#and eventually i would work my anxiety up enough for something to happen

[kalashtars]

this week on is it a side effect of testosterone or just season depression: my midterm essay for a class was due two days ago. i have not started it. normally i would feel anxiety about this but i feel distinctly numb about it.

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: You Falling Asleep

A/N: Not requested! I just thought it would be a cute idea! Requests are still open. Be sure to read my rules in the pinned post :) Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Butcher didn't want anyone visiting him in the hospital, but you weren't taking no for an answer. He'd been sleeping on and off, but when he work up again, you were asleep. Curled into a ball in one of the visitor chairs. You looked uncomfortable and cramped, but your expression was that of relief. For a little while you weren't worried about the state of the world or the future or his health. He knows you haven't been getting enough sleep. That didn't really matter when it felt like the world was ending every other day. When the nurses come in he makes sure to warn them. He couldn't be the cause of your fears and the one to wake you up. Someone brought a blanket and he gently placed it over you. He watched you, taking in this moment. You were finally relaxed. He knew you'd only done this because you were completely exhausted, you could barely keep your eyes open. It hurt him to know that he was a big reason why you couldn't eat or sleep or take care of yourself. He never meant to hurt you like this.

Hughie notices you can barely keep your eyes open. After that night at Tek Knights, you haven't been sleeping very well. You'd been so scared, so sure you were going to die with five new holes punctured into your body. You woke up from nightmares gasping for air, checking your skin for holes, afraid you were still in the sex dungeon. That you never got out. He's not sure how to talk to you about it and the guilt eats him alive. You and him are going through his files on Neuman when your head starts to fall only for you to startle awake. He insists you take a nap in his bed. You're reluctant, but you're so exhausted you eventually give in. He doesn't shut the door completely, wanting to be there if you have another nightmare. It's the least he can do.

Annie insists she'll stay awake for the both of you. The shape shifter captured you both. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. They ended up drugging the both of you. They switched between your two identities, tearing off their skin, taking your memories as well as your faces. Annie can see just how tired you are. Your skin is raw and you've run out of tears. She doesn't hold it against you. She fights against the chains quietly, hearing your breathing turn shallow. She would find a way out of this. She would get you out of this. You'd feel better after getting a good night's sleep. You weren't a Supe. You didn't have the abilities she had. And yet, she couldn't get them to work. She cursed herself for not protecting you, not saving you, not being a good enough Supe. She was grateful you weren't awake to see her fall apart like this.

M.M. does everything in his power not to wake you. You fell asleep on a surveillance mission in the van. You'd gotten so quiet, he felt like he was talking to himself. When he looked over, putting the binoculars down, you were curled in a ball in the passenger seat, fast asleep. He knows you haven't been sleeping well. If it's not the nightmares, it's the fear, the worrying. You recently admitted you'd kept a loaded gun where you could easily reach just in case. You were petrified something terrible would happen if you relaxed even a little, if you let your guard down. You needed this. He turns the engine off and puts his coat over you. He would've loved being able to talk about your heightened stress and anxiety, ways to cope, but this was a lot better. He hoped you'd feel safer, calmer after you woke up.

Frenchie freaks out a little internally. He thought you were dead. Your head was resting in your folded arms on your desk. Once he saw your body rise and fall with your breathing, he realized you weren't knocked out or dead. You were asleep. He thinks it's a little funny after getting over his initial panic. You've been working really hard lately. He wasn't sure how much sleep you were getting, if you were getting any at all. When the others walked in, bickering and laughing, he motions for them to be quiet. You needed this. Everyone whispers, going their separate ways. Frenchie turns down the lights, leaving a lamp on so that you're not totally in the dark. He wants you to rest as long as possible. You've been giving everything to this job, this cause, lately. You needed a lot more rest than this.

Kimiko knew you'd been having nightmares. It wasn't a secret. You confided in her one night that you haven't been sleeping well. Every time you close your eyes, you see Homelander. You feel his lasers slice through you until you're two halves. He's not just angry or upset, he's furious. You can't escape him. You two are hanging out when she notices you can't keep your eyes open. She tells you to lay down with your head on her lap. You laugh it off, but she's serious. She rubs circles between your shoulder blades, trying to ease you to sleep. When she notices your eyes are closed she doesn't stop. It brings her a lot of ease and relief knowing she can help you, at least a little. If you have another nightmare, if you face Homelander alone again, she'll be there when you wake up. She'll be there.

Bonus! Homelander either let's you sleep or orders you out of the room. If he likes you, he might warn the others to shut the fuck up. He'd move your meeting to another time and simply let you be. He might check on you every so often and when he sees you stirring he would gently wake you up, walk you to your room where you can sleep in a real bed instead of holding your head up in the board room. If he doesn't like you, he yells and berates and is this close to firing you before he realizes The Seven and Vought need you for your powers. You can apologize all you want, he won't listen. Either way you're completely embarrassed. You've just been so busy lately, it's been hard to fall asleep with everything going on.

[dancingtotuyo]

1. mirror in the sky

Landslide | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: An unexpected encounter with Joel Miller jump starts a series of events right out of your wildest dreams.

Chapter Tags/Warnings: age gap (approx 13 years), past baby sitter, TV show basis, grief & loss, trauma, anxiety attack, consumption of alcohol

Notes: AHHHHHHH I'm so excited for this! I've been sitting on top of a no outbreak version of these two since before I posted the first chapter of Woman! How appropraite that I bring you the first chapter of Landslide on the first anniversary of Woman. Thank you all for all of your love and support this past year!

What?! @guiltyasdave beta read this?! I never would have guessed that! (love you xoxo)

Words: 3844

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

You don’t know how you make it to the Austin suburb unscathed. You shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a vehicle, muchless driving an extra 20 minutes, but you need to be home. Not your lonely, one bedroom apartment in the city- but home where mom is cooking dinner and dad is watching the football game, where dad keeps it a chilly 68 inside despite the heat. 

The tears come in silent waves on the drive over, but by the time you pull into the driveway, sobs pound at the dam, waiting for it to burst. As soon as the key pulls loose from the ignition, you stumble out of your car, almost tripping up the front stairs. You have to see your parents. It repeats on a loop in your fucking mind. Everything will be fine once you see them. You go for the door knob, but it's locked. Panic scratches at your throat. You try it again, expecting another result. The front door is never locked. 

Your palms collide with the hardwood door. “Mom! Dad!” You can’t seem to draw in satisfying breaths. Your face is drenched in tears and sweat as the panic and Texas heat work in tandem against you. 

It doesn’t cross your mind that they might not be home. Your parents are boring. They’re stuck in their habits. They’re always at home on Thursday evenings. It is Thursday, right? You lost track of time during your shift. It was never ending. 

Your palms sting. It feels like forever, but finally, the door opens. You fall forward. Hands shoot out to steady you. “Woah, there.”

That’s not your dad’s voice. It stuns you just enough to make everything in your body work for a minute. “Joel?” What’s he doing here? Where are your parents? You just want to hug your mom and snuggle on the couch with your dad like you’re 6 years old again. Did something happen to them? The panic comes back double, your body shaking this time. “Where are my parents?” The tears are blinding. “Where are they!”

“Holy shit, Sweetheart.” Joel pulls you inside the house.

You stumble over the threshold falling into him. He slams the door behind you, his arms tightening around your shoulders. “Why aren’t they home? They’re alway home.” You’re hyperventilating. You know it, but you can’t stop it. 

Before Joel can answer, your legs give out. He barely avoids tipping over and landing on top of you. Somehow, he manages to lower you both to the ground without any major damage. 

“They left for their anniversary trip today.”

Fuck, so it was Friday. You’d forgotten all about their 30th anniversary trip. You’d spent more time inside the ER than out of it the past few weeks, picking up as many shifts as possible. Trying to avoid the approaching Anniversary. The one that came just weeks after your parents’.

You try to repeat the words in your head. They’re okay. They’re halfway to Europe now. It does little to help soothe the ache in your chest. 

Joel runs his hand up and down your back. “Shhhhh, it’s okay. Everyone is okay.” He pushes back the hair that sticks to your face. Your sharp intakes of breath eventually die down to sporadic and shaky. “That’s it. Deep breaths.”

Eventually you settle, letting your head rest against the door. Your throat feels tight, your sinuses stuffy, and your chest aches. 

“Stay right here. I’ll bring you some water,” Joel says. 

He’s gone before you have the wherewithal to thank him. 

You wipe the mixture of fluids on your face away with the back of your hand: tears, sweat, snot, probably some drool. God, you must look a mess right. You eye the tissue box across the room but the thought of moving makes your brain hurt and your muscles sting. You wipe the back of your hand discreetly against the clean scrub pants you changed into before leaving work. 

Joel comes back into the room with a glass of ice water. Condensation drips down the sides teasing your drying throat. He grabs the tissue box without a second thought.  

“Here.” He sits back down on the floor with you, carefully handing you the glass of water.

You thank him, making sure the glass doesn’t slip through your fingers. The water is cool and soothing against your scratchy throat. You don’t think, tipping it back further until your worn out esophagus can’t keep up and you sputter, choking on the water. It spills from your mouth, following the lines of your throat until it dips under your neckline. 

“Woah there, slow down.” Joel takes the cup from you as you cough. “We don’t need you choking today too.” 

You can’t help the little uptick of your lips as you struggle to recover. His care and concern is sweet and- no, he’s 13 years your senior, you chide. You gave this stupid crush up last summer the morning after the Randolf’s pool party. You’d woken up and were flooded with the memories, the lines you swore you’d never cross. Thankfully, Joel was either an oblivious son of a bitch, or you were more subtle than you remember. Whichever it was, it doesn’t matter anymore. You are over Joel Miller. 

The dark green shirt that stretches around his biceps doesn’t phase you. Neither does the tool belt slung low around his hips, or the fact that you’re alone in your parents home. Your brain pulls you out of the thirsting that you are not doing, and focuses on that detail. “Joel, what are you doing in my parents’ house?”

“I’m renovatin upstairs.”

Something about that strikes a chord within you. “The 25th anniversary bathroom renovation?” You smile and Joel almost looks relieved to see you return to the version he’s used to. 

“Except it’s the bedroom now too. I think your mom called it interest.” He laughs. 

“Sounds about right.”

“Now,” he props his arms over his knees. “What are you doing here? I thought you got too good for us and moved into the city,” he teases as he nudges you softly. 

You roll your eyes, but the light squishes out when you close your eyes. The images play on repeat behind them. Your heart rate surges again, you feel your breath begin to quicken. 

Joel’s hand lands on your knee, the other cups your neck. “Hey.”

Your eyes snap open. His soft brown ones are closer than you’ve ever seen them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’tve asked.” 

You sign rubbing the tension from your neck. “I just worked 36 hours straight.”

“Holy fuck, isn’t that illegal or something?” 

You shake your head. “Discouraged, but the ER was a madhouse, just one thing after the other. We had a big trauma come in and none of us felt like we could leave. I got a few hours sleep at the hospital before my scheduled shift started.” You’re starting to feel the come down of the past few days and your panic attack. 

Joel looks concerned, like he’s looking you over for any physical injuries. Something that would explain your panic. 

You don’t let him ask anymore questions. “We had this car accident come in- yesterday? I can’t even tell you when.” You can’t get the knot out of your neck. You groan in frustration. 

“C’mere,” Joel motions you over. “I’ll get it.”

You listen, too tired to fight it or over analyze it. His thumbs dig into your tight muscles. You catch the moan before it falls out. “A couple UT students.” 

You contemplate spilling details, but they’re covered in blood, marrying with last year’s events. You can still feel the blood soaking through your scrubs. 

Joel pauses before catching a knot in your shoulder. You gasp in pain, but it feels good too. “Shit, did I hurt you?”

“No, keep going.” You say, and he listens. “They got hit by a drunk driver.”

Joel sucks in a breath. You know he’s thinking back to last fall, the accident that turned your family’s life upside down. It’s the only thing you’ve been able to see since the call came in, so eerily similar to last year. The surrounding events. The injuries. You were working the ER when they brought Carter’s mangled and bloody body in. You watched, helpless to do anything as your friends and colleagues tried to bring him back. You listened as they declared time of death. Even now, you hear the ringing of the flatlining monitor in your ears. 

Joel pulls you into a tight hug, your arms hanging limply at your sides. The exhaustion is just too much, but you appreciate it. It helps, makes you feel less alone. “Thank you.”

“Course.” He gives you another squeeze. “Let me finish working out your back.” 

You oblige, tension melting away as his fingers work toward your spine and then downward. You’d been on your feet for the better part of 2 days, and that was the least of it. 

You let out a long, deep breath, body beginning to settle. “Where’d you learn to do this?” You lean into his hands to increase the pressure. 

“Got real good at ’em when Pam was pregnant with Sarah.” You’re not sure you’ve ever heard Joel mention his estranged ex-wife so casually. 

“God, can’t imagine what would possess a woman to leave hands like yours.” The words slip out before you even have a chance to think through the implications of everything you just said. 

His hands stop moving, palms flat against your lower back. Heat rises to your cheeks in mortification. “Shit, Joel. I’m sorry. Obviously that’s not even an actual reason to stay. Like you have Sarah and that’s an actual reason and I can’t-“ Laughter cuts off the words cascading from your lips. 

You turn around to find Joel leaned back, his chest shaking as laughter comes from his belly, filling your parents' quiet home. You swear you even see a tear or two come from his eyes. One thing is for certain, Joel Miller is not stressed right now and he certainly wasn’t bothered by your comment. Quite the opposite actually. 

It’s contagious as the smile passes over your face. Your chest begins to shake. Mostly, you’re enjoying this rare sight. His crows’ feet crinkle at the corner of his eyes. Your heart skips a beat but you rein it in. 

Joel wipes the side of his eyes. “Pretty sure I was supposed to make you feel better.”. 

“You did.” 

“Glad to hear it.” He groans as he rises to his feet. “I’m getting too old to sit on the floor like that.” 

He offers his hand. You take it and he pulls you to your feet. “Thank you, Joel.”

He nods. “I need to get back to work. I told Sarah I’d be home by 6 tonight.” 

“What time is it?” 

Joel looks down at his watch. You took Sarah into the city last fall to get it fixed for his birthday. “Just past four.” 

You stare up the steps, contemplating staying in your childhood bedroom tonight. You don’t have the energy to make the 20 minute drive home. Your energy is draining by the second. 

“You need sleep, and probably a shower.”

“Showered at work.” The stairs look like Mount Everest to your weary bones. “Think I'll crash on the couch.”

Joel sees it. “You’d still have clothes here?”

“There’s a set of pajamas I left at Christmas in my old room.”

“I’ll get them for you.”

“Room with-“

“The pink walls.” He chuckles, stomping up the stairs. Guess it was obvious seeing as you’re the only girl. 

You’re standing in the exact spot he left you in when Joel gets back. Your sleep shorts, and thin top in his hands. “Thanks.”

“No problem, and if you need anything while you’re here, just come over. Sarah and I will be home all weekend. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll stop by at some point. I’d love to see her too.”

You hadn’t seen Sarah since her soccer tournament this spring. You’d lived with your parents for almost a year after graduation before moving into the city to work at the only Level 1 trauma center in the area. 

Joel nods then stomps back up the steps. You change in the bathroom before folding into your parents' oversized sectional. It smells like comfort and all things nice. You can hear Joel working in your parents’ space upstairs, but it quickly fades as the darkness takes over. 

You wake up disoriented, not sure where you are. It’s completely dark around you, but you pull at little threads as they’re given. You’re definitely not in your bed. You can’t hear the city noises below your apartment. You sit up only to be greeted with a splitting headache. You’re in your parents' home. Everything comes filtering back through your brain. You shudder. You don’t want to think about it. 

You shove the blanket off your legs in a pursuit of water and advil. You don’t remember pulling a blanket over yourself, but quite frankly, you could’ve done anything in your sleep deprived state. The water dissolves the cotton in your mouth, but does little to dull the aching in your skull. You’ll have to wait for the drugs to kick in for that. The stove clock says it’s 2 am. 

You wander back to the couch, but the moment you lay down, the restlessness sets in. You toss and turn but your body says no. Finally, your headache has reduced to a dull ache, barely noticeable in the grand scheme of things. 

You know you need more sleep. You should probably sleep for 24 hours straight after the shift you just had, but you sit up again, brushing your hair out of your face. This is ridiculous. Your sleep schedule is already fucked up enough as is. Maybe you should start working the night shift. 

You pace through the dark house. You know the layout like the back of your hand. Your mother hasn’t so much as moved the furniture since you moved into this house when you were 6. 

You step out on the porch for air. It’s cooled down some. You contemplate driving home, but the peacefulness of the neighborhood is comforting. You can almost ignore the ache in your chest, pretend your brother is still alive. 

Across the street, you catch Joel’s TV playing some corny action movie through his big living room windows. You catch the outline of his head, the rehearsed movement of bringing a bottle to one’s lips. He’s not asleep.  

Your heart beats a little heavier in your chest. He had said to come over if you needed anything.  Right now, you need company. It might be the lack of sleep, but your bare feet hit the asphalt without a second thought as you cross the street. Your brain doesn’t even register what you’re doing until you knock on the door. 

You contemplate running away. Who doesn’t love a good game of ding dong ditch? You certainly did in your heyday. Why not relive the glory days when you ran this street?

The door opens pushing away all of the swirling thoughts in your mind. The cicadas play white noise in the background leaving your sole focus on Joel’s concerned brown eyes and your raging pulse. 

“You okay?” 

“I just- I saw your TV on. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.” 

He gives you a soft smile, stepping aside. “Come on in.”

You exhale almost in relief, stepping across the familiar threshold. Part of you eases, but another tightens up. You’ve spent so many hours in this house, many late nights here, but never with Joel, with him watching you with such concern. Heat flares up your neck. 

“Can I get you anything? A snack? A drink?”

“It’s two a.m.”

“You’re the one who knocked on my door.” Joel teases.

“You told me to come over if I needed anything.”

“So what do you need?” The hour of the night scratches at his voice, sending a charge through the air. 

Your eyes snap up to his, knowing he didn’t mean anything by it other than to be kind, but it doesn’t help the way your skin prickles. You swallow down the lump that forms in your throat. “Company.” Joel smiles at you. Your eyes dart down to his lips. “And some water, please.”

“Coming right up.” He turns for the kitchen before you can do anything foolish. 

You rub your eyes, hoping to clear your head. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, it runs through our mind. Your inhibitions are lowered after the high flying emotions of the day. You can’t fall into his arms. They’re not open for you, not like that. 

You settle into the corner of the couch, pulling your knees to you chest as the familiar smell envelops you. A cheesy action movie plays lowly on the tv. Joel isn’t too far behind, passing off a glass of water as he eases onto the middle of the couch, arms spread across the back of the sofa. He doesn’t say anything, returning his attention to the tv. You appreciate that he doesn’t ask too many questions. He’s just letting you be. 

You attempt to watch the movie, but it’s bad, almost endearingly bad, but Joel seems to enjoy it. He’s the thing holding your attention. Joel is a good distraction. You’ve never gotten the chance to admire his profile in this way, this close, this undisturbed. If Joel catches on to your staring, he doesn’t let on. He lets you study. 

At some point, your mind takes over again, reminding you of the brother you no longer have, of the deep cavern in your soul. It doesn’t pour out of you like it did earlier with the fury of a hurricane. This is more like a peaceful stream, tears silently gathering in your eyes, falling with little fanfare. 

Joel’s hand falls to your knee, squeezing it softly. It’s the only acknowledgement from him, but it’s what you need. Long after your tears are gone, Joel’s hand stays, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against the inside of your leg. 

Some line makes Joel chuckle as he shifts further into the couch. Your legs have fallen out in front of you, one brushing his thigh. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this close to him, unless you count last summer when you got drunk at the Randolf’s party. Embarassment floods your system, making you withdraw your legs slightly. 

Joel’s brow furrows, head turning to you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, not sure you’re convincing. “I’m just shifting.”

He gives you a once over from top to bottom. Your stomach dips. You know he means nothing by it, but your body doesn’t get the memo. As if to make matters worse, Joel slings his arm back over both your legs, pulling them over his lap. It tugs you closer, pressing more of you against him. Nothing about it is inherently sexual, but your body is on fire. 

You can smell him. The mixture of fading old spice and the ever present smell of dirt that has seared itself to him. You can’t take your eyes off his profile now. You’re close enough to count his eye lashes if you wanted to. In all your life, you never though you would be this close to him, with his hands on you. 

It’s not like that. It’s not like that, you repeat in your head because it’s not. Joel would never look at you like that. He’s too good of a guy. He’s just showing you comfort, but you can’t stop looking at him. The temptation to make a move so close, it’s hard to ignore. It’s not like that.

It’s like your brain is running a million miles a second, taking Joel in, his proximity, while clinging tightly to the thread of self control that keeps you from closing the gap.

Then he’s looking at you and he’s so close. Lights from the tv flicker off his brown eyes, drawing you in further. It wouldn’t take much effort to press your lips to his. Before you can stop yourself, years of college party instincts take over and you kiss him. You kiss Joel Miller. 

It’s a soft, lingering kiss, and then your mind forces you to withdraw. Joel sits still as a statue. He didn’t really kiss you back, but he didn’t push you away, and then it all comes crashing down. This isn’t some fucking frat party. He’s not a peer. This is Joel Miller. You spring to your feet. 

“Shit- fuck, Joel. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Your hands tangle in your hair. “I should go.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Joel stands. His hand cups your elbow, head stooping to be at eye level with yours. Tears shine in your eyes again. 

“It’s not actually.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, desperate to stop them. You’re not sure you can handle more tears right now. 

“Sweetheart, I promise. It’s not a big deal. You’re goin through a lot.” 

Your shoulders drop with relief. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He smiles. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight if you don’t want to be alone. I’ll take the couch.” 

And you want to say yes so badly. It sits on the tip of your tongue. You imagine what it would be like to curl up under his sheets, be immersed in him, but you swallow the quick response down. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay at home.” 

Joel nods. You think you catch some relief in his eyes. He probably wasn’t looking forward to sleeping on the couch. He scratches the back of his neck. 

“I don’t know how long you’re planning to hang around, but you’re welcome to join us for breakfast tomorrow. Sarah usually makes pancakes on Saturdays. I’m not a huge pancake person, but she loves it.”

You decide at that moment Joel Miller is a saint. You just made a fool of yourself. He shouldn’t want to see you again, let you around his kid, but he invites you over for breakfast, offers up his bed. 

“I’ll think about it.” You walk to the door. “Thanks. For everything.” You mean it too. 

“Of course. It’s what neighbors are for.”

You laugh. “Pretty sure this goes past the moral obligations of being neighbors.”

Joel shrugs. “You’ve been the one steady female influence in Sarah’s life. Pretty sure it goes past the moral obligations of being a babysitter.”’

A smile ghosts over your lips. “Goodnight, Joel.”

You open the front door. The wood of the front porch is still warm against your bare feet. Joel leans against the door frame. “Night, Sweetheart.” 

You wave, dashing across the street. You know you’re imagining it when you feel Joel watching you until your parents front door is shut behind your back, but you never hear his front door close. 

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

I carried over the taglist from Woman. If you were tagged and no longer want to be, please let me know! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

9: NEW DAWN

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

You and Bucky deal with the fallout of the undercover mission.

Word count 3.3k

Warnings: reader coming to terms with Bucky's decision, trying to move forwards, betrayal, more miscommunication, anger, Bucky Barnes acting like a giant tool, Daisy Johnson and Melinda May make an appearance

The next morning you woke early, determined to carry out your plan. Slipping out of the compound, you drove out of the parking garage in one of the convertibles with the top down and wind blowing through your hair. It was freezing cold and you knew it was reckless because it looked like the heavens would open at any minute, but you didn’t care. You arrived at Coulson Academy just as several large raindrops started to fall, and you sniffed slightly from the cold air. Putting the top up, you got out of the car and ran for shelter under the large awning of the Academy entrance.

"Ugh!" You stopped to flick off the water from your jacket.

"Subtle entrance." Melinda May’s voice startled you.

You jumped out of your skin. "Jeez, May! Why do you always have to lurk around?"

"Wasn’t lurking. Just waiting for you."

"How did you know I was coming?"

"I heard about what happened."

"Steve?" you asked.

"Romanoff."

Of course it had been Nat. She knew everything that happened, she knew exactly what you would do. Maybe you ought to have talked to her before leaving.

"Why didn’t you stop me?" you asked.

"Because I knew you needed to make this decision on your own," May replied calmly. "And I knew you would come here eventually."

You sighed, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. "I don’t know if I’m making the right choice."

May placed a hand on your shoulder. "There is no right choice here. You need to take care of yourself for once, instead of putting everyone else’s needs before yours. Teaching at the Academy is something you would be good at. You have so much to offer, and… I believe in you."

You looked up at her, grateful for her support. She wasn’t one for heart to heart conversations, preferring to ignore her emotions altogether. "Thank you, May. I just wish it didn’t have to end this way with Bucky."

May gave you a knowing look, she knew exactly how you felt without you having to explain it to her. "Sometimes things don’t work out the way we want them to. But that doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world. You have a bright future ahead of you, and I'll be there to help you every step of the way."

"Can I stay with you for a while?"

May rolled her eyes, "fine."

You wrapped your arms around her in a quick hug. "You’re the best. I love you."

*

Natasha was waiting for you when you returned, lounging across the hood of one of the Porches, filing her nails.

"Tony won’t be best pleased if he sees you like that."

"I’m not too worried about Tony. I have more important things on my mind."

"Yeah?" you asked, knowing full well where the conversation was going.

"What happened last night?"

"Didn’t Steve tell you?"

"Rogers?" she scoffed. "He has no idea what he’s talking about half the time."

You looked around for signs of anyone nearby. The risk of having someone overhear your conversation was making you feel very uncomfortable. Natasha pulled you into a secluded corner with a view of the rest of the garage and gave you a very pointed look requesting that you spilled the beans. But somehow the words you wanted to choose made the problem seem trivial. So instead of telling her about all the events that had transpired, you kept it simple.

"He chose her. Apparently there isn't enough room in his life for both of us," you shrugged.

"Steve told me what she did." Your gaze snapped to Nat’s face, but her returning expression was angry. "I don’t understand why you didn’t tell him."

"It’s my word against hers, Nat. I have no proof that she took my idea. What am I supposed to say? His reaction last night proves that he doesn’t trust me." You sighed dismally.

"Do you need me to beat some sense into him?"

You smiled sadly at your friend.

"Sweetie, you need to tell him how you feel," she continued.

"I think it’s too late for that. I’ve made my decision."

"I can’t do anything to change your mind?"

"Please Nat," you pleaded. "This is hard enough."

She put her arms around your neck, leaning her forehead against yours. "But I’ll miss you."

"I’ll miss you too." You wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug, trying not to let the tears start falling again. Eventually you pulled away, steeling yourself for the next step; telling Steve and Tony about your resignation.

*

As you made your way back into the compound, you caught sight of your best friend in the gym. He was pummeling a punching bag like he wanted to murder it.

You gathered every ounce of courage within you and approached Bucky, desperate to reconcile and recapture the bond you once shared. But as you reached out to touch his arm, he recoiled, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and hurt.

"Bucky, please. I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way-"

"I thought I knew you, but I feel like I don’t know you anymore," he said, his voice laced with sorrow. "I know how you feel about Priya-"

"Buck-"

"I can see it in your face. But I never thought you could be so spiteful."

Your heart, already shattered, fractured further still, and the tears you had held back cascaded down your cheeks. Your friendship, once unbreakable, seemed irretrievable. Bucky turned his back on you, leaving you broken, lost in a sea of regret and longing.

*

After drying your tears, you found Tony and Steve in the common area, deep in conversation. Taking a breath, you approached them, your voice steady but filled with emotion. "Tony, Steve, I need to talk to you both."

Tony looked up, concern etched on his face. "What's wrong, Cricket?"

You hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I... I need to resign from the Avengers."

Tony's eyes widened in surprise. "What? Why?"

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before explaining. "I could make up some logistical excuse but you'll both know it's a lie. It's... it's because of Bucky. I can't continue to work alongside him knowing how I feel and knowing that he's with someone else. It's too painful for me."

Tony and Steve exchanged a knowing look before Steve spoke up. "We understand Cricket. We've seen how hard this has been for you. But are you sure this is what you want?"

You nodded, tears threatening to spill over. "I can't stay here and pretend everything is okay when it's not. I need to take a step back and figure things out."

Steve placed a comforting hand on your shoulder but he looked like he was at a loss for words. So he took the professional route of comfort. "You're a valuable member of the team."

"Stay, we can find you another partner." Tony stood up, coming over to you. "I can’t just let you go without a fight."

You smiled weakly, grateful for their understanding. "Thank you, Steve. And thank you, Tony. But I just need some time to myself."

As you turned to leave, Tony called out to you. "Hey Sport, if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to reach out. We're here for you."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. It was time to focus on yourself and your own happiness, even if it meant leaving behind the life you had known as an Avenger. And maybe, just maybe, you would find a way to move on from Bucky and find your own path to happiness.

You'd barely taken three steps out of the common room before Steve caught up with you. "Have you spoken to him?"

"If you call ‘him telling me he doesn't even know who I am and then storming off’ speaking, then yes. I don't understand how this happened, Steve. I thought nothing could get between us."

"He loves you." Steve stopped in front of you. 

"Not anymore. He hates me."

Steve couldn't help but feel frustrated by how his two best friends could be so oblivious. 

"Look Steve, I'm sorry, I know Bucky’s your best friend. You don't need to hear me bad mouthing him." You stepped around him, making your way back to your room.

"Cricket, you're my friend too." Steve chased after you.

"Then will you help me pack?"

Steve sighed, he would never refuse anyone’s request for help. "Of course."

*

It hadn’t taken you long to pack your things into boxes. Your clothes weren’t difficult to shove into suitcases. Your wardrobe wasn’t extensive, having learned to live out of small spaces for many years, material things weren’t quite on your list of necessities. You had let Tony decorate your walls to his taste and you’d been pleasantly surprised at how good he was at guessing your tastes. However, you’d decided not to take these things with you when you left. It was time for you to make your own home. It was going to be a new challenge, you’d been involved with large institutions ever since you’d left home, and had never had to create a home for yourself before.

You turned to face Steve, Sam, and Nat, who were all standing in your room, looking at you with concern in their eyes.

"Come on, sugar cakes. Isn’t there any way we can convince you to stay?" Sam asked.

"I appreciate the sentiment, guys, but I need to do this," you said, zipping up your suitcase.

"Cricket, you’re too valuable a member of the team," Steve said, stepping forward.

"You know that’s just not true, but thank you for saying that. But I just can’t stay here knowing that Bucky’s mad at me," you replied, feeling a sting in your chest at the thought of leaving your best friend behind.

"Bucky will come around, he always does," Sam chimed in, trying to reassure you.

"I don’t think so, not this time. He’s really upset with me," you said, feeling tears welling up in your eyes.

Nat walked over to you and put a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Cricket, you can’t just leave because of this. You’re stronger than that."

You shook your head, wiping away a tear. "I can’t stay here, Nat. It’s too painful."

"We understand, but we don’t want you to go," Steve said, his voice filled with emotion.

"I know, but I have to do this. Please, don’t tell Bucky I’m leaving. I need to do this on my own terms," you pleaded, wondering if Bucky would even notice your absence.

The three of them exchanged a look before nodding in agreement. "Okay, we won’t tell him. But promise us you’ll keep in touch," Sam said.

You nodded, feeling grateful for their understanding. "I promise. Thank you, guys. I’ll miss you all."

You were the last to leave your room, the others had carried your things to the van you were borrowing from the garage. You sighed, you would miss the luxury and convenience that came with being a member of the Avengers Initiative. There were only a few things left in your room; the wolf plushie Steve had won you at Coney Island, you later realized that it reminded you of Bucky, and the still wrapped gift you had bought for Bucky, the card you’d written him still stuck to the top. There was no reason to take those things with you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to throw them away. You decided to leave them on your bed. The next owner of the room could decide what to do with them.

On your way out, you ambled past the hangar bay, spotting Bucky in full tactical gear prepping for a mission. You had no idea that he had been assigned to something. 

"You have a mission?" you blurted out, causing Bucky to turn to you.

"Yes." His voice was monosyllabic.

"Alone?"

"No."

"No, with me." Sharon materialized suddenly.

"Oh, hey Sharon. I hope you guys are safe out there."

Bucky looked back at you, a fleeting look of regret crossed his face, before he turned and walked away. He didn’t waste any time requesting a new partner, you thought. Just when you thought he couldn’t hurt you anymore. At least he would be safe with her; Sharon was a good agent, she would watch his back, that’s what mattered the most.

As you walked out of the compound, you felt a mix of sadness and relief. It was time to start a new chapter in your life, even if it meant leaving behind the Avengers and the man you loved. You knew it wouldn’t be easy, but you were determined to make it work. And maybe, just maybe, one day Bucky would understand why you had to go.

*

Your friend, Daisy Johnson stopped by for a visit just after you had moved into your new apartment. You hadn’t seen her for a few years, since she had decided to travel the stars with her sister, Kora and now boyfriend, Daniel Sousa. She had insisted on coming over to your place, since May had insisted that you find your independence.

"So tell me, what’s the deal with your love life?" Daisy enquired after her third glass of wine.

"What love life?" you asked, sarcastically.

She laughed, "oh come on! You’ve been living in a building with all those Avengers! You can’t tell me that it’s all completely innocent!"

"Hey, just because you fell in love with your first S.O.!"

"Ouch! That’s a low blow! It’s not my fault Ward turned out to be a HYDRA psychopath!"

"No, he was out of this world."

"Literally!"

Both of you laughed, despite the pain that was associated with the memories of the parasitic inhuman who had infested and possessed the corpse of your dead traitorous colleague and used his body to control other inhumans. Sometimes there was nothing else to do but laugh.

"So, are you telling me that you haven’t gotten any sex since you moved in there?"

You shrugged.

"Not even Bucky Barnes? Like have you seen him?" Daisy had always expressed her attraction to your favorite super soldier, but she stopped as she noticed the change in your expression. "What is it? Did something happen with him?"

"No," you shook your head.

"Then why did you leave?"

You shrugged.

"Come on, spill. May wouldn’t tell me. But it’s got something to do with him, right?" Daisy scrutinized your face, coming to sit beside you. "Did he hurt yo-?"

"NO!" you responded before she had the chance to finish. "Not like that."

"But he did something."

"Bucky’s my best friend." You said, not being able to muster enough enthusiasm into your words for them to be believable.

"But?"

"We just clicked, you know? Right from the start. It was like we were made to be partners. We could share everything with each other, we knew what the other person was going to do in the field without even discussing it. But outside of that too, I felt like I could share anything with him. I even told him about…"

You didn’t have to explain yourself further, Daisy Johnson was the only other living person in the world who knew about the sexual abuse you had suffered as a teen. You had never told a soul when you had been an adolescent, fearing that you wouldn’t be believed, which had led to a lifetime of shame and a stigma of being seen as broken. But secrets often come out, whether you want them to or not. And during a mission, the man who had been responsible for your trauma was involved. Eventually your secrets had surfaced, no matter how deep you buried them, but Daisy had been there for you.

"But I thought there might be something more between us, something… as hard as I tried… I couldn't deny - I was… am in love with him."

"You are?"

"I never told him how I felt. I was afraid of ruining our friendship. But it feels like fate had other plans and he started dating Priya. I was happy for him, of course, but deep down, I couldn't help but feel … jealous.

"And as his relationship with Priya went on, I just found myself feeling more and more envious. I couldn't stand the thought of someone else being with him, especially when I knew how I felt. But I kept my feelings to myself, not wanting to cause any trouble." You sighed.

"What changed? What made you leave?"

"Bucky's birthday. I spent weeks planning the perfect gift for him, something that would show him how much he meant to me. But before I could give it to him, Priya just swooped in and stole my idea, presenting it to Bucky as if she had come up with it on her own.

"Bucky was thrilled with the gift, but when he turned to me expecting something from me, I- I didn’t know what to do. I couldn't bring myself to tell him that Priya had taken my idea, so I stayed silent. Daisy, he was so angry and hurt, thinking that I didn't care enough about him to get him a gift.

"In the end, he chose Priya over me, believing that she cared for him more. He said he loved her based on something I came up with! And I tried to apologize and explain, but he didn't … doesn’t want to hear it. He said felt like he never knew me, like our friendship had been a lie. Now he doesn’t even want me in his life!"

Daisy put her arms around your neck, pulling your head onto her shoulder. The wine had loosened your tongue and talking through what had happened was helping you to truly understand what had happened.

"I can’t believe this bitch!" Daisy muttered in your ear. "Want me to quake her for you?"

You let out a watery chuckle. "I just feel so alone. I know that it’s my own doing, I could have told him how I felt. I could hardly blame her at first, she had no idea. But now…I fucking hate Priya for coming between us, for stealing my chance at happiness with Bucky." You scoffed at your own words. "You know, deep down, I knew that it was my own fear and jealousy that had drove us apart in the first place. I let my feelings get in the way of our friendship, and now I’ve lost the one person who means the world to me." Talking to Daisy had given you time to take stock and really process what you had lost.

"So what’re you going to do now?" Daisy asked.

"What am I supposed to do, Daisy?"

"Let him cool off and try again!"

"And say what exactly? Take me back as your friend? I’m in love with you? He clearly doesn’t feel the same way, so what am I achieving other than getting hurt watching him being happy with someone else?"

"You could come with me, Kora and Daniel. We’re heading back off-world next week."

"And watch you and Daniel making those lovey-dovey faces at each other all day? Thanks, but I think I’ll pass."

"So you’re just going to teach? With May?"

"Yeah," you shrugged. "Teach and wallow about my sad, loveless life."

"You know I love you, right?" Daisy pouted at you.

You laughed, "yeah, I love you too."

Once Daisy left, you continued to think about Bucky. You missed the easy camaraderie you once shared with him, the way you could finish each other’s sentences and laugh until your sides hurt. But now, there was a distance between you that seemed insurmountable. Bucky had made his choice and you were left to pick up the shattered pieces of your friendship. You wondered if he ever truly understood how much you cared for him, how much he meant to you.

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[lcriedlastnight]

Reader is having trouble sleeping due to anxiety (because of a very important event) so Oscar whispers sweet things into her ear while rubbing soothing circles on her back until she eventually fall asleep, her body warm against Oscar’s, comforting them both.

omg what a sweet idea i love this, thanks anon!

tw: fem!reader, weird sleeping schedules (she just like me fr!), swaers maybe, lmk if you want me to add anything

w/c: 1k

you had always had a weird sleeping pattern. oscar had noticed it the first time you had slept over at his. he thought your sleeping habits were a bit odd too but he never dared to mention it.

you had been working on a major presentation from monday, perfecting it and getting ready it be presented in a meeting full of your coworkers, which would ultimately decide if you would get the promotion you had been working so incredibly hard for since your first year at the job.

in bed on monday night, you had told oscar all about the presentation and how your future was resting in your own palms. oscar calmed you enough for you to be able to fall into a peaceful sleep, he always prided himself in being able to ease your worries with the touch of his fingers, quite literally.

the rest of the week you had decided to head back to your own place just so you could maximise any working time you could get. (staying up into the wee hours without getting reprimanded by oscar, who was only worried for your health, and rightly so. it was safe to say that this was not the first time something like this has happened at your job or even in your life.)

oscar did not see you until thursday night, when he decided to check in on you. he came baring gifts, some of your favourite snacks and a couple of face masks, just to help you relax for the important day tomorrow. the boy had also brought his own pyjamas, knowing that even if you were as calm as you had told your boyfriend over text, it would not hurt to have him there to help you sleep the best. you always did sleep better when he was with you, another thing that made him proud to be yours.

"it's just me, sweet girl. came to have a pamper night of sorts." oscar calls out to you from the hall, kicking off his shoes and placing him on the empty shoe rack at your door. all your own shoes were at oscar's place. you were barely at your own place anymore, oscar was constantly begging you to move in with him.

there was no response but he could hear your voice. it was quiet but he could hear it. he followed it your bedroom, the door was closed so he knocked and opened it, bags still in his arms. you stop reciting your project as he walks in and face him. oscar's face falls as soon as his eyes catch the dark bags on your face and the tiredness in your eyes. oscar sighs as he drops the bags at the door and walks towards you, on the edge of the bed.

"have you been sleeping at all?" he asks. it's not a reprimand, what you thought it was going to be. no, in fact it is full concern and hints of love sprinkled in. oscar cups your jaw and lets his thumb swipe half circles into your under eye, almost like you had been hurt. he was always so careful with you.

"can't sleep without you." you mumble out, sad. oscar chuckles a little even though he was the exact same.

"why'd you leave then, sweet girl? hm?" oscar asks, a little teasing smile on his face. he knew you were not telling him the full truth. you sigh as he sees right through you, once again.

"wanted to work on my presentation." you finally tell him truthfully. the boy only hums in response. he leans down to press a kiss into your forehead.

"okay, get ready for bed. no fighting me. you know that you'll need a good night's rest for tomorrow. doesn't help that you have barely slept this week." oscar mutters the last part to himself, silently cursing himself for letting you go off and sleep at your own flat in the first place. you listen to him and do not even try to put up a fight. you are already in your own pyjamas so you just do your night time skincare and slide yourself into your bed.

once oscar has gotten ready and into his own pyjamas he slips in next to you. his arms immediately pulling you into his side, making sure you were as comfortable as you could be. you huff out anyway. oscar's eyebrow raises as he peers down at your tired features.

"what?" he questions, big hand coming to rest on her back, underneath your sleep shirt.

"just wish this was your bed. hate my bed now. i sleep better in yours." you reply with a slight groan.

oscar chuckles at your words and you can hear it vibrate through his big chest that your ear is resting on. it makes for a much better pillow than your shitty, old pillows that have not had a head rest on them for at least four months.

"oh my poor girl, what am i gonna do with you?" oscar asks, not expecting any sort of reply. his hand moves against the skin of your back, he adores touching you in any way, shape or form he can. he loved how soft you were. the warmth beaming off of you, equally comforting him as much as he knew he was comforting you.

his touch is enough send you into a comforting sleep that you had been longing for the past three nights. oscar is mutter sweet words into your ear about how proud he is of you and how well he knows you are going to do tomorrow, how you are a shoe in for that promotion.

"night, sweet girl. i love you." oscar mumbles to you as he feels himself falling over. he knows you have been asleep for at least ten minutes at this point but he does not think he, himself, could get a decent nights sleep without telling you those three words.

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (22) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: you and coriolanus adjust.

word count: 1,733

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: fluff, mention of morning sickness, pet name (petal), not proofread

The benefit of being pregnant was that Coryo and Coriolanus have seemed to become the best of friends. The drawback was that they became united in their overprotective tendencies. Coryo would insist that you stay in bed longer, and Coriolanus would sit on your chest to make sure you didn’t try to sneak away. Or Coryo would deny invitations to balls because of your morning sickness, and Coriolanus would attack the skirts of your gown to make sure it was in no occasion to be worn when you tried to convince your husband that you were well enough to be in attendance. It would have been infuriating if it wasn’t also so damned sweet. At least Coryo didn’t become the sort of husband who would keep you from your work. Probably because you were seated beside him and he could ensure that you weren’t doing anything that could potentially harmed yourself or the baby. 

You leaned your head against Coryo’s arms as he shuffled around some papers on the desk. He looked down at you, his brows pinching together. 

“Do you need to rest?” he asked. “Should I get the physician?”

You turned your head to press a kiss to his bicep. “Worry wart.”

“Forgive me if I’m concerned when my wife is entering the most dangerous part of her life—carrying another’s life,” Coryo said. He reached up, his cold hand resting on your warm face. His thumb stroked over the swell of your cheek. “I’m not going to take any chances when it comes to your health.”

There it was again. You knew of Coryo’s anxieties about your eventual pregnancy, but with everything happening so quickly, it was easy to be frustrated with his behaviors. With the exception of his adoration for you, Coryo kept his feelings so close to his chest. Even when it was obvious why he was being so overprotective, you sometimes forgot that part of him was still the broken boy who lost his mother. You took a breath, trying to steady your own overwhelming emotions.

“And I will tell you if I’m over-exerting myself. I may have never been with child before, but I know myself well enough to know when I’m pushing too far.”

A sigh escaped Coryo’s lips. “I just worry. I cannot lose you. In fact, I demand that I be the one to go first.”

You giggled. “I don’t think you get to demand things like that.”

“I am King. The only person who can tell me no is you, so, please, let me be the one to go first.”

You kissed his bicep again. “Very well. But you better live a long, long life with me before you go.”

“I wouldn’t dare sacrifice a single minute of a long life with you.”

“Would you sacrifice a minute to walk in the gardens with me?”

Coryo smiled and nodded. He stood first then held a hand out to you so he could aid you. Once you were standing, your hand slid to the crook of his arm and Coryo led you out of the office. He gave a curt nod to the Peacekeeper who was stationed outside the door and the two of you continued out of the palace and to the gardens.

The moment the sun hit your face, you couldn’t hold back your smile any longer. You had been holed up in the palace for the better part of the week, both because of Coryo and because of the morning sickness. It was nice to finally been the sun on your skin, the breeze in your hair. Maybe pregnancy would be easier if you spend the entirety of it outdoors. You looked up at your husband. Even the weight on his shoulders seemed to be lifted once he was out of the palace. 

You took a seat on a bench, and Coryo sat beside you. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s nice to be out here,” you said. 

“It is. We should come out more often,” Coryo agreed. He caressed your face, a soft smile curving across his face. You leaned in, stole a kiss. “I am sorry if I have been overbearing.”

“It’s sweet. I am sure most husbands would only be concerned if the child I had was a boy,” you said. 

“Boy, girl, I don’t care. As long as you and our child is healthy, I will be happy.”

Leaning your head against Coryo’s shoulder, you said, “I probably will take a step back from our public engagements, though. It was exhausting just coming down here, and we haven’t even left the estate.”

Coryo barked out a laugh. “Well, if I knew it would be that easy to get my way, I would’ve taken you to the gardens sooner.”

“Oh hush!” But still, you giggled. “One a month, I think, will suffice. Fewer than that when I am further along, of course, and if the physician advises otherwise.”

“Ah, so I could have also been bribing the physician?” Coryo teases. 

You gave his chest a light smack. “Stop it, I’m being serious here.”

“I know, and I greatly appreciate that.”

“Now, what do you say we shirk our duties and spend the rest of the day in bed?”

Coryo grinned. “I thought you would never ask.”

You sat in the library, legs curled up under you, a book on your lap. Coriolanus sat at your feet, blinking curiously at you. You hadn’t intended for Coriolanus to have joined you, but despite you and Coryo coming to an agreement about your health, Coriolanus seemed to be certain that one wrong move would mean your end. 

“Well, this is a very non-traditional royal portrait,” Coryo said, stepping into the library and up to the painter. He watched as the artist. took delicate care in painting you. 

“This isn’t for my royal portrait,” you dismissed as you turned a page in your book. “We had that done weeks ago. Some finishing touches still need to be done before it can be unveiled, of course. But this is a personal portrait I’ve commissioned.”

Coryo looked over at you. His brow raised. You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure you out. “Is that so? What do you need a personal portrait for?”

“Well, there will soon come a time when I am too tired and too pregnant to be in the office with you. I thought a portrait hung over the desk would serve as a good reminder of who you must consider in ever decision you make.”

The painter’s brush stilled. You watched as he slowly looked back at the King, undoubtedly waiting for a typical man’s rage—to yell at you for being so audacious, to destroy the painting, and to ensure that the painter never would be able to make art again. But your Coryo only laughed. 

“As if I could ever forget you, petal. I was planning to bring our work into the bedroom—”

“There is nothing less attractive you could say than that.”

The color continued to drain from the painter’s face. Poor fellow. Perhaps you should tell him to take a break while you speak with your husband. 

“Perhaps you are right.”

“No, I am. If you bring work into our bed, you will be swiftly removed to the Queen’s Chambers.”

Coryo smiled still. “Very well. Then I should thank you for being so courteous to not wholly deprive me of your presence.”

You flipped another page in the book. “I’m think of having another painting commissioned in a few months.”

The painter looked to you, his demeanor finally relaxing. “It would be an honor to paint you again, Your Majesty,” he said. 

“Have you done any maternity portraits?” you asked. “I know it is as non-traditional as this portrait, of course, but I thought it would be another nice present for my husband.”

The painter glanced back at the King standing over his shoulder. “I am certain His Majesty will be pleased with anything you present him. Your Majesty.”

“Something in the gardens, I think. Coryo has these beautiful rose bushes. We should incorporate them somehow.”

“I love when you pretend I’m not here, petal,” Coryo said. He patted the painter’s shoulder. “If you continue to capture my wife’s beauty as well as you have been, you will be the official royal portraitists.”

You watched as the painter flushed. “It would be a tremendous honor to be bestowed such a title,” he said. 

Coryo nodded at the painter then stepped around the easel. He walked over to you, bent down, and kissed you softly. “How much longer will this take?”

“Only an hour or so until we lose the sunlight,” you said. “Why? Are you becoming anxious without me by your side?”

Coryo smiled, his pretty blue eyes twinkling. “You know I always want you by my side.” He kissed you again. “I shall return in an hour then.”

“I eagerly await your return.”

He turned to Coriolanus and pointed a finger at the furry baby. “And I expect you to alert me if this ends even a second sooner.”

Coriolanus meowed in return. 

As Coryo left the library, you found the painter staring at you. You expected him to resume painting, but he continued to stare. “Is there something the matter?” you asked. 

“I have painted many couples in my time,” he said, “and I have never seen a husband as devoted as His Majesty. If it would please Your Majesty, I would love to come another day and paint a portrait of the two of you together.”

You smiled. “To add to our gallery of non-traditional portraits?”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything that the two of you wish for.”

Oh, you liked that. You grinned ear-to-ear as you asked, “And if I wished for another portrait of myself, done in the style of the goddess of old?”

He flushed. “Anything you wish, Your Majesty.”

“You are going to be quite handsomely paid by the time we are done with you.”

You turned back to your book, still smiling as you considered the various portraits you were going to gift your Coryo. He could give you a library, yes, but you were going to give him a gallery. If he didn’t appreciate art in all its glory before, he would soon enough. 

[mouwrites]

HI, I love your stuff! I loved the whole brainwashed thing with the Ninjago team, but what would happen if it was them brainwashed? How would they react after you got them out of it? Or maybe just their reaction to you getting captured could be one be a fun one too? Don't know, just throwing ideas out there. KEEP UP THE GREAT WORK 💜💜💜

Yes ofc!! Thank you for your kind words!! :D

Ninjago - How the Ninjas Act When You Get Captured

Jay

When he first heard you were captured, he froze where he stood

Then he comes alive with an entirely new level of anxiety

He’s running around, shaking people by their shoulders, talking at a million words a second, pulling his hair, the whole chalupa

He struggles to calm down enough to actually come up with a plan to save you

Someone has to restrain him so he stops disturbing the others while they think

He finally shuts up when they come up with the final plan

Then he’s all ears

He ends up doing more than his part to save you; he’s more violent with his opponents and he even takes over tasks that the others were supposed to do

He’s sort of ruining the plan, but fortunately it all turns out okay

He finds you tied up in a room, and he practically melts with relief

Throwing his arms around you, he buries his face in the crook of your neck

He stays like that for a while, and you realize that he’s crying

“I’m so sorry… I’m so glad you’re okay… I’m sorry…”

“Hey, it’s okay, love. But, uh… do you mind untying me?”

He sniffs sharply, snapping up and nodding aggressively

He keeps his hands on you the whole time

He insists on holding hands while you flee the base, even though that made it difficult to run

When you got back to the Bounty, he refused to leave you alone

He was scared that you’d be taken again, even when you were miles and miles away from danger

He’ll probably be extra clingy for the next while for the same reason

Cole

At first he didn’t believe it when he heard you were kidnapped

He had to hear the news a few times for it to really register

Then he had to sit down; the room seemed to be spinning

Luckily his teammates were able to pull him out of his stupor with a grounding hand on his shoulder

He was eager to come up with a rescue plan

In a rare display of initiative, he makes most of the plan himself, dishing out orders with surprising authority

And he maintains a leadership role throughout the mission, keeping tabs on everyone and their tasks

Of course, that doesn’t mean he neglects his own responsibilities

He actually gives himself the most important jobs, wanting to make sure that they’re done just as he planned

This includes locating and procuring you

When he finally finds you, he runs over and begins untying you

Once you’re free, he lifts you off your feet in a tight bear hug

His hand is pressing your head firmly against his chest, and he’s peppering you with kisses

“Oh my lord. Oh man. You’re safe. You’re safe, right? Oh lord.”

“Yes, I’m okay, Cole.”

You attempt to wrap your arms around him too, but they’re pinned to your sides too tightly

Eventually he realizes that he’s losing time, so he takes you by the hand and leads you away

When you’re back on the Bounty, everyone tells you about what a great leader he turned out to be

But you notice that their praises are going in one of Cole’s ears and out the other

He’s just staring at you, a little smile on his face as he rests his head on his arm

He’s holding your hand, gently brushing his thumb over your fingers

When they finally leave you alone again, you ask why he’s looking at you like that

“I’m just glad you’re back. Safe. I love you.”

Kai

His initial reaction was a violent panic, and he tried to run to your rescue right away

Luckily someone stopped him; he wouldn’t have even known where to look

Once the initial panic wore off, he was filled with rage

Partially at himself

He was impatient in making a rescue plan

Every time they couldn’t agree about something, Kai would snap, shouting a decision the others were scared to refute

So the plan was admittedly pretty sloppy

And of course Kai barely even stuck to it

He just barreled into action, bashing every head he could get his hands on

He was on an absolute war path, and the others just ended up kinda watching him

Blind as his rampage might have been, he was doing a good job of clearing out enemies

By some miraculous coincidence, he found himself in the room you were being held in

His rage dropped like a mask, and his face was suddenly tender as he bolted to your side

He cupped your face in his hands, turning it from side to side to check for injuries

“Y/n! Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Did they hurt you??”

“I’m fine, Kai. We should hurry.”

His face remained tender as he carefully untied you

He then insisted that he carry you out

Your objections were readily ignored, and he ended up picking you up bridal style mid-protest

He was weirdly undampered by the extra weight

It actually gave him more energy to have you in his arms, and he managed to jog all the way back to the ship

This was only possible because he’d already knocked out every guard and soldier in the vicinity

When you get back, he apologizes sincerely (he still blames himself :( ); you’ll have to be the one to comfort him

Lloyd

He’s actually pretty calm when he hears you’ve been captured

On the inside he’s freaking out, but he knows that panicking won’t do you any good

So he buries his feelings for the sake of efficiency

He’s a little withdrawn during the plan-making process because of his anxiety

He makes sure to do his part flawlessly though, especially because he knows your safety relies on it

When he finally finds you he gets right to untying you and asking if you’re hurt

His worry shines through a little with all the questions he presses on you

He barely waits for you to respond to all of them; the second you get up, you’re wrapped in a gentle hug

He’s a little afraid of hurting you, so he doesn’t squeeze too hard

But you know from the hug that he’s been worried sick (if the questions weren’t telling enough)

He forgets the mission for a moment, completely lost in the relief of having you in his arms again

You’ll have to snap him out of it to get him back in the game

He trusts you to handle yourself, so he’ll take the lead, only looking over his shoulder a couple times to make sure you’re following

When you get back to the Bounty he gives you another hug

It’s tighter this time because now he knows you’re not hurt

“I’m so relieved that you’re safe. I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.”

“Then let’s not think about it.”

He’ll let you have your moments with the other ninjas (who are all also glad you’re back :) )

Then he’ll make you both some tea and sit down with you

He encourages you to talk about it, but if you aren’t up to it he’ll do the talking

He’ll tell you how worried he was, and how he knows now that he simply can’t be without you

You’ll talk long into the night, sorting out your feelings from the whole affair together :)

Nya

Much like Kai, she was ready to jump into action the second she found out you were gone

She doesn’t blame herself too much; she’s mainly angry at your captors

And they’ll get the worst of it when she’s unleashed upon them

She won’t go on a totally destructive war path, but lord help any soul unlucky enough to stand in her way

She’s hasty in her plan-making

She actually made the plan as she was running to your rescue

The others scrambled to keep up, knowing it was pointless to reason with her when she got like this

Despite being an impromptu plan, it was actually pretty efficient

Of course, some people (cough cough everyone except Nya) had to improvise to patch the holes in their instructions

But it wasn’t all that disastrous

The only disaster was the state of the place when you guys left

Nya beamed when she found you, not even bothering to untie you before lifting you up and hugging you

She sets you on your feet, looking you up and down before locking eyes with you

Tears brim her warm brown eyes, and she pulls you into a second hug

This one is more emotional; in a few moments you can feel tears soaking through your clothing

She sniffles suddenly, pulling away and patting your shoulder

“Right then. Shall we go?”

“Yes, please.”

When you get back to the Bounty, she insists on having you by her side while she steers

You’ll rest your head on her shoulder, and she’ll lean into your touch

Once she gets to the point that she can switch to autopilot, she hugs you yet again

This time she murmurs about how worried she was, how much she missed you, and even how much she loves you

She smiles softly to herself when she finishes speaking, closing her eyes and rocking back and forth gently

She’ll have you stay in the cockpit with her until she’s ready to go to bed; she doesn’t want to lose sight of you anytime soon

Zane

Out of all the ninjas, he was the most calm when he heard you’d been kidnapped

Of course, he had an initial reaction of shock, but after that he was cool as a cucumber

He couldn’t deny the strange anxiety bubbling in his chest, however

He knew it was because he cared for you, and he wanted you back badly, but it was still a strange sensation

Probably because no one else made him feel that way

As usual, he was an integral part in the process of strategizing the rescue mission

Anxiety be damned, he was going to give his all

And he kept this attitude for the whole mission

Even when he saw you, he asked rather stiffly if you were okay before untying you and guiding you to safety

He gave no indication of his worry, nor his care for you in general

This wasn’t intentional, though; he was only trying to stay in optimal performance

Once you get back to the ship, then he’ll reveal how he was feeling

He’ll wait until you’re alone to say anything

This exacerbates your suspicion that he wasn’t worried at all, but you were immediately reassured when he sat before you

He was close enough that your knees were touching

He stares deep into your eyes

When he speaks his voice is filled with the tenderness he lacked earlier

“I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you since this all happened. I was only trying to execute the mission before, but now I’m here. I’ll listen if you want to talk.”

“Zane…”

Whether you take him up on his offer or not, he’ll be sure to reassure you he loves you before your conversation is done :)

And he insists that you guys cuddle close when you go to sleep

(For your comfort as much as his own)

Thank you for this request! And thanks for reading, take care lovelies <33

(divider by saradika)

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Babysitter (37)

Meet Me In My Office

MILF Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 37- W/c 4.7k This chapter is entirely 18+ Smut

Tag list- @natsluttt @cerberus-spectre @dorabledewdroop @bibliophilicbi @hopelesslyfallenninlove @simpform1lfs @get-the-fuck-outta-here @natashaswife4125 @marvelwomen-simp @supercorpstan97 @aliherreraaa @aru-son @the-ox-fan20

Meet Me In My Office

A/N- Updates from now will be really slow regarding this fic as I was posting all the chapters from my AO3/Wattpad onto here and we have reached the final one prewritten. I am a college student with a busy life so apologies for the delays in writing. Enjoy the smut :)

---

As soon as the door was quietly and carefully shut behind you, Wanda's body was pressed up against yours, her hands cupping your jaw, tilting your head up to meet her lips in a sensual kiss. You softly moaned into the kiss, the two of you smiling into it as her thumbs stroked your cheeks, her mouth moving against yours languidly as you leaned into her body, revelling in the feeling of her body so close to yours. Your hands glided down her body, resting on her hips, fingering sliding through the belt loops of her jeans to tug her closer to you, a smile playing on your lips as she pulls back, eyes darkening as she lets her gaze scan across your features.

It had been a tiring and eventful week with the twins now home constantly, yourself and Wanda juggling work and caring for the boys which proved harder than the two of you predicted, leaving you to both trudge into bed with nothing more than an innocent goodnight kiss. Now however, you longed to feel her touch, to be driven mad by her and it was becoming abundantly clear that she felt the same way about you.

The kiss that was slow and intimate swiftly built as desire and arousal pooled between your thighs, Wanda's fingers threading through your hair, tugging your head where she wanted as her leg slotted between your thighs, pressing into your core in the most perfect way. A groan left you when she pulled back from the kiss, your hips subtly grinding against her thigh when her teeth bit down on your lower lip gently and dragged it back, eventually releasing it and peering into your eyes with the most seductive look, the green in her eyes replaced with pure hunger.

"Detka," she sighs out sultrily at the shell of your ear, kissing along your jaw to murmur into your ear as she knew how wet her voice made you. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" she groans lowly, accent wrapping around her words sinfully, your back arching off the wall to press further into her body, hips still slowly grinding against her leg, pleasure building in the pit of your stomach, "I can't get enough of you."

"Fuck Wanda," is all you can managed back in response, the older woman letting her kisses travel down the side of your neck, sucking faintly to leave a brief red mark before licking up a stripe against the column of your throat, smirking when she could feel the vibrations of your groan. "I need you," you practically whimper, not caring how pathetic you must sound, eyes begging her to do something, anything to you as her lips meet yours again, tongue effortlessly sliding into your mouth and swallowing your desperate sounds.

Her hands glide down your body as her tongue moves against yours, the kiss becoming lewd and messy as you mirrored her earlier actions, threading your fingers through her silky locks, keeping her close. You moaned into her mouth in surprise when her hands reached the back of your thighs, lifting you up and walking towards the bed as your legs wrapped instinctively around her waist, both of you smirking into the kiss. Gently, she lowered you onto the soft mattress, your hair sprawling behind you against the sheets as her body towered over you, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips as she lowered her mouth to ghost yours.

"Tell me what you want, Moya Lyubov," she husks out against your lips, nose brushing yours as she teasingly makes you try to chase her lips, smile turning dominant as she watches you part your lips, head tilting to try and catch her lips, eyes hazy with lust.

"You, just you," you sigh back, her leg returning to the spot between your thighs, firmly pressed against your core earning a moan in response, her eyes somehow darkening even more.

At your words, her mouth meets yours once more but this time it's different. It's hot, desperate and passionate but also loving and intimate, her conveying her love for you into it as she pours everything into the kiss, both of you moaning at the intensity of it. Your hands fist into the hem of her shirt, desperately holding her close as you get lost in the sensations of her addictive lips, touch, sounds. Fuck, she was just intoxicating.

Her fingers move to rest on the underside of your jaw, angling your head up for kiss after kiss as you gasp into each other's mouths, lips relentless as they refuse to part, your hips now comfortably grinding unabashedly against her knee, pleasure coursing through your mind.

"That's it Detka," she praises in a pant against you, eyes closed as she moves her kisses to your jaw, nibbling softly against the skin, sending a shiver down your spine as arousal continues to pool between your legs, panties well and truly soaked. "Use my thigh, that's a good girl," her tone a sinful murmur at your ear once more, a pathetic whimper escaping you.

"Wanda- Fuck," you moan out, hiding your face at the crook of her neck, lips attached to any bit of skin you can reach, mouth parting when she pushes her knee firmer against you for you to grind along, a string of desperate moans leaving you. You can hear her soft sighs and low moans as her body moves against yours, your hips frantically moving against her leg as you can feel the pleasure bubbling inside you, your orgasm swiftly approaching at her actions.

When a choked moan escapes you, clit brushing against her perfectly, Wanda moves her hand to your throat, guiding you away from her neck and forcing you to look into her eyes, submission evident in yours as hers radiate pure dominance. Your eyes flutter shut when another wave of pleasure washes through you, body teetering on the edge of your orgasm as her fingers remain applying a slight pressure to your throat, the older woman unable to stop thinking about how you were such a pretty mess for her.

"Please," you whine out, hands moving to her back, nails digging in through her shirt as you hold onto her as if your life depended on it, mouth crashing back to hers to try and muffle your moans as your hips start to lose their rhythm, moving uncontrollably against her.

"Please what?" she teases, knowing exactly what you want her to say.

"Wanda," you groan, fluttering your eyes open and pleading with her to just give you what you want.

"I want you to say it," she rasps out, moving one of her hands down your body to your hips, guiding you along her thigh, another moan being torn from the back of your throat.

"Please can I come?" you whimper, head lolling back against the mattress as you wait for her permission to come, wanting to be good for her. You always wanted to be her good girl.

"Come for me Detka," she whispers, mouth instantly claiming yours to muffle the guttural noise that leaves you, body crashing into a euphoric state as pleasure courses through you, hands clutching at her as your hips continue to rock against her. Wanda eagerly swallows up all the sinful sounds that leave you, her lips moving to your jaw as you struggle to kiss her back, lost for breath as your eyes flutter shut, body riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Her hand moves from your hips to your hair, brushing the stray strands out of the way as your eyes slowly flutter open, her kisses travelling across your face as you smile against her into the next kiss, this once slower as you gradually recover.

"Good girl," she praises once again, smirking at the way your cheeks instantly turn red, an embarrassed noise leaving you, her slowly pushing her body up slightly, moving to straddle your waist, the sight of her on top of you, breasts in your face, swiftly causing the embarrassment to fade away, arousal consuming your body once more.

"So pretty," you mumble, kissing her collar bones as you sit up, fingers moving to the hem of her shirt, pulling on it impatiently as she smirks at your eagerness. Her fingers replace yours, hands tugging off the clothing item, leaving you to be amazed at the sheer beauty of her, the word Aphrodite floating around in your mind. Your hands move to the soft skin at the curve of her hips, still unable to comprehend how beautiful she was as your lips pepper hot, open-mouthed kisses to the top of her breasts, eyes peering up at her.

"You look so fucking hot under me, Detka," she purrs out, fingers threading through your hair and pulling your head back, your fingers inching their way up her back to the clasp of her bra, deftly unclasping it and pulling the red fabric off her. Wanda keeps her eyes on you as your gaze flickers to her exposed chest, an enamoured and lustful expression taking over your face as your hand moves to cup one of her breasts softly, mouth descending on the other.

A soft, sensual sigh escapes her at the feeling of your tongue swirling over her nipple, hand gently squeezing her other breast, warm and wet mouth having pleasure spiking through her body. You groan around her chest when her hips grind against your lap, her hands gliding across your shoulders, nails scratching down your back making you delirious with arousal.

"Fuck," she groans out sultrily, hand shooting up to the back of your head, keeping your mouth at her chest, "Do that again Detka- shit, just like that, right there," she moans, your teeth grazing her sensitive flesh before sucking on it, eyes looking up to watch her reactions.

After switching to the other breast and lavishing it in an equal amount of attention, Wanda tugs your head away from her chest, having had enough of the teasing as she needed to feel your bare skin against hers.

"Off. Now," she mutters against your lips, hands at the clothes you were wearing, her gracefully sliding off your lap to remove her own clothes, not having the patience to undress each other.

Almost immediately, her body is back on top of you, soft skin pressed deliciously against yours, your hands drifting down to her core, eager to please her. Just as your finger was about to slide through her dripping folds, her hand catches yours, fingers interlocking with yours, other hand copying the action with your other hand.

"Lay back for me," she whispers, smirk playing on her lips as she pins your hands above your head, her core resting above yours as you moan when you realise what she's about to do. "Spread your legs a little wider, Detka," she instructs, pressing her core against yours, both of you letting out a lewd noise at the warmth building in your cores.

"Wanda, you feel so good," you moan out, her body lowering, back arching her body into yours as her hips grind against yours, your hand squeezing hers. Her body rocks against yours, dragging all sorts of sinful sounds out of you as well as her, the feeling of your soaking cunt against hers driving the older woman crazy with desire, body chasing her orgasm. "Harder," you whimper out, the tone of your voice making a guttural groan leave Wanda, her lips crashing to yours to muffle the wanton noise that escaped her.

One of her hands releases yours to clutch the sheet near your head, bracing her body up as both of your hips start to stutter, the pleasure too much for the two of you to handle.

"Are you going to come for me again, Detka?" she pants out, tone teasing as she curses in Sokovian under her breath, lips lingering against your cheek as her hips press down harder against you, a whine leaving you. When all you can do in response is whimper, Wanda takes mercy on you, kissing you once more before resting her forehead against yours, "Yeah? Come with me, Moya Lyubov."

Pleasure crashed over the both of you at her words, your bodies grinding and rocking together as your orgasms wracked through you, moans spilling from your lips at the ecstasy you felt. Your fingers tightened against hers, wanting her close as she rests her bodyweight against you, catching her breath as your lips weakly meet her shoulder, exhaustion creeping up on you.

"Stay with me," Wanda whispers in a small chuckle, her fingers brushing over your cheeks as your eyes flutter open, meeting her softened green. "We need to clean up Detka, then we can sleep, I promise," she murmurs ever so softly, encouraging you to let her guide you into the bathroom to quickly clean yourselves up, her hands roaming your naked body innocently, simply giving you the touch you craved and giving into her want to touch you.

"I love you," you mumble against her shoulder as you lean against her, her arms snaking around your waist and pulling you into bed with her, neither of you bothered about pyjamas as you snuggle together. The feeling of her breasts pressing into you makes a small, drowsy smile to play on your lips, the older woman noticing the action as her fingers scratch your scalp softly, your head remaining at her shoulder as your arms wrap around her, fingers sliding up and down her back.

"I love you too," she whispers to your sleeping form as your body is lulled to sleep by her tender actions.

***

A soft chuckle woke you up, the feeling of your pillow beneath you moving gently causing your eyes to reluctantly flutter open, searching for the culprit who woke you up. You expect to see humoured green in front of you but are pleasantly surprised at the sight of Wanda's bare breasts, the annoyed expression fading into a shy smile, face nuzzling back against her chest as it was just so comfortable.

"I have to go to work soon Detka, I'm sorry but you have to move," she murmurs, placing a kiss to the top of your head as you grumble in defiance.

"Just take the day off," you mumble, earning an angelic laugh in response, her body shaking once again under you softly.

"I can't Detka," she apologetically whispers, fingers soothingly scratching your scalp naturally. "But how about this," she says, piquing your interest as you marginally pull away from her chest, looking up at her with tired eyes, "You let me go to work, dressed," her words playful earning a smile from you, "And when the twins go to Pietro's at two, you can meet me in my office," you watch how her eyes sparkle with an indecipherable emotion, your mind curious as to what she had planned. "Oh, and wear that small,black skirt of yours, it will make things a lot easier for me," her tone drops an octave at the end of her words, a small groan leaving you at her suggestive words.

Only seven hours till two...

***

Walking into the tower, you were amazed as always at the stunning architecture of the building Wanda worked in, gaze glued on the fancy interior of the elevator, watching as the floor numbers ticked by. Impatiently, you waited for it to finally reach Wanda's floor, excited and curious as to what she had planned out, her getting dressed in private this morning, something unusual. She loved to tease you in innocent ways like that, having you watch as she slowly pulled on her underwear or bra, eyes always trained on you with a teasing comment on the tip of her tongue, your mind curious as to why she didn't today.

Knocking on her door, you were soon met with a professional 'come in' from the other side of it, your hand eagerly opening the door. Your gaze landed on the figure sat behind the desk, eyes flickering away from her computer to look at you, smile widening as she slowly pushed herself off her chair, hips swaying as she sauntered over to you.

"Hey Detka," she whispers, pecking your lips before locking the door behind you, hands moving to your waist and carefully guiding you backwards towards her desk, your body eventually being pinned between her and the hard surface.

"Hi love," you murmur back in an equally affectionate tone, tilting your head up to steal another tender kiss.

Her eyes slowly take in your outfit, darkening significantly at the skirt you were wearing, gaze lingering on the teasing skin of your exposed thighs, her head snapping back up to meet your curious and excited gaze. Subconsciously, your tongue ran across your bottom lip, wetting it as you waited for her to make the first move, knowing roughly where this was going.

"Before we do anything Detka," she says, her hands resting on the desk beside your body, her taller stature towering over you, "I need to know if you're going to be quiet or if I'm going to have to gag you with something." Her words directly hit your core, cheeks flushing a deep red as her index finger rests under your chin, guiding your head back up to look at her as you momentarily avoided her gaze. "What's it going to be?"

"The gag... I think," you sigh out, hands holding onto her waist, her smirk almost predatory at your response.

"Remember your non-verbal safeword?" she mumbles into a kiss, wanting to feel your lips before she covers your mouth up, not wanting the whole office to hear you screaming her name.

"Tap your arm or thigh three times to stop," you whisper back, indulging in the messy kiss as her body presses into yours, an abrupt moan escaping you at the hard bulge you felt. "Is that..." Your words trail off as Wanda's hands lift you up onto her desk, lifting your skirt up to expose your panties, a visible wet patch already adorning the lace.

She hums in confirmation as her hand reaches over to the drawer of her desk, pulling out an old silk tie and showing it to you, watching your reaction closely as her hips slowly push up into yours, grinding the strap on hidden by her trousers against where you desperately needed her. When you nod, after another kiss of course, she ties it around your mouth and the back of your head, the fabric muffling your words as you test it's ability, the older woman satisfied with it.

"As much as I love your pretty moans Detka, I hope you understand why I'm doing this," she asks, fingers tracing the fabric around your mouth, lips briefly pressing against your temple. "I don't want my co-workers to know how much of a little slut you are for me," her words have you groaning around the tie, eyes fluttering shut as her hands glide down your body, fingers at your inner thighs, the back of them brushing your dripping core. Your reaction spurs Wanda on, her finger sliding your underwear to the side before gathering your arousal, slowly circling your clit to work you up even more.

"You love this, don't you?" she whispers at the shell of your ear, accent prominent as her thumb moves to circle your clit, letting her finger thrust into you, stretching you out and ensuring you were wet enough for the larger toy. "Being under my control, my beautiful girl to ruin," you moan around the black fabric, the noise dampened making Wanda smirk as she curls her finger inside you, warmth pooling in your core.

You muffle a plea around the gag, eyes staring into hers desperately as your hands clutch at her blouse, trying to pull her body closer. She gives in, not knowing how much time she'd have with you, and swiftly pulls the toy out of the restraining clothes, your eyes darkening as she positions it at your entrance, eyes searching yours for any hesitancy. When it's clear that there's none, she slides the toy into you slowly, revelling in the muffled sound of pleasure that escapes you, her hands going to your hips, holding you in place while your hands glide over her shoulders and settle on her back.

The slow pace quickly vanishes, her hips thrusting into you powerfully as she pounds the toy into you, the filthy sounds of your muffled moans, Wanda's sighs and the toy sliding in and out of you filling the room, adding to your arousal at how fucking hot this was. God, you had dreamed about being fucked on her desk but never thought it would happen especially like this. This was dirtier, hotter, more primal than you imagined as she fucked you like it was the last time. 

Her hips were relentless as she took you on her desk in an animalistic manner, mouth at your neck, sucking a mark she knows will taint your skin, the thought of everyone knowing you were hers thrilling.

Your nails dig into her back when she angles her hips differently, the strap on hitting your sweet spot with every addictive thrust, Wanda's mouth moving to your ear, letting you hear her laboured breaths and seductive sighs. Her teeth nibble on your ear lobe, earning a groan that turns into a choked moan when one of her hands tighten their grip on your hips, the other moving to circle your clit, hips bucking as she continues to mercilessly fuck you.

"You can take it," she rasps out at your ear at a whimper that leaves you, your orgasm swiftly building at her actions, your mind completely fogged with arousal, body burning with every single one of her touches, arousal coating the toy causing it to make a filthy sound with every snap of her hips. "You're doing so well for me," she praises, biting down on your neck as her kisses descended, your nails digging in harder as your body teeters on the edge of your first orgasm, Wanda knowing the signs of your body as your legs moving to wrap around her waist, trying to pull her closer and deeper.

"Please," you muffle around the tie, her lips parting from the newly formed mark on your neck to meet your desperate gaze, her hand moving from your hips to your neck, applying a firm amount of pressure as your eyes practically roll back.

"Come all over my cock, Detka," she purrs out, knowing what your needy gaze was asking her for, a loud muffled moan reverberating around the room as your head moves to the crook of her neck, body tensing and walls clenching around the toy, pleasure crashing through you as you come on her desk, hands clutching at her for support as wave after wave of euphoria floods through you.

"We're not finished yet," she murmurs into your ear, a low groan leaving you as the toy slips out of you, Wanda moving back to help you off the desk, roughly turning you around and bending you over the desk, a guttural noise escaping you.

Your mind can't comprehend the pure desire you feel, skin on fire as she slides your panties down your legs, lifting your skirt once more and positioning herself at your entrance once again. With one thrust, she's back deep inside you, your hands reaching for the end of her desk for support, one of her hands moving to your hair, making a makeshift ponytail and pulling gently, tugging your head back.

"Fuck," she groans at the sight of you, her core throbbing at what she was doing to you, her eyes trained on how the toy slid in and out of you, her free hand lightly spanking your ass, earning a small groan. "You're mine, aren't you," she pants out, pulling your body up, her chest pressed into your back, lips at your neck, your hands bracing your body upright on the table.

You nod your head at her words, mind spinning as pleasure overrides all your senses, head lolling back against her as your eyes convey your deliriously lustful state, eyes practically black with desire.

"All mine," she murmurs, the base of the toy brushing her clit perfectly with the new position, a low curse leaving her lips and fuck you think that's the hottest thing you've ever heard. Her hand returns to your throat, indulging in both of your fantasies as she applies a little more pressure, a deep groan leaving you as your hips push back against her, your second orgasm about to flood through you.

The feeling of her spanking you once more sends you over the edge unexpectedly, body tensing in her arms as she holds you upright, pressing you further into the desk as you rock against the toy buried deep inside you, a string of muffled moans filling the room. Your orgasm is prolonged by Wanda grinding the toy into you, the base of it rubbing against her clit as she chases her own orgasm, following swiftly after you as her hips soon start to slow.

The two of you remain in that position, leaning into each other and catching your breath as you recover from your powerful orgasms, Wanda gently turning you in her arms and untying your gag, lips instantly claiming yours for a soft, loving kiss.

"You ok Dorogaya?" she whispers, eyes searching yours making your chest fill with love. You adored how she could go from being so rough and dominant to so soft and caring, always making sure you were alright.

"I don't think I can walk," you reply honestly, earning a small chuckle from her, her lips pressing against your temple as she pulls out, helping you support yourself against her desk as she quickly discards the harness and toy in her ensuite to clean and move later before returning to you.

"That good, huh?" she teases, wrapping her arms around you and helping you to the sofa at the side of her large office, sitting with you as she fixes your hair, your body leaning against her side.

"Always that good," you sigh back, unable to comprehend the sheer ecstasy the older woman makes you feel, her arms a place of security as you relax against her.

"How about, after I've checked my emails one last time, we head home and have a nice relaxing bath to recover before the boys get home?" she muses, knowing that you were going to be tired after last night and today, her fingers tracing random patterns at your side, lips meeting your hair, lingering as she waits for an answer.

"That sounds perfect on one condition," you say, turning your head to meet her curious green, her entertaining you and raising one of her brows.

"I get to choose the bath bomb this time," you mutter, her chuckling at your answer, nodding inevitably to your command, always wanting to give you everything and more.

"Of course Detka, you can choose the bath bomb," she replies with a hint of teasing to her tone, not that you minded. "I love you," she whispers before getting up, fixing her outfit and quickly going to her desk as you do the same, waiting for her to finish.

"I love you too," you murmur, her arms soon wrapping around yours, ready to take you home. 

[rainybubbles]

"Dance with me" + 141 x reader

Gaz, Soap, Ghost, Price

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

GAZ :

— Congratulations, Garrick, you whispered.

He barely heard you. Honestly, you doubted he even knew your name. Soldiers, especially those in special forces, rarely paid attention to the cooks unless they wanted an extra helping. At those times, flattery became almost a routine game.

But Kyle… Kyle had always been different.  

He was the only one who gave you a genuine smile when you served him. The only one who would chat with you, arrive early to help in the kitchen, and stay late to clean up.

Kyle had been there.  

In that endless cycle of meals, dawns, and dusks, he remained. So at the medal ceremony, you had hoped, just for once, to step into the light with him, to talk without the barrier of those ridiculous hairnets.

But Kyle was standing there, a companion on his arm, and suddenly, you felt utterly foolish.  

Where you had hoped for a slow dance, it turned out you were just tap-dancing alone.

So, after everyone else had offered their congratulations, you added your own, feeling a wave of shame wash over you, making you sweat. That knot in your stomach tightened as the lights grew blinding, every gaze seemed to pierce through you, and everything felt absurd.

You felt absurd.  

With that stupid outfit that was too tight, a tie that was too blue, shoes that were too shiny. Anxiety crept in and took hold, forcing you into an unwilling dance. Desperately, you tried to calm yourself, to find an escape, a place with fewer people. The door seemed so far away. Your vision blurred. And then…

Fresh air hit you.  

Finally outside, you sat down. Everything was swirling inside you. You wanted to cry. But you couldn’t even manage that, as your boss appeared.

— The caterer is late; get in the kitchen, we can’t ruin the evening.

So you resumed your dance: uniform, hairnet, apron, safety shoes. What you thought was a duet was clearly just a solo.  

Peeling carrots and chopping vegetables, you listened to the barked orders with the other kitchen staff.

The food was enough to satisfy everyone’s patience, and the caterer eventually arrived.

Alone, you scrubbed the floors.  

You were the only volunteer anyway. Searching for crumbs, cockroaches, or dirt, you scrubbed until your knees ached and bled.

— Aren’t you at the party?

Kyle was there. Of course.

— I was.

— Oh, I—

— Don’t worry about it. There were a lot of people, we probably just missed each other.

A lie.  

You had seen him, had even spoken to him. But to him, you hadn’t even existed.

— Yeah, I... Sorry they made you work.

— It’s fine. It’s a nice change from the usual rations.

— Yeah... I guess so.

An awkward silence fell between them, the first one they had ever shared.

— I feel like something’s off, admitted Gaz.

— Off? How do you mean?

— There’s this tension... Did I do something wrong?

No.  

You knew you couldn’t blame him; it was your own fault.

— No, nothing like that... How was the party? I mean, you’ll probably get promoted soon.

— It was nice. There was even a ball.

You knew that.  

You had gone there hoping for a dance.

— Really? Who did you dance with, Garrick?

— A childhood friend. I didn’t want to ask someone I didn’t know well.

Oh.  

So… you weren’t even considered a friend. Just an acquaintance.

— I hope they didn’t get too bored.

— They ended up in the infirmary.

— Oh, what happened?

— I… I’m a terrible dancer, and let’s just say my weight isn’t exactly light when it lands on a foot.

— You broke their foot?

— No, it’s not—

You burst out laughing.

— Stop making fun of me, he said, though he couldn’t help but smile.

— Sorry, but you can hit targets from a distance, and three steps are too much for you?

— I’m just not good at ballroom dancing.

— So what would you have preferred? The Macarena?

— Maybe.

— I can totally picture Price doing that.

He grinned.

— But… if I had been better at dancing, I would’ve asked someone else, anyway, he admitted.

— Asked them what?

— To go with me.

— Oh.

— I just didn’t want what happened tonight to happen, and then we wouldn’t talk anymore.

— They’d be silly to let that come between you.

— You think?

— Yeah.

— So… can I assume you’re not silly?

— Why are you—

Oh.  

— You wanted to invite me.

— Yeah.

— But…

— The dance was mandatory, and I didn’t want to embarrass you. I’d rather embarrass myself.

— Why didn’t you say anything…

— I didn’t have the chance.

— ...Well, I’m not sure I’m convinced. I mean… dating someone who can’t dance? you teased.

— I can do the Macarena.

— Go on, then.

And slowly, in the kitchen, with his phone blasting the tune, Kyle started dancing, and under their shared laughter, you realized this might just be the dance he preferred after all.

_______________________________

SOAP :

Soap gave you a slightly unsteady grin.

— I missed you, he murmured, his words slurred.

You shook your head, watching him struggle to redo his shoelaces with clumsy fingers.

— Johnny, you're drunk, you said, a glint of amusement in your eyes.

— Maybe… but I still missed you. Best roommate in the world.

— I'm the only one, you replied, laughing softly.

— That's why you're the best, he said, giving you a clumsy wink.

You handed him a glass of water, a gentle smile on your lips.

— Drink this, and I'll fix you something to eat.

— That’s why you're my favorite.

— How was your night? you asked as you busied yourself in the kitchen.

— L.T. dared me.

— And of course, you accepted.

— Naturally.

— And got your ass handed to you, didn't you?

— Hm, he mumbled, a bit embarrassed.

He finally managed to sit down, struggling to stay upright.

— You know… I've never seen you dance, he said suddenly.

— What? you responded, surprised by the comment.

— I've never seen you dance. It’s a shame.

— I'm not really the type to go out dancing, you know that.

— Yeah… He thought for a moment, then added, We could dance right here, right now.

— And why would we do that? you asked with a curious smile.

— Because I want to see you differently. To feel you close to me.

— Johnny, you see me every day, you said, laughing softly.

— It’s not the same. This way, I could really see your eyes up close, smell your coconut shampoo…

— You already know all that, you replied gently.

— Yeah, but living it is different. I could touch you, feel your heartbeat, your hands on me… just you and me.

You looked at him for a moment, touched by his vulnerability.

— You’re really drunk, you murmured tenderly.

— Just one dance, he insisted, almost pleading.

— One dance?

He stood up with a bit of effort, swaying slightly but determined. He reached for your hands and pulled you close. The world around them seemed to blur into a haze.

Each step was awkward, each movement hesitant, but nothing could shatter the bubble they had created. To him, this was a precious, almost sacred moment.

As his eyelids grew heavy, he let himself relax into your arms, finding a sense of peace and contentment.

They shuffled in the confined space of the kitchen, their movements creating an unsteady rhythm that was as endearing as it was clumsy. You held him close, guiding his steps with a gentle hand on his back. The light of the overhead bulb cast a soft glow, illuminating the warmth of their shared moment.

The kitchen, usually bustling with the mundane tasks of everyday life, had transformed into a quiet, intimate space where time seemed to stand still.

The clatter of pots and pans was replaced by the gentle rustle of their clothing and the soft shuffle of their feet on the tiled floor. The contrast between the chaos of the night and this tender, private dance was stark but comforting.

Soap’s head rested against your shoulder, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the comforting rhythm of a heartbeat that mirrored your own.

There was something deeply satisfying about this moment of stillness amidst the chaos.

His breathing, slow and steady, was a soothing reminder of their connection. The way he relaxed into you, his body melting against yours, spoke volumes more than words ever could.

As they continued to sway together, you could sense the vulnerability and trust in his movements.

His occasional missteps and the way he leaned into you for support only highlighted the depth of his feelings. Despite the awkwardness, there was an undeniable grace to their dance—a testament to their bond and the quiet understanding they shared.

— You’ll dance with me again, won’t you? he murmured, half-asleep.

— We’ll see tomorrow, you whispered, guiding him gently to the couch.

He collapsed from exhaustion, instantly drifting into a deep sleep, still wrapped in the memory of their dance.

As the first light of dawn began to creep through the window, you moved about the kitchen, preparing breakfast with a newfound sense of tranquility. The rhythmic chopping of vegetables and the gentle sizzle of food in the pan were soothing. You stole glances at Soap, who was still deep in sleep, his breathing even and calm. There was something deeply satisfying about this morning routine, a feeling of normalcy and peace that you hadn’t realized you’d missed

The comforting aroma of breakfast filled the kitchen, mingling with the faint scent of whiskey that still clung to the air. The contrast between the warmth of the kitchen and the cold light of dawn outside created a sense of cozy isolation. You moved with practiced ease, your actions steady and deliberate, a quiet testament to the care you took in your daily routines.

Eventually, Soap stirred, his eyes fluttering open with the kind of groggy confusion that only a hangover can bring. He squinted in the light, struggling to get his bearings. When he finally registered your presence, he gave you a tired, lopsided smile.

— What I said last night… I meant it, he murmured. And this time, you can’t say I’m drunk.

— Technically…

— Technically, I’d love to kiss you and ask for another dance.

— You stepped on my feet more than twenty times last night.

— I know…

— And you reeked of whiskey.

— …

— Not to mention your snoring that kept me up all night.

— Okay, so I’m not perfect…

— But despite all that, I enjoyed our dance.

— Really?

— Even if choosing Blue Da Ba Dee for a slow dance was a terrible idea.

— That was me?!

— Yep.

— Damn… Let me make it up to you, he said, dropping to his knees in front of you.

You laughed, amused by his dramatic gesture, then knelt down in front of him, running a gentle hand through his hair.

— Alright, one more dance.

— One more dance, he repeated, a smile spreading across his face.

___________________

GHOST : 

The room gradually fell into silence, despite the constant chatter of the journalists on the screen. No one was really paying attention to the news broadcast. Simon was staring at his still fresh cuts, watching the red darken to brown.

— Want to dance? he asked, finally breaking the silence.

You looked up, surprised, then let out a small laugh.

— Dance? Now?

— Yes, now.

He reached out his hand to you. You hesitated, then finally placed yours in his. Exhausted, you let yourself lean against him. Simon picked out a vinyl, and soft music filled the room as they swayed slowly from side to side. He felt your warm breath against his neck, your body seeking refuge in his arms. His hand, still trembling, held yours tightly.

— You’re stiff as a board, you murmured with a smile.

— I’m managing, he replied, slightly offended.

— It’s like you have two left feet. Relax a bit, you added, a playful grin on your lips.

Simon couldn't help but smile inwardly. He had missed that smile so much— the real one, the one that made your eyes sparkle and your dimples appear, a stark contrast to the hollow gaze he had seen recently.

— It’s all over, you whispered.

You wasn’t talking about the dance.

— Yes, it’s all over.

Neither was he.

— Will I ever be able to dance again? you asked, doubt creeping into your voice.

To love. To love again.

A few weeks ago, Simon had returned from a grueling mission, only to find your home surrounded by police. The sight of the flashing lights and the presence of uniformed officers had sent his mind spiraling into a whirlpool of fear and dread. He imagined the worst, his thoughts racing with the possibility that his desire to keep you close had ultimately endangered you. He had feared that, like so many others before you, you might have been irreparably damaged by his choices.

But…

Under the harsh, unforgiving lights of the police cars, he had found no body, no immediate evidence of a catastrophic event. Yet, when he had seen you amidst the broken glass and the wreckage of their lives, you were nothing more than a shadow of the vibrant person you once were. Your eyes were vacant, the walls bore the scars of a recent trauma, and the TV was stuck on a loop, replaying the same game over and over, as if it were mocking the endless cycle of their suffering. The word "Sorry" was scrawled repeatedly, a haunting echo of remorse and helplessness.

.

Simon had understood the weight of the moment. With a gentle hand, he had helped you up from the floor, guiding you through the aftermath with a steadfast determination. He had been by your side for every medical appointment, every police report, and every painful statement. His presence was a constant, unwavering support as they navigated the wreckage of their lives together. Gradually, they began to live together, two lost souls seeking something more as they danced together that night.

A home, a dream, a soul?

No, it seemed they were searching for something more elusive—a ghost of their former selves, the remnants of a life that once held promise and joy.

— I’ll be here for you, Simon said softly.

— Then you better improve your dancing, you retorted with a hint of teasing.

— I promise, he murmured.

If becoming a dance master was what it took to help you rediscover the rhythm of life, then he was willing to dance for you, over and over. For he knew that no day should be spent with a heart broken by another. As they continued to sway to the music, the simple act of dancing became a symbol of their shared commitment to healing and moving forward. It was a testament to their resilience and to the enduring hope that, despite the pain, they could still find solace and joy in each other’s arms.

______________

PRICE : 

The flames in the fireplace crackled softly, casting shadows across the now-empty room. The guests had left long ago. John approached you slowly, deliberately, sliding his arms around your waist. He took a deep breath, letting your unique scent—something distinctly you—fill his senses, anchoring him in the present moment. The weariness of the past two months seemed to melt away as he embraced you. Finally, he was home.

—Something on your mind?, you asked, a hint of amusement in your familiar tone. It was a sound he had missed—something about your tone always made him feel like everything would be alright.

—I missed our date, he replied, a trace of regret in his voice.

—You've been on a mission for two months, John. I didn’t expect you to show up every Friday night for our little routines, you said, your laughter soft and genuine, like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. The light in your eyes, though, told him that you understood more than you let on.

—I could have tried.

—And how would that go? 'Hey guys, hold on a sec, I need to leave for a romantic date with my partner?"

—I'm sure I could’ve convinced them, he said with a smirk.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head.

—Maybe, but I doubt El Sinombre would have agreed.

—Probably not, he admitted, his tone softening as he pulled you closer, But I couldn’t give you those moments that are just for us.

—John, you sent me more than enough money; don't worry about that.

—That’s not the kind of moments I meant, he said gently, his fingers tracing light circles on your arms, the touch both tender and reassuring. His caress was a silent promise of the moments yet to come.

—Oh...

—I love our dates, all those little memories. I remember the day a stray dog pushed me into a pond, or the time you ended up with cream on your nose at the restaurant, He chuckled softly, the memory of those times clearly cherished.

—And which one’s your favorite?, you asked, turning to face him.

Their faces were just inches apart, their lips almost touching, but neither gave in to the temptation. It was a game, a silent challenge.

—Our wedding day, he finally said.

—That wasn’t a date, you replied with a playful smile.

—It was, on the dance floor.

—Oh, that moment...

You remembered how John had surprised you, revealing that he had secretly taken dance lessons for months. That slow dance had transported you, as if the whole world had disappeared, leaving just the two of them, their steps perfectly in sync, their love shining like a star.

—I can’t even remember the steps, you confessed softly.

—Let me remind you, he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. The intimacy of his voice and the proximity of his body sent a shiver down your spine, making the room feel even cozier.

With infinite tenderness, he gently took your hands, his rough fingers guiding you with a careful precision that spoke of countless hours spent perfecting their dance. As he began to lead you through each step, humming the tune from their wedding, you felt a wave of emotion wash over you. A tender smile lit up your face, and you looked up at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude.

—I love you, you finally whispered.

—I love you too,he replied with a sincerity that warmed your heart.

Slowly, the lights around them seemed to dim, the room growing tranquil as the dance came to an end. They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, their hearts beating in harmony. The fire continued to crackle softly in the fireplace, casting a warm glow over them as the night settled into a peaceful calm. In that serene moment, surrounded by the remnants of their love and shared memories, they found solace in each other’s presence, cherishing the quiet beauty of their reunion.

If you want more : masterlist

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 11 (Part 2 of 3)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

-🌼🌼🌼-

Monday

December 12, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somewhere bad? Good? In-between?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hence you being here.

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

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

We. I’m not alone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, you had a thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was perfect. Just as you’d imagined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you, sweet baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My safe place. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My lavender. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was safe. This was home. 

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

Your safest place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was time. 

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

Home, you thought. He looks like home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder you liked things so pristinely clean. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Living room. The living room. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like your current situation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it just seemed to be getting closer. . .

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

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

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

A dark memory. Bad. So, so bad.

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

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

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

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

“Pig.”

No. Not that nickname. No no no.

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

The person on the couch.

“Piggy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked lost. . . Confused, yet furious. 

The fury, pointed towards you. 

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

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

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

Mr. Morgan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. I’m safe. 

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

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

Then, you felt him. Jake. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart monitor. 

Shit.

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

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

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

And then you remembered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. 185. What the fuck?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

A long fucking session.

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

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

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

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

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

And Jake was the person you wanted most. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay focused, y/n.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cleared your throat to break up the air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The car stayed silent for a few beats. 

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

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

He seemed to be contemplating it all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n?”

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

Now was not the time. 

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

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

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

Music. You needed music. 

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

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

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

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

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

You were just hormonal and emotional. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was going to drive you fucking nuts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I'm sorry for it 

I'm emotional 

This is your fault 

Please listen when I say 

I care about you

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

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

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

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

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

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

This moment. . .

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

I was in the moment

I ain't really mean what I said to you

So put away your pride, baby

We can work it out if you want this, too

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

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

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

The OB office. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” You sniffed. “You think so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And he will be comin’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe you were just really, really tired.

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You needed fucking sleep.

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

Finally.

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

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

He hadn’t left you yet.

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The stringiness of your mom’s hair when she’d been with the man in the recollected vision. . . 

You couldn’t help but compare the hair in the vision to the fullness of it in small memories you cherished. . . There was a certain Christmas memory you kept close, her sweater had been brand new. Her hair, naturally brown and billowing out beautifully behind her. You had a few of those moments in time. A few decent memories you’d never let go completely away. No matter how much time passed or how foggy they became, you held onto them.

What struck you as disheartening was the way the woman transitioned from one version of herself to another in the fragments of time you could grasp. You remembered, it was rare to consistently witness the same mom growing up. You’d been forced at a young age to confront the fact that you never truly knew the woman that gave birth to you.

She’d been very dirty more times than not, you could remember that much now. From what you were beginning to recall, she rarely smelled good. Showers hadn’t seemed to be her forte from the grease that had been constantly caked in her hair if she wasn’t with your grandparents. Her skin had even been oily from her lack of showers, just as greasy as her hair. 

The houses she had you living in, too. . . you could vaguely picture a few of those (besides Mr. Morgan’s). The one you were in within your recollected memory today had been so filthy. The grossness of the environment was coming to you in small bits. There’d been times you’d seen families of cockroaches climb into the pantry. . . Or when an occasional rat would scurry across the stained carpet, right past your feet. . . 

You shivered in your bed at the thought, toes wiggling against your soft socks and covers. The loose sheet and duvet came closer to your chin as you tried to completely envelop yourself in your current reality. Things were safe.

It was just a-fucking-lot to process alone. And the last thing you wanted to do was burden anyone else with it. So, even if Jake had stayed with you rather than Maya after therapy, you knew you’d still be swirling in circles in your mind. 

You were just glad you only had to wait a week for therapy to continue digging through this with the help of your therapist. 

The images of the man and your mother kept flip-flopping in your mind, not leaving you alone — each taking turns in mocking your peace. It was enough that you felt your breath become choppy and your heart begin to race in your chest. Your clammy hands were clenching and unclenching over and over again, trying to find some sort of relief and distraction from the thoughts. The smells were coming back to you, vivid as they’d been during your therapy today. . . 

And the moment you began to hear that distant, haunting chuckle from your past, embedded in the new flashes of memory, you shut your eyes. You squeezed your lids together so tightly. Your fists came to cover your eyes, pushing down on them just a little to see stars alongside the black. 

Yet, the sound continued to get closer and closer to you. Desperately, you thought back on Gia’s advice should this happen. 

One of the small pieces of advice she’d given you, when the session’s time was five-minutes passed.  

“Now, if these things come back or more memories come to you and you would rather not think of them in the moment they do: take a break,” Gia had advised, going to hold your hands in hers between the two of you. “Take a break, wherever you are, and go to your safe place.”

She’d given you a couple of other things to try, but she’d stayed insistent that you try the safe place first. Every time. Get used to the place, make it a habit to run to it in these times. 

So, you tried your damnedest to shut the thoughts out like you would on her soft, camel leather couch. Your eyes closed as you tried, working to focus on the idea of traveling to a field of lavender and Jake. 

Though before you could get any further, your eyes snapped open, knowing you had one more step before you went there. 

You tried to even your breathing, unclenching your fists. Once you’d relaxed enough to loosen your hands, you searched for some meditation music on Spotify. 

And once you’d found a dreamy playlist, you laid back to feel it. Your goal: feel it enough to let go. 

This time when you closed your eyes, you did it with less force and breathed in and out, in and out. Once again, everything was black. . . but just for the first minute or so. 

It didn’t take long for you to hear the birds chirping and to feel the solid chest breathing beneath you. He breathed deeply – in and out, in and out, just as you did.

Almost as soon as you felt your body settle into him and the soft ground of the earth, you heard him speak, too. It was like you were hearing him through a rush of warm wind, a breeze drifting across your face. “You’re doing great, baby,” he soothed you in his velvety tone, running a sure hand through your hair, fingers tracing your scalp. You shivered, enjoying the wonderful feeling it gave you, all the way to the tips of your toes. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Further, you pushed into him, wanting to be as close to him as you could be. You wrapped your arms around him the best you could while laying down, needing to feel his body tightly against your own. When you did this, he wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you into him. Your round belly, pressed between the two of you, made your heart settle into a soothing thrum in your chest. 

No other words were said as you laid there, the sky blue when you finally opened your eyes to the new place. The field of lavender, so lucious and smelling heavenly around you. The purple flower surrounding you smelled clean, peaceful, and a lot like. . . love. It was a strange idea that a flower would smell like love, but you’d come to associate it with someone who–.

Knock, knock, knock, knock. 

Your eyes opened at a moment’s notice when you heard a knock on the front door. Somehow, the sound against the door managed to break you from your hypnotic-like reverie. The knocks weren’t small or soft thuds by any means, but it was odd that you’d heard them all the way through to your sacred place. All the way through your bedroom door. . . 

Though, thankfully, after having a bit of time to visit the safest place your mind could conjure up, you were on the path to feeling fine again. So after laying in bed for a few more seconds, you got up and padded to the door in your fluffy socks.

Before you opened the door, you peeked through the peephole. 

When you did, your eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. Your breathing evened out significantly for the first time since waking from your nap. And without any hesitancy, you unlatched the chain and unlocked the knob and deadbolt. 

As soon as you opened the door, you were greeted by Jake, a very apologetic smile on his face. One of his hands covered his eyes in feigned embarrassment, making a slit in his fingers to look at you through them. His other hand was tucked in the front pocket of his black slacks. 

He’d changed clothes after dropping you off. 

Duh, he’d showered, y/n. He wouldn’t be wearing the same dirty clothes afterwards . . . 

He was now dressed very nicely, his hair looking so healthy and full. A few strands were still damp here and there, from the shower you’d heard him start as you’d fallen asleep for your nap.

And goddamn. He smelled so fucking delicious – you could’ve melted into him. 

Rather than focusing on the way the hints of sandalwood and vanilla in his cologne made you feel airy, you asked the question you couldn’t help but wonder. “Where is your key?” 

A hint of a laugh was present in your tone as you crossed your arms over your boobs – which you noticed were slightly less sore than normal. 

Pleasant surprise. 

Oh, fuck. Your boobs. No bra. Only wearing a giant t-shirt and fuzzy socks. The thong you were wearing was a poor excuse at covering your ass. 

Glancing down briefly, you were reassured by the length. It was long enough to fully cover your backside, went down your thighs a bit. . . but you still felt very bare. 

When you looked up, you found that Jake had noticed your lack of clothing at the same time as you. His stare burned through your t-shirt, all the way down to your blushing skin. Your chest was heaving of its own accord, nipples hardening at the attention from him. . . 

His gaze soon dropped down to your lips, his own parting as his tongue went to wet his mouth.

No. You had to be the responsible one here. You could do it. 

So, you forced a subtle short cough, toes wiggling in your fuzzy socks. And, thankfully, it brought him back to the current situation. 

His wide, brown eyes snapped to yours, staying there momentarily. It made your cheeks pink — the way he was unashamedly sharing this moment with you. He didn’t seem embarrassed at all as he bit his lip with a grin stretched over his lips. 

Fuck.

“Your key?” You tried again with a squeak. Rolling your eyes, your short cough was real this time as you had to clear your throat. Ridiculous.

Not saying anything, he responded like nothing had occurred before. He motioned with his head towards the kitchen bar behind you. Your head turned to follow his eyes. And, you found his keys, still laying on the counter, not having been touched since before he left. 

“Did Maya pick you up?” You asked him, arching a brow at the keys. 

“Yes.”

“How’d you get back?” Okay, y/n, now’s not the time for twenty questions. 

“Uber,” he simply answered, a little hiccup following the word.

“Well. . . did you come back for them to drive yourself?” You asked, turning back around to face him, hoping he wouldn’t say ‘yes’. You selfishly wanted him to stay. 

For the first time since you’d woken up, your body felt light. . . . And, you’d noticed it had happened the exact moment you saw him outside your door. 

Shaking his head, he finally looked at you head-on, and you could see his eyes were the slightest bit unfocused. 

Oh. . . A smirk rested on your lips as you crossed your arms once more.

He had a goofy, carefree smile on his lips. And then you smelled it — the slightest tinge of alcohol on him as he swayed a bit towards you. 

Raising a brow, your lips continued to match his grin. Giggling, you pondered aloud, “Did you have a drink or two, babe?” 

You didn’t say that last word. Nope. 

“Maaaaybe,” he said, shrugging with both hands in his pockets now, the silly smile still plastered to his lips. “It was a party, after all,” he tagged on to the end, a bit of a British lilt falling over his words. 

A party. Hm. For some reason, you hadn’t even thought of that as a possibility. Why did the fact that it’d been a party make your stomach turn a little bit? 

“A party?” You inquired, tucking your arms a little closer against your chest. And there was the tenderness again. 

“Maya’s baby sister— eight years younger than Maya,” he over-explained, tripping over himself a little as he made his way through the door without any warning. “Turned twenty one today.”

Oh, that explains the excessive drinking, you gathered mentally. 

But, as you stood there connecting the dots, you didn’t focus enough on the fact that he was falling into you through the door frame. Thankfully, you put your arms out in time to stop him from bumping into you to the point of knocking you over. But when you put your arms out to stop his fall, he got the wrong idea and put his arms out as well, crashing into you a bit as he wrapped them around you in a secure embrace. 

It took a bit for you to register what was happening as you stood in shock at the gentle gesture amidst his drunkenness. And while you were registering it all, he must’ve gotten the idea that you didn’t want him so close to you. So, very slowly, he pulled away. 

Rather awkwardly, you just stood there, arms still held out in shock from the sudden hug. 

Why were you surprised at all? He’d been like this recently – just today at counseling, he’d been extremely attentive, holding you when you’d needed him. . . 

Was this time different? Was it because now he was doing it for virtually no reason at all? You weren’t in need of his help or his comfort (that he knew of) at the moment. And, he still wanted to hug you – that was what caught you completely off guard. 

He’s drunk, y/n, a voice reminded you. Don’t overthink it. It’s just because he’s inebriated. 

And while you stood in the doorway, he continued to traipse past you, body lopsided and shaky. He was being very careful to not bump into you again, turning his body in odd ways. 

When you turned to observe him, as he made it past you, you noticed that in the process of trying to steer clear of you, he was losing his balance – quite quickly. 

So, you did the only thing you could think to do and followed behind him to help however you could. 

He wouldn’t remember it anyway.

When he started putting too much weight on one foot and started tilting a bit too far to the side, you acted on instinct. 

You wrapped your arms around his midsection. 

It proved to be a bit of a feat to keep him upright and on his feet, but you tried your hardest. The man was wonderfully built. . . but solid as a rock.

Has he been working out? You couldn’t help but wonder this as your arms pressed a bit more into his strong abdomen.

You realized that thought process could become a distraction to the task at hand in no time, so you put it to the back of your mind. Instead, you just put all of your concentration into helping him stay on the track he desired. . . . Which happened to be his bedroom. 

While trying to keep him stable, you felt your belly press further into his back. The baby felt safer there, between the two of you. It felt right to be so close. . .

But, again, you focused on the important goal of getting Jake in bed. You just kept him pressed to you the best you could with a baby in the way. Matching his footing from behind, you walked in even step with him. 

Once you were officially at his door, you reached around him to open his door for him. When your hand met the knob and twisted it, he reached forward, placing his hand over yours to open it with you. The gentle action made your skin flame. 

Though, it didn’t last long. You didn’t pause, instead continuing into the room. And the moment you walked into the room, he tapped your arm, presumably to let you know he was okay on his own. So, you tentatively let go. 

Your arms suddenly felt empty, but you didn’t want to overstay your welcome. 

He seemed to be a little better now, sitting down on his bed. He did it with more effort than normally necessary, but he still seemed more capable than he’d been a few minutes ago. 

So, without a word, you went to head out of his room. Right before you could walk out the door, though, you heard him from behind you. 

“Where you going?” He asked sadly, sounding more like a neglected child than a grown man. 

Turning around with a brow raised, you asked the question with your eyes before saying it aloud. “Why? You’re good now, right?”

His eyes zoned out momentarily on your face. You just blamed it on the alcohol, feeling woozy. When he came back to Earth, his eyes met yours. His eyes suddenly seemed much clearer than before. All of the air in your lungs evaporated at the look he was giving you. Desperation was the most fitting word for it. 

“I’m not good without you,” he offered, his eyes darting to his feet almost directly after saying the words. He leaned down to sloppily take off his boots, but still neatly placed them next to his bed after taking them off. 

It was honestly pretty funny to watch. You would’ve been more amused if your mind wasn’t still reeling a bit from his words. You zoned out on his guitar, placed neatly on its stand.

He. is. drunk, y/n, your internal heckler reminded you. Stop overthinking.

But. . . drunk words are honest –.

“Can you help?” Jake asked, sounding desperate while trying to achieve a task.

You looked over at him, finding him standing now and struggling to take off a necklace. Without argument, you left where you’d been standing, dejected and confused, by the doorway, to help him. 

When you made it over to him, you tapped his hands where they struggled with the latch at the nape of his neck. 

“Let me,” you insisted, replacing his hands with yours when he moved them. 

Once the necklace was taken off, you made your way around him to place the jewelry on his bedside table, whose lamp bathed the room in golden light. 

You glanced down at the necklace, running a finger down the face of the medallion. Medusa. That was who was etched into the gold metal. 

“You into Greek mythology right now?” You questioned, peeking over your shoulder at him.

When you did, the sight that beheld you took you by total surprise. Shirtless. Shirt gone. No shirt. Jake, halfway naked. 

“Oh,” you uttered the word in a moan more than anything else. You even felt your jaw drop the slightest bit. You didn’t really think anything of it. You didn’t really care to control your reactions. He wouldn’t remember any of this. You just kept telling yourself that.

And with the way the heat flooded from your head all the way to your chest, blossoming to the pit of your tummy – you didn’t think you could control your reactions. Then, when he absentmindedly adjusted himself in his pants. . . Yep. 

You bit your lip, tucking hair behind your ear. Suddenly, you felt completely out of control of your body. . . Your hormones were calling the shots – they (and Jake) were making you feel unsteady in the best possible way. 

The only downside was: there wasn’t anything you could do about it. Morals stood in the way of your bodies colliding and fucking it out. 

You understood that the Jeep incident had happened. Of-fucking-course — there was no forgetting that shit. But a big part of you also thought it would be best to leave the other night in the Jeep in the past.

It wasn’t fair to anyone involved. Right? 

So. . . You just focused on the present moment. No sex. Just Jake in front of you. Tried to ignore the surge of want for him at seeing half of him bare. 

But goddamn — what a beautifully welcome sight. . . 

His body had changed in the handsomest of ways. His thighs, as you’d noticed recently, were thicker than before. And he was. . . just broader than before. It started at the width of his shoulders, and worked down his abdomen to fill out with toned, tight muscle — his new addition of muscle was thick beneath the surface. There was just more of him altogether. The perfect amount of body for you to touch, kiss, lick. . . . . goddammit.

He still wasn’t looking at you, instead making his way to the laundry hamper across the room. You observed the way the muscle in his back flexed as he walked. The expanse of skin under his shoulder blades — his back was thick with new strength. . .What in the sweet hell? 

When he carefully swiveled on his heel to make his way back to you, after tossing the shirt in the basket, you still didn’t take your eyes from him. Just admired the sight and the fact that watching him could be your own little secret. . . 

A secret not even for Jake to know.

Though, as if on cue, his line of sight connected with yours. And when it did – damn. Your heart hammered hard in your chest. Your breath was trapped in your throat, all of it stolen from you. 

His chocolate eyes, although hazy from alcohol, were so fucking dark. Dark in the same way they’d been in his Jeep last week. 

He looked the same as he had right before you’d bent over his lap. The same way he’d eyed you as you’d been on top of him – licking him, sucking him, touching him. . . 

So, instead of holding his eyes, you decided you had to look away before you made matters any worse than they were at the present moment. 

Awkwardly, you started your next sentence without taking time to think about it. “You good now, Ja–?”

“What was your question?” 

When he interrupted you, you wanted to look back at him. But you didn’t. Not with the way his voice was suddenly much fuller – deeper, raspier. . . 

Coughing to mask any sort of embarrassing action, you tried your best to think back to what you’d asked. You couldn’t even remember. . . oh. Medusa. Pointless question. Didn’t matter.

“It was noth–.”

“I don’t care. Still wanna know.”

“Jake, it seriously doesn’t matt–.”

“Look at me, y/n,” he demanded, daring to be argued with. “Quit acting like we’re strangers.”

God. Your teeth found your lip, biting harder with a deep inhale. You let the plumpness of your bottom lip fall from your teeth with a tight exhale. Your tongue pressed into your cheek, eyebrows knit with frustration, when you peered up at him. 

Fuck it all. This was why you hadn’t let yourself look at him. 

His hungry eyes scanned your body when he got his way. He stood there admiring all of you, but his eyes were zeroed in on your ass, not leaving it.

You looked down to get an idea of what he was looking at. 

And, to your horror, you noticed that the t-shirt had ridden up, completely exposing the bottom curve of your ass cheeks. 

But, you didn’t move to change it. Instead, you decided to just stand there. Let him look. You wanted him to. This wouldn’t even count in the morning when he forgot it all.

You definitely weren’t offended by his staring. Not in the slightest. Just sort of made you nervous where things would lead if he didn’t stop observing the exposed skin.

Diversion. 

“Jake,” you purposefully spoke his name, vying for his attention up top, rather than having his eyes on your ass. 

You got your wish. Sort of. His eyes dragged from your ass to your thighs. . . Only to stop at your tits. Your skin was flushed and your skin was tingling. Your breasts, heavy under his stare and nipples tightly peaked against your oversized shirt. 

Fuck. Your body really was your worst enemy — constantly gave you away. Pregnancy hormones were a pain in the ass. 

So, you did the only thing you could think to do: you watched him watch you. The idea of his eyes burning into you without the ability to control it. . . It was almost too much for you to handle. 

Then, he wet his lips, afterwards biting into his plump bottom lip. You might as well have been naked under his stare, completely at his mercy. 

His gaze stayed consistent on your chest, residing long enough to have you feeling so desperately needy for him. . . but, eventually, his eyes moved up to your face. 

You missed his stare on your body as soon as it was gone.

“You’re so fucking—goddamn,” he breathed, his expression still dazed. But, now it was from more than alcohol. Maybe not from alcohol at all. “Do you know how good you look carrying my baby?”

Your head became a flurried mess at his words, the feeling carrying all the way down to your toes. 

“Jake,” you tried, not sure what else to say besides his name. 

But he didn’t respond with words. No, all he did was walk closer to you, still half-dressed. Seeing so much of his body made you feel so utterly pathetic for him. 

In a split second, before you could even wrap your mind around it, his hands found your waist. A soft, yet firm hold of your body. His eyes were locked on your parted lips, his face slowly leaning in and coming dangerously close to your own. 

And just as he was with you, your eyes found his lips, plush and wet from his tongue gliding over them. So kissable. All you wanted, all you needed, was to feel them collide with yours. To taste him again, to savor the sweetness that you knew to be Jake. 

He was so close that you could smell the bitter remnants of alcohol on his breath. His breath, that felt so warm against your flushed skin. You couldn’t help it as you slowly let yourself lean into him. All too well, you knew how wrong it was. . . Yet, you were having the worst time finding it within yourself to care any longer. 

Amber-brown eyes flicked up to yours, golden flecks glowing from the dim yellow lamp lighting. Your own eyes were wide under your fluttering lashes. 

The drunkenness wasn’t as prevalent in his stare as it had been before. This felt so eerily intimate — like it had happened before. You couldn’t fucking shake the feeling this moment was giving you. The dim lighting. Him so close to you—tempting you. . . 

For some reason, your eyes fluttered down between the two of you to your small, rounded tummy. 

Jake’s lips brushed your forehead with the action, his hand coming to tuck hair behind your ear. 

Your belly—it was nestled so well in the middle of your bodies, brushing up against his firm stomach. Protected.

And then a memory, clear now, came rushing back to you. It was coming out of the shadows, having been foggy and faded, but not anymore. 

The only place to go was your room, your door ajar just enough that it opened easily on its own. Jake had reached a hand behind him to close it gently– not wanting to wake anyone. 

Your lamp, still left on, just as it had been earlier in the evening, shed the perfect amount of golden glow. 

You’d grabbed his face, pulling him away from you momentarily to appreciate his features. Finally out of the dark you could look at him. 

And, God, you loved his face. Everything about it, having been so intricately and delicately created — making the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on.

A quiet smirk had graced Jake’s perfect lips, his eyes tightly locked with yours. 

“What’s the matter?” He’d asked, his hushed, now-sultry voice making your need for him that much more heightened. 

You thought a moment before you answered. 

With all of your feelings for him finally becoming realized in your own mind, there was just so much you felt you needed to say. So much you needed him to know. 

As you’d stared in his sparkling eyes, pupils pure black from the weed and his need for you, the only word your mind could conjure up was love. Over and over again. Not just the word, but the feeling; the new desire for him that went far beyond the purely physical one that you’d tried so hard to convince yourself of. 

But it wasn’t new; it had been clear all along. You’d just shoved it down to the deepest trenches of your mind, only to be discovered by the most skilled explorer. 

There was so much you had wanted to say, but you just couldn’t conjure the proper words. 

You decided your body could do all the talking. It could say more than your voice ever could.

“Nothing,” you’d whispered against his lips as you pulled him in for the deepest kiss you were certain the two of you had ever shared with one another.

You gasped as you looked up at him. The night you’d conceived—.

“Y/n, sweet girl,” Jake’s smoky voice brought your attention back to the situation. You let your body melt into his even more, needing him near. 

The reality of it all suddenly began to set in when his hands, slow and steady in their pace, moved up your waist. Strong hands now moving under your shirt, set in their direction of ascension. They came to a steady stop just beneath the curve of your tender breasts. 

“You know,” he breathed, breath washing over your lips. You blinked up at him, at his mercy. “I wanna do so much more than just hold your pretty tits,” he whispered, his lips brushing ever so lightly against yours. “How do they feel?”

“H-heavy,” you stuttered, shivering against his touch while his thumbs met at your sternum, tracing delicate patterns. 

His palms suddenly dropped from beneath your shirt. You sucked in a breath, whining as your breasts pushed out for more. Your skin begged for his touch, on fire for him. 

Before long, though, his hands came back to their spot over the fabric of the t-shirt this time. 

And, over your shirt, he cupped as much of your chest as he could, keeping you in his hold as he gently massaged. 

Stars. You saw so many stars. 

“But, not—not as sore tonight,” you sighed, settling into his grasp. There were no worries evident to you right now. 

All that mattered was Jake and his searing hot touch.

You felt him smile as close as he was, his lips almost connecting with yours as you fought back every desire to kiss him. “Yeah?”  He whispered again, raspier, while his thumbs lightly grazed your hardened nipples through your shirt, your breath catching in your throat. “What do you need right now, baby?”

The moan that escaped your lips should have been embarrassing. But it wasn’t. Not at all. It fit quite well with the way his fingers continued in their path over your nipples, circling them. He was stealing every bit of air left in your lungs, making your eyes roll back in your head.

“Tell me, baby,” he growled, lips touching yours with each word. 

Closing your eyes and biting your bottom lip, you answered silently. You, Jake. I fucking need you. 

He returned to his grip underneath your breasts, over the shirt still, cradling them so well. . . Your body just fit with his. The touch of his hands cured even the most uncomfortable changes in your body. 

You whined, not able to help the effect he was having on you and your aching body. “Jake, I need–.” Fuck. 

No. This was wrong. He was drunk. Odds were, he wouldn’t remember this. You were the one letting it happen, letting it get much further than it should have. 

“Tell me, y/n,” he repeated, brushing his thumbs once again over your taut nipples with more intent this time as your body began to tremble. “Tell me what I can do for you–.”

“I’m hungry,” you muttered out of nowhere, shaking your head as you effectively interrupted him. You pulled away, getting yourself out of another situation that could turn sticky real fast. (Yes, pun intended.) 

And you really were very hungry. Hadn’t eaten for hours. So, it was the perfect mood killer. 

“O-oh, yeah,” he breathily spoke, eyebrows dipping in just a bit as he dropped his stare. His long hair waved out around his shoulders when he shook his head. The sound of inebriated haziness was evident in his tone still, but you could tell he was quickly coming back to himself. 

And that also terrified you. The moment just now. . . Had that brought him back? You’d seen his eyes brighten when you’d leaned into him. 

He went to move past you, his body nearly meeting yours. You put out a hand, millimeters away from his heaving chest. But you couldn’t touch him yet. Not yet. Had to clear your mind. 

“Want me to make something for you?” He wondered, sounding ready to help even amidst his tipsy state. 

“I can do it,” you assured him with a small sigh and grin. “I’m capable.”

“You sure?”

“More than.” 

Your eyes held one another’s for a heavy minute. He was trying to make sure you were being honest, you could tell. 

You just encouraged him to believe your statement with a little pat to his warm, bare chest. Shit. 

You had to go. Get out of the room. Make some damn food. 

But he was right there. . . 

No. 

You quickly took your hand away before he could do something like hold it there. He didn’t get the chance, thanks to your reflexes. 

Your hands interlocked under your belly as you peeked up at him through your lashes. “I promise. I do things for myself all the time. Please let me.”

“You don’t have to ask for–,” hiccup, the sobriety still not fully present. He held a fist over his mouth, trying to be polite. Your smile met your eyes, so gone for him. . . “For my permission, y/n. Seriously. I just want to help you however I–,” hiccup, his eyes bugged a little. The giggle that came from you couldn’t be stopped. “ I can. Jesus.”

“Go to sleep,” you tried, wracking your brain for the best possible plan for him to feel better. “I’ll be okay.”

“Nah. Not yet. Wanna take a shower first,” he iterated, eyebrows drawn together with the sureness of his plan. “It’ll help.”

“Okay,” you smiled, inhaling a breath before shaking your head and moving to open his door. 

Rather than letting you get it, he raised his arm above your head, holding the door to do the job himself. You watched as he opened it wider, seeing his bicep flex with the action above your head. He’d opened it just enough for you to exit. 

You connected eyes with his, looking at him over your shoulder. 

The grin that lifted your features occurred on its own. Everything he did was making you swoon. The fucker.  

He snickered a bit at you, his teeth coming to show past his pretty lips. Dimples fully present with his knowing smile. “Go eat,” he motioned with his other hand before stepping towards you, planning to exit behind you. “My baby momma needs sustenance.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

About forty-five minutes passed. 

You’d eaten an entire box of macaroni and cheese. The noodles and yellow-y, plastic cheese weren’t making you want to gag anymore. Thank god, because it really was quite delicious. 

Now, to wash your dishes and go to bed.

You’d just heard the shower shut off about ten minutes prior to the moment you heard footsteps approach in the doorway to the kitchen.

Jake. 

“Will you come sleep with me?”

You spun to give him a questioning look from over your shoulder that held a million questions.

“Wh-what?” You stilled your task of washing the bowl you’d had your quick meal of macaroni and cheese in.

But, now, you weren’t thinking of mac and cheese. No, now you were thinking of what he just said.

When you’d looked over your shoulder at him, your eyes stuck naturally on the man standing at the doorway of the kitchen. The gesture that was meant to be quick, definitely turning into a whole-ass Jake Appreciation Fest.  

Just like earlier that evening, there he was. Shocking every nerve in your system. 

Pajama pants, slung low on his hips. . . his handsomely tanned and toned chest, still bare. His wet hair, laying on his pecs, dripping water onto each muscle. The drops of water made their way down his hard nipples, probably chilly from his shower, down his sculpted obliques and solid abdomen. . .

. . . And down, past the waistband of his plaid pajama pants. Your favorite ones. 

The pursuit you took with your line of sight was unstoppable. You had to know if he was wearing them. . . And, to your complete gladness, you saw just enough of an outline of him as he leaned his weight on one foot. . . That was all it took to know. . .

“No, I’m not wearing underwear,” he smugly remarked. 

His tone and words made your heart flutter and your cheeks become the deepest shade of crimson. Fuck. He’d caught you.

Deciding to ignore his little remark, you went back to washing the dish, still being held over the sink. In a much looser grip thanks to his comment. Gripping the dish tighter, you put all of your spinning nerves into washing it properly. You fumbled a little, but hoped he didn’t notice. 

“What did you mean before? About sleeping together?” You tried, working to maintain enough attention on the dish that you wouldn’t drop it against the sink and break the thin Corelle. 

“Just sleep,” he emphasized with a chuckle, sounding more and more like himself the longer he stood there. “Nothing more. Cross my heart.”

“Oh,” you offered lamely, heart thumping a hundred miles an hour in your chest, boobs suddenly aching for. . . Fuck. 

Why was he asking you to simply sleep with him? What the hell? 

God. . .

Should you? Was it a good idea? Well, no. You could answer that. It wasn’t a good idea. At all. 

But. . . should you go lay with him? Maybe fall asleep in his arms. . . Would it help you sleep easier after your short, uneasy rest from earlier in the evening?

Shit.

You knew the answer. Knew the answer very well. Even before EMDR, when the bad dreams would occur, they were always better – tamed, happy, or gone completely – when you slept in the same bed as Jake. 

“Yeah,” you said, not taking any more time to contemplate. “I will.”

“Alright,” he replied, sounding relieved behind you. Why did he sound so happy? Surely it wasn’t that big of a deal to him. He still had alcohol in his system. That explained it. 

 You rinsed the rest of the bubbles from the bowl when you heard him speak up again. 

“Want me to wash it?”

“N-no,” you stuttered nervously and shook your head, focusing on the sudsy dish. “I’ve got it.”

“Okay. You full? Get enough to eat?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he answered, the smile evident in his tone. “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t,” you reassured, willing your pulse to return to normal. 

And, seconds later, you were hearing his footfalls against the carpet as he made his way back to his room. 

Well. 

Finishing the job of the bowl, – taking much longer than needed – you contemplated. 

You guessed his tone was still a little wavy, but you knew better than to think he was still drunk. 

He definitely wasn’t.

Had the shower helped that much? Had it been the moment in his room? Both combined? 

After the equally clean saucepan was put away in the drawer below the oven, you dragged your feet a bit more as you went to check on Stevie and put some more food in her dish. When her tail swished across your calves, you felt a bit of calmness return to you. 

Your heart was still thrumming in your chest. But you were able to slow your thoughts down enough to feel more at peace as you took notice of yourself in your full-body mirror.

Damn. . .oooo-kay, y/n. . . 

Why did you suddenly feel completely confident in your body? You turned, getting every angle. 

It just felt so great to not doubt your appearance. It was just like last Monday. You could get used to this feeling. 

Your boobs looked fantastic and big under your gray t-shirt, nipples peaked as they most-often were these days. Your ass looked perfectly rounded out from the way it peeked out of your soft shirt. . . And, lifting your t-shirt, you looked at the little bump of your tummy. 

The best addition to the entire look. Your grin was natural as you admired your baby. . .

Your tummy was growing steadily as you still sat on the bigger side of pregnant bellies. Your bump wasn’t a little subtle thing. No, it was an obviously pregnant belly. 

Small, but definitely still noticeable. And it was just cute as hell. 

After rubbing a gentle hand over the expanse of skin on your belly, you pulled your shirt back down over it. 

And with a final fluff of your hair, you grabbed your Stanley from the nightstand before making your way to where you’d find sleep tonight. 

You were just going to get good rest for your baby. It was for the baby. 

That was what you worked to convince yourself of as you walked with quiet purpose to his bedroom. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

“Why did you come home?”

You were laying in his bed. Just like old times. 

Except, in the past, where you would’ve most likely been naked, you were not tonight. 

Everything else though? Same as always.

Your legs were tied into his, looped around his just right, playing footsie with him beneath the covers. Your head rested on his bare chest, your hand underneath your cheek as it laid so perfectly well on his exquisitely strapped pecs.

Oh, also. . . One more thing different than before: the bump. The baby, tucked snugly against his side where you were turned into him. 

It was heaven. That was what it was. 

A yawn emitted from deep in his chest. You knew sleep was finding him faster than you would’ve liked. Naturally, a little yawn found you as well.

Sighing heavily to follow the yawn, you felt his hand that laid above you come to comb through the strands of your hair.  “I don’t like being away from you.”

Your heartbeat was heavy in your ears – did your best to ignore it.

“Was Maya mad?”

“Yeah.”

“Jake,” you scolded, for no reason. You didn’t give two shits about how she felt. But. . . you did care about his happiness – didn’t want to ruin his relationship when it made him feel happy and whole.

“She’ll get over it,” he reassured with another yawn that lifted your cheek with his rising chest. “She was drunker than I was.”

“Are you still drunk?” You pondered aloud with a yawn and a giggle, naturally emitting in his presence. 

But. . . you knew better. Didn’t even have to ask. It just made all of this more understandable if he were to still be drunk. It made this easier to submit to. 

You didn’t know why the prospect of simply laying beside him was harder to come to terms with than having his dick in your mouth. Just like it’d been a week ago. 

Your cheeks heated at the thought. Of its own volition, your thigh came to momentarily graze past his crotch.

“Not really,” he answered, sounding a touch offended that you’d even asked. “Pretty sober now, honestly.”

The more coherent he sounded, the more intimidated you became. . . 

Best to let him find sleep. You’d answer to this in the morning. . . For now, your eyelids were getting heavier and heavier by the moment. 

“I believe you,” you settled with a contented yawn of your own, nestling into his chest. Couldn’t help it. Had to be closer.

You blinked, slower and slower. So sleepy — just felt so right in his arms. His hand came to hold the base of your skull as a thumb traced your head so lightly. 

Goosebumps rose on your skin from his precious gesture. . . It felt so damn incredible. 

“You should,” he iterated, his lips coming to meet the crown of your head, giving you a feather-light kiss. 

And, within a minute, he was lightly snoring. 

It took almost no time at all for you to follow him to slumber. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Just like you would’ve guessed, the bad dreams didn’t come that night. 

. . .Because Jake made everything better. That was just it. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

December 16, 2022 

As you sat in the waiting room, you surveyed him and noticed he wasn’t wearing the Medusa medallion. The newer one you’d noticed on Monday. 

“No Medusa?” You questioned, at a decent enough volume to not disturb the few other mothers and fathers in the waiting room. He flicked his amber-brown gaze over to you, caught in a trance by the beautiful, light decor of the clinic. 

Once he looked at you, his eyebrows only dipped at your words, not understanding. You motioned to his neck with a slight flick of your wrist. “Your Medusa medallion. I noticed it the other night.”

He snorted, lips quirking in a small grin with a shake of his head. “That was a stupid gift I got from Maya’s little sister,” he explained, scratching the back of his head. 

“Jake,” you disciplined his words, but you couldn’t help the tiny giggle that slipped past your lips. It was kind of funny that he found it stupid. 

“What?!” He turned to you, a full smile on his face. You raised a faux disappointed brow at him and he contended that with his next remark, “Okay, yes, I know I shouldn’t call it stupid. Maya said it’s because of her sister’s little crush on me. . . But it was kind of funny that she showed up with it at her birthday party, for one,” he explained, crossing his legs at the knee. “And for two, Medusa? A Greek goddess? Since when is that my primary interest?”

You shrugged at that, a small smile stuck to your features. He was adorable.

He continued on, “For some reason, Maya struggles to differentiate between pirates and mythology. . . and no matter how many times I explain they’re different, she doesn’t catch on to it.” 

He shook his head, tousling a hand through his long, wavy hair as he placed the other hand on his knee. His rings weren’t present today, so you got to truly appreciate the curvatures of his tanned, masculine hands. 

“You should still acknowledge that Maya’s sister’s–what’s her name?”

“Kaia. K-a-i-a. . . Different from Maya’s by two letters. Sound the same, though,” he snickered.

Kaia and Maya. . . so they’re a rhyming name family. For some reason, the thought made you snort a laugh, a grin claiming your lips. 

“I know,” Jake said, a little humorous in his own tone. “Kaia and Maya. Can we agree to not name our kids rhyming names?”

Our kids? As in, more than the one in your belly?

You took note of him and his reaction to his mistake, watched the way his eyes continued scanning the walls of the white and blush waiting room. 

He seemed to not notice his mess up, still going about his business as usual. His foot tapped against the bamboo flooring to the beat of the classic rock radio station playing. 

You decided to ignore his words. It had been a slip up. Just like your own slip up in the car the other day. 

You, speaking of love. 

Jake, mentioning multiple kids. 

You both were just in a state of stress with the life change. . . it wasn’t anything. Just a couple mis-worded moments.

You continued on, looking down at your belly briefly, smoothing your hands down your sweater to flatten any weird lines. “. . .Kaia’s sentiment was kind. Her little crush is sweet,” you iterated, sounding more like a mom everyday. “I hope you told her thank you.”

He chuckled, raspy and light, at you. Switching your line of sight up to him, you saw his eyes read a sense of fondness as he cast his gaze on you. 

“I did,” he smirked, winking at you. Your tummy fluttered with butterflies. “You are going to be a fantastic mom, y/n. I’ve known it for a long time and I know it more and more with your little coaching moments.”

Your heart went crazy at the thought of him imagining you as a fantastic mother. And he’d known it for a long time? How long? What did that mean? 

“Thanks, Jake,” you blushed a light pink, matching the colors of the crepe walls. There was one more thing you wanted to say though. 

“However,” you cleared your throat, glancing at him momentarily from the corner of your eye. He was heeding you, brow arched as he waited for your next words. 

“I can’t say anything to excuse Maya’s non-acknowledgment at the obvious contrasts of pirates and mythology. They are two completely different beasts,” you emphasized, turning your full attention to him. He was still watching you. The flush was back in your cheeks. “I’ve seen enough of your documentaries about pirates and I’m an English major, for God’s sake. . . so I know these things.”

The way his features brightened was precious – like he was being seen. 

And he was seen. He would always be seen if you had anything to say about it. 

Also, you did know the difference, you weren’t lying. None of what you said was a lie. You’d said what you did because you needed him to know that you understood. His interests mattered to you and they should to Maya as well. They should matter to her more-so. 

The moment was cut off quite quickly, though, as you were hearing your name being called to the back for your appointment. 

You were about to see your baby again. With Jake. And you’d know by the end of the hour if it was a boy or girl. . . 

The blood was pumping in your ears as Jake fell in step beside you on the way to the back. You smiled up at him, where you were met with his sparkling eyes. Both of you were obviously giddy with eagerness and excitement. 

Your thoughts were filled with everything that was to come. All sunshine and pale colors – so much love.

Here we go. . .

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: ...i wonder if you can guess the name/gender after this chapter part... ;) see you soon (next part is almost finished, my loves) :) feel free to always come to my ask box or message box! i'm always down to talk when my adhd/anxiety doesn't attack me <3

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts! love youuuu <3

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[haliteatiger]

Happy Werewolf Wednesday, ya'll! We're serving up a big pot of tea tonight so get those cups ready!

Special thanks to Blackbackedjackal and King for their help in putting this together, editing, and especially to Jackal for being so supportive and encouraging. I'm very much not normally the type to do call-out posts, but people need to be aware of Dogblud, as she has hurt, not only myself, but quite a few others as well, and seems to have somehow gotten away with behaving like this for 20-odd years. I'm of the mind she shouldn't be allowed to do so any more, hence this post.

TL;DR - Beware of Dogblud, aka Ashryn, aka DogofBlud, aka ThatDogMagic. Very, very long post under the cut.

With everything happening with DogBlud and Blackbackedjackal's studio, I felt emboldened to come forward with my own experiences with her. This is something I've been carrying around since it happened roughly 2 years ago. It was one of the main reasons that put me off drawing werewolves, my own characters, or engaging any more in the fandom. I've hinted at it a few times but I've never had the energy to come forward and deal with the fall out. I wanted to move on with the rest of my life because IRL was more important than online drama. And I knew her behavior would come back to bite her sooner or later, regardless of what I did. 

It's been very validating to see that I was right.

It was around the time that Blud and I became friends that I was feeling a bit burnt out on werewolves. I'd been trying to pull together my own werewolf-related project for something close to 12 years. The past 4 years had also been pretty draining on me creatively and socially, as it had for a lot of artists with regards to the pandemic. I also had some IRL things I was dealing with: mainly with my marriage and transitioning between medications to manage my anxiety + bipolar.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the foresight to screenshot everything at the time. I do have logs from back when we roleplayed together. There are several conversations in them but because they were saved as text documents, they're pretty dubious in terms of solid evidence. 

It would have been better if I had taken screenshots as it was happening, rather than just saving the logs. With what I *do* have, however, I feel as though it may be enough to make the point that I'm trying to make, and to exhibit how horrible things got.

I'll provide some context.

I had talked with Blud on and off over the years, and we had always gotten along. We had a lot in common and after we had started talking more, our friendship eventually grew into a collaborative project. We were going to combine our stories and write a comic based on it. We had a lot of discussions on how Blud was reticent to do this in the beginning and how she wanted a contract to be made up so that in the event that something *did* happen, we could both walk away feeling like it was handled fairly.

Honestly, I should have listened to the first alarm that went off in my brain, when, in an act of ominous foreboding she said something along the lines of don't be so sure, it could happen. It was in response to me being like "we're getting along so well and share so much of a bond right now. I can't fathom that being a problem!" 

The contract never materialized. It was something we had decided to do *after* we had put together something of a prototype project to see how well we worked together. It made complete sense to me at the time as we were both eager to focus on the fun parts of writing and drawing together.

It was decided that I would be the lead artist (doing coloring and final lines) while Blud would do everything else (which was inking, layouts, and the majority of the writing). The both of us felt that she had more experience in those areas. I also believed that she had a better knack for it as well. I had felt that she had a better understanding of story structure than myself. And I thought that Blud had felt the same way about my art. That I had the experience to take point on that. 

Since I had collaborated with other artists and writers before, I attempted to approach the project with the same sort of professionalism I always do. Especially the projects that I genuinely thought stood a chance of being published in the future. We had started out trying to get a feel for each other's flows and rhythms. I had expected Blud to try and meet me in the middle of where our processes would potentially differ from one another, so that we could develop a fairly smooth workflow.

I had also expected, according to our discussions on the matter, that we would value each other's opinions on things and take them into consideration. We had such good synchronicity already.

In the beginning, there wasn't any unusual behavior that caught my attention. Blud was a bit uncomfortable with trying out new things but I did my best to accommodate her so that our project could move forward without too much turbulence. She had also mentioned to me before that she was autistic, and since my husband is also autistic, I knew how difficult it could be when it came to adapting to new routines. But when it was time for her to deliver the first set of layouts, it wasn't at all what I expected.

What I had expected was something with margins, clearly marked boxes, and figures that I could do rough lines over. I also expected notes that confirmed what we had discussed earlier about the project; that way I knew what she wanted or if there would be any changes. She took offense to this, feeling like I was violating our agreement. Though Blud did try to give me space with regards to the actual art, and while she would offer criticisms here and there, I trusted her opinion as an artist and as a friend. But apparently that didn't go both ways. In fact, Blud seemed to be offended that I expected more from her.

Blud agreed to concede. She suddenly seemed fine with the changes that I had asked for after seeing the layouts. I guess she was feeling overstimulated by the change and I might have been applying too much of a critical tone to her responses to begin with. I have had to deal with rejection sensitivity throughout my life and it's certainly prompted me to approach what people say to me online with a bit of scrutiny (sometimes too much).

And while I was mildly annoyed, although admittedly I was more concerned with Blud's overall reaction to my asking for clarification about several things in the layouts, I let it go. But it seemed like there was a problem. The majority of my ideas were either rejected or outright overridden with Blud convincing me that my faulty memory had made me unable to remember what we had agreed upon. Or that I might have been misremembering in my own favor.

There was one time where we were discussing a monster's design. Blud had already decided to settle on one design that she had come up with, even as I continued to offer other suggestions. The story was to take place in my setting, so I was under the impression that I got to decide what kind of creatures should populate it. The conversation ended somewhat ambiguously. I had assumed that we'd come to a solid conclusion later. 

I came back the next day and it turned out that we were using her design because that was what we had decided on. "Don't you remember? You really need to do something about that faulty memory of yours, Tek. I can't be doing this for you all the time."

At which point, Blud would go back and meticulously scour the conversation until she managed to find a set of lines that would make it seem as though I had 100% agreed. Even when I tried to explain that I had meant something else, she took it as an affront on her inability to understand nuances due to her autism.

I admit that my memory isn't that greatest at times, but I've never had anyone complain about it before. And none of my friends have ever minded providing reminders to me if I did misremember something incorrectly. We all forget stuff at times, right? It's *still* something that I'm self-conscious about because (like a lot of people with ADHD) my memory seems selective at times. This was, apparently, a problem that I needed to manage. 

And even as I'm remembering these incidents to the best of my ability, I've already spent so much time recounting all of this to friends. I feel confident in my recollection. There are some details that may overlap or become entwined with other things, but it all basically tells the same story. Especially in conjunction with what's been said by others. You're free to take it as hearsay since I do not have screenshots to back this up.

I will mention (since I've been told it's something that Blud has taken particular interest in) that at one point, I did have a crush on her. I was having some problems IRL, and it was nice to have someone whom I felt actually understood me. I also felt like I saw a lot of myself in her. I think that, at one point, I did describe her as the kind of "girlfriend" I would want. Blud seemed to indicate the feeling was mutual.

Between our collaborative partnership and all of the details we shared about our lives, it did feel like an intimate relationship at times. I had no intentions of pursuing it. We were not compatible in our romantic and sexual identities, and I had no intention of leaving my current partner for her.

I had begun to notice red flags, even if I wasn't ready to accept them yet.

I've had experience with abusive relationships in the past but they were in person, and not online. I knew what to look out for and yet I was being willfully ignorant about our friendship. I wanted to give Blud the benefit of the doubt. I wanted the project to work *so* badly that I was willing to work with her increasing demands as the months went by.

I had no idea that those demands would change into, quite literal, temper tantrums. It would then trigger my fawning response which was due to an abusive family situation that I had dealt with before I moved to Canada. The tactic was this: concede to someone until there was a time that they either understood reason or I had the chance to use it against them if necessary.

I started to take screenshots. I wish that I had taken a lot more of them so that everyone could get a better idea of what was happening. I did go back and manage to record the majority of the first outburst. It was the first inkling I had that Blud wasn't playing with a full deck of cards. I knew that that would be one of the first conversations that she would promptly delete. And consequently, I was right.

This assortment of screenshots will exhibit the first serious confrontation that Blud had with me. I am absolutely *not* proud of how I handled this. I was literally panicking at the time and doing whatever I could to get her to calm down. Because I have a temper that can look similar to this in person, I knew that I had to wait until the post-tantrum clarity would hit Blud. I tried my best to not lose my own temper in turn but looking back, I feel that I came off as sounding too timid.

I didn't want to ruin this project.

I wanted to make a comic with an individual that I admired and respected as a fellow artist. And, with me not knowing how to respond, my main priority was to not make things any worse than they already were.

Below is the conversation in its entirety:

I had taken this screenshot on my phone after I had stepped away to compose myself. Blud had handled the confrontation and criticism with a reasonable amount of apprehension. But what had not occurred to me was that I could have said something that would remind her of past experiences with a roleplaying group.

It was something that had evidently scarred Blud for life.

I took away the wrong things from what she had told me, choosing to focus on the aspects of the "betrayal" that had appeared to bother her the most. And in hindsight, I did not see the correlation. I was genuinely apologetic that I had hurt her feelings.

But I *will* critique Blud for her poor handling of the situation. Whether or not I had hurt her feelings, no one is entitled to act like this or claim that this is what attempting to resolve a problem should look like.

I wasn't sure on how to initially respond to Blud. It had been ages since I'd had to deal with someone flying off the handle like that.

The following screenshots are where the conversation picked up, after she had already deleted the above message:

We had weathered the "storm" and after Blud calmed down, she was ready to communicate. There was a part of me that was genuinely sincere when I apologized to her. I did mean it when I said that I had no intentions of hurting her and that I hadn't considered how my statement would sound to her.

I had hoped that this had been a stress response due to factors outside of our collaboration. And especially when I took into account how she had interacted with me in the past. I knew that Blud had a lot going on IRL, and that she had already put a considerable amount of energy into this project.

I had taken her meltdown more personally than she could perceive that I would, because this was something that was acceptable to her. She had a "condition" that would absolve her of these abhorrent meltdowns and I needed to get used to them if we were going to continue working on that project together.

I was shaking the entire time we were typing in the chat.

I was sincere in my responses. I really did want to work things out with Blud and give her the benefit of the doubt. I could have been taking the things that she said too personally or maybe I had been reading too much into the situation. Was there a chance that I could have been misreading her outburst? I tried my best to keep an open mind though I was still somewhat baffled by the fact that she would have meltdowns as often as she did.

I confided in my husband and some other friends about the situation. They were also bewildered by Blud's actions.

By this point, I was struggling with the reality that this collaboration was most likely *not* going to work out but I still wanted to try. I still cared about Blud. We would still hang out together and talk about things like music, our characters, or our stories.

While I did have the foresight to go back and screenshot this section, I wasn't fast enough to get screenshots of everything else that I will be going over. Blud *did* admit to going back and deleting certain exchanges due to a mixture of shame; not wanting to look at them when she would scroll through our conversations. 

In retrospect, it was very telling.

And even after that meltdown, I still enjoyed the friendship that I had with her. I kept my guard up but I was willing to make compromises on her behalf if it resulted in better communication between the two of us. Blud made me promise to immediately tell her if I had a problem with something. I also agreed to keep notes of our conversations.

It worked for the most part.

In the end though, it became apparent that Blud wasn't willing to do the same for me (even after we had an extended conversation about it). I then realized that I had been tasked with basically *managing* her autism for her. I was already busy with my supposedly "bad memory" at the time; and Blud was more than ready to scroll back up through our conversations to cherry-pick a line or two of text to remind me of what was said earlier.

Because, for her, circumstances couldn't ever change. If they did, it would mean that Blud had lost control of the situation and that she was in the wrong. She could *not* be in the wrong. 

And if she was in the wrong? It would take solid evidence, three witnesses, and a court of law to prove it.

She had two other major meltdowns after this. I managed to step away from communicating with her through one of them and I don't remember the other meltdown lasting very long. She immediately deleted the texts of both of those instances before I could take screenshots of them.

It seemed like I could do nothing right when it came to Blud, no matter the lengths I would go to accommodate her. I knew that it was a common tactic used by abusers. I finally accepted that our partnership wasn't going to work out and I began thinking about an exit strategy. The final straw was when she began to expect me to be at her beck and call.

I had promised that I would be there for her, within reason, and I was willing to offer reassurances whenever she would ask me for them. The promise had been made back when we had first started to talk to one another with more frequency, before Blud had shown me her true colors. I would end up completely underestimating just how badly she would need reassurance.

To be frank, I underestimated a lot about Blud in the beginning.

I would end up mentioning that I enjoyed my space in several different conversations with her. That there was a chance that I might be offline for several days so I could take care of things IRL and recharge my social batteries. I'm somewhat of a recluse. And an adult who enjoys things that aren't online.

She said that it was fine.

I became incredibly anxious when I would talk to Blud, especially after her somewhat abrupt change in personality.

I then attempted to put my foot down about boundaries and this is what she had to say:

I decided to walk away for a bit and I came back after I had had some time to think things over. This wasn't healthy for either of us. I wrote a couple of sentences to say goodbye to Blud before I blocked her. I knew that my actions would probably infuriate her. She had told me in the past that she *hated* not being able to have the final word... which she was able to do through email:

“And I'm not letting you pretend you have control over the situation, or the high ground. You distinctly have neither. But since you're determined to stick to your 'principles' on this, I've decided to make it easier for you.”

She thought that she was absolved of all sins just because I had said that I would stand by her at her worst. And at the time that I said that, I had no idea that her worst would be her trying everything possible to protect her boundaries while stomping all over mine. It didn't matter what she said or how often she would apologize when I would confront her. She kept doing it.

I admit that I wasn't perfect in this situation either.

There were times when I was condescending, critical, or downright mean when I talked to Blud because that was the way I had felt when she was talking to me. I soon realized that it didn't matter either way. I could have been using the friendliest tone imaginable and she still would have perceived it as either mocking or dismissive on my end. There were even a few times where I would preface my explanations with an advisory “please know that I am not attacking you and try to read this in an understanding tone,”etc. I would then post an explanation I had spent hours picking at to ensure that there was no way she could misinterpret the intent. Even so, she still read the majority of what I said as criticism and would take it to heart.

I never expected Blud to do something that made her uncomfortable; nor did I expect her to overextend herself when it came to our project. I would go out of my way to make sure everything was fine when we would talk about it. I only expected mutual respect in return.

When we would get into discussions (arguments), she would never attempt to understand my point of view or let me explain myself. It would have made it about me when it should have been about Blud and her needs. She sometimes would agree to come to a compromise about something, but only if I would admit that I was in the wrong.

I know that if Blud was to look at these screenshots, she'd be incredulous that I'm trying to distract from the horrible things that *I* did. And those horrible things that I did? I tried my best to work with her.

It wasn't just her poor teamwork that bothered me. It was her attitude and the lack of respect that she showed me. She would never ask me to clarify something that I said; always assuming that it was a criticism against her. I can only speculate that Blud did not want to hear about how any of this was her fault, like in the email she sent me.

I don't know if I was actually her friend at any point. Friends make efforts to understand one another. Ideally, they’d want their friendships to continue, and they would want everyone to be getting along and having fun. She seemed to actively defy that.

I would argue that things like this don't just happen in a vacuum. There's almost always a reason for such things, but it's honestly a mystery to me as to where this vitriol comes from. I don't know why Blud sees monsters in every word, especially if they come from a  "friend". 

I've seen her viscously mock herself during meltdowns; it seems like she hates herself and expects everyone else to hate her too. I think that she wants it to be the truth, so that it validates the feelings she has about herself. The behavior patterns that I'd been exposed to are consistent with the idea that Blud is seeking confirmation about the personal assumptions she has about herself. It's what makes her so volatile to those around her. Yet, she refuses to break the cycle.

I hope that she can make that choice in the future but at this point, I'm not holding my breath.

[misshugs]

It'll be alright || Colby Brock

[inspired] "feels like i'm always apologizing for feeling."

[req by anon] At the end of the day, it seems that the ones you least expect are the ones that are always by your side at your worst.

warnings: shy/introvert!reader, mentions of self-abandonment, angst, self/degrading, cursing, anxiety, hurt/comfort?

a/n: i'll prolly do the banner soon enough, also not proofread at all so if there's something that sounds.. weird, my bad ;; i'll fix it eventually

word count: 4.6k [u n e d i t e d]

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You knew it wasn't quite healthy for you disregard your own feelings like this, but you got so used to it.

You hid them so well at times, you feared you weren't even being honest with yourself.

Being a people pleaser wasn't something you wanted to do, but somehow managed to end up being. You never really wanted to make people upset, so you tried your best to help out as much as you could whenever you were able to.

Turning out like this also lead to friends that weren't really there for you, but you were always there for them.

You always were.

Even when they made fun of you, whenever they asked you for so many favours you knew you weren't going to get back, you were always there. You persisted in this so called "friendship" merely because they seemed to actually like hanging out with you.

At least it's what you thought at the time.

And honestly, who could blame you? Although it was most certainly a toxic friendship, they genuinely added you to most conversations. It wasn't as if you were only there to fill up the background most of the time.

Right?

"Hey babes, would you mind buying us some drinks?"

"Buying? Soph, I'm not even drinking tonight, I-"

"Really? You're going to do this to us? After we've invited your ass here? You're really trying to make us look bad?" She spat back, making you nervous.

It's all too familiar.

This has happened too many times for your comfort, and it always seemed to work in their favour; even when you tried to avoid it.

"N-no! I'm just saying that you could-" She put a hand infront of you.

"Shush. God, you're making my ears bleed." She whined before getting closer to your face. "Look, you go over there and ask for five shots of tequila, m'kay? Be a good one for me tonight, it also might improve your own reputation so, you know, stop talking and start moving honey. Tap tap." Her cunning smile and slight push on your shoulder made your heart race in an abnormal speed.

You really didn't want to. You really shouldn't, actually. But they were your friends, weren't they? You're doing this because they're friends.

Yeah, well. Keep telling yourself that lie.

Walking towards the bar and waiting for the drinks, there was this guy waiting right beside you. He looked at you with an amused smirk.

"Five? That's impressive."

"They're not for me." You responded with a half smile.

"Not even one?" He raised a brow, gaining a slight shake of your head as a response. "Sucks. Can I buy you one then?"

You look back at him, now with an amused expression yourself. Taking out his card and giving it to the barista before even letting you pull out your wallet, you looked at his deep, blue eyes.

"Bill's on me this time. Looks like you need a little break." He whispered, a small wink quickly after.

"Well, thank you, kind stranger." You said, taking all of the shots with you and looking back at him.

"Colby." He answered, trying to give you a handshake only to see your hands full and laugh. "Right."

You giggled. "I'm Y/n. Thank you again, Colby." And so, you walked away.

Sam, walking towards Colby after watching his obvious intend of flirting with you, putting his hand on his shoulder and said while looking at you walk away.

"You should've helped her dude."

"Ah, shit."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

"God, I can't believe I still invite you to these, you're so ungrateful." She sobbed, "After all you've done to us I still invite you regardless, and this is how you repay us? Your friends?"

You paused, looking slightly down while the dramaqueen infront of you began fanning her eyes and looking up, trying to not ruin her perfect makeup with her fake tears. You tried to restrain your own feelings, closing your hand into a fist, feeling yourself getting frustrated by the second.

The word friends ached in your heart for the very first time, and you knew it wasn't a good sign. "Sorry." You whispered, basically apologizing for feeling. Again.

In the end, you were still too shy to try and confront yourself to her. You knew you would lose, even though you've already created a million different ways of repelling every single one of her insults.

She was too predictable, too easy to contradict. But she had something you didn't.

Confidence.

Maybe if it weren't for the dozens of people that could be staring straight through you, you might be able to have a chance. Even then, you knew better. You get nervous too easily to try and spat back shit to this princess. Slowly but surely, you were starting to lose hope in this so called friendship you had with her and her other dogs.

Or maybe it was already gone, you just didn't want to admit it to yourself.

You were tired.

The stress, the anxiety that was draining you was too much. It wasn't worth it, and you knew it.

What made you keep going? Was it because you were comfortable? Did you not want to try something new? Were you too accustomed to their presence that it made it hard to walk away? Yeah, most likely.

"I can't with you today. You're such a meanie." Soph argued, turning away. "Do whatever you fucking want. Get lost or whatever, I'm not taking you home." She walked away with her group. Their judgemental glares were enough to carve a hole in your heart.

It wasn't only them, but the people that got a glimpse of the situation began murmuring. The feeling of being watched, judged and laughed at by strangers. An unbearable, overwhelming feeling that stopped you in place. You were feeling yourself loose air, your hands shaky at the mere thought and paranoia you were collapsing yourself with.

On the mere edge of tears, you felt a hand on your shoulder, making you jump in surprise. "Oh, my bad." They laughed. A familiar male voice released you from the thoughts. You looked at his face. Colby. "Didn't mean to scare you. Saw you all alone so I passed by to say hello. You doing okay?" He smiled.

Somehow, that smile is all you needed. Your eyes fluttered while you fixated your vision on his pretty face. You smiled back. "Yeah, yeah. Doing good." You tried to compose yourself once again.

Surprisingly, it was easy because of him. His jokes, flirty comments and pretty smile made you completely forget how you were on the edge of a panic attack barely a few hours ago.

"I'll be honest with ya. Last time? You made me so shy that I was going to ask for your number then completely forgot up until it was already too late." He laughed, so contagious that it made you giggle back. "Would you mind giving me a chance of texting you once in a while? Of course, if you don't mind."

"Yeah, sure, I don't mind." You gave him your number. A part of you hoping it wasn't yet another prank that would make you break into despair, but at the same time, you wanted to believe. You still had hope; not everyone is bad. Right?

After passing numbers, you notice the time in your phone. "Ah, shit. I should be leaving, it's too late." You stood up from your seat, fixing yourself up.

"Oh, well, are you driving?" He asked, standing up after you.

"Oh... um. I guess I'll have to call an uber, since my... friend will probably be staying." You mumbled slightly, remembering that bitter memory from not so long ago.

"Mind if I drive you home then?" A soft smile on his face; a sincere one. You looked at him, dazed for a moment. "...Is... Is that a yes?"

"Oh, uh... are you sure? I wouldn't want to bother you." You respond quickly.

"Bother me? Not at all. You've been my light of the party tonight." He laughs at his own statement. "Come on, let's get you home, sweetheart." He followed, putting his hand at your upper back, walking you towards the exit.

You didn't argue about it. In fact, you preferred to leave as quickly as possible, and he was giving you that chance. It was nice, it felt nice to have what you wanted for a change, even if it was as simple as leaving a party sooner than later.

After an annoyingly quick ride back home, you thanked him prefusely before walking back into your appartment.

Tonight took a toll on you emotionally; feeling dread and such a big pleasure at the same time. After a much needed shower and a midnight snack, you heard your phone.

A text? Who would even text you this late at night? You started questioning if it was Soph or one of the other girls, only to soothe the rising stress when you saw the text from a new contact.

Hey, it's Colby. Hoping you didn't give me a wrong number

It made you chuckle while responding right away.

I'm not the type to do that, don't worry

Oh, I'm glad, would've been heartbroken if you did

Did you go back to the party?

Nah, went straight home. The friend that was with me said he was going to stay longer but I went home

Why did you not go?

The life of the party left

Who?

You?

You rolled your eyes at the comment. This cheeky bastard.

You loved it.

Talking for a few more minutes, your eyelids began to close on their own. Your sleep schedule catching up to you.

It didn't take long until you fell asleep.

After some weeks, your supposed friends stopped texting you. One or two parties where you were left uninvited. It didn't bother you much, but at the same time, you were thinking of what you were missing; overthinking around the way it would've turned out great.

But also how wrong it could've been.

It was almost 11 pm, you've been watching the stories of your friends having fun without you. Nothing new, until a text from Colby made it change.

Haven't seen you at the party

Your heart ached. Someone expecting you was something... new. You were blaming yourself, even though it wasn't really your fault.

Kinda sick. Couldn't go.

Aw, that sucks. Hope you get well soon

It felt wrong to do this, but at the same time, nothing new to you. Trying to cover up the true feelings behind the kind smile you always put up.

Thank you.

A couple of minutes passed before another answer came through.

Party's getting boring, wish you were here

Trying to hype me up, Colby?

Is it working?

A little.

You smiled at his small attempts. He's been texting you enough to know there's been a distance between your group of friends. Some personal information between the both of you getting mixed up through conversations, getting to know eachother in a more personal level.

Him, having such an odd job being a 'ghosthunter' and (somehow worst, or maybe better?) he had proof of it. You, on the other hand, another slave to capitalism. Even worse, a slave to a more toxic relationship than your ex boyfriend. Your friends.

Usually, you wouldn't be the type to open up like this; but one thing turned into another and now here we are. A stranger that knows you better than every single person that's passed by your life, merely because he's asked the right questions at the right time. A master with words.

Sooo can we be honest then? Are you actually sick?

I'm impressed at how well you've come to know me.

Figured. You coming to the party then?

I wasn't invited.

How come? I'm inviting you right now

What?

I can take a plus one with me

I want you to be my plus one

…are you serious? I'm not even like, ready or anything.

Are you even sure? I'm not fun.

Take your time sweetheart. Tell me when I'm able to pass by

Also what do you mean you're not fun? Take that back right now

Your cheeks felt warm. You've come to learn to read emotions though text as the time passed by; knowing when you were really not wanted or knowing when somebody else was interested in things outside your circle.

This, however. These texts from this... guy. They felt genuine.

…

Thank you

It's really no biggie, I want you to come with me (if you want, of course)

So put on something sexy

For the party, of course

You chuckled at the comment. You weren't able to fully comprehend if he was being serious or just as flirtatious as always. But you didn't mind. Right now, you were about to go into a party. Why? God knows.

Maybe you do too, but you wouldn't like to admit it.

Not now, at least.

Standing up and walking toward your wardrobe, you skimmed through it. What should you wear? Something normal as always? Is it even worth it to try and switch it up for a change? You never really tried to make yourself look appealing, there was no reason to anyways.

But this time? Fuck it. It was different. You weren't going with them, you were going with him. You sighed, pushing yourself to wear the most decent looking dress you could find in your closet; fitted with some high heels the same color of the dress.

Finishing off your makeup, you saw your phone light up.

I'm here, take your time

Panicked, you replied.

Thought you were going to wait for me to finish??

I am?

Not in front of my house???

We can leave right away when you're done

Stop arguing, I don't mind waiting here

Come inside at least

Don't mind if I do then

Sighing, you looked at yourself in the mirror. You weren't going to take longer than 5 minutes, but you felt bad leaving him outside. Walking towards your front door, you gulped down the nerves and opened up the door.

He was as fine as always, looking down at his phone before raising his head and looking at your face. His mouth opened slightly, unable to move for a moment.

You were stunning in his eyes. Looking at you up and down, he had to catch his own breath. How was he this lucky to be able to be next to this beauty?

"Is it... too weird? I'm not the type to commonly use these type of clothes..." You almost whispered, doubting your looks.

"You're kidding." He was able to respond. "I've never seen someone look this beautiful." You smiled and rolled your eyes. "I'm serious. Are you seriously not aware."

"Not aware of what?" You asked, a slight frown on your face due to the confusion.

"Of how gorgeous you look?" The frown quickly turned into a surprised look, your cheeks turning red at the revelation.

Hugging slightly your door to try and find comfort, you looked away from his graze. "Get in, I'm still not done." You said and be obliged. Closing the door behind him, you told him to get comfortable while you finished yourself up.

It didn't take you long, fortunately. A few fixes around the eyes and you were basically done. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you were satisfied with yourself this time. You didn't feel forced, heck, you felt beautiful. Perhaps it was Colby's comments that affected your mental state, but whatever it was, it felt good.

Walking back towards the man in your living room, you heard him whistle at you, which made you laugh.

"I'm gonna have so many death stares walking with you tonight."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Nervousness filled you up when you walked inside the party. Holding onto Colby's arm, he could feel your hand shaking. He gave you a reassuring look, one that said "Everything's going to be fine."

And you tried to believe it as much as you could.

Whatever you seemingly expected from the night somehow turned into the greatest parties you've ever experienced.

Perhaps it was because you were with Colby's friends instead of yours.

Maybe it was the fact that you were actually connected into their conversation instead of being pushed out. Being listened to instead of ignored and getting talked over.

Was this what it felt to be having fun? You almost forgot this was what it's supposed to be like. It felt nice.

"I'll be right back. Gotta to to the bathroom." You said standing up from your seat.

"I'll go and get some drinks in the meantime. Anyone wants a refill?" Colby asked, nodding at the requests he was receiving. You smiled at him before walking away.

You were quick in finding the bathroom, finishing what you had to do soon enough and getting out of the room.

Before you started walking towards the group, you got pushed away and in the center of a bunch of girls, smirking at you. Judging you. Your heart sank as fast as you recognized just one of them.

"Who do we have here?" Soph teased, a sly smirk on her face. "Isn't it too late for you? Thought you would've been at home. It's past your bedtime, isn't it?" Laughs were heard from the group surrounding you.

No, no, no. This wasn't a good time for this. You were having fun, you were doing so good! You've never felt better at a party and now all of it was destroyed.

"It's none of your business, Soph." You could hear a gasp after your response. A dramatic, opened mouthed expression on her face.

"Oh, so, now that you've found a new stupid little group of freaks now you think you can talk back at me?" She spat out.

You looked slightly to the side. "You just called yourself a freak." You thought, unable to actually argue back. You felt a hand on your chin, making you look at her directly to her eyes.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." She demanded. You gulped, trying to compose yourself as hard as you could just to not shiver under her. You had to be strong, to proof to her you were better.

But it was hard.

"Think your stupid little face will be fixed with a bit of makeup? Ha." She scoffed, looking at your whole outfit this time. "Someone as ugly as you won't be fixed by a little change of outfit. Not even if that friend of yours tells you otherwise. Or maybe not a friend? Who knows? It's not like he's interested in you anyways." She grinned, roughly moving your face towards a specific corner of the group.

And there you saw it, it was Colby. With another girl. Your heart sank, for some reason. Your breath escaped your lips as it got shaky, eyes quickly watering when you saw her get a bit too close to his face while he, with some drinks on his hands, was unable to do anything.

Why were you feeling like this anyways? It's not like you guys were something, were you? Why did it hurt this much? Your expression softened at the illusion you had made so quickly. So dumb, of course he wasn't interested.

"What's wrong? Did you silly little confidence already shatter? That was so easy." She almost sounded dissapointed. A push on your back was enough for you to fall onto the ground. It's not like you weren't about to anyways, your legs were already shaking at the mere thought that everything that has been going on was a mere lie.

A setup.

You heard laugher, whilst barely holding yourself up by the palms of your hands. "How pathetic. You shouldn't have even come. Now you're just being a bother to another group, another dead weight."

And they were right, you believed they were right. You believed them so easily that it was almost funny.

You could hardly breathe, the tears dwelling onto your eyes as a thick blurriness covered your vision. You couldn't hold it anymore, the stress... it all came to the surface quick enough. The music dissipating into the distance as you heard yourself breathing heavily; the only sound you could focus on.

The sound of you losing your mind. Your heart pounding hard. Too hard, perhaps. It ached. You could feel the frown on your face while the tears kept on flowing.

Come on, you were better than this. Why are you acting this way? You can easily act neutral like always, smiling, ignoring all of these feelings.

But breathing was hard, the murmurs of other people being only that; whispers you could barely understand. You felt like you had no control of yourself, like you were trapped in this center of humiliation of people you once called friends.

But they never intended to be your friends from the start; they were only using you.

This wasn't the first time either. Over and over again you were considered the center of humiliation of these people, the only difference is that this time was the last straw that broke off the mask you tried to so desperately to keep on.

A pair of hands began shaking you, trying to make you stand up from the floor. You couldn't pay attention to who it was, as you were busy enough dealing with the sudden lost of oxygen.

Maybe even a lost of self.

Barely able to walk due to your legs feeling numb from the unbearable feeling in your chest, whoever it was helped you out and moved your arm around their neck. You're not exactly sure what happened, but before you could even get yourself together, you noticed you were outside.

Still breathing heavily, finally, you looked at the figure that helped you out.

Colby.

It only made your panic attack worse. You started crying harder when you saw his face. The pain of being a fool was covered in your face.

"Hey, come on, breathe." He tried to give you your space. Far enough to let you calm down, close enough to hold you up. But he ended up hugging you closer when he noticed how broken you seemed.

You didn't hesitate and held him tighter. "I'm sorry, I.. I... I sh-shouldn't..." You sniffed, trying to find the right words to say. You felt the urge to try and explain yourself to him. Your vision was blurry and finding yourself choking with your own words.

"Let it all out, don't worry. I'm here for you, okay?" He whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his hands caressing your back as he spoke. "Breathe. Calm down your breathing first, sweetheart. It'll be alright."

Shaking in his arms, you found yourself comforted by his scent. Breathing in his cologne felt almost hypnotizing. His way of calming you down absolutely worked. For the most part. Sniffing, you tried to explain yourself, trying to argue to yourself that these feelings shouldn't have appeared, it was all a mere accident.

But your cries were more than enough to make him understand at least half of the situation. He was sure it was your friends, but for some reason you were pleading for forgiveness to him. "Hey... you don't owe me an explination, yeah?" He wiped a few lost tears through the run down mascara and cupped your head in his hands, smiling back at you. "Want me to take you home?"

You were barely able to respond with a little nod. It was all he needed.

It was a decently quiet ride. Colby took it upon himself to try and make you feel alright, holding onto your shaky hand and softly caressing it.

When he parked infront of your home, as he was about to walk out of the car, you stopped him. Looking back at you, he understood and sat back down. You didn't want to go inside, or maybe you didn't want to stand up overall, which he didn't mind if it meant for you to feel alright.

With your shivering lips and puffy eyes, you sniffed whilst wiping some dry tears from your cheeks. The stress has calmed down and you're able to breathe normally once again.

He was patient with you. He didn't try and make you speak up or got tired, he waited. Waited until you said something or wanted to move.

"Sorry." You finally spoke. He kept his eyes on your eyes, waiting for you to elaborate. "I was... a mess, it shouldn't have happened." You wiped some tears before looking at him. He seemed... confused.

"What do you mean it shouldn't have happened?" He asked.

"You're just... trying to have fun while I'm here just... ruining your night. I told you I wasn't fun. You could've found someone else to go with, I-"

"Who said I wanted someone else?" He interrupted.

It made you quiet down for a few seconds before talking back. "Well, I mean..." You sniffed. "You were... with... there was someone else, I just thought... you just... wanted someone... to... um... I don't know... hang around with, not something to carry." It was hard for you to explain yourself.

What were you even trying to explain? Were you just upset because you 'ruined his night' or because of something else? You were confused. "Who? The annoying girl? She randomly came to me, I couldn't even move her away because I had the drinks on my hands."

Annoying was a word that stood out to you. It seemed your overthinking got the best of you. Perhaps whatever you believed wasn't true? Looking at his face dumbfounded, he smirked. "What? Were you jealous?"

That was another word that stood out. Your cheeks fluttered and you murmured to yourself whilst looking away. "As if..." You could hear his contagious laugh after your words, making you smile slightly.

There was a comfortable silence before he spoke again.

"I saw it. Last time. Your 'friends'... The way she didn't even hesitate on making herself the victim when she saw fit. I had to control myself that night, that plastic face of hers was about to change shape if I didn't." He laughed to himself.

You were quiet, so he continued. "Honestly, it made me so mad that even though I was going to try and talk to you anyways, I had to make sure you didn't go back to them. I didn't want you to. You don't deserve friends like that, no one does." His brows furrowed at the thought.

"...It's not like I wanted to, either. I guess I just... got used to it." You whispered, looking at his hands covering yours. He held them tighter and got slightly closer to kiss your forehead, giving you a soft smile afterwards.

"I don't know if you'll ever try to trust again after all of that, but... would you give me a chance to be your friend? For now, who knows if I might level up later on." It made you smile. It always made you smile.

And you wanted to trust. To trust him, even though it might break your heart in the long run. Right now, you just wanted to feel safe, and he was the safest bet. "I guess I can give you a chance. And... let's see if you're able to upgrade sooner than later." He could only smile brighter, kissing your knuckles before changing his tone of voice to a more energetic one.

"So, wanna get drunk in your house? I have a Jack Daniel's in the trunk."

"Wha..."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

this was lying on my drafts for too long unnecesarily- hope you liked it!

also i put specifically that one song but there are so many that can be part of this trope, it's just too much for me to add lol

~nikkõ

[ineylesian]

Hey!! If it’s not a bother, could I request sleeping hcs with the TSF boys (+ könig and graves??) You can do fluff or NSFW (or both.) If you do thank you so much and have a wonderful day!!

SLEEPING HCS

— TSF, KÖNIG & GRAVES X GN! READER

MASTERLIST | AO3

— FT. / simon “ghost” riley, kyle “gaz” garrick, john “soap” mactavish, john price, könig, & graves.

— WARNINGS / partial nsfw, mentions of insomnia, mentions of nightmares & terrors, mentions of separation anxiety.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE / found this in my requests and thought i’d do it to try and clear my writer’s block. even though i’m technically not accepting requests, i’ll most likely do small things like hcs!

CERTAIN PARTS OF THIS WORK ARE MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

SFW

⤫ in all honesty, simon doesn’t sleep much, especially after or during deployments. he has a particular habit of pacing around during the night, and will often sit by you on his side, but he won’t sleep. part of this stems from deep rooted anxieties concerning war; he’s seen what happens to people who let their guard down, and he’s not willing to even think about taking such a risk.

⤫ if you’re also the type of insomniac he finds himself to be, your nights will often be spent staring out of your nearest window or balcony, indulging in mindless chatter until it’s time to hit the road again. in these moments, you’ll find simon more vulnerable than usual, and he’ll take it upon himself to talk about things he wouldn’t dare speak of other times. there’s always an underlying look of distance in his eyes when he speaks of his past, and you know as much as him that he wishes it was different.

⤫ when he does sleep, it starts off distant. he’ll quietly shuffle himself onto his side of the bed, give you more than enough room, and bid a whisper of a good night call before he’s silent. if you choose to face him, you’ll see that he often sleeps straight on his back, half-lidded gaze dragging shapes into the ceiling, and, when he does finally succumb, that’s when he tends to get handsy. part of you assumes it’s because of his dreams, and he’s subconsciously latching out, but you don’t stop him.

⤫ you tend to find yourself being greeted by an ever so slightly contorted face of shock and rapid shuffles every morning. simon knows his sleeping habits, he ends up clinging to you every time he falls asleep, yet he can’t help but utter an apology every morning and scramble to get off you. it takes time to get him to let go of this habit, and eventually he does, waking up only a little less shocked and reluctant to pull away.

⤫ is amazing at making tea for any occasion. if you’re restless, don’t fret, simon has something that’ll put you to sleep halfway through the mug.

⤫ following that, if you don’t like tea, simon is always willing to talk you to sleep. he’s nothing if not a great listener, so he’ll have you ramble until your words are drifting off to meaningless drawls.

⤫ contrary to what others may believe, i don’t think simon would sleep with the mask on. he would only be open to sleeping in the first place if he knew he it was impossible to be compromised, and he knows you, so he’s okay with it. however, when he first started sleeping with you, he did wear it, and it took nearly a year for him to take it off.

NSFW

⤫ simon doesn’t see sleeping sleeping as a terribly different thing than the regular, but the question of whether he’d succumb to such a thing depends on his mood.

⤫ on deployments, chances of sleeping with simon are slim, as the threat of being somewhere he doesn’t know makes him cautious. adding onto that, if you did end up sleeping together, you wouldn’t hear much, as his mind is typically elsewhere.

⤫ cautiousness is a major turn off for him. the chance of you being compromised in such a vulnerable act is something he just won’t risk, so you’d only get to be with him in secure areas.

⤫ his energy fluctuates depending on the type of missions you’d led that day. if something went wrong, (especially concerning you) expect simon to be on the more brash side. scolding flows in and out of as many rounds as you can manage, and when you tap out, he’ll be soon to follow.

⤫ the softer side of simon only really comes out in the safety of your home. not having one himself, being welcomed in the comfort of your place is akin to a haven for him. he’ll treat you as if you were the finest piece of glass he’d ever seen, and would stay in bed with you no matter how restless he feels.

— KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

SFW

⤫ i’m just gonna say, either a totally chaotic sleeper, or so quiet you can’t even tell there’s someone next to you.

⤫ gaz usually tends to lean on the more hectic type of sleeping on deployments, as the adrenaline doesn’t quite leave until he’s completely knocked out. this could be really bad, or really good, depending on if you like to be smothered when you sleep.

⤫ no matter what position you’re in, your limbs are bound to get tangled with gaz’s. on particularly “bad” mornings, you’ll have to wait until he wakes up to escape.

⤫ however, gaz does have a calm side when it comes to sleeping. he’ll knock out with a hand wrapped around your waist, subconsciously pulling you up against his side.

⤫ gaz is a snorer. a quiet one at that, but if you lean in close enough, you can hear it. if you tell him, he’ll insist that he doesn’t and you’re just teasing him.

⤫ i cant stress this enough, but night chats with gaz are a regular. he could talk for hours on end, and it only gets worse when he’s tired. if you’re chatty as well, expect a multi topic conversation with your lover before bed.

NSFW

⤫ accidentally (?) loud. every place you touch seems to be a sensitive spot for gaz, and knowing that, it’s rather simple to get him going. keeping him quiet is always fun, especially when you’re in close proximity to others.

⤫ always has enough energy to please you before bed. though, he does prefer taking it easy so you can both relax properly.

⤫ aftercare is a little tough with gaz, as once he’s tapped out, he’s nearly spent. despite this, he has an iron grip and will refuse to let go despite how sweaty you both are.

⤫ pretty big pillow talker. gaz loves to ramble about the things he wants to experience with you one day, and the intimacy of laying beside you makes him feel like a love struck boy.

— JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

SFW

⤫ hugger, plain and simple. soap’s grasp is so tight that you can’t even begin to pry yourself from his grasp.

⤫ soap is big on swooning over you when he’s tired, no matter how disheveled you may look. he typically puts you to sleep by mumbling sweet nothings in your ear while drawing soft kisses over your hair.

⤫ can also be a chaotic sleeper like gaz, however, he’s usually more on the calm side. he has trouble sleeping if your skin isn’t touching, though.

⤫ would never admit it, but soap loves to be the big spoon. something about feeling you flush against him develops a sense of security in his mind, and makes sleeping much easier.

⤫ sleeps with an eye mask on, and is not ashamed of it one bit. his favorite is the one with cat eyes and ears that you bought him for his birthday.

NSFW

⤫ unlike some of his comrades, soap is down to sleep with you almost anywhere. he’s willingly to play a game of risk if it means he can satisfy you.

⤫ missions tend to get him riled up, and with that, he’s more aggressive in bed. if you can handle it, he’ll take you for a few rounds in a row before abruptly tapping out.

⤫ is super into cockwarming you during the night, especially if you’re too tired to do anything else. the feeling of being inside you puts soap to sleep faster than anything else.

— JOHN PRICE

SFW

⤫ heavy, heavy sleeper. once he’s out, he’s not waking up until the morning.

⤫ prefers to have a cigar before getting into bed. will gladly share a light with you if you’re interested.

⤫ only sleeps on his back, but loves to hold a grip on you. his favorite way to sleep is with your arms wrapped around his neck.

⤫ if you have a hard time falling asleep, price has a few tactics in the back of his head to help. depending on the night, he usually ends up raking a hand through your hair, or softly droning on about something you certainly don’t care about. tea also works if you’re particularly restless.

⤫ on deployments, price doesn’t tend to sleep nearly as much as usual. on some nights, all you can do is stay up and talk until you fall asleep. during the later hours is usually when price lets his words slip, and in those moments do you truly hear how much he values you and the task force.

⤫ doesn’t sleep until the later hours of the night due to his duties as the task force’s captain. however, when he can, price will sit beside you in bed while you drift off, and humor any of your requests until you’re asleep.

NSFW

⤫ despite the pent up stress that follows him through the day, price isn’t a big fan of drawn out sex at night. adrenaline will only allow him to manage a quickie before he’s knocked out.

⤫ however, price is super into giving you oral before bed if you’re willing. and, knowing him, he’ll have you shaking out an orgasm (and exhausted) before the five minute mark.

⤫ off deployment, price is one of the best service partners you could ask for. if you’re restless before bed, he’ll make sure to take his time and deliver whatever pleasures you desire.

⤫ on the other side, if he’s in some type of mood, price will have you singing until your vocal chords run dry. when this happens, you’re both passed out just barely after your last round.

— KÖNIG

SFW

⤫ absolutely massive. in most cases, way larger than you and will absolutely smother you (accidentally.) if you happen to be around the same size as him, expect to be wrestling over blankets every night.

⤫ on the topic of blankets, könig simply takes up so much of the bed that he ended up getting his own blanket. it’s weighted, too, and he is very possessive over it.

⤫ huge fan of soft touches. könig typically isn’t in the mood to talk much when he’s tired, and would rather fall asleep holding your hand.

⤫ always bids you a quiet “schlaf gut” with a kiss on the cheek before bed. it’s one of his odd necessities, but sweet nonetheless.

⤫ pretty clumsy sleeper. könig tries his best to be cautious, especially if you’re a margin smaller than him, but it’s pretty much impossible to keep him from flopping around once he’s asleep. you’ve just learned to deal with sleeping below a giant mass.

⤫ has a similar case as ghost when it comes to wearing his mask to sleep. will only take it off if he’s sure the both of you are safe.

NSFW

⤫ like soap, könig is a huge fan of you cockwarming him to sleep. the feeling puts him at ease, and usually has him asleep pretty fast.

⤫ if he’s more needy, könig will silently plead for you to give him some sort of relief. his favorite way to relax is with your hand wrapped around his cock, and silencing his whimpers with your lips.

⤫ most of your more heated make out sessions are in bed, when you’re too tired to do anything else. könig will be on your lips for hours, and he really gets going when you trail kisses down his jawline.

— GRAVES

SFW

⤫ stomach. sleeper. always has one of his hands on his stomach, and the other is usually wrapped around your back.

⤫ if you’re not allergic to animals, expect to share a bed with one. graves has a small tuxedo cat at home that adores him to no end, and will always manage to shove in between you.

⤫ (reluctantly) graves allows you to pamper him before bed. he’ll be too tired to even complain about the extensive routine you put him through sometimes, and will fall asleep with cucumbers over his eyelids.

⤫ in the summer, graves sleeps like a 50 year old dad. won’t sleep without the window open or ac on, and snores at a moderate volume. however, he’s completely silent in the winter.

⤫ instead of one or two pillows, graves has a singular massive one that he sleeps with. you argue that he should buy something softer, but he wouldn’t trade that pillow for anything.

⤫ if it’s possible, graves needs to sleep with white noise. whether it’s the soft buzz of a random channel on TV, or rain patterning on the window sill, any noise will help him sleep.

— NSFW

⤫ graves sleeps with you, a lot. having sex in the later hours is just his thing.

⤫ if you have the night off, graves will make sure he takes his time with you. he’ll go numerous rounds over a couple hours, and it’ll end with the both of you completely knocked out before it’s really that late.

⤫ on deployments, graves has the drive of a rabbit. he’ll take you almost anywhere, as long as it’s sheltered and safe.

⤫ relating to the last points, if the two of you were on a particularly dangerous mission and couldn’t sleep together, he will be all over you the moment you arrive home. most times, he’ll take you right on the couch in your living room, and you won’t even make it to bed.

[weird-is-life]

Hey! I saw that you needed another Spencer request. Could you do Spencer X fem! Reader but the reader has a really long day and she lays on the floor, then he joins the reader on the floor and she just listens to him ramble about all the little things you do?

I love your work btw <3

Ty for the request! And I'm so so happy you enjoy my work, ty🥹🥹🥹 warnings: use of pet names, fluff, mention of getting injured (not really tho) (0.4k)

Spencer finds you laying on your back on the soft rug, that's in your living room. For a moment, Spencer almost gets a heart attack, thinking something happened to you.

But when he hears you sigh and sees you move, his huge anxiety is reduced to a small worry and he even chuckles at the sight of you.

"Sweetheart? What are you doing on the floor, huh?" he asks, amused.

"Hi, Spence," you mumble out tiredly, but you don't bother replying to his question.

Spencer is quick to get rid of his work clothes and change into something more comfortable, before he is down, laying on the floor next to you.

His hand immediately finds yours to give it a soft kiss. "You okay?" He asks, voice and his gaze as loving as they can be. He encourages you to tell him what's wrong, by making slow circles over the back of your hand.

You sigh again, before you answer.

"I'm okay, just tired. It was a long day," you sluggishly promise, giving him a small smile.

"Are you sure?" he squints at you, trying to make sure that you tell him what's really on your mind. He would stress over it if you didn't tell him the truth.

"Yes, Spence, I'm sure," you reassure him.

"Okay," he reaches out with his hand to smooth some hair out of your face," do you want to move to the bed?"

"I can't be bothered to get up right now Spence," you laugh tiredly, curling yourself close to Spencer. Basically laying over him.

"Okay, whatever you want, sweetheart," he chuckles, pulling you even closer to him. His hands hugging you tightly. He is greedy to hold you. But that's nothing new.

"Can you tell me about your day, Spence?" you whisper softly and who is he to ever say no to you.

Spencer starts enthusiastic rambling about his day and you happily listen to every word he says. It's very soothing and soon you forget about the exhaustion and anxious thoughts from the day.

By the time Spencer finishes his talk, your whole body aches from the hard floor. And you don't even want to imagine how much his whole body must hurt, he complains about aches enough as it is from the job.

"Should we move to the bed?" he asks, always noticing every your discomfort.

"Definitely," you respond swiftly and you are up on your legs, pulling Spencer towards the bed with you.

You end up cuddling and laughing at very stupid things at the same time. Content to have Spencer next to you, you eventually fall asleep. Cheek smashed against his chest, big smile on your face.

[otaku-bell-livemotto]

Steddie Week 2024 | Prompt: Reunion

Steve was antsy. Eddie was finally coming home after touring for the last six weeks and Steve was counting the minutes until he walked through their front door. He had a nice dinner planned—baked ziti, Eddie’s favorite—and some wine chilling in the fridge to celebrate his glorious return. The couch was set up with nearly every blanket that they owned and their favorite date night movie—Labyrinth—was rewound and ready to go. Steve was ready for Eddie to be home.

When five o’clock rolled around and Eddie was not home yet like he had said he would be, Steve took a deep breath and reminded himself that delays happened and it would be okay. It was still early enough for their reunion date night in. And then an hour passed and another right after it.

Eddie was still not home.

Steve was trying desperately not to think the worst. He called Robin, needing someone to reassure him, and she talked him down as much as she could over the phone. Which was to say that she accidentally kept feeding into his anxieties with her own and before the two of them knew it they were catastrophizing like the Upside Down had decided to return ten years too late. Nancy had to steal the phone away from Robin in order to calm Steve down. She reminded him that he would be the first to know if something had gone wrong, not to mention that Eddie was frequently time blind and chronically late to everything. It helped a bit. Steve was still anxious, but he was no longer on the cusp of an emotional meltdown. So, progress.

After he hung up the phone, he went through the motions of putting away dinner. He could always reheat it when Eddie finally did arrive and he was not about to let his hard work go to waste. Once he had everything wrapped up and stored in the fridge, he settled onto the couch and draped as many blankets around himself as possible, continuing to wait for Eddie. Eventually, he fell asleep, no longer able to keep his eyes open.

He woke up to Eddie kissing his forehead.

“Hey Sweetheart,” he murmured into Steve’s hair. “Did you wait for me all night? You should’ve just gone to bed, baby. Would’ve woken up in my arms.”

“You’re late,” Steve grumbled, still waking up. He nuzzled into Eddie’s neck, feeling his heart finally settle. “What time’s it?”

“It’s five in the morning, Stevie,” Eddie hummed, laughter in his voice. “I told you that I wasn’t gonna be getting in until now. Did you forget?”

Steve pulled back, puzzled.

“You said you’d be home by five,” Steve said slowly.

“Yeah, Darling. Five AM.”

Steve flushed with embarrassment. He knew he mixed up dates and appointments from time to time, one too many knocks to the head would do that to you, but this time it had resulted in the world’s longest and most unnecessary anxiety attack.

“Oh.”

Eddie pulled him into his arms, squeezing him gently but firmly.

“It’s okay, baby. Just meant you were missing me as much as I was missing you.”

Steve hummed, snuggling further into Eddie’s arms. Regardless of when Eddie was supposed to be home, he was now and that was good enough for Steve.

“Let’s get you to bed, Sweetheart.”

[danielcain]

Ripe

In retrospect, I should have gotten fitted in-person for a pair of rubber boots. Ordering shoes online is always a crapshoot. The ones I had on were too big, they just collected water like a rain barrel and waterlogged my socks.

The texture was horrible. A disgusting sensation.

The foyer’s carpet squelched with every step I took. It didn’t help that I was carrying 120 pounds of dead woman.

“This always happens during the honeymoon phase,” said my friend Dan.

“You won’t want to leave the house. You’ll want to be with her all the time. The modern age enables this. Work from home, order from home, live from home, die from home…” He began to rant about how modernity. He always goes there, and I always tune him out. He married a female cop from the sheriff’s department. She came off gay when I met her. Funny.

I‘ve tried to explain my marital problems to Dan before. I had to leave out a few key details. I told him my wife was depressed, in bed all day, not contributing financially. He said wives “tend to do that” and that I make enough money, anyway. Not quite the issue.

The trouble was harder to explain; I’ve only been married to Liana for six months, and she’s killed and replanted herself seven times.

I trudged up the staircase in the loose boots. The way I carried her, the soil from her body fell before us, laying a trail like rose petals.

Creaking wood drummed up anxiety in my chest. I am not a large man. I usually make but a negligible amount of noise when I move throughout the house. That’s something she commented on when we first moved in. The word she used was unobtrusive. She liked this about me. She said we had that in common. In a lot of ways, we really were alike.

Unlike me, her cells interlocked with tightly-woven cellulose walls. She had organelles not found in over 99% of human beings: chloroplasts. When I first met her, her skin had a milky green hue. The first time I touched her, I balked. She was not hot to the touch like others. Not cold, but not hot. Her breasts, thighs, cheeks… remarkably, they had the tautness of an unripe vegetable.

I laid her down in the bathtub. The plumbing was sensitive, not terrible, but sensitive. An old house. Wood and cobblestone on the outside. Folksy, I’m told through clenched smiles of guests trying to be complimentary. Yeah, right. It looks better suited to house a coven of child-stealing hags. I tried to fix it up, stay on trend. Liana convinced me not to hire contractors. She convinced me to buy, too. “I’ve always wanted a house in the woods…”

Now I know why.

The replanting process is nothing short of a natural miracle. I will be the first to admit, it attracted me to her further. Liana could change herself at will. All it took was a little patience, two days of waiting, a 6 foot deep ditch in the backyard, some sleeping pills and vodka. I didn’t understand the science of it at first. What exactly she needed to do to push out the roots and reform her mass. When I finally found out, I was too embarrassed to admit I didn’t know she had to physically die each time.

She was always shy about the details, embarrassed, like it was some sort of bowel syndrome. I did not press her for details, but as her husband, I should’ve researched the condition. I did eventually. But not before telling her she would look good blonde. Telling her she would look even hotter upping her bra size by a letter or two…

She started to wake up.

First, the rattle. A great exhalation and inhalation. It always took me by surprise. Her facial muscles were always the second thing reanimate. Her nose twitched. Her eyes opened. They looked so dry. Matte. “Liana. This is getting dangerous.”

A couple seconds’ delay. Then, she smiled mawkishly. During this stage of regrowth, her skin is taut and verdant like the day I met her. (I once called her belle pepper as a pet name. She either didn’t get the pun, maybe.) With every hour, she begins to flush to her desired shade. She switches it up from time to time, never too dark or too white for most to notice, but I do. She carries Pantone swatches in her wallet.

She moved her lips, but couldn’t speak yet. I said nothing further. I picked up the detachable showerhead. The gentlest setting. I rinsed her body, avoiding the tender roots that twitched and protruded from the tips of her fingers and toes. I read somewhere that touching them at this stage feels like a pressing on a pinched nerve.

“I know why thish bophers you shoo much,” she gurgled, throat half-asleep. Her mouth was filled with soil and rainwater. It seeped from her firm, bloated lips.

I turned away. Washing her feet. She continued, most of the earth and excess sap that gagged her having dribbled onto her nightie.

“You like me like thish.”

I averted my eyes. I continued to bathe her, and stared at the peel-and-stick mauve tile accent above the tub. I had put it there the previous month to cover a stubborn decomposition stain.

“I like you all the time, Liana.” It felt like someone was slowly lacing my throat shut from the inside.

I didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling.

“Buh you like… thish.”