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pucksandpower · 4 months ago

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Find Me Again

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Alexandria, 30 BC

The scorching Egyptian sun beats down on Alexandria as you hurry through the bustling streets, your sandals slapping against the warm stone. The air is thick with tension — whispers of Octavian’s approaching army have the city on edge. But your mind is elsewhere, focused on the stolen moments you’ll soon share with Lando.

You slip into a secluded alleyway, heart racing as you spot his familiar silhouette. Lando’s face lights up when he sees you, though worry creases his brow.

“There you are,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

You melt into his embrace, savoring his warmth. “I’m sorry I’m late. The palace has been in chaos with all the rumors flying about.”

Lando’s arms tighten around you. “It’s true then? Octavian draws near?”

You nod against his chest. “I fear so. Cleopatra grows more desperate by the day.”

He pulls back, cupping your face in his calloused hands. His dark eyes search yours intently. “Come away with me,” he pleads. “We can leave the city tonight, find passage on a ship bound for Greece or Cyprus.”

Your heart aches at the longing in his voice. “Lando, you know I can’t abandon my duty to the queen. She needs me now more than ever.”

“And what of my need for you?” Lando’s voice cracks with emotion. “Each day I’m torn between my loyalty to Rome and my love for you. I cannot bear the thought of you in danger when Octavian’s forces arrive.”

You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath your fingers. “My brave soldier,” you murmur. “Always trying to protect me. But I’ve survived far worse than regime changes. We’ll find a way through this, as we always do.”

Lando leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “I wish I had your optimism. Every time I close my eyes, I see visions of you lying lifeless amidst the chaos of battle.”

A chill runs down your spine despite the oppressive heat. “Don’t speak of such things,” you chide gently. “We make our own fate, remember?”

He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know. I just ... I can’t shake this feeling of impending doom. Promise me you’ll be careful, my love. Promise you’ll do whatever it takes to stay safe.”

“I promise,” you whisper, sealing the vow with a tender kiss.

Lando responds eagerly, drawing you closer as the kiss deepens. For a blissful moment, the world fades away and there is only the two of you, lost in each other’s embrace.

A distant shout breaks the spell. You reluctantly pull away, both breathing heavily.

“I should go,” you murmur regretfully. “Cleopatra will be wondering where I’ve disappeared to.”

Lando nods, though he doesn’t release you from his arms. “When can I see you again?”

You bite your lip, considering. “Three days from now, at sunset. Meet me by the lighthouse?”

“I’ll be there,” he vows solemnly. “Be safe, my love.”

With a final lingering kiss, you slip from his embrace and hurry back towards the palace. Your heart feels lighter despite the looming threats, buoyed by Lando’s love and the promise of your next rendezvous.

But fate, it seems, has other plans.

The next few days pass in a blur of mounting tension. Cleopatra grows increasingly erratic, oscillating between grandiose plans to seduce Octavian and talks of ending her own life. You do your best to comfort and counsel her, all while stealing moments to daydream about your upcoming meeting with Lando.

On the fated evening, you’re helping Cleopatra prepare for bed when she suddenly fixates on a basket of figs brought by a servant.

“Ah, how fitting,” she muses, a strange glint in her eye. “Did you know, my dear, that the Egyptians that came before us believed figs to be the fruit of the afterlife?”

A chill runs down your spine. “My queen?”

Cleopatra waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I was simply contemplating the cyclical nature of life and death. Come, help me into bed.”

You obey, tucking the sheets around her with practiced ease. As you turn to leave, her hand darts out to grasp your wrist.

“Stay with me a while longer,” she implores. “I find I cannot bear to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”

Your heart sinks, knowing you’ll miss your rendezvous with Lando. But duty wins out over desire. “Of course, my queen. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

Hours pass as you sit by Cleopatra’s bedside, listening to her reminisce about better days. Just as your eyelids begin to grow heavy, a commotion in the hall startles you both fully awake.

“What’s happening?” Cleopatra demands, sitting up.

Before you can answer, the doors burst open and a breathless messenger stumbles in. “My queen,” he pants, “Octavian’s army has breached the city walls!”

Cleopatra’s face hardens. “So, the end has come at last.” She turns to you, her gaze intense. “Fetch me the asp.”

Your blood runs cold. “My queen, surely there must be another way-”

“Do not argue with me!” She snaps. “I will not be paraded through Rome as Octavian’s prize. Now go, quickly!”

With a heavy heart, you hurry to retrieve the venomous snake from its hidden chamber. Your hands shake as you return, presenting the basket to Cleopatra.

She reaches for it eagerly, but pauses. Her eyes meet yours, softening slightly. “My faithful friend,” she murmurs. “You have served me well. I release you from your duties. Go, find that Roman boy of yours and flee while you still can.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “You knew?”

Cleopatra’s lips quirk in a sad smile. “I’ve always known. Now go, before it’s too late.”

Torn between duty and desire, you hesitate. In that moment of indecision, everything changes.

Cleopatra reaches for the asp, but in her haste, she knocks the basket from your hands. The snake falls to the floor, immediately striking at the nearest target … you.

Pain explodes in your ankle as the asp’s fangs sink into your flesh. You cry out, stumbling backwards.

“No!” Cleopatra wails, lunging to catch you as you fall.

The world begins to spin as the venom courses through your veins. Your last coherent thought is of Lando, waiting faithfully by the lighthouse. As darkness closes in, you pray he’ll forgive you for breaking your promise.

Hours later, Lando fights his way through the chaos of the conquered city. He charges into the palace, heedless of the danger, desperate to find you.

When he bursts into Cleopatra’s chambers, his worst fears are realized. Two bodies lie motionless on the floor — the queen and beside her ...

“No,” he chokes out, falling to his knees beside your lifeless form. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

Lando gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as sobs wrack his body. “You promised,” he whispers brokenly. “You promised you’d stay safe.”

But promises, like empires, are so easily broken. As the sun rises on a new era for Egypt, it sets on this chapter of your shared story. Yet even as this life ends, the seeds of the next are already taking root, waiting to bloom in another time, another place.

For true love, like the mighty Nile, cannot be contained. It flows ever onward, carving new paths through the landscape of eternity.

Pompeii, 79 AD

The ground trembles beneath your feet as you race through the chaotic streets of Pompeii. Ash rains from the sky, coating everything in a ghostly gray shroud. All around, people scream and push, desperately seeking escape from the fury of Mount Vesuvius.

“Lando!” You call out, your voice hoarse from the acrid air. “Lando, where are you?”

A hand suddenly grabs your arm, yanking you into a narrow alleyway. You whirl around, ready to fight, only to find yourself face to face with Lando. His usually immaculate toga is torn and stained with soot, his dark curls matted with ash.

“Thank the gods,” he breathes, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “I thought I’d lost you in the crowd.”

You cling to him tightly, savoring his familiar warmth amidst the chaos. “We need to get out of the city,” you say urgently. “The mountain — it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Lando nods grimly. “I know. I’ve been trying to make it to the harbor, but the roads are completely blocked. It’s madness out there.”

Another tremor rocks the ground, stronger than before. Pieces of masonry rain down from the surrounding buildings. Lando shields you with his body as you both press against the alley wall.

“We can’t stay here,” you say once the shaking subsides. “It’s not safe.”

“Nowhere is safe,” Lando replies, his eyes haunted. “But you’re right, we need to keep moving. Come on, I know another way to the docks.”

Hand-in-hand, you dash back out into the crowded street. The air grows thicker with each passing moment, making it harder to breathe. You pull the edge of your stola over your mouth and nose, squinting through the haze.

Lando leads you through a maze of side streets and back alleys, avoiding the worst of the panicked crowds. But with each turn, your hope dwindles. The mountain’s fury seems to be growing by the minute, raining down fire and ash with terrifying intensity.

As you round another corner, you come face to face with a wall of rubble blocking the entire street. Lando curses under his breath, pounding his fist against a fallen column.

“It’s no use,” he says, defeat creeping into his voice. “Every path to the harbor is cut off. We’re trapped.”

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Then we’ll find somewhere to wait it out. The gods won’t abandon us. We just have to have faith.”

He turns to you, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Always the optimist, aren’t you? Even in the face of certain doom.”

“One of us has to be,” you reply, managing a weak smile of your own.

Another violent tremor shakes the ground, nearly knocking you both off your feet. In the distance, you hear the ominous rumble of collapsing buildings.

“Quick, in here!” Lando shouts, pulling you towards a sturdy-looking stone building. You duck inside just as a fresh barrage of burning rocks pelts the street where you were standing moments ago.

As your eyes adjust to the dimness, you realize you’re in some kind of workshop. Half-finished statues and blocks of marble are scattered about, coated in a fine layer of ash that has sifted through the cracks.

“A sculptor’s studio,” Lando muses, running his hand along a nearby bust. “Rather fitting, don’t you think? To spend our last moments surrounded by art meant to outlast us all.”

You shoot him a reproachful look. “Don’t talk like that. This isn’t the end. We’ll get through this, just like we always do.”

He sighs, pulling you close. “I admire your spirit, my love. But I fear this time, the Fates have other plans for us.”

As if to punctuate his words, the ground gives another violent lurch. The air grows even thicker, filled with choking dust and sulfurous fumes.

“It’s getting harder to breathe,” you gasp, fighting back a coughing fit.

Lando guides you to a relatively clear corner of the room, helping you sit on the floor before settling beside you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you against his side.

“Just try to take shallow breaths,” he instructs, his own voice strained. “Like this, see?”

You nod, focusing on matching your breathing to his. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your labored breaths and the distant rumble of the mountain.

“Lando?” You whisper after a while.

“Hmm?”

“I’m scared.”

He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, love. I am too.”

“Tell me a story?” You ask, your voice small. “Like you used to, when we first met. Remember?”

Lando chuckles softly. “How could I forget? You were the most stubborn student I’ve ever had the misfortune of tutoring.”

“Hey!” You protest weakly, managing a smile despite everything. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh no?” He teases. “Who was it that insisted the Odyssey would be vastly improved if Odysseus had simply asked for directions?”

You laugh, the sound quickly dissolving into a cough. “Well, it’s true! Twenty years to get home? Penelope should have moved on.”

Lando shakes his head in mock dismay. “Such disrespect for the classics. I clearly failed as your tutor.”

“Never,” you murmur, snuggling closer to him. “You taught me far more important things than dusty old stories.”

“Oh? And what might those be?”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “You taught me what it means to truly love someone. To find a home not in a place, but in a person.”

Lando’s eyes shine with unshed tears as he leans down to kiss you softly. “And you, my darling, taught me that life is meant to be lived, not just studied. You brought color to my world of scrolls and stone.”

Another tremor shakes the building, sending a fresh wave of dust raining down on you both. The air grows thicker, each breath a struggle.

“Lando,” you wheeze, gripping his hand tightly. “I don’t want to die.”

He pulls you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Promise you won’t leave me?” You plead, your vision starting to blur.

“Never,” he vows fiercely. “Not in this life or any other. Wherever our souls go next, we go together. I promise.”

You manage a weak nod, focusing on the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. As consciousness begins to slip away, you’re struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.

“Lando?” You murmur, your voice barely audible.

“Yes, love?”

“I think ... I think we’ve done this before.”

He lets out a shaky laugh. “What, died in each other’s arms while a volcano erupts? I think I’d remember that.”

You shake your head slightly. “No, not exactly. But this feeling ... like we’ve known each other forever. Like we’ll find each other again, no matter what.”

Lando is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “Maybe we have. Maybe we will. I’d like to think so.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

As the world crumbles around you, you cling to each other. Your last thoughts are not of fear or regret, but of the love you share. A love so powerful it transcends time itself.

And as this chapter closes, another waits to begin. For some bonds are too strong to be broken, even by death. Your souls are destined to find each other again and again, weaving an eternal tapestry of love across the ages.

Salem, 1692

The air in the Salem courthouse is thick with tension and the bitter scent of fear. You stand before the assembled judges, your wrists bound tightly with rough rope that chafes your skin. The crowd of onlookers murmurs and shifts restlessly, their faces a sea of suspicion and barely concealed hostility.

Lando sits among them, his face a mask of anguish as he watches the proceedings. He wants nothing more than to rush to your side, to shield you from the madness that has gripped the town. But he knows that any show of support would only damn you further in the eyes of the court.

Judge Hathorne’s voice rings out, silencing the whispers. “The accused will step forward.”

You take a shaky step, raising your chin defiantly despite the terror coursing through your veins.

“You stand accused of witchcraft and consorting with the devil,” Hathorne intones gravely. “How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” you declare, your voice stronger than you feel. “I am no witch, merely a midwife and herbalist. I have done nothing but help this community.”

A snort of derision comes from the crowd. You turn to see Goodwife Putnam, her face twisted with malice. “Lies!” She shrieks. “I saw her dancing naked in the woods, consorting with dark spirits!”

“That’s not true!” You protest. “I was gathering herbs for my remedies, nothing more!”

Judge Hathorne raises an eyebrow. “And can anyone vouch for your whereabouts on the night in question?”

Your heart sinks. You had been alone that night, as you often were when foraging. “I ... I was alone, your honor. But I swear on all that is holy, I am no witch.”

A ripple of whispers sweeps through the crowd. Lando’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tight with the effort of remaining silent.

“Very convenient,” Hathorne remarks dryly. “Goody Putnam, you may continue with your testimony.”

The woman stands, her eyes gleaming with a fervor that chills you to the bone. “I’ve seen her speaking to animals as if they could understand her. And just last week, my cow’s milk turned sour the very day after she visited our farm!”

“That’s ridiculous!” You exclaim. “Milk spoils, it’s a natural occurrence. And I often speak to animals, as do many others. It does not make me a witch!”

But your protests fall on deaf ears. One by one, your neighbors step forward with increasingly outlandish accusations. Every misfortune, every unexplained event is laid at your feet.

“She cursed my crops!”

“My child fell ill after eating her bread!”

“I saw her flying on a broomstick!”

The claims grow more absurd, but the judges nod solemnly at each one. You feel the noose of suspicion tightening around your neck with each passing moment.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Lando leaps to his feet. “This is madness!” He shouts. “You’re condemning an innocent woman based on nothing but gossip and superstition!”

All eyes turn to him. Judge Danforth fixes him with a steely glare. “Master Norris, you will remain silent or be removed from this courtroom.”

“I will not be silent while you murder an innocent woman!” Lando retorts. He turns to the crowd, imploring them. “Can’t you see what’s happening? We’re tearing our community apart with these baseless accusations!”

A murmur of uncertainty ripples through the onlookers. For a moment, you dare to hope that reason might prevail.

But then Abigail Williams, one of the young girls at the center of the witch hunt, lets out a blood-curdling shriek. She points a trembling finger at you. “Her specter! I see her specter tormenting me even now!”

The other girls quickly join in, writhing and screaming as if in the throes of possession. The courtroom erupts into chaos.

“Order!” Judge Hathorne bellows, pounding his gavel. “Order in the court!”

As the commotion dies down, he turns to you, his expression grave. “The evidence against you is overwhelming. Unless you confess and repent, I have no choice but to find you guilty of witchcraft.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. You know that a confession might spare your life, but it would mean living a lie. And worse, it would lend credence to the madness gripping Salem.

“I will not confess to crimes I did not commit,” you say quietly but firmly. “I am innocent before God and man.”

Judge Hathorne’s face hardens. “Then you leave us no choice. You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your soul.”

The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and shocked gasps. Lando’s anguished cry rises above the din. “No! You can’t do this!”

He rushes towards you, but is quickly restrained by two burly constables. “Let me go!” He shouts, struggling against their grip. “She’s innocent!”

Your eyes meet his across the chaotic courtroom. Despite everything, you manage a small, sad smile. “It’s alright, Lando,” you call out. “Be strong. This isn’t your fault.”

As the guards move to lead you away, Lando breaks free and rushes to your side. He cups your face in his hands, his eyes wild with desperation. “I’ll find a way to stop this,” he vows. “I won’t let them take you.”

You lean into his touch, memorizing the feel of his hands on your skin. “There’s nothing you can do, my love. Promise me you’ll stay safe. Don’t let them take you too.”

“I can’t lose you,” he chokes out, tears streaming down his face.

“You won’t,” you whisper fiercely. “Not really. I don’t know how I know this, but I swear we’ll find each other again. In another life, another time. This isn’t the end for us.”

The guards roughly pull you apart. As they drag you away, you keep your eyes locked on Lando’s, drawing strength from his gaze.

The next few days pass in a blur of fear and desperate prayer. You cling to the strange certainty that had come over you in the courtroom — that somehow, someway, this is not truly the end for you and Lando.

On the day of your execution, you walk to the gallows with your head held high. The crowd that has gathered is subdued, some already beginning to question the justice of what’s happening.

You scan the faces, searching for Lando, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Your heart aches at his absence, but you understand. It would be too painful for him to watch.

As the noose is placed around your neck, you close your eyes and think of Lando. Of his laugh, his gentle touch, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. You hold onto these memories as the world falls away beneath your feet.

Your last conscious thought is a promise — to find him again, no matter how long it takes.

Miles away, hidden in the woods, Lando feels the exact moment you leave this world. He collapses to his knees, a wordless cry of anguish tearing from his throat. But even in his grief, he feels the echo of your final promise.

“I’ll find you,” he whispers to the uncaring forest. “In this life or the next. We’ll be together again. I swear it.”

And so another chapter closes, the threads of your shared destiny stretching onward through time. The cycle continues, each life bringing you closer to the moment when you’ll finally break free of this endless dance of death and rebirth.

Yekaterinburg, 1918

The Ipatiev House looms dark and foreboding in the Yekaterinburg night. You pace the confines of your makeshift prison, the once-opulent rooms now a stark reminder of how far the mighty Romanovs have fallen. The sound of raised voices and heavy footsteps from the floor below sends a chill down your spine.

“They’re coming,” your sister Maria whispers, her eyes wide with fear.

Before you can respond, the door bursts open. A group of armed men file in, their faces grim and purposeful. Your heart nearly stops when you spot a familiar face among them.

“Lando?” You gasp, scarcely able to believe your eyes.

He meets your gaze, his expression a turbulent mix of emotions. “Grand Duchess,” he says stiffly, the formal title at odds with the intimate moments you’ve shared in secret.

“What’s happening?” You demand, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Why are you here?”

Yakov Yurovsky, the commandant of the house, steps forward. “The Ural Soviet has decided to execute the Romanov family,” he announces coldly. “You are to be moved to the basement immediately.”

A wave of terror washes over you. “No,” you breathe. “No, this can’t be happening.”

Your eyes lock with Lando’s, silently pleading. For a moment, you see the conflict raging behind his eyes. But then his expression hardens, and he looks away.

As the guards begin herding your family towards the stairs, you manage to maneuver closer to Lando. “How could you be part of this?” You hiss under your breath.

His jaw clenches. “The revolution demands sacrifices,” he mutters. “Even from those we ... care about.”

“Care about?” You repeat incredulously. “Is that all I am to you now? After everything we’ve shared?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face. “You know it’s more complicated than that. Your family’s rule has caused immeasurable suffering. This ... this is justice.”

“Murder is not justice,” you retort, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

Before he can respond, you’re roughly pushed forward. The journey to the basement is a blur of terror and disbelief. Your mind races, desperately seeking a way out of this nightmare.

In the dank cellar, Yurovsky instructs your family to line up against the wall. You find yourself between your younger siblings, instinctively trying to shield them even as your own knees threaten to give out.

“Wait,” you cry out as Yurovsky raises his hand to signal the firing squad. “Please, spare the children at least. They’re innocent in all this!”

Yurovsky’s face remains impassive. “There can be no Romanov heirs left to rally around. The old regime must end here and now.”

You turn to Lando, making one last desperate appeal. “Lando, please. If what we had meant anything to you, don’t let this happen. Help us!”

For a moment, you see the Lando you knew — the passionate young man who spoke of creating a better world, who held you under the stars and whispered promises of a future together. But then the revolutionary mask slips back into place.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely audible. “But this is bigger than us.”

As the soldiers raise their weapons, time seems to slow. You think of all the lives you might have lived — the futures now forever lost to you. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you, as if you’ve faced death with Lando before.

“Ready!” Yurovsky’s voice cuts through your reverie.

You straighten your spine, determined to face your end with dignity. Your eyes find Lando’s one last time.

“Aim!”

“I forgive you,” you mouth silently, even as tears stream down your face.

You see Lando’s composure crack, anguish flooding his features. He takes a half-step forward, as if to intervene, but it’s too late.

“Fire!”

The basement erupts in a deafening cacophony of gunshots and screams. You feel a searing pain in your chest as bullets tear through you. As you crumple to the ground, your fading vision fixates on Lando’s horrified face.

With your last breath, you whisper, “Find me again.”

Then darkness claims you.

Lando stands frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from your lifeless form. The smokey smell of gunpowder mixes with the metallic scent of blood, turning his stomach.

“Finish them off,” Yurovsky orders dispassionately. “No survivors.”

As his comrades move forward with bayonets, Lando stumbles back, retching. He staggers up the stairs and out into the cool night air, gulping it down desperately.

What has he done?

He’d believed so fervently in the revolution, in the need to sweep away the old order to build a better world. But staring at his blood-stained hands, Lando feels nothing but horror and soul-crushing guilt.

Your final words haunt him. “Find me again.” But how can he, when he’s destroyed any chance of a future together?

As dawn breaks over Yekaterinburg, Lando makes a decision. He can’t undo what’s been done, but he can ensure the truth isn’t buried along with your body.

Over the coming weeks, as the Bolsheviks spread lies about your family’s fate, Lando works in secret to document what really happened. He gathers evidence, writes detailed accounts, and arranges for the information to be smuggled out of the country.

It’s a dangerous game. If caught, he’ll be branded a traitor to the revolution. But Lando no longer cares about ideology or politics. His only goal is to honor your memory and ensure that history remembers the truth.

Late one night, as he prepares to flee the country with his damning documents, Lando allows himself a moment of quiet reflection. He thinks of your smile, your compassion, the way you challenged him to see beyond his rigid beliefs.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to the empty room. “I failed you in this life. But I swear, somehow, I’ll make it right. If there’s any justice in the universe, we’ll meet again. And next time, I’ll protect you. I’ll choose you over everything else.”

As he slips out into the night, Lando feels a strange sense of certainty. This isn’t the end of your story. Somehow, someway, you’ll find each other again.

The wheel of fate continues to turn, carrying your intertwined souls towards yet another lifetime. But with each cycle, the bond between you grows stronger. Perhaps next time, you’ll finally break free of this tragic pattern and find the happiness that’s eluded you for so long.

Jonestown, 1978

The humid Guyanese air hangs heavy over Jonestown, thick with tension and the cloying scent of tropical flowers. You stand among the gathered crowd, your heart pounding so hard you fear it might burst from your chest. Beside you, Lando’s hand finds yours, squeezing tightly.

��This isn’t right,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the droning speech coming from the pavilion. “We need to get out of here.”

You nod imperceptibly, not daring to speak. Jim Jones’ paranoid ravings have reached a fever pitch in recent days, and you both know that even the slightest hint of dissent could be deadly.

“My children,” Jones’ voice booms out over the loudspeakers, “the time has come for us to make our final stand against the oppressors who seek to destroy our paradise.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd. You scan the sea of faces, seeing a mix of blind devotion and barely concealed terror.

“Our Congressional visitors have betrayed us,” Jones continues, his words slurring slightly. “They will bring nothing but destruction. We have no choice but to enact our glorious revolutionary suicide.”

Your blood runs cold. You’d heard whispers of this plan, but had desperately hoped it was just another of Jones’ manipulative tactics.

“Lando,” you whisper urgently, “we have to run. Now.”

He nods, his face pale but determined. “Follow my lead. When I give the signal, we make a break for the jungle.”

But before you can move, you feel a vice-like grip on your arm. You turn to see your mother, her eyes wild with fervor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She hisses. “This is our moment of triumph. You will not ruin it with your lack of faith.”

On Lando’s other side, his father has a similar hold on him. The older man’s face is a mask of grim resignation. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, son,” he says quietly.

You watch in horror as Jones’ lieutenants begin distributing paper cups filled with a sinister purple liquid. The bitter almond smell of cyanide fills the air.

“No,” you breathe, struggling against your mother’s grip. “Mom, please. This is insanity. We don’t have to do this!”

But your pleas fall on deaf ears. Your mother’s grip only tightens as she accepts two cups from a passing aide.

“Drink,” she commands, thrusting one towards you.

You shake your head vehemently, clamping your mouth shut. Beside you, Lando is engaged in a similar struggle with his father.

“You can’t force us to do this!” Lando shouts, drawing the attention of nearby cult members. “This is murder!”

Jones’ voice cuts through the growing commotion. “Those who resist are traitors to our cause. They must be made to comply, for the good of all.”

Suddenly, you’re surrounded by a group of Jones’ most fanatical followers. Rough hands grab you, forcing your head back. You struggle wildly, but it’s no use. You feel the cold rim of the cup pressed against your lips.

“No!” Lando cries out, fighting to reach you. “Leave her alone!”

But he too is overwhelmed, multiple hands restraining him as the poisoned drink is forced upon him.

The sickly-sweet liquid burns your throat as it’s poured into your mouth. You choke and splutter, but can’t prevent some of it from going down. Beside you, Lando’s muffled cries tell you he’s suffering the same fate.

As the hands release you, you collapse to your knees, coughing violently. Your vision swims, the world taking on a surreal, nightmarish quality.

“Lando,” you gasp, reaching out blindly.

His hand finds yours, gripping it weakly. “I’m here,” he manages, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”

You crawl closer, fighting against the growing weakness in your limbs. All around, people are collapsing, some screaming in agony while others slip away in eerie silence.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, cupping Lando’s face with a trembling hand. “We never stood a chance against this madness.”

Lando’s eyes, clouded with pain, meet yours. “This can’t be how it ends,” he says desperately. “Not again.”

A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you. “Again?” You murmur, confused.

He nods weakly. “I don’t know how, but I feel like we’ve been here before. Facing death together, unable to stop it.”

As the poison works its way through your system, flashes of other lives flicker through your mind. Ancient Egypt, Pompeii, Salem, Russia — each time, finding each other only to be torn apart.

“I remember,” you breathe, wonder mingling with the pain. “We keep finding each other, but we never get our happy ending.”

Lando pulls you closer, both of you shaking with the effort of fighting off the inevitable. “Next time,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “Next time we’ll break this cycle. We’ll find a way to be together.”

You manage a small, sad smile. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he murmurs, pressing a weak kiss to your forehead.

As consciousness begins to slip away, you cling to each other. The sounds of screaming and Jones’ maniacal laughter fade into the background. In these final moments, there is only you and Lando, and the love that has somehow endured across lifetimes.

“Find me again,” you whisper, echoing words spoken in another life.

Lando’s grip on your hand tightens fractionally. “Always,” he breathes.

As darkness closes in, you’re filled with a strange sense of hope. This tragic cycle can’t go on forever. Someday, somehow, you’ll find a way to break free and finally have the life together you’ve been denied so many times.

Your last thought, as you slip away, is a prayer to whatever cosmic force keeps bringing you together.

Next time, let it be different.

Next time, let us live.

And as your souls depart this tragic scene, unseen wheels of fate begin to turn once more. The cycle continues, but perhaps this time, with the weight of so many shared lifetimes behind you, you’ll finally find your way to a happier ending.

In the years that follow, as the horror of Jonestown is revealed to the world, two names are lost among the hundreds of victims. But your story — the story of a love that refuses to be extinguished — lives on, waiting for the next chapter to unfold.

Monaco, 2024

The soft glow of computer screens illuminates Lando’s face as he leans into his microphone, his eyes darting between the chat and his game. “No, chat, I’m not going to sing the Baby Shark song,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You lot are absolutely mental, you know that?”

The door to his streaming room creaks open, and he glances over, his face softening into a warm smile as you pad in, wrapped in an oversized hoodie you’ve stolen from his wardrobe.

“Speaking of sharks,” Lando grins, addressing his audience, “look who’s decided to join us. It’s my favorite cuddly shark!”

You roll your eyes fondly at the nickname, a reference to your habit of playfully nipping at his shoulder when you’re feeling particularly affectionate. As you approach, Lando pushes his chair back slightly, making room for you to settle onto his lap.

“Come here, you,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist as you curl into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. To his stream, he explains, “Sorry chat, the missus is feeling a bit clingy tonight. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

You mumble something unintelligible into his skin, making him laugh. “What was that, love? The stream can’t hear you when you’re trying to become one with my neck.”

Lifting your head slightly, you repeat, “I said, don’t let me interrupt your gaming. I just wanted cuddles.”

Lando presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re never an interruption. Besides, I think the chat’s been asking for a cameo from you all night.”

You turn to face the camera, waving sleepily. “Hi, chat. Sorry I’m not more entertaining tonight. Long day at work.”

The chat explodes with greetings and well-wishes, scrolling by almost too fast to read. Lando chuckles, giving you a gentle squeeze. “See? They love you. Probably more than they love me, to be honest.”

“That’s fair,” you murmur, nuzzling back into his neck. “No one loves you more than I do.”

Lando’s breath catches for a moment, and you feel his heart rate pick up. Even after all this time together, simple declarations of love still affect him deeply. It’s one of the many things you adore about him.

“Alright, chat,” Lando says, his voice a touch huskier than before. “You’ve gone and made her all sappy. I hope you’re happy with yourselves.”

You can’t help but giggle at his attempt to deflect. “Oh please, you love it when I’m sappy.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with a grin. “But if I admit that, they’ll never let me hear the end of it. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

You snort inelegantly. “What reputation? Everyone knows you’re a big softie.”

“Oi!” Lando protests, poking you in the side and making you squirm. “I’ll have you know I’m very tough and manly. Right, chat?”

The stream erupts with a mix of agreement and playful disagreement, peppered with emotes and inside jokes. You watch the scrolling text with amusement, marveling at the community Lando has built.

“See?” Lando says triumphantly. “They agree with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure at least half of those messages were sarcastic, babe.”

Lando waves a hand dismissively. “Details, details. The point is, I’m incredibly macho and not at all a softie.”

“Mmhmm,” you hum skeptically. “Is that why you cried watching Up last week?”

“Hey!” Lando exclaims, his cheeks flushing slightly. “That’s classified information, that is. You can’t just go revealing my secrets to the entire internet!”

The chat goes wild at this revelation, demanding to know more about Lando’s movie-watching habits. You can’t help but laugh at his mock-outraged expression.

“Sorry, love,” you say, not sounding sorry at all. “But if I have to put up with your sniffling during Disney movies, the least I can do is share the joy with your fans.”

Lando groans dramatically. “That’s it, I’m filing for divorce. Chat, you’re my witnesses. This is grounds for divorce, right? Revealing a man’s most intimate vulnerabilities?”

You roll your eyes fondly. “We’re not even married yet, you goof.”

The words slip out before you can think better of them, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room shifts. Lando’s eyes widen slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

“Yet?” He repeats softly, a note of wonder in his voice.

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away. “Well, yeah. I mean, unless you had other plans?”

For a moment, Lando seems to forget entirely about the stream. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin. “No other plans,” he murmurs. “Just you. Always you.”

The intimacy of the moment is broken by the chat exploding once again, this time with a flurry of ring emotes and excited keysmashes. Lando blinks, seeming to remember where he is.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, chat, I think that’s my cue to end the stream for tonight. Got some, uh, important things to discuss with this one.”

You bury your face in his neck again, half embarrassed and half thrilled by the turn of events. As Lando rushes through his usual sign-off, you can feel the barely contained energy thrumming through him.

The moment the stream ends, Lando spins his chair to face you fully, his eyes bright with excitement. “Did you mean that?” He asks eagerly. “About the marriage thing?”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “Of course I did. Lando, I’ve loved you for lifetimes. There’s nothing I want more than to marry you.”

Something flashes in his eyes at your words — a fleeting moment of recognition, as if some long-buried memory is struggling to surface. But then it’s gone, replaced by pure joy.

“Lifetimes, huh?” He grins, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I suppose we better make this one count.”

As his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of rightness. After so many tragic endings, you’ve finally found your happily ever after. And this time, you’re not letting go.

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips. “In this life and every other.”

Lando’s answering smile is radiant. “And I love you. Always have, always will.”

As you lose yourselves in each other’s embrace, the echoes of past lives fade away. This is your time, your chance at happiness. And you plan to make the most of every single moment.

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dollfacefantasy · 8 months ago

Note

wearing leon's hoodie during sex… he’s fucking u from behind and pushes the hoodie up to reveal your back… he grabs the top of the hoodie for leverage, and to pull you closer…

uh huh uh huh. i see your vision so here's a little drabble <3

leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v

It starts when Leon comes home from running some errands. He's kind of riled up. There was traffic, it was too cold out, there was people everywhere, and it seemed like he was the only one who knew what he was doing. He slams the front door and tosses his keys on the counter, letting out an irritated sigh and stomping up the stairs to your shared bedroom.

But there you are. His baby. Tucked away safe from the rest of the world. His beam of sunshine among the gray clouds that pollute the sky today.

You're laying on the bed, curled up with a blanket and gazing at the tv with only half your attention. Long legs lie exposed, soft from the strawberry scented lotion you'd lathered them in. Best of all, you're wearing his hoodie. An article of his clothing.

He tries to be casual about getting what he wants. He attempts pleasantries, acts like the shedding of his clothes is innocent. He's only doing it to be comfy enough to join you in your lazy day.

Not even thirty minutes later though, you're face down, head pressed to the pillow, ass raised in the air. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he sheaths himself all the way inside you. You whine as your hole stretches around his length, accepting the intrusion. Your fingers claw at the fluffy blanket beneath you as he starts thrusting.

In and out, back and forth. It seems like each time he hits a new pleasure spot or coaxes another needy whine from your lips.

"That's right, baby. Feels so good, doesn't it?" he grunts as he pumps his cock as deep as it can go within you.

"Mhm," you whimper your voice shaky.

"Uh huh," he agrees. The sound of him panting combined with the slap of his skin on yours overwhelms your brain. "Who's fucking you this good, honey? Who's got you making all those cute little noises?"

The response is automatic. "You," you choke out as your body rocks with his momentum.

"Who?" he prompts you, wanting specificity.

Your words falter for a moment under the pressure of him rutting into your soaked cunt, but you regain the ability to speak before he could ask again.

"Leon," you whine, dragging out the ending sound.

He mumbles some words of praise, but they fly right over your head. His thoughts weren't on what he was saying either. He was much more focused on hearing you cry out his name while his eyes locked on the space between your shoulder blades.

On the fabric of the hoodie in that area, Kennedy was emblazoned in vinyl. It stood out in bright white on the soft black cloth. You were his. There was the physical and verbal proof. He pistons into you at a quicker speed as the primal part of his brain starts to take over. The part that just wanted to claim you and keep you as his own held the reins now.

Your eyes start to gloss up as thoughts melt away in your brain and drip from your mouth as drool. Your cheek squishes further into the mattress below. Everything is getting to that point where it feels fuzzy and far away. And you're content with that. You're content to just melt into a puddle of euphoria on the bed, but Leon had other ideas for you.

He bunches the hood of his hoodie together, handling it like he would a leash. Then with a firm tug, you're straight up on your knees. Your back is arched so your ass is flush against his pelvis while your head bobbles around near his.

"Oh fuck, baby..." you cry, "So fucking deep now."

He chuckles and yanks you even closer. The new angle did have him even further within you. If it wasn't for his hand supporting you, there was no doubt in your mind you'd flop forward and face plant into the memory foam.

His hips snap as though they're possessed, not stopping for the slightest break. Both of you are starting to work up a sweat, you a little more so from the thick fabric that covered your upper half.

"Mhm. All the way inside you. And I'm the only one who's ever gonna feel this," he mumbles.

"Only you," you agree without a second thought.

You can't speak anymore than that because your voice has devolved into pure moaning. Soft little cries of ecstasy leave you over and over as he fills you up just as many times.

"Want you to cum for me, baby. Milk me fucking dry so I can mark you on the inside too," he mutters.

And that's all it takes really. The thought of being claimed so thoroughly does it for you, and you seize up on command. Every part of you contracts and tightens up, including your pussy, locking him in.

That's what does it for him. The knowledge that you want to be claimed, that you love that you're all his. He shoots all his release inside you, not letting a drop go to waste.

Afterwards, he takes care to clean you up, actually ask about your day while he gets you comfy again. The sweat-soaked hoodie ends up in the laundry, and the two of you curl up in bed, together this time. If he didn't get off on the possessive part of this whole thing so much, he'd probably just buy you one of those hoodies for yourself. You were gonna be a Kennedy in no time anyways.

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil imagines #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #ch: leon kennedy 💌

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senascoop · 2 months ago

Text

TIL DEATH DO US PART , S.JY !

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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whoreforsexymen · 1 month ago

Note

heeeey!!!! Im back with more jayce request. I would like to see jayce x reader with the prompts “Don’t act like you didn’t want to end up under me like this.” and “Shut up and take my fuckin’ cock.”. This is giving me like rivals or enemies to lovers where jayce and the reader have some heavy sexual tension under the surface. One day jayce just loses all patience and snaps and takes all of his stress and anger out on the reader

Sink Like A Stone | Jayce Talis

Prompt Fic (See, Prompt List)

Prompt(s) Used:

#2 "Don't act like you didn't want to end up under me like this."

#21 "Shut up and take my fuckin' cock."

Pairings: Jayce x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns + Female Anatomy Descriptions

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked!

Word Count: 8.3k (IDK what happened)

Tags: Songfic, INTENSE Smut, INTENSE Angst, VERY SLIGHT dub-con (it's not really dubcon--Jayce just get's really consumed by anger at one point--the unspoken consent is there) Hate-fucking, Lovers to Enemies then back to Lovers (??), Choking, Semi-Public Sex, Biting, Slapping, etc.

Summary: You and Jayce are ex-lovers. You hate him for plagiarizing and stealing your life's work, and he hates you for leaving him over what he considered a selfless act. After months of having not seen each other, you two get into a heated screaming match turned hate-fucking. However, Jayce may have let his emotions get the better of him.

Notes: OKOKOK, so. Be warned. This one is a DOOZY. I was in no way planning on adding 90% of the elements I added to this story. They just kind of happened.

(Special note to @milkbean69 !! I really took this and ran with it. If you want me to redo it in a much tamer way. Please let me know and I will.)

((((Side note, this is going to have to be a two-parter! Stay tuned for part two, which will be much softer.))))

‘We lie,

Cold.’

Jayce.

A name so simple, so unassuming, it would slip unnoticeably through anyone else’s mind. But to you, it holds weight. Each syllable, each breath that forms it, feels impossibly significant—a name that stirs something deep within you, a quiet echo of poignancy known only by you.

Your feelings towards the Jayce Talis you once knew were complex and hard to define. On one hand, you despised the way he insinuated himself into the council of Piltover’s most prestigious Academy, taking a seat you believed was rightfully yours—one you had fought tooth and nail to earn.

‘Dam up the river,

We can go, slow.’

His so-called “vision” for Piltover’s future, with that abominable Hextech nonsense, had directly sabotaged the plans you’d spent years perfecting. You may not have had the luxury of Arcane magic to ease trade, but you had crafted a much more practical blueprint to connect Piltover to the rest of Runeterra’s trading world.

Yet the moment Jayce and his fragile “partner” wielded their so-called “magic,” your ideas were dismissed, overlooked, and ultimately erased.

‘We don’t wanna,

Know.’

On the other hand, you had always considered him a friend—seemingly more at times—until the day he practically ripped the rug of your life’s work out from under your feet.

Not to mention he had the gall to call it his idea. “His” idea? Please. It was your idea, just re-wrapped in a fancy mystical package. You had worked on it together, after all. Jayce had spent countless hours rambling about the mysticism and potential of those tiny blue stones of his, insisting they could revolutionize everything you had ever strived to achieve. Never once did you imagine that, once he unlocked their power, he’d turn against you, abandoning the partnership and the vision you had once shared.

‘Dull down our senses,

Become numb.'

What kind of name was Hextech, anyhow? It felt devoid of sophistication, lacking both subtlety and the gravitas one might expect from something so profound. It didn’t quite capture the essence of what it was—an intricate fusion of magic and technology—nor did it convey any sense of elegance or purpose.

Although, you couldn’t deny that you often reminisced in memories of your life before his grandiose “discovery”—robbery, really— of Hextech—your idea.

‘We take our time

Ignoring all the signs

Living in fear of our lies

Never bad enough to break it

Or, good enough to feel right.’

You had spent the better portion of your youth with him, much of it tangled amidst bedsheets, consumed by a shared, desperate need to relinquish each other’s physical tensions.

‘Been in overtime,

Half our lives.’

Sometimes, you could still feel the softness of his touch, the warmth of his lips grazing your skin—and other, much more tender, places. You could easily recall how your body had ached for him at times, but even more painfully, how your heart had longed for him, too. A truth you never dared to utter aloud.

The absence of anything beyond those intense moments of passion never really crossed your mind during the thick of it all. You never questioned it, and in hindsight, you’re almost thankful you didn’t—especially after what he had done after all that time. All of the time spent together, collectively fantasizing over your dreams and aspirations of a better life for all citizens, and a better future for the next generations to come.

‘Under indecision,

We become so dependent.

On the rush,

Of the moment.’

The bitterness that had consumed your heart was unbearable now, and the thought of ever confessing your feelings to him seemed almost unfathomable—impossible to imagine how much worse it could have been for you now if you had.

By this point, you were acutely aware of how deeply you loathed him. Your physical desires had long since faded, especially since you hadn’t seen or spoken to him in months. You had even gone so far as to move to a place he couldn’t find, cutting off every trace of connection, and the bond you once had.

Your skin ached with longing for him, your body and soul craving his touch once more. Yet, no matter how intense the desire, you would never allow him a single opportunity to return to your life.

It was a painful contradiction to bear—hating him, yet craving him all the same. You felt trapped, consumed by hopelessness, unable to escape the turmoil inside.

‘Sanitize

My head.’

You hadn’t moved far—just to the other side of Piltover, away from The Academy, the council, and—most importantly—-Jayce, himself.. The distance was a great relief. In your day-to-day life, there was no real risk of encountering him, and that small sense of safety gave you some peace of mind.

However…

You often found yourself testing that peace, pushing the boundaries of the distance you’d created. You weren’t entirely sure why—maybe it was the deep, unresolved desperation for him, or perhaps a semi-conscious, self-destructive choice of yours.

‘Death murders

Everything in sight.’

Each night, you found yourself walking almost the entire length of Piltover, from your new home to the Hexgate monolith on the far end—the very place you had fought so hard to escape.

Seeing the towering structure always left you with a deep, melancholic thrum in your chest. It represented everything you had once hoped for, everything you had worked and slaved over, now reduced to rubble by its mere presence.

‘Beneath the rip in the wind

The pillar push you aside.’

That tower stood as an unyielding symbol of betrayal, a constant reminder of the anger and anguish that had shattered your world at the mercy of Jayce’s hands.

‘If I make way

I can taste your sigh.

Just like the cannibal amp

It knows sound is size.’

On your nightly walks, you would make your way down the stone pier that lead to the water, your footsteps echoing in the quiet. When you reached the end, you’d grasp the railing that kept people from tumbling over the cliff’s edge, gluing yourself to the present moment.

‘Push me to

The brink, I said

Well that bitch

Is a creep

It tried to know what I think.’

There, you’d gaze up at the tower, lost in thought—re-evaluating and wondering how differently your life might have unfolded if Jayce hadn’t betrayed you—-if he hadn’t stolen your idea and torn everything apart.

‘To breathe out passion

Or suck in fate

You think the world was made

To wield your weight

And bleed out?’

Tonight was no different. Here you were, hood drawn—- hands shoved deep in your pockets—-your bodice pulled tight as you hunched in quiet disdain, eyes locked on nothing but the ground that passed underfoot.

Your expression was sour as you traced every wrong turn your life had taken to bring you here. Your chest felt heavy, as if the weight of it all pressed itself down upon you out of sheer spite.

Your mind buzzed, a relentless whirl of painful memories spinning in a dizzying menagerie inside your skull.

When your eyes met the stark, hauntingly familiar edifice, a sharper pang stabbed deep beneath your chest, more intense than you were accustomed to by now.

You weren’t sure why, of all nights, tonight seemed to bring out the most intense surge of feelings—especially since you found yourself unusually consumed by your thoughts this time around.

Especially since, long before Jayce had perfected the Hexgate, the two of you would often come here to find solace in the sound of the waves and the crisp air of the sea. You’d toss stones into the water, or compete to see who could throw them the furthest. The bittersweet memory of how often Jayce would taunt you for your lack of coordination only deepened the pain and anger digging at you.

You couldn’t control the mindless, almost reflexive way your body reacted to such intense feelings, in combination with the familiarity of the location. Without a second thought, your hand reached for a nearby rock, and before you even registered what you were doing, you hurled it as hard as you could toward the tower.

The tower, distant and perched far out in the water, seemed almost unreachable, and your rock barely made it halfway before splashing down into the water with a sound that felt like it mocked you in the same way Jayce had. You almost felt compelled to throw another rock, driven by some irrational need to make the first one atone for mocking you—despite the fact that it, like all other rocks, had no sentience to answer for its actions.

You gave in to the irrational impulse, bending down to pick up another rock, your mind still fixated on the need to make the previous one pay. But as your fingers closed around the stone, something in the corner of your vision made you pause. A pair of shoes—familiar, yet unknown—caught your eye. Shoes that were attached to feet. Feet that led up to legs. Legs that belonged to the hips and torso of an individual you couldn’t see beyond your hood.

The rock slipped from your hand, forgotten, as your attention shifted entirely to the figure standing behind you. You hadn’t heard a single indicating noise that you had been followed, or approached from behind.

The presence was sudden, unnerving, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to be afraid. If you were anywhere else, anywhere but Piltover, you’d be terrified. But here, in this ”city of wonders”, you couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, you were still safe.

If anything, it was probably an enforcer, here to reprimand you for throwing rocks in the first place. You straightened up, brushing the thought aside, and turned to face whoever had been silently looming behind you.

As you spun around, you realized—this wasn’t an enforcer.

No, far from it.

The person standing there was more terrifying than any enforcer could ever be, and certainly more annoying, infuriating, and enraging to look upon, for lack of better words to describe the instant rush of wrath that overwhelmed you.

‘Am I the reason

That you can’t look past

Your future self?’

“Your aim is still pretty shit, sunshine.” He says plainly, the nickname he had always pegged you with burning in your ears.

Your blood ran cold as your eyes locked onto the disgustingly smug expression on his face. Every hair on your body stood on end, a shiver crawling up your spine as you stood face to face with the man you now regarded with nothing but utter disdain.

You freeze, unable to muster a response, your mind clouded with a storm of rage and contemptment.

Jayce’s gaze lingers on you, almost—dare you think it—in a way that seemed concerned, longing, and worst of all—-caring.

What a hypocrite. How dare he look at you like he actually cares?

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been stuck

And glued in frequent doubt.’

“Don’t give me that look,” you snap, your fingers twitching, aching to throw a rock at his face just to make him eat his words. For a split second, you actually consider it—and you’re sure Jayce can feel exactly what’s running through your mind as he observes the way your eyes flicker between his face, and the stone you had left behind.

“What look?” he asks, concern surging through his expression again.

Did this guy have a death wish, or was he really just that oblivious? Either way, you could crack instantaneously.

“That look. The fake concern,” you snap, your eyes dropping, fists tightening, teeth grinding.

“Fake…?” He pauses, clearly lost in thought as he crosses his arms over his chest, the hint of offense hanging off his words.

You fight the urge to lash out, to make him feel something stronger than pain.

‘I know the feeling

‘Cause I can’t keep

My mind open now.’

“Yes, fake, Jayce. As in insincere. Artificial,” you spit, taking a sharp breath.

“Ersatz,” you add, the word a bitter aftertaste.

Your words cut through the air with a venomous cadence, each syllable sharp and biting, a distasteful attempt to tear through him.

Jayce looked completely dumbfounded, as if his mind had been wiped clean. The stark look of gears no longer grinding in his brain was almost comical. He was daft, no doubt. You felt a twinge of pride prod your ego upon this realization.

You couldn’t bear to stay here, not this close to him, not after everything. The thought that he was only here to twist the knife deeper into your wounds was almost more than you could handle. Your emotions, raw and overwhelming, had already drained you, and you were done. You didn’t want to give him another moment—no chance for him to make things worse, or worse still, to somehow try and redeem himself. As if he ever could.

Steeling yourself, you gather what little dignity you have left and turn away, keeping your face carefully composed. As you pass him, you deliberately knock your shoulder against his, ricocheting his shoulders in the process, a silent and singular act of defiance as you walk away.

As if to intentionally make matters worse, Jayce turns after you, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist. He makes contact, swiftly pulling you back towards him.

“___, wait—” He begins, but his words are cut short as your hand slams into his cheek. You hadn’t necessarily meant to hit him, but the motion was as instinctive as throwing the rocks—your hand connecting with the flesh of his cheek before you even had a chance to stop it—not that you necessarily would have wanted to.

The way you had wound up the slap was only amplified by the sudden pull of his hand grabbing you mid-stride, forcing you back toward him. The momentum aided the force with which you struck him.

The weight of what you’d just done hit you all at once—grief, anger, relief, all crashing together. A small part of you, the part that still cared for him, was flooded with guilt. But the darker parts of you—those that hated him, that had longed to hurt him—felt a twisted satisfaction. Besides, it was his own fault that he had grabbed you.

You’d wanted to feel his skin beneath your hands, after all, and in an oddly perfect way, this had been the way to satiate that desire.

Jayce instantly released his grip on your wrist, his hand moving to cup the spot where your slap had left its mark.

“Ah…” he groaned, wincing as he cupped the stinging flesh. His eyes snapped shut, the pain unmistakably written all over his face.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away as he stood there, his hand pressed against the raw, reddened skin of his cheek, the mark of your slap still vivid and angry. The sight of it made your chest tighten, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was you were feeling. What should you feel in a moment like this? That was the question you could neither answer or shake.

You had already acknowledged, in a quiet corner of your mind, that there was a strange satisfaction in lashing out, even if it was tangled with the thorny weight of your own hurt. There was a cruel sort of release in it, one that both thrilled and disturbed you in equal measure. Your stomach churned as you fought to suppress the abhorrent feeling of shame that crept up on you.

You could feel your instincts urging you to escape—to run, to put distance between yourself and this raw, uncomfortable moment. But you chose not to listen. The urge to flee warred with something else, something deeper, a curiosity that had begun to take root. You wanted to see how this would unfold, to witness how this tension would resolve, if it would resolve at all. The satisfaction you had felt from that sharp, ringing slap was undeniable. Maybe it had been a way to expel some of the pain that had been building inside you for so long. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth confronting whatever came next, just to relieve yourself of that heaviness, even if only for a moment.

‘Make up your mind,

We’re running out of time.’

Your heart sunk as you saw the essence of betrayal soon sweep across his face. Yet, simultaneously, that added to the anger you felt. He, of all people, felt betrayal? After the way he betrayed you? That look of his repulsed you.

He looked at you, disbelief written all over his face, his expression a mixture of shock and hurt. His hand lingered on his cheek, still tender from the sting of your slap, as though he couldn’t quite grasp the reality of the moment. The look he gave you was one of genuine confusion, as if he couldn’t fathom why you were so consumed by anger.

“___…” His voice cracked slightly, heavy with emotion, but still full of that familiar, passionate lilt, the kind that used to make your heart race. When he whispered your name—softly, almost reverently—it was as if the sound of it pained him.

‘Doubt is failure

By design.’

His eyes searched yours, full of questions that hung in the air, unanswered. Why had you struck him? Why this sudden violence? The pain in his gaze only seemed to stoke the fire inside you, making the anger flare even hotter, more reckless.

“Don’t look at me like that. Like you don’t know exactly what that was for,” you spat, each word sharp, each syllable dripping with a tang that tasted like metal on your tongue. But as the words left you, the anger morphed into something far more fragile, far more devastating. Your heart seemed to crack with the weight of it, the betrayal, the hopelessness. The tears welled up, blurring your vision as your chest tightened with sorrow.

“Why… why are you so blind to everything you’ve done?” you choked out.

“To everything we had… everything you destroyed… just so you could chase your fucking dreams?”

Your fists balled at your sides, the muscles in your arms trembling from the effort of keeping control, even though your voice shook with the strain of holding back the tidal wave of emotion threatening to break free.

‘I’m burning up

Can only take

So much.’

“What about my dreams, Jayce? What about our dreams?” you cried, your voice rising, your words feeling like they could burn everything in their path. Every inch of you ached—your body, your heart, your soul—all of it pulled taut like a string ready to snap. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep it in.

“What made sealing your own future—your destiny—more important than what we built together?” you demanded, the question sitting in the air between you like a dagger.

“Why was your ambition more sacred than our bond? More sacred than us?”

Your voice cracked on the last word, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps. The tears spilled over, leaving hot trails down your face, but you stood your ground, unwilling to back down. This—this pain, this heartbreak—was something you needed to admit, needed him to hear.

“How dare you steal my idea. How dare you take the credit, and disparage it with your stupid, fucking, magic.” You were shouting now, your voice ringing through the night air, raw and unfiltered, the weight of your anger shattering the silence that had settled over everything. The contrast between your fury and the stillness of the evening was jarring—your words felt like they were tearing through the quiet, reverberating off the walls of the world around you.

“Your idea?!” he exclaimed in response, his voice rising sharply, cutting through your tirade. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you in a few purposeful strides, his figure towering over you, his height and presence suddenly far more imposing than you remembered. His broad shoulders blocked the space between you, his stance firm, as if challenging you to face him head-on.

‘I know you

Can feel it

It’s catching up

It’s getting too heavy

For both of us.’

“Since when was it your idea?” His words were fast, biting with frustration, and he was unrelenting as he moved closer, his eyebrows knit together in upset.

“‘Cause the way I remember it—we both wanted change. We both wanted to make Piltover a better, more advanced city.” His voice was now an angry force, his face craning down to meet yours, his eyes sharp, trying to drill the point home. He wasn’t asking anymore—he was demanding you understand.

But what hit you most in that moment wasn’t just his words. It was the way his anger had suddenly shifted everything. For the first time in your life, you felt small compared to him. You had never seen him like this—not even annoyed, not in all the time you had spent together. Jayce had always been the steady one, the calm, the voice of reason. But now, his fury felt like a storm—intense, unpredictable, and completely foreign. The force of it left you unsettled, and taken aback, to say the least.

You didn’t know how to react to this. His anger was like a tidal wave, knocking the ground out from under you, and for the first time, you realized just how much power he had over you—how much he could command just by his sheer presence. The towering figure in front of you, his jaw clenched, eyes burning with emotion, made your chest tighten. You didn’t know what to do with this. His anger was new, and in some way, it was almost more frightening than anything you had ever faced.

‘We lie

Cold.’

You were baffled, not just by the words he was saying, but by the way he was saying them—like a person you didn’t recognize.

You parted your lips, ready to continue the tirade that had built up in your chest, but before you could get another word out, Jayce’s voice cut you off, raw and jagged. He didn’t give you a chance to speak, his frustration spilling over, each word more desperate than the last.

“You left me. Here. Alone.” His voice cracked, trembling under the weight of everything he, too, left unsaid, considering how you fled before he ever got a chance to explain himself. It wasn’t just anger in his tone anymore; it was pain. The kind that came from a place so deep you couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard you tried.

“I did what I thought was best for us.” He stepped closer, his voice rising in volume, matching the intensity of your own.

“I proved what I was trying to prove. For us. For our collective aspirations.” The words came faster now, fueled by the overwhelming rush of emotion that was beginning to boil over in him.

“I worked my ass off to make sure that, with the help of my Hextech, your trade routes could flourish,” he spat, his anger now matching yours, raw and unrelenting. His face was inches from yours, his breath hot as he glared down at you.

“I won’t stand here and let you blame me, let you hate me, for acting out of what I thought was selflessness at the time. I’ve gone to bat for you, countless times, to make sure you got the credit you deserved.”

His own fists clenched at his sides, the strain of his words almost too much to bear.

“But you ran. You left, assuming my only goal was to use you, when in reality, all I ever tried to do was support you.”

His words slammed into you like a physical blow, and for a second, you were paralyzed by the force of them. But then the anger surged again, hot and insistent. Support you? The bitterness twisted in your gut, and before you even thought about it, the words exploded from your mouth.

“Support me?!” You shouted, the sound ringing through the night like a bell, sharp and accusing.

“That’s what you call abandoning me to take a seat in the highest of towers?” You could feel the heat of your own fury rising to meet his, and without thinking, you shoved both hands into his chest, pushing him back with all the force you could muster.

Jayce stumbled backward, caught off guard by the sheer force of your anger, and you weren’t done. You shoved him again, harder this time, your hands pressing against his chest until he hit the railing behind him with a loud clang. The sound echoed in the air, but you didn’t care.

“In the council, no less?! Leaving me here to fend for myself in your fucking shadow?!” Your voice was hoarse now, each scream louder and more desperate than the last. You pushed him once more, as if trying to push the weight of everything you felt, everything you couldn’t hold onto anymore, into him.

The tears you’d held back were streaming freely down your face, but there was no stopping them now. The hurt, the betrayal—it all came pouring out in that single moment. The fury and heartbreak swirled together, a force you couldn’t control, and all you could do was scream at him until your voice gave out, until he understood just how much you had suffered because of his choices.

‘Dam up the river,

We can go, slow.’

Jayce had finally reached his limit. The shouting, the anger, the constant back and forth—it was all too much. He could see now that no matter what he said, nothing would make you stop. The argument had spiraled into something beyond reason, and every word he spoke only seemed to fuel your fire. You weren’t listening anymore; you were just lashing out, consumed by rage.

Enough was enough.

‘Dull down our senses,

Become numb.’

When you shoved him again, anger blinding you, Jayce reacted quickly. His patience had worn thin, and he wasn’t about to let this go any further.

The next time your hands came at him, he caught your wrists with a swift, forceful motion, crossing them tightly over each other. Before you could react, he shoved your arms into your chest, locking you in place. Then, without warning, he spun you around, pulling you harshly against him so that your back was pressed to his chest. His grip tightened, his arms like iron bands, preventing you from thrashing away.

‘Mirin myself

All by myself.’

“Stop.” His voice was low, sharp, and commanding, vibrating against your ear as his chest caged you in. You could feel the heat of his body, the raw tension in every inch of him as he held you close, his strength completely overpowering your attempts to break free.

“___, for fucks sake! Stop!” He demands, one of his enormous hands moving to take hold of both of your wrists while the other clamped down around your jaw, bringing your face towards your shoulder, where his own chin rested in this position.

Jayce had no choice. He knew how stubborn you were, how deeply you clung to your anger when you were hurt, and how you’d never stop until you’d worn yourself out—if you ever did. But right now, he couldn’t wait for that to happen. He couldn’t let you run away from him anymore.

With one sharp, decisive movement, his lips crashed into yours. It was hard, hungry, demanding—a complete storm of sensation that left no room for resistance. Your eyes went wide in shock, your breath hitching as you tried to pull back, but he followed, his mouth pressing harder against yours, refusing to let you break free.

‘Feel the caress, so sweet

Done by my hand.’

You gasped, the sound caught between your lips, and before you could protest, his kiss deepened, his tongue slipping past your lips, twisting with yours in a way that both startled and confused you. You cried out into his mouth, the noise muffled, as his hold on you tightened, his body pressing closer to yours, grounding you in place.

Every part of you wanted to push him away, to shout, to keep fighting, but Jayce’s kiss was relentless—an anchor pulling you deeper into silence. He wasn’t pulling back, not until you stopped fighting, until you let go of that anger long enough to breathe.

And though you still burned with fury, something about the way he held you, the way his presence swallowed you whole, made it harder and harder to keep struggling.

No matter how much you had longed for his touch, how desperately you had yearned for him to kiss you like this again, you couldn’t bring yourself to accept it in a moment like this. Not when everything inside you was still burning with anger and hurt.

‘Polishing this frame of mind,

Jacked it up an ax to grind.’

You fought against him, your body stiff and tense, desperately trying to pull away from his overwhelming presence. Each movement was a silent refusal, a stubborn resistance to the way his kiss was pulling at your very core.

‘Duck n’ dodge,

Stay unaligned.'

But it was futile. You were already drained, your energy spent from the crying, the shouting, the endless cycle of rage that had led you here. As his lips pressed more insistently against yours, the fight in you began to falter. The need to escape, the impulse to run, slowly began to dissolve with every second his lips lingered on yours, and his tongue explored the depths of your mouth. What remained was the sharp sting of your rage, but even that felt like it was starting to ebb.

Gradually, your body softened, the tension in your muscles melting away. The fight left you, piece by piece, until you sighed against his mouth, the sound muffled but unmistakable. With a subtle shift, your head tilted just enough to give him more room, more access, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to stop fighting. The kiss deepened, and in that quiet surrender, Jayce released a long, relieved breath, sensing your body finally easing into his touch.

‘My recognition face

Some get withered

Some get fried.’

You kissed him back after great hesitation, your lips and tongue moving urgently against his, as if you were trying to make up for every lost moment in a single, heated breath. There was no holding back now. The memories, the longing, everything that had been buried deep inside you erupted all at once, and your mouth moved hungrily against his, each movement a desperate attempt to relive the intimacy you’d once shared.

‘I know we talked about

The shit we did

Each time.’

His grip on your wrists faltered, weakening as you started to turn toward him fully. The distance between you closed rapidly, and soon, your chest was pressed flush against his, your body responding to his presence with an intensity you couldn’t control. As your hands were freed, they instinctively traveled up to his face, your thumb brushing over the spot where you’d struck him only minutes before, feeling the remnants of your anger there, now mingling with something else.

‘Polishing this frame of mind

Jacked it up an ax to grind.’

You cupped his face, fingers digging into his jaw, pulling him even closer as if trying to erase the distance between you, to melt into him and make up for the time and pain that had come before. The urgency in your movements was raw and frantic, a wordless plea to feel everything at once—to collapse the anger, the longing, and the need that had built up inside you into this single, desperate connection.

‘Duck n’ dodge

Stay unaligned

My recognition face.’

His hands roamed over your body, searching for any way to pull you closer, his touch growing more insistent as he settled them on your hips, pulling you into him. The physical closeness only heightened the tension, the desire, but also something darker—something that still lingered between you—lust.

Though you no longer felt the need to escape, your rage simmered just below the surface, burning deep in your chest. It wasn’t gone, not by a long shot. It still gnawed at you, demanding to be felt, demanding some kind of reckoning. Part of you wanted to make him feel it, make him understand the depth of your pain. You wanted him to know what you had been through all this time.

‘Am I the reason

That you can’t

Look past your future self?’

Your tongue retracted for a moment, and you pressed your teeth against his bottom lip, the bite sharp enough to sting. It was a flash of anger, mixed with the heat of desire, and it caught Jayce off guard. You had shared passionate moments before, but nothing quite like this—nothing that carried this much intensity. He flinched at the sudden sharpness, but in that moment, something in him sparked, that familiar fire of tension growing even stronger.

If that’s what it would take to break the tension, then he’d oblige.

Jayce’s hand tangled into your hair, pulling you closer, his grip tightening. The sensation of your hair in his hand, the pressure, sent a breathless sound escaping from you—something between a gasp and a soft exhale. It was involuntary, the sound mixing with the heat building between you. Jayce had always longed to hear that from you, to feel that connection, and now that it was happening, he couldn’t stop.

For far too long, Jayce had denied himself any form of physical connection. Since you left, he’d been forced to bury his desire for you deep inside, locking it away with a painful awareness that nothing—no touch, no embrace—could compare to what he had shared with you. Each passing day, he became more acutely aware of the emptiness that lingered, knowing that any contact with anyone else would only serve as a stark reminder of the craving that burned for you.

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been stuck

And glued in frequent doubt.’

He tightened his grip, drawing another soft sound from you, the mix of pleasure and tension in the air thickening. His focus was solely on you now, on the way your body responded, on the sounds you made, and how this moment—this raw, unguarded moment—was pulling both of you closer to the unspoken lust that couldn’t be denied a moment longer.

You can’t help but let out a filthy little moan, whimpering along with it.

A shameless, guttural moan, that sent Jayce’s head into a spiral. He had been beyond desperate to coax those kinds of noises out of you for what felt like too long of an eternity. He was in no position to deny himself the opportunity to keep drawing them out of you.

His hands curled into a fist as he yanked on your hair, whimpers flying out of you like a flock of birds.

If you wanted to fight dirty, Jayce was game.

“Fuck..” He breathes out—eager, like a starved man who stumbled upon a banquet— as he pulls away from your lips, immediately pressing them against the skin of your neck he had exposed from his grip on your locks. He let his teeth drag along the skin, biting and harshly sucking on it in several places. Your reaction was deathly arousing. The slightly pained cries that flowed beside ones of pleasure sent Jayce’s burning temptation into orbit.

He knew you needed him in the way he had once gotten used to providing for you. His cock throbbed beneath his slacks, desperate to break free from the confines of the cloth that kept it contained.

It was arguably harder than it had ever been, his anger and inability to have you for so long adding fuel to the fire of his pure incessant need to bury himself deep inside you.

‘I know the feeling

Cause I can’t keep

My mind open now.’

Oh, how you both longed to be connected like that again. In the way all lovers know well—their unspoken second nature.

He ruts his hips against yours, your own body responding instinctively by meeting them in their attempt to seek friction.

You both emit low grunts at the new sensation, satiating the tension for now.

You felt as though you were being scorched from within, the intense heat of your desire and simmering rage intertwining, each stoking the other in a relentless blaze. Every nerve burned with an insatiable hunger, a craving that went beyond pleasure, pulling you deeper into a whirlwind of both ecstasy and agony.

You needed more—not just the thrill of sensation, but the raw, cathartic pain that seemed to heighten the fire within you. Your soul ached for an outlet, something that would satisfy the chaotic tension, where your lust and frustration could collide, erupting into something that might finally ease the raging storm inside.

You snaked your arms around his neck, giving a small jump into him as you anchored onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist. He hums darkly in reaction to the sudden motion, his hands releasing their clasp on your hair to instead latch onto the bottom of your ass—-supporting you as you clung to him.

Jayce’s head shot up from it’s spot between your head and chest, moving to a new vantage point in order to scan the area. He was a man with a mission.

A mission to uncover the perfect place, somewhere secluded and unremarkable—a refuge hidden from the world where he could channel the fury between you with ruthless intensity. It had to be a spot where nothing could interrupt the raw, unfiltered release of tension—a place where every movement, every act, could be as drastic and unforgiving as the anger that surged through both of you.

Needless to say—and in an extremely simple turn of phrase—-He needed to fuck the rage out of you— and he would stop at nothing to do so.

After a few tense moments, Jayce focused, his eyes landing on the perfect hidden corner in all of Piltover. His grip tightened on you as he began to lead you toward it. The alleyway was small and shadowed, tucked between two shops that had long since closed for the night. The buildings on either side pressed in tightly, their walls forming a dark, narrow passage that swallowed any light. The darkness obscured it from street lamps and passersby, though Jayce hardly seemed at all concerned about the possibility of wandering eyes, anyway.

The alley itself was already tucked away from the main streets, but the particular spot his intentions were set on was even more concealed—through the alley and to the right, behind the buildings entirely, not just in between.

Overhanging eaves, garbage bins and scattered crates cloaked the area, creating a thick, impenetrable shadow. It was a secluded pocket, completely hidden from view, untouched by the faintest glimmer from the street beyond.

A perfect haven of obscurity, though the lack of any inviting scenery was hardly worth a second thought. The cracked cobblestones, the faint smell of damp earth, rotting trash, and the forgotten clutter of the alley seemed irrelevant. In a place like this, where shadows held sway, scenery had no claim. Nothing mattered but the raw, pressing heat of the moment.

You sank your teeth into his neck, your hands exploring his shoulders with a quiet, persistent need. He groaned beneath your bite, his un-abating lust taking the lead furthermore, as he harshly slammed your back against the abrasive stone walls of the building. His mouth was quick to covet yours once more, lips voraciously seeking stimulation from them.

Your sensual tango of lips pressing against each other, hips grating and rutting into each other’s carried out, Jayce beginning to make quick work of exposing you to the elements, his cock still hard as ever as it brushed against your clit beneath the layers of clothing. You can’t help but whimper out in response.

With the new advantage of pinning you to the stone wall—-combined with the leverage of your legs still around his waist—-his hands grew eager, rushing to tear your blouse apart. His fingers slid between the buttons of the opening, pushing through the seam before he gripped tight and wrenched it apart. Several buttons flew free, briefly distracting from the sharp bite of the cold air against the newly exposed skin.

You couldn’t help but whine into the cavern of his mouth, the rough display of lust redirecting all of your aching and longing straight to your clit. It throbbed with intent, a desperate reminder that you needed more friction. You greedily rolled your hips into his, yielding another low, filthy grunt from Jayce.

“Fuck.” He pants against your mouth, hands kneading at your breasts, cock twitching beneath his trousers.

Oh, how he longed to revisit the memories of your past encounters, to re-enact the acts of pleasure he had learned to bring you. But in such a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to slow down. As much as he yearned to please you in the ways he’d spent so much time discovering, there was no time, now. The urgency of the present situation demanded everything from him. If he didn’t bury his cock deep within you, right now, and fuck you senseless, he’d probably keel over.

This was his last chance. His only chance to rewrite your history.

‘Am I the reason,

That you can’t look past,

Your future self?’

Without a second’s hesitation, Jayce tore your legs from his waist, practically dropping you to the ground. In one swift motion, he flipped you around, pressing your cheek forcefully into the cold stone wall with one hand. You groan out, the harsh force of his motions prodding your deep-seated anger once more. His chin reclaims its resting point on your shoulder, teeth claiming your earlobe between them as he pressed his mouth to your ear. You groan out of sudden distaste for the new position.

”Don’t act like you didn’t want to end up under me like this.” He growls into it, the words viscerally stabbing at your clit, earning a thirsty cry from you.

He spread your legs with his feet, his free hand clambering to release his throbbing cock from it’s fabric prison. He yanked your pants down, the sound of his belt clinking sending shivers up your spine as your cunt pulsated in anticipation.

You were beyond wet—the word a dull description of the way your cunt was absolutely sopping, dripping, and practically gushing for him.

Despite your evident arousal, you weren’t used to things happening so fast. You began to protest as your back arched against his brawny, bold, and burly chest.

“Jayce— wait!” You started to say, before his teeth clamped down onto your earlobe with increased vigor, your words fading into torrid moans as a result.

He pulls your underwear to the side, fist pumping his deprived cock before he lined himself up with your soaking cunt.

“Shut up and take my fuckin’ cock.” He barked.

Before you even had a chance to breathe, he plowed into you, curling his hips up to press flush against your ass. You had no choice but to brace yourself. Your hands flew to the cold stone wall, gripping tightly to keep from collapsing under the force of it all.

The sound that tore from deep within your chest was raw, loud enough to make anyone within a hundred feet of the building take concerned notice. Anyone outside of you and Jayce would have assumed you were being murdered.

It was a deliciously vile sound, thick with want, neediness, desperation, and all the emotions you had yet resolved.

“Fuck!” You scream, tears stinging in your eyes as Jayce began slamming up into you with at an absolutely merciless pace. He wasted no time by giving you a single moment to adjust, knowing full well the rough nature was exactly what the situation called for. If he didn’t give this his all, everything was at stake. Or so he thought.

His thrusts were, at their core, crude—filthy, vulgar.

Lascivious.

They had an animalistic quality, one that attested to his own desires, and the hurtful longing he had harbored for you.

Jayce grunted, huffing out as he ruthlessly snapped his hips against the flesh of your ass. He plunged his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, the hand that held your face against the stone withdrew from you. Jayce pulled it beneath your arm, wrapping around your chest to imperviously grip at your breast, using his hold on it to further aid in the force with which he was bucking into you.

His other hand moved to your neck, fingers tightening around it with a possessive grip. The pressure forced the air from your lungs, and you gasp, the sound barely escaping as your breath becomes shallow. You squirm, struggling to breathe, but his hold doesn’t loosen. Instead, it pulls you in deeper, mixing fury with hunger. Each ragged breath, each flicker of resistance only seems to make it worse, the heat between you both building in the space where anger and desire collide.

“Fuck you.” He spat out in sync with his thrusts.

“Fuck.” —thrust.

“You.” —thrust.

“For.” —thrust.

“Leaving.” Thrust, thrust, thrust.

The words he spat out were coated in intent, each one seething with the same anger that simmered inside of him. The way he moved, pounding into you, was frantic, his hips driven by a fire that seemed to consume him.

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been

Stuck and glued

In frequent doubt.’

You could feel it, the heat coursing through his veins with every thrust—his body shaking with the intensity of it. There was nothing controlled about the way he gripped you, no tenderness. Just a reckless, furious need, each movement angry, as if he were fighting to push the rage out of his body and into you.

His soul had been set ablaze, and all you could do was feel the burn.

“Agh—“ You pant, air still desperate to escape your lungs as he clenched your throat.

“F-fuck you for—-Pretending like—-you care.” You choke out.

Jayce’s blood boils, his grip on your throat tightening beyond the point of care.

“Pretending like I care?” He pants as well, exhausting himself from the force with which he was railing his cock up into you.

“I care. More than—anyone—sunshine.” He very well shouts, words still in sync with his thrusts, on exhaling with each. He was absolutely plowing you now, the familiar nickname cutting through the air that surrounded you.

You were groaning out in pleasure and pain, the contrasting feelings mixing into one as he continued his relentless assault on your cervix.

“T-Then why—-why couldn’t you just—-“ Your lungs begged for air.

“Love me—-like I love—- you?” You gasp, your voice barely audible above the hunger for air.

‘I know the feeling

Cause I can’t

Keep my mind

Open now.’

Jayce’s movements stopped abruptly, his hands yanking away from you as if struck by a sudden realization. You gasped, breath catching painfully in your throat, stumbling back into the wall, your body desperate for air that was slow to come. The intensity that had fueled him moments before seemed to drain in an instant, leaving you gasping in the silence.

Jayce felt an overwhelming wave of guilt crash over him, sharp and suffocating, like a bucket of ice-cold water being poured straight over his head. It hit him all at once, a gut-punch of realization that mirrored the guilt he had seen on your face earlier when you slapped him—raw, unfiltered, and impossible to escape. His chest tightened, a heaviness settling in his stomach as he stood there, frozen, unable to look at you.

His hips stilled, his body rigid as the anger that had driven him to this point shifted, replaced by something softer—-sadder. His heart felt heavy in his chest, sinking like a stone in water.

All that was left in the alley was the erratic—-uneven sound of your breathing, each inhale a struggle, sweat slicking your skin, catching the light of the moon in fragile glimmers. The silence stretched out, thick with unspoken tension, the weight of what had just transpired hanging between you like a shroud, heavy and unresolved.

His mind was a blur, thoughts scattered and jumbled, short-circuiting in a way that left him dizzy. He couldn’t make sense of the guilt spiraling through him, the crushing weight of having crossed a line he hadn’t even seen until it was too late. Until you said what you had said.

That you loved him.

He removes his chest from your back, pulling himself out of you in the process.

Jayce reached for you, his hands trembling as he gently grasped your shoulders, his touch softer than it had been all night. His fingers barely brushed your skin, as if afraid to make contact after everything that had just happened. With a careful, almost reverent motion, he spun you around to face him. The moment your eyes met, his chest seemed to cave in on itself, a sickening weight settling there.

His heart felt like it had physically dropped, plummeting to the pit of his stomach with a sickening thud. The sight of you, tears streaking down your face, the raw anguish in your expression—it shattered him. Every ounce of anger, every moment of fury that had driven him earlier seemed like a distant memory in the face of the heartbreak he had caused.

How could he have been so reckless? The thought screamed in his mind, impossible to silence. The guilt that gripped him now was suffocating, crushing. He’d seen your pain in the heat of the moment, but now it hit him full force—really hit him. The tears in your eyes weren’t just a reminder of what he’d done; they were a reflection of how far he had pushed you, how little he had cared in the frenzy of his own anger.

And now, standing in front of you, he couldn’t undo it. All he could do was stare at the damage he had inflicted, helpless, terrified of what he’d become.

“___…” He whispers.

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kkukverse · 1 month ago

Text

Down and down

Pair : mma fighter jeon jungkook x reader

Fall, everything

fall, everything

fall, everything,

The muffled screams, the ringing in his ears. The blurry vision and he was sure for a good minute that he was losing his eyesight. If it weren’t for the camera’s flickering lights and the spotlight beaming on this octagon, he thought he was blind. The blow from this McGregor guy took him down, left him sprawling on the red tainted mat. Bloods spluttered everywhere, mixed with his and the opponent’s sweat. Sticky liquid dripping from both of their mouths as the referee pounds his fist onto the white mat.

He can see the referee mouthing something, he doesn’t have to focus so hard to know that the referee is counting down the numbers.

“One!” there’s a pause.

“Kook, get up!” from all of the deafening sounds in his head he managed to catch his coach’s muffled voice.

“Two!” the referee slaps the mat even harder,

“You motherfu- Jeon Jungkook! GET YOUR ASS UP!” His coach is frantically trying to wake him.

“Thre-”

“Jungkook? Jungkookie? Kookie.” His bruised eyes widen at the sound. It is the most angelic sound he ever heard.

Am I already in heaven he thought.

It’s his most favorite voice in the whole world, the voice that soothes the raging storm in him, the voice that could calm his sea of confusion, your voice.

She’s here? No. She left. It feels like the time stopped and Jungkook is battling with his inner thought, full of you in it. He slowly raised his upper body before the referee could scream the last number straight at his face.The crowd was a mixture of boos and cheers. In that dramatic moment, his coach managed to ask for a time out. Jungkook was carried by his team members to the corner of the octagon.

Blood was covering most of his body parts, Taehyung wipes them off with cold towels and Jimin was frantically putting balm on his busted lips and on the torn skin above his left brow. Jungkook’s heavily panting for air to fill his lungs and he is still intoxicated with adrenalines. Coach Kim put his hand on both of his cheeks to check if there are any cuts before Jungkook splutters your name over and over again.

“Is s-she here? Is she here? Please, is she here?” He keeps on muttering something along with your name and Taehyung is shushing him because from the look of it, Jungkook is about to lose his mind and now is not the right time to be that.

“Kook, she’s not here, but you gotta keep your head in the game.” Coach Kim speaks in a clear voice as he maintains eye contact with Jungkook. With a badly swollen left eye, there’s nothing much Jungkook can see anyway. “I heard her. She’s here, I can hear her voice, she's calling my name, coach please look for her. I know she’s here” Jungkook pleads at his coach with tears streaming down his face.

“I will look for her, but you gotta finish this fight first” Jimin cups Jungkook’s face. Jimin knows very well that it is borderline impossible to find you at this moment. But if it is what can make Jungkook to keep his head in the game, Jimin wouldn’t hesitate to make up lies.

The crowd erupted again once both fighters were back in the middle of the fighting pit.

The fight continued and ended with Jungkook lost. It was a painful loss, physically and emotionally. All battered and bruised for nothing. He was the boy who is prepared for the battle but never for the lost.

But not lately.

There’s a dreadful silence on the way back to the gym. No one could say a word or even looked at each other. With Jimin patting Jungkook’s shoulder, trying to comfort him, Taehyung can only stare out of the window with Coach Kim gripping tightly on his ipad.

Taehyung peers to look at the blinding lights from the device.

“The highest paid fighter, Golden Boy Jungkook third lost this season: was recruiting him into the biggest MMA club was a big mistake? It’s indeed a total blow.”

Taehyung scoffed at the stupid headline. The media is so fast to spread nonsense. Absentmindedly, he switched off the devices since the email was flooding in. Coach Kim just let him.

Everyone is mad at the situation, not at the losing fighter. But he seems to be blaming himself by the soft sound of the sniffles coming from him.

“Kook-ah, it’s fine. We can practice more. There’s always another competition you can win” Coach Kim looks at the poor boy he trained for years sitting on a single seat at the back. This huge tour bus makes Jungkook look so small and fragile in his eyes.

Jimin squeezed his shoulders, winced as he noticed how stiff he had become.

“You said you will look for her,” came out like a soft defeated whisper from Jungkook. His eyes stared blankly from the tinted bus’s window. It’s almost like a universal joke because somehow it started pouring down. He blames the sky for mockingly crying at him, he hates the night sky for being so gloomy ever since the day you left him.

How could the sky pitied him and yet do nothing when it became his witness on the night he boarded the airplane.

“You know very well she’s not there, Jungkook. You can’t get mad at Jimin, hell, you shouldn’t be mad at anyone especially yourself. You have to stop brooding like this. It happened months ago. Get over it!” Taehyung turns his back to look at Jungkook.

The boy is still staring out. Taehyung is slightly annoyed with Jungkook because he cares about him a lot.

They fight together, they used to fight each other, they’re each other’s sparring partner. The golden boys of Kim’s Gym and now the rising stars of BigHit Mixed Martial Arts gym. Jungkook was the boy who has the highest winning streaks in a season. Knocking down opponents like they’re made of papers.

Keyword; was.

He slowly went into a slump. As an athlete, slump is dangerous, both mentally and physically. Coach Kim couldn’t force him to practice anymore because he wouldn’t dodge punches and kicks. He lets himself bruised and bleed. Coach Kim thought the best way to get him fired up again is through competition.

Coach Kim knows that Jungkook loves the adrenaline rush, the roaring screams from his fans, he loves it when the referee raises up his hand as he won the fight. But Coach Kim is wrong. Today was his third match and he lost all of them.

“Taehyung is right. I hate seeing you like this. And I’m sorry for making you fight out of your will. I thought it was for the best.” Coach Kim spoke up to soothe the tense atmosphere. He knows Taehyung means well but he practically raises these three, like he did with his other fighters.

Since they’re the youngest, he has a soft spot for them. The older fighters have achieved a lot, and more mature in handling their emotions. These three are still kids to him. So the moment Jungkook came back that one night, sobbing and broken, he knows something isn’t right.

And he knows he has to be tough on Jungkook. Otherwise, Jungkook will spiral down. Like right now.

“Jungkook,” Jimin speaks quietly, “Do you wanna look for her again?” Jungkook raised his head to look at Jimin. He gave him a look that Jimin knows so well, his losing hope kind of look.

“I would kill to see her again, but I would die if that ever happened because I broke her, Jimin. How could I see her when I’m the last person she would ever want to see?”

He met you five years ago. In his aunt’s grocery store. You were the new girl in town, the transferred, new teacher at the local elementary school.

The day you walked into his aunt’s store was the day one of his silly hopeless romantic fantasy becoming real. He had this vision of falling in love at the sound of a bell because of an anime movie he watched with Taehyung and Jimin. He rewatched that movie over and over again, imagining finding his true love the way the protagonists in the movie did.

And it happened.

It was a sweet jingle from the bell on the main door of the store, and you walked in wearing a white shirt and faded blue jeans, looking so effortlessly pretty to him. Jungkook thought his eyes were playing tricks with him that day but he swears he can see rays of sunlight following you.

Like a spotlight or it was just him zooming on you. Nevertheless, you were glowing to him. How can he forget that?

He was busy gobbling down his lunch after he helped his aunt unloaded boxes of groceries on the display shelves. With oil from the fried eggs on the corner of his lips, lips swollen from the spiciness of the gochujang. The bibimbap was delicious but the moment your eyes caught his, the lunch just stuck in his throat, causing him to choke.

He was fucked and it was obvious from the way you were taken aback with his loud cough. He banged his chest with his fist, to control his unstoppable coughing before he immediately ran to the back of the store.

Gulping down the water, he wanted to cry because your first impression of him, was him, choking on a piece of fried egg because he decided to inhale instead of chewing.

He thought the best way for this to end, is just sitting at the back of the store until you left. He can hear his aunt conversing with you and he envied that. But he is still embarrassed!

While he was busy kicking himself, he noticed the chirping of his aunt’s voice asking you but he didn’t hear your voice, not clearly enough. So he is focusing now, head tilted so his ears can catch the conversation. He acted like a creep and for a second that thought makes him blushed in more shame.

“If you need anything you can just come here and ask. We’re glad to help. What about your belongings? Did you already move them in?” The voice of his aunt sounds like an echo to him. Jungkook was still chewing the bits of meat from the bibimbap. They were a bit tough and might have stuck in his teeth but he didn’t give a damn. Sulking.

“I only bring the necessary stuff, the one I managed to carry with my car. I have to buy other necessities here though.” Your voice. Holly shit, Jungkook lost it at your voice.

If he is poetic, he’d said your voice is like spring water washing him from head to toe. Refreshing. With no one watching Jungkook grinned like a fool. He doesn’t even know your name. It was literally five seconds ago when he met you.

“Of course, of course. Do you need help? It pains my heart to see a girl like you carrying heavy things, all by yourself,” His aunt sounds concerned and she has always been that kind of person. The woman who cares about everyone, Jungkook respect his aunt so much.

He took a wild guess, his aunt is probably being mindful about the stuff you bought. Maybe you bought too much than what you can handle.

“I guess I do need help,” you chuckle. Jungkook thought he fell deep after hearing your voice and now your chuckles are going to be the reason why he will keep falling. Jungkook is daydreaming of hearing your chuckles and he is already making a list of jokes he can throw at you randomly.

He was so sure he wanted to keep seeing you. As you will be a resident in this neighbourhood, he will make sure to get to know you. Just not today. He shivers at the memory of your wide eyes after hearing his horrendous cough.

Not today, he will make a second first impression to you. In a more gentleman manner.

“Jungkook! Jeon Jungkook!"

"This boy. Is he still at the back?” His aunt started shouting for him, shattering his plan and his ears. Oh but he’s definitely thinking of your ears first. His aunt has a habit of shouting since she is the boss, that’s how she makes the men move in this store.

Jungkook just groaned loud enough for her to hear him. Remember when he said his aunt cares about everyone? Well his aunt can be scary too. After he realizes his aunt is tutting at the cashier table, he scrambles his long legs to her.

“Coming, coming. I was eating.” Jungkook whined as he dragged his feet towards his aunt. She knocked his head with a fly swatter.

“Still eating?! You liar! You already ate! You’re sleeping aren’t ya? Here, come here,” she dragged him by his ear. You chuckle at the view as the two of them looked funny.

Jungkook can’t control how his lips are cracking to form the biggest grin ever at that sound. And wow seeing you up close is far more magical than he had envisioned. Jungkook is definitely taller than you seeing from his one set of doe eyes as he was awkwardly bending down because his aunt pulled him by the ear.

“Ow ow ow I’m sorry! Stop!” He whines louder. His brain finally sent him the pain signal because he was a little occupied as he looked at you.

You were gazing at him with your soft eyes, and he remembers that he is not wearing his best hoodie today. Jungkook was in his beige baggy sweater, rolled up to his elbows, and black sweatpants. His thick and messy long hair, his pinkish lips, slight oil by the corner of his mouth. He sighed in his heart.

So much for a gentleman’s first impression. But you didn’t give him a disgusting look. Even there’s almost dry sweat patches on his chest, and around the armpits area. You were still smiling sweetly.

Damn, forget the joke list, if he can keep making you smiling like that, he’ll be the happiest man.

His aunt nudged him and broke him of his own dream.

“You make me look like a fool!” He whispered to his aunt before she laughed out loud.

“Now, now, is our Jungkookie shy??” She pinched his right cheek.

“This adorable boy is my nephew. But don’t let his looks fool you, he is a mischievous kid.”

“My aunt can get quite excited with people sometimes.” Jungkook smile wide enough before his body went rigid. Shit what if there’s meat stuck in between his teeth?!

What he didn’t know was, you think he is so cute.

Because for a moment he was smiling so bright and then suddenly he zoned out like a puppy. You already think he was cute that day.

His aunt shoots him a harmless glare before she pats his butt.

“She’s new here. Can you please go and help her carry the things? Be the strong man, Kook,” she whispered in the last sentence and sent the boy a wink. Jungkook scoffed and as if you haven’t heard or witnessed all of that.

His aunt, whom he’s thankful for with every breath he takes.

The soft knocks on his door bring him back to the present. These days, no, ever since he left for Japan all he think about are you, his aunt, the little town and you, you, you.

“Have you called your aunt yet, Jungkook?” Taehyung peaked his head through the slit of the door. The light breaking into the dark door. Jungkook didn’t even realize he’s been looming in the dark space, he doesn’t even know if it’s day or night.

Taehyung sighs at the tiny hum Jungkook gave him. His little breakdown at Jungkook on the bus last night still makes him guilty. Taehyung knows him better than anyone, and for him to snap at Jungkook like that, he felt guilty. But somebody gotta wake Jungkook up from this state.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung grips harder on the door handle, before he pushes it wide open. Jungkook groaned at the sudden intrusion of light and his friend.

When you’re in the dark for quite some time the lights can be too blinding.

“Dude what the fuck!” Jungkook barks. Hands hastily pulling up the heavy blanket, hiding himself under it. He hates it. Hate it how he knows he looks pathetic but he doesn’t want to do anything about it.

“Get up.” Taehyung’s voice is deep and firm. He is so much like his dad. Growing up watching his dad coach fighters, Jungkook thinks this is where Taehyung gained this scary aura. Taehyung doesn’t even flinch at Jungkook’s growling.

Jungkook refused to get up until Taehyung pulled the blanket off of him in one snatched. Jungkook hates it. He feels like he is disappointing everyone and he hates how he can clearly sense annoyance in Taehyung’s sigh.

Taehyung could never feel annoyed by his friends and Jungkook knows that.

“Kook,” Taehyung softly coaxed him. Taehyung feels like he is suffocating seeing Jungkook all crumpled up, bending his body like a lost little child. Where did his strong friend go?

“Kook, man you gotta get up,” Taehyung sits down at the edge of the bed. Eyes still on Jungkook even though the man is still shutting his eyes tight. “I apologize for last night, kay?” Taehyung continued.

“‘Kay,” was all Jungkook replied. Honestly, he doesn’t remember what happened last night. All he knew was he lost.

“Dad told me your aunt called him. Saying she couldn’t reach you. Give the lady a call, Kook.”

“Later,”

“Kook-”

“Anything else Tae? If not, leave me alone.”

Taehyung lets out another defeated sigh. “Yes,” he stands up with his hands inside his pocket.

“We’re going for a run.” Taehyung moves to grab clean sweats and hoodie for Jungkook before he pulls his friend up with all his might because Jungkook is really heavy.

Taehyung must stay positive for his friend. That’s the least he can do. Trying to get his friend back up from a lost battle was never easy and add heartbreak to that too, it is almost impossible.

Jungkook didn’t disobey him because he loves running. He runs all the time. At dawn, or dusk. He runs playfully with his friends, runs for practice, or just simply running and enjoying the scenery.

Tokyo air is very different from his little hometown. There’s no usual bun stall where he can get two red bean buns for free because he always helped the old lady setting up her stall. There’s no chirping and giggling sounds of the school kids coming back from school.

Laughing at him because 'Jungkook hyung is so funny.'

Tokyo feels so cold and silent. There’s no you in Tokyo. There's no one to share red bean buns with. Once, he bought four buns to eat with you after his running sessions, before he took you home on his scooter.

After the first meeting at the store, Jungkook always bumped into you. Either when you’re on your way to school while he is finishing the last lap of his run, or when he was just riding his scooter around the school - hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

That first time, he gave you all of his favorite red bean buns because he saw you walking home. Like many late afternoons, Jungkook noticed you were waiting at the gate with the boy he knows, Daehwi.

Jungkook was running an errand for his aunt at that time. He has no idea why he keeps messing up every time you’re near him. He unconsciously twisted his hand harsher making his scooter almost jump forward.

Suddenly the slow scooter became the fastest vehicle as he zoomed past the two of you. He can see you flinched before you stand protectively in front of Daehwi, the kid whines as he bumps into your back. Jungkook instantly breaks and he makes a sharp U-turn, to apologize.

Looking at you with his wide eyes and open mouth after he took off his helmet. It wasn’t a big scary and loud motorcycle. It’s the scooter he used when he’s on delivery for his aunt. Jungkook winced apologetically as he can see how you stand in front of your student.

One hand on your hip, you’re biting your inner cheek to suppress a laugh because Jungkook looks like he is about to cry. Perhaps feeling guilty, for driving recklessly.

“Jeon Jungkook-” with a low tone, you tried to intimidate him. Tapping your foot. Jungkook is blaming his guardian ancestors because they never helped him. Does he even have one?! He needs one before you hate him, completely.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he dropped his helmet with carrot stickers all over it into the scooter basket, clasping his hands together.

You hum before you move away to show Jungkook the scared little boy hiding behind you.

Jungkook understand that it’s not you he needs to apologize to,

“I’m sorry little guy,” he pouted.

Daehwi, the loveliest child who can never stand someone else feeling sad, accepted Jungkook’s apology in the most heartwarming way.

“It’s okay Kookie hyung,” coming closer to Jungkook before he taps on his knee. “But you scared Miss ____, hyung.” The little kid looking at Jungkook as firm as he can though his tiny hand on his knee makes Jungkook almost cooed loudly.

Jungkook’s much larger hand is on top of Daehwi’s little hands.

Jungkook dropped his shoulders with puppy eyes looking at you. Mouthing ‘I’m sorry’. Your mouth twitched up and Jungkook knew he’s fine.

You concluded that Jungkook is such a big child. Adorable. Everyone here knows him, he delivers food, vegetables, or anything his aunty tells him to deliver. Diligent and friendly.

The example is here, little Daehwi is so much more comfortable around Jungkook than he is with you. Jungkook is paying attention to Daehwi as he whispers something to him. Eventhough you can catch them very well. Daehwi is just too cute.

“Kookie hyung, can I ride your scooter?”

“Ah, little guy I would love to. But if your mom finds out she’s gonna tell my aunt. And my aunt isn’t really cool. She nags too much.” Jungkook playfully makes a grimace face as if he really can’t stand his aunt. When in reality he loves that old lady like she is his mom.

Daehwi gives a scandalous look at Jungkook, instantly correcting him. “I am not a little guy, I am nine this year, right Miss ___?” He turns to face you for confirmation. “I am big enough,” he mumbles under his breath. Coming closer to him, you fix his backpack that is tilted from him moving so fast to be near Jungkook.

“Yup, but sometimes, big kids can get hurt too. Your mom doesn’t want to see you’re hurting. I would be so sad if something happened to you, too,” you coaxed Daehwi. He hung his head low but perks up at the mention of his mom.

“Then hyung, get down! Don’t make Miss ____ sad,” with his chubby fingers he tried to pull Jungkook to come down from his scooter. Tumbling forward, Jungkook carefully gets off the scooter and lets the nine year old lead him closer to you.

The two of you chuckled at his cute actions before realizing that Daehwi placed Jungkook’s hand onto yours while he held your other hand.

Jungkook feels a gush of warmth on the inside and he can’t think straight. He was holding his breath not knowing how to react with his large hand engulfing yours. ‘Crap, my palms are fucking sweaty’ Jungkook whines in his mind.

Blinking furiously because he wanted to wipe the sweat off but he wants to keep holding your hand. The biggest dilemma in his life.

Neither of you tried to break the holds. Jungkook thought you still didn’t let go of his hand because you don’t wanna be rude but what he didn’t know was you were thinking of how slippery your hands are because of the hand lotion you applied earlier on.

He glanced at you through the corner of his eyes, you were biting your lower lips, trying to focus on Daehwi rambling about his truck toys. Daehwi is telling you and Jungkook that he wanted a scooter toy next time, if his mom allowed him. Like Jungkook’s he says. It was endearing but the two of you are too focused on your hands.

“Mom!” Daehwi shouted as he saw his mom getting down from the car. Immediately you tighten your hold on his pudgy hand so he's not crossing the road mindlessly. You wait until his mom is closer enough before you slowly let him go, he runs towards his mom’s embrace with giggles. His mom picks him up as she bows a little to you.

“Thank you, I’m terribly sorry for being so late.” With an apologetic look on her face.

“It’s okay, please don’t be sorry. I am willing to wait for him.” You’re not letting her keep apologizing to you. Jungkook stares in awe at you, who keeps bowing at the mother.

“Daewhi is a good boy, I had fun waiting with him.” You chuckled at the boy, who was tucked behind his mom’s thighs. Whining at her that he is hungry for curry.

“I better get going. Daehwi, say goodbye to your teacher,” his mom asked him. “And to Jungkook hyung too,” his mom smirks at the hands that are still holding onto each other, with a knowing look she smiles at the two of you.

Like an electric jolt, you and Jungkook let go of each other’s hands. He rubs the back of his neck and you clasped your hands together.

Silently he frowned at the loss of the delicate small hand.

“Kookie hyung is being safe, so Miss ___ won’t be sad if he gets hurt,” explained Daehwi.

“Oh I’m sure he is safe, baby. Now let’s go home. Goodbye you two.” She said as she gave a witty smile to the two of you.

Silence fills the surrounding after Daehwi and his mom drove away. Jungkook feels the urge to say something but for some reason his throat is clogged up.

“Are you on errands, Jungkook?” You break the silence.

“Nope,” answered without a beat. So much of self control Jeon.

“Can you give me a ride home?”

“Wha- why?” his heart is beating wild. You wanna ride his scooter. With him! And his stupid mouth asked ‘why’ ???!

“I’m sorry for the sudden request, it’s just that I have a few things to carry with me. Or maybe my legs are slowly giving up because I’ve been standing up for too long today,” you explained shyly.

If Jungkook can shut down the thrumming of his heart maybe he can hear how you’re nervous around him too.

He was just gazing at his shoes, swaying a little. Waiting for you to finish talking. He thinks you’re gonna hate him for not able to answer immediately but Jungkook was just in the zone, because YOU WANTED TO RIDE HIS UGLY SCOOTER!

It’s not a chick magnet kind of bike like Taehyung’s, it’s an old, beige, boring scooter!

“Only if you don’t mind,” you asked softly, as you thought it might not reach his ears but he snapped his head so fast to you.

“Of course!” His voice sounds a little higher. “I mean, of course I don’t mind,” he mumbles. Hands up, showing you that he is completely okay with your request.

“But I don’t have an extra helmet, never mind, you can just wear mine.” Jungkook mumbles to himself. His hands are busy putting the carrot-stickers helmet on your head when you just stare dumbfounded at him.

Laughing at his action, you hunched over with hands on your stomach. “Oh my god Jungkook. Let me grab my stuff first,” you wheeze.

Jungkook finally realized that he went ahead of himself and you were standing in front of him, with your cute giggles and closed eyes and puffed cheeks, way shorter than him and his hands are still under your chin. Trying to buckle the helmet. His eyes widen at the sound of your laugh.

“You’re silly,” you wipe the corner of your eyes, a bit teary from the laughing.

Jungkook frowned at that, “I’m not silly. I thought you’re ready to go.”

“How can I possibly be ready when my stuff is still inside?” You let yourself go from his hands that were still cupping your chin. Walking inside to get your bag and a small box of arts materials (maybe you don’t actually have a lot of stuff to carry or you just want to spend some time with Jungkook?)

Jungkook saw you and immediately rushed to help you carry the box. You did tell him you’re very capable but Jungkook pretends he didn’t hear that.

“You can hold on to me if you want.” Jungkook pulls the baby hair, at the tip of his sideburn, a habit to distract himself.

“I would like it if you hold on to me, you’d be safe.” He adds. Eyes straight forward, too shy to look at you, wearing his helmet, his favorite helmet! Lightly tapping your box inside the scooter basket with his free hand.

“Okay Jungkook,” you chuckle. Jungkook heard you huffing as you struggled to tighten the helmet and he without a beat, softly tugging the end of the straps. Helping you out and the close proximity allowed him to be so absorbed by staring at your face, your beautiful eyes, your soft jawline, the slope of your cute nose, the slight pouty lips, your eyelashes. Everything about you is so pretty.

Suddenly he heard a gasp and his big eyes staring shockingly at you, mouth gaping and all. “You think I'm pretty?” You whispered.

Fuck!

A curse comes out of his mouth and he wanted, no, dying, for the earth to swallow him because he just blurted his thoughts out loud and now you know he thinks you’re pretty.

Worst case scenario? Probably you threw his helmet and just walked home. But you were giving him the million dollar smile. The smile he is getting used to. And then suddenly you uttered the magical words to him, “I think you’re pretty too.” it was a firework festival inside of him. Jungkook is back to his smug face and smirking at your flustered self.

Giving him a bashful smile, you hop on behind him, arms are shyly snaking around his waist. Jungkook’s heart is soaring high. He is sure you can definitely hear his wild heart beating so loud.

“Here we go,”

“Tae, I need to speak with you,” Jimin whispered to Taehyung as the later man was just finished sparring up with another fighter. Panting while wiping the sweat with an already drenched hand towel.

He jumped down to be close to Jimin. From the look on his face, whatever he is about to say must be very serious.

“Yeah? What’s up?” Taehyung asked. It was a hard practice today and he is still panting.

“I found her,”

There’s a sudden silence after Jimin uttered the words. Except Taehyung’s heavy breathing. Jimin found you. Taehyung’s jaw clenched at the information. He knows Jimin hasn’t told Jungkook yet, because Jimin told him first.

He doesn’t need to think much, honestly, because out of everyone, Taehyung was the first one who knows Jungkook is in love with you even when Jungkook shyly denied that. He knows how important you are to Jungkook.

With his head hung low, Taehyung threw off the boxing gloves onto the fighting mat. The three of them grew up together. Seeing Jungkook in this condition breaks his heart. Out of everyone who found Jungkook whipped in love, it was Taehyung.

Taehyung becomes an acquaintance with you as you’re the new tenant moved a few blocks from his house.

Few years ago, when he found out about you and Jungkook, he was relentless at teasing the younger guy. Jungkook used to be very private about his love life but with you, he’s different. He talks about you all the time. Taehyung is sure that Jungkook’s mind is occupied with you.

He tried to swing a punch pad to Jungkook, just to intimidate him.

It is a known fact that Jungkook never missed a swing, not even from the coach. But Taehyung shouted your name and the punch pad kissed Jungkook on his face. And Taehyung is now 120% sure, Jeon Jungkook is whipped as hell.

“You ass,” Jungkook hissed as Jimin pressed the ice pack on his slightly swollen cheek. Taehyung doubled over with booming laughter and he received a sharp glare from Jimin. He has to halt his training to treat Jungkook. Even though Taehyung is the same age as Jimin, Jimin always acted like the eldest brother. The logic is because he was born a few months earlier than Taehyung.

“I have a match next week and now I have to babysit you. Be serious for once,” Jimin scowl and Taehyung pokes his sides. He knows Jimin will never stay mad. He is the strongest in his weight class, everyone in the city will shiver at the mention of his name.

But Jimin has the softest heart of them all. Every time one of them is injured, Jimin will go all the way to treat them, even if the injury is from a silly prank.

“Take care of your body, you said you wanna join Joon hyung in Japan,” Jimin pressed a little harder on Jungkook’s cheeks. Purposely sting him so he listened.

“I am! Tae cannot stop being an annoying little prick,” Jungkook pointed his hand at the giggling Taehyung. Poking his own tongue on the inside of his cheek. Hissing as he felt a little sore.

Swiping the laughing tear from the corner of his eyes, Taehyung lay down on the floor. All sweaty.

“Oh our dear Jungkookie and my neighbour.” he teases Jungkook while making a kissy face and a loud smooch echoed in the gym. Jungkook just groaned frustratingly.

“I will never stop teasing you,” Taehyung sings songs.

His cheeks are flushed red. Hand grabbing a towel to throw at Taehyung. “Shut up Taehyung!”

Taehyung chuckles bitterly as he remembers those nights Jungkook swooning over you, as they walked home from the gym. He always talks about you. You were Jungkook’s girl, everyone knows that.

He even knows the reason you and him broke apart. He witnessed the night the two hearts of his friends’ shattered into tiny pieces. The night that haunts Jungkook, the night that he carried Jungkook to the gym. Meeting his dad. The night Jungkook decided that he agreed for Japan.

“Tae, do you think we should tell him?” Jimin asked.

“We gotta tell him,” Taehyung said with a determined look on his face. That night shouldn’t have happened, and he shouldn’t just watch you slip away from Jungkook just like that. What kind of friend was he?

Silence never really means anything is doing good. Like right now, Jungkook is sitting on the couch after Coach Kim broke the news to him.

Another match.

After a heated phone call with the McGregor team, Coach Kim called Jungkook to meet him at the gym. Coach Kim told him about the phone call he received just now, the phone call that requested another match with Jungkook.

Coach Kim refused without hesitation, even BigHit agreed with him but McGregor felt like it was an unjust match for him. He claimed Jungkook didn’t give his all and that somehow wounded him.

McGregor said he’s been studying Jungkook over the years, he knows Jungkook won a lot of titles and his skill is the most immaculate.

He has been waiting to fight him and he did. They had their first match and Jungkook fell lower than his expectation. For some reason he felt like Jungkook was fooling him around. This is why he demanded another fight.

Coach Kim is swallowing hard, because he doesn’t want to hurt Jungkook. He wasn’t purposely losing that day. Jungkook never wanted to win anyway.

Not when he stepped into the octagon, not even when he boarded the airplane. It was already over long before McGregor. In fact Coach Kim is still blaming himself for making Jungkook fight in the match that secured him a spot in Japan.

Jungkook said nothing as he kept staring at his own feet. Both Jungkook and Coach Kim seem to be lost in their own memories.

“Kook, I need to prepare you for the next match, in September.” Coach Kim’s voice echoed in the gym as he walked to the boys. The three of them, Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin are sprawling on the fighting mat after a rigorous training.

Jimin was hellbent on making the other two his sparring partner because he was almost lost to the one of the fighters from Lee gym. He was annoyed. When Jimin is annoyed, he is relentless and punched so hard. Sometimes Jungkook wonders what he eats, for someone his size, Jimin is a beast.

Panting on the floor, Jungkook uses one hand to lift the side of his body, searching for his coach. “September? That’s such a short notice. It’s a few months from now.” He whines.

Thinking about the overload of workout he must complete, he needs to maintain the body weight and still burn calories and all. It is such a fuss because it requires mental and physical preparation.

“Yea, Jungkook. It’s a friendly match."

"Come here, check your weight. We have to put on weight this time Jeon. Let’s conquer a different weight class, yeah?” Coach Kim sings songs.

Taehyung is laughing at his friend’s misery. He knows how Jungkook has been on this weird fibre diet because he’s trying to lose weight. Taehyung and Jungkook are in the same weight class even though Jungkook is much more muscular. Taehyung knows his dad, he gotta bulk up Jungkook because Taehyung is already dominating in their weight class.

“Coachhh,” Jungkook stomped his feet. “It’s my first anniversary soon. I wanna go food hunting with ___.” Jimin chuckles as he shakes his head at Jungkook’s childish behaviour.

Being the youngest of the group gets him away with everything. Jimin winced at the thought of having to gain weight because it was such a hell ride.

Gaining weight is much more difficult than losing weight. He knew it firsthand when he had to gain 10kg for a match. It was a torture, but that’s the life of an athlete, especially MMA fighters.

“If you manage to gain weight, you can easily win with your skill. We just need to sharpen a little on the jabs and your kick. This new weight class will secure you a place in a bigger tournament.” Coach Kim explains.

“Stop whining, all of your hyungs have done it before. ____ will understand, she always understands.” Coach Kim sends a strict glare to Jungkook only to be counter attacked with big watery eyes.

Taehyung and Jimin eagerly nod, proving the Coach’s statement. Taehyung chuckles, knowing that if he pulls out his name, Jungkook will do it in a heartbeat. “Even Namjoon hyung had to gain weight that one time,”

Hearing his idol’s name Jungkook instantly standing next to Coach Kim, wiping the dirt on his butt. Eyes are fiery as he stares at the meal plan and workout plan Coach Kim already made for him.

“This time we gotta avoid this, okay?” Jungkook pleaded as he pointed at his face. The last time he took a jab and came home to you with a swollen eye. Jungkook told his coach that he wanted to learn a faster shielding skill. So that no one can touch his face. He said you were crying when you saw him looking like a goey ugly fish.

“Can’t afford to make my girl cry anymore,” Jungkook grinned cheekily. Coach Kim just shakes his head at his action.

“Puppy love,” he muttered but Jungkook gasped dramatically.

“It’s not puppy love! We love each other. She’s the one,” Jungkook claimed. How dare his coach teased him like that. You are the light of his life.

She’s the one

The more the words replaying in his head the more it hurts. It keeps pounding non stop and Jungkook is tired. He misses you. So much. He hates Japan. He hates himself. Why did he go out that night? Why can he just listen to you? Why did he need to go there and beat his opponent to pulp? Why did he let his temper take over him?

“Tell him I gave up,” Jungkook gets up from the couch. He no longer turns around even after Coach Kim keeps calling his name.

“Jungkook boy, you really gonna give up like that? I know you’re a pussy but holy fuck! That kid can’t even punch me!” The boisterous laugh from the tv screen echoed inside Coach Kim’s room.

Taehyung is clenching his jaw and Jimin sends deathly glare at the flat tv screen. The interviews McGregor did live just now shows that he’s been picking Jungkook’s name and calling him out for not wanting to go for a second match.

Jungkook is eating a bowl of ice cream with no care in the world as he sits in the corner of the room. Not minding how many times McGregor has been calling out his name from the tv. McGregor is sitting too proudly with a heavy gold belt slung across his puffed chest. Jungkook just smirks at the image. That used to be his dream.

“You just gonna let him shitting about you like that?” Taehyung said in his deep voice. His eyes sharply glaring at Jungkook. He is mad for his best friend.

But Jungkook doesn’t even budge a muscle, except the one in his mouth, he keeps swallowing a spoonful of ice cream.

“Let him, I lost interest.” Jungkook sighs.

Taehyung scoffs bitterly at his nonchalant reply. Without thinking straight he let his mouth run on it’s own. “What would ___ say to you now, Jungkook?”

Suddenly there’s dead silence in the office. Coach Kim raised his head at his son, eyes wide. Jimin holds his breath but he still glances at Jungkook from his seat, curious to see the younger boy’s reaction at the mention of your name.

Taehyung is still glaring at Jungkook, the tension is thick in the air as Jungkook slams his spoon into the bowl before he roughly puts it on the table.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jungkook’s brows scrunch, he looks so mad, so affected by your name.

“You wanna know something, Kook? ___ once told me she could never come to your match because she didn’t want to see you get beaten up. But look at you now,” Taehyung’s face is unreadable.

Jimin slowly raise his hand to stop Taehyung but the latter man continued, “You got beaten so bad now Jungkook, not physically, but still, do you think she’ll cry seeing you like this,”

“Tae-”

“SHUT UP!” Jungkook launched himself towards Taehyung even before Jimin could grab him, he landed a fistful punch on Taehyung’s cheek. His other hand is grabbing the collar of Taehyung’s shirt.

“____ would be sad, just like that night,” Taehyung scoffed with a broken look on his face. His eyes are watery, feeling the sting on his cheek and his heart.

Taehyung is sad for the two of you. He knows mentioning your name to Jungkook will only rile him up. But Taehyung doesn’t want to lose Jungkook like this.

“Tae, stop.” Jimin pleaded. He is still trying to pull Jungkook off Taehyung with Coach Kim.

“Kook, come on. Let him go.” Coach Kim coaxed him.

“Shut up!” Tears are brimming in Jungkook’s eyes. Of course he remembers that night. He let Taehyung go before he flopped down on the floor. Bringing his knees close to his chest. Covering his face with his hands.

“Japan?”

You raised an eyebrow before you got up from his hold to fetch a bowl of ice cream from the kitchen. He was just mindlessly playing with your hair while the two of you catching up the latest episode of Demon Slayer (his request).

It was an usual weekend night where he stayed with you, cuddling, enjoying each other’s company. As he was getting lost in the smell of your shampoo, sighing happily for having you in his arms, he blurted out about Japan.

“Yea Japan. One of BigHit Mixed Martial Arts Gym is there.” He stares at your delicate figure, wearing his oversized shirt and a short with a bowl of ice cream. Smacking his lips at you, you look so cozy and he is just, in love with you.

It feels like yesterday when he confessed to you and you let him woo you.

“That’s so sudden,” your voice sounds unsure and tiny. Slotting yourself in between his legs, Jungkook immediately wrapped his big arms around you, while covering himself with the blanket.

“I know. It’s not official yet as I haven’t given them any say. I’m not sure if I wanted to go or not. For now,” he mumbles. Another habit of his. He is usually a very outgoing boy but when he is unsure he tends to hide, making himself look smaller by crouching or when he sits he wraps his arms around his bended knees.

Now, having you in between his legs, he settles with hiding behind your neck. He feels a lot calmer feeling your skin close to his chest.

He avoided coming home after a match because he looks terrible but he always found himself nuzzling your chest with his hand under your shirt. Your skin, it’s like a safe warm blanket for him.

“Do you want to go?” You hesitantly asked. Eyes still on the screen but Jungkook cannot be sure where your mind is at.

“I mean, I’ve been aiming for Japan ever since I started taking this seriously. Again, like I said, I’m not sure,” he stressed on the last part. Blinking at you. Why are you not looking at him? Are you upset?

Your hand that isn’t holding the bowl grabbed one of his. Your thumb caressing his skin softly yet your eyes still not looking at him.

“I think it’s best for you to go, right?” You said. Tilting your head and it allowed him to lay his head on your shoulder. He shower you skin with kisses and it makes you let out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah?” His voice sounds tiny as he is still searching for your eyes.

“Yeah Jungkook, chase your dream,” this time your eyes are downcast. Thumb rubbing unknown patterns on his skins. He didn’t say another word. Giving up in making you look at him.

He doesn’t feel right.

Were you upset hearing about Japan? He told you, he, himself is still not sure whether he wanted to go there or not. What he wanted, for now is to be with you. If, let’s say, if he were recruited to Japan, he is thinking of bringing you along.

Truthfully he cannot think of being in a long distance relationship with you. He shudders just thinking about that. He knows long distance relationships are very rare to work out. And he is going to be super busy with matches and practice. Thus which is why he wanted you to come along.

He will try his best to support you, but you're a woman with your own career. He is biting inner cheeks, because he doesn’t know how to break the question to you.

“I feel like I’m a bad influence.” You break the short silence. Jungkook’s mind is still racing with thoughts so he managed to reply to you with a questioned hum.

You tap on the bowl with your fingernails, making clicking sounds with your tongue as well.

“Stop, you always said that yet you still spoon fed me,” he groans. Wiggling his peeking toes from the end of your blanket. Trying to distract his mind for a while.

Spend the night, he thought. And maybe ask you after next week’s match.

“You always ended up eating something sweet. What about your meal plan? Gain weight class plan?” Your toes are cold against his hard calf. Spoon clicking inside the large bowl of ice cream. It’s silly.

Silly, because it was pouring heavily outside, just after the dinner and here you are eating ice cream together. As if it’s not cold enough.

“Kookie,” you called for him realizing he zoned out. That nickname seems to pull him back to you, making him scoff in disbelief.

“Stop calling me that,” he chuckled before pinching your side.

You giggle. Ever since you heard Daehwi called him Kookie hyung, you’ve been calling him the same nickname too.

“Kookie,” you pouted. Jungkook is scrunching his eyes, pretending that your acting cute is doing nothing to him. But oh he can never pretend that he is unaffected by you.

Jungkook playfully clenched his teeth as his legs pulled the blanket away from your legs. You flinch at the sudden feel of cold air.

“Hey!” You screech.

“Serve your right,” he tucked the rest of the blanket securely under his laps, making it impossible for you to have it back.

“I’m cold,” you shudder. That’s all it took for him to give in and pulled your legs across his lap. Running his hands up and down to warm them up before he covers the two of you under the fluffy blanket.

He feels warm and you’re safely in his arms. Yeah, he will properly ask you to come with him to Japan. As soon as possible.

You feel like your breath is taken away after you received the phone call. Your body slumped over the chair. Mind a little fuzzy and fortunately it was recess time, you were in the Teacher's Lounge when your phone vibrates. It was Taehyung. He said JImin got your new number from Daehwi’s mom and Jungkook has no idea about the call.

He asked you simple things people asked, like when they had not seen each other for some time. Polite and precise.

‘How are you?’, ‘I hope I’m not bothering you, is it okay I’m calling you now?’. You know Taehyung, he wouldn’t suddenly call you just because he wanted to know about the weather or what not, whether you have eaten yet or not.

So you went straight at him.

“Is Jungkook okay?” You wanna despise him but you can’t. After all these months of crying and in pain. All of the scripted anger in your head, prepared to be bombarded at Jungkook once he called you, disappears into the thin air.

Instead of replying, he talked about Jungkook’s loss. You knew, of course you’ve been keeping track of him, how can you not? When he is all over the place. The television, social media, the whole nation is talking about him. Your heart aches even more.

Jungkook has always been so hard on himself, especially when he loses a match. You have been thinking how he’s been coping up so far.

And then Taehyung asked you for a favor. That is what puts you in your position right now.

“Can you come to Japan?” Taehyung asked you. He sounded defeated and with the heavy sighs you concluded that Jungkook’s loss is affecting them all.

“For him. I know whatever that had happened was bad. But, he’s not being himself and we don’t know what to do anymore,” Taehyung continued. “He won’t fight, he has been so aloof and won’t respond to us. Please ____. He needs you,”

Shutting your eyes tight as you pinched the bridge of your nose, the tears are welling up in your eyes and you don’t wanna cry anymore. But your heart aches thinking about seeing him again in Japan and when that’s the place that makes everything go down in between you two.

You and Jungkook were in a relationship of one year at that time. Like any normal couples, there’s banter and bickering, fights and also make ups. You and him always make up after a fight.

Jungkook would never rest well knowing the two of you didn’t sit down and talked the frustration out. He is a very level headed guy, though sometimes he seems a little childish but to you that’s what makes him, him. But Jungkook has always been the one who apologizes first. Your soft Jungkook.

But that wasn’t your Jungkook that night.

The night he told you about Japan again, only this time he uttered out his desire of having you there with him. You didn’t know what triggered you at that time but for some reason you chickened out.

The sudden request from Jungkook throws you into the abyss of thought. You’re thinking about your teaching, leaving your parents, friends, building a life in Japan?

These thoughts terrify you. Jungkook said he’d be in Japan for a few years. This is why he needed you there as well. You think that’s selfish. Jungkook will spend his time practicing, and fighting. What about you? You don’t even know Japanese.

So you said no, a hesitated no, because amidst the scary thoughts, of course you wanted to be by his side. Maybe you’re feeling a little tired that day, so you just pushed him away. Or maybe it was the way he asked you. Like he demanded you to be by his side. You told him no, you cannot do that. He got frustrated. And it was the first time he’s frustrated with you.

“You never support my dream,” were the words he spat at you. It feels like venom flowing in your ears to your heart. How could he say that?

What he didn’t know was you went to his match for the first time. He was so blacked out. Didn’t notice a thing while his chest heaving rapidly like a fish being left out on the dry land. You were a crying mess by his side. Trying to call out for him but he was laying there wheezing out his breath like he’s dying. His face was covered in bruises, busted lips and sweats drenching him from head to toe. Till this day, you flinched every time you heard a bell sound. It reminds you of the time they rang the bell in the arena because Jungkook was so fucked. The match had to be stopped. Taehyung pulled you to the side though you refused, still grasping on Jungkook. You were there and you thought he was going to die!

Jungkook was admitted to the hospital. Broken ribs, punctured lungs, fractures on his right elbow, they had to put metal rods in his ankles. His pretty long fingers - the fingers that glided through your thighs, warming you up at night - they’re broken and the some ligaments are torn.

Coach Kim comforted you at the hospital bench, telling you Jungkook will undergo a surgery to reattach the ligaments.

Jungkook hasn’t woken up for two days.

You have been sitting by his side, only switching places with Taehyung and Jimin as the two coaxed you to take a shower and eat something. You remember crying in front of Taehyung as he makes you instant ramen. Taehyung was so worried about you.

Telling you the harsh truth that these kinds of injuries are common. What were you supposed to feel at that time? You were worried sick for Jungkook and you’re gonna push through that everyday and wish he comes home in one piece after a match? This is hard for you.

So you told Taehyung you’d never do this again.

Yet how dare Jungkook said you never want to watch him fight, never support his dream.

After he said those words, he rushed out of the house in anger. He slammed the door and you refused to call him back. He went out and you let him.

It was past three in the morning and you can’t sleep. Because you’re waiting. Waiting for that silly guilty smile apologizing at your door. Waiting for the buffy boy crawling to your chest as he mumbled out how sorry he was and how much he loves you. You were practicing your version of apologize because you realized you were harsh on him too.

You realized you were not being a supportive girlfriend. Jungkook might feel nervous before he asked you and you just pushed him away. Of course he was frustrated. You waited and the bed was cold that night.

You were holding your phone, expecting him to call you or anything but when it was vibrating, it was Taehyung.

He told you that he’s going to bail Jungkook out from the police station. All you can heard was 'Jungkook, got into a fight, he beat the fuck out of a man, someone called the police because they were loud, he got locked up' and he called Taehyung for help.

Your stomach dropped. You rushed to get your hoodie and changed your shorts into some decent pants, your hair was a mess and you rush yourself to the police station.

Jungkook was already outside of the police station the moment you arrived. His head was hanging low and Taehyung just sat on the stairs. Looking lethargic because who the heck looks good at this goddamn hour?

You didn’t say a word as you run to the them, you shoved Jungkook on his shoulder. Pushing him hard because you were so mad at him. Why did he go around and beat people now?

“What the fuck Jungkook?!” You seethed at him. Still pushing him. Jungkook kept his mouth shut tight. He didn’t even budge, not even when you banged your fist on his chest. You know Jungkook is a strong boy and your little fists can do nothing to him, but you wanted to hurt him so bad.

Make him feel what you’re feeling at that time. You heard him sniffed but you didn’t stop pushing him. You didn’t even realize your face was so flushed and wet with tears.

“How fucking worried I am!” You shouted at him with a sobbed and you started panting. Jungkook can sense that you’re about to have a panic attack. Taehyung got up to settle the two of you but he didn’t think it was right for him to intervene.

“Babe,” Jungkook grasped your wrists, wanting to calm you down.

“No!” You pulled your hands from him harshly, pointing a finger at him.

You take a good look at his face before you breathed out. “Go.”

The single word was like a hard punch in his gut. “What do you mean?” he knew but he still asked, there’s no way you’re doing this to him.

“You wanna go to Japan, right? Then, just go,” you wiped your face with the sleeves of your hoodie. Your eyes downcast because you cannot look at him. Not when his face was so broken, the sounds of his pleads and sorry’s.

At that time you think it was the only way.

Taehyung is restless. Jungkook’s second fight with McGregor is in the next hour and he is still at the airport. In the end Jungkook agreed for the second match. Everyone is worried for his state but Jungkook said he just wants to get this over with.

Doesn’t matter if he lost again. He said he wanted a break for a while after this one. That was his only request. Right now Taehyung hopes Jimin can somehow distract Jungkook from noticing that he is gone.

Your flight was delayed for half an hour and Taehyung is agitating in his seat. The moment he saw you walked out the arrival gate, he rushed to help you but stopped himself after seeing you only carrying a backpack.

He didn’t comment on that as he make small talks with you, walking to the car. He briefed you about the match, preparing you for what you were about to see. Taehyung knows you were still traumatized and he selfishly feels happy for Jungkook. Though you’re scared and your legs are bouncing, you are willing to come today.

You cast your eyes to the outside views, the car drove past a hectic pedestrian street. You’ve never been to Japan. You were a little fascinated and for a moment you’re thinking of Jungkook enjoying the city.

You missed Jungkook, so much, but seeing him for the first time since the breakup and seeing him at the fighting pit is so nerve wrecking. You’re not sure how you’re going to react.

“The arena is pretty big. There will be a lot of people. But stay close to me, okay?” Taehyung’s voice breaks your thought.

“Okay,” you anxiously rub your thumbs together.

“It is scary, but he will be fine,” Taehyung softly said.

“I know,”

Taehyung let out a curse as the two of you entered the arena. Your eyes darted to the center of the arena, the octagon. You can see the ring girl is holding up number 4 as she walks like a sly fox around the stage.

You can see why Taehyung cursed because you missed almost half of the fight. The crowds are still pumped up with loud cheers and booed. Some of them stood up and started chanting names. You can catch Jungkook and other names as well.

It’s scary and you can feel your heart beating twice harder than normal the moment you drove out of the airport. You can’t see the octagon clearly as Taehyung pushed through the crowd, holding your hand. He brings you close to the team.

Sitting at the front seat.

Your breath stopped when you heard a grunt and you snapped your head up to see Jungkook swing his left arm at the opponent. Hard. You flinched backward, trying to get away. Your mind is telling you to turn around but your eyes still bore on Jeon Jungkook.

He is already injured with blood stains on his brows. You frown at the view. Suddenly feel your heart clenched. Taehyung left you at the seat as he ran to his dad. You can hear him from where you stand.

You cannot sit down because all the adrenaline rush you’re feeling in your body is making your heart beats wild. This is just like the first time you went to his match.

The loud noise, the lights, the screaming from the commentator. But this time, weirdly enough, you feel relieved. Jungkook is up there, and you’re looking at him in his glory. Despite what Taehyung told you, he looks like he is really trying to win.

And you were glad. This is his dream. He gotta win. Of course he will win.

Another uppercut jab from Jungkook on his opponent’s face.

“How’s the first half?” Taehyung asked his dad and Jimin.

“Hard! Kook beat that guy real hard. Kook is really fighting this time.” Jimin smiles at Taehyung, he lets out a shaky laugh.

“He is fighting, Tae! Does he know ____ will be here? Where is she?” Jimin looks for you in the crowd before Taehyung pointed at you. He is calling you to come even closer. And now you’re literally a few steps away from the octagon.

Jimin noticed how your eyes are wide, watching Jungkook head lock the other man on the mat and the way you’re clasping your hands like you’re praying for Jungkook. The referee pounded his fist on the mat, and the bell indicates that the five minutes of the fourth round is over.

Jungkook spits out his mouth guard as he walks to the corner of the octagon, where everyone is ready to assist him. Coach Kim jumps up to give him a bottle of water for him to gurgle out the blood in his mouth, instantly checking up the injury on his face. Coach Kim frantically explained the next move to Jungkook, guiding him for the last round but Jungkook shakes his head. Mumbling that he is tired. Jimin softly grabs his head so he can sit straight, otherwise Jungkook might collapse. Taehyung wipes the sweat on his chest, avoiding the red spot on his ribs.

You watched the whole scene with a dry mouth and you were blinking away your tears. Like a lost child you stood still by the barriers not knowing what is your purpose to be here.

You heard Jimin and Taehyung calling out Jungkook, lightly tapping his cheeks and you gasp as you can see Jungkook fluttering his eyes rapidly.

Following your instinct you climbed up the octagon standing shakily behind him. With only the tall steel cage separating you and him, you managed to fit a few of your fingers through it. Not even a whole hand but at that point, that is enough to touch him. Your cold fingers against his hot and sweaty temple. It’s crazy how a simple touch can make you so happy.

“Jungkook? Jungkookie? Kookie,” a sob wrecking through your body when you call his name as clearly as you can. You need him to hear you.

Jungkook snaps his head, turning around to look at the source of the voice. It’s you and he swears that everything inside the arena just turned into a blurred backdrop. His focus is on you alone.

“____,” he choked out your name, letting your fingers softly touch his cheeks. His long locks dangle on his forehead, wet with sweat and yet he can see you as clear as the first time you walked into him choking on fried eggs.

“You’re here. You’re really here,” he breathed. Closing his eyes as he leans on your cooling touch.

“I’m here. I’ll wait here, but you gotta promise me. Don’t let that guy beat you up. You got me?” You grew frustrated with the cage. Jungkook notices that and his face seems to show the same feeling as yours. He brings himself closer to you and lets his forehead touch yours.

“I promise, stay okay? I need you. I will end this fight, and we talked okay. I need you,” Jungkook chanted and without knowing, your face is flushed with tears. Jungkook hushed you softly as the ring announcer’s voice booming loud, calling the fighters for the championship round.

Coach Kim, Taehyung and Jimin look at Jungkook. They could see the glint in his eyes and they knew Jungkook would beat the shit out of his opponent.

Each round is five minutes long, give or take. It will end sooner if one of the fighters is completely knocked out, or when they tapped out. A sign of giving in. To some, five minutes is so short, it’s like a length of a song or two. Five minutes is relatively short.

But in UFC or MMA matches, five minutes can feel like an eternity. Jungkook once told you that in that five minutes, imagine yourself running so fast while dragging tons of weight. Plus, you have to be very agile and precise with your attacks so that you won’t be wasting energy on just yielding.

To other eyes, the crowd, the commentators, five minutes pass by as quickly as a lightning. Jabs, round kicks, or overhand are very swift moves. A blink and you might have missed it. But to the eyes of the team, the coaches, and the fighter. It’s a slow-motion moment.

They can calculate the next move, figure out the weak points and you can see that too. As an outsider of the MMA world, you can see Jungkook moves in slow-mo as his legs do a sharp snapping motion.

It’s a powerful strike and the sound, it’s like the other guy is getting hit with a baseball bat. Unlike the first time you watched him fight, this time you can see Jungkook in his beautiful glory. And that makes you wipe your eyes furiously. How can you leave him like that?

The other guy is already weakened but Jungkook didn’t falter. This time he trips the opponent by pushing the upper body while taking one of his legs, making him lose his balance and fall immediately with a loud thud.

“Watch carefully, ____. This is Jungkook’s signature move!” Jimin shouted excitedly to you because the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers as Jungkook executed his moves and the commentators shouted at each other. Telling everyone what Jungkook had done.

Jimin has been eyeing you since the first second Jungkook got up. He can see the awe in your teary wide eyes. Jimin shakes his head, chuckling at you who only turned your body at him but your face is zeroed on Jungkook. He’s not sure you heard him or not but he thinks you did. So he keeps explaining Jungkook’s next move to you.

“This is what we called Jungkook’s Overhead Slams. See how Kook is closing the gap on that guy with his arms hooked tightly under his knees and look! Look! Kook lifted him up!” You watched with your breath stuck in your throat. Jungkook was so fast and it happens so quick! Jimin is already jumping with his fist in the air.

Shouting “Slam! Slam! Slam!” with Taehyung and Coach Kim. Everyone in his team is already cheering.

“This is when he will slam his opponent! McGregor won’t stand a chance! And he slams!” Jimin screamed with you as the loud fall on the mat echoed and in a milliseconds the crowd turned quiet and suddenly the arena was shaking with how loud everyone was screaming.

The referee runs to stop Jungkook from punching the guy who was laid motionless on the mat. The referee announced that it is a total knockout because the guy is completely incapable of standing up.

Jungkook won!

He fell on his knees, gasping for air but he turned his head to look for a certain someone in the crowd. The frantic coach and his team members are calling for him and yet all he can see is your small figure in the sea of people. Your glowing features amongst the flashlight. He got up and jumped over the tall cage to you. Landed on his sore feet but it’s you that’s waiting down there. He doesn’t care about the feet.

You wanna say something. Something like congratulations or good job or whatever but can seem to find your voice. Bet you looked like a clown with a gaping mouth and blurry eyes because of the tears. He beats you first by engulfing you in a hug. Landing his head on your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. Jungkook was over the moon when you hugged him back.

“You won,” it comes out like a whisper to him.

Jungkook can’t even reply because he feels so overwhelmed. To him it was the first time you saw him fight and won (and wide awake unlike that time when he blacked out). With a frowning lips he lets himself cry. Be damned to all the journalists taking photos of him crying.

The two of you become the centre of attention as the cameras are showing you on the big screen and the photographers swarm up making a circle, taking photos. All you can feel, see and hear is Jeon Jungkook.

“Oh no,” you pouted at his frowning look, wiping his tears away. He will always be your baby. “I’m sorry,”

He shakes his head, cupping your cheeks and he kisses you. All of those days away from him makes the kiss more emotional, it was soft like and gentle. You are aware of his split lips but Jungkook dives in and he didn’t even flinch. Soon the kiss turns needy as he licks your lower lips and the ring announcer laughs. His voice abruptly pulls you apart. You were a blushing mess but Jungkook just groaned annoyingly.

“The winner, come claim your winning belt first. Let me announce you and then go back to your girl,” the ring announcer teased.

“Stay, stay. Okay.” He said and you knew it wasn’t just staying in the arena after he got his belt. It sounds like he wanted you to stay for a long time. This time you’re not freaking out, you nod.

Giving him a reassuring smile. Ushering him back to the octagon and you can see he bounces with happiness as the referee raises up his hand and the ring announcer screams his name. The two of you will work it out, everything will get better again but for this moment, you’ll stay.

“I need you,” Jungkook mouthed at you.

“I’ll stay,” you blew him an air kiss.

#bts #bts jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook #bts fanfic

578 notes · View notes

shotmrmiller · 11 months ago

Text

soulmate au part 1

john price x f!reader

wc: 1.2k

unedited, forgive my mistakes.

since you were born, your world has been grey. you never thought anything of it, until at school, they started teaching you colours. the only ones in the room that could see more than just different shades of grey, apart from the teacher, were identical twins.

weird.

you went home and asked your parents.

"we are born missing half of ourselves. we have a fated one, and when you meet them, your world will look the way it was meant to."

oh. but... "in class, there were twins that could see colour. what about them?"

they look surprised for a second until your dad softly explains. "in rare instances, the soulmate bond will be platonic. which makes sense in this case, because twins grow up with a connection regular people like us will never understand."

you nod and lower your gaze to look at your shoes. you wonder if the person meant for you is interested in junie b. jones books like you are.

in high school, you crush on this pretty girl— a cheerleader. her hair is long and beautiful, her face is small and round, and she's so kind. just your type.

but no colour stains your vision, so you burrow your emotions deep and mourn the loss of what could've been.

in college, one of your friends ask you if you've met your soulmate yet.

"no, not yet," you lament. what she says after freezes the blood in your veins.

"my mom knew someone whose soulmate was already dead before they had even been born," she comments while stabbing a grape tomato with her fork. "it was really tragic, because she'll never know what it's like to know a love that has no equal."

your heart is in your throat, and you find it hard to swallow the food in your mouth.

what if your soulmate is already dead? oh, god. you might just throw up. your friend doesn't seem to notice the change in your demeanor and continues to babble carelessly about how she knew someone that knew someone who's soulmate had turned out to be a murderer.

oh my fucking god.

you quickly run to the bathroom and throw up your lunch.

how cruel is the universe? to have no control over who is meant to be for you.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and lean against the stall of the bathroom. you should've known that this soulmate business was too good to be true.

cupping your hands, you rinse the taste of bile out of your mouth before walking back to your friend who stayed in her seat.

"jesus, you look terrible, you alright?" she asks.

running your fingers through your hair, you huff. "i've certainly been better. just got a bit nauseous, nothing serious. maybe it's a stomach bug."

"oooh, you better not be pregnant! what of your dreams of working in the medical field?"

you giggle at her response. "that'd be impossible unless i'm the virgin mary."

she gapes comically then leans in and whispers, "you're lying! don't tell me you haven't dated anyone just because they weren't your soulmate."

you shrug, and keep your eyes fixed on your half-eaten plate of food. "i don't really wanna talk about it, if that's alright with you. besides, you've got bigger things to worry about, like the upcoming exam for mr. richardson."

slapping a hand to her forehead, she exclaims, "oh, shit! i totally forgot! shit!"

you watch her inhale the rest of her salad and toss her trash before waving goodbye and sprinting toward the library.

with a sigh, you look down at your food. grey. lifeless. shaking your head, you pick up your plate and toss it in the bin.

you decide to focus solely on your studies. you have dreams of being a doctor and pining after someone you haven't even met yet would only serve as a distraction.

your white coat grazes your calves as you walk toward your new patient. standing outside the room, you pick up the clipboard.

Price, John. 34, Active Military.

he's the head of the task force! god, you've only heard stories of them from the other medics on base who have met them, so to finally come face to face with the man, the myth, the legend? you wipe your clammy hands on the fabric of your scrubs and clear your throat.

be professional, be professional. he's just another patient, it's no big deal.

rapping your knuckles on the door, you wait a second before twisting the knob with a shaky hand. you nervously keep your eyes on the clipboard as you walk in.

"good morning, captain price."

"mornin', doc," he rumbles.

oh, his deep voice just might be the end of you.

"you don't sound all that happy to be here, captain," you tease while flipping through his medical history papers.

he lets out a low chuckle, and you squeeze your thighs together at the sound. delicious.

"nothin' personal, doc. just don't like bein' here, you understand."

lightly laughing at his joke, you finally steel your nerves and look up at him.

only to have your vision bleed in something you don't understand. is that colour? is this what colour looks like?

the clipboard drops, clattering to the floor. john— being the courteous gentleman that he is— quickly kneels to grab it and lifts his head as he hands it to you.

he freezes in place, the clipboard slipping from his hands as he stares at you.

you thickly swallow, and dumbly question, "do you...has your....colour? can you see colour?"

unblinking, john's eyes are fixated on you as he remains silent.

your eyes dart around to take in his features. his brightly-coloured eyes are framed by lines that hint at his age, his strong jaw adorned by a mutton-chop beard. his nose is specked with a beauty mark.

"what colour are your eyes, captain?" you softly ask.

he closes his mouth and takes in a sharp breath. "i've been told they're blue."

"blue," you smile. the eyes of your soulmate are blue.

but then, your delighted smile melts off your face, in horror.

there's a shiny band on his finger. he's married.

john price, your soulmate, is fucking married.

your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. it feels like there are shards of glass in your lungs, cutting you open with each quivering breath you take. your pain is red-hot, searing under your skin, flowing through your veins like molten lead.

john knows exactly what you're looking at.

"love—" he starts but you cut him off swiftly.

"don't. you don't owe me anything, captain. uhm, but uh... maybe it's best that we switch your doctors, yeah? conflict of interest, and all that."

you all but run away, away from that room, from him.

how terribly unlucky.

you head towards your office, which is down the hall, and slam the door closed. only then, do you cry, and mourn what should've been.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john price x f reader #john price x reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x reader #captain price

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stark-ironman · 3 months ago

Note

Sugar daddy hugh touching you under the table at some fancy event, LOOK AT HIM

https://x.com/lokispoem/status/1826978276893401192?s=46

Sugar Daddy Hugh: 2

18+ No Minors

A/N: I love you for this. Yall always come thru with the links 😮‍💨 I love sugar daddy! Hugh. I recommend watching the link too 😉

Warnings: public fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it), daddy kink, basically a slow burn love story atp

Hugh leads you into the luxurious building, gripping your hand tightly as you both walk through the crowd. He pulls a chair out for you allowing you to sit before sitting beside you and resting his hand on your thigh. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, noticing you're a little extra quiet tonight.

"I'm just not used to... all this, I guess. I know you've brought me to plenty events and parties but I'm still shocked by them." You slowly say, looking around at the fancy decorations. "You'll get used to it after a while. Honestly, I rarely pay attention to it anymore." Hugh tells you with a small smile, gripping your hand again and bringing it to his lips, kissing it softly.

"I'm afraid once I get used to it, you wouldn't want anything to do with me anymore." The words fall from your mouth before you can stop them, feeling Hugh's eyes automatically lock onto you. "Quit talking like that, princess. You know I will always want you." He sternly says, his jaw clenching slightly.

Before you can respond, the waiter walks up and sets two drinks and two plates of food down in front of you, thanking him quietly before reaching for your champagne. Hugh keeps his eyes on you while he slowly eats his food, placing a hand back on your thigh.

The sound of soft music from the band fills the air causing you to slowly zone out but Hugh's thumb rubbing slowly back and forth keeps you from fully zoning out.

"How's your chicken?" He asks, moving his hand up higher. You glance over at him to see what he's doing but he keeps his eyes on his plate, eating the vegetables that came with the meal. "It's good." You squeak as his fingers ghost over your panties.

Your eyes frantically scan the room, noticing no one is paying attention to either one of you and his long fingers slowly press against your clit, a light almost teasing move that causes your hips to shift towards his hand. "You okay, princess?" He innocently asks, pressing his fingers harder against the dampening fabric.

You nod, focusing on your plate as you notice Hugh leaning towards you from your peripheral vision. His warm breath over your ear sends a shiver through your body, hearing him whisper, "I think I asked you a question, princess." "I'm okay, daddy." Your voice is shaky, causing him to smirk and his fingers to finally slide in your panties.

"So wet.. is that all for daddy?" He chuckles, leaning back in his chair as if it's the most casual thing in the world. The band starts playing a louder song, causing majority of the people to run to the dance floor while the others stay behind to drink and chat, not paying mind to neither you or Hugh.

His fingers slide past your folds and slowly move inside of you, causing you to moan but you quickly bite your lip. Hugh moves his fingers abruptly, smirking as he brings them up to your lips. "There you go, princess." Hugh coos as he stands up and grabs your hand, leading you towards the bathroom.

He locks the door behind him, turning around and kisses you deeply while pushing you up against the sink. "How many times do I have to tell you that you're all I want, love?" Hugh asks, pulling your dress up and sets you on the sink as you notice the change in your nickname.

"I'm sorry, daddy." You whimper but he shakes his head. He pulls his erect cock out of his pants, quickly sinking inside of you causing you to moan out. His hand clasps down on your mouth while he pounds into you.

Hugh's eyes connect with yours, the sound of your skin slapping against one another and the sink slightly rocking fills the little bathroom but at this point you don't care who hears. He leans down and kisses you again, your legs wrapping around his waist as you feel your orgasm creeping up.

His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing quickly as you start trembling against him. Hugh moans against your lips once both of your releases hit and he slowly continues to move inside of you, holding you close to him.

"If you could see yourself the way I see you, you would never question my love or loyalty to you. Quit running yourself down because you don't think you're good enough, you're everything I've ever wanted and more." Hugh tells you and your heart skips a beat at his confession but instead of saying something, you hold him close and listen to his heartbeat.

"C'mon, let's get cleaned up and go home." He says, kissing your forehead softly.

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman x reader #logan howlett #hugh jackman imagine

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draconic-desire · 7 months ago

Text

🔥 Let the World Burn 🔥

Yandere Scar x Reader

Trapped in his Elysium, you’re ready to fight to the end to avoid the “evolution” Scar so desperately wants from you. But you’ve underestimated that he’ll let it all burn to ashes in order to get what he really wants—you.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, forced imprisonment, brief depictions of mild violence/gore. Ends in a cliffhanger so lmk if I should write some follow up content… Also because WuWa is so new I’m not familiar with all the lore yet so bear with me!

Sweat drips down your face and into your eyes, blurring your vision. Your breathing is shallow, too fast, and you can barely hear over the sound of your pounding heart and rushing blood. The grip on your broadsword tightens as you ground yourself back into reality and face your opponent.

Just in time; the next attack thrown at you is dodged with milliseconds to spare. Claws graze your skin as you twirl and swing your weapon down, seeing your opening—only to be met with a kick that sends you flying back once again.

Your worn and bruised body tumbles along the ground, littering your skin with even more injuries. Something rips across your back as you roll, and you cry out in pain at the burn. Your broadsword flies in the opposite direction, leaving you defenseless.

The world spins, and sounds fade to a dull ringing in your ears as a pair of red boots fills your line of sight.

“Awww, giving up so soon? And just when we were starting to have fun!” The sensation of leather against your chin as your head is lifted upwards by the toe of the boot. Gritting your teeth, your eyes lock with heterochromatic red and black, the gaze that has been haunting you, hunting you.

Scar tilts his head, peering down at you with a smug, lopsided grin. A glowing card twirls on the tip of his index finger. He thinks he likes you like this—at his feet, peppered with scars from his claws, at his mercy. The color red suits you; he imagines licking up the blood from your wounds, and his smirk grows.

“Fuck you,” you snarl, slapping his foot away as you struggle to your knees. Coughing, you turn your head and spit, staining the ground crimson. You quickly wipe your forearm across your mouth and begin to stand, only to be met with the edge of a searing card to your neck. One wrong move and you’re sure the Overseer won’t hesitate to burn that ram insignia into your neck.

In fact, he’d probably prefer to brand you. You’re well aware that this man views you as his prey, delusional enough to think that he has a claim over you.

Scar clicks his tongue sympathetically, but his smile reveals he’s relishing your suffering all too much. “You understand how futile this is, right? My Elysium can only be disrupted by coordinated attacks from both sides—and believe me, my dear, I ensured that no one is coming to save you.”

For a moment your stomach drops, before you steel your nerves. No, you have to hold onto the hope that your allies—Rover, Jinhsi, Sanhua, all of Jinzhou—are alive and fighting to free you. Without that belief…you swallow thickly.

As if sensing your thoughts, the Overseer sighs loudly. “Even when it’s just the two of us, you can never focus solely on me! It hurts my feelings, you know.” He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the domain in which he’s had you trapped for Sentinels’ know how long. “I even whisked you away on this little date for my big proposal! So how about you finally listen to me?”

“I’m listening,” you grind out—as you swiftly unsheath the dagger at your thigh and swing it up towards his ribs.

The weapon is immediately severed in two by his flaming card, likely thrown even before you reacted. The pieces thud uselessly to the ground.

“Ah ah ah,” he tuts, kneeling down and gripping your chin in a vice that makes you squirm. He barks out a laugh as you thrash to no avail. “So stubborn! Do I have to crush you to make you behave for once?”

Teeth bared, you lunge at his hand with your teeth, but he as you pinned. “You’re a maniac!”

His grin only widens, pulling taut to the corners of his mouth. “Self proclaimed!” Scar leans in, so close you can feel his breath on your sweaty skin, too hot from the heat searing around you. Your heart plummets as he scours over your face, eyes lingering on your lips for far too long before he tilts his chin up and away teasingly.

After numerous encounters, countless clashes of ideals and battles later—all of which he orchestrated, just to see you again—Scar has learned your patterns, your tells. He knows exactly how to rile you up, and it’s when your emotions get the better of you that he gains the upper hand like this. He finds you utterly irresistible wearing that glowering scowl on your lips, though he’d prefer to kiss it away…or bite those lips until they bleed.

“Well, now that I’m down on one knee,” he giggles, “how about we get back to the reason I brought you here, hm? My proposal?”

“I told you before,” you growl, “you’ll have to kill me before I willingly join the Fractsidus.”

By this point, you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve “serendipitously” crossed paths with Scar—his way of phrasing stalking—and heard this same speech. How the Fractsidus, how he, wants you, needs you. How he sensed the difference in your frequency, how you’ve been selected to lead the new line of humans, capable of fusing with Tacet Discords. That you should abandon your principles, your friends and city, to stand by his side as the true Lament brings about the next evolution of your species.

No matter how many times you told him off or sparred with him, he persisted. Almost as if your rejections only fueled his obsession with you and your abilities, the urge you had to fight every time you encountered an Echo.

“That hunger,” he’d said, stalking towards you as he gazed at the top of the Tacet Mark between your collarbones, the rest of which disappeared vertically down your sternum, “I felt it too. If you would just embrace it, like me, you’d know what true power feels like. Join me, and we can usher in the future.”

“Tsk, another missed opportunity.” That round, you whirled around to find him perched on a rooftop, observing as your Pengu Terminal sucked in the golden Echo of a Fusion Dreadmane. “Imagine having those abilities all for yourself! Does that really sound so bad?”

“I’m getting impatient, my dear.” You’d been expecting him that time, but not so close, chest pressed firmly against your back—and certainly not the talon-tipped finger he’d sensually traced up your chest, lining your Mark. “You’d better start seriously considering my deal, or else there may be consequences. And I’d so hate to hurt you.”

Today must have been your ultimatum.

“Normally I would just dispose of you,” he shrugs, as if chatting about the weather and not murder, “but you’re a special case. I have different plans for you, my dear.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. “You’re even crazier than I imagined, then, if you think I’ll consider anything you have to say.”

“Are you sure? I thought a hero type such as yourself would be begging to know.”

He’s baiting you, and like a fish to a fly, you fall into the obvious trap. “What, you’ll keep me imprisoned here until I give in? Pull out a diamond ring?”

Your attitude falters at the devious smirk he flashes you. “Not quite.”

The sound of snapping fingers, and the Elysium domain rapidly melts away—only to pull away the curtain and reveal the horrifying truth behind.

“No,” you breathe as the reality of his plan sinks in.

The outline of the city materializes around you. Not Jinzhou. In fact, based on the sheer level carnage—buildings in ruin, bodies strewn across the streets, blood painting the ground in splatters of bright crimson—you’re positive there are no Resonators for miles. No one is coming to save these people—it’s as if they were placed here for the slaughter, lambs delivered to the beast that rages before you.

Sensing your arrival, the Tacet Discord known as the Delirium Lioness spins and snarls, baring saber-teeth smeared with the gore of its latest victim. It claws at the ground with massive purple and grey paws, readying to charge. That is when you notice the teddy bear crushed under its gait, and your mind shatters.

It was all an illusion. The whole time you were trapped in Elysium was to stall for this—Scar had the Lioness dropped into this innocent town, knowing that you would stop at nothing to eradicate it and save those whom you still could. And you know exactly what the asking price will be.

You don’t even think twice before you react. Broadsword in hand, having reappeared once the domain broke, you lunge to meet the TD in combat—and in doing so, you sign your own fate.

The sound of steel meeting bone rings through the air as the Delirium Lioness parries your first strike with its fangs. You strain as it bites down on the blade, attempting to crush your weapon. With a roar, you send a shockwave of Spectro through the blade, blasting the TD backwards. Bystanders scream as the creature quickly recovers, and you yell at them to flee. No one else will die today.

The entire time, you can hear Scar chuckling behind you.

The Lioness prowls forward. As it prepares to pounce, you see your chance. You stand your ground, not moving a muscle as it lunges towards you. At the last moment, you drop onto your back and slash the broadsword across the beast’s belly as it careens over you. It screeches as you eviscerate it, exploding into a million golden particles above you—an Echo.

Clapping reverberates through the now still streets. “Bravo!” Hands pull you up, and a shockingly gentle finger brushes your cheek. “(Y/n), my little hero. Seems you’ve figured out my proposal before I could pop the question myself.”

The Tacet Mark on your sternum flashes, calling to the Lioness’s Echo. Up until now, you’ve been able to suppress the call for your body to absorb the TD’s afterimage. But now, you have no choice. If you don’t give in to the desire that Scar has expressed all along, then today will just repeat itself over and over until you do. He said he wouldn’t kill you, but that future, with the promise of so many more lives lost, would be worst than death.

Shaking your head, you drop your sword and pound your fists into his chest. You can’t look at him directly. “Why?” You choke on your own words as tears stream down your cheeks. “I would have listened to you. To avoid this, I would have—” Another sob wracks your body. “I would have given you anything, everything.”

Scar angles your chin upwards so you have no choice but to look him in the eye. His expression is surprisingly collected, his touch too light for a man who just committed such a heinous crime. “My dear, I would let the entire world burn to make you mine. You can’t have evolution without extinction, after all. This may be the end for them, but it is only the beginning for us.”

He kisses you then, longingly, languidly. Like a man enjoying every last taste and sensation of a final meal. You want to struggle, but what’s the point anymore? Even when he ghosts his claws across your neck, wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing lightly, you let him without a fight.

He pulls away, smiling at you and your expression, so broken and defeated, and once again at his mercy. Finally, finally you are his, and you will be so much more after your transformation. Ever since he first found you, he knew that only you could ever match his frequency, could join him on his throne of fire and ashes. He drags a claw across your lip, drawing blood, which he quickly laps up with his tongue. You taste even more delicious than he could have imagined.

He can’t wait to taste you in every way possible.

Savoring the flavor of your blood, he motions toward the Echo. “Come now, dear. It’s time you fulfilled your end of the proposal.”

Yes, his proposal. The one he has hounded you with: for you to willingly absorb a TD, becoming exactly like him. A monster. His pet, his prey, his alone to have.

To save others, to protect Jinzhou from this demon, you’ll accept that fate.

You close your eyes and let the reverberation in.

#yandere scar #yandere scar x reader #yandere scar wuwa #yandere scar wuthering waves #yandere #wuwa scar #scar wuwa #wuwa #scar wuthering waves #wuthering waves scar #wuthering waves #yandere headcanons #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yanderecore #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere male

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fanbasetwo · 2 months ago

Text

TIL DEATH DO US PART , RICKY

PAIRING: husband ! ricky × wife ! afab reader

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

MASTERLIST !!

NOTE FROM SENA , this kinda flopped on my enha blog but I still wanted to reach more people, so here it is. an ricky version of the same fic, if you find ‘jake’ instead of ‘ricky’ in some paras please mention so that I can edit it out. hope you have fun reading this <3💗

DEAR RICKY,

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 Ricky 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?

Your thoughts flickered back to moments with him-so small, so easy to overlook. The way Ricky 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 Ricky 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?

“Please... Ricky. 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?

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 Ricky represented—strength, love, an unfinished story.

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; Ricky’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.

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 Ricky want? The question echoes in your mind, clawing for answers you wish you didn’t have to seek.

“I’m so sorry, Ricky,” 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 Ricky… 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 Ricky, 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.”

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 Ricky'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.

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. Ricky 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 Ricky’s recommendation tugging at the edges of your memory.

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, Ricky’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 Ricky’s shadow. But how do you tear yourself away from the ghost of a love that never got to finish its story?

The memory of Ricky’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 Ricky’s hands once met, where laughter and shared secrets once echoed.

A gust of wind stings your face, and you force yourself to look up, straightening with a resolve that feels fragile. Ricky’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 Ricky’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 Ricky’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,” Ricky 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 Ricky 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,” Ricky 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.

“Why would you ask that?” You'd played along, teasing but curious.

Ricky 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.

“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.

“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.

Semi’s voice pipes up again, the innocence piercing through your defenses. “Are you sending us away, Aunty?”

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.”

You were battling with the urge to just end it all.

So, you gave up.

A smile, then another.

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. Jay... 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. “Ricky 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.”

“I miss the little moments, Ricky,” 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.

And then the fall hits.

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 Ricky? 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, “Ricky?” 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.

Your eyes snap open, pupils adjusting to the familiar pale ceiling. It’s your ceiling. Your shared room. The bed, the faint scent of Ricky’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.

January 29th, 2024. 6:30 a.m.

You’re back.

But this isn't a romance novel, is it?

Your eyes trail back to the empty bed, where Ricky should be. “Ricky?” 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 Ricky. Alive. Healthy. Breathing.

There he is. Ricky. 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.

Ricky 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.

“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. Ricky’s attention shifts, eyes narrowing as he leans to silence it. When he looks up again, the space where you stood is empty.

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.

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 Ricky, 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.

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—Ricky’s sleepy, questioning eyes and the ghost of your impulsive words-hangs between you and the door.

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, Ricky, 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 Ricky 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. Ricky 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 Ricky's eyes flick to yours, a spark of recognition cooling to something unreadable.

“The note-I take it back. I don't want a break from you or this relationship, Ricky.”

“Because I don't want to stay away from you.” Your voice trembles, raw honesty exposed between you like an open wound. Ricky's eyes widen slightly, the stoic mask cracking as a flush creeps across his cheeks.

Ricky 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.

Don't let go, you silently plead. Let this be the start of something real.

Ricky 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 Ricky, who might not know the sharp edge of reality that's cut you.

“Excuse me?” He stares at you, the faint crease between his brows deepening.

“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. Ricky'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.

His jaw drops, eyes wide with stunned silence as the door closes between you. Ricky 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 Ricky, 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!” Ricky’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.

Ricky'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 Ricky 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.

Ricky’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 Ricky's teeth clench.

“THIS IS NOT A BEDROOM DETAIL!!!” Ricky retorts, frustration coloring his tone. It earns him another hard look from the store associate across the room, who pointedly glances over her glasses. Ricky 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,” Ricky admits, the admission heavy with a history neither of them mention.

“Interesting.” Jay's reply is contemplative, but before he can say more, Ricky's voice interrupts, distorted through the line. “Oh shoot, she's coming back. I'll call you later.”

As the call ends, Ricky 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, Ricky 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.

“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 Ricky earlier, walks over with an unimpressed expression, exchanging a silent, almost comic glare with him. She gave Ricky 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 Ricky presented back to the staff before she looked away. You glance between them, slightly confused. Then Ricky 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,” Ricky 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.”

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 Ricky 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 Ricky a look.

He doubles down. “We are.”

“Ricky, no.”

“Why not?”

“It's too short!” you argue, exasperated. He shrugs, eyes softening as he counters, “It's knee-length. That's normal.”

RICKY’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. Ricky 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.

The air in the room shifts. You pause mid-spin, eyes darting to Ricky 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.

Ricky’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. Ricky'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.

Ricky’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?” Ricky’s mother's eyes glisten, her hope rekindled as she looks between you and her son.

“Really?” Ricky'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, Ricky had confided in him about how distant and weird things had become between you two.

Ricky 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.

Ricky 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 Ricky'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?

You smile, reaching over to gently ruffle her soft, dark hair. “Does the birthday girl like her dress?” you ask, voice playful.

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.

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 Ricky 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.

Ricky 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.”

Ricky’s eyebrows shoot up, stunned. “Wait, what?”

Ricky 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 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.

The memory makes you feel small, but you muster a sheepish, “Sorry.”

“So...” Ricky’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.

Ricky 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. Ricky’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.

Ricky’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 Ricky 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 Ricky. 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.

“Ricky…” 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.

The confession... It did something to you. It made you feel things or you believed so.

AS THE DAYS PASSED FOLLOWING THAT UNEXPECTED DINNER, a subtle shift had occurred between you and Ricky. 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 Ricky 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.

The room feels charged with an unspoken tension as you stand there, watching Ricky. The question slips from your lips, “Are we sleeping separately again?” masking the tremble in your voice with an attempt at confidence. Ricky’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.

Should he lie down first?

Wait for you?

Or speak?

Ricky’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 Ricky’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.

The air feels thick with tension as neither of you can fall asleep, despite the dim light and the shared silence. Ricky 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, Ricky 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. Ricky’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.

For Ricky though,

“Morning... Baby,” he says softly, though he’s hoping you’ll move just enough for him to slip out of bed.

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. Ricky 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,” Ricky 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.

“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.

Ricky 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.

November 4th.

Ricky’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.

“Ricky?” 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.

“Can you stop calling me Ricky?” 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.

“You’re being quite demanding,” you tease, looking up into his face. His lips part slightly as he considers your words.

Ricky’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?”

Ricky’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.

RICKY’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 Ricky’s mother entrusted to you after his death—a token that held more value than any wedding ring could.

The way his eyes widen before softening speaks volumes—acceptance, regret, and hope, all blending seamlessly as he draws you closer.

Ricky’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.

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. Ricky’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.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS PASS IN A COMFORTING CALM, the bond between you and Ricky 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.

Ricky 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.

Ricky 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?”

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, Ricky replies with a heart every time—until the fifty-minute mark.

In desperation, you call Jay, your brother-in-law. His voice is laced with confusion as he picks up. “Jay, is Ricky 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.

Ricky'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, Ricky! I didn’t want to lose you again. Sorry for being the clingy wife you’re ashamed of.”

“I was so scared, Ricky. 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 Ricky. 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.

Ricky 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.

TWO MONTHS HAVE PASSED SINCE THE FATEFUL DATE, and though life has taken you and Ricky 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 Ricky, 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.

Ricky’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 Ricky’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.

“Really, Y/n’s pregnant. We're having a baby,” Ricky says, his voice laced with excitement. His mother, skeptical, eyes you closely. “Is that true?”

Without waiting for Ricky’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 Ricky 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?" Ricky’s mother recovers first, grinning with hopeful excitement. Ricky 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.

Ricky��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.”

Ricky 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, Ricky’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,” Ricky 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.

Jieun smacks his arm lightly. “Don’t make them nervous, Jay. Let them enjoy the moment.”

Ricky 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.”

Ricky 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 Ricky, 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,” Ricky agrees softly, his gaze drifting to the future, to the family that’s just beginning.

In the end, you and Ricky 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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