#a love letter to my body i guess
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My whole life i was 80 lbs and under. I was so sick. Tired and miserable all the time, horrible gut issues that really ruined my days. I would get tired from walking up stairs. Was cold all the time. I HATED how i looked, i looked sick and frail. I desperately wanted to look different. I desperately wanted to gain some weight so i could be more than just a shell of a human, problem was, i didnt ever feel hunger. My whole life i didnt know what hunger really felt like. I would eat a few bites of food and then feel sick and full. My body would tell me i was done.
4 years ago, after being diagnosed with adhd, trying adhd meds, and having a horrible period of rapid cycling, i was diagnosed as bipolar. It had been coming for awhile, i started showing symptoms of it around 16 but it took awhile for my therapist to actually diagnose me so at 19, they started trying to treat it. My particular type cycles between mania and depression every few weeks. And comes with delusions, hallucinations, and extreme paranoia. After a few medication attempts that didnt work, i started a new medication. Olanzapine. They listed a few side effects and they made me very excited. One was tiredness, easy, i take it at night and actually have restful sleep for once in my life. Worked like a charm.
The other was hunger and weight gain. This one intrigued me. I liked the taste of food for sure, but i didnt know what hunger really felt like. I wanted it. I started the medication.
First few days i noticed a drastic change in my personality. I was, normal? Besides the ADHD ofc. I was completely different, and yet the same, like all my highs and lows evened out, and for the first time i felt like i could honestly be myself without hurting me or others.
And then came the hunger. It was glorious. I discovered that food is one of my greatest loves. I adore cooking. I adore flavor. I love actually wanting to eat. I started gaining weight.
It really started last year. I looked down at myself and realized i had changed, and i looked in the mirror and found the edges of my face had softened. I looked closer to my real self, the one i had been searching for, than i ever had before. I never weighed myself, just watched in rapture as my body changed. It is, and was, beautiful. I discovered i have a pear shaped body type. I never knew that about myself. I found that i have a soft, round face, with full cheeks and a bright smile. The dark, hollow bags under my eyes were gone. I had energy, and motivation, and i felt alive, and more like a real person. I wanted more. And i got it. And i loved it.
I wont share my current weight because its not relevent. I just went to the doctor recently and they checked, and i was surprised. But in a good way. ALL the female people in my family on both sides are fat or were when i was growing up, and i was the odd one out. I always found them beautiful and wished i was more like them. I am not yet, but i know i will be. I look forward to it. Fat bodies have always been visually appealing to me. Thats Mom, thats Grandma, thats what Home is like.
I am a million times happier now with my appearance than i ever have been. I am alive. I am healthy. I LOVE FOOD. I discovered an entire part of myself that i didnt even know existed. I love my body and seeing myself change as i get older. I want to discover more of myself. I am in love with myself for the first time in my life and i am never giving that up for anything.
#genuinely have no idea what to tag this#probably nothing#i am scared to share but happy to talk.#this one is pretty personal#idk#scratchings#i am happy#and alive#a love letter to my body i guess
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why am i sad <- voice of girl whose entire personality is being sad
#I'm just a girl with a storytellers soul!!! I just love making up silly little stories about myself and then ensuring the characterisation#is consistent throughout!!!! <- Voice of girl about to destroy and betray herself for nothing#Okay i swore 2025 no vagueposting only specificposting So. this is about lying to my parents about when term starts so I can have an extra#week of unsupervised depressionrotting#And also leaving a party. I just left a party early so I guess that's why I'm like this right now#Like there was nothing wrong with the party in specific I just don't like having a body and existing in the world and also there is a Sad#Girl Bit that i am legally required to commit to because if i try to uncommit to it#and then fail it's not going to be a cute fun capital letter tiktok bit anymore it's just going to be a Girl Who Is Sad#Blah blah blah#Look I swear I'm trying to fully develop my brain 😭😭😭 I just have eternal fifteen year old disease
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i hope you don’t mind me not participating in sunday six for so long and not updating my fic... i’m having a bit rough time handling my life irl right now
#meaning i’m having the worst start of the year ever#i’m EXHAUSTED fucking exhausted from my living situation and it doesn’t seem to get better any time soon#naturally i don’t have it in me to write because i don’t have enough time to relax. it’s been three fucking weeks.#i just don’t know even my body gives up from this stress and not like something terrible is happening#it’s extremely upsetting also considering that i love writing and it’s the only activity that makes sense to me#and always has been like that it’s in my core#and i. can’t do it. i can’t. i have no willpower or strength and it’s not writer’s block i’m just SO TIRED ALL THE TIME#therapy and years of medication mean nothing at this fucking point. props to me for not killing myself tho. well done 👍#sorry for ranting i am so frustrated that i can scream. i have actually. didn’t help.#well ahem i hope you understand 🙏 i feel bad that i’ve promised the chapter a long time ago and NOT TO BE THAT AO3 AUTHOR but#i really wanted to keep my promise. fuck me i guess#putting letters together one word at a time
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suffering
#hablaty#love this time of summer when I feel like death and I get to play ''guess the cause''#is it the heat? is it the red letter days? is it a legit illness? is it food poisoning?#Anyway it makes me wanna ditch 95% of my body
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Still bothered by Azazel possessing a reaper. How tf did you do that, old man.
#the power of gay love I guess. anything for his boytoy (John)#I know it’s probably just like. early seasons lore clashing with later stuff. but still. annoys me.#is Azazel just special. is he just a special little guy.#or was it like. specifically the power of the deal that did it.#how much power does making a deal give a demon anyway.#doesn’t Crowley say in s5 that they can do things with a deal that they couldn’t otherwise#how does that work. is it specifically the exchange of a human soul (power source) or is it something else that allows that#and is it the soul itself or the transfer of it.#I want ANSWERS (I will never get any)#Jensen could have made his show about this. he could have made a show just for me answering my questions about the logistics of spn#hey on another note why do angels even need consent#is it just for the drama. the vibes.#did god nerf them.#and it’s not even like. actual consent. coerced consent works just as well.#so it’s a letter of the law thing. not the spirit. so like. is it literally just someone saying the words ‘yeah take me my body is ready’#that enables them to get in there?#SO MANY THINGS I WILL NEVER GET ANSWERS ABOUT FUCK#spn
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An interesting challenge! Tagged by @mountainashfae... pick a song for every letter of the URL and tag as many people. That's too many people so I'm not doing that bit.
O - Opaline - Katatonia (YouTube | Spotify) U - Unravel - TK from Ling tosite sigure (YouTube | Spotify) T - The Hangman's Body Count - Volbeat (YouTube | Spotify) E - Enchanté - The Dirt Poor Robins (YouTube | Spotify) R - Rain Clouds - The Arcadian Wild (YouTube | Spotify) E - Envy Baby - Kanaria (YouTube | Spotify) M - Meet Me in the Woods - Lord Huron (YouTube | Spotify) I - I'd Do Anything - Baroness (YouTube | Spotify) S - Story of My Life - Social Distortion (YouTube | Spotify) S - Seven Sisters - The Sword (YouTube | Spotify) A - And Then is Heard No More - Mili (YouTube | Spotify) R - Reasons - NukleoN (YouTube | Spotify) Y - You Make Me - Avicii (YouTube | Spotify)
If interested, @turbulentpumpkin43, @camelliagwerm, and @silversiren1101.
#periodically remembering nukleon exists and I listened to earth rising a lot in middle school#but more than that I was listening to this compilation album Lucky was on called Electro Nouveau. defined those years.#despite my intention to just leave this list as the first thing that popped into my head for each letter I couldn't help but fiddle haha...#removing the middle school bias a little#honorary mention to time will cut you down though I really like the hangman's body count so I didn't want to replace it#but time will cut you down (priestess) is lovely#I've realized that four of the songs on this list are on my tristian playlist. that's funny. that was not intentional.#that's a fun little guessing game for anyone reading this#might be five immediately after I post this I'm Thinking.#tag game
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Omg hi can I request like a loving, cozy, domestic pronebone with Suguru?? Like he’s just like “shh be quiet Satoru is in the room next door we can’t wake him up” while pressing adoring kisses to the back of your neck omg😵💫
trying to keep quiet with suguru ★
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cw. fem! reader, prone bone, unprotected, finger sucking, dirty talk, praise
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“. . . shhhh,” he’d shush against the corner of your ear, presenting you deep low strokes. a winded gasp wretches from your throat as a palm of geto’s glues against your mouth. he’s so deep, a free hand of his ghosts against the backsides of your spine. an eye roll overtakes your pupils as he’s giving you such righteous hits against your yawning core. geto’s weight just narrowly hovers over you as he’s pressed right up against you, spit slicked lips of yours gnaw and gnash together before you whine again. “gotta be quiet sweetheart. unless you want ‘toru to hear us. you want him to hear how sloppy you are f’me, hm?”
craning your head slowly, you shake a sweet little no and he chuckles, a kiss going against the crown of your head. “so cute,” he purrs in a husky tone, a hand of his gripping against the very edges of your arced hips. fingertips of his dance alongside the very curvature of your body — he takes pride in the way your body responds to him. you’re flinging back and forth, forward against the screeching mattress. geto’s skin, coated with a sweetened sheet of sweat sticks against your own m with each ruthless thrust. “ugh, h-hey, are you licking my palm? mhm, such a filthy girl.”
you were,
with the flatness of your tongue, it lathers against the very center of geto’s palm — tasting the insipid areas of his hand. it follows the creasing flexion lines that runs against his skin.
not before long, you dig your teeth into his hand as your muffled moans vibrate against his luscious tasting flesh. “ah, let me guess. you wanna suck on my fingers too, baby?”
“mmf, y- yes,” you whine as he momentarily departs his hand away. a nice trail of spit looks almost adhesive, its stickiness pastes against his hand as he pries his hand away from your wet mouth. geto’s sharpened hips still deeply drilling into you in the background. your loving hole flutters as you’re just vigorously being pounded beneath the sheets, each wheezing gasp that snatches from your lungs feels like it’s going to be its last. “pleaseee.”
“my pretty girl,” he whispers, the head of his cock never refusing to hit the right angle. with an easy direction of his fingers attaching to your hips, he makes you raise your torso upward to reach more bottomless areas. oh, your mouth forms into the letter ‘o’ at the way he’s stuffing you full of shaft. it’s almost mouth watering,
it is mouth watering.
as you bury your head into the crook of your elbow, geto leans in to place a few kisses near the indenting lines of your back. “look at this gorgeous body,” he purrs, his hips ultimately slowing its maddened pace down — yet despite his tempo suddenly losing its quickened haste, geto’s chest deflates. as he’s leaning up closer to you, his ravened locks of his dance graze up your shoulders as he moves.
back and forth, back and forth,
his rhythm was purely enticing. your jaw aches a bit from how it’s just idly hanging open before he showers you with more delicate kisses.
this time near your neck.
geto’s slow and precise. he starts by your nape, a tongue gradually rolling out to get a taste of your saline, salty skin.
“can never get enough of your taste, fuck,” he murmurs, you’re still plugged in with a good amount of his dick. geto’s so full, swollen rotund balls of his continues to cuff and cuff and cuff against your slick pussy. your ears knell from the never ending paps your own arousal sings as a response. “open wide, baby. get my fingers wet.”
not even seconds later, your lips happily part in preparation for geto to stuff his thickened fingers into your drooling mouth. he grins, already telling how eager you were—milliseconds leisurely passes by and you’re already relishing in the taste of two of his digits curling inside of your mouth.
“thaaat’s it, get it wet ‘cause i want a taste too when you’re done.”
your long lashes flutter against your own eyes as geto starts to pick up his pace again. his other hand still grips onto your waist as he feels your ass writhe against him. fuck, he’s getting closer and closer by the second. geto groans from how you stick against him — he’s already given you a sweet velvety load already. obsidian-black irises of his leer down at the lewd scene at bay. you’re trying to keep up with his pace, but his girth. the wide end stretch alone has you hearing plethora amounts of fuzz pour out of your ears. “s-shit, you’re so perfect arched over for me, sweets..”
with a tongue still lolling around, you merely prevent yourself from gagging once you feel the tips of his digits prod against the very roof of your mouth. just a few inches away from your uvula, a sheeny trail of saliva starts to dribble down your chin before he leans in to kiss you more against your neck.
geto even creates a little trail of kisses . .
numerous times, the warmth of his lips makes your cunt twitch up in total desperation.
trying your best to stay quiet, a loud roaring whimper tugs out of your throat at the head of his cock thwacks repeatedly against your g-spot. you gasp, two fingers of his falling out of your mouth before you’re just pornographically moaning again and again. “f- fuck, right there sugu. hngh.”
“this spot, yeah i know pretty,” and he’s heaving right with you. the undersides of the bed resumes to grate and screech in harmony. he pauses for a bit, popping his own two wet fingers into his mouth. he hums at your taste, relishing in it entirely. so sweet. as geto’s body lingers over you, your ass continuously rebounds against his. a sharp throaty rasp slides out of his lips and he hisses. “gonna cum, f-fuck, ‘m gonna stuff you so full again.”
“i- inside, sugu,” you whine as he gently delves his teeth into the left juncture of your collarbone. it was all exposed—he couldn’t help but leave a little piercing mark from his pearly white canines. geto loves getting carried away and smothers your entire skin with his own homemade moist, needy kisses. airy hot breath collides against your skin, sending you various shivers before you feel your pussy throb. it’s throbbing only divides and multiplies. he hits you in every angle, the curve of his dick ruptures through you and you moan as you feel the arch in your back perk upward. “don’t miss, wan’ it s’bad, want you.”
“i want you too,” he huffs, though with a deep voice — his voice sounds a bit shaky, a bit needy..
maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, but you were almost positive geto just whined for you. you had him so sensitive, his jaw tightens as he continues to ram his fat cock into your compressing, dense walls.
the bed’s sobbing from the hefty weight wringing against the furniture. the same creaking sensations reverbs throughout your ears and the room itself before within seconds. he’s dumping yet another oozy load into you.
with a sleazy wry grin, geto toots your hips up and he starts to grind against you.
your head’s pressing against the silky reddened crimson sheets before you grow quiet. huffs and puffs were the only noises that could be heard, as well as geto’s whimpering that subsides as he starts to finish his longing high. “god, you always know how to m-milk the shit out of me,” he hoarsely titters, wrapping a good amount of fingers around his twitching shaft. geto fists his cock as he’s still gushing a sizable portion of cum into your rapacious hole. still being a tease, you rub up against his lap as you’re still bent over, feeling his hands trail against the very curvature areas your ass. “huh, want more, do ya?”
“don’t stop, sugu,” you mewl out in a desperate plea, craving for more of his seed. it trickles down between your thighs, leaving you so sticky, a mess.
his mess,
geto can’t help but smear the fat of his thumb over your emitting entrance. the print of his finger ghosts against your gooey slit.
the gooey warm cum that streams down and outside your slit makes him groan. “i’ll never stop, baby. y-you can milk me for as much as you’d like,” he pants, preparing to realign himself again. “now let me,” he pants, the entirety of his lungs inhaling air from each second. his lips press against your neck for a final time before he whispers. “let me love you, baby. bend back over f’me, ‘m not done with this gorgeous body yet.”
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#★vegasbaby.#geto smut#geto x reader#geto suguru smut#geto suguru x reader#geto x you#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk fic#jjk imagines#jjk drabbles#anime smut#female reader
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Not Meant for the World
Kamisato Ayato x Fem!Servant!Reader
Summary: You fell for him, he fell for you, it was the typical start of a relationship, only problem is… well, he's him and you're you. A Commissioner who holds power over the nation, and a servant that basically amounts to nothing in the whole scheme of things. It was a mutual decision to keep your relationship a secret, only to be kept within the dead of night in his bedroom, evaporating before the sun could even rise for another day. But then… Ayato seems so keen keeping it a secret forever, letting the stream of wedding proposals and love letters flood in, going through great lengths to make sure the information doesn't leak out, almost like he's ashamed of being with someone like you. You could only take so much of that.
Tags: Angst no Comfort, Hidden Relationship
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
"You should probably go back to your quarters." As you were snuggled up to your lover's chest, enjoying his warmth under the covers of his bed, he spoke.
"But it's barely time." You whined, pressing your body closer to his and rubbing your face on his chest.
Back then, he would cave, he would chuckle and wrap his arms tighter around you, saying that you could stay for a little bit more and that he didn't really want you to leave anyway.
Now… he pulls away from your embrace, sighing as he looks you in the eye.
"It would be best to elliminate all the chances of us being caught, and I believe that some of the servants have been getting up early to start their shifts." He reasoned, his hold faltering as you feel his arms slip off you.
You felt a clenching pain in your chest as you slowly get up, looking around his room, you didn't want to leave, and yet when you looked at him, you felt like you were being pushed away.
"Okay… I guess I'll get going now…"
This is the part where he would usually kiss you and remind you that he loves you…
It never came…
You left his room without another word.
…
"Is it perhaps too much to visit a festival together?" You asked, not expecting a pleasurable answer from the Yashiro Commissioner sat on his office chair and drinking a cup of tea you prepared for him.
"I believe it is, being seen in public in a non-professional setting would be rather suspicious if it's just the two of us." Ayato responds firmly, oblivious to (or perhaps just ignoring) the frown that formed on your face.
"We've been out together multiple times…" You reasoned, though you sounded unsure, not wanting to sour his mood and lessen your chances of getting him to agree to your proposal. "We haven't been on a date in a while."
"The families offering up their daughters to me are very vigilant of my public movements, suspicions will arise if they were to see me with any lady for no particular reason." He did not even spare you a glance, answering swiftly as he always does.
Yet again, you fail to persuade him to be with you. You prepared to say more, but a knock came before your words.
A guest came to the estate, a father of one of the many noble ladies offering their hand in marriage.
Long story short, he's here to talk marriage business, as these fathers always do.
When the guest left for a moment, "My lord, I just need a few more minutes to talk to you." Many times, you have tried to intervene, not satisfied with how your conversation earlier abruptly ended.
"Y/N, there are matters more important than this. Wait a moment." He pays you no mind, but you have had enough. "You are being too obv-"
"Ayato, stop." You spoke firmly, freezing him in his place. "I'm still talking to you." You approached him, his back still turned to you.
Slowly, he turned around to face you, his eyes held an unfit expression for him, almost like nervousness. "Y/N, let's not do this now…"
"Do you still want to be with me?" You asked impulsively, stripping the formalities and simply talking to the man you knew as your lover. Your eyes fill with tears, looking at him being lost for words. You hoped his answer would be immediate, that he would exclaim that why would you even ask such a question.
As you stood there, "Lord Kamisato, come along, don't let the servant keep all of our time." The guest came back, standing beside Ayato, who had yet to say anything.
No words were spoken, but the Commissioner knew that right there, right in front of the unknowing guest, in your watery gaze, he had a choice to make.
"Why don't you get us some tea in the meantime?" The guest spoke up again referring to you, but you have no intention of moving until your lover finally speaks up.
With a gulp, Ayato stood his ground. "Yes, please prepare us some tea, Y/N. No more of your nonsense."
A single tear, that's what you allowed for him to see as you nodded silently. But as you prepared the tea, your vision was blurry from the neverending tears, your sobs couldn't be controlled as you struggle to catch your breath.
But you needed that, you needed that to remind yourself that you are merely a servant.
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
The Yashiro Commissioner sat on his bed that night, looking at the door to his room. His heart was beating fast, hoping for it to open and show the figure of his lover, though the odds are against his desires.
He hoped that maybe you'd spare him a chance, that you'd walk into the room and tell him that you'll allow him to show you how you much he truly loves you.
The door remains close. And so does his heart begin to ache. Ayato didn't sleep that night, he merely lied down and looked up at the ceiling, trying to imagine your warmth embracing him, trying to make it seem like your side of the bed wasn't left cold.
…
"My Lord…" His eyes looked up from the document he's been staring it for the past hour when he heard your voice… calling him in such a cold manner. You said nothing more, placing a tray of tea and pastries on an empty spot on his desk.
"Ahh, thank you…" Ayato looked at your face, hoping to see your usual smile whenever you served him his afternoon tea, yet your face held nothing but a blank expression. You merely bowed at him, before leaving without another word.
Your name was at the tip of his tongue, and his entire being screamed at him to just say it. He wanted desperately to call for your attention, but, though he did not want to admit it… he was scared…
You stopped in your tracks, remembering something that you had to discuss with him. Ayato, ever so perceptive of your actions, perked up.
"You have a meeting with the head of the Tenryou Commission later at noon, something about an agreement with regards to your relation with his daughter." You did not bother to face him to give him the reminder, opting to walk away once you finished your sentence.
The Yashiro Commissioner's face fell as he watched you leave the room, his heart still heavy, and his mind cursing at him for not having the guts to talk to you properly.
…
The pain felt more real once he entered his room for the night.
The place has been wiped clean of your existence, the covers have been changed so not even your scent lingered, some of the clothes you kept in his closet are gone, the vase of flowers you like to decorate his nightstand with is gone…
The framed picture of the two of you that sat on his nightstand is gone…
It felt suffocating…
With a sigh, Ayato closed the door, not wanting to see such a sad space, he instead went back to his office.
As he sat on his chair, he opened one of the drawers of his desk…
A smiled couldn't help but form on his face, a bittersweet one, when he saw the picture of you that he kept there a long time ago.
He laid his head on his arms on the desk, your picture next to his face. He figures that it was the only way he can sleep without feeling the suffocating emptiness of his room weighing upon him.
…
Today is the day the festival you were so excited about starts, and it's already been arranged for quite a while that today is your day-off. "…Y/N was really hoping that I'd join her at the festival." Half of
Thoma's words were muffled, but he could make out your name and the festival.
The blond retainer was asking for a day-off as well, to go with you.
Something uncomfortable boiled in Ayato's core, you asked him to join you back then, and he said that he couldn't. Yet, all he wishes now was to accompany you, to be by your side and not have to think about keeping your relationship a secret.
"With Y/N…?" Ayato asked, his voice laced with disappointment that did not escape his retainer's ears.
"Is something the matter, my Lord?"
Truly did his entire being want to disapprove of Thoma's request, he wants to go to you and offer to go with you himself.
"No, I'm quite alright, Thoma…" The Yashiro Commissioner heaved a sigh. "I'll allow your request."
You spent your day at the festival with Thoma, and it was obvious that you enjoyed it given the large smile that was plastered when you got back to the estate.
Meanwhile, Ayato spent his day at his desk, looking at meaningless paperwork while dreaming of being hand-in-hand with you at the festival, imagining that you would eat your heart out with all the streetfood available, watch the firework show when nighttime falls, and dance slowly at the festival music at midnight when everyone else already left.
That night though, he approaches you, his heart pounding when he caught your attention. "May I… ask you to sleep next to me again?"
He was tired, he could only take a week of sleeping in his office because his room haunted him too much. Unfortunately for him, he doesn't know how to even start explaining himself, doesn't know how to win you back, to say that he does choose you over any form of nobility that he has.
You smiled at him… emptily.
"I'm your servant, my lord. If you wish for me to, I will."
So you did, you slept next to him, he hugged you tightly, snuggling you up to his chest, yet you refused to hug back, to nuzzle in his embrace like you used to. You merely did as you were requested.
Ayato tried to ignore the tightening of his heart just before sleep and exhausted took over him.
But he couldn't ignore the chill he felt when he woke up hugging nothing. It's just as it should be, the servant listened to her lord, and now she left to do her other tasks.
It was crazy to hope a relationship like yours could work out. Kamisato Ayato felt a few tears fall from his eyes, now, he wished for you to stay.
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
Yo, it's 3am and I'm gonna sleep now.
#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact#genshin impact angst#genshin angst#genshin imagines#genshin impact ayato#kamisato ayato x reader#ayato angst#genshin ayato
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PAC : Letter from your pregnant self. (18+)
Mama said it was ok ... mama said it was quite alright .
BUNDLE READINGS.
FUTURE LOVE + SEX DOUALA = 40$ (2for1)
✨ Down to My Core ✨
This Christmas, gift yourself clarity—a soulful journey to uncover your truth and step into the new year ready to rise. 🌙
CHARACTER UPDAPTE + LORE DUMP = 40$ (2for1)
🔥 Fire to the Moon 🔥
This Christmas, gift yourself the truth—a journey through soul ties, sexual desires, and cosmic connections. Uncover a new love story written in your stars and step into the new year with clarity and faith in love 🌙✨
PILE 1
It was supposed to be you pregnant but you came through in the hospital the evening after giving birth. You are actually talking to your baby girl.
‘’ Damn I thought it was early menopause. You should have seen my face when the doctor came back in the room after putting way too much finger in my hole. Honestly I should have guessed it when the nurse and the medical tech looked at each other with smirk while my husband and I were going crazy over my future illness. I hope you don’t hate me as I am holding you in my arms. I can’t help but admire you. I gave up on the idea of having my dream baby girl a long time ago. I know it is not fair I should have fought for you but I could not let the emptiness get to me. You know I have to be a mother to your big brothers. LOL! I remember their disgusted and concerned faces when I told them I was pregnant again. ‘’ Mama you are still doing the nasty’’ that’s what (the name of your second boy) said. Honestly I am not sure what I was expecting from anyone. The first thought that came to my mind is the fact that I am only in my mid 30. What the heck, for sure I love riding it. Actually been loving riding it. Since forever. He is the first man I ever trusted … the only I ever gave my heart. It was my first time after a very awful experience but I probably will never tell you about it but I will forever protect you against all thoses abusers out here. Ain’t no way they are touching my daughter but your dad … he’s different. I am so happy I chose the right man to have my babies with. The way he looks at me with so much longing in eyes, the soft touch, waking me up everyday by getting your siblings ready and making my coffee so I can have some time for myself. The way he literally dedicated a whole wall in our house for pictures of our wedding like he doesn't already have 3 pictures of me and the kids on his desk at work, like he doesn't have a picture of us in his wallet and in his car. Sometimes I pinch myself when I cook and I look at my husband playing with my kids, being affectionate and their safe place because it was never like that. I never grew up like that. I used to wish on my lucky stars that I make it out of my abusive household and now I am thriving in an overabundant and loving household. Is not always easy because your dad has a demanding job but he will NEVER but none of y’all second. It doesn't matter if he is busy in a meeting or overseas, he always calls, answers texts, sends gifts, even writes letters. He always fixes his schedule to be at your siblings' competition. Honestly I am scared of the length he is ready to go for you. Actually all of them are ready to go to crazy length for you. Nah I am serious he organized the baby shower in a luxurious resort. The gender reveal happened on a helicopter ride before taking me to a 5 star hotel and showering me with gifts. Your siblings are always telling me to sit down, that they can do it, that I need to keep my energy and that they need to protect me . Damm… last time I checked I am the parent but I didn't talk back. Because miss girl you were not an easy pregnancy. High blood pressure, back pain, extreme moodiness and early labor. Like girls we get it … you were in a hurry to come to your palace but you did not have to do my body like that. Or maybe you punish me because I decided that I was infertile after a couple years with no success. I let you go. Stop fighting for you. You and your little button noise, smooth forehead, full head of hair and pouty lips are more than worth it. This pregnancy did not feel real at first. I did not want to believe it. I was sure that it was a mistake or my blessing was going to be taken from me. Yeah… you trigger my old survival instinct. Thank God for you dad, holding my hand, telling me that everything is going to be ok and allowing me to take my time accepting my truth. Validating how I feel because by the second semester I was more than overjoyed and confident. You are mine, my blessings and worth every ounce of goodness coming ... my precious miraculous babygirl.
XOXO
Your mama’’
So many nasty messages came through but y'all … I know you would never talk like that to your baby.
The baby was created a random day after a cuddle fuck (for many anal cuddle fuck). After putting the kids to sleep, doing your night routine with your husband and cleaning the room (you don’t joke about that re-start routine because otherwise the mornings are way too chaotic in the morning) you bring yourself to the bed and decide to seduce your man with kisses and caress. Honestly it does not take a lot for your husband to be seduced by you. He and I love the fact that you still try to make marriage feel sexy with the booty shorts, sometimes having your makeup done, other times you go all out and have lunch at his work to tease him. You are litteraly his sexual fantasy like even when y’all are going to be more mature he's not going to look at younger girls (some people in this pile are scared that their husband will entertain younger girls. Never babe they are HOOK on you. Not just love or respect for the mother of their child. You have the pusy power over that mind. All he sees is you!). After a sweaty, loving but still rough session little miss finally came to you.
You guys are going to have an amazing sex life with your husband don’t worry your kids are never going to know (y���all get down. Y’all don’t mind calling the nanny to have ‘’sex weekend’’). In the adult world the way y’all look at each other, joke with each … you guys chemistry (y’all just look the fuck good together) people know you fucking fucking.
Also if you read : PAC : Your dream reality, there's also glimpse of the same future channeled.
PREVIOUS READING
2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)
3) For ALL DECEMBER get 2 readings for the price of 1 : LINK
PILE 2
‘’ Bitch WTF ! You know what life got me fucked up in all type of way. Almost like God wanting to make a joke out of me. As I am speaking, I am sitting in this comfy couch in my living living in my house, fat as fuck, mean mugging my husband. You heard me right. HUSBAND ! I don’t even know when that shit happens. Like when did I fell in love. I mean I was never against love but think about it. Living in your dream house, enjoying yourself and you are waking up turning to your side and you see a big fat head. Let me tell you, it is not between your thighs. Nah is cuddling and calling you ‘’honey’’. EW GET THE FUCK OFF ME. It was supposed to be only a FWB but you know how men move when they have a taste of this punani. They be hearing colors, seeing starts and talking in tongues , thinking I can heal their attachment issues. Ok let me give credit where it is due … he was actually different. He made me do things I don’t usually do like talking about my feelings, eating 3 times a day and being affectionate. I swear I never gave as many hug as I did with him. LOL ! From all the billion penises on this planet I had to fall in love with the clingy one. He loves hugging me, kissing me … just being stuck on me. Before I knew it I had a ring on my finger. I even kissed him in front of my damm family. Like I am a bad bitch, a cold ass bitch, a cool hoe not basic lucy that’s all love and light. Guess he was so good to me that I said ‘’Yes I do’’. That I could forgive. I could understand the house, the ring, the love and partnership but the baby … the baby. THE DAMM FUCKING BABY. You know what is going to do to my dream body and my mom is talking about a second one. Babe hell nah to the nah nah. This hourglass figure is not going to waste. Somewhere I guess it is my fault … Ok … So what shoot me … I LOVE SEX. I LOVE WHEN HE HITS RAW. Is that so wrong? I hate birth control… bitch my opp frl. ALways trying to give me acne or making me fat. What about him and his breeding kink ? Don’t look at me like that. I always liked it rough and nasty but … the consequence. I did not think … Bitch I am only a girl. I am a teeneager in her late twenties. Like somebody called Dr.Phil … I am losing it ! I guess I would have been more careful but there’s something about having my hair pulled, my body bound, my pussy being overstimulated and having his big dick pounding into me while we are listening to chase the Atlantic that’s going to do it every time. Let me tell you something … this man is obsessed with my body. I was scared … you know, we always had body dysmorphia but I think my husband healed me. He can’t take his hand off me. LIKE CAN’T ! I can’t not be in a room with only him (funny since y’all living together …) always slapping my fat ass. Sneaky his hand in my full breast. That one time I was in bikini waddle around I genuinely think he was going to fuck me in the pool while the neighbor were in their backyard. We all know how vocal I am and how rough he is. Confession I still like it fucking rough ... Actually I like it rougher. I am officially insane. There must be something wrong with me. One minute I am like ‘’aww my baby is going to be an awesome dad’’ and the very next fucking though be like ‘’ I want him choke me and force himself into me’’ and it be a front of people. Fucking embarrassing. This pregnancy hormone made me waddle around like a horny sick teenager. Anyway let me go … I was teasing him earlier. You know how bratty I can get. But now I want it ! Bye babe … I need to hop on my ride.
XOXO
Your homegirl''
I swear pile 2, y’all so fucking cute. Y’all may be the youngest of your family or friend group. Like nobody even though you would get married or even have kids. Like you don’t hate kids but you love scaring them and every time one cries you laugh. Second, y'all love to yell at men. Every time you see a man, attitude is 100%. You are so spoiled and you don’t want to share. So the thought of having to share even a spoon with even your fav muncher is weird. You guys are the personification of the sound: ‘’ WHY WOULD A MEN BE HERE ? WHY WOULD A MEN BE HERE ?’’. You guys are also the personification of women dominating male fields. You be hating on men but still fuck them because that’s all they worth (LOL GO QUEEN !). You look the fuck good and don’t play abut your beauty regiment and sleep.
You love your husband and you are in love with your baby but affection is not something that comes easy to you. That doesn't mean you are mean, you just show love in different ways. You more an act of service (I can’t with y’all… I just heard ‘’ Good head should be enough to show I care … Don’t be greedy. Beggar cannot be choosy’’ No because PERIDOT) like cleaning, cooking, organizing, showing support, being dependable or gift giving. You always find him the best gift.
All this to say you play though but there is a big teddy bear inside of you that is sooo happy by the way your life took a twist but fucking confuse at the same time. Sometimes you wake confused like the girl in 17 turning 30 movie. Not that you hate your life actually you love it but WTF.
I am hearing ‘’ Rue… when was this ?’’.
PREVIOUS READING
2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)
3) For ALL DECEMBER get 2 readings for the price of 1 : LINK
PILE 3
‘’ LOL…Let’s thank God for the bathroom at the restaurant. Honestly I don't even know how we sneak in together and nobody said anything. I lowkey think the server had our back because when I finally came back after sending my husband out before me to act as normal as possible. The server brought the bill with a smirk and my baby tipped him big. Honestly I don’t regret it. He could not resist the sight of me since my makeup was perfectly done, hair blown out in perfect curls, smelling Bararat Rouge, short black dress tight on my snatch body (thank God for the workout routine I follow religiously). Honestly I am surprised he waited that long … I kind of did need to push him the fuck off me, multiple time while we were getting ready. Now I understand Bella and Edward because honeymoon energy makes you want to do it EVERY TIME AND ANYTIME. Like how am I supposed to ignore my man when he looks all good in his suits after he paid for the whole trip and booked this exclusive restaurant in Paris just a front of the Eiffel tower and he gave me red bottoms earlier this evening. Fuck even when we are together he keeps tricking on me. Now here we are, gel on my stomach, belly round and big and my hand in his. Swear I never saw such a big and tall guy, literally a giant being so excited like a literal kid on Christmas morning over the new addition in the family. I told him to wait before he got the name of the baby tatted because you never know what could happen (God forbid …). I never saw him in such distress when I said this. His eyes floated with tears, he hugged me tighter, kissed my neck and whispered: ‘’ You don’t think we deserve this happiness ? or maybe you regret having this with me’’. I hug him and cry. That is my self doubt … God does my self doubt and his abandonment issue always makes us cry in each other's arms in the most gut wrenching way. Fuck self doubt … I am prepared , my doctor got our back, my baby is healthy and I am going have my fucking happy ending. I want it all, I deserve it all and I am having it all.
XOXO
Your Fav Sugar Mama''
You guys have moneyyyy. Like yes your man has money but babe you are very much giving boss babe. You probably have or are working towards having a very demanding degree. Let me tell you something … whatever field you try to get into (I think it's very competitive) you are/will be dominating.
Also this letter was completely off intuition … I did not pull any cards but don’t worry let’s get to the extra messages.
Funny enough y’all may be fucking like beast in mating season before pregnancy but after that everything is going to die down. I think both of y'all have a soft exhibition kink because y’all really don’t care who hears you or sees you. While you are pregnant he is still very loving and he still think you are stunning but y’all prefer missionary, love making, cuddle fuck, being in the bed, doing it on the couch. I see a lot of loving gaze coming from them. Like they look at you like you are the walking definition of love. So much tenderness and longing just by the way they look at you. Also they change the tone of their voice when speaking to you. Is never loud even when they are mad. When they know they are about to get mad, they sit down, take a breath and speak. Is like a routine . NEVER NEVER want to scare you or hurt you. He really is a gentle giant. When it comes to YOU. Only for you. Also if I stick to my vision, you are definitely the one that decorated the apartment. I am getting a condo, penthouse or luxurious apartment in a busy city for your house.
They are going to be even more possessive when you are pregnant. Babe that pregnancy glow is going to do wonders for your skin. You look the fuck good. Hair is long and healthy plus is shiny. Breast sitting pretty and is full. Hips wider and the way you walk is having everyone hooked. Some of y’all have a heel addiction and you are not going to give up heels just because of a baby and that is going to make you look extra sexy. Every time you are going to try to film yourself for fun or to post, they are going to make their presence known. Also every time y’all outside, they always have a hand on your stomach. Damn y’all already pregnant with his seed… what more does he want from you. Like sir … your territory is already marked. You're going to love every moment of it. Cheesy like a kid because your man is even more obsessed with you.
You are going to leave work much earlier. Not because of any health issue. From what I am understanding, y’all never took a break. Always school, work, internship, engagement, big girl job, moving in and marriage. Like is time for you to take moment and just live for the fuck of it.
At some point y’all may not have sex. Because your man does not want to hurt you. You may actually take it well because you feel like it is going to build a big sexual anticipation for next time. So y’all are having your own version of No Nut November.
PREVIOUS READING
2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)
3) For ALL DECEMBER get 2 readings for the price of 1 : LINK
PILE 4
‘’ Damm I never felt so powerful. Maybe people are gatekeeping pregnancy because they don’t want you to feel this good. Nah I am kidding. First trimester dragged me around and snatched my wig. I spend more time hugging the toilet bowl than my Baby. The headache and extremely sensitive tits, let’s not forget the hair thinning. Anyways the power I have over my Baby is insane. I am not talking about ‘’yeah is for the baby’’. Nah is like the man is hypnotized by my every move. I could tell him to jump off the roof and I am convinced with enough flirting tactics he will do it. He does it all for me before I even ask sometime before I even think about it, he already did it. He is serious about our baby's future, opening a savings account. For the baby shower, when everyone left he told me he brought our baby investment stocking. He already put money away for his car and university loan. He already looked at a private elementary school and we might hire a cook. I have never been much of a chef but he wants our kid to have it all. The tutor, the chef, the trust fund … oh my baby boy is about to be born on a diamond plate. The way I am treated is almost like I am carrying the next world prophet. I can't wear leggings, my heels need to be a certain inch, camera are on, all time because my Baby needs to be checking that I am always safe. Don’t want me to fall down the stairs or faint in the shower which actually happened . That’s why I can’t get mad at him when his crazy protective side comes out because the end of our journey almost came too quickly. I have a chauffeur and 24/7 maid. Fuck I am birthing the next royalty. What’s wilder is I feel fucking sexy pregnant ? I can spend hours looking at myself in intricate lingerie. Everything is right and the weight gain looks the fucking good on me. I look womanly. Idk … all my life I've been quite petite. Always looking younger than my age. I always wanted to put on some weight but people around always told me to embrace since so many try to be skinny but sitting down in my black lace robe while getting ready in the morning reinforced my need for weight. My tits are firmer and fuller, hips are wider and my butt has a gorgeous hump to it. I love the feeling of having my thigh touching. What’s even more insane is my crazy dom husband love when I am taking charge in the bedroom. He loves it when I wake him with a handjob while speaking of my rule in my soft voice. I always knew my voice had power over him, the man almost bust a nut in his sweat the first time I called him. Now he worships me, he can spend hours eating on my clit, sucking on my thighs and playing on my tits. The other day he was heavily leaking precum while giving clit orgasm after orgasm while I was getting ready for my day. Begging me to put the tip in and sometimes I say ‘’no’’ just to see his reaction and the man whimpered and begged. LOL ! What’s less funny is that my mom decided to become more of hater than she already is. I took my distance from her, my husband hates when I talk to her because I always end up crying but she found out that I had a baby shower. She burst screaming in my house. Everything got handle and my husband did take legal charge but fuck … I just want my mother rn. Once again she let me down.
XOXO
Yours Truly''
PREVIOUS READING
2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)
3) For ALL DECEMBER get 2 readings for the price of 1 : LINK
#tarot#tarot reading#tarotcommunity#tarot cards#18+ tarot#divination#pac#pick a card#pick a picture#pick a pile#divine timing#divine guidance#mother#mommy#future spouse tarot#future spouse#future lover#free readings#free tarot readings#free tarot#intuitive guidance#intuitive readings#intuition
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RUN MY HANDS THROUGH HIS SHORT BLACK HAIR..。o○
-KANG DAE HO X GN!READER☆ミ
Woah! First time writing squid game chat! This is going to be probably buns but uh... hope you enjoy!1!1
TAGS
Comfort fic, reader and dae ho arent requited in squid game... for now, sleepy dae ho? Idk but theres sokting bad
WORD COUNT:602
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The sound of raindrop's pierce through your ears as it hits the window.
The bed isnt too comfortable,but that should do it for the both of you. It was comforting enough that he was beside you.
You look at the window, the rain pours loudly yet again, he shuffles in the bed as sign's of discomfort showed on his face.
You noticed the moving, and went to look at him, he was gripping you tightly, Startled by the action of dae ho.
"Dae ho?" You say, facing him. He grunts more as he held you more closer to him, his body warmth mixing with your warmness.
"Dont.... go." He grumbles silently, he snuggles his head in your chest.
"Im not going anywhere, y'know? As if.. i can go somewhere.." i say as i whispered the last five words and one letter that came out of my mouth.
Well, debt's debt i guess.
You ran your hands through his hair, you untied the hairtie that was about to fall off as you put it on your hand, he probably wont notice it was gone.
His face eases up, now his face is not snuggled up your chest.
You smiled slightly, relieved since now he didnt show any discomfort.
"So soft.." You ran through his hair again as he was sound asleep now.
Feeling tired and hazy, you closed your eyes and let out a sigh.
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Waking up, the sun haze's into your features as your eyes slowly rose to open, feeling tired just a little bit, you rubbed your eyes so it could stay open.
'Who- who even is that dae ho guy?!?' 'Mom wait no- please.. dont-'
'IM GETTING YOU OUT OF THIS PLACE.'
I sighed, rubbing the temples of my head, '...these strange memories keep coming back... i guess.'
'Even if i risked it all just for love, its worth it.' I said in my mind as i looked into dae ho, he opens his eyes slowly as he looked at mine, opening and closing his lips slightly then, yawning.
"[Name]?" He replies hazyly.
"Good morning... or whatever, dae ho." I replied.
I sit up as he went to sit up too, the sheets in the bed turning messy, the blanket shuffling as you leaned your head into the head board.
"Y'know... you should touch my hair more often, its... nice." He says, swinging a hand in your shoulders as he leaned you to his shoulder, the feeling of the wooden headboard gone from the back of your head.
"Oh, you felt that?" You asked, it was like a murmur.
"Uhuh, yeah." He replies softly, like a whisper that gazed your ears.
You giggled as he followed, he pressed a kiss in your forehead and smiled. It made the feeling inside the room too comforting, it all felt too.. loving.
Even if he was kinda arrogant at times, he still knew how to respect, he was a gentleman, basically.
Being in a family filled with girls, and him being the only boy? He could definately be a gentleman.
Comforting silence fills the room as it eases, you smiled but the smile falters as you broke the silence.
"Hey dae ho.." you say.
He raises a brow and asks "Yeah?" Turning and positioning his head to look at you.
"I hope we can have the chance to be finally free from this situation." You say, closing your eyes slowly, and opening it back once again.
"Dont hope, say 'we can' instead yanno'?" He smiles.
After all, he was lighting up the worsest days for the both of you.
THIS IS SO BUNS. IM SOREY CHAT.
#squid game s2#squid game#kang dae ho#kang daeho#kang daeho x reader#daeho x reader#dae ho#dae ho x reader#kang haneul#player 388#squidgame#squid game x reader#squid game season 2
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.Shift by channeling.
Go to your DRs by channeling, again, step to step guide.
This can be used as a separate method, or you could use this when you need a final push.
This isn't the spiritual type of channeling, nor do you need to use AI or something, nor do you get possessed.
Step 1:
Before attempting to shift, choose a person from your DR. It could be your S/O, you can choose to channel multiple people, if you have a friend group or something, but i recommend picking someone whom you have a close connection with in your DR.
Have a voice claim ready, take some times to look at the person's pictures, remember their physical attributes, focus on their personality.
(You can listen to songs which remind you of your relationship with that person)
Step 2:
Lay down, when you're prepared to shift. You're going to start off saying affirmations like it's a normal shifting method.
If you can visualize, i recommend you think of visual affirmations which relate to your DR.
Its a method to affirm, where you go around your DR, whether it's your DR house, room, or a memorable or nostalgic place in your DR, and see your normal shifting affs, carved, written around, for example, your affs formed by clouds, carved into pillars and tables, written on your clothes, finding papers or letter which say your affirmations (so Affirmations ∝ Your DR)
You should try to be hype fixated, so if you are fidgeting, can't stay still, you're too engrossed in what's going on inside your mind to notice your body itching or twitching.
Do this until your symptoms intensifies or reach a peak, everyone feels differently, for some it's more physical (seeing light flashes, tingles, floating) for some it's mental (having a gut feeling, feeling euphoric) so don't get discouraged.
You aren't doing anything wrong.
Step 3:
This is where we come across our special person. While you're seeing your affs, make yourself meet them. Now, if you're confused and going to say this isn't channeling, then just stop. You're creating this reality and undoubtedly every moment you're experiencing, so when you're in a deeply concentrated phase, the only thing that could possibly stop you from having a very real and authentic meeting with your SP is your own self-doubt (anyways, if you're having self doubt then say an aff or two to combat them)
Your SP is standing right in front of you, let yourself loose at this point. No need to force anything scripted, but if you want then you can.
Have a conversation with your SP, whether it's initiated by you or your SP.
Maybe even invite them to drink tea, sit outside, take them to a secret spot.
Now you're having a conversation with them, starting off with your conscious thoughts doing the talking from your part, whatever your SP says is your subconsciousness speaking, or you're directly channeling them (both of which are the same thing, i hate being repetitive, you're creating reality if you believe you're being channeled by your SP, then that's what's happening)
Start off with a normal conversation, like how'd you talk to someone, someone you love and know very well.
Right now, you're going to say a very specific affirmation:
"(your SP's name) is just about to ask me what i was doing in my OR/void reality."
Then let the conversation take a natural turn. That question will eventually be asked, your loved one is just very curious about why you were away from them.
Now, what you will answer back will be the way how to shift.
"Oh, must be a fever dream, i had never had a dream so real, i was touching everything, each and everything felt legit." (best for permashifters, don't be afraid of using this if you intend to come back)
"I guess it was out of responsibility, but don't worry, i'm here now."
"I don't know myself, all i know i didn't like being there."
"I was curious, that's all; you know i like exploring new things, and come on, it was a whole new universe, but now i want to rest at home."
Whatever your SP says in response, whether they're asking you to come join them, or how they're glad you're back, just nod back.
Step 4:
Go to sleep in your DR, if you recall, you're in your home. Go towards your bed, crash down, close your eyes.
From this point onwards, you're going to embody your DR self and fall asleep acting normal, completely abandon the fact that you were shifting, or that you have shifted to your DR, act like a person (your DR self) living in any other world (your DR)
I described this in details in the third phase of my pinned post, you're supposed to do all that.
You'll wake up in your DR.
Why is this method supposed to work?
Connection to your DR environment ✔
Logically explains your involvement with your previous reality, why you were there for so long ✔
Reminds your consciousness that you've successfully shifted ✔
Connection to your loved ones in your DR ✔
Most importantly, connection to your DR self ✔
...
That's the method, you can also shift in between the method as well. There really isn't any reason for you to wake back in your CR, listen to some subliminals to remove intrusive thoughts, then you're good.
You could also make it so your SP had more control over your shift, like they brought you back, you can modify the method according to your wishes.
It's a short and sweet method, believe in your abilities and you'll be out of here faster than lightning.
...
This method is heavily focused on visualizing, if you have aphantasia then your DR SP can just speak to you, when you eventually cross over to your DR self's state of mind (if they can visualize) you'll get the ability to visualize like them, or get flashes of images.
...
Also thanks for everyone who gave me compliments in my inbox I have no clue how to receive them, but I am very grateful (:
#reality shifting#shiftblr#shifting#shifting blog#shifting antis dni#shifting motivation#shifters#shifting community#shifting stories#desired reality#shifting advice#shifting attempt#shifting affirmations#shifting methods#shifting tips#shifting consciousness#shifting reality#reality shifting community
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𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔
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Alexia was sprawled across the couch, her head resting comfortably on your lap, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The TV was on, but neither of you was paying much attention to it. You had one hand absently stroking her hair while the other lightly traced shapes on her back beneath her hoodie.
It had been a long day for her with both training and media duties, but now she looked perfectly at peace, her eyes half-closed, her breathing steady, almost as though she was only second away to succumbing to sleep. You smiled to yourself as you shifted your fingers just slightly, drawing the shape of a heart between her shoulder blades.
"Guess," you murmured softly, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.
Alexia's brow furrowed, her lips curving into a faint smile as she tilted her head to look up at you. "Mmm... un círculo?"
You snorted, shaking your head. "No, it was a heart, silly. Pay attention."
Her smile widened, but she didn't open her eyes. "Lo siento," she mumbled lazily, pressing a kiss to your thigh. "Try again?"
You rolled your eyes fondly and began to trace another shape. This time, you drew a star, your fingers gliding lightly over the warm skin of her back.
"Guess," you prompted again, glancing down at her.
Alexia stayed silent for a moment, then hummed. "Hmm... una flor?"
"Alexia," you groaned playfully, flicking the back of her head lightly. "You're not even trying!"
She chuckled, her voice low and a little raspy. "I like it when you do this. Why guess?"
"Because it's a game," you countered, drawing an imaginary line down her spine and watching her shiver beneath your touch. "And you're supposed to play along."
She turned her head slightly, peeking up at you with a small pout. "But I like when you tickle my back."
You laughed softly. "Okay, how about this? If you guess properly, I promise I'll keep tickling your back afterwards. Deal?"
She seemed to consider this, her lips pursing slightly before she nodded. "Vale," she agreed, settling her head back down on your lap.
"Good," you said, your fingers moving again. This time, you wrote the word "love" in English, carefully tracing each letter.
Alexia shifted a little beneath your touch, clearly paying attention now. When you finished, she was silent for a moment before turning her head to look up at you.
"'Love'?" she guessed.
You beamed at her, brushing a strand of blonde hair away from her face. "Yes! See? That wasn't so hard."
Her lips twitched in a satisfied smile as she nestled her head against your lap again. "Okay, otra vez."
You obliged, this time drawing a simple smiley face on her back.
She laughed softly. "Easy. Una cara feliz."
"Correct," you said, grinning as your fingers started another pattern. You kept the game going, drawing hearts, stars, and even letters from both Spanish and English. Alexia guessed most of them right, and when she didn't, it was because she was deliberately trying to prolong the moment.
After a while, you leaned forward slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You're cute, you know that?"
Alexia tilted her head back to look at you, eyes warm and full of affection. "Tú más," she said simply, her English slipping into Spanish as it often did when she was this relaxed.
You laughed softly, tracing one last word on her back: "forever."
"Para siempre," she murmured without hesitation, her voice quiet but certain.
Your heart swelled as she turned her body slightly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. You slip an arm beneath her neck and shoulders, hoisting her up a little so more or her torso was resting in your lap and her head was resting against your chest.
Just like you promised, you slip your hand back beneath her hoodie and begin grazing your fingers up and down her back. You feel her exhale of content through the material of your shirt, and you knew she'd be asleep in just a matter of moments.
**
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TIL DEATH DO US PART , S.JY !
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/41f9cdd5b9659a09bc350ab090566c07/5d6a03c59ffd22a7-76/s540x810/7b6a0ba035e4fa11f6cdf3239c2d8f56f7264a35.jpg)
PAIRING: husband ! jake × afab reader
SYNOPSIS: In an arranged marriage where sparks never flew, you finally chose divorce as the only path to freedom. But when your husband died in a sudden accident, life took an unexpected turn, binding you to a reality marked by guilt, grief, and the shadows of unfulfilled words. Now, you must navigate a world that holds him forever gone.
GENRE: fluff + angst
WARNING(S): not proofread, kissing, dirty jokes, a little bit suggestive, mentions of suicide and death, insecurities, mentions of pregnancy. lmk if I missed anything.
WORD COUNT: 16.2K
FEAT: JAY from ENHYPEN + some ocs
MASTERLISTS ARCHIVE !!
NOTE FROM SENA ┊ had this idea going from quite a lot of time (two months lol) though i wasn't sure of posting it... but here you go i guess. was supposed to post this a day ago for Jake’s bday (🎂) but I hope this still works. definitely won't claim this as one of my best works but hope it's not too bad. would love to know your opinions <3
DEAR JAKE,
I’m sorry, but I can’t continue living like this. I’m leaving. Our marriage has become a constant battle, and I believe we’re both suffering more by holding on than we would by letting go. I know neither of us wanted it to come to this, and I wish things were different. But deep down, I think we’re better apart. I hope one day you’ll understand.
With regret, Y/N.
TEARS BLURRED YOUR VISION AS YOU STARED AT THE CRUMBLED NOTE IN YOUR HAND—the one you had written to Jake months ago. The one that now felt like a curse. Your hands shook as you traced the familiar words, guilt twisting your insides. I’m leaving. I’m sorry. He had never known the true weight of those words. And now he never would.
The police had found it in his pocket. They said he’d carried it with him, even after everything. Even when he... when he was gone.
You collapsed onto the couch, clutching the note like a lifeline, but it only felt like a reminder of how far you had pushed him. How much you had wanted out, and now, how deeply you regretted it. A year together, two lives constantly at odds, and it had ended in this way. A divorce that never came, an accident that did. You didn’t want this, didn’t want him gone, but now, all you had was this—regret, and a body that was too still in your bed to hold. The anger, the frustration of him being gone—it consumed you, ate at your soul.
Why couldn’t you have waited?
You had hoped time apart would fix things, give you both breathing room. But he hadn’t lived long enough for you to see the good you could have made of it. The guilt ate you alive, deeper than the frustration ever had. You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t have known, but deep down, the truth stung. Your note had been his last reminder of your marriage. His last memory. He had carried your rejection right until the end.
Would things have been different if you hadn’t written that letter?
The thought raked at your mind like shards of glass, shredding everything in its path. What if you had kept fighting for him, for the marriage? Would he have been here? Would you have learned to love him? Or would he still have left, still have been gone, no matter what?
Your thoughts flickered back to moments with him—so small, so easy to overlook. The way Jake had rolled his eyes every time you’d scolded his niece Semi for spilling juice, or how he had tried to hide his smirk as he pretended to act innocent. The little things that used to irritate you, that you had never really appreciated until now.
You remembered the way he defended you against his relatives, his words sharp and protective as they made cruel comments about your body. They didn’t understand, but Jake did. He had always been there, not perfect but trying.
“She suits me well enough.”
The memory felt like a slap now, a cruel joke. You had spent so much time pushing him away, not seeing that he cared. You hadn’t seen that he had tried.
“Why couldn’t I have seen it?” you whispered to the empty room, curling up on the bed, pressing your face into the pillow. The tears soaked into the fabric, and the sobs wracked through you like a storm. Why was it only now, when he was gone, that you realized how much he had mattered?
You had never kissed him, never held him the way a wife should. You thought you had the luxury of time, but now you had nothing left but his memory. The memory of a man you barely knew but had somehow been the one constant in your life. How selfish of you to push him away. How stupid to think it was all about the fights, the annoyances, and not about the love you could have had.
“Please... Jake. I’m sorry...”
The words escaped you as your sobs grew louder, choking your breath. Your body trembled with grief, the weight of regret pressing down on you until you couldn’t breathe. If only you could undo it, go back and rewrite the note. If only you hadn’t given up on him, on the marriage, on the chance for something more.
The room felt suffocating now, as though the walls were closing in around you. What now? you thought. There was no future with him anymore. No next step. No reconciliation.
Why had you waited so long to realize how much he meant to you?
You sank deeper into your pillow, tears soaking your face and your hair, wishing for the impossible: for him to walk through the door, to come back, to make everything okay again. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
And all that was left was you. And the note.
YOUR MOTHER IN LAW’S HANDS TREMBLE AS SHE EXTENDS THE ANCESTRAL RING TOWARDS YOU, her eyes glistening with raw grief. The ring's delicate gold band catches the light, an unwanted reminder of everything Jake represented—strength, love, an unfinished story.
“He wanted you to have this… but I never thought I’d give it to you now. Not like this,” she whispers, her voice breaking before dissolving into quiet sobs. The sound is so raw it scrapes at your heart. For a moment, the room feels unbearably small, closing in with the suffocating weight of shared loss.
You stare at the ring, fingers hovering uncertainly. The thought of accepting it feels like admitting he’s really gone. Yet, you know you can’t refuse it; Jake’s wish, even unspoken now, feels sacred. You slip the ring onto your finger, a silent acknowledgment of the man you had once promised yourself to, a man you’ll never get the chance to truly know.
With a hesitant step forward, you place your hand on her shoulder, the touch meant to soothe but feeling fragile, as though it could shatter under the weight of her grief. The older woman leans into you, body racked with tremors as she buries her face in her hands. Her sobs rise and fall in uneven waves, echoing in the otherwise silent room.
“Please… don’t cry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and cracking at the edges. The night had drained you, leaving your eyes dry yet still burning, poised for more tears that you no longer had the strength to shed.
Her grief pierces deeper. “He wouldn’t want to see you in pain,” you add, voice low, carrying the weight of a plea that even you don’t believe.
“I-I know,” she manages between sobs, her shoulders trembling. “But… he was so young, so full of life. It should’ve been me, not him. He barely started his life, and now…”
The room seems to warp under the heaviness of her words. You know she’s right. The unfairness of it all gnaws at you. But what would Jake want? The question echoes in your mind, clawing for answers you wish you didn’t have to seek.
You close your eyes for a brief second, conjuring his face in your memory—the way his smile would sneak out when he thought you weren’t looking, the stubborn tilt of his chin when he was determined. You imagine him here, telling you what to do, how to be strong for her when he couldn’t be.
Drawing in a shaking breath, you shift, wrapping your arms around your mother-in-law. She stiffens for a heartbeat before collapsing into the embrace, her body convulsing with grief. Her head rests on your shoulder, and you stroke her back, the gesture rhythmic, almost desperate, as if the act itself could soothe the unsoothable.
“My poor boy… he must’ve been so scared, so alone in those final moments,” she chokes out, and it’s as if a knife twists in your chest. The image of him in pain, of his last moments, blurs the edges of your control. A tear slips down your cheek, a singular escape among the multitude waiting behind your lashes.
“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you whisper, barely audible. The guilt is relentless, intertwining with the ache of loneliness that had settled deep within you long before he passed. You were alone when he was alive, and now that emptiness has transformed, sharpened by grief, into something more unbearable.
Her sobs quiet, just enough for her to lift her head and take in your expression, your tears mingling with unsaid words. She studies you, eyes clouded by grief but touched with understanding.
“You must feel so alone too… You and Jake… barely had time,” she murmurs, her voice a weak echo of empathy.
The silence stretches, heavy and uncertain. You meet her gaze and see the exhaustion, the pain mirrored back at you. It anchors you for a moment, before she speaks again.
“You’re still young. You should think of moving forward one day. Remarry, maybe… You’ll always be like a daughter to me, but you have to live, too.”
Your heart clenches, rejecting the thought. You don’t want to. The ache of wanting Jake, even in a marriage that had felt distant, is a raw wound you can’t imagine healing. The loneliness was familiar; life without him is uncharted, unbearable.
“I won’t… I can’t,” you admit, voice shaking as the tears finally spill, unchecked. “I just want him back. Even if it means being lonely again.”
The words break you open, and this time, neither of you tries to stop the crying. You hold each other in the ruins of shared loss, hoping, against hope, that the pieces of your shattered hearts will one day feel less sharp.
YOUR HANDS CHILLED FROM THE BRISK AIR, DIG DEEPER INTO YOUR COAT POCKETS AS YOU GAZE OUT INTO THE SWIRLING SNOW, a faint numbness settling in your bones. Each snowflake that brushes against your cheek feels colder than the last, a physical reminder of the frost that’s taken root in your heart, a void Jake's absence left behind. Life has lost its rhythm, its purpose, and the bustling world seems foreign, moving on a beat you no longer recognize.
Nursing, once a passion that filled your heart, now feels suffocating. The once-simple act of caring for patients, seeing them through their darkest times, now stirs something darker inside you—an envy for their hope, their chances. These creeping, bitter thoughts had scared you enough to step back from the only profession you knew. The faces of crying relatives haunted your dreams, their grief striking chords too familiar, too close. You’d sworn to heal, never harm, yet here you are, carrying shadows of guilt too heavy to bear.
The café’s warmth hits you as you push through the door, a momentary comfort against the gnawing cold. You shuffle forward, fingers fumbling in your pocket for money as your eyes wander the room. Jake had always spoken fondly of this place, a little corner shop with its cozy mismatched chairs and the sweet aroma of cocoa and baked pastries. A small pang clenches your chest, regret whispering its usual 'what ifs.' If only you’d agreed to visit here with him, if only time hadn’t been a cruel master.
The barista, a young woman with weary eyes, glances up as she speaks. “Ma’am, are you ordering?” Her voice, though polite, carries a slight impatience with the growing line behind you.
“Ah, yes… a cold coffee,” you manage, the words falling flat as if they don’t quite belong to you. Her brows lift, a flicker of confusion.
“In this weather?” she asks, a hint of genuine concern lacing her tone.
Realizing the absurdity, you swallow, forcing a small, resigned nod. “Hot chocolate then,” you say, the warmth of Jake’s recommendation tugging at the edges of your memory.
The exchange is brief, the hot drink pressed into your hands a minute later. As you turn to leave, the weight of the ancestral ring around your finger pulls at you, its cool surface grounding and yet suffocating. The bittersweet metal reflects a dull glow, a silent reminder of promises made and broken, of the love lost and the void left behind.
The wind picks up outside, tugging at your coat as you sip the hot chocolate. Its warmth spreads through you, but it’s fleeting, never enough to touch the ache within. You shake your head, Jake’s face vivid in your mind, his teasing smile as he’d planned your future dates. You’d push the thought aside, but every step feels like dragging a part of him behind you.
“Why can’t I let go?” you murmur, voice snatched away by the icy air. Your brother-in-law’s words echo in your mind, urging you to stop living in Jake’s shadow. But how do you tear yourself away from the ghost of a love that never got to finish its story?
Snow clings to your coat as you continue to trudge through the city, each step heavy with an ache that refuses to fade. The glow of the streetlights bathes the snow in a warm, golden hue, contrasting the bitter chill that settles in your chest. Sipping the hot chocolate, you try to focus on the warmth sliding down your throat, but the sweetness only sharpens the emptiness inside. The steam curls from the cup, a fleeting comfort as your breath mingles with it in the frigid air.
You pause near a park bench, eyes darting to couples bundled up, their laughter piercing through the quiet snowfall. One couple stands close, the man adjusting the scarf around his partner’s neck with a smile that makes your heart clench. You bite the inside of your cheek, the taste of copper sharp on your tongue as you fight back the sting in your eyes. The jealousy gnaws at you, sour and uninvited.
The memory of Jake’s voice flits through your mind, warm and teasing: “Good things happen to good people.” You scoff, the bitterness in that statement now a cruel joke. Were you not good enough? The universe seemed to think so, because it had ripped him away, leaving a hollow shell in his place.
Lost in thought, you find yourself on the bridge, fingers trailing over the iron railing that has frosted over, leaving cool streaks on your gloves. This place, once so filled with light and memories, feels haunted now. You trace a path where your and Jake’s hands once met, where laughter and shared secrets once echoed.
A voice, small and familiar, intrudes on your thoughts. Semi’s question echoes, fragile and innocent: “Aunty, when will Uncle come home?” You close your eyes, the lump in your throat thickening as the memory sharpens. You remember her wide, unknowing eyes searching yours for an answer you couldn't give, the guilt of that half-truth searing into you as you whispered, “I’m not sure, sweetie.”
You grip the railing tighter, feeling the cold seep through your gloves as the ache of regret claws at your heart. The river below moves steadily, unaffected by the chaos in your chest. You look down, watching the water catch the light in rippling patterns, your reflection distorted and wavering. The noise of the city fades as you breathe in the freezing air, each exhale a shuddering attempt to steady yourself.
A gust of wind stings your face, and you force yourself to look up, straightening with a resolve that feels fragile. Jake’s brother and his wife were inside your apartment, their watchful eyes filled with concern disguised as casual chatter. You know why they stay—it’s not out of pity, but out of fear, a silent agreement to keep you tethered when your world felt like it was splitting at the seams.
The laughter from the park drifts over again, mingling with the hum of distant traffic. For a moment, you let yourself remember the warmth of Jake’s embrace, the way he’d nudge your shoulder and murmur, “Life doesn’t stop, even when we want it to.”
“Maybe it shouldn’t,” you whisper into the night, the words barely a breath as they dissolve in the chill.
The warmth of the hot chocolate fades as the biting wind grazes your skin, a cruel reminder of the numbing void left behind. You stare at the bridge, eyes tracing the railings where Jake’s laughter once echoed. A memory surfaces, unbidden yet vivid.
“I know this isn't what either of us planned, but... I wish we could work it out,” Jake had said, a touch of hesitation softening his confident voice. His hands, hesitant but steady, hovered near you, respecting the space you held between.
“I wish that too,” you had murmured, the lie sliding off your tongue too easily. You’d convinced yourself you didn't care enough for Jake then, but the pang of that memory now gnawed at your insides. Regret had a way of reshaping the past, twisting even the most indifferent moments into sharp blades.
“Tell me something about yourself,” Jake had prodded gently, eyes bright even as he leaned down to meet your gaze.
Caught off guard, you’d raised an eyebrow. “Like what?” The question felt foreign, untouched by anyone's curiosity until now.
“Your ideal type,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as though challenging you. His height had always made you tilt your head back to catch his expression—a detail that now felt like a cruel nostalgia.
“Why would you ask that?” You'd played along, teasing but curious.
Jake chuckled, the sound resonant and warm. “Because we're getting married, and maybe knowing each other better will make it feel less... strange. Maybe, just maybe, we'll fall in love.” His hand, finally settling on your shoulder, had felt reassuring, a silent promise in its touch.
The memory cleaves through you like a knife, leaving behind a raw wound that no time or distance can heal. A single tear slips down your cheek as you blink, the reality of the moment washing over you like a wave. The park across the street bustles with couples walking hand-in-hand, laughter and warmth breaking through the cold that wraps around you. A fresh ache takes root, sharp and relentless.
You drop the empty cup into the trash can, the metallic clang breaking your reverie. The grief, heavy and suffocating, presses you to the edge as you turn and begin the long walk home. Your footsteps are heavy, every step an effort against the pull of the past.
“Aunty, you're so late. Did you bring Uncle with you?” Semi’s small voice meets you at the door, eyes bright with innocent hope. The guilt hits you like a punch, stealing the air from your lungs. Your throat tightens as you shake your head, eyes avoiding her searching gaze.
Jieun, seeing your reaction, sighs softly as she pulls Semi closer. “Semi, we talked about this, remember?” Her voice holds the practiced patience of a mother trying to shield her child from the pain.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Semi mumbles, eyes dropping to her tiny hands that fidget nervously. The sight twists your heart, guilt layering over the grief that refuses to ease.
You force a hollow smile. “It’s okay, Jieun. She's just a kid,” you say, your voice low and void of emotion as you shrug off your winter coat and hang it up. The familiar routine feels like a play you no longer wish to act in.
“Still, I just—” Jieun’s words falter as you cut her off, your voice breaking the tension.
“Please,” you murmur, the word sharp and desperate, silencing the room. The stillness that follows is suffocating, your breaths shallow as you fight to keep your composure.
Jieun's eyes search yours, understanding but hesitant. “We just don’t want you to be alone,” she whispers, her voice thick with worry.
“I know,” you reply, sitting on the couch with your head hung low, hands clenched tightly in your lap. After a long pause, you add, “But you need to leave. This is your home too, but you have your own life to get back to. I need time... time to figure out how to grieve.” Your eyes don’t lift to meet theirs; you can’t bear to see the disappointment or concern there.
Semi’s voice pipes up again, the innocence piercing through your defenses. “Are you sending us away, Aunty?”
The weight of guilt deepens, pressing into your chest. You close your eyes, feeling the sting behind your lids before you answer. “No, sweetie, I’m not sending you away. You can come whenever you want. Aunty will always be here.” The words come out flat, and you feel them land like lies in the air between you.
Jieun picks Semi up, nodding at you as if she understands, though her eyes glisten with worry. “We’ll give you some space. But we’ll check in. Don’t forget that, please.”
When the door clicks shut, silence wraps around you, heavy and thick. Your gaze shifts to the note you’d prepared earlier, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. The words, written in your own hand, feel foreign now: apologies to the people who stayed, memories they never knew you held, and the final confession of a heart too weary to go on.
You were battling with the urge to just end it all.
The rational part of your brain told you that you were young and had your whole life ahead and that you'd meet a lot of guys in your life but the stubborn heart won't give up and held onto the memory of the guy you once called your husband.
So, you gave up.
A smile, then another.
The city glows beneath you, lights sprawled like constellations cast on earth. The wind at this height is sharp, tearing through your clothes and chilling your skin, as if trying to pull you back from the edge. Your shoes scrape against the concrete ledge, the slight tremble in your legs betraying the battle waging within. The night air smells faintly of rain, metallic and crisp, mingling with the faint hum of traffic below.
You steady your phone in your trembling hand, its cold surface grounding you momentarily. A notification pings, an ironic reminder that life continues to tick on, indifferent to the turmoil within you. The camera lens reflects the shimmer of unshed tears as you hit record, the small red dot staring back like a silent witness.
A smile forms—hesitant, broken. Then another, and another, each one a mask that crumbles too soon. “To everyone who still cares,” you begin, your voice low and cracking, “Semi, sweet, innocent Semi. Jieun, always so patient. Jongseong... my husband’s shadow in every way. My sister, my friends, all of you who tried.”
The wind picks up, whipping strands of hair across your face as you pause, the weight of the unsaid pressing on your chest. You blink rapidly, tears slipping free, their warmth stinging against your cold cheeks. “Jake wouldn't want this. I know he'd call me stubborn, weak even.” You let out a hollow laugh, the sound swallowed by the wind. “But he wouldn’t understand how loud it is in the silence he left behind.”
Your heart hammers as you shift your weight, the city seeming to inhale with you, holding its breath in anticipation. The edge of the building digs into the soles of your feet, the space between you and the world below both terrifying and liberating.
“I miss the little moments, Jake,” you whisper, voice breaking as you squeeze your eyes shut. “I miss you making me feel lonely, and now... now I’m lonelier without you.” The ache in your chest is unbearable, a cavernous void that steals your breath.
One last deep breath, air burning through your lungs, and you step forward. The world blurs into a rush of sound and sensation—wind roaring in your ears, your body weightless, suspended in a moment between despair and peace.
And then the fall hits.
Pain surges through you, sharp and overwhelming, before darkness takes over. Around you, the chaos erupts into a cacophony—screams, the frantic pounding of feet, and the sharp cry of ambulance sirens slicing through the night. But these sounds are drifting away, becoming faint murmurs from a world slipping out of reach.
Silence wraps around you, one that made you feel like everything would be okay after this. Maybe, just maybe, peace waits on the other side. In death.
YOU WALK THROUGH THE DENSE, MILKY FOG, EACH REVERBERATING IN AN ECHO THAT NEVER QUITE SETTLES. The air is cool, feather-light, whispering like distant memories. Is this heaven? The question circles in your mind, unspoken. If it is, where is Jake? A quiet laugh escapes your lips, hollow. He couldn’t have done enough wrong to land in hell, you think, the hint of humor biting through your longing. Yet, the anticipation twists your heart—an ache that makes you want to see him so desperately.
You try to call out, “Jake?” but the sound stays trapped in your chest, choked by the thick fog. Another step forward and there’s nothing but endless white, stretching out, swallowing you whole. Your breath catches; suddenly, the air thins, compressing your lungs, squeezing out every ounce of oxygen. You gasp, your hands clawing at the invisible force stealing your breath. It feels like drowning in emptiness.
Then—without warning—everything shifts. White light erupts around you, blinding and all-consuming. You brace for oblivion, muscles tensing for an end you’re sure is near. But instead, there’s a softness beneath you—a mattress that cradles you like an embrace you forgot.
Your eyes snap open, pupils adjusting to the familiar pale ceiling. It’s your ceiling. Your shared room. The bed, the faint scent of Jake’s cologne still lingering in the sheets, as if he just left. You sit up, heart thundering, hands brushing over your body frantically. No pain, no bruises, no broken bones—nothing. You’re whole, intact.
Then the realization hits you like cold water, and your fingers tremble as you pull them away.
“What the…?” you murmur, eyes darting around, seeking answers that the silent room won’t give. Your gaze falls to the phone on the bedside table, its screen blank and mocking in its stillness. You grab it, breath hitching as the time blinks to life.
January 29th, 2024. 6:30 a.m.
A shiver races down your spine. The date stares back at you, sharp and impossible. You set the phone down, legs feeling weak as you stand and approach the mirror. Your reflection isn’t that of a woman who has been weeping endlessly. Your eyes, dry and wide, reflect confusion rather than the storm of emotions that you carry.
“Is this one of those flashes they say you see before death?” Your voice trembles as the words escape, and you reach up to touch the cold glass. The girl looking back at you does the same, fingers meeting yours in a silent plea.
Then, your eyes catch it. The blue gel pen resting on the dresser—a pen that has no place outside your drawer. It’s a small thing, but the sight of it makes your breath hitch. Memories slice through you, sharp and unforgiving. That pen was the one you’d used for the note to Jake, the one that demanded space, an end.
“No,” you breathe out, shaking your head, bile rising in your throat. The pen feels like a cruel token, mocking you for what came after. In a swift motion, you snatch it up, the cold plastic biting into your skin as you grip it tight. The weight of your guilt, your regret, turns your stomach, and with a sudden burst of anger, you hurl the pen into the trash, its clatter punctuating the silence like a final plea.
Chest heaving, you close your eyes. If this is some kind of twisted second chance, you don’t know if you should feel terror or relief. But the room, the sheets, the absence on the other side of the bed—everything points to one impossible truth.
You’re back.
But this isn't a romance novel, is it?
Your eyes trail back to the empty bed, where Jake should be. “Jake?” The name falls from your lips, hopeful, trembling, but the silence stretches on, suffocating.
Your heart thuds like a wild drumbeat, erratic and desperate, the rhythm matched only by the single hope that propels you forward: seeing Jake. Alive. Healthy. Breathing.
You practically jog out of the shared bedroom, your bare feet sliding slightly on the hardwood floor as you turn the corner. The guest room door is ajar, a sliver of dim light illuminating the narrow hallway. The pulse in your chest quickens, breaths shallower with each step until you reach the threshold. You pause, drawing in a trembling breath before stepping inside.
There he is. Jake. Lying on his side, dark hair fanned messily over the pillow, the soft rise and fall of his chest hypnotic in its simplicity. Relief washes over you so powerfully that your knees almost buckle. You inch closer, careful not to make a sound. The blanket is snug around his torso, exposing his bare, muscular chest—the way he prefers when he’s alone. Your throat tightens at the sight, familiar yet so foreign now.
Your hand, almost on its own accord, hovers over his face, fingers trembling as you place them under his nose. The soft, warm breath that meets your touch is enough to sting your eyes with unshed tears. Your hand drifts down, resting against his chest, where you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat—a rhythm you thought you’d never sense again.
Jake stirs, the sudden shift pulling you out of your trance. His eyelids flutter open, dark eyes glazed with sleep but sharpening as they land on you. He blinks once, then again, brows drawing together.
“What are you doing?” His voice, rough with sleep, carries a note of confusion that makes your hand fall away as though burned.
“I-I…” The words snag in your throat, scrambling to make sense of the madness. How could you possibly explain? Your eyes dart nervously to the floor, heat searing your cheeks as you mutter, “I missed your kisses.”
The room freezes. You can feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with disbelief. He shifts, sitting up, and the blanket slips down to his waist, revealing the sharp lines of his torso. Your eyes betray you, flickering over the familiar planes before darting away in embarrassment.
“But… we never kiss,” he says, voice low and edged with confusion. The statement slices through you, painfully reminding you of the distance you both had grown used to.
“I know... I...” you whisper, fingers clenching into fists at your sides. The silence stretches, heavy, until the sharp trill of his phone alarm shatters it. Jake’s attention shifts, eyes narrowing as he leans to silence it. When he looks up again, the space where you stood is empty.
You rush back to your room, shutting the door behind you with a soft thud, heart hammering in your chest. Sliding down until you sit with your back pressed against the cool wood, you cover your flushed face with shaking hands. Your pulse thunders in your ears, mixing with the replay of his sleepy voice, the fleeting touch of his warmth.
Is this really the past? The question festers, tugging at the edges of logic, but the ache in your chest and the rawness of your emotions tell you it is. And if so, this year holds one horrifying certainty: Jake’s death.
The mere thought twists something deep inside you, bringing back the soul-crushing grief, the endless nights of regret. You glance down at your wrist, breath catching as your eyes lock on the ink-black date that marks it: November 4th. The day Jake dies.
Frantically, you rub at the skin, as if the stubborn mark will simply smudge away under your touch. But it doesn’t. The date remains, stark and immovable, taunting you.
A shiver crawls up your spine, but then a thought—a glimmer of defiance—roots itself.
What if you change it? What if this was given to you, not as a cruel joke, but a chance to rewrite what went so terribly wrong? To love him in a way you never did and save him from the fate that once tore your entire world apart.
“I can do this,” you whisper, determination threading into your voice. The regret may have once paralyzed you, but now it fuels you. If you only have until that date, then every second will be spent fighting fate, no matter how impossible it seems.
THE SOFT MURMUR OF THE COUPLE’S CONVERSATION DRIFTS DOWN THE STERILE HOSPITAL CORRIDOR, brushing against your ears like a whispered secret. The woman lies propped against crisp white pillows, her leg encased in a cast, eyes fixed on her partner with a blend of exhaustion and comfort. He leans forward, fingers interlaced with hers, voice low and tender.
“Can you please see what's wrong?” he asks, eyes glistening with concern. He gently squeezes her hand, words spilling out as quiet reassurances. “You're doing so well, love. It's going to be okay.”
A tight warmth coils in your chest as you approach, a familiar pang of bittersweetness shadowing the sight. The love, the unwavering devotion-it's moments like these that remind you why you cherish your job. The fragility of life, held together by threads of connection, has always moved you, even when those threads unraveled in your own life.
When you started nursing, blood was your greatest fear, the sight once enough to turn your stomach. Time had softened those edges, transforming anxiety into steady resolve. It was also during those early years when you married Jake, the man whose smile was warm enough to banish shadows but whose presence now only haunted your memories. The marriage had lasted five years before everything shattered with the crash.
No. Stop. The thought rushes at you like a wave, cold and suffocating. You grit your teeth, eyes burning as you push it down, push him down, refusing to let the grief claw at you. He's alive here, in this fragile present you've been thrust into. Don't let the past bleed into now.
“Sure,” you say softly, the practiced smile you wear settling on your face. You reach out, fingers moving gently over the girl's cast, checking the edges, ensuring everything is as it should be. She nods in silent gratitude, eyes fluttering shut with relief as her partner exhales.
The end of your shift arrives with the deep hues of twilight stretching across the sky. The drive home is long, punctuated by the soft rumble of the engine and the anxious thrum of your thoughts. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, tapping out a nervous rhythm. Avoid home, your mind suggests, listing off a million errands you suddenly think of, any excuse to delay the inevitable.
But the excuses run dry when you're standing in front of your door, keys cold against your palm. The air outside is crisp, biting at your cheeks as you draw a deep breath and hold it. The weight of the morning—Jake's sleepy, questioning eyes and the ghost of your impulsive words-hangs between you and the door.
“Is it too late to back down?” The whisper escapes your lips, trembling in the chilly silence. You picture his expression, the puzzled furrow of his brow as he replayed your words. The way his fingers brushed over his phone, gaze lifted just in time to see you flee. He isn't stupid. Jake never was.
With a sigh, you slip the key into the lock, the click loud and final. The door opens, and warmth spills out to meet you, along with the faint scent of his cologne. Your pulse quickens as you step inside, the hum of your heartbeat louder than the quiet creak of the floor under your weight.
Don't run, you tell yourself, even as the urge coils tight in your muscles. You close the door behind you.
As you push open the front door, the faint glow of the television casts flickering shadows across the living room. There he is-your husband, Jake, reclined on the couch, eyes fixed intently on the news. His brows knit slightly as a montage of suited politicians gestures on screen, their voices droning promises as hollow as a whisper in the wind.
He is basically watching those politicians give some weird and untrue promises for the sake of votes.
How romantic. How normal. The bitter thought twists in your chest. But it isn't. Nothing about this is normal. Why would he be watching the news, of all things? Then, a pang of irony hits you like a wave. How hypocritical, you think. You promised Jake your forever in a ceremony that now feels like an echo. The vows shared between you had been spoken out loud but never truly lived.
You shake the memory away, an old wound you refuse to pick at as you step inside, the floor cool under your feet. Jake doesn't notice you at first, his attention locked on the screen, oblivious to the fact that the person who left him a note asking for space now stands in the doorway, wrestling with the tension roiling inside her.
“Hey,” you finally say, the word falling between you like an anchor. It comes out awkward, unsure, a fragile hope that he won't read too much into it. But Jake's eyes flick to yours, a spark of recognition cooling to something unreadable.
“You're back home?” His voice is measured, neither warm nor cold, but there's a tightness to it that you can't ignore. He shifts, the blue glow of the screen catching the sharp line of his jaw as he waits for your response.
The note. You had slipped it into his hand, asking for a break from a marriage four years deep but hollow. Your heart thuds in your chest, fingers clenched at your side as you speak before fear can pull the words back.
“The note-I take it back. I don't want a break from you or this relationship, Jake.”
The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the low hum of the news anchor's voice. His eyes search yours, a hint of disbelief darkening the warm brown you once memorized. “Why?” The question slices through the quiet, clipped and cautious. You almost flinch at the hardness there, a wall built brick by brick in your absence.
“Because I don't want to stay away from you.” Your voice trembles, raw honesty exposed between you like an open wound. Jake's eyes widen slightly, the stoic mask cracking as a flush creeps across his cheeks.
“Y-You're blushing?” The soft, astonished laugh tumbles out of you, a momentary break in the storm that makes you feel like you're standing on the edge of something new. The corners of his mouth twitch, the faintest sign of a smile, but he shakes his head.
“No, I'm not. I'm just... cold,” he mutters, the lie transparent.
“Sure, sir. You're just cold.” You chuckle, sinking onto the floor beside the couch, knees drawn up as you hug them close. The laughter is sharp, almost giddy, the sound foreign in the room that has held so many silences.
Jake watches you, confusion settling into his features, the red on his cheeks fading as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You're acting weird,” he murmurs, the words half swallowed, uncertain.
“How am I acting weird if I'm seeing my husband show some attraction to me, which isn't platonic, for the first time?” The jest slips out, tinged with sincerity, but it brings a hush over both of you. The truth stands stark between you, glaring and painful. For a moment, neither of you speak, each of you weighed down by memories, by the heavy knowledge of what's been lost and what still aches to be found.
But determination flares in your chest, a stubborn warmth. So what if love had been absent before? So what if promises were half-kept and hearts guarded? You could start again. You could relearn how to be two flawed people willing to try. Your gaze meets Jake's, the hope in your eyes unyielding.
Don't let go, you silently plead. Let this be the start of something real.
Jake clears his throat, a subtle attempt to dissolve the tension settling over the living room like a blanket too heavy to lift. His fingers fidget, running nervously over the seam of the couch as he shifts his gaze downward. There you are, still seated on the floor, legs tucked to one side, eyes catching the soft glow from the TV. Cute, he thinks, the word rolling silently through his mind, too heavy with unsaid truths to speak aloud.
“So...” The word escapes him, thin and unfinished, hovering in the air. His eyes flit over your face, searching for a reaction. The awkwardness clings to the silence, but you don't falter.
“So?” you echo, your tone a notch steadier, holding the slight tremor that betrays your effort. You lean forward just slightly, a gesture that feels braver than it is. If courage could rewrite fate, you'd wield it now, not just for yourself, but for him. For Jake, who might not know the sharp edge of reality that's cut you.
He rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side where the blue light paints his profile in soft, wavering lines. “You know... Semi's birthday is next week.” His words stumble, trailing off as if second-guessing their own existence. But you aren't in the dark. You know exactly what this moment leads to.
“Yes, I'd love to go shopping for gifts for her,” you respond, your voice quick and practiced. His eyes widen, caught off guard, the surprise stark against his usual composed expression. The tension in his jaw slackens, and he blinks, unsure if he heard you right.
“Excuse me?” He stares at you, the faint crease between his brows deepening.
“Isn't that what you were about to ask?” You tilt your head slightly, a small smile playing at your lips, testing him. He hesitates, realizing that denial means trouble, but his face softens into a relieved kind of acceptance.
“No, no... of course. You could... accompany me to shop for Semi's birthday presents.” His voice picks up, the uncertainty lifting as he finds the path back to normalcy. He notices your smile widening, the tension slipping just enough to let him breathe.
“Okay then, see you tomorrow, husband.” The word slips from you, unbidden, laced with a warmth that surprises even you as you turn on your heel. You make your way toward the guest room, feet padding softly against the floor. Jake's brows knit again, eyes following your form until you pause, hand on the frame of the doorway.
“Why are you heading to the guest room?” His question is quick, a thread of confusion laced with something else-something vulnerable.
“Because we sleep apart, and I wouldn't want my husband's back to break on that stiff, rough bed. The sheets aren't even comfortable,” you say, voice light but with an edge that dares him to react. You step into the room, but glance over your shoulder with eyes that glimmer, a playful smirk pulling at your lips. “Besides, I'd rather you break your back or get tired doing me than struggling on a bed.”
His jaw drops, eyes wide with stunned silence as the door closes between you. Jake sits back, eyes fixed on the now-empty hallway, replaying the moment in disbelief. The wife who barely spoke above a whisper at their wedding, who tiptoed through years of silence, had just turned the tables with a single teasing line. His pulse hammers beneath the stillness.
What on earth just happened?
“ARE YOU TELLING ME Y/N JUST TURNED INTO A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON?” Jay's voice, casual yet curious, echoes through the phone. He's speaking to Jake, who shifts from foot to foot, eyes glancing around the boutique as he waits for you to finish picking out a dress for his niece. The sound of soft music drifts around him, mixing with murmurs of other shoppers.
“Exactly that!” Jake's voice comes out louder than intended, drawing looks from the store's staff. A woman in a sleek uniform, brows raised in disapproval, approaches with a pointed glare.
“Sir, please keep your voice down or refrain from talking altogether,” she says, sternly but professional.
Jake's ears burn as embarrassment blooms across his face. “Yeah, I'm sorry” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.
Through the phone, Jay's laughter rings clear and unapologetic. “You seriously got told off by staff? Man, you're killing me!” Jay's chuckles fade into a smirk that Jake can practically hear. Jay's the same as he's always been-playful, relentless, the older brother who teases but listens when it counts.
“Fine, fine, I'll stop. Tell me what you mean by Y/N changing, just... keep it PG, will you?” Jay's tone is teasing, but curiosity laces through.
Jake's jaw tightens, eyes scanning the store for you as if your sudden return would put him on the spot. “There's nothing intimate going on between us,” he blurts, the words a knee-jerk reaction. His chest tightens with the memory of you resting your hand on him in your sleep last week, the way warmth had crept through him then. He clears his throat. “I mean, she's talking to me more, being... sweet. She listens. It's almost... submissive.”
“I told you, no bedroom details!” Jay chimes in, sarcasm sharp enough to make Jake's teeth clench.
“THIS IS NOT A BEDROOM DETAIL!!!” Jake retorts, frustration coloring his tone. It earns him another hard look from the store associate across the room, who pointedly glances over her glasses. Jake sighs and mouths an apology again, shoulders drooping as he lowers his voice.
“What I mean is, she's more... attentive. She's not arguing as much. It's like she's listening to me for the first time.”
Jay's voice softens, just a hint of seriousness slipping through. “Isn't that how she always is with others?”
“Yeah, with everyone else. Just not with me,” Jake admits, the admission heavy with a history neither of them mention.
“Interesting.” Jay's reply is contemplative, but before he can say more, Jake's voice interrupts, distorted through the line. “Oh shoot, she's coming back. I'll call you later.”
As the call ends, Jake pockets his phone, glancing up just in time to see you walking back with a smile. Jay, on the other side of the city, sets his phone down, a smirk playing at his lips as he thinks of sharing this tidbit with his wife later. Whatever was happening between his brother and sister-in-law, it was about to get even more intriguing.
On the other side, Jake stands, a mixture of amusement and curiosity on his face as you hold up a tiny pink dress. It's perfectly frilly, fit for a little girl. But all he can think is how charming it would look in a size for you—a thought that makes him shake his head, realizing how ridiculous it sounds.
“So, what do you think? Should I get this for Semi?” you ask, eyes sparkling with anticipation. There's already a growing collection of clothes for his niece in your arms, a reminder of how you've embraced being part of his family.
“Are you getting all of them?” he asks, more out of shock than judgment. He never imagined children's clothes could come with such hefty price tags.
“Yes, why? Is this too much? I can cover it if—”
Before you can finish, he interrupts, affronted. “I'll pay. It's for my lady, after all.”
The statement hangs in the air, not romantic as he'd intended but awkward, making your brows twitch slightly. You resist the urge to grimace, forcing a polite smile instead.
A staff member, the same one who had shushed Jake earlier, walks over with an unimpressed expression, exchanging a silent, almost comic glare with him. She gave Jake a look that said 'you're weird and I don't want to talk to you'
'what have I ever done to you' was the look that Jake presented back to the staff before she looked away. You glance between them, slightly confused. Then Jake clears his throat, moving the conversation forward.
“Do you have a similar dress in a bigger size?” His voice drops to almost a whisper. He feels self-conscious asking, but the idea has stuck.
The staff member blinks, taken aback. “Excuse me?” She tilts her head, uncertain if she heard right.
“Yeah, do you have something like this,” Jake gestures at the dress in your hands, “but, you know, for an adult?” A flush of red creeps across his cheeks as he points to you. The staff member nods after a moment, walking off to search, while you stand there stunned, watching her go.
“Why are you buying something for me? Semi’s dress is already pricey. A woman's size will be—”
“It's just a dress,” he interrupts with a small sigh, eyes softening. “Think of it as a gift.”
“But today isn't anything special.”
“Maybe not. But I'd like to make it special,” he replies, voice lowering. “I haven't given you anything since our wedding. That was four years ago.” His words carry a quiet vulnerability as he looks at you, taller and more serious than you expect. You hold his gaze before shifting and mumbling a reluctant, “Fine,” looking away to hide the way your cheeks warm.
The staff returns holding a similar dress, but in an adult size. It's pink, short, and undeniably cute-something that looks a little too daring for your style.
“Will this do?” she asks.
“Absolutely not,” “hell yeah,” you and Jake say in unison. The staff's eyebrows raise as she turns to you, sensing you as the more level-headed one.
“We're not buying it,” you insist, giving Jake a look.
He doubles down. “We are.”
“Jake, no.”
“Why not?”
“It's too short!” you argue, exasperated. He shrugs, eyes softening as he counters, “It's knee-length. That's normal.”
With a dramatic sigh, you roll your eyes and give in. But you don't try it on in the store; the idea of wearing it in front of him makes your heart thud with a mix of nerves and embarrassment. After all, you've barely even shared a bed in weeks—how could you possibly show him a dress like that now?
JAKE’S HEART STOPS FOR A MOMENT AS HE TAKES IN THE SIGHT BEFORE HIM. You, standing in the baby pink dress that hugs your figure just right, with its soft fabric brushing just above your knees. The playful, shy smile you wear as you twirl slightly sends a wave of warmth through him. He never expected to see you like this; the reality strikes him so suddenly that it leaves him breathless.
The laughter of Semi fills the room as she runs around in her matching pink dress, giggling and pulling you along by the hand. The soft glow of the post-birthday celebration lights casts a golden hue, warming up the atmosphere in the living room. Jake sits on the edge of the couch, one hand resting on his knee as he watches you and Semi, his gaze softening with an emotion he hasn't felt in what seems like ages.
A gentle nudge breaks his trance, and he turns to see his mother looking at him with raised brows and a hopeful gleam. “When are you two going to have kids?” she asks, her voice light but laced with longing.
The air in the room shifts. You pause mid-spin, eyes darting to Jake with a look of surprise. This isn't part of the script of your past life; this question throws you off balance, the sudden attention making your heart race.
Jake's father, seated across with a glass of wine in his hand, lets out a dramatic sigh. “I think I'll be long gone before I see any grandchildren from this one,” he jokes, though the weight behind it is unmistakable. The statement slices through the room's cheerful mood, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. Jake's jaw tightens, a subtle tension creeping up his spine. He wants kids too, he really does—but not in a house that feels as unstable as theirs has become.
Before he can respond, you surprise everyone, including yourself. “We're trying,” you say, the words slipping out with practiced ease, even as your pulse pounds. The room freezes, all eyes turning toward you in shock.
Jake's eyebrows lift in silent question, but he plays along, shifting to put on an unreadable expression. He nods, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he covers the uncertainty boiling beneath. The room shifts back into a mixture of excitement and surprise.
“Is that true? You're both trying?” Jake's mother's eyes glisten, her hope rekindled as she looks between you and her son.
“Really?” Jake's father echoes, leaning forward, his earlier sarcasm replaced by genuine interest.
Jay, standing near the fireplace, furrows his brow, lips parting in disbelief. Only last week, Jake had confided in him about how distant and weird things had become between you two.
Jake forces a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah... we've been trying for a while.” The lie feels heavy in his mouth, and he shoots you a look that says, Why'd you lie about that?
Your sister-in-law, Jieun, raises her hand, pointing at you with wide eyes. “Since when?” she blurts out, unable to contain her shock.
Jake stutters, “It's been a-a month,” the answer sounding rehearsed yet shaky. He glances at you again, his eyes pleading for an explanation that won't come.
The conversation quickly shifts into an excited buzz, with well-meaning wishes from your in-laws filling the air. You catch Jake's gaze, and despite the tight-lipped smile you give the family, there's a flicker of humor in your eyes. The absurdity of it all makes you want to laugh.
You both know the truth: the notion of trying for a child is impossibly far from reality.
Heck, it was funny for you to watch.
You were still a virgin. You two didn't even kiss more than once in those four years and they expect a baby to suddenly pop out of you?
And once the party winds down, you find yourself sitting on the couch with Semi by your side. Her wide, curious eyes shine with excitement as she swings her legs back and forth. At just four years old, she's a bundle of endless questions and innocent wonder.
You smile, reaching over to gently ruffle her soft, dark hair. “Does the birthday girl like her dress?” you ask, voice playful.
Semi beams, glancing down at the pink ruffled dress with pride. “It's so pretty,” she chirps, then looks up at you with a thoughtful expression. “But yours is prettier. You always look pretty, Aunty.”
Your heart melts, and you chuckle softly. “Aww, you learned how to give compliments, huh?” you tease, watching as her cheeks turn rosy and she averts her gaze to fiddle with her fingers.
“Aunty!” she whines, wanting you to stop teasing. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans in closer and motions for you to do the same. With a curious tilt of your head, you move closer, letting her whisper into your ear. “Will you eat a baby to have a baby?” she asks, voice so serious it makes you freeze for a moment.
You stifle a laugh, your eyes crinkling at the edges. Gently cupping her cheek, you whisper back, “No, sweetie. That's not how it works. But that's grown-up stuff, and we don't talk about it now, do we?”
Semi giggles, her little fingers playing with a toy she received from her grandmother. The sight makes your chest tighten in a bittersweet way. You can almost picture your mother-in-law doting on a future child, fussing over toys and tiny clothes. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, making you shake your head lightly as if to dispel the image.
But a small part of you can't help but smile at the idea, a blush rising to your cheeks. The dream is distant, almost unreachable, and not yet yours to claim.
When you and Jake step out into the cold night, the air nips at your exposed legs below your knees. The dress he had picked out for you, delicate and pastel pink, offers little warmth, and the heels are beginning to pinch with every step. You trail behind him, taking careful, aching strides to avoid twisting your ankle.
Jake notices, stopping suddenly to turn toward you, eyes scanning your shivering frame. “What’s wrong?” His gaze softens as he realizes how exposed you are, legs trembling from the chill. Without hesitating, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. The sudden warmth is welcome, but your teeth still chatter as you mutter, “Wish I had something covering my legs instead.”
He exhales, half exasperated, half amused, before a wry smile forms. “Should I carry you like a princess? You’d be warm then.”
Surprised, you bite back a retort, matching his teasing tone with confidence. “Maybe you should.”
Jake’s eyebrows shoot up, stunned. “Wait, what?”
“Chill, I was just joking,” you mumble, looking down at the ground. But before you know it, he’s stopped again, this time dropping to one knee. Your eyes widen in shock. “WHAT THE HELL?” you blurt out, stepping back in reflex, heat rising to your cheeks at the unexpected gesture. (more so because you believed he was trying to look up your dress)
Jake looks up, mildly annoyed but patient. “I’m helping you,” he says simply. Before you can argue, he pulls out a pair of slippers from a little carry bag he had brought from home. The realization hits, softening your expression as he glances up. “Lift your leg.”
You comply, feeling foolish for your earlier outburst. He slips the heels off your feet and replaces them with the soft slippers, careful and precise as if proving he has no ulterior motive. The chill in the air suddenly seems less biting.
“You had these the whole time?” you ask, voice softer now, eyes wide with realization. He places the heels into the carry bag, stands up, and meets your gaze with a smirk.
“Yeah. Thought you might need them,” he says, a hint of smugness in his tone. You’re about to thank him when he reminds you with a mock-accusing look, “And you were ready to accuse me of being a pervert.”
The memory makes you feel small, but you muster a sheepish, “Sorry.”
He shakes his head, a touch of amusement in his eyes as the two of you start walking again, your steps now confident and comfortable. His jacket around your shoulders holds a warmth that seems to seep straight to your heart.
“So...” Jake’s voice cuts through the silence, the question you've been dreading finally arriving. “Why did you lie about... us trying for a baby?” His tone is cautious, probing.
You sigh, the answer already clear in your mind. “It was the only way to get them to stop bothering us,” you admit. A pause follows, your gaze flitting up to meet his. You don’t dare to say more, not with your secret burden looming—coming from a future where he is no longer alive and your mission is to keep him safe.
Jake hums in agreement, the tension easing a bit. “I can’t argue with that.” A comfortable silence settles between you, only broken by the sound of your footsteps. He glances at you again and asks, “Are you hungry?”
As if on cue, your stomach grumbles. Relief flashes across his face before he reaches out, taking your hand and leading you forward. The two of you approach a small, tucked-away restaurant, its sign faded but familiar. Jake’s eyes light up. “You have to try the cold coffee from that café across the street,” he points out, the fondness in his voice unmistakable.
You nod, memories flickering back. His odd, endearing preferences were things you never forgot. “Fish curry with plain rice and some shrimp on the side?” you guess, eyes twinkling with recognition.
Jake’s head snaps to you, surprise clear as day. He stares, a laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “Since when did you start memorizing my favorites?”
You had heard about his fav things to eat from your brother in law, Jay. But Jake never said it to you himself so the boy was pretty much stunned when you literally memorised them, as if you were waiting to flex this whole time.
You offer a small, knowing smile. “I have my ways.”
The waiter arrives promptly with your orders, and the rich aroma fills the space between you and Jake. He takes a bite, but pauses, eyes drifting to you with a soft, contemplative expression. “We’ve never done this before…” he murmurs, his tone a mix of realization and gentle amusement.
You tilt your head, savoring a piece of shrimp. “You mean this date?” you ask, half-smiling.
“Yeah. I guess that’s what I mean,” he replies, taking a moment before continuing, as if gathering the courage. “I like it. I like how we are now.” He takes a sip of water, and the way he watches you is tender, raw. His hand slides across the table to rest over yours, fingers warm against your skin.
“I don’t know what changed, but I…” He hesitates, eyes locking with yours, a profound intensity that silences you. “I like how we’re not avoiding each other anymore, how we talk instead of fighting over every little thing.”
The sincerity in his words pierces through you, tugging at memories of a future where his absence left a hollow ache in your chest. The pain you’d carried, the distance, the loss—all of it feels heavy in this moment, but now, something else unfurls within you. An unexpected warmth that swells as his thumb brushes over your knuckles.
He draws in a shaky breath. “I know I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes, maybe too many, and that’s why we kept drifting apart in those four years we were married. But I want us to stay like this. Is that too much to ask for?” His voice cracks, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
The depth of emotion he shows takes your breath away, and your vision blurs as your own tears spill over. The raw honesty in his confession reaches a part of you that had long been buried under grief and guilt. But this isn’t grief—it’s something different, a warmth that wraps around you and fills the spaces that loss once consumed.
“Jake…” you whisper, voice trembling. He blinks rapidly, tears tracing paths down his cheeks as he tries to manage a laugh, a hand lifting to wipe at his face. “Did I go too overboard?” he chuckles, awkwardly, brushing his fingers over yours, an attempt to ease the intensity.
But you can’t answer with words, your heart too full. Instead, you wipe your own tears away, watching him as he takes a deep breath and resumes eating, eyes still red-rimmed, his emotions raw and vivid between you. The silence that follows is... a little satisfying this time around. Your chest tightens, and you realize this feeling—this unexpected, overwhelming tenderness—is the spark you hadn’t felt in what feels like forever.
The confession... It did something to you. It made you feel things or you believed so.
You reach for his hand, this time without hesitation, and hold on as if anchoring both of you to this moment. A shared glance tells him everything you can’t yet put into words: you’re here, with him, and for now, that’s enough.
AS THE DAYS PASSED FOLLOWING THAT UNEXPECTED DINNER, a subtle shift had occurred between you and Jake. It had been a month since then, and despite your hectic lives—you, a dedicated nurse, and him, an ambitious lawyer—something had changed. You continued to sleep separately, a necessity due to your conflicting schedules. Late nights saw you returning home to find Jake already asleep, and early mornings had him leaving before you awoke. This unspoken arrangement was born out of mutual respect for each other’s rest.
However, the reminder of the future haunted you. The date on your wrist, November 4th, hadn’t faded or smudged. It remained stark and vivid, a grim reminder of the fate you knew awaited Jake, filling you with silent dread.
Despite your busy lives, the dinner at that small restaurant had stirred something unspoken between you. A shared tenderness had taken root, and in the brief pauses between work, you found yourself drawn to those moments that whispered of possibilities—moments that spoke of a bond that hadn’t existed before.
The room feels charged with an unspoken tension as you stand there, watching Jake. The question slips from your lips, “Are we sleeping separately again?” masking the tremble in your voice with an attempt at confidence. Jake’s eyes meet yours, an amused smile playing on his lips as he tilts his head. “Do you want to sleep with me?” he asks, casual yet knowing.
You stammer, trying to find an answer that won’t reveal how vulnerable you feel. “No—yes—but—” The uncertainty in your voice makes him chuckle softly, the sound sending warmth through your chest. The realization of your feelings for him washes over you again, clear and inescapable.
“It’s normal to want to sleep with your husband. Don’t worry,” he says reassuringly. His tone is light, yet there’s an edge of tenderness as he turns and walks to the bedroom. He pauses at the doorway, looking back with an expectant eyebrow raise, and you follow.
Inside, the dim light casts soft shadows. The atmosphere feels different tonight, heightened by the realization that, while you’ve shared this space before, this moment feels profoundly intimate. He hesitates for a moment, the usual playful confidence in his manner replaced by a quiet consideration.
Should he lie down first?
Wait for you?
Or speak?
“You don’t need to worry. I won’t touch you unless you want me to. We could even put a pillow between us if you prefer,” he says in a rush, trying to ease the tension. But his words leave you both flushed. You respond, flustered yet honest, “No—you can touch me—I mean...”
Jake’s eyes widen, and a surprised silence falls over you both, broken only by your slightly quickened breaths.
Finally, you break it, murmuring, “So... do we sleep?” You wish the dim light hides your expression, but Jake’s shifting on the bed signals that he’s as unsettled as you are. He lies down first, and you follow, settling into the bed with a space that feels simultaneously too close and too distant.
Minutes pass as the darkness deepens around you. You’re aware of every sound, every breath he takes, and the slight rustle of sheets as you both try to find comfort. The knowledge that he’s staying dressed out of respect doesn’t escape you, and neither does the chill that seeps through the room, despite the blanket. It’s enough to make sleep elusive, even as your heart drums with quiet, unspoken hope.
The air feels thick with tension as neither of you can fall asleep, despite the dim light and the shared silence. Jake gently sits up, his voice breaking the stillness. “I’ll get changed into my night clothes—this is uncomfortable. You should get changed too,” he suggests. His words are practical, but they stir a shyness inside you. The thought of wearing shorts around him makes you feel self-conscious, though the blanket and darkness give you some comfort.
With a deep breath, you agree. You grab your oversized top and shorts, retreating to the bathroom to change. When you return, Jake is already asleep, dressed in a soft T-shirt and shorts. His peaceful expression makes a pang of guilt settle in your chest. You feel both relief and unease at the same time, knowing he’s so close yet so far away.
You lie there, tense in the stillness of the night. Jake’s hand lands instinctively on your stomach, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you. You hold your breath, carefully shifting his hand away. Just when you think you're safe, his leg shifts under the blanket, pressing gently between your legs. A rush of heat floods your chest as you gently push his leg away, silently exhaling in relief.
In the quiet, you watch him sleep. His messy hair, a small trail of drool escaping his lips—something inside you stirs. Without thinking, you bring your thumb to wipe away the drool, brushing it lightly against your shirt. You stare at him for a moment, your heart racing in ways you can’t fully understand.
For Jake though,
He wakes to find you so close, your noses nearly touching. A small breath escapes him as he pulls back, but then he notices your body, curled into him—one of your legs and arms wrapped around him, as if clinging to his warmth to escape the cold. You’re nestled so comfortably against his chest, and though a small part of him wants to get up, he finds himself content in the moment.
He stares at you, watching as he slips his fingers through your hair, the quiet intimacy settling around him like a comforting blanket. When you stir, half-awake, he expects you to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you bury yourself further into his chest, and he smiles, a little amused by your unconscious need for closeness.
“Morning... Baby,” he says softly, though he’s hoping you’ll move just enough for him to slip out of bed.
“Morningg,” you murmur, nuzzling his chest. He notices how you don’t seem to mind the nickname, a small sign that you’re still in that dreamy, sleepy state. He wants to pull away, but he doesn't want to disturb you, so he asks, “Can you move a bit, baby?”
You barely stir, your arms and legs still tangled with his. “Too cold,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his shirt.
“I know, baby. I’ll turn the heater on for you, is that good?” he whispers, his voice tender. He’s careful not to wake you fully, knowing you won’t even remember this when you wake up.
An hour later, you wake up alone in the bed, the soft comforter still wrapped around your legs. You stretch and yawn, rubbing your eyes, only to hear the door creak open. Jake stands there, a plate in hand—an omelette and a fruit salad. You blink, unsure if you’re still dreaming, and pinch your cheek, just to make sure this isn’t some figment of your imagination.
“What's that?” you ask, your voice still thick with sleep.
“Breakfast in bed,” Jake says with a playful grin, setting the plate down in front of you.
“For me?” you ask, surprised and touched.
“Who else?” he replies with a shrug, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
“Why...?” You blink at him, unsure of why he's being so considerate, so affectionate.
“Why not?” he answers, teasing, but there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes your heart flutter.
You stare at the food in front of you, but the nerves kick in. “Well, uhm... I haven’t brushed.”
“It’s okay,” he reassures, waving off your concerns.
“No, it’s not. It’s gross. I do care about germs,” you argue, a bit embarrassed. Before he can say anything else, you rush off to brush your teeth, feeling a little self-conscious. You quickly freshen up, brushing your teeth with the toothpaste, hoping that’ll help with the lingering awkwardness.
When you return, you take a bite, and the emotion hits you harder than you expect. You don’t quite know why, but the tenderness of his gesture fills you with gratitude, and a soft lump forms in your throat.
“Why?” you ask again, your voice shaky, as you sip some water. The question has been swirling in your mind ever since you saw him standing there, holding that plate.
“Hm?” he hums, genuinely confused, not fully understanding why you're so emotional.
“Why are you being so nice... and romantic?” You wince after speaking, regretting your words, but you can't take them back now.
Jake tilts his head, his smile fading slightly. “Like I said a month ago... I meant those words. I want us to stay like this... And not go back to how it was in those four years.. Are we really that immature to let it happen again? ” The vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard, and for a moment, you can see the hurt in his eyes.
It's raw, honest, and you feel a knot twist in your chest, not having a reply to his genuine question.
THE DAYS AND MONTHS THAT FOLLOW ARE UNEXPECTEDLY TENDER, filled with moments that remind you of what being husband and wife is meant to feel like. The shared smiles, lingering touches, and quiet mornings are sweeter than they have ever been, and for the first time in a long while, peace seems attainable. Yet, there is an undercurrent that stirs beneath it all—the date that looms, casting a shadow over your contentment.
November 4th.
With the month drawing nearer, your heart starts to tighten with an anxious grip. Paranoia seeps into the quiet moments, the fear of what November 4th could mean—what it has meant in the past—makes the days feel more fragile. Your mind races, replaying scenarios and doubts that you can’t shake off. Each sweet gesture, each kind word from him, is tinged with the knowledge that the date approaches, threatening to unravel everything you’ve rebuilt.
Jake’s expression is heavy with exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes hinting at the long day he’s had. You offer, “I’ll heat up the dinner,” and turn toward the kitchen, but he stops you with a gentle grasp around your wrist. Before you can react, he pulls you back, pressing you against the wall. The soft strains of a romantic song drift from the living room, creating an intimate, almost fragile atmosphere.
He’s close—closer than usual—and you feel the warmth radiating from his body as well as the subtle scent of his cologne. The proximity sends your pulse racing.
“Jake?” you say softly, confusion lacing your voice as you look up at him. His face is unreadable, the dim lighting casting a shadow over the tired lines of his features. His eyes meet yours, carrying an unspoken emotion.
“Mm?” he murmurs, his voice hushed, as if not to disturb the moment. His hands find their way around you, holding you securely against him, and he leans his chin on your head. The gesture feels protective, desperate even.
“What are you doing?” you ask, your words barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re seeking clarification or reassurance. His embrace tightens for a moment, and you feel his chest rise and fall against yours as he takes a deep breath.
“Can you stop calling me Jake?” he says quietly, the request landing softly, yet weighted.
Surprise flashes through you. “What do you want me to call you?” you ask, voice muffled against his shirt. The question feels vulnerable, as if shifting something fundamental between you both.
“I don’t know... something like... baby, darling, honey... or anything,” he admits, a subtle flush spreading across his cheeks despite the solemn tone. You catch the shy dip of his eyes, and a faint smile tugs at your lips.
“You’re being quite demanding,” you tease, looking up into his face. His lips part slightly as he considers your words.
“This isn’t being demanding,” he counters, pausing just long enough for the silence to underline his meaning. His eyes search yours, raw and full of an unnamed plea. “I just want to spend my last months with you, thinking we’re just... normal. Like any other couple.”
His words sink in, bringing with them an ache that spreads through your chest. The silence that follows is heavy, laced with all the things unsaid and the truth that’s pressing in on both of you. You lift a hand, letting your fingers brush the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes soften, dark lashes casting shadows against his skin as he watches you.
There’s something fragile in this moment, a bittersweet understanding passing between you that makes your throat tighten. The future looms, uncertain and unkind, but for now, you’re here, held close, suspended in the tender present.
Jake’s voice lowers, a tremor in its depths that betrays the weight of his words. “You might not believe me, but... I come from a reality where I’m dead. So, I hope we can at least be nice to each other in my last moments. Can you do that?”
A stunned silence follows, your breath catching in your throat as his confession hangs in the air. You believe him; how could you not when you come from the same reality? Eyes widening, you step back, raising your wrist to show the dark, unerasable mark: November 4th. The ink-like number seems to pulse, a constant reminder of a fate that binds you both.
Jake’s eyes mirror your shock. He releases you, just enough to reveal his own wrist. There it is, the same haunting date. The mark seems alive, almost mocking, as if counting down with every heartbeat.
Neither of you speaks for a moment, the silence heavy with shared grief and realization. The next second, you’re in his arms again, your face buried in his chest as he pulls you close, his own face pressed into your hair. The world around you blurs, reduced to the rapid thumping of your heart and the warmth of his embrace.
“I... please don’t... leave me this time,” you plead, your voice breaking under the weight of your fear. The memory of finding him lifeless in the world you came from, the coldness of that reality, rushes back with a cruel force.
“I will try,” he whispers, his voice barely steady as he runs a hand down your back in a soothing gesture. “We changed the relationship, right? So maybe... just maybe, we can avoid death too.”
You both stand there, unmoving as the moment stretches out. It feels absurd, two souls transported from a fractured future, now clinging to each other in the present in a fragile hope. Yet the thought of letting go is unbearable, so you don’t. For now, the reality of the present is enough.
JAKE’S FINGERS TREMBLE SLIGHTLY AS HE HOLDS OUT THE SMALL BOX, A HINT OF NERVOUSNESS CREASING HIS BROW. “This is for you.” His voice is softer than usual, his eyes searching yours for a response. The box is familiar, a relic from the present you left behind, steeped in memories. Inside is the ancestral ring, one that Jake’s mother entrusted to you after his death—a token that held more value than any wedding ring could.
“I wasn’t... couldn’t give it to you before, but now... I’d like you to have it.” His voice is almost a whisper as he takes your hand, slipping the cool metal onto your finger. His touch lingers, warm and careful, as if anchoring the moment between you.
You look down at the ring, its delicate design catching the dim light and glistening softly. The weight of it brings back a rush of memories that mix grief with an unexpected warmth. Meeting his gaze, you let a small, genuine smile curve your lips. “Thank you. After you… I mean, after your death, your mother gave it to me,” you say, voice thick with the past, “but I’m glad it’s you giving it to me now.”
The way his eyes widen before softening speaks volumes—acceptance, regret, and hope, all blending seamlessly as he draws you closer.
Jake’s expression shifts, a soft smile forming as he leans in, his body pressing yours gently against the bedroom wall. His breath mingles with yours, warm and scented faintly with his cologne. His eyes trace your features, holding a glimmer of something tender and fragile. You raise a brow in playful defiance, a silent challenge, and a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. Without another word, he cups your face, his thumb grazing your cheek, and leans in until the space between you disappears.
The first touch of his lips is tentative, testing. A shiver races down your spine as his mouth moves with a gentleness that makes your heart stutter. Your eyes flutter open for a second, catching the serene expression on his face before closing again as you respond, deepening the kiss. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to reality.
When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing in short, uneven gasps. The room is silent except for the soft crackle of a song playing somewhere in the background. Jake’s eyes open, and in them, you see a question—a hesitation laced with anticipation. “Do you want to go further?” His voice, barely above a whisper, holds a vulnerability that makes your pulse quicken.
You exhale softly, a hint of a smile teasing your lips as you match his boldness. “How far can you go?” The playful edge in your voice makes him chuckle, low and breathy.
“As far as you want to go.” The words are a promise, and before you can respond, his lips capture yours again, more confident this time, as his hand moves to the strap of your dress, gently sliding it off of your shoulders.
THE NEXT FEW WEEKS PASS IN A COMFORTING CALM, the bond between you and Jake strengthening with each passing day. You're no longer weighed down by the regret of the past, but instead, you focus on cherishing the present. Yet, there's still a lingering unease.
Jake driving the car is something that continues to gnaw at you. It's not just a simple fear; it's the haunting memory of the future you came from, where that very action led to his tragic end. As November nears, the pressure builds. You look at the date on your wrist—November 4th—and the thought of losing him again, of it becoming reality, is too much to bear. Your chest tightens, and you feel a mix of helplessness and dread, hoping with every fiber of your being that this time, things will be different.
Jake offers a reassuring smile, the kind that tries to mask his own unease as he softly says, “Chill, I’ll be back in an hour, alright?” His hand moves up to gently smooth your hair, eyes soft with understanding as he takes in the worry etched across your face. You cling tighter to his arm, voice trembling as you ask, “Is it important?”
He nods, and the hopeful part of you crumbles. The instinct to keep him close, to refuse, is almost overwhelming. But before you can protest, he leans forward, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. His hands slip down to rest on your shoulders as he looks at you earnestly.
“I promise I’ll be back. Now, will my pretty wife give me a smile so I can come back even sooner?” The playful plea tugs at your lips, and despite the fear swirling inside, you manage a small, forced smile. He chuckles softly, ruffling your hair before turning to leave.
You trail behind him to the door, eyes glued to the taillights of his car as they fade down the street. The ache in your chest sharpens, and you glance down at the ancestral ring on your finger, tracing its smooth surface as if the touch alone could make your wish come true: Please, come back safely.
The minutes stretch painfully long, and every ten minutes, you can’t resist sending a text, the same anxious message: “If you’re okay, just send a heart emoji.” True to his word, Jake replies with a heart every time—until the fifty-minute mark.
The silence is deafening. Your heart thunders as you stare at your phone, willing the screen to light up. Nothing. The dread coils tighter, stealing the air from your lungs. You take a shaky breath, but it barely settles you. Panic sets in, and you hit the call button. The phone doesn’t connect; the ring tone never plays. Your chest tightens.
In desperation, you call Jay, your brother-in-law. His voice is laced with confusion as he picks up. “Jay, is Jake with you?” The silence that follows your frantic question only amplifies your fear. “No, why? What’s going on?” he asks, suddenly serious. Before you can answer, he cuts the call, sensing the urgency and attempting to help in any way he can.
The next hour drags like an eternity, your anxiety swallowing every rational thought. You pace the room, eyes darting to the clock, phone clenched in your shaking hand. Then, after what feels like a lifetime, you hear the distant purr of an engine. Your pulse stutters as Jake’s car comes into view, whole and unharmed.
But you don’t relax. Not until you see him. The door swings open, and there he is, frustration etched into his features as he steps inside. Your breath catches, relief and anger colliding within you.
Jake's expression softens as he speaks, keeping his voice low despite the frustration. “Why’d you call Jay over something like this? My phone died while I was working. I charged it and got caught up in the case. It’s embarrassing.”
Your eyes well up, the weight of worry turning to a sting of hurt. “So? It’s not important?” Your voice wavers, raw with emotion. “I was terrified, Jake! I didn’t want to lose you again. Sorry for being the clingy wife you’re ashamed of.”
Turning to leave, you barely make a step before he’s there, blocking your path. His eyes search yours, but instead of a defensive remark, he pulls you close, enveloping you in an embrace that tells you more than words could. His arms tighten, anchoring you to him as he murmurs in your ear, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s strange, but I promise I won’t say that again, okay?”
His breath is warm against your hair as he leans his cheek on your head, his heartbeat steady against your own erratic one. Despite the tension, you sense his understanding, a silent acknowledgment of your fear. He’s learning to hold your worry without judgment.
“I was so scared, Jake. I thought I’d lose you all over again.” Your voice cracks, and he feels the tremor in your body. He wants to say the right thing, anything to soothe the tremble in your words, but all he can do is hold you tighter.
Both of you are haunted by that date imprinted on your wrists, “November 4th.” A reminder that looms like an uninvited shadow, a constant whisper of what could happen.
THE DAY ARRIVES, a heavy silence filling the air between you and Jake. His promise lingers like a protective shield around you both: he won’t drive, he won’t leave. His presence is a balm for the fear that pulses in your chest. As the two of you snuggle on the couch, the soft glow of the TV playing a rom-com, you turn to him with a worried look, your voice low and unsure.
“What if something bad happens while we’re in the house?” you whisper, nuzzling into his warmth. The thought of losing him, of the world continuing without him, feels unbearable.
Jake shifts, his arm wrapping tighter around you as he looks down at you, his breath warm against your neck. “Nothing will happen. And if it does, I’ll protect you,” he assures, his tone strong and sure, though his own heart is heavy. He knows how much your fear weighs on you, and he wants to shoulder it for you.
But the thought of you living without him—he can’t imagine it. He brushes your hair from your face gently, his voice a soft promise. “I love you too much for that.” His words come out naturally, like it’s something he’s been holding back but feels right now to say. It’s the first time you hear him say it, and the weight of those words floods your heart with warmth, knowing this is real.
“I get it. I won’t put my life at risk,” he murmurs, though there’s a quiet uncertainty in his words, an unspoken truth that he would never let anything harm you—even at the cost of his own safety.
You glance up at him, your lips pressing together in a worried frown. “You better not,” you mumble, not able to let go of the fear completely. You’ve spent the whole day together, in the safety of your home, trying to ignore the impending dread that the date will pass and nothing will change. Watching TV, cooking together, each small moment a reminder of how much he means to you—and how fragile life can be.
You curl up closer to him, as if physically wrapping yourself around him can keep him safe. Your eyes glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by too slowly. Every moment spent together now feels like a treasure, and you want to hold on to it forever.
The two of you lie in bed, the soft glow of the nightlight casting a gentle warmth over your forms. His hand rests tenderly over yours, fingers interlocking. He watches you as you sleep, your face relaxed, peaceful. A quiet whisper escapes his lips: “I love you.” His eyes linger on your peaceful expression, your other arm still clinging to him as if you’re unwilling to let go even in sleep.
He leans over to turn off the lamp, and then his gaze falls to his wrist—where the date once was. It’s gone. A wave of disbelief washes over him. The tension that has gripped him for so long begins to melt away. Perhaps it wasn’t an omen after all, but a reminder that after November 4th, a new chapter awaited them both.
He takes a deep breath, reaching for your wrist to find the same thing: no date. Relief floods him, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, pulling you even closer into his arms, savoring the moment.
But he knows, as much as this moment feels like a new beginning, there will still be challenges ahead. The fear you carry about him driving is not something that will fade overnight. Your worry, rooted in a past he knows you can’t shake, will take time to heal. But for now, he holds you close, understanding, and promises silently that he’ll be patient, allowing you to find peace in your own time.
TWO MONTHS HAVE PASSED SINCE THE FATEFUL DATE, and though life has taken you and Jake through different stages, there’s an undeniable warmth between the two of you. Sitting at the family dinner table, surrounded by loved ones, the air is filled with laughter, conversation, and the quiet hum of joy.
Semi, now a cheerful five-year-old, eats her meal quietly, occasionally looking up with shy glances.
You glance over at Jake, noticing him take a deep breath as he prepares to speak, his hand resting on the table near yours. It’s clear he’s nervous, even though it’s just family. He clears his throat, the words finally tumbling out: “So… We’re having a baby.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Jake’s father scoffs, not giving him an ounce of reaction, while his mother rolls her eyes. “Oh, c’mon, you can fool us one time, not twice,” she says, clearly referencing the last family dinner, where you had tried to casually mention trying for a baby, only for him to play along. He felt the blame was entirely on him, but you knew the truth—it was a team effort.
You chuckle softly to yourself, leaning into Jake’s side, your heart fluttering at the thought of a new life, a new chapter. He meets your gaze, his lips curving into a small smile, even amidst the teasing.
This moment, while filled with playful mockery, marks something deeper. You’re finally here together, stronger and more united than ever before. And this new adventure? It’s the start of a new journey that no one can take from you.
"Really, Y/n’s pregnant. We're having a baby," Jake says, his voice laced with excitement. His mother, skeptical, eyes you closely. "Is that true?"
Without waiting for Jake’s confirmation, you nod, feeling his fingers intertwine with yours beneath the table, his touch calming your nerves.
"I won’t hesitate to beat your ass if this is fake," his dad grumbles, irritation mixing with a hint of hope.
Jay, barely containing his amusement at the scene, watches the family react, while Jake proudly pulls out the ultrasound pictures, revealing the truth. His parents take turns looking at the images, jaws dropping in surprise. Jay, knowing already, can’t help but chuckle.
"Father was starting to question your masculinity. Glad you proved him wrong," Jay teases, earning a gentle nudge from Jieun, urging him to keep it light.
"Wait... So there’s a grandkid on the way?" Jake’s mother recovers first, grinning with hopeful excitement. Jake nods, and your heart swells at the thought of everything that's to come. This moment, this family, it feels like the beginning of something truly special.
Jake’s mother leans forward, still processing, but the excitement is slowly bubbling up. “A grandchild? Really? My little boy having a little one? I’m going to spoil that baby so much.”
Jake chuckles, glancing at you. “Well, you already spoil Semi enough, so I guess it’s fair.”
“Hey, I’m a great grandma-in-training,” she quips, giving Semi an affectionate pat. “But if you two need any advice, I’m here.”
Your heart swells seeing the warmth in her eyes. But then, Jake’s dad, clearly trying to keep his cool, mutters, “I’ll believe it when I see a baby in my arms.”
“You’ll see him,” Jake says, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Or her, right, Y/n?”
You smile, feeling the weight of the moment. “Definitely,” you whisper, feeling a rush of emotion.
Jay, still grinning, can’t help but poke at his younger brother. “So, what’s the plan, huh? You two gonna have one of those perfect Pinterest-worthy baby showers or just skip the whole thing?”
Jieun smacks his arm lightly. “Don’t make them nervous, Jay. Let them enjoy the moment.”
Jake laughs, looking over at you with that same loving gaze. “Honestly, I think we just need to take it one step at a time. But yeah, we’ll get there.”
“You know, when you have a baby, you’ll see just how much you need each other,” his dad says more seriously now, a rare moment of wisdom breaking through his tough exterior. “It’s not just about being a parent, it’s about being there for each other even more.”
Jake nods, his hand tightening around yours as if to say, “I’ve got you, always.”
The whole family seems to settle into a comfortable silence after that, everyone soaking in the news in their own way, but all of them sharing the same unspoken bond.
“Guess we’ll need one more chair for next time,” Jay jokes, breaking the silence, and everyone bursts out laughing.
You glance at Jake, his eyes full of joy, and your heart feels fuller than it ever has. There’s something about being surrounded by family—being with him—that feels right. “Yeah, we’ll need one more chair,” Jake agrees softly, his gaze drifting to the future, to the family that’s just beginning.
In the end, you and Jake had proven the vows true—til death do us part. Through all the challenges, fears, and moments of doubt, you had always found your way back to each other. The promises made, the trust built, and the love that had endured everything now stood as a testament to what you had together. With every touch, every shared laugh, and every quiet moment, you knew that no matter what, your hearts were bound—for life—and beyond.
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most writing advice is good as long as you know why it is good, at which point it is also bad. the hardest thing (and most precious thing) about being an artist is that you gotta learn how to take critique. i don't mean "just shut up and accept that people hate your work," i mean you need to learn what the critique is saying and then figure out if it actually helps.
i usually tell people reading my work: "i'm collecting data, so everything is useful." i ask them where they put the book down, even though it's too long for most people to read in 1 sitting. i ask them what they thought of certain characters. i let them tell me it was really good but i like it more when they look a little stunned and say i forgot i was reading your book, which means they forgot i exist, which is very good news.
sometimes people i didn't ask will read my work and tell me i don't like it. and that is okay, you don't have to like it. but i look at the thing that they don't like and try to figure out if i care. i don't like that you don't capitalize. this one is common, and i have already thought about it. i do not care, it's because of chronic pain and frankly i like the little shape of small letters. you use teeth and ribs in all your work. actually that is very true. i don't know what's up with that. next time i will work to figure out a different word, thank you. you're whiny, go outside. someone said that to me recently and it made me laugh. i am on the whine-about-it website as an internet poet. you are in my native habitat, watching me perform a natural enrichment behavior. but i like the dip of whiny, how the word itself does "whine" (up/down, the sound out your nose on the y), but i don't know if i want to feel whiny. maybe next time i will work on it being melancholy, like what you would call a male writer's poetry.
repeated "good" advice clangs in a bell and doesn't hold a real shape, dilutes in the water. like sometimes you will hear "don't use said." you turn that around in your head and it bounces off the edges of your brain like it is a dvd screensaver. it isn't bad advice, but it feels wrong somehow, like saying easy choices are illegal! sometimes i will only use "said." sometimes i will just kick dialogue tags out to the trash. sometimes i make little love poems where the fact that i do not say "said" is very bad, and makes you feel bad in your body, because someone didn't say something. i am a contrary little shitbird, i guess.
but it is also good advice, actually. it is trying to say that "said" sometimes is clutter. it makes new writers think about the very-small words and very-small choices, because actually your work matters and wordchoice matters. "i know," you said. "i know," you sighed. "i know." we both know but neither of us use a dialogue tag, because we are in a contemporary lit piece.
it is too-small to say don't use said. but it is a big command, so it gets your attention. what are you relying on? what easy choices do you make? when you edit, do you choose the same thing? can you make a different choice? sometimes we need the blankness of said, how it slides into the background. sometimes we don't.
i usually say best advice is to read, but i also mean read books you don't like, because that will make you angry enough to write your own book. i also mean read good books, which will break your heart and remind you that you are a very small person and your voice is a seashell. i also mean you need to eat books because reading a book is a writer's version of studying.
my creative writing teacher in the 7th grade had a big red list of no! words and on it was SUNSET. RAZORS. LOVE. GALAXY. DEATH. BLOOD. PAIN. I liked that razor and love were tucked next to each other like birds, and found it funny that he believed we were too young to know the weight of razor in the context of pain. i hated him and his Grateful Dead belt, where the colored teddy bears held up his appraisal of us. i hated his no list. it is very good/bad advice. i wasn't old enough yet to know that when you are writing about death you are also writing about sunsets and when you write about love you are tucking yourself into a napkin that never stops folding.
back then my poetry was all bloody, dripped with agony when you picked it up. i didn't know there is nothing beautiful about a razor, nothing exciting about pain. i just understood sharpness, which he took to mean i understood nothing. i wrote the razor down and it wasn't easy, but it was necessary. that's what i'm saying - sometimes it's good advice, because it's not always necessary. and sometimes it is very bad advice, because writing about it is lifesaving.
hang on my dog was just having a nightmare. i heard that it is a rule not to write about dogs - in my creative writing mfa, my teacher rolled her eyes and said everyone writes a dead dog. the literature streets are littered in canine bodies. i watched the rise and fall of his ribs (there is that word again) and had to reach out and stop the bad dream. when he woke up he didn't recognize me, and he was afraid.
it is good/bad advice to say that poems and writing have to mean something. it is bad/good advice to say they're big feelings in small packages. it is better advice to say that when my dog saw where he was, he relaxed immediately, rubbed his face against me. someone on instagram would make fun of that moment by writing their "internet poetry" as a sentence that tumbles across a white page: outside it is sunset and my dog is still in a gutter, bleeding a galaxy out of his left paw. or maybe it would be: i woke the dog up/the dog forgot i loved him/and i saw the shape of a senseless/and impossible pain.
the dog is alive in this one, and he is happy. when i tell you i love you, i know what i said. write what you need to write, be gentle to yourself about it. the advice is only as good as far as it helps. the rest is just fencing. take stock of the boundaries, and then break them. there's always somewhere else you could be growing.
i love you, keep going.
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break up with your boyfriend
Yandere trans!fem cheerleader x fem reader
It was so shittily made but I need to pump out more fics or else my blog will die. Thank you all for 1k followers though! I'll rewrite this in the future maybe
Tw: mentions of blackmailing, nsfw, slight breeding kink, batshit crazy girlfriend,not proofread, another oc mentioned!?🌺
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/60f493b3fd2ce46fe92a2d1078b8c0c4/f434be43cbd0be98-63/s540x810/f9a1eff0d8cfb24af96ec19bbf5e71354fa83c21.jpg)
💄Eva saccharine has been your girlfriend since she first started transitioning. You helped her style her hair, do her nails, pick her clothes, find good makeup, anything she needed to feel like the real her. So when freshman year rolled in, it came as no surprise to you she fit right in with the clique.
💐Ofcourse you had your fears she'd choose them over you but that wasn't the case, because she'd make you eat lunch with them and sit on her lap, not so subtly humping your ass while talking all about cheer practice
🛍️boys wanted to date her, girls wanted to be her. She just wanted you, to just be the two baddest bitches on the block. It didn't matter if you were just like her or the complete opposite, she gushed over you. Praising you for being her good girl, her sweet little princess, her obedient pocket pussy-
💄but at this current moment? She was busy bullying your insides, forcing her fat cock into your slippery hole as she held you steady by your waist. Biting and groaning everytime she'd feel you squeeze that certain spot on her dick
"fu-uuckkk.. baby cakes, 'yer squeezin' me so goood.. ah.. hah.. you wouldn't mind if I pumped a few babes into your tight cunny right? Wanna be my baby mama?"
💐that made you squeeze tighter, holding onto the bedsheets for dear life. She had you face down, ass up and damn near breaking your back with how hard she was going. Hearing the normally composed and playful eva turn into a drooling pussy-drunk mess had you feeling butterflies, just going plap play plap-
🛍️let's just say, by the end of it, you couldn't walk for days afterwards. But no amount of hickies and perfume would be able to scare away a rather persistent guy. He was on the football team, star quarterback, rich asshole. sam white. Eva hated his guts, he thinks he can just waltz in and steal her bitch? Not on her watch.
💄this little feud had been going on for a while, and more times than you could count you've been caught in the crossfire. Though it was kinda funny, seeing them screeching insults at eachother and bickering. Eva would sassily flick her blonde hair and grab you by the collar of your neck, Dragging you away while Sam hooted and hollered at your retreating form
💐you never questioned her morbid fascination with anything horror or paranormal related. She was just obsessed with regular girl things. wanting you to help her summon a demon once, but you aren't that stupid, making blood pacts with them could result in very unsavory ending's and you quite cherished your soul and body
🛍️Eva has more than one account on different social medias, pretending to be multiple different people and Stalking your posts. She'd slide into your dms and flirt, seeing if you'd really cheat on her. She's so happy when you instantly block the account, guess you'll survive not being sent to her basement for another week
💄she has the audacity to grab a frilly pink pen and make you wear clothes that purposely shows off what she wrote. In bright bold lettering, Eva's little cum dump ♡ . Maybe she'll let you bring a jacket, only if you beg her really hard with those big doe eyes she loves. She put a collar and leash on you too
💐don't try breaking up with her, she takes 'they go low, I go lower" to another level. Threatening to post pictures of you in rather compromising positions. When did she record all of this? Who knows. She won't refrain from spreading nasty rumors of you that just force you to come sobbing into her arms, if you try and get comfort from somebody else she won't hesitate to eliminate them. Don't you see? She's the final girl, and you're her love Interest
"I told you not to run pretty baby.. now look what you've done. I gotta fix your mess up~.."
moral of the story: be a loyal loving girlfriend and she'll spoil you rotten with her daddy's black card ♥️
#Not so subtle hints of turning this into a three fic series#queenie ocs#yandere x reader#queenie writes#yandere x darling#ocs#yandere#Yandere oc x reader#Yandere female#Female yandere#Yandere girlfriend x reader#x fem!reader#x female reader#X afab reader#Yandere female x afab reader#Trans yandere x reader#TF4F#wlw#Yandere smut#Tw breeding kink#Eva saccharine#Sam white#yandere fem!oc x reader#Yandere cheerleader x reader#tw yandere#yandere blog
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Hey, I hope you’re having a good day! I had an idea, Marvel cast flirting with y/n for x minutes?
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f8c99c832165b97bdfc121ac85e531bc/65ca03b948722e74-c3/s540x810/978034ff17da0a01f4b96d1b999c074481fd715a.jpg)
. . MARVEL CAST FLIRTING WITH Y/N Y/L/N FOR 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT!
part 2 / part 3
Coming home from an extremely long and stressful day/week was unfortunately something very familiar to you—so familiar that you and your best friend (your not famous best friend who was your pilar through all the chaos fame brought) had created a little routine; she’d send you various videos and links to movies and online books she knew would relax and amuse you.
So, cuddled up in your bed with your pyjamas and your star lights on (a true child at heart, always) you opened up your chats with them and eagerly swiped to see that they’d sent.
‘Marvel Cast Flirting with Y/N Y/L/N For 10 Minutes Straight!’ was the video for tonight.
Immediately you cackled to yourself, hurriedly sending your best friend thanks in the form of ironic emojis and frantic proclamations of undying love, before loading up the (true to prior word) ten minute long video.
Surely this was an exaggeration.
The video began, large letters in a cute font appearing on the dark screen ‘the marvel cast all being in love flirting with y/n for ten minutes’. The quick ‘AS THEY SHOULD’ before the clips started playing made you giggle to yourself.
The first clip was from some years back, you were pretty sure this was a premiere for The Avengers, given how you looked and the quality—you were standing opposite on interview, smile on your face and dressed in a pretty outfit the same colour of your character’s aesthetic.
“How do you feel about your costume?”
Before you could even answer the interviews question, Scarlett intercepted your interview—hair in a short red bob and a smirking grin at her lips as she wrapped an arm around your waist.
“Well I know how we all feel about this ladies costume, it’s a beautiful piece that just makes the women wearing all the more beautiful. If that’s even possible.”
The edit quickly gave Scarlett beating heart eyes for you as she didn’t tear her eyes away from you for a second—making present time you laugh.
With that she kissed your cheek, leaving a red mark of her lipstick and walked away, dramatically winking in your direction.
The second clip was a blooper, from .. Captain America: Civil War, you thought. You were on Sebastian’s shoulders, thighs locked over his head—in character, as your character and his were mid fight.
He stumbled back over a table accidentally and you let out a startled yelp, hands flying to steady yourself in his long hair and one of his landing on your arse cheek to steady you as he steadied himself with the other.
“Is it bad that I’m loving this?”
“SEBA—“
“Cut!”
The third clip was you and Lizzie (Elizabeth Olsen) reacting fan tweets; Lizzie unrolled the piece of paper, her eyes lighting up as she giggled with a little smirk.
“Elizabeth. .” You wearily trailed off, looking at your friend.
“Sorry, sorry. Okay! This tweet says if i could just pretty BEEP please with the juiciest most mouthwatering cherry on top get a not kid friendly scene of Wanda and (Your Character) I could die peacefully, my wish fulfilled. I implore you marvel, listen to your dying fan.”
“That tweet had over fifty thousand likes as well.” A feminine voice added in from behind the camera, laughter in her tone.
You and Lizzie turned to each other at the same time, grinning.
“I mean the fan is dying babe. .”
“Right? We should totally make this happen, like, totally.” She gave you a cheeky once over, eyes appreciating all of you. “Because it was the fans wish, not mine, duh.” Lizzie added.
“Mhm.” You hummed with a smirk.
The fourth clip was a evidently some sort of ‘guess the body part’ game: a photo of what you were pretty sure was your bottom half was the picture currently used for guessing, in the picture you were leaned over in a pair of yoga pants and in your personal opinion, you looked good. Well, your arse looked good (amazing, otherworldly—you humbly added)
Lizzie was the first person to answer, the video showing each persons turn one by one and immediately she said, “that’s my girl. Y/N.” Then giggling she added, “now get my girls booty off the screen, I don’t need you all ogling her. We get enough of that, sometimes causes a strain on us. But we’ve remained strong together.”
Paul Rudd was next and he stared at the picture of you for a few solid seconds, “it’s Y/N.” He sheepishly admitted. He pointed an accusing finger dramatically towards the camera—“I only know this because of all the edits you guys make!”
“You don’t have to watch them.” The interviewer pointed out innocently; Paul pouted, grumbling.
Next was Anthony who instantly answered, “That’s Y/N right here!” He hyped you up, grinning. “Don’t even try and make it creepy, we do glutes together man, it’s why we’re the best asses in the cast. Up top!” Anthony exclaimed, holding his hand up towards the picture as if pretending to high five you or something—the interviewer timidly gave him a high five.
Sebastian was next as you (and everyone) watch his eyes flicker and grin that was more of a smirk spread across his cheeks, “that’s definitely y/n.” He assumed instantly. “Would’ve been able to tell you that blindfolded.”
“But—“
“I’d have just sensed her.” Sebastian giggled.
Chris Evans was next—a grin picked up on his face immediately, eyes trained on the photo of you and he ran a hand over his beard, lightly biting his lip (HEELLLOOO????)
“That’s Y/n.” Chris stated confidently, smirking lightly and the camera caught some of the team in line of sight exchange raised eyebrows.
The fifth clip was of Brie Larson who was being interviewed on some sort of premiere event again—presumably or her (marvellous) movie, Captain Marvel, smiling at the interviewer.
“Out of all of the people on the Marvel Cast, those who you’ve met, do you have a favourite out of them?” The interview questioned.
“I’m not really one for favourites but I would definitely say I’m closest to Y/n! She’s—she’s just so lovely and funny and she’s like a ray of sunshine, honestly. She’s been a great help in the filming process as well, she coached me through everything with so patience—I would’ve strangled me if I was her, but no, she just had that adorable smile on her face. She’s truly an amazing person and a better friend than I thought possible.” Brie answered enthusiastically with a soft smile.
“Awwww! We love to hear that—are any of the rumours about her true?”
Brie blinked, seeming taken aback for a brief moment— “Yes she does smell amazing, she’s always effortlessly beautiful, she’s unfailingly hilarious and yes no one in this world deserves her. But like. . if she’s open to it,” Brie paused, winking at the camera and making a call me sign with her hands and mouthing the words with a flirty grin.
The sixth clip was of you, Tom Holland, RDJ, Paul Bettany, Zoe Saldana and Pom Klementieff on Jimmy Kimmel, tasked with drawing your characters. The clip started just as you turned around the drawing of your character and well, it was actually surprisingly good in your own opinion—the audience immediately erupted into loud and obnoxious cheers.
“As great as that is, love, it still doenst capture the extent of your beauty.” Tom Holland, who was sat to your left, grinned cheekily at you and the audience practically shouted and hooted.
“Would anything ever?” Zoe shot back from your right side, twirling a lock of your hair affectionately and smiling as she leaned against you.
“I sincerely doubt that anything could.” RDJ piped up, giving you an unapologetic grin when you looked over at him with fond exasperation as the crowd was practically inconsolable in their glee and enthusiasm, shouting out your praises. “Give it up for sunshine, people. Our gorgeous ray of sunshine!”
“I—“
“They are quite right, Y/n.” Paul Bettany spoke over Jimmy who was obviously going to try and calm down his crowd.
The seventh clip started playing: it was a clip taken from Jacob Batalon’s story, clearly in a party setting—the video showed you and Zendaya in the centre of the dance floor, everyone around you clearly watching you both as you danced up against each other to the sounds of Yeah! by Usher.
“Mate I think your girls about to be stole.” The voice of Tom’s friend, Harrison, sounded from beside Jacob and presumably Tom himself and to empathise Harrison’s words, Jacob zoomed in on your faces, wide grins of ecstasy, and the way Zendaya was admiring you.
“Right in public as well, the scandal.” Jacob cackled.
The eighth clip was an interview of Chris Evans and McKenna Grace (you adored that little girl to pieces). The two of them were answering the ‘Webs Most Searched Question’s’ together.
“Who was.. Chris Evans, date at the Oscars?”
McKenna immediately ooed, smiling teasingly and Chris laughed from beside her.
“This is getting juicy!”
“Well, it was my mom one year and then my sister last year—“
“He wishes it was Y/n though.” The little girl laughed with a beaming smile on her lips and you, present time, arched a brow.
Chris bashfully chuckled with a smile and you swore you could see a genuine red hue on his cheeks, “I mean—it’s Y/n. Anyone would be happy to go with her.”
“I would be!” McKenna excitedly exclaimed as she grinned so sweetly you were now going to make sure you took this sweet child with you to the Oscar’s, Chris seemed to melt as well, recovering from his brief flustered moment.
The ninth clip was Sebastian and Anthony reading out their thirst tweets in a Buzzfeed interview, the clip started as Sebastian was pulling out a tweet from the large bucket.
He read it to himself and blushed faintly, Anthony’s eyebrows practically reaching his forehead as he tried to lean over and read it but Sebastian jokingly shoved him back.
“Oh for—That scene where (Your Character) chokes baby Bucky out with her thighs, his—his head all up in there; the shit I would give to be her, I would give my soul, my fridge, my moms purse, my dads golf clubs. Please, sir. Put your face between my legs like you did Y/n.”
By the end of the tweet, Sebastian had a deeply awkward and slightly perturbed look on his face and Anthony cackled at his side.
“Nah, I’m pretty sure he was more than happy with it being Y/n, wouldn’t change it even for your dads golf clubs.” Anthony laughed.
“That’s. . I’m gonna have to decline that, um, respectfully.” Sebastian spoke in regards to the tweet, ignoring Anthony.
In turn, Anthony ignored Sebastian as well and just dramatically kept winking at the camera.
The tenth clip was Cobie Smulders, who was being interviewed on some sort of carpet event, smile on her face as she spoke to the interviewer before her.
“How does it feel knowing that the lesbian community, myself included, are firmly rooting for your character, Maria and Y/N’s character (Your Character) to end up together?”
Cobie’s smile turned genuinely delighted, “I love it—we love it. Y/n and I actually have made so many PowerPoints and presented them to the Russo brothers, but alas. I do really want to end up with her—oops, sorry, wait. I really want my character to end with hers. . would be the appropriate wording. But I’m all for inappropriate if Y/n wants.”
Cobie jokingly bit her lip at the camera and you, watching the video, could not contain your laughter as the interviewer practically burst out with excitement.
The eleventh clip was a blooper from your filming of the avengers—you were standing next to Chris Hemsworth who had an arm around your waist, holding you to him as in the scene his character, Thor, flies the both of you away. But Chris quickly tugged you in front of him and began tickling you mercilessly, hysterical giggles falling from your lips as the people around you laughed as well.
“Chris, HAVE MERCY!”
“Aw, but I enjoy hearing your laughter. It’s a very pretty sound.” Chris laughed to himself, finally stopping his attack and letting you slump against his, back to his front. “I particularly like this as well.” He smirked down at you.
“CHRI—“
In the twelfth clip, you and Tessa Thompson were reading out thirst tweets together: “The feminine urge to fall asleep cuddled into Y/n’s boobs is too real, pls come here mommy.” You read out, giggling all the while.
“The urge is so strong.” Tess commented, nodding her add as she sneakily glanced at your chest with a innocent smile.
“Come here, baby.” You joked, laughing as you opened your arms for her and she practically leaped into them, resting her head on your chest.
“I’m living the dreams of millions right now and it feels amazing.” Tessa gloated jokingly, pulling away from you with only final squeeze and a little wink the camera caught.
“I concur.” You grinned back.
The thirteenth clip was you and Tom Hiddleston, talking with an interviewer on a carpet event. His arm was around your waist and both of you were wearing smiles greeting the interviewer.
“So, obviously, you both act in marvel movies, but not really close together! If you could, would you want to work more closely and have you characters be more involved?”
“I absolutely would.” Tom immediately replied with an honest, heartwarming smile. “And personally, it’s not even a fact of our characters being intertwined it’s more that working this fantastic woman beside me is a gift I have come to deeply cherish, truly it’s an honour. And I suppose, if our characters were to get involved, so to speak, that I would enjoy that because this is the y/n y/l/n, I’d be a mad man not to want that.” He finished charmingly.
You grinned, taking a bow, and both Tom and the interviewer laughed before that clip cut as well.
The fourteenth clip was at Comic-Con, mostly everyone on the cast had already been called out and taken their seats and then your name was called, the audience erupting into loud cheers.
Sebastian, who was sat next to your assigned seat, hopped and and jogged over to offer you his arm as you grinned and waved at everyone—the crowd screaming louder at his actions.
The screams only increased as Chris Evans and Don Cheadle got up to pull out your chair for you to sit down in—you pretended to swoon into Sebastian before kissing all of their cheeks and taking your seat.
“Where was the treatment for me?” RDJ joked.
“Man, they’re just whipped. But, like, who isn’t for Y/n?” Anthony stage whispered back to him and the crowd literally roared in excitement.
The fifteenth clip was Aaron Taylor-Johnson being interviewed with Lizzie for the Age of Ultron press, most probably.
“So, Aaron, obviously your character—spoilers, sorry—isn’t with us anymore but if you had the chance to explore Pietro more, who would you have wanted to explore a romance with?”
“(Your Character) definitely, Y/N.” Aaron answered with a little sheepish grin at the speed and Lizzie giggled into her palm.
“I’m not making fun, I agree, for myself.” Lizzie commented unprompted.
“Why is that?” The interviewer questioned.
“Why—mate, I think it’s pretty obvious. Y/n is such a stunning person, inside and out, I would have loved to—and obviously her character is extremely sick and I’m certain the relationship between her and Pietro would’ve been the stuff of legends but. . come on, Y/n Y/l/n is my real reason.” Aaron joked.
“Get your own girl, she’s mine.” Lizzie glared.
There were still many minutes left of the video left and that alone astounded you; overcome with cackles, you forwarded the video the your Marvel groupchat—so yall bitches like obsessed with me or sum 🥰🥰🥰
#marvel cast#marvel cast x reader#avengers#the avengers imagine#avengers x reader#chris evans imagine#chris evans x reader#chris evans#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan imagine#rdj x reader#rdj#famous reader#actress reader#steve rogers imagine#bucky barnes imagine#tony stark imagine#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland imagine#tom hiddelson#tom hiddleston x reader
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