays. But for us, this is our life. Every crash, every mistake, it’s hours of extra work. Late nights. Missed weekends. Let alone you blaming it all on the car every time. So yeah, excuse me if I’m not rolling out the red carpet for you.”

Franco opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he fell silent and followed her as she led him to the next department.

The afternoon brought more hands-on tasks. Y/N handed Franco a wrench and pointed to a disassembled gearbox. “Think you can manage this?”

“Depends,” Franco said, inspecting the gearbox. “What’s the record time for putting one of these together?”

“This isn’t a race,” Y/N snapped, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

Franco worked diligently, occasionally asking questions that Y/N grudgingly answered. By the end of the day, the gearbox was reassembled, and Franco felt a small sense of accomplishment—though Y/N didn’t offer any praise.

As they packed up, Franco noticed her pause by one of the workbenches, her expression softening as she examined a photo taped to the wall. It showed a younger Y/N during her internship at McLaren, laughing with Daniel Ricciardo and Lando Norris.

“You worked at McLaren?” Franco asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N nodded without looking at him. “Internship during uni. Best year of my life.”

“Let me guess,” Franco said. “You were one of Danny Ric’s ‘shoey’ victims?”

Y/N laughed, a sound that surprised them both. “Only once. But it was worth it.”

For a moment, the tension between them eased. Then Y/N’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. “Back to reality. See you tomorrow, Colapinto.”

As she walked away, Franco found himself smiling despite himself. 

…

The second day at the Williams factory was already shaping up to be a long one. Franco arrived earlier than expected, determined not to let Y/N accuse him of slacking off. The factory came alive with distant murmur of conversations slowly filling the space. He leaned against the telemetry lab doorframe, holding a cup of coffee that smelled like it had been brewed by an engineer experimenting with car oil, waiting for Y/N to show up.

When she finally appeared, cradling a steaming cup of tea and glancing down at her tablet, Franco couldn’t help himself. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Y/N looked up, unimpressed. “You’re early. Trying to win points or just lost?”

���Maybe I just enjoy our morning chats,” Franco replied, grinning over the rim of his coffee cup. “Your warmth really sets the tone for the day.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement behind her usual sharpness. “If sarcasm counts as effort, you’re doing great.”

The morning routine started where the conversation with Paul had left off the previous day: telemetry analysis. Franco was seated in the simulator cockpit while Y/N pulled up detailed graphs of his Vegas laps, pointing out each mistake with the precision of a scalpel.

“See this spike here?” she said, her finger hovering over the screen. “That’s where you decided braking wasn’t necessary.”

“I didn’t decide that,” Franco countered, leaning forward to study the data. “The rear was loose, and I had to adjust—”

“You overcompensated,” Y/N interrupted, highlighting another section. “Instead of making a gradual adjustment, you panicked. A car doesn’t respond well to panic.”

Franco frowned, leaning back in the seat. “I didn’t panic.”

Y/N turned to face him, her gaze piercing. “You’re telling me plowing into the barrier was part of the plan?”

For a moment, Franco stared at her, at a complete loss for words. Then he laughed, the tension easing slightly. “You know, you’d make a great drill sergeant.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said dryly, though the faintest hint of a smirk played on her lips.

By lunchtime, Franco had decided to stop avoiding the canteen drama and instead followed Y/N to her usual table. She sat with a group of engineers, all engaged in animated conversation about the latest updates to the floor design. Franco tried to follow along, but the technical jargon quickly became overwhelming.

“You look lost,” Y/N said, leaning toward him. Her voice was low enough that only he could hear. “Too many big words?”

Franco smirked, stealing a chip from her tray. “Just biding my time. Waiting for you to talk about something interesting.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop him from taking another chip. “Bold move.”

“I can be bold,” he said, popping the chip into his mouth.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward, betraying her amusement.

…

At four o’clock sharp Y/N stood by the sideline of the nearby paddle court, tapping her racket against her leg and scanning the group of engineers gathering for the weekly game. It was her favorite way to let off steam after a long week - competitive enough to keep her engaged but lighthearted enough to remind her that work wasn’t everything.

“Where’s Ethan?” someone asked, voicing the question on her mind.

Y/N’s usual partner was nowhere to be seen. A quick check of her phone confirmed it: Ethan had bailed last-minute with a text about a migraine and a sincere promise to make it up to her next week.

“Great,” Y/N muttered under her breath. Without a partner, she’d be sitting this one out.

“Problem?” Franco’s voice cut through the crowd, his grin as smug as ever as he leaned against the court’s railing.

Y/N turned to him, crossing her arms. “Ethan flaked. No partner, no game.”

“Shame,” Franco said, though he didn’t sound particularly sorry. “Guess you’ll just have to cheer from the sidelines.”

Y/N glared at him, but before she could retort, he held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Or,” he continued, “I could step in. You know, save the day.”

She snorted, looking him up and down. “You? Save my day?”

“Hey,” Franco said, grabbing a spare paddle from the bench. “I’m more coordinated than I look.”

“That’s a low bar,” Y/N shot back, but her lips twitched as if suppressing a smile.

“You need a partner,” Franco said, spinning the paddle in his hand. “I’m offering. Unless you’re too scared I’ll outplay you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the thought of sitting out was more annoying than the idea of teaming up with him. “Fine,” she said, pointing at him with her paddle. “But if you screw this up, I’m never letting you live it down.”

The first few minutes were rocky. Franco’s confidence far outstripped his paddle skills, and Y/N found herself darting across the court to cover his missed volleys.

“Are you actually trying?” she called after him when he completely whiffed a return.

“Relax,” Franco said, jogging back to his position. “I’m just warming up.”

“You better warm up fast, I have a competition ranking to keep up,” she snapped, returning a wicked shot from their opponents.

But to her surprise, Franco adjusted quickly. His natural athleticism took over, and soon he was diving for impossible shots and landing them with a flourish that almost made Y/N forget his rough start.

“Not bad,” she admitted after he scored their first point with a sharp return.

“Not bad?” Franco said, feigning offense. “That was textbook genius.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Y/N said, though she couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips.

As the match progressed, Y/N found herself enjoying their unlikely partnership. Franco’s energy was infectious, and his relentless determination to win made her laugh more than once.

“Nice shot!” he shouted after one of her perfectly placed lobs.

“Thanks,” she replied, her voice tinged with mock sweetness. “Try not to ruin it.”

“I’m carrying this team,” Franco said, panting as he prepared for the next serve.

“Only thing you’re carrying is that big head of yours,” Y/N muttered, but the teasing tone softened her words.

At some point, a stray ball sailed out of the court, bouncing into the parking lot. Franco volunteered to fetch it, jogging off while Y/N leaned against the net to catch her breath.

James Vowles strolled over from the sidelines, hands in his pockets and a wide smile on his face.

“Not bad out there,” James said, nodding toward the court. “You’ve got Franco moving, at least.”

Y/N laughed, brushing a stray hair from her face. “He’s not as useless as I thought. Still reckless, though.”

James chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “You know, it’s good to see him having fun. It’s been a rough season—rookie pressure and all that. Moments like this are rare for him.”

Y/N glanced toward Franco, who was bent over retrieving the ball. His usual bravado seemed lighter today, less forced. She’d never thought about how intense the pressure must be for him.

“He hides it well,” Y/N said softly.

James nodded, still smiling. “He does. Sometimes I forget how young he still is.”

When Franco jogged back onto the court, tossing the ball into the air with a cocky grin, Y/N felt a twinge of sympathy she hadn’t expected.

“Ready?” Franco called, positioning himself for the next serve.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Y/N replied, her voice softer than before.

Franco’s serve caught her off guard. It was precise and powerful, skimming the net and clipping the edge of the line.

“Nice serve,” Y/N said, the words escaping before she could think better of them.

Franco froze mid-smile. “Did you just compliment me?”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said quickly, but there was a faint blush on her cheeks.

The rest of the match passed in a blur of fast volleys and laughter. Y/N found herself encouraging Franco more often, and he responded by playing even better, his confidence growing with every point.

By the time they won—21 to 17—they were both breathless and grinning.

“Good game,” Franco said, holding out his hand.

Y/N shook it, her grip firm. “Not terrible.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as glowing praise,” Franco said, his grin widening.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, though her tone was more teasing than cutting.

As the match wrapped up and the court cleared, Y/N crouched down to zip her bag, her mind still buzzing with the game’s energy. She couldn’t help but replay the last few points in her head—the unexpected precision of Franco’s serve, the way he’d thrown himself into every volley, and, perhaps most surprising, how well they’d worked together. It wasn’t something she’d anticipated when she grudgingly let him join her earlier.

Franco, standing a few feet away, adjusted the strap of his bag and hesitated. He glanced at Y/N, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. Instead, his expression was softer, more sincere, as though he was wrestling with what to say.

“Thanks for letting me play,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. It wasn’t just a throwaway comment—it carried a weight Y/N hadn’t expected.

She paused, straightening up and meeting his gaze. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Franco wasn’t looking at her with his usual smirk or playful glint. There was something vulnerable in his eyes, something she hadn’t seen before. Gratitude, maybe, or relief.

I should be thanking you,” she said simply, her tone gentler than usual.

Franco blinked, as though her words had surprised him, and for the first time since he’d arrived at the factory, he looked almost shy. He nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping closer.

“Seriously,” he added, his voice a little firmer now. “I needed that. It’s been… a lot lately. You didn’t have to let me join, but you did. So, thanks.”

Y/N studied him, her sharp instincts catching the subtle way his shoulders relaxed, the way he shifted his weight like he wasn’t used to opening up. This wasn’t the brash rookie who crashed cars and cracked jokes at every opportunity. This was someone who carried more than he let on—someone who, despite his flaws, was trying.

Her reply came almost automatically, her voice softer than she expected. “Well, don’t let it go to your head.”

But there was no edge to her words this time, no undercurrent of sarcasm. It was the kind of teasing that felt less like a wall and more like an olive branch.

For the first time, she didn’t see him as just the reckless rookie who kept wrecking her hard work. He was something more—someone navigating a high-pressure world, someone trying to find his place just like everyone else. And, Y/N realized, he wasn’t half-bad at it when he let himself breathe.

Franco smiled—an easy, genuine smile that lit up his face in a way that was, dare she admit it, a little endearing. “Careful,” he said, his tone regaining its usual playfulness. “Keep this up, and I might start thinking you like me.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” she shot back, though her lips twitched into a faint smile of their own.

As they walked out of the court together, their banter trailing into the evening air, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted. Maybe, just maybe, Franco Colapinto wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

…

The hum of the factory felt louder than usual the next morning, or maybe it was just the lingering buzz from the paddle game. Y/N sat at her workstation, staring at the detailed telemetry graphs on her screen but not entirely focused on them. She couldn’t stop thinking about Franco—not in the way she was used to, with irritation bubbling under the surface, but something else. Something softer.

“Morning,” a familiar voice called, jolting her out of her thoughts.

Franco leaned against the edge of her desk, his trademark grin firmly in place. He was holding a cup of coffee—factory brew, by the looks of it—and looked annoyingly chipper for someone who had spent the previous day sprinting across a court.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow but unable to keep the amusement out of her tone.

“Probably,” Franco replied, setting the coffee down on her desk. “But I figured I’d start with you.”

Y/N eyed the cup suspiciously. “What’s this?”

“Peace offering,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Figured I owed you for carrying me in paddle yesterday.”

Y/N snorted, picking up the cup. “You’re lucky I like caffeine.” She took a cautious sip, then looked up at him. “Still terrible coffee, though.”

“Hey, I tried,” Franco said, raising his hands in mock surrender.

The morning flew by in a blur of meetings and simulations. Franco had started shadowing her more closely, asking questions that, to her surprise, weren’t entirely stupid.

“So, this graph,” Franco said, leaning over her shoulder as she pulled up data from one of the wind tunnel tests. “What does this spike mean?”

“It means the airflow over the rear wing is separating,” Y/N explained, highlighting the section with my cursor. “See this spike? That’s where the turbulence is disrupting the downforce. Less downforce means less grip, especially through the high-speed corners.”

Franco leaned in, squinting at the data. “So that’s why we were losing time through Sector 2 at Interlagos—the Esses and that long left-hander?”

Y/N glanced at him, impressed despite herself. “Exactly. Nice to see you’ve been paying attention for once.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Franco said, grinning.

Their banter flowed more easily now, the sharp edges of their earlier exchanges softened into something almost friendly. Almost.

During their mid-morning coffee break, Y/N found herself sitting with Franco at one of the smaller tables near the canteen window. She usually avoided these moments, preferring to spend her breaks with other engineers or, more often, alone. But today, she didn’t mind the company.

“So,” Franco said, leaning back in his chair. “How’d you end up here, anyway?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Here, as in Williams? Or here, as in motorsport?”

“Motorsport,” Franco clarified, taking a sip of his coffee. “You don’t exactly seem like the type to spend your weekends watching races.”

Y/N chuckled. “You’d be right about that. My dad was obsessed with cars, though. Used to take me to karting tracks when I was a kid. At first, I hated it—too loud, too smelly. But then I started paying attention to the mechanics, how everything fit together. It just… made sense.”

Franco tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “And that led you here?”

“Eventually,” Y/N said, shrugging. “I studied engineering, did an internship with McLaren during uni. That’s when I realized this wasn’t just some childhood fascination. It was what I wanted to do.”

Franco nodded, his voice quieter now. “Well, you’re really good at it. I hope you know that.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Thanks, Franco,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

The afternoon was hectic. With the car rebuild still behind schedule, the factory floor buzzed with a sense of urgency. Y/N was stationed at one of the workbenches, assembling a new rear suspension with a few other engineers, when Franco wandered over.

“Need a hand?” he asked, pulling up a stool beside her.

“Can you tell the difference between a torque wrench and a spanner?” Y/N asked without looking up.

“Not yet,” Franco admitted, resting his chin on his hand. “But I’m a fast learner.”

Y/N sighed but handed him a tool anyway. “Fine. Hold this. And don’t drop it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Franco said, mimicking a salute.

Despite her initial reservations, Y/N found herself enjoying his presence. He asked questions, paid attention to her answers, and even managed to make her laugh a few times. By the end of the day, she was surprised at how much they’d gotten done—and how much lighter the workload had felt with him around.

As the factory began to wind down for the evening, Y/N was packing up her tools when Franco appeared beside her, hands in his pockets and a lopsided smile on his face.

“Busy tomorrow?” he asked.

“Probably,” Y/N replied, zipping up her bag. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” Franco said, his tone casual. “Figured I should plan my day around annoying you as much as possible.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “Good luck with that.”

As they walked out of the factory together, the air between them felt lighter, less charged with the tension that had defined their earlier interactions. For the first time, Y/N found herself looking forward to the next day—not just for the work, but for the company.

…

The pub was crowded, buzzing with the energy of Williams team members finally letting loose after a grueling week. Laughter echoed off the wooden beams, glasses clinked, and the occasional burst of cheering from the engineers at the dartboard carried through the room. Franco sat at a high table with James Vowles and a handful of other engineers, a pint of beer in front of him, untouched.

“So there I was,” one of the engineers was saying, his hands gesturing wildly, “under the car, trying to weld the damn thing back together while the rear wing’s hanging on by duct tape—”

James chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like just another Tuesday.”

Franco forced a smile, but his mind was elsewhere. He could still hear the faint hum of the factory in his head, see the way Y/N’s brow furrowed as she focused on her work. He had no doubt she was still there, surrounded by telemetry data and spreadsheets, hunched over some impossible task to get the car ready for Qatar.

“Franco!” James called, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You’re quiet tonight. That’s not like you.”

Franco shrugged, lifting his pint and taking a sip just to appease him. “Just tired.”

James tilted his head, studying him with a faint smile. “You’ve been spending too much time in the factory. It’ll do that to you.”

“It’s not so bad,” Franco said, setting his glass down. “The coffee is shit though.”

James’s smile grew, but he didn’t press further. Another round of laughter from the group filled the silence, but Franco found himself restless. He glanced at the time on his phone and then at the door.

“Back in a bit,” he said abruptly, grabbing his jacket.

“Running off already?” James teased, but Franco didn’t answer. He was already weaving his way through the crowd, his mind made up.

The factory was eerily quiet when Franco returned, the once-bustling floor now deserted save for the faint hum of machinery. The lights were dimmed, casting long shadows across the empty workstations. He made his way to the telemetry department, navigating the maze of desks and monitors like he belonged there - which, after the past few days, he almost did.

He found her exactly where he expected: sitting at her workstation, her face illuminated by the glow of her screen. Her hair was slightly mussed, one hand absently running through it as she scrolled through what looked like another mountain of data. There was an empty coffee cup on her desk, and a faint crease on her forehead betrayed her exhaustion.

Franco paused, watching her for a moment. She looked so focused, so determined, and it struck him how much effort she poured into her work. Not just effort – her whole heart.

He cleared his throat softly, not wanting to startle her too much. She glanced up, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw him standing there.

“Franco?” she said, setting her stylus down. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at the pub.”

“I was,” he admitted, holding up two brown takeout bags. “But it was boring without someone yelling at me every five minutes.”

Y/N blinked, clearly caught off guard. “And you brought… food?”

“Figured you’d still be here,” he said, stepping closer and setting the bags down on the edge of her desk. “You’ve probably been here all night, haven’t you?”

“I’ve got work to do,” she replied, as though that explained everything.

“Yeah, and you’ve also got to eat,” Franco said, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside her. “So I’m here to make sure you don’t keel over from starvation. You’re welcome, by the way.”

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously thoughtful,” Franco corrected, grinning.

They unpacked the food, and Y/N couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture despite herself. The noodles were still warm, the comforting aroma filling the small space around them. She took a bite, her stomach growling in approval.

“This is surprisingly good,” she admitted, glancing at him.

“You’re welcome,” Franco said, digging into his own container.

For a while, they ate in comfortable silence, the tension between them replaced by an unexpected ease. Franco leaned back in his chair, watching her with a curious expression.

“You really don’t stop, do you?” he asked, nodding toward her screen.

Y/N shrugged, setting her chopsticks down for a moment. “Deadlines don’t stop. Someone has to keep the car running.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Why do you do it?”

The question caught her off guard. She hesitated, then sighed. “Because it matters. It’s not just about the car—it’s about the people. Everyone here gives their all to make sure we succeed, and I don’t want to let them down.”

Franco nodded slowly, his gaze steady. “You’re really one of a kind, you know.”

Y/N blinked, startled by the sincerity in his voice. “Thanks,” she said softly.

“Seriously,” he added, his voice quieter now. “It’s incredible what you do here.”

She smiled, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s worth it.”

As the meal wound down, Y/N turned back to her screen, scrolling through the data she’d been working on before Franco arrived. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, but her mind wasn’t entirely on the numbers. She could feel him beside her, his presence surprisingly steady and not as intrusive as she would’ve thought a few days ago.

Franco, meanwhile, hadn’t moved. Instead, he pulled his chair closer, resting his elbows on the edge of the desk as he watched her work. The soft glow of the monitor lit her face, highlighting the faint creases on her forehead and the small, almost invisible smudge of grease on her temple.

“You really don’t stop,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Not when there’s this much to do,” she replied without looking at him.

“Still,” he said, his tone quieter now. “You’re doing all of this, late into the night, and you’re not even asking for help.”

Y/N glanced at him, her brows furrowing. “Because there’s no point. If I want it done right, I might as well do it myself.”

Franco tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. “That’s not true. You just don’t let people try.”

Her hands stilled over the keyboard, his words striking deeper than she expected. She turned to him fully, her lips parting as if to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was no teasing, no arrogance - just genuine concern.

“You don’t have to carry all of it alone,” he said softly.

Her breath hitched, the words lodging themselves in her chest. For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, her mind racing. He was so close now, close enough that she could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the tiredness in his green eyes, and the way his shoulders seemed more relaxed than usual.

“Do you need help?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

She blinked, his question pulling her back into the moment. “You? Help with this?”

“I’m serious,” Franco said, his grin reappearing, though it was softer now. “I’m good at following orders. Well, sometimes.”

She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “I appreciate ­­­­it but highly doubt you’d be any use here.”

“Try me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his tone playful but laced with something deeper.

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, his hand moved toward her. He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against her temple as he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a jolt through her all the same.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. His hand lingered near her face, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. The usual sharp retorts and witty comebacks she relied on were suddenly out of reach, replaced by a charged silence that felt heavier with each passing second.

“Franco…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Just tell me what you need,” he murmured, his tone steady but impossibly soft.

Her heart pounded, her chest tight with a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite name. The walls she’d kept firmly in place all week seemed to crack, piece by piece, under the weight of his gaze.

And then, before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in.

The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant, her lips brushing against his in a way that felt more like a question than a statement. But the moment his hand came up to cup her jaw, his fingers warm against her skin, the hesitation melted away. She tilted her head, her hands instinctively gripping the front of his jacket to pull him closer.

Franco responded in kind, his lips moving against hers with a surprising gentleness that caught her off guard. There was no urgency, no rush - just a quiet intensity that left her breathless. The air between them crackled with the kind of tension that had been building for days, unspoken and simmering just beneath the surface.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her breath coming in uneven bursts. Franco was staring at her, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.

“Well,” he said after a moment, his voice huskier than usual. “If I knew takeout was all it took—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice firm but laced with amusement.

A grin spread across his face, the kind that made his green eyes crinkle at the corners. “Noted.”

Y/N shook her head, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at her lips. She turned back to her screen, though the work in front of her suddenly felt far less urgent. The weight of the week wasn’t gone, but it had shifted, lightened in a way she hadn’t thought possible just hours ago.

Beside her, Franco leaned back in his chair, his presence steady and unassuming. For the first time, Y/N didn’t mind him being there—not in the slightest.

…

The Williams garage in Qatar buzzed with the familiar energy of a race weekend. Mechanics hurried from here to there, engineers huddled around monitors, and the drivers moved through their routines with laser focus. But amidst the usual chaos, Y/N felt strangely at ease - a rare calm she hadn’t experienced in years of working in motorsport.

She stood near the garage entrance, tablet in hand, scrolling through last-minute setup notes for the car. It was a crisp, clear evening, and the desert air carried a cool breeze that contrasted with the heat of the track.

“Looking for me?”

Y/N didn’t even have to turn around. Franco’s voice, smug but undeniably warm, was unmistakable.

“You wish,” she replied without missing a beat, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Franco stepped into her peripheral vision, his race suit unzipped and hanging around his waist. His green eyes sparkled under the fluorescent paddock lights. “Well, if you weren’t, I’m a little disappointed.”

She finally looked up, tilting her head. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on the race? You know, doing the thing we all worked so hard to make possible?”

“I am focused,” he said, leaning casually against the wall. “Just… multitasking. Driver prep and talking with my favorite engineer - it’s all about balance.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her smile didn’t fade. “If you’re trying to charm me, it’s not working.”

“Who says I’m trying?” Franco countered, his grin widening.

Y/N shook her head, turning back to her tablet. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” Franco said, his voice softer now, “but you kind of like that about me.”

Y/N snorted softly, pretending to focus on the setup notes. “Delusional as ever.”

Franco leaned in closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Call it what you want, but I think I’m growing on you.”

She tilted her head, arching a brow. “More like you’re wearing me down.”

“Same thing,” he said with a grin, stepping back slightly but not leaving.

“You ready for this?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Franco shrugged, his grin softening into something more earnest. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She studied him for a beat, noting the slight tension in his posture and the way his fingers tapped lightly against his thigh. Beneath the bravado, there was a trace of nerves—small, but there.

“Hey,” she said, lowering her tablet and meeting his gaze. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.”

Franco’s eyes softened, and for a moment, his usual smirk faded. “Coming from you, that actually means a lot.”

“Good,” Y/N said simply, her lips curving into a small smile.

The sound of an engine roaring to life in the garage snapped them both back to reality. Franco straightened, tugging at the collar of his race suit and exhaling deeply.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he said, his voice softer this time, though there was still a faint smile playing on his lips.

Y/N didn’t look up from her tablet, her fingers flying over the screen as she reviewed another set of setup notes. “Good. Try to avoid the barriers, would you?”

Franco chuckled quietly, stepping closer until he was just beside her. “You always know how to motivate me, don’t you?”

She finally glanced up, tilting her head. “Do you really need a speech? The car’s ready, the data’s solid, and you’re…” She paused, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re as ready as you’ll ever be.”

“That almost sounded supportive,” Franco said, his grin warming.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Y/N replied, shaking her head lightly before looking back at her screen.

Franco lingered, his hands resting lightly on the edge of her desk. “You know, you could just wish me good luck. It’d be nice to hear.”

Y/N sighed theatrically but set her tablet down, looking up at him again. “Fine. Good luck, Franco. Now go make it count.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate. Then, with a quick glance toward the bustling garage behind them, he leaned down and kissed her—a quick, warm kiss that caught her completely off guard.

From across the garage, a few engineers burst into laughter and cheers. “Woo, Colapinto!” someone shouted, and another voice chimed in, “About time!”

Y/N’s face flushed instantly as she pulled back, her eyes wide. “Franco—”

“Hey, they said it, not me,” Franco said with a small laugh, holding his hands up as if to plead innocence. But his voice had softened even more now, his gaze lingering on her with something closer to gratitude. “You look cute with those red cheeks.”

She blinked, her blush deepening, but she managed to recover quickly enough. “You’re lucky I have work to do, or I’d make you regret that.”

“You’ll miss me out there,” he teased gently, stepping back toward the car. He turned just before climbing in, his grin more genuine now. “I’ll make sure your hard work shines.”

Y/N shook her head, picking up her tablet again to distract herself from the lingering warmth on her cheeks. As the car rolled out of the garage, she caught herself smiling - just for a moment - before diving back into her work.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, though there was no mistaking the fondness in her tone.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Can I request Herta with an S/O who's a massive tsundere?

(H:SR) Herta with a tsundere S/O

Oh, what's that? S/O was being stubborn and getting too embarrassed to say what's on their mind?

Funny/Cute as it was, Herta doesn't have time for this.

Do you think such a beautiful, smart, and young genius like her has time to wait for S/O to stop twiddling their thumbs to say they wanna hold hands?!

Hell no! That's a waste of time for her, AND S/O!

That being said, many people ask: "Madam Herta, if you find that part about S/O annoying, why did you even agree to be with them?"

And her response is rather simple.

(Herta) "And that is any of your business, how, exactly?"

The way Herta gets around this little quirk of S/O's: Isn't it obvious? Just directly bring up whatever to where they can't beat around the bush.

(Herta) "I need a test subject and need to spend time with someone who can actually listen, S/O. Dinner will be made on time, probably."

(S/O) "...Shouldn't you ask if I want to be a test subject?"

Herta simply raised an eyebrow at S/O. They opened their mouth to say something else, but it's not like spending time with their (definitely young and attractive) girlfriend was the worst thing.

Even if there was at least a 50% chance of them imploding.

(S/O) sigh "Alright, what are we doing?"

And being fair to S/O, Herta doesn't really mind nor care of their blushy-attitude that they give her.

If anything, it makes them a little more fun to be around. Heavens know that Herta is a handful to be around, the least she could do for her beloved (test subject) was to return the favor.

Alongside Asta, and some of the Genius Society, S/O was also a voice of reason to stop some insane plan or research she had, lest the entire Herta Space Station blinks into some god-forsaken star, or some other freak abomination.

It also puts S/O's social skills to the test! They can't be a tsundere if they need to tell Asta that Herta was harnessing the power of a star to do Aeons knows what.

And that was the least of S/O's concerns. What they really had to worry about was when she was bored and had free time.

(Herta) "Hm...While I'm here on the Station, S/O, we need to get you a new set of clothes!"

(S/O) "You're not going to make me go into your wardrobe again, right?"

(Herta) "Well, I do intend for you to help me sometime in the next three years, so no, obviously. But that being said..."

She snaps her fingers and immediately, several puppets burst into the room.

(S/O) "You didn't need to snap to summon them."

(Herta) "Has it occurred to you that I do things because I like to, S/O?"

(S/O) "I think that's one of the first things I learned about you..."

(Herta) "Exactly! Now, let's have you visited by the Emanator of Beauty!"

About an hour passes and the entire room is devoured by rolling racks of clothes, with even some of the puppets acting as Coat Hangars, with their arms out-stretched into a T-Pose.

All the while, Herta is sitting on a floating key, trying to decide which shade of purple matched S/O the best, researching some other things on the side of a tablet.

With S/O checking themselves in a mirror, also held by a smaller Herta.

Herta appeared busy with the many things occupying her, S/O stealing a glance from the mirrors and quietly smiling to themselves.

(Herta) "...It'll last longer if you take a picture, y'know."

S/O shifted their eyes away and blushed, mumbling something under their breath much to her amusement.

(S/O) "D-Don't tease me!"

(Herta) "Hm? And you are going to do what exactly? If I continue to do so?"

Suddenly, Herta was by S/O's side, giving them the smirk they (loved) were irritated by so much.

(S/O) "I-I..."

(Herta) "Ah, get flustered. Naturally."

Herta chuckles to herself as she hands the outfit to S/O to try on, finally stepping back onto the ground and checking both herself and her lover in the mirror.

(Herta) "Now, chop chop! Try it on!"

(S/O) "Will this even look good on me?"

(Herta) "I'll ignore the doubt you have in my fashion sense, which is a crime against me I'll have you know, and say, obviously! I'm the one who chose it, and you're the one wearing it."

S/O's face heated up from Herta's own flavor of compliment and took the outfit, preparing to change again.

All the while, Herta just smiled to herself, and turned away for them to change.

She was still looking, and S/O knew that, but for the sake of their prideful heart, they chose not to say anything.

But...admittedly, S/O loved the attention, and Herta knew that damn well.

It was nice to have someone that could understand each other in a more intimate way, and it went both ways.

...Most of the time, anyways.

Its kind of hard to view your girlfriend the same way once she harnesses the power of a nearby star with some unfathomably complicated device just to see if she could and prove some random-ass researcher four hundred sectors away wrong.

S/O was prideful in not admitting they liked to kiss her, but holy shit that was kind of a whole other level.

===

A/N: Do you guys tell how much I love writing Herta? She's so damn funny. I always knew I had a taste for insane brunette scientists (See Hange), and DAMN Herta scratches that itch.

[warpdrive-witch]

Hello! Can I request angst for Agatha? Maybe Agatha and the reader are married and have a baby together, but someone is trying to come between them. This person wants the reader and starts sending fake photos to Agatha, making it look like the reader is cheating. At first, Agatha doesn’t believe it, but then something happens that makes her doubt everything, and she ends up leaving the reader. Eventually, she finds out the photos were fake all along. You can decide how it ends. Thank you!

Hey Anon! Thanks for the idea. I wanted to write this out for you before the last two weeks of the semester hit me in the face. I hope you love it. Enjoy 💜

18.1k Words. Manipulation. Leaving. Arguments. Angst. Childbirth. Stress.

The Evidence of Nothing

The nursery smelled like lemon oil and fresh cotton—the scent of new beginnings. Dust motes floated through the golden light slanting in from the west-facing window, catching on the soft curve of your belly as you reached up to shelve another book. Your back ached, but you smiled through it, one hand pressing instinctively over the gentle swell, like your daughter might press back.

Behind you, Agatha leaned in the doorway, her silhouette softened by the light, a mug in her hands and amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“You know she’s going to pull all of those down the second she learns to stand.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “And you’re going to say, ‘She’s just curious,’ while I’m the one re-shelving The People’s History of the Peloponnesian War for the fifth time.”

Agatha stepped forward with a chuckle, placing her mug on the windowsill. “I never said I’d stop her. Just that I’d admire her technique.”

You grinned as she came to stand behind you, her hands slipping beneath yours to brace the book in place. Her fingers brushed over yours—cool from the mug, grounding and sure. The baby kicked then. Sharp and sudden.

Agatha stilled. Her eyes widened as she looked down at your belly. “Was that—?”

You nodded, eyes glossy. “She liked the joke.”

She exhaled a laugh, but it broke halfway. Her hand rose slowly, reverently, and settled against the place where the kick had landed. When the baby kicked again, her face cracked wide open with wonder.

“She’s real,” she whispered. “I mean—of course she’s real, but…”

“I know.” You leaned your head against her shoulder, the both of you swaying slightly where you stood. “It still hits me sometimes. Like I’ll forget for a second and then she moves and—”

“It’s everything again,” Agatha finished, voice thick.

You turned into her. She kissed your forehead first. Then your lips. There was peace here. A quiet certainty. Even when your hips ached. Even when the world outside felt too sharp. This house, this room—this love—was steady. Later that night, curled together on the couch, Agatha rubbed your back while you sorted through baby name lists on your tablet.

“I still think her middle name should be Justice,” she said, half-serious.

You raised an eyebrow. “What is she? A comic book character?”

“She’s got your spine and my attitude. She’ll need something iconic to anchor her.”

You shook your head, but you were laughing. And when Agatha rested her palm against your belly again, the baby kicked once more—strong and deliberate, like she agreed.

------

It was supposed to be a quick meeting. Twenty minutes, max.

You’d agreed to meet Maya Larkin at the campus café just off the quad—a tucked-away spot where faculty and grad students lingered over lukewarm espresso and half-graded papers. She’d reached out the week before, her email full of gratitude and eagerness. She was revisiting her thesis proposal, she said. Wanted your perspective. “Only if you have the time,” she’d added. “I know how busy things must be.”

You did have time—barely—but she’d been one of the brightest students in your public history seminar last year. Smart. Focused. Maybe a little intense, but respectful. And genuinely curious about the same kinds of questions that lit your brain up.

So you said yes.

You arrived a few minutes early, one hand cradling your belly out of habit as you shuffled into a corner booth. The barista behind the counter gave you a nod—already making your usual. The baby had started getting fussy about temperature lately; everything had to be lukewarm or she'd protest with a well-placed jab to your ribs.

Maya slid into the booth a few minutes later. Polished, professional, a little overdressed for a casual meeting—but maybe she was coming from a class. Her smile was wide, eyes bright behind dark-framed glasses.

“Professor,” she said warmly. “You look amazing. Glowing, honestly.”

You smiled, nodding in thanks. “It’s mostly the lighting. And the fact that I didn’t throw up this morning for the first time in three days.”

She laughed like you’d told a good joke.

The conversation was fine. Mostly.

She asked sharp questions. Brought up your recent panel presentation at the library conference. Quoted your article on queer archival silences—verbatim. It should’ve been flattering, and part of you was impressed. But something about the way she said, “I think about that line all the time: ‘Sometimes silence isn’t absence—it’s refusal.’” made the back of your neck prickle.

Not wrong. Just... too knowing. Too aware.

You chalked it up to nerves. People got weird around professors, especially when they admired them. You’d done it yourself, back when you were Maya’s age.

As you stood to leave, she hesitated.

“I, um—actually got you something.” Maya reached into her bag and pulled out a small gift bag. Pale yellow tissue crinkled softly at the top.

You blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” she said, waving it off. “Just something small. I saw it and thought of you. No big deal.”

Inside was a teething ring shaped like a stack of archival boxes. You’d seen them on Etsy—clever and kind of adorable. It was cute. Harmless.

But something about the way she said thought of you landed a little too close.

Still, you thanked her. Smiled. Told her good luck with the revisions.

And then the soft chime above the café door jingled.

You turned instinctively—already recognizing the cadence of her footsteps.

Agatha spotted you immediately. Her expression melted into that familiar, quiet joy—the kind of look that made you feel seen even before she’d touched you.

She crossed the café in a few strides, pausing behind you just long enough to drop a kiss on your cheek. Her hand skimmed your shoulder, thumb brushing gently across your collarbone in a touch that had always made you feel like home.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I figured you might be here.”

You leaned back into her. “I thought you had office hours?”

“I did. Canceled the last half. Your texts looked like you were fading.” She smiled, then glanced toward Maya with polite curiosity. “Hi.”

Maya’s voice came a second too late. “Hello, Dr. Harkness.”

There was something clipped in it now. Tighter. You recognized the shift immediately.

Agatha blinked. “I’m sorry—have we met?”

Maya’s jaw tensed.

“I was in your History of Political Thought class. Fall semester, two years ago.”

Agatha’s face was blank. “Oh. I—apologies. I usually remember my students, but that year was a little chaotic.”

Maya’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Apparently.”

You stiffened. Agatha, ever perceptive, felt it too. Her hand dropped instinctively to your shoulder again, thumb smoothing small circles over your sweater.

“I was just heading out,” you said, easing yourself up from the booth.

Maya stood as well, but not before her gaze flicked—slow and assessing—from your rounded belly to Agatha’s arm still resting over your shoulder. Her nostrils flared so subtly it might’ve gone unnoticed… if you hadn’t already been watching her too closely.

“You two… know each other?” Maya asked, voice deliberately light.

Agatha lifted a brow. “We’re married.”

The words landed like a slap.

For a moment, Maya didn’t speak.

Then: “Well. Congratulations.”

You gave her a gentle nod, polite and practiced. “Good luck with your revisions. I’m sure your work will grow into something strong.”

Maya’s mouth twisted like she’d bitten into something sour. “I hope so. It’s always interesting to see who gets remembered.”

Agatha turned, her free hand settling protectively at your back. “Have a good afternoon, Ms. Larkin.”

You didn’t look back as the two of you walked out.

But Maya did.

------

The late afternoon had settled into something slow and honey-thick—sunlight slipping through the windows in lazy gold ribbons, the kind that softened the edges of everything. You were curled on the couch, a mug of herbal tea resting on the swell of your belly. It tasted like regret and well-meaning advice—raspberry leaf, lemon balm, nettle. Jen’s special blend. She’d handed you a mason jar of the stuff last week with a knowing look and said, “Not glamorous, but helpful. Trust me.”

You did trust her. Jen had been a part of your life long before she'd become your doula. She lived just two doors down—equal parts brilliant and grounded, a former ER nurse turned midwife who now grew heirloom tomatoes in raised beds and hosted monthly book clubs that always devolved into feminist rage and laughter. She’d been the one to gently insist on keeping a birthing pool in the house. “Just in case,” she’d said, tapping her temple. “Babies don’t care about plans, sweetheart. They come when they come.”

So, the pool waited in the corner of your bedroom. Deflated. Coiled like a secret. A quiet backup plan to a backup plan. But somehow, its presence made things feel more real. More possible. As if someone else had thought through the chaos so you didn’t have to.

You shifted slightly, adjusting the laptop perched across your thighs. Your legs were tangled in a pretzel of academic exhaustion—one knee bent beneath you, the other stretched out just enough to tap absently against Agatha’s thigh. She sat beside you on the couch, a novel open in her lap, though the angle of her gaze suggested she hadn’t read more than a paragraph in the last half hour.

A groan escaped your lips as another email notification popped up in the corner of your screen.

“What now?” Agatha asked, not looking up.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Another undergrad asking if I can ‘just glance’ at their digital exhibit proposal before Monday. It’s Friday, Agatha. I’m not their personal fairy god-historian.”

She smirked without lifting her eyes. “You kind of are.”

“I do not grant academic wishes.”

“You do. I’ve seen you. One time you rewrote a student’s thesis abstract and called it ‘pedagogical triage.’”

“That was an emergency. He didn’t know what a historiographical lens was and was three weeks from presenting to the department.”

Your inbox dinged again.

And again.

You groaned theatrically, one hand drifting to your stomach as if to physically shield your child from the chaos of academia.

“Okay, let’s see… Michael needs help with his citations… Tabitha wants an extension… and—”

You stopped mid-sentence.

A new subject line blinked softly on the screen:

Following up on our chat – Maya Larkin

The air shifted—not dramatically. But enough. Enough that you noticed when Agatha's hand stilled on her book, her breath hitching just faintly in the quiet space between seconds.

You clicked the email open.

Hi Professor, Thank you again for taking the time to meet. I found our discussion about archival ethics incredibly inspiring—it really made me think more deeply about emotional bias in preservation work. I’d love to meet again if you're available. Totally understand if you're busy! I just value your insights so much. Warmly, Maya

You leaned back against the cushions, already composing a gentle, professional brush-off. “Why do they always want to ‘pick your brain’? My brain is tired. My brain is bloated with third-trimester fog. My brain is a balloon full of sleep deprivation and foot cramps.”

Agatha didn’t laugh. Not this time.

She slid a bookmark between the pages and set the novel down in her lap, fingers drumming once—then stilling.

“Didn’t you already meet with her?” she asked lightly, casually. But her posture had changed. More upright. Alert in that quiet, practiced way she had when something didn’t sit right.

You nodded, scrolling. “Yeah. Earlier this week. She was fine. A little intense. One of those students who memorizes your entire CV and then watches your face to see if you’re flattered.”

“Hm.”

That was all.

Just a soft sound. Noncommittal. But thoughtful.

You glanced sideways. “What?”

Agatha shook her head and reached out, squeezing your ankle where it rested against her thigh. “Nothing. Probably just the protective instincts kicking in. I didn’t love the way she looked at you the other day.”

You arched a brow. “She was nervous.”

“She was… something.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but stopped. Because even if you didn’t feel threatened, you had noticed the way Maya had lingered a little too long after the meeting. The way she’d smiled like she was testing a theory, not just being polite.

Agatha didn’t press. She didn’t need to. Her gaze drifted back to your belly—softening—and then flicked toward you.

------

Agatha hadn’t meant to overhear it.

She was coming out of the departmental printer room—an ancient, humming closet of overheating machines and jammed toner cartridges—when she caught the tail end of a conversation between two adjuncts near the breakroom, voices low and gossipy in that way people got when they weren’t talking about anything serious but still wanted to sound important.

“…said she stopped by their office hours yesterday and no one was there. Totally empty. Door open, lights on, but nothing.”

The other voice was vaguely familiar—maybe one of the anthropology post-docs. “Weird. They’re never out of office. Especially not this late in the term.”

“She even knocked, just in case they were in the back or something. But yeah—nobody.”

Agatha froze for half a second, her hand still on the doorframe. They didn’t name you, not outright—but “never out of office” could only be one person. You. You were practically known for it. You’d once held office hours on a snow day “just in case.”

It was probably nothing. Maybe the student had shown up late. Maybe they were confused.

Still, something tugged.

That night, after dinner—after the dishes had been stacked and the leftovers labeled, after you had curled up on the couch with a book propped on your bump and a blanket over your knees—Agatha said, too casually, “Did you have office hours yesterday?”

You looked up. “Mhm. Why?”

“I just… someone mentioned not finding you in your office.”

You blinked, then rolled your eyes a little. “Oh—yeah. A student came by early, and she looked like she was two seconds from a panic attack, so I offered to walk with her. We sat on the bench outside the library. Figured it would be less intimidating than hovering in my weird windowless cave while she tried to explain her draft.”

Agatha tried to keep her expression neutral, but something flickered. “Which student?”

You frowned, trying to remember. “Tabitha, I think? No—wait. The other one. But then Maya spotted me and before I could find a way to leave, she started asking questions”

Agatha’s body didn’t tense.

Not really.

But something in her shoulders changed—some ancient, barely visible bristle of self-protection.

“She asked to meet again?”

You nodded, distracted, already flipping back to your reading. “Yeah. I mean, she was right there, and I didn’t have anyone else scheduled. It was fifteen minutes, tops. Honestly, she just needed someone to tell her she wasn’t failing at life.”

Agatha hummed softly.

Then: “She’s coming up a lot lately.”

That made you look up again. “What?”

“Nothing,” Agatha said smoothly. “Just an observation.”

You watched her for a moment longer. Her face was calm. Too calm.

“She’s just a student,” you said gently.

“I’m sure,” Agatha murmured, pressing a hand to your leg beneath the blanket. “I’m just… noticing things. That’s all.”

You let it go. But that little weight settled somewhere behind your ribs. You weren’t sure whose discomfort it belonged to—yours, or hers.

------

Agatha didn’t sleep that night.

Not well, anyway.

You hadn’t noticed—you’d passed out hard, your back pressed against her chest and your belly cradled in the crook of her arm. She stayed awake for hours, thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your shirt, waiting for the unease to loosen in her chest.

It didn’t.

She hated how it made her feel. Suspicious. It didn’t suit her. But something had shifted. She could feel it.

The next day passed without much fanfare. You had back-to-back meetings, and she had a faculty review to finalize. By the time the two of you finally got home, she could see how exhausted you were. Your ankles were swollen, your eyes rimmed with fatigue. You needed rest, not questions. Not doubts.

So she didn’t bring up Maya again.

She kissed your temple when you dozed off on the couch, then tucked a blanket around you and padded into the kitchen to make tea. Her phone buzzed just as the kettle began to scream. It was a message from an unknown number.

No words. Just an image.

The photo loaded slowly, the progress bar crawling like it knew what it was about to reveal.

And then it appeared. A blurry shot—taken through the wide library windows. You, seated on the bench just outside. Maya beside you. Leaning close. Too close.

The angle made it look worse than it was. Maya’s hand was reaching toward you—your shoulder, your hair, your face? It was hard to tell. You were turned slightly toward her, mid-sentence, eyes soft in a way that Agatha knew was your way of listening.

But it looked intimate. Too intimate. The time stamp read two days ago. The message underneath came through a second later.

“I thought you should know. I’d want to.”

Agatha stood still for a long moment. The kettle wailed beside her. Steam curling into the air like a warning. She clicked the phone off. Her tea went cold on the counter.

When you stirred awake an hour later, you found her reading, eyes unreadable. She smiled when you sat beside her. Kissed your temple. But her hand didn’t linger the way it usually did. And when you fell asleep against her again, she watched the ceiling for a long time.

------

It was a Thursday—ordinary in every way.

The kind of day that passed without ceremony. Students shuffled by her open door, leaves rustled outside the window, and the scent of dry-erase marker clung to the sleeves of Agatha’s cardigan like a ghost.

She was in her office, drafting lecture notes for next week’s seminar, a half-finished cup of coffee going lukewarm beside her laptop. Her pen tapped absently against the margin of her notebook as she reread a line, crossing through a phrase and rewriting it cleaner, sharper.

Then her phone buzzed against the desk. Once. Then again. A third time—sharp enough to fracture her concentration. She exhaled, annoyed, and reached for it. A single email. No sender listed. Just a subject line:

“You deserve to know.”

Her stomach pinched. Her finger hovered above the screen, reluctant, but still—curious. She tapped. The email contained no message body. Just an attachment. She opened it. It took her a moment to process what she was seeing.

You, unmistakably, sitting in your office. The light from your desk lamp made your skin glow. Your cheeks were red, lips parted mid-laugh. The angle suggested someone had taken it from just outside the open door—or worse, through the cracked blinds.

You looked happy. Relaxed. Flushed. And then she saw the caption. Crude. White letters overlaid at the bottom like a tabloid headline:

“Not just a student, is she?”

Agatha’s heart lurched.

It was a still photo—just a single frame. But it said too much. Or maybe nothing at all. If she didn’t know you, if she hadn’t watched you move through life with such open honesty, it would’ve been easy to believe something else was happening. Something private. Something inappropriate.

She wanted to throw the phone across the room. Instead, she stared. The world thinned out around her.

For a moment, it was like being back in that other life—the one before you. The one where trust had been a sharp thing, easily broken. Where someone else’s secrets had rotted out the floorboards beneath her and left her standing in the wreckage.

She thought she was past that. She thought you had taught her something better. Then another email came in. This time, from an address she didn’t recognize.

No name. No signature. Just words:

This isn’t the first time, either. Thought you should know before it gets worse. Her hands trembled. She didn’t respond. Didn’t forward it. Didn’t delete it either. She closed the email and shut her laptop and sat in silence, the image still burning behind her eyes.

------

It was a Thursday—ordinary in every way.

The kind of day that passed without ceremony. Students shuffled by her open door in half-zipped jackets and earbuds, the last leaves of the season skipping across the sidewalk outside. Somewhere, someone sneezed with the conviction of a man losing a midterm. The heater clicked on for the third time that hour.

Agatha’s office smelled like dry-erase marker and paper. The kind of quiet, book-lined room that had once made her feel grounded. Today, it felt too still.

Her lecture notes sat open in front of her, margins scribbled with arrows and underlines, but her pen hovered above the page without moving. Her coffee had gone tepid. Forgotten.

She should have been thinking about next week’s seminar. Reframing Public Memory: Power, Absence, and Archive. She should have been considering which readings to cut, which to expand, whether she had time to rewrite the slide about monumentality in Southern cemeteries. But the only thing that kept repeating in her head—unwelcome, unprovoked—was that still frame.

Your face. That laugh. The cold, acid shape of implication twisted into the caption.

She’d stared at it too long. Not because she believed it, but because it had caught her off-guard so precisely. Like someone had reached into her chest and jostled the bone she’d only just learned to trust again. A knock came at the doorframe—two short taps.

“Dr. Harkness?”

Agatha blinked and looked up. Alice stood in the doorway, cradling a stack of folders against her hip, a travel mug balanced precariously on top.

“Oh. Alice. Come in.”

Alice stepped inside, nudging the door open with her shoulder and setting the folders down on the edge of the desk. “Here’s everything for the grant submission. And your revised syllabus notes.” She paused. “You okay? You look like you’ve been staring at the same sentence for twenty minutes.”

Agatha gave a thin smile, folding her arms loosely on the desk. “Just tired.”

Alice didn’t sit, but lingered—her weight shifting between feet, gaze flicking toward the half-shut laptop. She was observant, always had been. Too sharp sometimes. Not easily brushed off.

Agatha turned back to her notes, flipping a page. “Did you end up adding the entry about the queer oral history archive?”

“I did. Cross-referenced the metadata guidelines, too. But…” Alice hesitated. “Sorry, I know this might be out of line, but… you muttered something earlier when I knocked. Something about ‘students.’” Her voice gentled. “Everything okay?”

Agatha’s hand stilled. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. Just a whisper. A habit, maybe. A bleed-through of thought into speech. But now that the door was open, she didn’t quite know how to close it again.

She kept her tone even. “Have you ever had a student… blur the line between academic admiration and something else?”

Alice blinked. “Like… parasocial?”

“No.” Agatha’s mouth twisted faintly. “Like interest. Romantic, or otherwise.”

“Oh.” Alice set her mug down. “Yeah. Once or twice. It was awkward, but not threatening.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away.

Alice tilted her head. “Is it someone in your class?”

Agatha shook her head. “Not mine.”

Alice frowned. “Then who?”

The silence stretched. Agatha tapped her pen once against the desk, then looked up. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was low. Careful. “Maya Larkin.”

Alice's brow furrowed in recognition. “The archival student? She’s… intense. Bright, but intense. I sat in on her presentation last semester. Didn’t she reach out to—?”

“Yes.”

Agatha’s eyes met Alice’s across the desk. Something unspoken passed between them. Alice straightened. “Did something happen?”

“Not exactly. Just…” Agatha exhaled, folding her arms tighter. “Something doesn’t sit right. And I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Especially not about someone she chose to mentor.”

Alice’s gaze softened. “Then maybe start with what you do know. Or… show me?”

Agatha didn’t move. She didn’t open the laptop. But she nodded—slowly. As if anchoring herself to the moment. To someone else who could see the thread, even if it hadn’t unraveled yet.

Outside, the breeze rustled through brittle leaves. A bell rang across campus. And somewhere down the hall, a printer kicked on with a shrill whine that made them both flinch. Ordinary sounds. On an ordinary Thursday. But the air had shifted. And something quiet had begun to take root

------

That night, the house felt too quiet. You were humming to yourself in the other room, folding the last of the laundry and calling softly for her to come help pick out tomorrow’s baby clothes. You sounded light. Happy. You had no idea.

Agatha didn’t answer right away. You found her in the kitchen, standing barefoot by the sink, the refrigerator still open behind her. Her phone was in her hand, screen dark now. Her other hand rested lightly against the counter, fingers flexing as if trying to ground herself.

You stepped behind her, arms circling gently around her waist, your cheek brushing her shoulder. “You okay?”

Agatha turned, slow, her eyes hard to read in the dim light.

“Yeah,” she said, too quickly. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

You tilted your head, searching her face. “Anything I can do?”

She hesitated—just long enough for something cold to slip between your ribs.

“No,” she said finally, voice quieter than before. “Not tonight.”

She slipped her phone into her back pocket and offered you a faint, tired smile. You kissed her temple anyway. But she didn’t lean in the way she usually did. And the photo—unspoken, unseen—settled between you like a weight neither of you could name.

------

Agatha balanced the takeout tray against her hip, the brown paper bag tucked tighter under her arm as the scent of roasted tomato soup and fresh focaccia drifted around her like a promise she hadn’t figured out how to speak yet. The hallway air was cool and faintly metallic—old building, older vents—but the warmth from the food wrapped around her like a second skin.

She hadn’t planned this. Not really.

But when she saw the café chalkboard outside the library—Lunch Special: Roasted Tomato Bisque & Focaccia—your favorite, always your favorite, something inside her sparked. Soft and urgent. Not guilt, not exactly. More like a quiet offering. A bridge she wanted to rebuild plank by plank, even if her hands still shook from the weight of doubt.

It wasn’t that you had done anything wrong. She knew that. God, she knew that.

But something in her—something old and cracked and half-healed—had split open again.

It was the kind of hurt that didn’t arrive with sirens or certainty. Just a slow corrosion. A voice at the back of her mind that whispered remember when, and what if, and don’t be stupid again.

Agatha pushed open the department door with her shoulder, her grip shifting to balance the tray. She’d imagined this moment on the walk over—your surprised smile, your eyes lighting up at the smell of soup, the way you always touched your chest when something moved you without warning.

She missed you.

Missed you, even though you shared a bed. Even though you laughed beside her and kissed her temple and traced her belly with reverent fingers when you both couldn’t sleep. Because somehow, in the silence between all those soft moments, space had grown. Not because of you. Because of her.

She was halfway down the hallway—almost to your door, already smiling in anticipation—when someone rounded the corner. Maya. Agatha’s body went still.

Maya’s hair was twisted into something that looked effortless but wasn’t. Her lipstick was dark, plum-red and glossy, drawn on with too much care for a casual Thursday. She carried nothing in her hands. No notebook. No folder. Just a small smile that didn’t belong here.

And she froze when she saw Agatha.

Only for a second. Just a flicker. But it was there—the startle, the adjustment, the recalibration of her mask.

“Dr. Harkness,” Maya said, voice breezy, polite. Too polite. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Agatha didn’t smile. Her voice came out smooth, practiced. But cold.

“Clearly.”

Maya gave a half-laugh, her tone airy. “Just finished chatting with Professor. She’s always so generous with her time.”

Her eyes glittered—bright, sharp. Performed. Agatha’s grip tightened around the bag. The warm focaccia inside had begun to cool.

“Uh-huh.”

She didn’t step aside. Didn’t look away. And Maya didn’t linger. She breezed past with a nod, perfume trailing behind her—overly sweet, synthetic florals clinging to the stale academic air like a foreign presence. Wrong, Agatha thought. It smells wrong.

Only when Maya’s heels faded down the stairwell did Agatha begin to move again. Her breath was shallow. Her steps were careful. Your office door was open.

Inside, you stood at the far end of the room, sleeves pushed up, glasses slipping down your nose, surrounded by paper stacks and soft lamp light. You looked like yourself. Grounded. Focused. Beautiful.

And for one aching second, Agatha wanted to leave. Not because she didn’t believe you. But because she didn’t believe herself. Not fully. Not yet. Not when the shadow of something she'd once survived had found a new shape in her mind again.

You looked up and your entire face changed.

“Hey!” you beamed, already moving toward her. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um...” Agatha held up the tray with a shy, uncertain smile. “I brought you lunch. I saw the special and thought—”

She didn’t get the rest out. You were already across the room, stepping around a precarious tower of graded essays. You took the tray from her hands with a grateful sigh and set it on your desk. “You’re the best. I’ve been living off dry cereal and office candy for two days. You might’ve saved my life.”

Agatha laughed, but it cracked on the tail end. Barely audible. But you heard it.

You turned to her, head tilted. “Hey,” you said softly, reaching for her hand, guiding her fingers to your sleeve. “You okay?”

She hesitated, then let her fingers slip against the fabric. You were warm. Solid. Real.

“I’ve been…” Her voice thinned. “Weird. I know. I’ve been trying not to fall into old patterns, but—”

You frowned. “Agatha—”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “I don’t want to be that person again. The one who assumes the worst. Who sees ghosts in corners and shadows where there aren’t any.”

You stepped closer, cupping her face with both hands. Your thumbs brushed the softest curve of her cheekbones.

“You’re not her,” you whispered. “You’ve grown past that. You chose to.”

Agatha’s eyes shimmered. “I’m still learning how to trust what’s mine. That I don’t have to protect myself from the good things.”

“I know,” you said. And then, gently, “I love you for trying.”

You leaned in and kissed her—slow, certain, soft. A promise in a breath. She melted into it. And for a moment, everything held.

But later—when Agatha excused herself to the bathroom and stepped into the hallway, heart a little steadier, soup left half-eaten on your desk—she passed the bench outside your office. The one from the photo. The one from the email.

She didn’t stop. Didn’t look directly at it. But she slowed. And the scent hit her again. That same cloying, artificial perfume. It clung to the air like a warning. Like a thread she hadn’t pulled on yet.

------

Agatha told herself she was done looking.

She told herself the worst was over—that she’d chosen to trust you, that the lunch visit had grounded her again. She’d kissed your cheek. She’d stayed the whole afternoon. She’d even laughed.

But later that night—well after you’d fallen asleep, your body curled toward her beneath the quilt, a hand resting instinctively over your belly—her phone buzzed again.

1:13 a.m.

Another unknown number. Another email address that meant nothing. Another photo.

This time, it was nothing damning. Nothing intimate. Just you and Maya passing in the hallway. Maya smiling. You laughing at something, a coffee cup in your hand.

But the angle was the same. The framing. The intent. A beat later, another came through.

A different angle. This time inside the building—taken through the narrow glass window of your office door. You were seated at your desk. Maya was standing above you, too close, holding something out of frame. You looked distracted. Tired.

Underneath it, the caption:

“How long has this really been going on?”

Agatha’s heart pounded, hot and sick in her chest. She clicked away. Tossed the phone onto the nightstand like it might burn her. But the buzz came again.

1:29 a.m.

“You deserve someone who tells you the truth.”

2:04 a.m.

“Open your eyes.”

She stopped reading them. Stopped opening the photos. But she didn’t delete them. And the next day—Friday—was worse.

They came in every hour. Some from blocked numbers. Some from emails strung together in nonsense letters and numbers. Each one just different enough to seem real. Each one feeding the same slow, venomous narrative.

She tried to stay busy. She taught her class. Held a department meeting. Even brought you a decaf latte halfway through the day, holding your hand a little too tightly when you thanked her.

You noticed. Asked if she was okay. She said she was just tired. She smiled. She kissed your cheek in front of your T.A. like nothing was wrong.

But by the time the sun set, Agatha felt like she was made of glass—brittle and thin and dangerously close to shattering. And still the messages came. Still the images. Still that voice in her head whispering: what if you’re wrong?

------

It was just a voicemail.

That was all.

Agatha had only left the department twenty minutes earlier, her leather satchel slung over one shoulder, a glass container of pasta tucked neatly under her arm—the leftovers from last night’s dinner you hadn’t had time to eat. She was planning to drop it off, maybe steal a kiss, maybe convince you to pack up early and go home. She knew how grading week swallowed you whole. How you forgot meals and hours and sometimes your own name if a citation wasn’t formatted right.

She knew the look you got—brows drawn tight, glasses slipping down your nose, a red pen clenched like a scalpel. It worried her. The kind of tired you carried was never theatrical. It was quiet. Noble. Dangerous.

So she’d called you.

Nothing big. Nothing dramatic. Just a soft Hey, I’m coming by. I’ve got that stupid pasta you like. The one you claim tastes better when I make it—even though it’s just garlic, butter, and lies.

You didn’t answer.

Not unusual. Your phone had a talent for burying itself under student folders and library receipts and those tiny post-its you used like breadcrumbs through your chaos. She’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected was—

Laughter. Yours. She heard it before she saw you.

The hallway curved gently, your office sitting at the far end with the door half-open, just wide enough to spill out sound and light. The kind of light that made everything inside seem warm. Familiar.

Safe. Agatha slowed. There you were.

Back turned slightly, perched behind your desk with a paper cup in one hand and a soft smile blooming across your face. And across from you—

Maya.

Standing comfortably close.

She was holding something—thin, rectangular—one of those draft exhibit panels you always helped students with, maybe. Her fingers trailed across the printed text as she tilted it toward you, asking something Agatha couldn’t hear.

You answered. Your voice was gentle, thoughtful. Encouraging. The way it always was when someone came to you unsure of their own work. It wasn’t flirtation. Not technically.

But then you laughed again—quick and bright and familiar. Agatha’s stomach twisted like it had been tied wrong. She stopped walking.

She wasn’t hiding. Not really. She didn’t duck behind a corner or backtrack toward the stairwell. But she didn’t keep going either. She just stood there, the pasta container cooling in the crook of her arm, watching your smile break open like sunlight and wondering—absurdly, painfully—when was the last time I made you laugh like that?

Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. She reached for it. One notification. A voicemail.

To: You Sent: 15 minutes ago

She blinked down at the screen, thumb hovering. You hadn’t even listened to it. Agatha’s breath caught low in her chest, a slow burn threading into her ribs. It was nothing. It was everything. A moment, a shadow, a memory she couldn’t quite claw away from.

For a second she just stood there, listening to the soft hum of your voice as it filtered into the hallway. The way you said Maya’s name. The quiet affection that seemed to thread through your tone like silk.

And then she turned. She didn’t speak. Didn’t step forward. Didn’t knock. She walked away. The pasta was still warm when she got back to the car. But she wasn’t.

------

You noticed it just before you left campus.

A low, rolling tension curled through your lower belly—dull at first, more pressure than pain. You paused at the edge of the quad, one hand coming to rest just above your hip, your other gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

You told yourself it was nothing. Braxton-Hicks, maybe. Jen had warned you about them. “Practice surges,” she’d said. “Common this late. Annoying, but harmless.” Still, something in your body felt different. Not sharper, exactly—just... aware. Like the air inside your skin had shifted. Like your muscles had started listening to a frequency you hadn’t meant to tune into.

You breathed through it, slow and steady, and pressed your free hand against your belly. The baby gave a soft nudge, as if responding. Not distressed. Just... present. Still here. Still with you.

By the time you reached the car, the tightness had eased. Mostly. But your body didn’t forget. It carried the memory of that tension like a held breath, like a word not yet spoken. And as you turned onto your street, you thought—not for the first time that week—We’re getting close.

------

The house was quiet when you got home. Too quiet.

No music playing. No clatter from the kitchen. Just the low hum of the fridge and the steady thud of your heartbeat in your ears.

You paused in the doorway, keys still clutched in your hand. “Hey,” you called softly. “Soup delivery?”

No answer.

You kicked your shoes off slowly, the weight of the day still dragging behind your eyes. Your shoulders ached. Your head buzzed. You just wanted to sit down. Eat. Maybe curl into Agatha’s arms and forget the last six hours of student panic and policy meetings.

You found her in the kitchen.

She hadn’t cooked. Just stood at the table, one hand braced against the back of a chair, her phone face-down beside her. Her back to you.

You tried to lighten the air. “Sorry I missed your call. I had a student stop by and I—”

“Which one?” she asked.

Her voice wasn’t loud.

But it cut like broken glass.

You blinked. “What?”

She turned slowly.

Her face was pale. Not in anger, but in something worse—grief, maybe. Shock. Like part of her had known this was coming and still hoped she was wrong. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest. Eyes rimmed red.

“Maya,” she said. “Right?”

You sighed—too long. Shoulders sagging. You rubbed at your temple. “Oh, we’re on this again?”

Her mouth parted just slightly.

You kept going, not even realizing how deep the hole was getting. “It’s been a long day, Agatha. Seriously, I was going to tell you. She just stopped by—she’s having a meltdown over her thesis and—”

She flinched like you’d shouted, even though your tone wasn’t raised.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. Her hand lifted slightly, like she needed to physically block the sound of your voice. “I can’t believe this.”

You held up your hands. “Agatha. Babe. Relax. It’s not what you think. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

And then you saw it—really saw her. Everything Agatha had been holding in. All of it. Her sleepless nights. Her guilt for doubting. Her shame for even entertaining the idea that you—you—could betray her. But also the fear. The creeping, unrelenting fear that maybe… maybe something had changed without her realizing it.

Her eyes were rimmed red, her mouth trembling even as she tried to hold it steady. She looked like she was about to break—and worse, like she was ready to let herself.

You stepped back slightly, blinking, your hand instinctively hovering over the curve of your belly like it could protect something sacred.

“What is happening right now?” you asked, voice cracking. “Let’s just—let’s back up.”

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she pulled her phone from the counter and tossed it onto the table between you. The screen lit up—dozens of unread messages. No names. Just previews. Just timestamps. Just photos.

“Every single day,” she said. “Someone’s been sending me pictures. Emails. Texts. All anonymous. Photos of you.”

Your throat went dry.

She swallowed like it hurt. “Of you. With her. Maya. Laughing. Smiling. Sitting too close. Standing too close. In your office. Outside the department. Every hour. I’ve been spammed, I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I keep trying to trust you and I keep getting punished for it.”

You shook your head slowly, hands raised in disbelief. “Agatha, no one is punishing you. This isn’t what you think. I didn’t do anything wrong. You know me. You know better.”

She reeled back like you’d slapped her.

“Don’t you dare say that to me,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m being irrational.”

“I’m not—I’m just—” you exhaled hard, struggling not to shout. “You’re yelling at your pregnant wife. I’m carrying your child, I’ve been on my feet all day, trying to hold it together, and now I come home and get accused of… what, having an affair with a student? That’s not irrational? You don’t think this is too much?”

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy,” she spat. “You’ve been hiding her from me—”

“I haven’t hidden anything!” you snapped.

“You didn’t tell me! You knew she was hanging around you like some lovesick ghost, and you never told me how often she was showing up. How close she was getting. You let it slide.”

“I didn’t think it mattered!” you cried. “Because I wasn’t doing anything!”

“And that’s the problem!” Her voice rose to a sharp, furious pitch. “You didn’t think it mattered. You didn’t think I needed to know. You just let it happen and acted like it was nothing. And now I’m the one losing my mind over it.”

“I have been honest with you,” you said, chest heaving. “I am being honest.”

“You’re not,” she growled. “If you were, I wouldn’t be finding this out like this.”

You stared at her for a long moment—hurt and angry and cracking at the seams.

“Wait…” your voice dropped, bitter and stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me about the photos when they started? Is this what’s been going on the past week? Agatha, you didn’t trust your wife—your very pregnant wife—to not fuck some… what, random student?”

She froze. And in that silence, something changed.

You could see it in her eyes—how a thousand things collided there all at once: shock, shame, fury, and something far more dangerous than either.

Disbelief.

“I wanted to trust you,” she said finally, voice hollow. “God, I wanted to. I tried. But every time I reached for you, I felt like you were slipping away. Like there was something you didn’t want me to see.”

You blinked, jaw clenched. “Because I was trying to hold everything together. Because I didn’t want to fall apart in front of you.”

Her breath hitched, furious. “And what, that gave you an excuse to hide things from me?”

“There was nothing to hide!” you snapped. “You’re acting like I’ve been sneaking around behind your back when all I’ve done is work and come home and try not to collapse from exhaustion!”

“Then why does she keep showing up in my inbox?” she shouted. “Why do I get photos of you with her looking like you’re sharing some secret—like she knows something I don’t?”

You felt it then. The pain again. Low. Sharp. Deep in your lower belly.

You winced—one hand bracing against the edge of the counter. It was quick. Too quick for her to name it for what it was. But she saw it. The flicker of pain across your face. The way your breath caught.

“Are you okay?” she asked, softer, suddenly closer.

“I’m fine,” you bit out, eyes hard. “Not that you care right now.”

She reeled back. “Oh, that’s rich. I’ve been losing sleep over this for days, watching these messages roll in and wondering if I’m going insane, trying not to ask, trying not to accuse you of something I desperately hoped wasn’t true—and now I’m the one who doesn’t care?”

“I’m nine months pregnant, Agatha!” you shouted. “I’m exhausted and hormonal and in pain, and all I’ve done is try to keep my head above water while you spiral over something I didn’t even know was happening!”

She was quiet. Just long enough for the anger to twist into something colder.

“I need to think,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can’t be in this house right now. I need air. I need space.”

You stared at her like she’d hit you.

“Agatha,” you whispered, voice rough with disbelief. “But if you walk out that door—if you leave your wife and child because you couldn’t come to me with this sooner, because you didn’t stop to remember who I am to you—then don’t you dare walk back in like it didn’t matter.”

Agatha stood there for a moment, completely still.

Then she nodded—once. Sharp. Like she was trying to save face even as her hands trembled. She turned, walked to the door, and opened it.

The hallway beyond was quiet. Dim. The kind of silence that felt like winter pressing in.

And then, without a word—

She stepped out.

Closed the door behind her.

Not a slam. Just a click.

But it echoed like the end of something sacred. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The weight of her absence settled instantly. A hollow space in the middle of your chest. And somewhere beneath your ribs, deep and deliberate— Another wave of pain bloomed.

------

You didn’t sleep.

Not really.

You moved to Agatha’s side of the bed sometime after midnight, dragging her cardigan with you like a lifeline. The fabric was worn soft with time, faintly scented with lavender, cedar, and the kind of clean musk that always clung to her skin long after she left the room. It smelled like her neck at the end of the day. Like the hollow between her shoulder blades where you used to press your lips when she was too tired to speak.

Now, the scent filled your lungs like a bruise.

The sheets were cold at first, but you curled into them anyway. Into her pillow, still faintly indented from where her head had rested the night before. You pressed your cheek to it like maybe if you held still enough, breathed deep enough, she might come back.

The house was too quiet. Not peaceful. Not gentle. Just still.

That unnatural kind of stillness that follows an argument—sharp-edged and waiting to be shattered. The air felt heavier without her in it. The floorboards creaked beneath nothing. The wind outside didn’t rattle the windows, didn’t whisper through the trees. It just... waited, like you did.

Your phone lit up every few minutes on the nightstand. And each time, your heart jumped before your eyes confirmed what you already knew.

No missed calls. No texts. Just a calendar notification. A weather alert. A silence so complete it felt like a decision.

You pulled your knees up, curling around your belly like you could shield her—your daughter—from this grief, from this growing ache that had nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the space Agatha left behind.

------

The pain came again at 2:13 a.m.

Not lightning-sharp. Not the panic-worthy kind of pain. Just pressure. Heavy and low, like something behind your hips was being pulled forward in slow, deliberate pulses. It dragged beneath your belly like a tide curling into the shore.

You gasped softly, hand instinctively cradling your bump. Braxton Hicks, you whispered to yourself. You’d read about them. Felt them before. Practice contractions. Harmless.

You waited for it to fade. It did. Eventually. But when the next one came—thirty minutes later—it lingered longer. Wrapped itself around your lower back like a vise and then eased away just slow enough to leave you shivering.

You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just shifted again, hand pressed firm to your stomach, as if you could steady something deeper than the physical pain. As if your daughter could feel your apology. I’m okay, you thought. We’re okay. She’ll come back. This is just a nightmare. It’s temporary. It has to be.

But the next wave was sharper. Not enough to make you scream. Just enough to steal your breath. You held it in. Held everything in. You didn’t want to make this about you. Not again. Not when she had walked out already believing that somehow, you were the one who couldn’t be trusted. That your honesty wasn’t enough. That your love hadn’t been enough to keep her from believing a lie.

You stayed in bed.

One hand protectively curved around your belly, thumb stroking the stretched fabric of the nightshirt that barely fit you now. The other hand clutched your phone—white-knuckled, silent.

The screen stayed dark. No messages. No typing bubbles. Not even an ellipsis. You closed your eyes, trying to breathe through the next wave of tightness. Not painful, just… ominous. Like your body was rehearsing for something you weren’t ready for. Like your heart had pulled the curtain back on something too early.

You didn’t remember falling asleep. But you must have, eventually. Just long enough for your mind to trick you. You dreamed of her shadow falling across the threshold—quiet, careful, like she didn’t want to wake you.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand brushing your hair back with reverence, voice cracking as she whispered, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. Come back to me.

And just when you reached out to touch her— You woke. Your hand met empty sheets. Her side of the bed was still cold. And the pain was still there.

------

The light coming through the curtains was thin and gray—more of a suggestion than a sunrise. A sky that hadn’t decided what kind of day it was going to be. You hadn’t moved much.

Your limbs were heavy, your spine sore from how long you'd been curled on one side. The tightness under your belly was back—low and insistent. Not sharp, but... deeper. A stretch pulled tight from within.

You closed your eyes. Counted. One, two, three, four... ten. It faded. Slowly. You exhaled shakily and dragged your phone toward you, your thumb clumsy against the screen. The calendar blinked up at you.

9:02 a.m. HIST 604 - Lecture: Public Memory & Monument Crisis

You stared at the notification.

Then at your unread messages—still none from Agatha.

Still nothing from the woman who had sworn she'd never walk away from you again. You sat up slowly, one hand braced against the mattress. Your joints protested. Your belly tensed again, harder this time, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stay quiet.

When it passed, you pulled open your email, typed out a cancellation in two lines: Class canceled today due to family emergency. Please review last week’s slides and prep your monument comparison paragraphs for Monday.

You clicked send before you could reread it. Before your guilt could edit it into something more professional, more honest, more devastated. You hauled yourself upright, dragging your aching body toward the kitchen. Tea. Toast. Something bland. Something quiet. Something that could pretend to fill the hole in your chest.

The contractions were still far apart. Nothing consistent. Nothing you couldn’t breathe through.

But they were real now. And the silence was, too.

------

The email came at 11:04 a.m.

Subject: Following up again!

From: Maya Larkin.

You stood in the kitchen, hunched over the counter with a slice of toast in one hand, the knife still resting in the butter dish like you’d forgotten what to do with it. The toast was cold. Barely toasted. More obligation than meal.

Your thumb hovered above your phone, and when the preview lit up on screen—Maya Larkin in crisp, mocking letters—it felt like someone had dumped ice water down your spine.

Your jaw locked. Eyes stung. You didn’t open it. Didn’t need to.

You could already hear her voice in your head—over-sweet and paper-thin, saccharine in that way that tried to pass as sincerity. You could picture every word.

I really valued our last conversation. Would love to hear more about your research. You’re such a source of inspiration.

Like she hadn’t left a trail of ruin behind her.

Like she hadn’t been waiting for the exact moment your life started to split open. She hadn’t even waited twenty-four hours. You stared at the glowing screen, heart pounding in your ears. You could feel your pulse in your throat, hot and uneven.

It was almost impressive, the audacity. Your hand trembled slightly as you tapped the checkbox beside her name. Delete. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

The moment the message vanished, a sharper pain bloomed low in your belly—cutting and sudden. A tight band of pressure that wrapped from your back to your abdomen like something had been cinched too tight inside your own body.

“Ah—shit,” you breathed, gripping the counter’s edge.

Your knees bent slightly, your center of gravity shifting as you rode it out. The contraction rolled through you like a slow wave, strong enough to punch the air from your lungs but not quite enough to drown you.

You stayed there—eyes closed, teeth grit, one hand gripping the countertop, the other pressed firm against the top of your belly.

The baby responded with a soft, steady kick. Then another. Like she was nudging you. Still here. Still with you. When the pain finally ebbed, you exhaled hard through your nose and laughed—dry, breathless, bitter.

“For the love of God,” you groaned aloud, voice hoarse, cracking around the edges, “can you and your mother not have the fucking worst timing in all existence, sweetie?”

You braced one hand against the countertop, the other moving slowly over the hard swell of your belly, fingers splayed wide. The motion was rhythmic, instinctive—an attempt to soothe what couldn’t be soothed. To quiet the storm gathering beneath your skin, even as another one began to roll in just outside the walls of your home.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and long, like a warning echoing from across the ridge. You paused, lips parting.

Then—flash.

A burst of lightning lit up the windows. Just for a second. But enough to cast sharp shadows across the floor, to make the room feel momentarily stranger than it had before.

The baby shifted beneath your hand—slower this time. Pressing outward with a steady, deliberate roll. As if responding not just to your voice, but to the change in the air. As if reminding you she was here. With you. Still yours.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. “I know, baby. We’re okay.”

But the words tasted like dust in your mouth. Because you weren’t sure it was true anymore.

The wind howled outside, brushing along the windows like a breath against glass. Another flicker of lightning chased itself through the trees. The air in the room felt tighter now, like it knew what was coming.

And still, the door hadn’t opened.

------

Alice hadn’t meant to dig.

Not really.

But something in Agatha’s face yesterday—too composed, too careful—had scratched at the part of her that didn’t like leaving threads hanging. And then today, when Agatha had handed off her lecture notes with a quiet thank you and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, Alice felt it again.

Something was wrong.

She waited until after office hours ended. The building had thinned out, echoing with the shuffle of closing laptops and the rustle of winter coats. Outside, the sky was turning the kind of purple that meant evening had arrived without permission. Alice poured herself a mug of tea from the communal pot, sat down at her desk, and opened her laptop.

She started with the basics.

Maya Larkin.

Archival theory graduate track. High GPA. Strong recommendations. And overly, suspiciously involved for someone technically in their second year. Her name came up in faculty minutes for multiple committees. There was a line in last semester’s teaching assistant roster—assigned to one of the introductory cultural memory seminars. And—odd—there was her name again, listed as unofficially observing two classes she wasn’t enrolled in. One of them, Alice noticed, was yours.

That was the first flag.

The second came when she dug into the departmental project logs. You’d listed Maya as a research assistant for your exhibit work. But her time sheets were inconsistent. Too many hours logged for too few materials submitted. And when Alice opened the shared drive, a handful of the file names made her stomach shift.

draft_1_CURATED_final_Fig7_ML PersonalNotes_ArchivalBias ObscuringNarrative.pdf

That one stopped her.

She clicked it open.

The document wasn’t long. Just two pages, single spaced. But it was... pointed. Not academic. Not entirely. It read like something between a manifesto and a personal reckoning. The tone was clinical, but the language leaned emotional. It was about ethics. About relationships. About blurred boundaries in mentorship—and the price of being "silenced by those in power." A line near the bottom was underlined:

History is shaped by who gets to hold the pen—and who gets to pretend their version wasn’t written with someone else’s blood.

Alice sat back. Her tea had gone cold.

Her gut clenched in the same way it had when she read through student complaint reports. Not the obvious ones. The quiet ones. The ones that came through too late, or never made it past the draft folder.

She was just beginning to take a screenshot when her email pinged.

Subject: FW: Maya Larkin / Department Concerns

It wasn’t addressed to her directly. It had come through the general admin inbox, flagged and forwarded by the assistant dean. She opened it on instinct.

The message thread was messy, half-redacted in places—but the last entry was clear. A message sent to the dean’s office through the student conduct reporting system. The complaint was vague, unsigned. But it was about you.

And attached—tucked at the bottom like a time bomb—was the file name she recognized immediately:

MayaLarkin_Confidential.pdf

Alice clicked it.

And froze.

The top of the page included a photo.

Not damning. But calculated.

You. In your office. Smiling. Hands clasped on your desk like you’d been mid-conversation.

Underneath, typed in bold:

“This isn’t the first time. She does this. She hides it well. Ask around.”

Alice sat there, blinking at the screen, the quiet hum of the building pressing in around her.

She didn’t know that miles away, in a quiet kitchen, Agatha was already fighting not just suspicion but history.

Didn’t know that you’d just dropped your bag, already feeling the pressure in your belly growing tighter, deeper.

All she knew was that she had the beginning of something very wrong.

And she had to decide—right now—what to do with it.

Alice hadn’t expected to find much.

When she first started digging—cross-referencing Maya’s class history, department activity, advising notes—it had felt almost procedural. Academic. Agatha hadn’t asked her to. But the worry had been visible in her posture all week, coiled beneath her clipped sentences and long silences. Something had shifted in the way she moved, the way she watched the halls. Something had changed.

And Alice… well. Alice had spent enough time around professors to know when quiet turned dangerous.

So she kept going.

A few emails. Public ones. A seminar scheduling thread Maya had been CC’d on. A forwarded student project list. Then one strange file in the shared server. Titled like a joke: “Sandwiches & Strategy.” Tucked inside a subfolder of Maya’s exhibit drafts.

She opened it, half-expecting some bizarre mock-up of label formatting.

Instead, it was text.

An email chain.

Not one meant for her. Not one meant for anyone, really.

Her blood chilled.

She scrolled.

I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything. Maybe I should up the frequency again? She’s probably too distracted—being that pregnant and all.

Alice froze.

Don’t worry. I’ll keep playing it sweet. Professors love a good praise sandwich, right? ;)

She’s not going to stay with Harkness once this all sinks in. She’s too smart for that. I’ve read her work. She wants someone who understands her. Who sees her. She’ll come around.

The cursor blinked at the bottom of the page like it was daring her to breathe.

Alice sat back in her chair. Her throat felt tight. Her hands had gone cold.

This wasn’t a misunderstanding. It wasn’t unrequited infatuation, or professional overstepping, or even obsessive admiration.

It was manipulation.

Planned. Practiced.

Targeted.

She moved quickly after that.

Pulled the metadata. The email header. The sending address: maya.larkin@campus.university.edu. No spoof. No alias. Real.

And at the bottom of the file, as if Maya had been too smug to resist leaving one last fingerprint, was a draft auto-saved from her personal folder. Dated two days ago.

Subject line: “Timing the Follow-Up—Any Movement Yet?”

Alice’s heart pounded.

She stood. Pushed away from her desk. The room felt suddenly too warm, the air too thin.

She didn’t know the full story—didn’t want to. But she knew enough. Enough to recognize the danger. Enough to know how cruel timing could be.

And enough to know that Agatha needed to see this now.

She opened her phone and thumbed out a message fast as her fingers would let her:

Then she attached the file.

No explanation. No delay.

She pressed send.

And somewhere—across town, or across the next breath—Alice imagined Agatha’s world tilting sideways.

She just hoped she’d gotten to her in time.

------

Agatha hadn’t gone far.

She’d told herself she would. Told herself she needed air, space, time to clear the fog that had been choking her for days. But all she’d done was circle the same blocks—campus, downtown, the park, campus again—her hands clenched so tightly around the steering wheel that her knuckles had gone bloodless.

The silence in the car was deafening.

Not peaceful. Not grounding.

Just punishing.

Every red light felt like it was glaring at her. Every green one felt like it was daring her to run. She turned the radio on at one point, desperate for something to fill the space. But the third love song that came on—a hushed duet about forgiveness—made her stomach lurch. She shut it off and let the stillness swallow her again.

Her phone buzzed at least ten times.

She checked it every time.

None of the notifications were from you.

She couldn’t decide if that made it better... or worse.

By noon, she had retreated to the faculty lounge—dim, windowless, too quiet. The air smelled faintly of burned coffee grounds and overripe bananas left behind in the communal bowl. Her mug of tea sat cooling on the table in front of her, untouched.

She hadn’t even noticed she was crying until a drop hit the back of her hand.

She wiped it away roughly.

Then stared at her phone.

Again.

Your last words played on repeat in her chest, carved into her like a blade pressed just shy of the heart.

“If you walk out that door… then don’t come back until you really know what you want.”

She thought she was protecting herself.

No—that was a lie. She’d been protecting a scar. One that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the people who came before you. The ones who had twisted the truth until it didn’t even resemble love anymore. And she'd looked at you—her wife, the mother of her child—and for one terrible second, she’d seen them instead.

And she had left.

She’d left you.

And then her phone buzzed again.

Alice (TA): Thought you should see this. You’ve been worried for days and I had a gut feeling. Sorry if I overstepped. But it’s her. It’s Maya.

Agatha blinked.

Sat up straighter.

Another buzz.

An email forward. No subject. Just the thread.

She tapped it open.

And everything stopped.

From: maya.larkin@campus.university.edu Subject: Timing the Follow-Up—Any Movement Yet?

I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything. Maybe I should up the frequency again?

She’s probably too distracted—being that pregnant and all.

But don’t worry. I’ll keep playing it sweet. Professors love a good praise sandwich, right? ;)

She’s not going to stay with Harkness once this all sinks in. She’s too smart for that. I’ve read her work. She wants someone who understands her. Who sees her. She’ll come around.

Agatha went completely still.

Her body turned to stone. Her mind, smoke.

The air left her lungs in one long, broken breath—like she’d been struck across the chest.

The mug beside her rattled as her hand trembled.

She read it again.

And again.

And again.

It wasn’t you.

It was never you.

It was her. It had always been her.

The photos. The angles. The captions. The carefully worded doubts. The pattern. The persistence. The manipulation.

All of it—orchestrated.

And Agatha had believed it. She’d let herself be pulled into it. She’d let that doubt grow into something that poisoned the space between you. She’d thrown you to the wolves of her own unresolved past.

She had walked out.

And you had begged her not to.

Agatha stood so quickly she nearly knocked the table back, her chair screeching loudly against the tile floor. The untouched tea sloshed across the rim of the mug, staining a napkin she hadn’t meant to grab.

None of it mattered.

Her fingers fumbled for your contact, hands shaking so violently she could barely tap the screen. Her heart was hammering hard enough that her vision blurred.

The call rang once.

Twice.

Three times. Voicemail.

She didn’t leave a message.

Just hung up and hit redial.

“Come on,” she whispered, pacing in tight, frantic circles. “Come on, baby. Please pick up. Please. Please—”

Nothing.

Again.

------

She didn’t remember most of the drive.

Only the white blur of her knuckles on the steering wheel. The way her fingers cramped around it, too tight, like letting go for even a second might undo her. The wind howled through the crack in the driver’s side window—one she hadn’t meant to leave open, but hadn’t noticed until it was too late. Now, it screamed across her cheek like something alive.

Her breath echoed inside the car—ragged, uneven, frantic. It sounded louder than the engine. Louder than reason.

And still, the phone sat useless in the passenger seat, vibrating occasionally with texts from friends, from numbers she didn’t check.

Not from you.

The sky had begun to turn somewhere around the edge of campus.

What had been a still, gray morning had thickened into something darker. Angrier.

Clouds rolled in low and fast, the kind that made your skin prickle before the storm ever touched the ground. Early spring wasn’t supposed to look like this. The petals from the dogwoods had started flying sideways, caught in sudden gusts of wind that bent the trees like dancers in grief.

It didn’t rain yet. But the air threatened it—humid and thick, full of the kind of pressure that made your ears pop.

A low growl of thunder rolled out across the horizon. Distant, but moving closer.

Then—flash.

Lightning cracked across the sky like a spine splitting open, bright enough to make her flinch.

She gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on the wheel until her fingers ached.

Almost there. Just hold on.

A road sign whipped past, and she realized she’d blown through a stop sign without seeing it. She didn’t care.

She didn’t slow down.

The wind pushed hard against the side of the car as if the world itself was trying to stop her from getting home. Like it knew how badly she had fucked up, and was asking her—are you sure you deserve to be forgiven?

She pressed harder on the gas.

Because it didn’t matter.

What mattered was getting to you.

The trees bent violently now, their shadows whipping across the road like limbs reaching for something they couldn’t touch.

Another roll of thunder.

And then—finally—the house came into view.

The porch light was still on, faint in the gray. The door shut tight. No ambulance. No headlights. Just stillness.

Too still.

Agatha’s pulse spiked so hard she thought her vision might go black.

She turned into the driveway fast enough to send gravel scattering behind her tires, slammed the car into park, and flew out before the engine even finished shutting down.

Her door was still hanging open behind her when she burst across the threshold, yelling—

“Babe—!”

And the storm followed her in.

------

The door slammed open, the sound ricocheting through the quiet like a starting gun.

Agatha’s voice cracked as she crossed the threshold—and froze.

You were in the kitchen.

Your body hunched forward over the counter, one hand bracing against its edge, the other clutched around the island stool like an anchor. Your head hung low, hair matted to your temples with sweat. Your knees buckled, hips shifting with uneven weight as a low, guttural moan spilled from your mouth—wordless and raw.

You weren’t screaming.

The pain was deeper than that. It came from the center of you, low and primal, a sound Agatha felt in her bones.

You swayed, body trembling.

Your grip tightened on the counter until your knuckles turned white. Like if you let go, the earth might tilt out from beneath you.

Agatha’s heart stopped.

Her keys hit the floor. Her bag dropped after them with a dull thud she didn’t register.

“shit…”

She crossed the room in a blur, feet nearly skidding on the tile. Her chest heaved. Her hands were shaking.

But her instincts didn’t waver.

She stepped in behind you, one hand sliding to your hip, the other splayed across your lower back. She didn’t squeeze—just held, grounding you with her touch. Her front molded to your spine, steady and warm, her breath catching at the base of your neck.

You let her.

You leaned back into her like your body remembered something your heart hadn’t forgiven yet.

“I’m here,” Agatha whispered, her voice shredded but sure. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good. Just breathe, baby. Just breathe through it.”

Your head dipped forward again, shoulders curling.

A sob caught halfway between breath and pain—rough, sudden, involuntary.

She felt it vibrate through you.

Still, you didn’t look at her.

Couldn’t. Not yet.

You were shaking. Sweating. Trembling from the inside out.

But then you spoke.

And your voice was a rasp—hoarse, broken, laced with pain and something far more dangerous: exhausted fury.

“She has your fucking timing,” you whispered.

Agatha stilled.

You gave a watery, near-hysterical laugh—more breath than sound, more grief than humor. Tears slipped freely down your cheeks, hot and fast, leaving tracks that shimmered in the kitchen light.

“She’s just like you,” you managed, the words broken by another wave of pressure tightening across your body. “No warning. No apology. Just decides to show up when she wants to... Just here.”

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut, guilt blooming like wildfire beneath her ribs.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her lips trembling as she pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

She kissed you again, slower this time, as you rocked through the final seconds of the contraction. Her hand rubbed slow circles into the curve of your hip, the other gently holding your belly from underneath—supportive, reverent, desperate to feel the life she’d walked away from just hours ago.

You sagged into her as the pain eased, panting, your forehead resting against your arm.

She stayed behind you, holding you steady.

And in that moment, for the first time in hours, you didn’t pull away.

The contraction faded like a tide slowly pulling back into the sea, leaving behind wreckage—breathless, aching, soaked in sweat and sorrow.

Your legs trembled beneath you, not quite able to hold your weight. You could feel your pulse in your fingertips, erratic and desperate, and your breath hitched on the edge of a sob you barely managed to swallow.

You still hadn’t looked at her.

Not really.

She was behind you, her hands still firm on your hips, steady as stone, her presence quiet but unrelenting. She wasn’t moving. Wasn’t letting go.

Like she knew—if she stepped away again, it would break something neither of you would be able to fix.

And finally... finally, you turned your head.

Slowly. As if the act itself might tear you open further.

Your gaze met hers.

And what you saw there nearly broke you all over again.

Agatha was crying—but not in the way you expected. There were no sobs. No shaking shoulders. Just a rawness in her expression, an openness that looked too big for her face. Her lashes were heavy with unshed tears, and her lips were parted like she’d been holding in too many apologies and didn’t know which one to offer first.

She wasn’t pleading.

She wasn’t defending.

She was bleeding.

Your hand lifted—trembling, unsteady—and reached for her.

You brushed your fingers along her cheek, and she leaned into it instantly. Like it was the only air she’d been allowed to breathe in hours. Her lips found your palm, kissed it softly. Reverently. Like she was memorizing the shape of you in case you disappeared again.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” Agatha whispered, her voice low and cracking, like each word had to claw its way through all the things she should’ve said sooner. “But I need you to hear me.”

You were still trembling from the last contraction, legs unsteady beneath you, your weight shifting from foot to foot. The cool edge of the granite counter pressed into your back as your hand gripped it tight—not for balance, but to anchor yourself to something solid. Something that wouldn’t let go.

Your breath came in short, uneven bursts. The space between them was narrowing.

“Maya did this,” Agatha said, stepping closer, slow, careful—like you were a cliff’s edge she didn’t want to push. “All of it. The photos. The emails. She made them look real.” Her eyes searched yours, pleading—not for forgiveness but understanding.

“She wanted to make you look like the one who broke us,” she said. “She wanted me to fall apart so she could swoop in and pick through the pieces.”

Her voice caught. She swallowed. “Alice found the proof—her last message was sent from her campus email. Not even a fake account. She was arrogant enough to leave a trail. I have it. I saw it. I should have known. I should’ve trusted you. I didn’t—and I left.”

The air inside the kitchen felt dense, thickening with every word.  Your breath hitched. The truth hit harder.

Outside, thunder cracked—loud and sudden. The kind that didn’t roll in slowly but arrived sharp and demanding. The windows trembled slightly in their frames. A moment later, rain began to hammer the roof with a rhythm that sounded more like urgency than comfort—fast and wild, like it had been holding back until now. Slamming against the walls like an afterthought as if the clouds had finally decided they’d held it in long enough.

You should’ve said something. Maybe you were about to.. You inhaled sharply. But it wasn’t from the storm. It was your body—tensing again. You knew this feeling now. The pressure didn’t creep in this time—it claimed you.

It started slow—a whisper of pressure, like the tightening of a string behind your ribs. Then the grip of it began to build, heavier, deeper, rolling up your spine and anchoring in your belly like a warning bell that rang inside your bones. Your grip on the counter tightened. You shifted your stance, knees bending slightly. Your breath hitched—sharp and involuntary. Agatha’s eyes caught the change in an instant, posture shifting. Her voice softened, but it didn’t falter.

“Another one?” she asked, stepping forward, already steadying your waist with both hands.

You didn’t speak. You gave a small nod, gripping her sleeve, tugging—not to push her away, but to pull her closer. You didn’t want space. Not now.

“Okay. I’ve got you,” she said gently.

Agatha didn’t hesitate, sliding into place as if your bodies were two puzzle pieces that had never fit better than now her eyes locked to yours. Her arms found your waist, one hand pressing firmly to your lower back, the other at your side. Her presence was immediate—warm, grounding, yours.

The pain slammed into you with a force that knocked the air straight out of your lungs.

Your forehead dropped against her collarbone, your fists bunching the front of her shirt as your entire body clenched around the contraction. A low, guttural sound slipped from your throat—somewhere between a cry and a growl. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t poetic. It was real and sharp, and it echoed off the kitchen walls like thunder of your own. You gasped, folding into her, your fingers fisting the fabric over her ribs like it might keep you tethered to something.

Agatha didn’t flinch. Her breath came slow and deep beside your ear, mirroring yours. “In through your nose,” she whispered. “That’s it. Breathe through it. You’re doing so good.”

You whimpered into her shoulder, legs wobbling again. She planted her feet wide, locked one arm firmly around your waist, the other rubbing slow, grounding circles across your lower back.

Agatha pressed her forehead gently to yours, her breath trembling against your skin. Her eyes were wide, glassy with guilt, and darting between your face and your belly like she couldn’t decide where to anchor herself. Her fingers tightened briefly at your waist, then loosened, stroking once in apology. Her knees bent slightly as if she were ready to drop with you, to bear the weight herself if she could. Her whole body trembled—not from fear, but from restraint, holding back the full collapse she so clearly wanted to fall into. “I—I know this isn’t the time,” she said, her voice barely more than a rasp, “but I need to say it anyway.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The pressure in your back was mounting again, tight and low, but you kept your focus on her, blinking through the blur of heat behind your eyes.

“The things I said… what I thought you were capable of—what I let myself believe—” Her breath hitched, chest rising unevenly against yours. “I didn’t just doubt you. I doubted us. And that—God, that’s not something I’ll ever forgive myself for.”

The pain answered before you could.

It started like a slow fuse, curling up your spine and settling beneath your ribs like something smoldering. You winced, jaw clenching hard enough that your teeth ached.

“Don’t,” you growled through gritted teeth. “Not now.”

“But I—”

Your grip on her shirt tightened like a vise. The tension in your abdomen snapped up like a wire being pulled taut. You could feel it—your body preparing, bracing.

“No,” you snapped, eyes squeezed shut as the wave crested. “Not while I’m in the middle of a fucking contraction with a superstorm outside, my body tearing itself open, and your daughter acting like she’s late to a goddamn press conference.”

Agatha froze, mouth half open.

“I need you here,” you said, voice trembling. “Right here. Not in your guilt. Not in your head. And definitely not thinking about some college bitch who doesn’t matter.”

For a breathless moment, the kitchen was still. Rain hammered the roof in thick, staccato bursts, seeping through the walls like a second heartbeat. The air smelled like petrichor and electricity, and somewhere nearby, a shutter thudded against the siding. The lights overhead flickered once. Even the wind outside seemed to pause, like the world itself was holding its breath with you.

And then Agatha let out a stunned, breathless laugh—wet and raw, like it had been caught behind her ribs too long.

She pressed her face into your shoulder, her arms winding around you like she could stitch herself back into place just by holding you tighter.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice cracking as she kissed your temple. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Your grip on her cinched tighter, nails digging into the soft cotton of her shirt.

You gritted your teeth, blinking hard through the pressure rising inside you. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes. “Agatha—” you gasped, voice shaking. “I swear to God, if your kid wasn’t trying to make a dramatic-ass early entrance, this conversation would not be ending this quickly.”

Agatha let out a second broken laugh, breathless and barely stitched together.

“Yeah,” she rasped, forehead still resting against yours. “She’s got my timing… and, apparently, my talent for catching you off guard.”

You groaned, your grip tightening at her waist again as the next wave started to rise.

“We’ll deal with the rest later,” you muttered, breath already hitching. “Right now? Your daughter is trying to race a goddamn storm.”

Agatha gave a soft, shaking laugh and kissed your temple again, lingering this time, like she needed the press of your skin to stay steady.

“Of course she’d choose now to make an entrance,” she murmured. “He’s ours.”

You moaned low into her collarbone as the contraction peaked, your body folding inward.

She rocked you gently, arms locked around your back, one hand stroking low circles at your spine, her voice low and close to your ear. “Could’ve picked a better time, kid,” she murmured toward your belly, smiling through the chaos. “But I get it—you’re mine.”

Outside, the storm pounded against the windows. Lightning lit up the room for a blink, casting long, jagged shadows across the tile. The lights above flickered once, then steadied. Your skin prickled. Everything felt too loud. The house groaned softly, as though it too was bracing.

You sagged against her when the contraction finally passed. Drenched. Trembling. Spent. Your shirt clung to your body with sweat, hair stuck to your forehead in damp curls. Your knees buckled, and Agatha caught you again, easing you gently onto the kitchen stool like you were made of something precious and breakable.

“I’ve got you,” she said again, softer now, like a prayer.

She knelt in front of you, her hands on your thighs, her forehead resting briefly against your knees as if she had to touch you in every way she could just to prove she was still here.

You reached for her hair with one shaky hand, threading your fingers gently into the dark strands, and tugged just enough to pull her gaze to yours.

“Three weeks,” you whispered your voice barely a breath. “She’s three weeks early, Agatha. What if—what if something’s wrong? What if he’s not ready? What if I’m not—” Your voice broke. “I didn’t think it would happen like this. I thought we had time.”

Agatha’s lips parted, the beginnings of an answer trembling on her tongue—but the next contraction swallowed it whole before either of you could speak.

You cried out as your body folded again, sharp pain lancing through your back and belly, your breath coming in stuttering gasps. You clung to her like a lifeline—fingers digging into her shoulders, knees buckling beneath you.

“Breathe through it, baby,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and steady right at your ear. “You’re doing so good. I’ve got you. Right here.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t panic.

Her hand slid down your spine, grounding you as she held your full weight against her chest. You could feel the tension under her skin, the thrum of her pulse where your faces brushed—but she kept her voice even, her movements measured.

When the wave passed, she helped you into the stool again, one arm still wrapped tightly around your back.

She glanced at the microwave clock.

And this time, you saw it—the flicker in her eyes. Brief. Controlled.

“Five minutes,” she said under her breath. Then a little softer, to you, “They’re coming fast.”

You nodded weakly, chest still heaving.

She didn’t waste time.

Agatha moved toward the door, snagging the keys from their hook and slipping her shoes on in practiced motion. “Okay. Let’s get you to the car.”

But as she opened the front door, wind slammed into it like a wave. The storm had turned violent. Rain came in sideways. And beyond the porch, halfway down the drive, a massive limb—oak, by the look of it—lay twisted across the road, blocking the way completely.

Agatha stepped forward, squinting into the storm.

You tried to stand, gripping the back of the stool.

“What is it?” you called, voice raw.

She turned back toward you, soaked now across the front of her shirt, and calmly closed the door behind her.

“There’s a tree down across the drive,” she said, brushing the water from her face. “We’re not making it out by car.”

Your stomach dropped.

But Agatha crossed the kitchen to you with purpose, calm carved into every line of her face.

Agatha crouched in front of you, wiping the sweat from your upper lip with the edge of her sleeve. “This isn’t what we planned,” she said gently, “but it’s still going to be okay. You are not alone in this.”

She laid both palms over your belly. Kissed it softly.

------

Agatha helped you settle against the stool again, her hand lingering at your back, her thumb sweeping slow, grounding circles just above your hip. You were still shaking—damp with sweat, hair clinging to your temples, your legs trembling from the weight of what your body was doing and what it still had left to do. Your lips parted like you wanted to speak, but no sound came. Just breath. Just fear.

Agatha leaned in close, her forehead brushing yours for half a second.

“I’m going to call Jen,” she murmured, voice calm but laced with something that vibrated beneath it. “I’ll be right here. Okay?”

You gave her the barest nod, your eyes fluttering closed as another ripple of pressure lingered in your spine.

Agatha turned and slipped into the hallway, just far enough for the edge of her control to splinter. She pulled her phone from her pocket with damp fingers, her thumb slipping slightly on the screen as she tapped Jen’s name.

The storm was louder here.

Rain pelted the windows in heavy bursts, wind howled against the eaves like it was trying to get in. A shutter somewhere upstairs banged once—twice—and the floor creaked beneath her feet as she braced herself against the wall. Her heart was hammering so hard she could hear it in her ears.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Three times—

“Agatha?” Jen’s voice came through sharp and clear, cutting through the noise like a flare. “Is it time?”

Agatha’s knees bent slightly. Her back hit the wall.

Her voice cracked before she could catch it. “Yeah. Yes. She’s in labor—real labor. Her contractions are five minutes apart, maybe less. I was getting ready to take her to the hospital but—” she swallowed hard, “there’s a tree down across the drive. We’re boxed in. I can’t—there’s no way out.”

Jen didn’t miss a beat. “Hey. Hey. You’re okay,” she said, calm but unshakable. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“No,” Agatha whispered, voice thin, fraying at the edges. “She’s early, Jen. Three weeks early. We were supposed to have more time—another two, maybe three weeks to get everything together. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to give birth like this.”

There was a pause on the other end. Just a breath.

Then Jen’s voice came back, even and warm. “And yet here she is. And she’s not doing it alone.”

Agatha pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, trying to collect herself, but her voice still cracked. “She’s scared. And I think—I think I am too.”

“I’ve got you,” Jen said gently, her tone steady as steel wrapped in wool. “And I’ll be there in less than twenty minutes.”

Agatha blinked fast, pressing her palm harder against the wall as her knees trembled. “You really think—”

“Agatha,” Jen interrupted, not unkindly. “You’ve got this. She’s got this. You’ve both done the work. Your job right now is to stay grounded so she can fall apart and know she’s safe. You can fall apart later.”

Agatha closed her eyes. Her throat tightened. But she nodded, even though Jen couldn’t see it.

“Okay,” she said, softer now. “Okay. What do I need to do?”

“Fill the birthing tub with warm water—now, before the power goes,” Jen said. “You’ll need soft towels, as many as you can find. Blankets for the baby. Light some candles if you’ve got them. Create calm. She needs to feel like she’s safe, not trapped. Put on some music if you can.”

“I will,” Agatha whispered. “I will. Just—just come fast.”

“I’m already halfway there.”

The call ended.

Agatha stood there for one long moment, phone still clutched in her hand, the silence after the call ringing louder than the wind. Her other hand curled tight around the doorframe as if bracing against more than just the storm. Her chest lifted. Fell. Once. Twice.

She would not cry.

She would not break.

Not while you needed her whole.

She wiped her face on her sleeve, straightened her spine, and turned back toward the kitchen.

Back to you.

Back to where everything would begin.

------

Agatha stepped back into the kitchen like gravity had pulled her there—like you were the axis around which everything else turned. Her eyes found you instantly.

You were still hunched forward on the stool, one hand pressed to the round, taut curve of your belly, the other white-knuckled around the edge of the counter. Your head hung slightly, hair damp and curling against your cheeks, breath shallow and uneven. Every inch of you looked like you were holding the world in place through sheer will.

“I just talked to Jen,” Agatha said softly, crouching low until she was eye-level again. Her palms landed on your thighs, warm and steady. “She’s on her way—less than twenty minutes.”

You nodded, but your lower lip trembled.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Agatha tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingertips lingering longer than necessary. Her voice dropped lower, gentler. “I’m going to grab a few things—towels, blankets, the tub. But I’m not far. I’m not leaving you, not for more than a breath.”

You gave her the smallest nod, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. She pressed a kiss to your forehead—soft, reverent, grounding—and then rose. Your breath still shallow and fraying at the edges. Another wave wasn’t far off—you could feel it circling.

Agatha stood, pivoted smoothly into the bedroom, and crossed to the corner where the birthing tub had sat for weeks—deflated, coiled, and quiet.  Just days ago, it had been a joke. Jen had insisted on bringing it over “just in case,” setting it quietly in the corner of your bedroom while you all laughed and waved it off.

You’ll be in a hospital. What would we even need that thing for?

Agatha stepped back into the kitchen, the bundled vinyl slung over one arm. “Where do you want it?” she asked quietly, her voice even but full of something that trembled beneath it. “I don’t want to guess.” You didn’t hesitate.

“Bedroom,” you whispered. That was all she needed.

Agatha unzipped the casing, vinyl whispering open like the start of something ancient and sacred. She rolled the sides out with care, smoothing the base flat onto the rug between the bed and the en suite bathroom. Her foot pressed firmly to the pump. Once. Twice. Again. Slowly, steadily, the tub began to rise. The walls lifted like breath being drawn, one slow inhale at a time.

Outside, the wind howled, rain battering the windows like fists desperate to get in.

The tub stood now. Empty but waiting. The hose was already coiled near the vanity in the bathroom—Jen’s earlier instructions playing out like prophecy. Agatha attached it to the hot water tap and turned the handle slowly. Pipes groaned. Then, water surged forward, rushing in with a hiss. Steam unfurled, rising from the basin like breath made visible in the soft bedroom light.

She adjusted the temperature, tested it against the back of her wrist—then left it running and turned toward the bed.

But a sound stopped her.

A low groan. Guttural. From down the hall.

You.

She was moving before the breath finished leaving your lungs.

Agatha found you back in the kitchen, your hands braced against the counter, your back bowed beneath the pressure of the next wave. Your body trembled as the contraction climbed, and your knees wobbled as you swayed gently in place, trying not to fall.

“I’ve got you,” she said as she reached you, her arms sliding around your waist like she’d done it a thousand times. “I’m here. Just breathe through it, baby.”

You didn’t answer—just let your weight fall into her chest as she rocked with you, one hand supporting your lower back, the other curling around your ribs. Your forehead found her shoulder. Your nails dug lightly into her sleeve.

Outside, thunder rolled low and long like a drumbeat too close to the skin.

“I’ve got you,” she said again, voice steady in your ear. “Let it pass. Just one wave. You’re doing so, so good.”

When the contraction finally broke, you collapsed fully into her, your breath ragged against her collarbone. “I’m going to grab the towels now,” she said, brushing your cheek with the backs of her fingers. “And the receiving blankets. The ones from the shower. I’ll be quick.”

You nodded, lips parted, eyes wet.

“I want to walk,” you whispered.

Agatha pulled back just enough to look into your face, searching your eyes.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll walk.”

She didn’t lead you far—just toward the bedroom. You followed her slowly, your palm pressed to her shoulder, legs still shaking with every step. The hallway stretched between you like a tunnel, lit only by the flicker of warm bulbs and the silver flash of lightning that darted across the windows.

------

Inside the bedroom, steam curled around the rim of the rising tub, soft and silvery in the low light. It shimmered like breath in winter air, casting a warmth that made the room feel smaller, closer, sacred.

Agatha moved with quiet reverence. She crossed to the dresser, pulling open the drawer where everything had been waiting—towels folded weeks ago, waiting for a moment neither of you believed would come like this. She draped one thick white towel over the chair beside the bed, then laid two more at the edge of the mattress like offerings at an altar.

From the woven basket near the nightstand, she lifted three receiving blankets. One patterned with tiny stars, another with soft blue-gray clouds. The third—pale, delicate, covered in tiny wildflowers the color of lavender breath and spring rain.

She held that one longer.

Her thumb traced the hem. Her throat bobbed.

Then she placed it carefully on top of the stack, smoothing the cotton flat with a touch that bordered on reverence.

Behind her, she heard the soft shuffle of your feet.

You were moving Each step was measured, your fingers trailing along the wall for balance as you entered the bedroom.

You were halfway to the tub when it hit.

No warning this time.

No chance to steady yourself.

You stopped mid-step—your hand flying out to catch the edge of the dresser, your back arching as the contraction ripped through you like a current. A sharp, breathless cry tore from your throat.

Agatha turned at once.

She was at your side in seconds, one arm catching your waist, the other bracing the small of your back.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I've got you, baby. Let it come. Let it move through you.”

Your body bowed forward, forehead pressing to her collarbone as your fists tangled in the fabric of her shirt.

This one was stronger. Meaner. Your legs nearly gave out.

She widened her stance, bearing your weight with her whole body, her palm rubbing firm, grounding circles against your spine.

“You’re okay. You’re doing so good,” she whispered, her cheek against your temple. “You’ve got this. Just one wave. Just one.”

You moaned through clenched teeth, knees shaking as you rode it out, breath coming in staggered gasps.

The room was thick with heat and steam, with the sound of rain hammering the windows and water pooling softly into the tub behind you. The house smelled like lavender and sweat and stormlight.

And still—Agatha held you.

Anchored you.

Loved you through it.

When the wave finally began to ease, your whole body sagged into her, trembling and soaked, your breath hot against her neck.

“Good,” she whispered. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

And from the tub behind you, the water kept rising.

You were still folded against her, breath unsteady, your muscles trembling in her arms when you whispered, “I want to get in.”

Agatha pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, searching your face.

“Something’s different,” you rasped. “It’s lower. I need—I need the water.”

Agatha nodded. “Okay. Let’s get you in.”

She supported your weight as the two of you shuffled slowly back into the bedroom. The air was thick with steam now, the tub nearly full, soft ripples dancing across the surface. The scent of lavender from the towel stack mixed with rain, rubber, and something primal—the smell of newness, of birth edging near.

Agatha turned off the hose, tested the temperature one last time, then moved to help you out of your clothes.

“You don’t need to wear anything,” she said softly, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. “Not unless you want to. It’s just us here. Jen will be here soon.”

You hesitated, fingers still curled around the elastic of your bra.

Then you nodded once.

“It’s just us,” you whispered.

Agatha helped you undress slowly, gently, reverently—like unwrapping something fragile. Your body was flushed, shining with sweat, each motion drawn taut by exhaustion and urgency. When you were bare, she helped you step one leg at a time into the warm water. You sank into it with a gasp, the heat stealing your breath for a moment, then releasing it in a shuddering sigh.

But you didn’t get far.

Your knees barely bent before another contraction slammed into you—hot, deep, unbearable.

You cried out, one arm flying to the rim of the tub, the other searching blindly for something solid.

Agatha caught your hand.

“I’m right here,” she whispered, crouched at the side of the tub, her palm locked around yours. “Hold on to me. Breathe through it. Just like that.”

You let out a sob, forehead pressed to the edge, water lapping against your belly as your body convulsed.

Agatha’s other hand reached into the tub, pressed to your back just above the waterline, rubbing slow, wide circles—anchoring you through it.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmured. “So, so well. I’ve got you.”

You cried harder at that.

Not because of the pain—but because it was just you two.

Because even in all the storm and sweat and fear, this was still love.

When the contraction finally released you, your body collapsed forward against the side of the tub. Your eyes closed. You whimpered, soft and hoarse.

Agatha knelt beside you, still holding your hand. Her forehead dropped to your wrist as her shoulders began to tremble.

You felt the quietest sob echo between you—shallow, aching.

“Agatha,” you said softly, almost begged, needing her eyes again. Needing to know she hadn’t disappeared beneath the weight of it all.

Her hand slid over your slick back again, slow and firm.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “It’s just us.”

Your eyes fluttered open—wet, aching.

She looked at you like nothing in the world mattered more than this.

Than you.

“I’m going to come in,” she said gently. “Okay?”

You nodded. Wordless.

Agatha stood, stepped carefully into the tub behind you, settling against the inflatable wall like it had been molded for this moment. When you leaned back, your head found her chest. Her arms wound tightly around you from behind. One hand cradled your belly. The other laced with yours again, soaking and strong.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, her lips brushing your temple. “I’ve got you. All of you.”

And for a moment, the storm faded. The air was still.

Then your body tensed.

Agatha felt it at once—the sudden shift beneath your skin.

You gasped. Your fingers clutched at her knee.

“There’s pressure,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Something’s happening—she’s coming—”

Agatha’s hand pressed lower on your belly, feeling the way everything had changed.

She didn’t speak. She only held you tighter. Breath catching.

Then—

You let out a noise neither of you had heard before—part scream, part growl, pure instinct.

The pressure between your legs had shifted—immediate and burning.

Agatha’s eyes widened. Her hand moved to the inside of your thigh, her other arm bracing you as your hips lifted from the water.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. I need to see.”

“Is she—?” you gasped, voice brittle and barely there.

Agatha’s hand moved between your legs, careful, reverent. “I think her head—” Her voice cracked. “I think she’s—” She cut herself off, swallowing hard. “I’ve got you.”

The door creaked open behind you.

“I’m here,” came Jen’s voice, calm and sure. “I’m right here.”

You barely registered the sound at first—so focused on the fire building in your body, the ache blooming low in your pelvis—but Agatha’s head lifted.

“Jen,” she breathed, still crouched behind you in the tub, her arms around your waist, her hands steady even as her voice wavered. “She’s close. Her head’s crowning. I can feel her.”

Jen was already at the edge of the tub by the time Agatha spoke again, her boots kicked off at the bedroom door, sleeves pushed up, eyes soft but focused.

“Good,” Jen murmured. “You’re both doing beautifully. Let me see.”

Agatha shifted slightly to give her room, never letting go of you—not even for a second.

You were panting, hands clutching the sides of the tub, your forehead pressed to Agatha’s shoulder. Her skin was hot with effort. Yours was soaked in sweat. The water between you steamed like breath in winter air.

Jen leaned forward. “Hey,” she said softly, voice right beside your ear. “I know it’s a lot. But you’re almost there, okay?”

You nodded, barely. “It burns,” you whispered. “It’s so much.”

“I know.” Jen’s hand touched your thigh gently, anchoring you in the moment. “That means you’re close. That means she’s coming.”

Your body seized again—another contraction rolling in fast, unforgiving.

Agatha held on.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered into your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You screamed—not from fear, not anymore, but from force. You bore down as Jen coached from one side and Agatha held you from behind.

“Good,” Jen murmured. “That’s it. Let your body lead. Just like that.”

Agatha’s hands stayed steady—one at your back, the other bracing your belly. “Breathe with me,” she whispered. “Just one breath at a time.”

The contraction eased, and you collapsed against her, whimpering.

Jen’s hand was gentle as she checked again. “She’s almost there,” she said softly. “Next one might do it. But let’s take a minute. Rest. You’ve earned it.”

Agatha pressed her forehead to the back of your neck, her breath shaky, her voice a thread. “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

You let out a small, broken laugh that turned into a sob. “You better be,” you muttered. “I’m pushing a human out of my body.”

Jen smiled, not laughing at you—but with you. “And she’s almost here,” she said. “When the next one comes, you give it everything you’ve got.”

You nodded again, slower this time.

Your whole body trembled.

“I can’t do it without her,” you said suddenly, voice sharp, panicked.

“You’re not,” Agatha whispered. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Jen reached over the edge of the tub and placed her hand gently on top of yours. “Both of us,” she said. “We’ve got you.”

The air in the room shifted. Not quieter, not calmer—but steadier.

Then another contraction hit.

It built low and deep, dragging itself up your spine like a wave coming to break.

You screamed again, louder this time. Agatha held your shoulders; Jen pressed her hands just beneath your belly to help guide the push.

“There,” Jen said. “There she is.”

You sobbed. Agatha’s lips were at your temple.

“One more, baby,” she whispered. “Just one more.”

You pushed—harder than before, through the pain, through the thunder outside, through the fear still trembling in your chest.

And then—

The water shifted.

A weight slid free.

And a sound—your baby’s first cry—cut clean through the world.

Agatha caught her, hands trembling, eyes wide with awe.

Jen helped guide her gently upward, and then—your daughter was on your chest. Slippery, warm, beautiful.

Alive.

You wrapped your arms around her, sobbing, your whole body trembling from the effort. Agatha pressed herself to your back, crying openly now, her arms around you both.

“She’s here,” she whispered. “She’s ours.”

Jen moved quietly, checking vitals, helping you position her better on your chest. The baby let out another cry—softer this time, as if she’d found what she was looking for.

And through the windows, the storm kept on.

But inside, all was quiet.

------

Did you love it 🖤

[keithyp00]

●・○・The Congressman's Shadow・○・●

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x f!assistant!reader

Warnings/Tags: slow-burn, secret identities, mutual pining, angst, eventual partnership, redemption, mild language, references to violence/espionage, tension

Word Count: 1.9K

Author Note: This was inspired by Thunderbolts* but does not contain any spoilers so don't worry!

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

Washington D.C. was a city of secrets.

They clung to the marble walls of Capitol Hill and twisted like ivy up the columns of the rotunda. They slipped into briefcases and beneath the tailored hems of suits. And Bucky Barnes- James Buchanan Barnes, newly elected Congressman from New York's 14th district- was learning quickly just how deep those secrets ran.

But none, he would later say, ran as deep as yours.

______________________________________________________________

You were already in his office when he arrived that morning.

Coffee in hand, heels off, fingers flying across a tablet. You didn't look up when he opened the door, just muttered, "You're late."

"You're early," he countered, tossing his coat onto the couch in the corner of his office.

"I'm always early. It's my job to be early."

"And my job is to be charming," Bucky replied, flashing a grin. "Which means I'm on time, actually. Fashionably."

You gave him a flat look. "You have a committee hearing in twenty minutes and a briefing on the humanitarian bill draft after that. I moved your meeting with the energy council to next week because they double-booked you with a security panel."

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "How do you keep all that in your head?"

"I'm terrifying and overqualified," you smiled with a shrug.

You were. And he knew it.

When Bucky first hired you, he figured you were another one of those political lifers- impossibly efficient, quick with a lie or a smile, maybe both. What he hadn't expected was someone so... sharp. Like a blade that hadn't dulled with time. Someone who didn't flinch at veiled threats or news of violence overseas. Someone who looked at him like she'd already figured out every angle of his plan and had a backup for every possible outcome.

"You ever think about running for office?" He asked once, weeks ago, after a long day of policy wrangling and political bullshit.

You laughed. "No. I've seen what it does to people."

"From the inside?"

You just smiled. "Something like that."

______________________________________________________________

He learned more about you in pieces.

Like how you hated being called 'ma'am' even by staffers, or how you could defuse a tense room with a single sentence. How you noticed things- things Bucky didn't even know he's missed. The way a hallway felt too quiet. The change in security's walking patterns. You moved like someone who had trained to make herself invisible, only now you chose to be seen.

And god help him, you were his type. Smart, steady, unflinching. Unreachable, most days. But he could see the slivers. The soft smiles when he made a joke that landed, the concern that crossed your face when he rubbed at his arm for too long, the subtle way you always knew when he needed to take a break.

He tried to ignore it.

He failed.

______________________________________________________________

The shift came quietly. A fundraiser. A suit. Your dress.

"You clean up nice," he said, eyes trailing the sweep of your gown.

"You say that like I'm usually covered in dirt."

"You say that like you haven't threatened six lobbyists this week alone."

"They deserved it," you replied flatly, but there was the ghost of a smile lingering on your features.

He laughed and offered you his arm. And when you took it, something clicked into place.

You belonged at his side.

Not just in the office, not just at events. But somewhere deeper. And Bucky- who'd known war and pain and redemption- felt that longing stir like a ghost.

Still, he didn't act.

Not then.

______________________________________________________________

Everything changed in early spring.

A car exploded three blocks from the Capitol. Not near Bucky's office, not officially tied to his work, but close enough to raise alarms. Security tripled. Surveillance swept wider.

But it wasn't until the second explosion- a smaller one, near a protest line- that the fear set in.

That night, Bucky sat at his desk long after the rest of the building emptied. You stood across from him, tablet abandoned on your desk, arms crossed.

"You know something," he said quietly.

You didn't respond at first.

Then, softly: "It wasn't random."

Bucky met your eyes. "How do you know?"

You hesitated. Then: "Because I used to be the one who cleaned up after these."

The silence stretched.

Bucky didn't move.

"I wasn't always in politics," you said, voice flat. "I did clean-up work. Intel. Field extraction. A few other words that mean 'get in, get out, cover the mess.'"

His jaw tightened. "For who?"

"Multiple flags." You looked away. "Mostly ours."

The room spun slightly. You'd always been a mystery- but this? This was something else. Not a background in policy or communications. You weren't just overqualified.

You were dangerous.

He should have been angry. Should've felt betrayed.

But all he said was, "Why tell me now?"

"Because if this keeps escalating, you're going to need to be more than a congressman. You're going to need to be someone who knows the shadows."

Bucky stood. "Then I want you in the field."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You said you used to clean up messes. Well, we've got a mess. I want you in it with me."

You stared at him. "That's not how this works."

"It is now."

______________________________________________________________

The days that followed were a whirlwind.

Behind closed doors, you coordinated with quiet operatives still in the game. Bucky pulled strings through back channels, dug for funding, arranged travel that wasn't logged. Together, you became something more than just a politician and his assistant.

He wore suits by day, but carried a sidearm by night. You traded in heels for boots, tablet for a burner phone. The city didn't know that their congressman was going off-grid with a former spook, but they didn't need to know.

The intel led to a hidden cell. You were recognized once, during a recon trip in Prague, and Bucky had pulled you into an alley, pressed close, and pretended to kiss you to hide your face.

It wasn't a hardship.

Later, in the hotel room, you broke the silence. "I should've told you who I was."

He shook his head. "You did. Just not with words."

"And this? Us?" You met his eyes. "What are we?"

He stepped close. Touched your cheek. "We're a team."

Then, softly: "We're more than that."

______________________________________________________________

The mission ended with a fire. A final ambush. You dragged Bucky out of the flames with blood running down your arm and smoke in your lungs. He woke up in a safehouse, dazed and furious with worry- until you limped in, bruised but smiling.

"You survived," he whispered, pulling you close.

"You make it sound like I do this often."

"You do."

"...I did." You cupped his face. "Not anymore."

He kissed you then, fierce and aching and full of everything left unsaid.

______________________________________________________________

Back in D.C., the headlines never learned the full story. Just whispers of an international threat neutralized through backdoor diplomacy. The public never knew about the fieldwork, the close calls, the quiet way Bucky took your hand when no one was watching.

You returned to your role as his assistant.

But sometimes, when the shadows whispered of danger, he'd look to you.

And you'd already be ready.

Because you were never just a congressional aide.

You were his partner- in every sense of the word.

______________________________________________________________

You didn't talk about the kiss again- not for a while.

It lingered instead, suspended between you in the quiet spaces. In the mornings, when you handed him coffee and his fingers brushed yours just a little longer than necessary. In the silence of long car rides, where you sat just a little closer than before. In the hotel room in Berlin where you shared a wall but never knocked.

You were both too careful.

Bucky had lived through too many secrets, too many betrayals. And you... you had buried your heart deep beneath mission reports and false identities. Feelings, you'd once said, made people weak. Vulnerable. And Bucky had nodded, because he knew exactly what it meant to fear wanting something so badly it hurt.

But he wanted you anyway.

______________________________________________________________

Three weeks after the mission ended, you walked into his office just after sundown. You looked different- no heels, no blazer, just a soft sweater and jeans that made you look like someone who belonged somewhere safe.

He was still in his suit. Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled up.

You didn't say anything at first. Just closed the door behind you and leaned against it.

"I thought we agreed to keep it professional," he said gently.

"I didn't," you replied.

His chest tightened. "You didn't what?"

"I didn't agree. I just didn't say anything."

Silence stretched between you again, like a wire strung too tight. Then you stepped closer.

"I'm tired, Bucky," you said. "Of pretending. Of acting like I don't think about you every damn time I lay down to sleep. Like I don't see you in the field and feel something real, something dangerous-"

He crossed the room before you could finish.

His hands cupped your face. "You scared the hell out of me when you got shot during the last mission."

You smiled faintly. "I scare you a lot, don't I?"

"Only because I-" he stopped. Swallowed. "Because I don't know how to keep you safe without locking you away."

"I don't want to be safe," you whispered. "I want to be with you."

The kiss was slower this time. No need for cover. Just lips on lips, hands in hair, breath caught in throats. You pulled him in like gravity- like coming home.

______________________________________________________________

After that, it changed.

Not in the obvious ways. Not publicly. You were still his assistant, and he was still the rising star of Capitol Hill. But when the doors closed, when the world fell away- Bucky became yours.

He started spending nights at your place.

At first, he brought nothing. Then a toothbrush. Then a drawer's worth of clothes. He cooked like a man who used to forget to eat. You teased him for it until he made you pasta that tasted like heaven.

You weren't used to softness. But he gave it to you anyway.

You slept in his arms, legs tangled, his hand always resting lightly on your hip light he was afraid you'd vanish. You told him stories of old missions- bits and pieces, never names. He listened like every word mattered.

One night, as rain drummed against the windows, you asked: "Do you ever regret this? Politics, I mean."

He was quiet for a long time. Then: "I regret not meeting you sooner."

You looked at him, heart aching.

"I would've fallen for you no matter where we met," he said, voice low. "But maybe if I met you sooner, I wouldn't have been afraid of it."

______________________________________________________________

The next mission came quietly.

And anonymous tip. A potential mole inside a federal agency. Something smelled wrong.

Bucky wanted to send someone else.

You refused.

"This is what I do," you said. "What I've always done."

"But now you have more to lose," he said softly.

You reached out, resting your palm against his chest. "So do you."

The op was simple. In and out. Or it should have been.

Instead, it ended in a warehouse fire and a chase through the streets of Philadelphia. You made it out, barely. Bucky took a hit to the shoulder and refused medical attention until you were safe.

Back at the safehouse, you stitched his wound with trembling fingers.

"I hate this part," you whispered, dabbing away blood.

He looked at you. "Because it hurts?"

"No," you replied. "Because it reminds me what I'd do to keep you alive."

You sat on the floor afterward, arms wrapped around each other, like survivors after a storm. You didn't speak. You didn't need to.

[edutechera]

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4. Augmented Reality (AR) in Classrooms: Learning That Leaps Off the Page

Augmented Reality (AR) is transforming traditional education by making learning visual, immersive, and unforgettable. With AR, abstract and complex concepts come to life literally. Imagine your child exploring the solar system through a 3D interactive model, watching planets orbit in real-time, or dissecting a virtual frog in biology class all from the safety of home or the classroom.

This exciting technology allows students to interact with digital content in a physical space, turning passive reading into active discovery. It strengthens understanding by bridging the gap between theoretical knowledge and real-world visualization.

AR is especially powerful in subjects like:

Science: Explore the human body, molecular structures, or ecosystems in 3D

Math: Visualize geometry, fractions, and equations as dynamic shapes

Geography & History: Bring maps, monuments, and civilizations to life

Benefits of Using AR in Education:

Makes learning highly interactive and engaging

Boosts memory retention through multi-sensory experiences

Encourages curiosity and critical thinking

Perfect for visual and kinesthetic learners

5. Interactive Whiteboards: Making Classrooms Dynamic, Collaborative & Tech-Enabled

Gone are the days of static chalkboards interactive whiteboards are revolutionizing classrooms by turning them into engaging, real-time learning environments. These smart boards allow teachers and students to interact directly with digital content, write or draw on the screen, drag and drop elements, launch multimedia lessons, and collaborate live all on one surface.

Used in schools around the world, interactive whiteboards support touch-based and stylus input, enabling educators to present complex topics with videos, simulations, animations, and interactive assessments. Whether explaining a math formula, highlighting parts of a plant, or hosting a quiz game, lessons become vivid, collaborative, and unforgettable.

Why Interactive Whiteboards Are a Game-Changer:

Encourages student participation and hands-on engagement

Enhances visual learning with HD graphics and multimedia support

Allows real-time annotations and instant feedback

Seamlessly integrates with smart learning devices and tablets

6. Adaptive Learning Systems: Personalized Education That Evolves With Every Click

Adaptive learning systems are at the forefront of smart education, offering a truly personalized learning experience for each student. These intelligent platforms use real-time analytics and AI-driven algorithms to track student progress, identify strengths and weaknesses, and automatically adjust the lesson path to match the learner’s unique pace and performance.

Instead of a rigid, one-size-fits-all curriculum, adaptive systems offer customized challenges and targeted support ensuring that no child is left behind. Whether a student needs extra help with multiplication or is ready to advance in science topics, the system responds instantly with tailored content, quizzes, and feedback.

Key Benefits of Adaptive Learning:

Closes learning gaps faster with focused remediation

Keeps advanced learners engaged with accelerated modules

Offers real-time insights for teachers and parents

Encourages self-paced, confident learning for all students

Ideal for learners from primary to high school, adaptive learning platforms support core subjects like Math, Science, English, and more making them a valuable addition to both classrooms and at-home study.

7. Digital Assessments and Instant Feedback

Online quizzes and AI-graded tests offer instant performance feedback, helping students improve continuously and independently.

Our AI-based tablet includes built-in assessments for each chapter, offering real-time analysis and feedback for students and parents.

Buy the Tablet with Smart Assessment Tools

8. Personalized Learning Paths: Every Child Learns Differently

Today’s smart learning tools focus on individual learning styles. Instead of following a one-size-fits-all approach, students now progress at their own pace. With personalized learning paths, the content automatically adjusts in difficulty and focus based on how the learner performs.

This approach keeps students motivated, reduces frustration, and helps build confidence as they master one concept before moving on to the next.

Why It Matters:

Matches lessons to each student’s skill level

Builds a stronger foundation by reinforcing weak areas

Encourages self-paced, independent learning

Available in our AI-Based Learning Tablet — built to grow with your child.

9. E-books and Digital Libraries

Access to thousands of books from one device saves space and encourages more reading — anytime, anywhere.

Our tablet includes eBooks and visual aids for better concept clarity. Perfect for home schooling and after-school learning.

10. Parental Monitoring Tools

Smart tablets now come with dashboards for parents to track their child’s learning journey subject-wise progress, time spent, and performance metrics. Empower your child with a tool that helps you stay involved in their education.

Buy Now — Empower Your Child’s Learning Journey

Final Thoughts

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[requinoesis]

⭐The Magic Drawing Pad! 📱✨

I was surprised to receive a Tablet from XPPen in exchange for a review. Here’s my experience! 📝✨

Initially, I thought the tablet's design, meant for drawing away from a workspace and outdoors, didn't suit my lifestyle. As an introvert who rarely leaves the house or is socially active, I decided to review it from a homebody’s perspective.

I've never drawn on a display tablet before, only on regular digital tablets like the Wacom Bamboo and my current Huion Inspiroy Ink. Now, I have the XP-Pen Magic Drawing Pad to try out!

At first, it was frustrating! Everything I drew looked crooked and ugly, and I felt like a fraud. But it wasn't the tablet's fault; it was like learning to draw all over again since I was used to the computer and had abandoned traditional art.

I was rushing, thinking I should be perfect immediately. I took a deep breath and remembered that learning a new tool takes time and patience. Once I gave myself the time to adapt, things started to work out.

I only explored the tablet's basic functions, but its interface is similar to an iPad or cell phone and works well. I transferred files to my computer via Telegram, but Google Drive could also be used.

There are several illustration apps available. I chose Infinite Painter first because it is similar to Procreate. I found it amusing that the process of creating art was recorded while I was drawing!

In conclusion, I find the Magic Drawing Pad to be an ideal tablet for beginners venturing into screen drawing for the first time. It offers a practical and enjoyable experience!

Feel free to ask any questions about this tablet, and I'll do my best to answer them!

They also told me to say that there would be up to 45% off during the Prime Day event on the Amazon store and the official store from July 16th to 17th! 🛍️✨

⭐ - US store: https://amzn.to/3L08x36 ⭐ - CA store: https://amzn.to/3VanP9W

They also recommended this keyboard!

⭐ - ACK08 smart keyboard: https://bit.ly/3VCgAYv

Thanks a lot to the XPPen team for their patience and for the opportunity to try out this tablet!❤️✨

---

I did this little speedpaint experiment too if you want to see! The function of recording while drawing is a very cool experience!

That's it, I hope you like it!✨

[huellitaa]

₊˚⊹♡ education is hot!

education is literally the most valuable thing in life. please please PLEASE take advantage of that. self concept is important, good looks are important, happiness is important, health is important, but without education we wouldn't even know what any of that even means. ♡

having knowledge makes you magnetic. when you're smart, people will look up to you. and if people look up to you, it means they think about you, they admire you, and you have an influence on them.

life is knowledge. the more you learn, the more you are. knowledge is the fundamental basics to life. nothing is the root of everything but we wouldn't even know what nothing is without education. we wouldn't have language, we wouldn't have concepts, we wouldn't have technology, we wouldn't have the screen you're reading this on. we wouldn't have tumblr 😨

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 1. noting down ur findings

the smartest people ALWAYS note down what they learn, whether it be big or small. if you have lots of knowledge and / or the memory capacity of a goldfish then naturally you may not always remember what you learn. keeping it noted down in any preferably easily accessible format of your choice is so helpful and a very smart choice if you want to be an Intellectual™. notebook, sketchbook, binder, google docs, notion pages, tumblr posts, notes app, anything you like !!!!! just keep it noted down !!!! ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀2. utilising ur resources!!!!

so many people i know and millions of people throughout the world suffer with a crippling addiction to their phones, but what are you actually doing on said phone? you spend ages on your phone, your tablet, your laptop, reading, writing, playing video games, and so on, but even then, are you genuinely learning? are you taking the time to absorb the knowledge placed before you or are you skimming through it all in a mindless cycle of media consumption?

think about how you can utilise the things around you to learn. for example, make all that time spent on your devices useful. research, study, learn in your free time. knowledge is abundance. you can use your local library, your local bookshops, ur school or ur college or ur workplace just to find out more about your surroundings and about the world. it is so much more valuable thank you'd think.

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 3. wisdom

wisdom is the highest form of knowledge. to learn is to live so living is the only way you're going to truly learn, if that makes sense. therefore, by using this direct method, you gain the highest manner of knowledge; wisdom. wisdom is not being book smart or knowing how to solve equations or write essays but wisdom is genuine, pure, raw, life experience and life lessons, which, surprise surprise, can only be gained through experience and living your life. go out, try things, get out of your comfort zone, get comfy being uncomfy. you got this. ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 4. social interaction

"nerds dont know how to socialise!!!" okay so maybe i adhere to this stereotype sometimes but social interaction is, however unfortunate it may be, a key part of being intellectual and having genuine knowledge. going back to wisdom and learning through experience, speaking with and networking with and sparking connections with others is a vital way to be educated and informed and cultured along with enhancing your social skills, because we need to know how to interact with others, too. if we can't spread said knowledge through connections and socialising so it can be passed down for hundreds of thousands for years to come then there is no point in learning at all because it'll have no use in the long run.

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 5. media consumption

feed ur brain. i cannot stress this enough. read books, fiction or non fiction. i know you've heard this a million times but it's true. read just a random article of interest every day to get your brain working. learn a new word every day, read news reports, letters, interesting blogs, articles, websites, do puzzles, crosswords, wordsearches, memory games, listen to podcasts, audiobooks, watch documentaries, youtube videos, interviews, ted talks, video essays, EXERCISE UR BRAIN

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 6. insights, emotional intelligence and empathy

as i've said before, and i'll reiterate again, knowledge extends beyond simply having book smarts and knowing how to work with letters and numbers. the most powerful method of communication amongst humans is emotion, and being well versed in how to read, understand and communicate said language is only learnt through real life experience and observation of real life experiences where the use of emotional intelligence and empathy come into play. analyse these experiences and note down everything

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 7. question ur sources and BE BOLD

one thing i was taught ever since i was little is that when ur online you need to be veeeery careful with all the information you get fed because there are lots of people out there, esp on the internet, with lots of different intentions and lots of different facts, even if they have good intentions and don't mean to mislead you. always double check whatever ur told with someone you know or on another website or two or a physical yet reliable source if you have one to hand, and cite your own opinions too. you get to choose what does and doesn't get to enter your mind. your mind and your knowledge is yours entirely and only yours to be tampered with and adjusted in any way you'd like.

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 things 2 study and be generally educated on:

social etiquette and politeness

countries and their respective laws, cultures, landmarks etc.

history of your own family and ancestry

languages you're interested in and basic phrases in several languages

information about your dream and / or current career

finances and how to manage your money

business, networking and persuasion

pet psychology and how to take care of them

capital cities and basics about places around the world, esp if you plan on going travelling

something beautiful about knowledge is that you'll never run out of it and it can never be taken away from you. people can take anything from you, but never your intelligence. ♡

all my love! 💖✨💘💗🎀💓

[imagineastrology]

we listen and we don’t judge: from the perspective of your mars sign

i'm here to call you out lovingly. no hard feelings ;) 🖤✨

mars in aries: i have spent considerable time and energy shouting ambiguous insults in public to strangers who walk slowly

mars in taurus: whilst staying over at someone’s house after their birthday party, in the middle of the night, i went downstairs and took a quarter of their birthday cake and quickly dipped out afterwards x

mars in gemini: breaking up with someone over text, after having a full-on argument with myself in our group-chat

mars in cancer: i think keeping my significant other’s hair and various pieces of their DNA in a sealed envelope under my bed is normal 

mars in leo: one afternoon in my local apple store, when my self-esteem was particularly low, i changed all the laptop and tablet wallpapers to a selfie of yours truly 

mars in virgo: the most malicious thing I have ever done is not speak to my co-worker for a week after they had 3 spelling mistakes in their email to me (and then felt extreme anxiety afterwards)

mars in libra: nobody trusts me as i am naturally inclined to agree to all sides of a story - you could it lack of passion (or identity)

mars in scorpio: going behind my ex-best friend’s back and sleeping with her partner after she 'insulted' me by calling me ‘soft’ 

mars in sagittarius: ghosting someone in the middle of our date because they were boring and didn’t have a master’s degree

mars in capricorn: in the past, i have made a spreadsheet of all the times my partner was late home from work in a year, then showed it to them during an argument. the part i am most ashamed of? using graphs to prove my point :(

mars in aquarius: my weakness is that i like sounding smart, so during a debate i have spoken about topics I don’t know much about - and then someone asks me more - and I am left embarrassed as I don’t what to say next

mars in pisces: i have created multiple sims households for my fictional and non-fictional crushes, and have planned out their lives in precise detail….i have yet to plan out my own life in precise detail

thank you for reading!! - Love Imogen :) x

✨ Want to understand and learn more about your natal chart? I would love to help? I offer personalized astrology readings! I write natal chart, synastry, or astrocartography charts. Click here to explore my services and book your reading today!🌙💫

[tranquilpetrichor]

lesson learned

synopsis: in which a tutoring session turns out to be much more in disguise.

cast: tutor!gunwook x fem!reader ft. gyuvin and ricky (briefly)

genre: high school!au, f2l

wc: 2.2k (2225)

warnings: suggestive, making out, yn’s outfit has a skirt, gunwook kisses yn on neck, they call each other "cute" and "hot, they r nerds, please don’t do this in a study room, barely proofread and edited help

a/n: i swear why is finishing stuff so hard, this could be so much better but i'm happy i managed to finish it. also it's kinda hard not writing from y/n's perspective but it shre is interesting. i wanna make longer fics lol but for now enjoy this bc i love writing about nerds and especially ones who are down bad.

be sure to reblog and like to support your creators!

bright sunlight filtered in through the windows of the empty study room as park gunwook typed away on his laptop, trying to get homework done quickly.

outside, some students were walking across campus, birds were flying freely, and there were a distinct lack of clouds in the sky.

he would probably be there too, but he was supposed to be tutoring you soon. as boredom was slowly starting to set in, he double-checked the time. it was one minute after your appointment was set to begin.

odd. you weren’t usually late to anything.

before he could ponder it further, you walked into the room, sighed and put your stuff beside him, apologizing for being late. “i was talking to another professor about something, and i didn’t expect it to take that long. my bad…”

something seemed a bit different about you, but he wasn’t sure why. he shrugged the thought off and chuckled quietly.

“it’s no problem, y/n. one minute is nothing. do you prefer the curtains open or closed?”

you waved a hand at the window. “let’s close them.”

he got up and pressed a button on the light switch panel near the doorway, and the curtains automatically came down. this private school sure spent money on interesting things, but at least they were occasionally useful.

cute outfit, he thought.

was that a new pair of boots? it paired nicely with the skirt you were wearing. you managed to look hot and adorable at the same time.

how unprofessional to be distracted by your appearance—he frowned.

snap out of it. it’s time to do math, not stare like an idiot.

luckily, you didn’t say anything, even though he swore he saw a tiny smirk on your face, which you quickly removed in favor of a more neutral expression.

that was weird, he thought as you got your tablet out—the one you liked to take notes on during the calculus class you two had together.

he wasn’t sure of your exact grade in the class, but he heard it was quite high. you were smart, but didn’t seem to have problems asking for help if you needed it. in his opinion, that was pretty admirable.

gunwook noticed that if you did need help, you’d go to the teacher or try and talk to him. the two of you exchanged numbers eventually, texting each other for study sessions.

he loved being able to talk to you more, slowly learning little things about you—like how you wore a certain necklace on big days for luck, that your go-to snack was nuts (he couldn’t help but think of you as a squirrel after that), and that you had a dog named citrus.

he got the feeling that you weren’t the biggest on socializing with many people, preferring to only keep compaany with a few friends. he’s mutual friends with a few of them, like jungwon.

it was refreshing compared to his large friend group (although he loved them) and the many people who were merely interested in him for his looks.

of course, he wouldn’t mind if you were interested in his looks, but hopefully you also liked something beyond that.

you probably did—who else would end up chatting about precious stones or logical fallacies with him? he loved seeing you excited and passionate.

god, his face was probably going to be red if he kept this up.

“i see you said you wanted to look at stuff from the last lecture when you were booking the session,” he said, trying to banish certain thoughts from his head. “series can be difficult, so i get it.”

you nodded, offering him a sweet smile. “yeah, i just wanna go over a few of the divergence and convergence problems on the first practice problem set. i have the problems listed here.”

you pushed your tablet in his direction, and he picked it up.

he glanced at your solution for the first one, nearly written. “i mean, it looks like you applied the test correctly. just to make sure, how did you know to use that one?”

you didn’t hesitate to answer.

“given series is a p-series where p is equal to three. p is greater than three, so the series will converge.”

as expected, you kept up with his questioning. of course you probably knew what a damn p-series is. he’d just wanted to hear your voice some more.

speaking of voices, maintaining a professional tone with you was a miracle. gunwook’s composure and eloquence were paramount to getting him through student council meetings, debates and tutoring sessions, but those skills seemed to want a temporary vacation.

“do you want to move onto the next one?” he said, defaulting to his standard tutor voice.

“mhm. i remember our teacher said there was more than one way to do it. i never tried to figure out the other ways, but now i’m curious.”

gunwook flipped to a certain page in his notebook. “do you want me to show you how i did it? it’s definitely a different method, but we got the same answer.”

you shrugged. “sure. take your time.”

you were twirling your stylus pen in your hands and swiftly tucked it atop your ear. fuck, did you not know how cute you looked? your hair was neatly parted near the middle right now, but he wondered what it’d be like to see you disheveled. at this point, he might be thinking with something other than his brain.

you spent another few minutes talking with him, bringing his memory back to previous tutoring sessions. he remembered you said once that having to justify your reasoning on a topic was one of the best ways to deepen understanding, and that he was skilled at identifying the holes in your arguments.

“that’s why i would hate to lose a debate against you,” you had admitted. “it’s always more fun when we can work together.”

the offhanded comment could’ve had another meeting. as an friend, gunwook couldn’t quite discern your intentions, though. whether you just wanted him at arms length or in your arms was just another guessing game he played.

he was aware that the balance of power was always shifting between you two, but at the end of the day, you two were pretty much equals intellectually, keeping things in equilibrium. however, his underlying feelings of attraction threatened to ruin the balance.

as the session continued, you had a satisfied smile. you asked him about unrelated math proofs and got him off track. why did you want to discuss all this when your sessions were usually more focused? something was definitely off.

“well, that was actually everything i wanted to ask about,” you said to him suddenly, packing up swiftly. “i was just going to go if you don’t have anything else.”

he frowned.

no, please don’t.

what was wrong with him?

“unless, you wanted me to stay..” you continued, a smirk on your face. your laptop was closed and all of your study materials were neatly filed away.

you were definitely teasing him, and it was working, your behavior making him somewhat flustered. there was no turning back if he let himself escalate things right now. he could just let you leave—that’s what rational gunwook would do.

fuck it. rational gunwook was not in the room right now.

he reached out and grasped your arm. “and if i did?”

you smirked and stepped towards him. “then i’ll make sure you don’t regret your choice.”

with that, you pressed your lips to his, surprising him. gunwook quickly recovered, his arm snaking around your waist, pulling you in more.

no wonder you booked the session for an hour and a half.

if anyone opens this door, i’m definitely getting kicked out as a tutor. at least these walls are pretty soundproof.

he pulled away for a bit to catch his breath. "wow, did you come here just to kiss me?”

you laughed, gazing at his eyes. "it wasn't only for that, although i'd be happy to do it again. let me clarify. i have feelings for you.”

you continued. “i’ve honestly thought about it. you’re hardworking, and not just in the classroom. when i see you practicing or studying, you dedicate yourself fully, and it inspires me to do the same. you're kind, even to people who don't deserve it. on top of that, you’ve always been a good person to talk to about anything and everything. i trust you.”

“oh, and i guess you’re cute. and hot.”

you added the last part with a small smile. after each reason, he found himself surprised by your sincere words.

gunwook groaned. “y/n, you have no idea how down bad i am. i don't even remember exactly when it started, but what i do know is that i met someone interesting, someone who challenges me and jokes with me. someone who's beautiful in every way. i'm so fucking into you."

he paused, before deciding to tease you a little. "i have a question about one thing, though. you ‘guess’ i’m cute?”

“well, did you want me to say for a fact that you’re cute?” you asked.

he pouted slightly. “would have been better.”

“fine,” you said, taking his hand. “it is an undisputed fact that you’re cute.”

“thank you.”

"and hot."

"i guess so..." you rolled your eyes, an amused grin on your face. “now can we get back to kissing?”

“i was acually trying to be professional, even though i had feelings for you too,” he whispered against your ear. “but since you insist, i’ll give you what you want.”

not wanting to rush despite his boyish excitement, he leaned down and slowly began to kiss you again, running one of his hands gently through your hair. you closed your eyes.

“want you to take control, gunwook,” you said, your breath hot against his skin and your arms wrapping around his neck.

how could he say no? he was so screwed whenever it came to you. wasting no time, he brought your hips closer to his, enjoying the proximity.

he’d never seen you like this, so blissful and carefree. all he wanted to do in this moment was to make sure you kept feeling that way.

he got a small idea.

“hold on, i’m going to lift you,” he said, and you tightened your hold on him, lifting your legs so that they wrapped around his waist. you looked like a koala, hanging on so protectively to him like he was a branch.

you let out a tiny laugh of glee—it was the cutest thing he’s ever heard.

he moved over to a chair, and carefully sat down with you in his arms. your skirt was spread across your lap, contributing to the newfound messiness of your appearance, and your legs dangled off both sides of the chair.

“let me know if you don’t like something,” he said in between kisses. “the last thing i want to do is pressure you.”

“of course,” you responded, squeezing his shoulders reassuringly.

as a surge of newfound confidence rushed through him, his kisses became more intense, trailing down to your collarbone. you tilted your neck slightly to allow him more access to the area.

shit, he was probably the luckiest guy alive right now.

“so beautiful,” he murmured, tracing your chin with one of his hands, “and you’re mine.”

damn, calm down now.

“wow, for someone who’s so sweet, you sure do have a possessive side.”

he winced. “is it too much?”

you laughed and smiled playfully. “not at all. i find it hot.”

that sentence alone sent a warmth through his body.

“that’s good to know,” he replied with a smirk. he was definitely going to do that more often.

soon, his lips found yours again, like a moth to a flame. damn, he could spend all day doing this (if they had no risk of getting caught).

in his pocket, his phone buzzed, and he sighed, looking at the notification.

gyuvin: r u coming to get ice cream with me and ricky? u said ur tutoring thing with ur gf ends at 4:00

the time was 3:44 pm. wow, were they really at it for that long?

gunwook smiled. gyuvin had texted “gf” as a joke, but little did the poor guy know.

“is it something important?” you asked, still on his lap.

he shut off the phone, looking back at you. “it’s gyuvin. during lunch, me, him and ricky made last minute plans to get ice cream—they’re asking me if i still want to come. i should get going soon.”

of course, his feet didn’t want to move.

you looked intrigued. “do they mind a plus one?”

yeah, they're going to tease me the entire time.

“i’ll ask,” he responded, face somewhat warm from embarrassment. "but one of these days, i’ll take you out on a proper date, just us two. you deserve it.”

your eyes lit up, and you smiled. “i’ll hold you to it, gunwook.”

his phone buzzed again.

gyuvin: yea sure bring her, we support

gyuvin: besides i have ricky he's gonna be my bf now

"they said yes," gunwook said, laughing silently at gyuvin's last message. "let's go in 5 minutes?"

you reciprocated, resting your head gently on his shoulder. "any longer and i don't think i could leave."