“I’m being serious! You were close to that girl, I hate it!" Jackie said angrily while kicking the soccer ball. You knew how pissed she really was because the ball completely flying over the goal.
“Fuck!” Jackie yelled annoyed with herself. She's always been the jealous type since the very first date. “Baby, all we were doing was talking. She asked me where Coach Scott’s office was!”
Jackie rolled her eyes and still didn’t look up to you, still focusing on the field before her.
She crossed her arms and frowned. “And why were you so close?!" Jackie said clearly still jealous. She hates it you talk to other women.
God she can’t stand it! The thought of another girl talking, thinking, looking at you is beyond frustrating.
Jackie huffed, keeping her arms crossed over her chest. She looks to you before quickly averting her gaze. “Why are you even friends with her?" She said.
You’ve always known her jealousy was a problem for her, but it’s been worse lately, she’s been extra clingy. She knows she’s being unreasonable, but she can’t help it. She gets super possessive if a girl even glances your way, Jackie feels the need to grab your hand or throw herself onto your lap when other girls are around.
Jackie let out an annoyed huff. “Girls are naturally flirty. Why was she being so smiley?” Jackie kicked the ball again before looking to you. “Did she say anything to you? Did she try anything?”
I laugh to myself, the whole situation was honestly really funny, Jackie knew nothing happened she heard the whole thing unfold.
“No, Jackie. She didn’t. I only have eyes for you, Love.”
Jackie gave you a hard stare. “You sure?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“Because you looked happy to be talking to her.” She said, looking down at her shoes still feeling unsure.
I walk closer to her and making her look into my eyes. “I love you.”
Jackie’s expression softened slightly when she saw your eyes. She still had her arms crossed, but she wasn’t looking away now. She knew that look in your eyes. It was the one that knew how to make her weak.
She sighed and wrapped her arms around your neck. Her body pressed against yours, and she leaned up to rest her head against your chest.
“Just don’t get close to that girl again.” Jackie mumbled against your chest.
“I promise.” I say as I kiss her head. “Now come on show me what soccer moves you got, Taylor!”
Oh, god. Shauna stood there in front of you, wearing your worn-out Led Zeppelin T-shirt. Time had taken its toll on it; the letters nearly faded beyond recognition. Yet, there was something so comforting about the shirt's soft fabric against Shauna’s skin.
The shirt was a sign of the timeline of love you’d spent together, a reminder of countless memories shared between Shauna and you. Despite its worn-out faded state, it remained one of your favorites, and it looked damn good on her.
You can’t stop.
Your eyes roamed down her body, glancing at the shirt that seemed to hang just right on her shoulders, the collar loose enough to expose a hint of her collarbone. Your mind wandered, imagining what she might or might not be wearing beneath the shirt, the thought alone driving you crazy.
You shook yourself internally, trying to focus on the conversation you and Shauna were having, but your gaze always drifted back to her.
Your heart raced as Shauna moved closer to you, her hand threading through your hair. The feel of her fingertips against your scalp sent a shiver down your spine, and you found it increasingly difficult to think clearly. “Y/N?”
"Uh, yeah," You managed to stutter out, struggling to keep your gaze from drifting down to her thighs, exposed by the short hem of your shirt she was wearing.
She continued to run her fingers through your hair, her touch sending spark through your body. Your gaze kept drifting to her legs, clad in just the shirt and… god all you wanted was to touch her. The thought of it was enough to make your mind spin, and you struggled to stay focused on the conversation.
Shauna's soft voice danced along your ear, her words sending a shiver down your spine, "You're quite the silent one, aren't you? Something on your mind?" Her warm breath lingered against the sensitive skin of your neck, as her body leaned in closer to yours.
A low chuckle rumbled deep within your chest, and you replied in a gruff tone, "Baby, you have no idea."
The warm hum of the television filled the room like a familiar lullaby. The late-night talk show host’s voice drifted in and out, background noise to the small world Cate Dunlap and her boyfriend had created on the couch.
Cate lay sprawled across the cushions, her golden hair spilling over his lap like sunlight. Her head rested against him, her fingers idly tracing circles on his knee.
His arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, fingertips occasionally sparking faint blue light—little arcs of electricity that danced like restless fireflies.
“Y’know,” Cate murmured, her eyes half-focused on the ceiling fan slowly spinning above them. “If someone told me a year ago that I’d end up dating a human lightning rod, I would’ve laughed.”
He smirked down at her, running his fingers through her hair. “Human lightning rod? Wow. Romantic.”
“Well,” she said with a mischievous grin, “you do light up my life.”
He groaned. “That’s terrible. I love it.”
Cate giggled, her laughter soft and sincere. There were days when everything around them felt heavy—the legacy of Godolkin University, the weight of powers they didn’t always ask for—but moments like this felt like stolen breaths of normalcy. No crowds, no chaos, no expectations. Just them.
A faint crackle pulsed through his fingertips again, and she felt it buzz against her scalp. “You’re doing that thing,” she said, squinting playfully.
“What thing?”
“The static,” she teased, poking his chest. “You’re zapping me.”
He grinned, deliberately letting a small bolt dance between his fingers. “Maybe I’m just trying to keep you awake.”
She rolled her eyes but leaned into his touch anyway. “You’re such a dick.”
They fell into a comfortable silence, the TV flickering in the dimly lit room. Outside, rain tapped gently against the window, each drop a reminder of the storm he’d calmed earlier that day when a thundercloud had rolled unexpectedly over campus.
He didn’t tell many people how peaceful controlling storms felt—like holding something wild and teaching it to trust you.
Cate tilted her head slightly to look up at him. “Have you ever thought about… the future? Like, really thought about it?”
He blinked. “Like tomorrow’s breakfast or…?”
She gave him the look. “No. Like us. Where we’ll be. What we’ll do.”
Her voice carried a quiet vulnerability that made his chest tighten. “Yeah,” he admitted softly. “More than I probably should.”
She shifted a little to get more comfortable, still resting her head in his lap. “Tell me.”
He hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “Okay. I imagine us in some place far away from all this—away from the noise and the fighting and the endless PR statements. Maybe somewhere with a big yard, trees everywhere. A house that doesn’t look like it’s out of a brochure. Just… ours.”
Cate’s eyes softened. “That sounds perfect.”
“And inside,” he continued, his voice warming, “we’d have a couch way comfier than this one. The kind you can sink into and never get out of. And a kitchen where you’d probably use your powers to make me forget I burned dinner again.”
Cate smirked knowingly. “I’d do it every night.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “And maybe, a few years down the line… there’d be kids running around. One of them probably zapping the toaster. The other one convincing us to let them stay up late to watch movies.”
Cate’s heart skipped. Kids. She hadn’t heard him talk about that before—not like this. “Do you… want that?” she asked softly.
His hand instinctively found hers, their fingers intertwining. “Yeah. I do. I want a future where we don’t have to constantly look over our shoulders. Where our kids don’t have to grow up the way we did—always being measured, tested, branded. I want to give them something better.”
Her throat tightened at the sincerity in his voice. She’d spent so much of her life trapped in the idea of what she was supposed to be. The thought of building something new—a future that was theirs—made her chest ache in the best way.
“I’d be a terrible mom,” she said suddenly, half joking, half terrified.
He tilted his head, genuinely confused. “Why would you say that?”
“I mean…” She gestured vaguely, her powers heavy on her mind. “People get nervous when they shake my hand. And kids are… fragile.”
He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, a soft static spark dancing between them. “Cate. You’d be amazing. You have more heart than anyone I know. Our kids would be lucky to have you.”
She blinked, swallowing hard. “You really believe that?”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
She stared up at him for a long moment, the TV light flickering over both their faces. Something in his expression—steady, warm, unwavering—made her believe him.
Cate smiled softly. “Okay. If we’re building this fantasy future, then I want a big garden. With sunflowers taller than the roof. And a porch swing.”
“Done,” he said. “What else?”
“A dog,” She added immediately.
He raised an eyebrow. “A dog that’s not afraid of thunderstorms?”
She laughed. “We’ll train it.”
A kitchen that smelled like cinnamon rolls. A storm they’d watch from under a shared blanket. The sound of little feet on hardwood floors. It was wild and simple all at once—everything they’d never thought would be possible.
Outside, thunder rumbled softly, like the world itself was listening.
Cate nestled closer, her head fitting perfectly in the curve of his lap. “Promise me something,” she whispered.
“Anything.”
“No matter what happens out there…” She gestured toward the storm, the world, their messy reality. “…we don’t lose this. Us.”
He squeezed her hand gently, sparks crackling around their joined fingers. “Promise.”
The morning sun gently peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your room, You slowly opened your eyes, immediately noticing the comforting presence of your girlfriend, Jackie lying beside you.
Her face was peaceful, her hair tousled against the pillow.
Waking up beside her was truly a dream. All your problems seemed to disappear when you were with her. You reached out to gently tuck a strand of Jackie’s hair behind her ear, admiring the way her lashes laid against her cheek.
She stirred, her eyes fluttering open as she slowly roused from her slumber. A sleepy smile formed on her plump lips as she saw you lying next to her, her eyes still heavy with sleep. Jackie snuggled closer, needing the warmth of your body, and let out a content sigh.
You wrapped your arm around her, pulling her closer, you enjoyed the feeling of her warm body pressed against yours, it was the best. You buried your face in her hair, inhaling her scent, which lingered with the sweetness of her sleepy state.
“I love you.”
"I love you too." Jackie replied, her words spoken softly. Her gaze was fixed on you, her eyes filled with affection and tenderness.
If possible she cuddled closer, resting her head against your chest, and her fingertips traced gentle circles on your arm.
“Are you going to visit me at college?” You heard her sigh, her big brown eyes looking into yours.
"Of course, I'm going to visit you at college," You replied, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Why wouldn't I?"
Her gaze stayed fixed on yours, her expression was vulnerable. "I just... I don't know, I guess I just needed to hear you say it."
You both sat there in silence for a moment, your hand still on her cheek. Then you spoke.
"I'll be there for you, always," You said softly, looking into her eyes. "No matter what, I'll be there."
Jackie smiled, leaning into your touch. "Thank you," She whispered.
You pulled her in, wrapping your arms around her. "I love you," You said, kissing the top of her head.
"I love you too," Jackie murmured, snuggling into your chest.
Jackie Taylor wasn’t used to being doted on. She’d always carried herself with that confident, all-American poise—shoulders back, chin lifted, the kind of girl who could walk through a crowd and make heads turn without even trying. But when she was with you, the guard slipped.
The day had started with a simple plan: a quiet trip to the mall, no cameras, no friends, no drama.
Just the two of you. Jackie wore her favorite denim jacket, the one slightly frayed at the edges, and a pair of sunglasses she tried to act like she didn’t care about—but she clearly loved how they looked on her.
As you laced your fingers through hers, she tilted her head toward you and grinned. “You’re up to something,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully.
“Maybe,” you replied, with the kind of grin that gave everything away.
The first stop was a boutique she always admired from afar but never walked into.
The moment you guided her inside, her jaw dropped. The racks were filled with silk, tailored pieces, and delicate accessories that seemed made for her.
“Pick whatever you want,” you told her.
She froze. “Wait. Seriously?”
You nodded. “Jackie Taylor deserves to be spoiled.”
She laughed, a real laugh—the kind that started in her chest and bubbled out like champagne. She wandered through the store in awe, holding dresses up to her body, spinning in front of mirrors.
Every time she hesitated, you gently nudged her: Yes. Get it. You deserve it.
By the time the bags started piling up, Jackie was glowing. The confident girl everyone else saw had melted into someone soft, loved, and fully seen.
In the jewelry store, she tried to protest. “This is too much,” she whispered, cheeks flushed pink.
You cupped her face gently. “It’s not about the price. It’s about showing you how much you mean to me.”
Her eyes softened, and in that moment, it felt like the whole mall disappeared. She kissed you right there, not caring who was watching.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur of laughter, overpriced lattes, and hand-holding down glossy marble hallways. Jackie leaned into you like she always belonged there—like the world had carved out this space for the two of you to exist without explanation.
As you left with your arms full of bags and her heart full to the brim, she looked at you and said softly, “I’ve never felt this loved before.”
If anyone had told you that a 7-pound human could overthrow your entire household like a tiny screaming dictator, you might’ve laughed.
But here you are, three months in, and your living room looks like a Babies “R” Us exploded.
There are pacifiers in places pacifiers should never be. You found one in the freezer. No one knows how it got there.
Lottie’s hair is up in a bun that could only be described as “I gave up,” and you’re wearing the same hoodie for the fourth day in a row.
There’s a burp cloth draped over your shoulder like it’s part of your personality now.
Your son, meanwhile, is thriving. By thriving, you mean screaming like he’s summoning ancient gods every night between 1:47 and 3:12 a.m. on the dot.
Tonight, the mission is simple: get him to sleep before both of you collapse.
“Okay,” you whisper, bouncing the baby on your shoulder, “you handle lullabies. I’ll handle swaddling.”
Lottie squints at you like you’ve just volunteered to defuse a bomb. “You can’t swaddle. You fold it like a bad burrito from Chipotle.”
“That was one time!” you hiss.
“It was yesterday,” she deadpans, already pulling out the white noise machine.
You give it your best shot, but the blanket ends up looking like the baby is wrapped by a raccoon with commitment issues. The baby stares up at you, unblinking, like he knows you’re failing.
Lottie swoops in, fixes the swaddle with a single motion, and smirks. “Mom magic,” she says smugly.
“You’ve done this like thirty times more than me,” you protest.
She raises an eyebrow. “Because you panic every time he burps.”
Okay. Fair.
The baby finally calms for a second. Lottie starts humming some soft tune, eyes half closed. You’re watching her like she’s some kind of whisperer. And then—
PRRRT.
A sound so violent comes from the swaddle that both of you freeze like animals.
Lottie blinks. “…Did he just?”
“He did,” you say, horrified admiration in your voice. “He destroyed that swaddle.”
She looks at the clock. It’s 2:14 a.m. “We’re never sleeping again.”
The next morning, you find Lottie sitting on the kitchen floor, sipping cold coffee like it’s fine wine, wearing your hoodie backwards because “it’s easier to hold him like this.”
The baby is in her lap, happily gurgling like he didn’t spend the night terrorizing you both.
You join her on the floor, because furniture is a thing of the past. She leans her head on your shoulder, mutters, “We’re doing amazing,” and you both laugh so hard you wake the baby up again.
You and Lottie decide it’s time. Time to rejoin civilization. Time to leave the house like functioning adults. Time to take your baby boy, Theo, out into the world for the first time.
“People take babies out all the time,” you say confidently, zipping up the diaper bag like you’re preparing for war. “We’re gonna crush this.”
Lottie stares at the mountain of supplies you’ve laid out on the couch: five outfits for Theo (“in case he explodes”), three burp cloths, two packs of wipes, a backup pacifier for the backup pacifier, enough diapers to survive an apocalypse, and—because Lottie is Lottie—a tiny lavender oil roller “for calming energy.”
She raises an eyebrow. “We’re going to Target, not the desert.”
“Yes,” you say gravely. “But Target changes people.”
Theo, blissfully unaware of the nightmare his existence creates, is sitting in his car seat wearing a tiny onesie that says “Team No Sleep”. He kicks his legs like he’s already plotting.
⸻
Stage One: The Car Ride
It starts well. Too well. Theo’s quiet in the back seat, Lottie’s humming along to the radio, and you actually feel… calm?
Then, halfway there, Lottie gasps. “Did we pack the bottle?”
Silence.
You make The Face.
She makes The Other Face.
A full five minutes of frantic digging through the diaper bag at a red light later, the bottle is found under the extra pair of socks. Crisis averted. But the tension lingers.
⸻
Stage Two: The Store
The moment the automatic doors swoosh open, Theo decides it’s showtime. His previously angelic face scrunches up like a tiny raisin, and the wailing begins.
You grab the cart like a mad man. “I’ll push. You bounce.”
Lottie starts rocking Theo in her arms while simultaneously trying to grab items off the shelves.
“Why are the diapers always in the back of the store?” she mutters through gritted teeth.
You’re sweating. She’s sweating. Theo is glowing in chaos.
Then, someone from Lottie’s yoga group spots you. “LOTTIE! Oh my god, is this your baby? He’s so cuuuute!!”
Lottie smiles that “I am holding it together by a thread” smile. You freeze like a deer in the cereal aisle. Theo stares at the stranger and lets out a single, dramatic hiccup, followed by the loudest fart you’ve ever heard.
You swear the entire aisle heard it.
Yoga Friend politely pretends not to.
⸻
Stage Three: The Blowout
Right as you reach checkout, Theo chooses violence. There’s a sudden warmth. Lottie looks down. You look at her. Both of you realize it at the same time.
“Oh no.”
“Oh YES.”
The blowout is… catastrophic. It’s like the diaper didn’t even diaper. People are staring. You sprint to the family restroom like you’re in a war.
Inside, the two of you become a chaotic diaper-changing team: Lottie holding Theo like a baby bull, you trying to maneuver wipes with surgical precision, both of you laughing and gagging at the same time.
“WHY IS THERE SO MUCH,” you yell.
“I DON’T KNOW, HE’S THREE MONTHS OLD, NOT A FIRE HOSE,” she yells back.
Somehow, miraculously, Theo emerges clean, changed, and smug. You both look like you survived a natural disaster.
⸻
Stage Four: The Aftermath
Back in the car, all three of you are exhausted. Theo is finally asleep in his car seat, looking like a tiny, innocent angel who didn’t just destroy a diaper on aisle 7.
Lottie leans her head against the window, laughing softly. “We made it.”
You grin, reaching for her hand. “Barely.”
She squeezes it back. “I can’t believe we did all that… for baby wipes and oat milk.”
And despite everything—the chaos, the mess, the near mental breakdown in the restroom—you both can’t stop smiling. Because this is your life now: messy, loud, unpredictable, and weirdly perfect.
For Y/N and Lottie, it was their last summer before everything would change. The last summer before the world they knew would start to pull them in two different directions.
They met in their sophomore year, when Y/N was sitting alone on the bleachers after a long, draining day at school.
Lottie had just come from soccer practice, sweat dripping down her face, her energy still buzzing from the field.
She sat next to Y/N without asking, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Lottie didn’t know what to say, but somehow, she didn’t have to. There was something about Y/N that made her feel seen, even when words weren’t exchanged. That was the start of it.
Ever since that day, they spent every day moment together. They’d meet in the park near Lottie’s house, barefoot on the grass, their feet tracking paths through the dirt as they talked about everything and anything.
They lay on their backs, staring at the sky, and sometimes, Y/N would trace the patterns on Lottie’s hand, Their fingers light as a whisper.
“I’ll always carry you with me,” Y/N whispered, their voice low and calming.
Lottie smiled, her eyes softened. “I’ll never forget you, Y/N. Not for a single day.”
Then, one night, after a summer storm that had left the sky dark and heavy, Y/N took Lottie’s hands in there’s, looking at her with eyes full of sorrow and love.
“Lottie..I got excepted to Princeton.” Y/N’s hands trembled, “I don’t know how we’re going to do this,” their voice breaking, “but I can’t imagine my life without you.”
Then Lottie rushed forward, throwing her arms around Y/N, holding them like she never wanted to let go.
“I’m so proud of you,” She whispered into their shoulder. “God, I’m so proud.”
Y/N clung back, the paper still crumpled in their hand. “But Princeton’s a thousand miles away. I-I know we’d figure things out, but this… this is a lot.”
Lottie pulled back just enough to look at them, brushing a tear from Y/N’s cheek.
God that face. She’d could look at that face all day long.
“You think distance changes how I feel about you?” Her voice was steady now. “I love you, Y/N. That doesn’t end with a zip code.”
There was a pause, then a soft, shaky laugh from Y/N. “You always make things sound possible.”
“That’s because with you,” Lottie said, leaning in until their foreheads touched, “they are.”
And for the first time that day, Y/N let themselves believe it.
