#it permanently altered my tiny brain

[chelsiegeorgia]

It's spooky month so I'm drawing my favourite ghosty 👻 👻 ❤️

[metiredlr]

THIS is the exact moment Endou rizzed them both up

[heesmiles]

OFF THE ICE s.jy

synopsis ⤑ You were having fun. That’s all. You were young, in college, readying yourself for true adulthood. You didn’t know adulthood would come so quick, in the form of a baby you didn’t plan for. With a man who was more in love with Hockey than anything else. This wasn’t supposed to happen, and it definitely wasn’t supposed to happen with him.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!Jake x pregnant!reader word count ⤑ 18k

warnings ⤑ pregnancy trope, smut, friends with benefits, angst , depictions of hockey injuries , probably more

crossing the line series.

read heeseung's story here.

Two pink lines. 

They stare back at you, unwavering. Bold. Permanent. 

Your breath catches in your throat. A dull roaring fills your ears, like the moment before a crash, when you see the impact coming but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You blink once, twice, waiting for the second line to disappear, for reality to snap back into place. It doesn’t. It stays. Pregnant. A hollow, sinking feeling settles in your stomach. No. No, no, no. This can’t be real. Your fingers tighten around the plastic stick, your knuckles aching from the grip. You were careful. You were always careful. Birth control, condoms, every precaution. You did everything right. So how the hell did this happen? 

You shake your head, your breathing ragged. Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe the test is faulty. They mess up sometimes, right? You should take another one. Five more. Ten. You should drive to the store right now and buy every test on the shelf, because this? This can’t be happening. Your legs feel unsteady beneath you as you sink onto the closed toilet lid, one hand gripping the edge of the sink to ground yourself. 

Jake. His name crashes through your thoughts, and a fresh wave of nausea rises up in your throat. Oh my god. There’s only one person it could be. Jake. Your friend. Your friend with benefits. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your palms against them. Your mind flickers through the memories—late nights tangled in sheets, whispered jokes between kisses, the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was fun. Easy. No strings attached. Except now, there are strings. Big, life-altering, impossible-to-ignore strings. 

Your stomach lurches. You press a hand to it instinctively, but it’s still just you. Just your body, your life—except it’s not just yours anymore, is it? A shuddering breath leaves you, and suddenly, you feel so, so small. What are you supposed to do? You’re in your second year of college. You have plans, dreams, a future that doesn’t include cribs and lullabies and tiny fingers clutching at yours. You can’t be a mother. Not now. Maybe not ever. And Jake? 

Jake has hockey. The game is his whole world—the early-morning practices, the late-night workouts, the way his eyes light up when he steps onto the ice. He has a career to chase, a future that doesn’t include this. 

This will ruin everything. Tears burn at the edges of your vision, but you blink them away. You can’t cry. Not yet. Not until you’re sure, not until you go to the doctor and they tell you this is all some cruel mistake. Because if it’s not… You swallow hard, gripping the test so tightly it feels like it might snap in half. You can’t tell him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. If you don’t say it out loud, if you don’t give it weight, maybe it won’t be real. Maybe you can find a way to make this all go away. But deep down, beneath the panic, beneath the sheer, suffocating terror— You already know. This is real. And there’s no undoing it. 

Your breath shudders as you stare at the test, the past clawing its way back to you. You’re racking your brain trying to find when the two of you went wrong, when you stopped being careful. You know exactly how. The memory slams into you, sharp and unforgiving—that night. 

Two months ago. 

The house was packed. Bodies pressed together, the air thick with heat and sweat and the sharp bite of liquor. Music pounded through the speakers, rattling the walls, the bass thrumming through your chest. The whole hockey team was celebrating their win, and Jake was at the center of it all, grinning like he owned the night. Heeseung had won it all, again. Except he was too busy pulling his girlfriend into a random room to really celebrate much. 

You weren’t even supposed to be here—you had a paper due, an exam creeping up—but when Jake texted “Where are you? We won. Get your ass over here,” you rolled your eyes, threw on something half-decent, and showed up anyway. And now you were here. Back pressed against a bathroom door, your fingers tangled in Jake’s hoodie, his mouth hot against yours. A breathless laugh escaped you between kisses, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your veins. “I just came to say congrats.” 

Jake grinned against your lips. “This is how you say congrats?” You smirked. “I was gonna buy you a beer, but—” 

His hands slid down your sides, rough and familiar, pulling you flush against him. “This is better.” And god, it was. You had always liked this about Jake—how easy it was, how uncomplicated. No messy feelings, no awkward expectations. Just heat, just want, just the press of his body against yours as he backed you up against the bathroom sink. Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging it up, your mouths moving together in that frantic, greedy way they always did when neither of you could be bothered to make it back to one of your apartments. 

“Quickie?” you breathed against his lips, teasing. Jake groaned, already fumbling with your jeans. “Fuck, yeah.” It was fast. Dizzying. His hands were everywhere, pushing, pulling, unzipping. Your back hit the counter, your fingers in his hair, his mouth tracing fire along your throat. Your skin was hot, your pulse erratic, and nothing else mattered—not the party raging outside the door, not the alcohol humming through your system, not the fact that you weren’t exactly thinking. 

It wasn’t until he was pressed against you, skin to skin, that something in the back of your mind lurched. You blinked up at him, breathless. “Wait—do you have a—” 

Jake cursed under his breath. “Shit. No. I didn’t—” He moved like he was about to pull back, but god, you wanted him. The ache was unbearable, your body screaming at you to just— “It’s fine,” you whispered. You’re on the pill. It’s just one time. Jake hesitated, his hands gripping your waist like he was giving himself a second to think, but then your mouth was on his again, and whatever sliver of self-restraint he had vanished. 

With one delicious roll of his hips against yours he was a goner. “Holy- f-fuck.” Jake hissed, his mouth agape and eyes heavy lidded as he looked down at where the two of you were perfectly intertwined. “Fuck. Fuck.” 

“How’s that feeling, champion?” You purred in his ear, your hands playing in his hair as he continued his assault on your pussy. 

“Such a pretty pussy..” Jake groaned. His grip on your thighs was almost bruising but you didn't care, you welcomed the pain. Your head leaned back, hitting the mirror as moans fell from your lips like a mantra. Jake’s lips found the column of your neck sucking and biting at the skin. “You like that, baby?” 

“Uh-huh” You nodded your head finding it hard to find the ability to speak when Jake was doing unspeakable things to you. Jake’s thrusts were starting to become frantic, his moans higher and more frequent as it became apparent he was closer and closer to the edge. The music outside the door thumped, sounds of muffled voices passing by the door fell on deaf ears. You were too wrapped up in the way Jake was making you feel, coupled with the buzz of alcohol flowing through your veins. It was almost euphoric when your orgasm hit. Your legs shaking in Jake’s grip. 

“God-” Jake breathed. Your orgasm served as a catalyst for his own. His hips slamming against yours with finality. It was reckless. It was careless. It was just once. Except once was enough. 

Present day. 

Your stomach lurches. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the memory away, willing yourself back into the safety of denial. But it’s useless. The test is still in your hands. The two pink lines are still staring back at you. And no matter how much you wish you could undo it— You can’t. 

Your hands are still trembling. Your fingers ache from how hard you’re clutching the test, but you can’t let go. If you set it down, if you let it slip from your grasp, that means you’re accepting it. That means this is real.A choked sound slips past your lips before you can stop it. Your vision blurs. Then it happens—you break. 

A sob rips through your chest, raw and unrestrained. You fold in on yourself, pressing a hand over your mouth to smother the sounds, but it doesn’t stop the tears from coming. They fall in hot, messy streaks, slipping down your cheeks, soaking into your shirt. Your whole body shakes with it, shoulders curled forward, knees pulled up as if making yourself smaller might make this moment disappear. But nothing disappears. Nothing changes. You’re still here. Still alone in this room. Still pregnant. 

The word echoes inside your skull, over and over, until it drowns out everything else. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. The panic tightens around your ribs like a vice, and suddenly, you can’t breathe. You gasp, swallowing down air, trying to steady yourself, but it’s like you’re stuck underwater. Like you’re drowning. You don’t know how long you sit there—minutes? Hours? Time blurs, slipping through your fingers like sand. All you know is that you can’t do this. 

You can’t be pregnant. You can’t be a mom. You can’t tell Jake. A fresh wave of nausea churns in your stomach at the thought of him. Of his reaction. Of what this will do to him. To you. Jake, with his whole future mapped out in skates and ice and championships. Jake, who has never even hinted at wanting something serious with you—because this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Because it never has. And now, you’re carrying something that means everything. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your hands against them. If you don’t see the test, if you don’t look at it, maybe—maybe—No.

You inhale sharply, forcing your mind through the fog of panic. There’s only one thing you can do right now. Only one thing that makes sense. Before you tell Jake—before you even let yourself fully believe this—you need to be sure. A pregnancy test is just plastic and dye. It could be wrong. It could be wrong. A doctor. You need a doctor. 

The thought latches onto you like a lifeline. If you go to the doctor and they tell you this is a mistake—if they tell you that somehow, someway, those pink lines don’t mean what you think they mean—then you can pretend this moment never happened. You can wipe it from existence. You have to know. Your phone is on your nightstand, facedown, dark. You force yourself to move, to function. Your limbs feel heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and fear and the sheer impossibility of what’s happening, but somehow, you grab it. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull up the campus clinic’s number. 

You hesitate. Your thumb hovers over the call button, the moment stretching out in front of you. Because if you make this appointment—if you hear a doctor say the words out loud— Then it’s real. And once it’s real, you can never go back. A single tear drips onto the phone screen, smudging the numbers. You close your eyes. And you press call. 

The next day feels like a fever dream. You go through the motions, pretending your world hasn’t tilted off its axis. But every breath, every step, every blink reminds you that something is different. That there’s something inside you—growing, forming, changing everything. You haven’t said a word to anyone. 

Yuna had texted this morning to let you know she was crashing at her friend’s place again. You almost told her. You almost begged her to come home, to sit with you, to make you feel like you weren’t completely alone in this—but you couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not until the doctor confirms what you already know deep in your bones. So, you’ve spent the entire day in silence. Sitting with this information like a stone in your gut, waiting for the inevitable unraveling. 

You didn’t sleep last night. Every time you closed your eyes, the thoughts crept in—images of Jake, of your future, of what this means for the rest of your life. Of every possibility, every terrible outcome. You’ve always thought of pregnancy as some far-off, abstract concept—something that happened to other people, to people who were ready, to people who wanted it. But not you. Never you. 

And now, in just a few hours, you’ll be lying on an exam table, hearing a doctor tell you how far along you are. How long ago your life changed without you even knowing. The thought makes your stomach twist, nausea curling in your throat. You’re so lost in your thoughts that when your phone rings, the sudden sound makes you jump. It’s Jake. Your heart stops. His name flashes on the screen, bold and unmistakable, and for a second, you consider letting it ring. But that’s suspicious. You never ignore Jake’s calls. That would only make him ask questions.

So, you force yourself to breathe, force yourself to steady your voice, and answer. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” he echoes, his voice easy, warm. There’s the faint sound of voices and clattering sticks in the background, and you picture him in the locker room, probably shoving his gear into his bag while talking to you. The image is so painfully normal that it makes your chest ache. “What are you up to tonight?” he asks, casual, unaware of the chaos inside you. “Practice should be done around eight. You wanna come over?” 

Your grip tightens around the phone. It’s a simple question. A question you’ve answered a hundred times before with some variation of yeah, sure or your place or mine? But tonight, everything is different, and Jake has no idea. You swallow hard, throat dry. “I—I can’t.” 

He pauses. “Why not?” Because in less than two hours, I’ll be staring at an ultrasound screen, listening to a doctor tell me how many weeks pregnant I am. Because I don’t know how to look you in the eye, knowing that inside me—inside us—something is changing, something we never planned for, never wanted. “I'm sick,” you say instead. It’s a rushed excuse, flimsy and weak. “I think I caught something.” 

Jake hums, like he doesn’t quite buy it but isn’t ready to push. “You okay?” No. Not even close. 

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just tired. I think I just need to sleep it off.” Another pause. You know Jake well enough to know he’s debating whether or not to call you out. But finally, he just sighs. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.” 

His voice is so normal. So Jake. And for a moment, you almost break. You almost say, Actually, there is something I need. I need you to know. I need you to tell me what the hell we’re supposed to do now. I need you to promise that I’m not in this alone. But the words don’t come. Instead, you rush out, “I gotta go,” before he can say anything else. You don’t wait for his response. You hang up, your hand shaking as you set your phone facedown beside you. 

The room is too quiet again. Your heart is pounding, adrenaline making your whole body feel light and untethered. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep pretending you’re fine when everything inside you is breaking apart. And yet, that’s exactly what you do. You wipe at your face, stand up, and grab your coat. The appointment is waiting. And whether you’re ready or not— You’re about to find out exactly how much time you have left before you have to tell Jake the truth. 

The air outside is sharp, biting against your skin as you step out of your dorm. It’s early evening, but the sky is already dark, winter pressing its cold fingers into everything it touches. Streetlights flicker to life, their glow hazy against the fog of your breath as you exhale, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. The clinic isn’t far. Just a short walk across campus. Still, every step feels heavier than the last. 

Your stomach churns with nerves, your hands stuffed deep in your pockets to hide their trembling. The closer you get, the more the reality of what you’re about to do sinks in. There’s no turning back after this. Once the doctor confirms it—once they tell you exactly how far along you are—you’ll have no choice but to face this head-on. No more pretending. No more hoping the test was wrong. You wish Yuna were here. You wish someone was here. 

But instead, you walk into the clinic alone, head ducked, shoulders curled in like you can make yourself disappear. The receptionist barely looks up as you check in, only nodding before motioning toward the chairs in the waiting area. You sit. The room smells like antiseptic and old magazines, too-bright lights buzzing overhead. Your legs bounce restlessly, fingers twisting in your lap. The other people waiting don’t even spare you a glance, but you still feel exposed, like someone could look at you and just know. Your name is called. 

Your body moves on autopilot, following the nurse down the hall, into a room. She asks questions. You answer without really hearing yourself, your voice robotic, like you’re reciting lines for a role you never wanted. Then the real part begins. You lie back on the table, cold gel spread across your stomach. The machine hums to life, and your heart pounds. You don’t know if you want to look. You don’t know if you can. But then the doctor says, “There it is.” And you do. You look. 

The screen is grainy, shifting black and white, impossible to make sense of at first. Then she moves the wand, adjusting the angle, and— Your breath catches. A tiny flicker. Your whole body freezes. “That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor says softly. “Would you like to hear it?” 

Your throat is too tight to answer. You don’t know what you expected, but not this. Not something so small, so fragile, so real. You nod. And then—sound. A rapid, steady rhythm, impossibly fast but undeniably there. Your vision blurs, and it takes you a second to realize you’re crying. 

Because this isn’t just a concept anymore. This isn’t just two pink lines or a mistake or a problem you don’t know how to solve. This is real. And whether you’re ready or not, this is happening. The doctor speaks again, gentle but firm. “You’re about seven weeks along.” 

Seven weeks. You squeeze your eyes shut. Because now there’s a heartbeat. Now there’s a timeline. Now there’s no way out of this moment, no way to pretend it hasn’t already changed you. You leave the clinic with a small printout in your hands, the black-and-white ultrasound photo pressed between your fingers. You don’t even know why you took it. Maybe because part of you knows that after tonight, everything is going to change. And Jake still has no idea. 

Back in the dorm you're still alone, Yuna not having come back yet. You were grateful for that as you just needed the time alone to process. Your phone buzzes. You flinch at the sudden vibration, your fingers tightening around the ultrasound printout still resting in your lap. It takes a second for you to move, to blink, to tear your gaze away from the tiny, grainy image on the paper. Another buzz. Your stomach twists. 

Slowly, like you already know what you’ll see, you reach for your phone and tilt the screen toward you. 

Jake: You feeling any better? 

You stare at the message, your pulse hammering in your throat. A third buzz. 

Jake: Practice just ended. Thinking about you. 

You suck in a sharp breath, a lump forming in your throat so quickly it nearly chokes you. Thinking about you. He doesn’t even realize what those words do to you right now, how they cut straight through your ribs, cracking something open inside you. You can picture him perfectly—his damp hair, his flushed cheeks, the easy way he leans against his locker while texting you, probably half-distracted, expecting you to reply with something simple. Something normal. But nothing is normal. Not anymore. The screen glares up at you, demanding an answer, but your fingers won’t move. 

What could you even say? Actually, I’m in my dorm having just left the doctor, staring at an ultrasound of the baby I never meant to have with you. But don’t worry, I’ll get back to you when I figure out how the hell to tell you. Another buzz. This time, it’s a call and you panic. Your heart slams against your ribs, and before you can stop yourself, you flip the phone over, screen-down, silencing it. The call cuts off. A few seconds later, another text comes through. 

Jake: You good? 

Your breathing is uneven. Your hands are shaking. You can’t do this. Not right now. You toss your phone away on the bed, like that will somehow make it all go away. Like that will somehow delay the inevitable. But you know it won’t you have to tell him soon, or it will eat you alive. 

For the next few hours you sit in silence, still not having left the dorm. The room is quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock above your desk.  You’re curled up beneath your blankets, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weight. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep after getting back from the clinic, but your body had other plans. It wasn’t restful, though. Even in sleep, your mind wouldn’t stop spinning, replaying the sound of that tiny heartbeat over and over and over again. 

Suddenly a soft click of the door was heard. You stir, blinking blearily as the light flicks on. “Hey, are you awake?” Yuna’s voice is gentle, cautious. You push yourself up, rubbing at your eyes as you watch her drop her bag by the door. She looks guilty. “I’m sorry for being gone so long,” she says, brushing a hand through her dark hair. “Our study session ran late, and we figured, why not just turn it into a sleepover? I should’ve texted you more. I feel bad.” 

You shake your head, forcing a small, tired smile. “It’s fine. You don’t have to check in with me every second.” Yuna eyes you for a beat, like she’s trying to gauge if you really mean it. Then she sighs, kicking off her shoes before flopping onto the bed beside you. “I missed anything exciting?” Yes. No. everything. 

You swallow, shaking your head again. “Not really.” Yuna shifts, turning onto her side to face you. Then, her brows furrow. Her eyes scan your face, tracing the dark circles beneath your eyes, the tension in your jaw, the way you keep fidgeting with the edge of your blanket. “Okay, what’s wrong?” she asks, blunt as ever. 

Your heart stutters. “What? Nothing’s wrong.” 

Yuna doesn’t buy it for a second. She gives you a look, her sharp, knowing gaze cutting right through your weak attempt at indifference. “Don’t lie to me.” You open your mouth—ready to deny, to deflect, to do anything but tell the truth—but something inside you breaks. The weight of it all, the sheer impossibility of holding it in any longer, crushes you. You don’t say a word. You just reach under your pillow, where the crumpled ultrasound printout is still hidden, and pull it out with trembling fingers. 

Then, without looking at her, you hold it out. Yuna blinks, confused for a second—until she takes the paper from your hand and sees. Her entire body goes still. Silence. She stares down at the black-and-white image, her lips parting slightly. Her throat works like she wants to say something, but no words come out. Seconds stretch, heavy and suffocating. 

Finally, she looks at you. Her voice is quiet, but sharp with shock. “Is this…?” You nod, your chest tight. Yuna inhales sharply. “Holy shit.” She sits up straighter, like the weight of the moment is finally hitting her. She looks at the ultrasound again, like if she stares long enough, it’ll make sense. Then, eyes wide—voice barely above a whisper—she asks, “…It’s Jake’s? Right?” You let out a dry, humorless laugh, wiping at your face. “Of course, it is.” 

She looks up at you, eyes still wide with shock. “He’s the only one I’ve been with in a year,” you add quietly, voice almost getting lost in the space between you. Yuna swallows, nodding slowly, like she’s just now processing how real this is. Like she’s flipping through all the memories she has of you and Jake—of the nights you’d leave your dorm with a smirk and come back in one of his hoodies, of the way you never quite called him your boyfriend, of the way he was always just there. Her gaze sharpens. “How did he take it?” 

Your stomach twists. You hesitate just a second too long. Yuna’s face drops. “Oh my god.” She leans forward. “You didn’t tell him?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before shaking your head. Yuna groans, throwing her head back against the headboard. “You have got to be kidding me.” 

“Yuna—” 

“No.” She sits up straight again, looking at you with something between exasperation and concern. “You have to tell him.” 

“I know,” you say, voice tight. “I just—” 

“No,” she interrupts. “Not later, not eventually—you need to tell him now.” You shake your head quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your whole body feels cold, like the weight of this conversation is seeping into your bones. “You don’t get it,” you say, your voice almost breaking. “Jake loves hockey. More than anything. More than school, more than his own goddamn life sometimes.” You sniffle, shaking your head again. “If I tell him this, he’ll—” You stop, choking on the words. 

He’ll what? Walk away? Shut down? Look at you like you’ve just ruined his entire world? You don’t even know. That’s the problem. Yuna softens. She reaches out, placing a warm hand over yours. “Jake is a good guy,” she says gently. “He would never do that to you.” You stare down at your lap, at your fingers twisting in your hoodie sleeves. She says it like it's a fact. Like there’s no question, no possibility of anything else. But she doesn’t know what you know. 

She doesn’t know how much Jake lives for the game, how hockey is the thing that keeps his blood pumping, how he lights up when he talks about it in a way he never has about anything—or anyone—else. She doesn’t know that you’re terrified. Because if you tell Jake, if you say the words out loud— it’s real and it’s scary. 

The tears come fast. Faster than you expect. One second, you’re staring at your lap, chest too tight to breathe. The next, your vision is blurring, and your shoulders shake, and a broken sound rips from your throat before you can stop it. Yuna reacts instantly. “Hey—hey, no, don’t cry,” she says, shifting closer. Her arms wrap around you before you even realize what’s happening, pulling you into the warmth of her embrace. “I got you. It’s okay.” but it’s not okay. Nothing about this is okay. You bury your face into her shoulder, gripping the fabric of her sweatshirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to the earth. She doesn’t let go, just rubs circles into your back as you fall apart. 

“I—I don’t know what to do,” you admit, voice muffled. “I’m so scared, Yuna.” She sighs, resting her chin atop your head. “I know.” A fresh wave of tears spills over. You wish you didn’t feel like this. Wish you could be stronger, steadier, more in control. But right now, you’re none of those things. Right now, you’re just a girl who made a mistake and is staring down the consequences. Yuna squeezes you a little tighter. “Listen, whatever happens, you won’t be alone in this, okay? You have me. And when you tell Jake, you’ll have him too. And even if—even if he’s an idiot about it at first, I’ll kick his ass into shape.” That actually makes you let out a weak, teary laugh. 

Yuna gasps, dramatic as always. “Did you just laugh? Oh my god, it’s a miracle.” You sniffle. “Shut up.” She pulls back just enough to grin at you, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m serious, though. If worst comes to worst, you and I will just get married and raise the baby together. Two badass moms against the world.” 

A laugh bubbles out of you, real this time. “You’d hate being married to me.” 

“Yeah, but I’d do it out of love. I’d be the hot, rich, wine-drunk mom. You’d be the stressed one who has to actually parent.” You roll your eyes, but the weight in your chest feels just a little bit lighter. Yuna smiles. “See? You’re gonna be okay.” and you think, maybe she’s right, maybe you will be okay. 

The next day feels like a blur. Again. Like you’re going through the motions of life with no real end goal. You know you have to get up, do something. Tell Jake that he’s going to be a fucking father because the longer you keep this a secret the more its eating you up inside out. 

You spend most of your day in the dorm, curled up on the couch with the TV playing some random show you’re not even paying attention to. The volume is low, just background noise to fill the silence, but it doesn’t stop your mind from racing. Jake has been calling all day. Text after text, call after call—his name keeps flashing on your screen, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. You know you should. You know avoiding him won’t make this easier. But every time you reach for your phone, your stomach twists, and your fingers freeze, and the weight of what you have to tell him slams into you all over again. So you do nothing. 

You let the calls go to voicemail. You leave the texts unread. And now, as the sun sets and the room is cast in a dim, golden glow, you’re still here—still stuck, still waiting, still pretending for just a little longer that none of this is happening. But then there's a knock on your door. And you're scared shitless because you think you know who it is. For a second, you don’t move, barely even breathe. Then another knock—firmer this time. 

Slowly, legs unsteady beneath you, you rise from the couch. Your hands feel cold as you grip the doorknob, pulse hammering in your ears as you turn it and pull the door open. And there he is. Jake. Standing in the dimly lit hallway, his hair still damp from a shower, his brows drawn together in confusion and concern. His eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—scan over you, taking in your messy hair, the exhaustion written all over your face, the way you’re not meeting his gaze. 

He shifts his weight, tilting his head. “…What’s going on with you?” You grip the edge of the door tighter. Your throat closes. Jake exhales, his expression softening as he reaches up, brushing his fingers over the side of your face like he’s trying to pull you back to him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.” 

His voice is quieter now, tinged with something almost like worry. You swallow hard and your chest tightens, because this is it. There's no more running because Jake is right here in front of you. Jake doesn’t wait for permission. The second you hesitate, the second you shift like you might try to close the door on him, he pushes inside. 

The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you both in. He stands there, shoulders tense, his eyes scanning over you like he’s trying to read your mind. His brows are furrowed, frustration flickering behind his gaze. “What the hell is going on with you?” he demands. 

Your stomach knots. “Jake—” 

“No, seriously,” he cuts in, voice sharp. “Why the hell have you been ignoring me all day? You haven’t answered a single one of my texts, didn’t pick up any of my calls. I had to come here just to get you to look at me.” You take a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself. The room feels too small, the air too thick. “I told you. I’m sick.” 

Jake scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “That’s bullshit.” Your breath catches. He shakes his head, eyes narrowing as he watches you. “You don’t just disappear like that. You don’t just cut me off without a reason.” He exhales sharply, like he’s trying to keep his temper in check. “Did I… do something?” His voice is quieter now, more cautious. 

“Because if I did, just—tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” His jaw clenches. “I just—fuck, I don’t know—I miss you.” Your heart stutters. You stare at him, the weight of his words pressing into your ribs, making it even harder to breathe. “I’ve wanted to run here to you all week, tell you about my game, watch movies with you. Anything, but you're shutting me out.” This is Jake. You’re jake. And suddenly all of it feels so much worse. 

Your voice is small when you finally speak. “You didn’t do anything.” Jake takes a step closer, searching your face. “Then what is it?” You inhale shakily. Your hands tremble at your sides. Your throat burns. It’s time. There’s no easy way to do this. No way to soften it. 

So you just say it. “I’m pregnant.” 

Silence. It crashes over the room like a tidal wave. Jake doesn’t move, for a moment it looks like he doesn’t even breathe. Completely still. His face goes blank, his lips parting slightly like the words haven’t fully registered. His fingers twitch at his sides, his whole body stiff with shock. You stare at him, heart pounding, waiting—waiting for something. Some kind of reaction. Some kind of response. But he doesn’t say a word. Your stomach twists. He just keeps standing there, frozen, staring at you like you’ve just rewritten his entire reality. And maybe you had. 

You bite your lip, blinking back the burn in your eyes. When you finally speak again, your voice is quieter. Sharper. “This is your only chance to take the out.” Jake’s brows pull together slightly, but he still says nothing. You swallow the lump in your throat. “If you don’t want this, if you don’t want to be responsible for a baby, you can walk away. Right now.” Your voice shakes. “No one would blame you. I won’t blame you.” Jake blinks. Still silent. Still motionless. Your heart slams against your ribs. You hate this. Hate this. Hate that you don’t know what’s going through his head. Hate that you feel this vulnerable, this exposed, this small. 

You force yourself to look him in the eyes. “I know hockey is your life..” You trail. “ I know that’s what you’re thinking about right now. You forget that before..this, we were friends. good friends. I know what hockey means to you and I would never in a million years ask for you to choose. So I'm giving you a choice. be a dad or walk away. Neither of those involve not playing hockey. but i’m telling you right now. if you choose this, if you’re all in you better be all in because this is your only time to tap out. don’t get my hopes up then crush them when it gets too hard because i’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Jake just stands there. Still silent. Still unreadable. 

“Why are you not saying anything?” You whispered brokenly, the silence almost too much to bear. “Please say something.” 

Finally, Jake’s mouth opens but then it shuts again like he’s trying to find the ability to speak. Like a failing fish out of water. It’s nerve wracking, your body feels like it's on fire. “Please Jake.” You beg, at your wits end. 

“You’re giving me an out..” He trailed off, and your heart sank at the words. Was he really going to walk away and leave you to raise a baby alone? The thought terrified you to no end. “You’re giving me an out and a very big part of me is screaming at me to take it. it would be the smart thing, the easy thing and maybe the best thing for my career. My brain is ticking, yelling over and over ‘take the out, take the out. but there is a small part of me that outways the rest, a part that won’t let me be like the man who didn’t have the guts to raise me. that refuses to leave this kid, my kid, without a father. so, yes I'm quiet and yes I'm not saying anything. because my mind is going to war trying to think of a way to be a dad and a damn good hockey player at the sametime.” 

“Okay.” You said simply. And for a while you both sat in silence, neither of you finding the right words to say. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Did you figure it out?” You asked him. Jake’s eyes closed, a deep breath falling from his lips. 

“No.” He said simply, “but I will.” Your head shot up in surprise, your eyes wide and glassy with tears threatening to spill. 

“You’re in?” You ask with a strained voice. 

“I’m in.” 

Jake and yourself had a lot more that you had to talk about, that was for sure. But the confirmation of him staying and raising this baby with you had definitely lifted a large weight off your shoulders and although you were less terrified it didn’t mean you were prepared. You were having a baby for god's sake. That scared you to death. And you weren't sure if you were entirely ready for it. 

Over the next few weeks Jake does things that prove he's all in. The first time Jake shows up, you don’t expect it. You step out of the campus doors, arms wrapped around yourself, still shaken from your last appointment. The air is crisp, biting at your skin as you take a deep breath, trying to center yourself. And then you hear it. The sound of footsteps. The rustling of fabric. And then - “Hey.” Your head snaps up. Jake is there, leaning against the side of his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His hair is messy like he’s been running his hands through it all day, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder like he just came from practice. 

Your stomach flips. “What are you doing here?” you ask. Jake shrugs, pushing off the car. “Thought you might need a ride.” 

​​You hesitate, tightening your grip on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I can take the bus,” you say, voice quiet. Jake raises a brow. “You could. Or you could let me drive you home.” You don’t have the energy to argue. Not today. So you nod. Jake doesn’t say much on the ride back. He keeps his eyes on the road, hands gripping the wheel, but every so often, his gaze flickers toward you — like he’s checking to make sure you’re still there. 

It keeps happening. 

A few days later, a jersey appears on the back of your desk chair. One of Jake’s, the fabric worn in places, his last name sprawled across the back in bold letters. You pick it up, running your fingers over the lettering. There’s a note tucked into the sleeve. "Just in case you need something warm." Your breath catches. 

The next time you see him, you don’t bring it up. But when you wear the jersey around your dorm, you pretend not to notice the way Yuna raises a knowing brow. Jake keeps showing up. Not in the obvious ways, not in ways that force anything. But in the background. In the small things. A decaf coffee left on your desk when you step out of class. A text asking if you’ve eaten. A moment at the rink where he catches your eyes before disappearing into the locker room. He doesn’t say anything about the pregnancy. Not yet. But he’s there. And that terrifies you just as much as it comforts you. 

Jake isn’t there. Not really. His body is on the ice, his skates cutting across the surface, his hands gripping his stick, but his mind—his mind is still sitting in that sterile doctor’s office, staring at a screen where a tiny, flickering heartbeat had filled the room. "There’s your baby."  He can still hear the doctor’s voice, still feel the way his stomach had plummeted as the reality of it settled in, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. "Your baby."  Jake clenches his jaw, gripping his stick tighter. 

“Jake!” The sharp bark of his name barely registers before — CRACK. The puck flies past him, a blur of black and white as it slams into the boards. “Jesus Christ, Sim!” Jake blinks, snapping back into focus just in time to see his coach skating toward him, fuming. His teammates shift uncomfortably, casting wary glances between them as Coach Bennet stops in front of Jake, eyes blazing. 

​​“You wanna tell me where the hell your head is at today?” Coach snaps. “Because it sure as hell isn’t here.” Jake swallows hard. His grip on his stick tightens, knuckles going white. “I—” Coach doesn’t let him finish. 

“You’ve been slow all practice. Missing passes, losing pucks—you’re a vital part of this team, Sim. You don’t get to check out like this.” His voice drops slightly, but it only makes the words hit harder. “Get it together. Now.” Jake nods stiffly.  He doesn’t say anything. Because what the hell is he supposed to say? That he can’t focus because his whole life changed forever? That there’s a baby now—a real, growing baby—and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that? That every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is that ultrasound? 

Coach exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Take five.” Jake doesn’t argue. He skates off the ice, his heart pounding. He needs to get his head straight. Now. Because if he doesn’t — He might just lose everything. 

Jake barely makes it through the rest of practice. He’s off. Way off. His passes are sloppy. His shots lack power. He’s slow to react, too caught up in his head to play the way he’s supposed to. By the time Coach blows the final whistle, Jake is drenched in sweat and running on empty. His entire body feels tense, like his muscles are wound so tight they might snap. He just needs to get out of here. 

He needs to shower, grab his stuff, and go check on you. But before he can make it out of the locker room — “Yo, Sim!” Jake glances up, spotting Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon making their way toward him. Jay slings an arm over his shoulders, still dripping wet from his shower. “We’re heading to a party tonight. You coming?” 

Jake doesn’t even hesitate. “No.” 

Jay pulls back slightly, raising a brow. “No?” 

“Dude,” Sunghoon snorts. “It’s a Friday night, and you’re passing up a party? Who are you?” Jake exhales, shaking his head as he shoves his gear into his bag. “I just—” He hesitates. “I have somewhere to be.” 

Heeseung leans against the lockers, crossing his arms. “You’ve been weird as hell all day, man.” Jay nods. “Yeah, what’s going on with you?” 

Jake grips the strap of his duffel so tight it hurts. He could make something up. Should make something up. But instead — it just spills out, before Jake could stop it. “She’s pregnant.” The words hang heavy in the air. None of them move. None of them speak. Jay blinks. “Wait. What?” and Jake laughs.

Or at least, he tries to. It comes out more like a broken, choked sound. His throat feels tight, his chest squeezed so hard it physically hurts. “She’s pregnant,” he says again, voice cracking. And then, before he can even stop it — He’s crying. Right there, in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by his teammates, Jake fucking breaks. 

His head falls into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he lets it out. Because he’s scared. Because he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Because this isn’t part of the plan. And for the first time in his entire life, he doesn’t know how to fix it. “Fuck, man,” Heeseung breathes. Jay is the first to move, stepping closer and clamping a firm hand on Jake’s back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Jake shakes his head. “No, it’s not.” His voice is raw, shaky. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” 

Sunghoon exhales through his nose. “Okay, first? Breathe.” Jake tries. And fails. He sucks in a breath, but it feels like nothing is getting in. His heart is racing, his mind spinning, and everything is just — “Jake.” Jay squeezes his shoulder. “You’re not alone in this.” Jake lifts his head, eyes red, glassy. 

“We got you, man,” Heeseung says quietly. “No matter what.” Sunghoon nods. “Yeah. And, I mean—” He gestures around. “This isn’t exactly news you should be dealing with alone.” 

Jay nudges him lightly. “Have you told her how you feel?” Jake wipes at his face, sniffing. “I don’t even know how I feel.” His voice wobbles. “I just—I need to see her.” Jay exchanges a glance with Heeseung before looking back at him. “Then go” 

Jake doesn’t wait. He grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and leaves. 

The knock at your door startles you. You freeze mid-reach for your phone, heart suddenly hammering in your chest. You already know who it is. For a second, you consider ignoring it. Pretending you’re asleep. Pretending you’re busy. You’re not sure you want any company. But you can’t do that forever. 

So you force yourself up, smoothing down the front of your sweater as you cross the room. You take a steadying breath, gripping the doorknob with fingers that tremble just slightly, and pull it open. Jake stands there. The first thing you notice is the hoodie—dark gray, pulled up over his head, casting a shadow over his face. His duffel bag is slung over one shoulder, his hockey gear probably stuffed inside. His posture is a little tense, like he had to talk himself into coming here. But the real thing that catches your attention is what he’s holding. 

A takeout bag. Your throat tightens. “I, uh…” Jake shifts on his feet, glancing down at the bag like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with it. “I remembered you said you were craving this, so I thought—” He hesitates, clears his throat, then lifts the bag slightly. “I figured I’d bring you some.” Something cracks inside you. Because it’s such a small thing—just food, just a meal—but the fact that he remembered that he went out of his way after practice when he was probably exhausted, when he could have avoided all of this — You swallow hard and step aside, voice softer than you mean for it to be. “Come in.” 

Jake hesitates for just a second before stepping inside. The door clicks shut behind him. He doesn’t look around, doesn’t hesitate, just walks straight over to your desk and sets the bag down before collapsing onto your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is normal. Like nothing between you has changed. He stretches out slightly, fingers drumming against his thigh before he looks at you. 

“So,” he says, voice easy, like he’s not breaking some invisible barrier by being here. “How was your day?” You blink. It’s such a simple question, but it feels heavier than it should. Because what does he want to hear? That you spent most of it overthinking? That you barely slept last night, kept up by the thought of everything crashing down around you? That every time you close your eyes, you see your own future in a way you never imagined it before? Instead, you inhale deeply and say, “It was fine.” Jake gives you a look. You fidget slightly under his gaze before sighing and elaborating. 

“I had class this morning,” you start, perching on the edge of your chair. “Yuna and I grabbed coffee after, but the barista completely messed up my order, so I ended up drinking the strongest espresso of my life. I swear I could hear colors after that.” Jake snorts, shaking his head. “Then I came back to my room, tried to take a nap, but the guys across the hall decided to have a full-on garage band session at, like, peak volume.” You groan, rubbing your temples. “It sounded like someone was murdering an electric guitar.” 

Jake tilts his head. “Were they at least good?” 

You deadpan. “No.” He chuckles, the sound low and familiar, something that almost makes you feel lighter. So you keep talking. You tell him about your classes, about how Yuna dragged you into watching some new drama that she’s absolutely obsessed with. About how you got sucked into a rabbit hole of cat videos on your phone, and one was so funny that you laughed until you cried. And the whole time, Jake listens. Not just in the polite, half-distracted way people sometimes do. No—he really listens. He nods at the right moments. Asks questions. Throws in sarcastic comments that make you roll your eyes but also bite back a smile. And it’s so… easy. 

For a few minutes, it’s like things are the way they used to be. Like there’s no giant, life-changing revelation hanging over your heads. Like it’s just you and him. Like it’s always been. But that’s the thing about pretending. Eventually, reality always catches up. 

You shouldn’t be staring at Jake. But you are. It’s not your fault, really. He’s sitting on your bed like he belongs there, hoodie still pulled up, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on your blanket. The room is dim, just your bedside lamp casting a soft glow, making everything feel warmer. Closer. And maybe it’s the lighting, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s here, but — he looks good. Really, good. You could blame it on the hormones but you know that’s not entirely true, you were attracted to Jake enough to fuck him on the regular. 

Which is so not what you should be thinking about right now. Especially when everything between you is so much bigger than it used to be. Still, you can’t help but glance at him as you chew your food, watching the way his jaw tenses like he’s caught up in his own head. So, to fill the silence, you ask, “What about you? What did you do today?” 

Jake blinks, like you’ve just pulled him out of a thought he wasn’t ready to leave. Then he sighs. “Practice.” You raise a brow. “That’s it?” He huffs out a soft laugh. “That’s pretty much all I do.” 

You roll your eyes, leaning back against your pillows. “Yeah, yeah. Hockey is life.” Jake smirks. “Glad you’re finally getting it.” You nudge him lightly with your foot, and for the first time in days, something feels normal. But then you see the way his smirk fades slightly, the way his fingers keep fidgeting. 

“How was practice?” you ask. Jake hesitates. And you can tell — whatever it is, he doesn’t want to say it. But after a moment, he sighs. “It sucked.” That makes you pause. Jake never complains about practice. Even when he’s exhausted, even when he’s been chewed out by his coach, even when he’s sore and bruised—he always shrugs it off. It’s just part of the game. So the fact that he’s saying it now means something. 

“Why?” you ask, setting your food down. Jake drags a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I don’t know. I couldn’t focus. Coach was on my ass all day. Kept telling me to get my head in the game.” He shakes his head, voice quieter now. “I just… couldn’t.” Your chest tightens. Because you know. You know why he couldn’t focus. And it hits you, suddenly — Jake is scared. Maybe not in the same way you are. Maybe not in the overwhelming, spiraling, how-will-I-ever-handle-this way that’s been sitting heavy in your chest since you saw that test. 

But still—Jake is scared. And for the first time since this whole thing started, you realize, You’re not the only one whose world is changing. Jake won’t look at you. His eyes stay fixed on some invisible point in the room, his jaw tense, fingers still picking at the frayed thread on your blanket. He looks like he wants to say something, like there’s too much sitting on his tongue, but he doesn’t know where to start. And for some reason, that makes your chest ache. 

“Jake…” you start carefully. His head tilts slightly, but he still doesn’t meet your gaze. You swallow. “Is it because of—”

“You,” Jake says suddenly. The word is soft. Quiet. But it still punches the air right out of your lungs. Your breath catches. “Me?” Jake finally lifts his eyes to yours, and god, they’re unreadable. Dark, searching—like he’s trying to figure out what the hell to do with everything inside him.

“Yeah,” he mutters. His voice is rough, like he’s only just now admitting it to himself. “It’s you. It’s… this.” He gestures vaguely, and you know he means all of it. The pregnancy. The secret you held onto for weeks. The way everything between you is shifting, unsteady, the ground cracking beneath both of you in real time. And it’s weird. Because part of you has spent so long thinking about how this will change your life—how everything is unraveling for you—that it didn’t even occur to you that Jake is unraveling too.

That he’s scared. Just like you. The thought makes something twist deep in your stomach. You exhale, shifting slightly so you’re facing him completely. “I didn’t mean to mess everything up for you.” Jake’s brows knit together immediately. “What?” You glance down at your hands. “I know hockey is your whole life, Jake. I know you’ve got… plans, and dreams, and this wasn’t supposed to happen. And now it’s just—” You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek before whispering, “I don’t want you to hate me for it.”

Jake stiffens. The room is silent for a long, painful moment. Then, suddenly, he shifts—pushing himself off the bed and moving toward you so fast that your breath stumbles. He doesn’t touch you, but he’s closer now. Close enough that you can see the way his knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping his hoodie sleeves.

“Don’t say that,” he says, voice low. “Don’t ever say that.” You blink up at him, startled by the sudden intensity in his eyes. Jake shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I could never hate you.” Your throat tightens. “But I—”

“You didn’t do this alone.” His voice is firm, certain. “You didn’t just wake up one day and decide to flip my life upside down. I was there, too.” You let out a weak, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m the one carrying it.” Jake flinches slightly at the word carrying, but he doesn’t look away.

“I know,” he says. His voice is softer now. “And I know it’s different for you. I know I’ll never fully get what that feels like.” He swallows hard. “But this isn’t just on you, okay? I’m scared too.” Your heart stutters. Because this is Jake. The Jake who’s always been so steady. So sure of himself. Who skates like nothing in the world could shake him. And now he’s sitting in front of you, looking like he’s the one who can’t find his footing.

You don’t know what to say. So you just nod. Jake exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before falling back onto your bed. He stares at the ceiling for a long second, letting the silence settle between you again. Then, with a small, almost bitter laugh, he says, “God, no wonder Coach was on my ass all day.”

That startles a laugh out of you. It’s small, barely there, but Jake notices. His lips twitch. “Oh, so now it’s funny?”

You sniffle, shaking your head. “I mean… kinda.” Jake groans, throwing an arm over his face. “Glad you’re enjoying my suffering.” You roll your eyes, nudging his foot lightly with yours. “It’s not suffering, it’s called consequences.” Jake drops his arm, lifting his head to give you a flat look. “I don’t like that word.”

You smirk. “Well, get used to it.” For a moment, you just sit there, looking at each other. And something settles. The air is still heavy, the weight of everything still pressing down on both of you. But… It doesn’t feel so suffocating anymore. 

The rest of the night kept going just like that, sat next together watching reruns, laughing about everything. You’re trying to focus on the show playing in front of you. Really, you are. But it’s hard—and not just because Jake keeps making little comments about the plot, half-serious, half to mess with you. It’s because you can’t stop thinking about it. Something that has been plaguing you these past few weeks. The feeling has been creeping up on you for weeks now, an itch under your skin that only seems to get worse. At first, you thought it was just stress, or maybe a weird symptom of everything your body was going through. But now, sitting here next to Jake, your legs tucked up under you, his thigh warm where it brushes against yours — 

You know exactly what it is. And god, it’s humiliating. Because there’s no good way to say it. Hey, Jake, I know our lives are changing forever, but by the way, I’m really, really horny. You press your lips together, eyes flickering toward him. He looks relaxed, his arm slung lazily over the back of your bed, fingers occasionally tapping against the blanket. His hoodie has shifted slightly, revealing a strip of skin above the waistband of his sweats, and why are you even looking at that? 

You force yourself to look back at the screen, gripping your blanket like it might physically restrain you from saying something stupid. But then Jake shifts, turning toward you slightly. “You good?” You freeze. “What?” 

Jake gives you a look. “You keep making weird faces.” Shit. You clear your throat, shaking your head quickly. “I’m fine.” Jake raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You sure?” 

No. “Yeah.” but he doesn’t look away, god can he just look away. “Because if something’s wrong—” 

“I said I’m fine,” you blurt, a little too quickly, a little too defensive. Jake blinks. You clamp your mouth shut. Then, slowly, his expression shifts. Like he’s figuring something out. Like he’s putting a puzzle together, piece by piece. And suddenly, you regret everything. Because this is Jake.

Jake, who knows your body better than anyone. Jake, who has spent the last year reading your little shifts and signals, knowing exactly when you wanted him—when you needed him—even before you ever said a word. And now he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. Your stomach flips. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something — But you panic, snatching the remote and turning the volume up way too high.

Jake flinches at the sudden blare of noise. “Jesus—”

“Sorry!” You fumble with the remote, lowering it again. “My hand slipped.” Jake stares at you. Then—slowly—he smirks. Your stomach plummets. “Your hand slipped?” he repeats, amusement dripping from his tone. You nod quickly. “Yep.” Jake tilts his head, still watching you. Your heart is pounding. And you realize, with absolute horror, that there is no way you’re getting out of this.

Jake is still watching you. And you can tell by the glint in his eyes, the way his smirk is growing, that he knows something’s up. So, before he can start teasing you, you blurt out the first thing on your mind. “Are you gonna sleep with other girls?”

Jake stills. His smirk drops instantly. His whole expression shifts from amused to completely caught off guard. “What?” You don’t back down. You cross your arms, looking straight at him. “Now that I’m, you know…” You gesture vaguely toward your stomach. “Are you still gonna sleep with other people?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No.” Just that. No. No hesitation, no confusion, just a simple, matter-of-fact no. And that does something to you. Because you weren’t even sure why you asked it. Maybe because you never really talked about exclusivity before. Maybe because things between you have felt so different lately, and you needed to know. Or maybe because part of you was scared that nothing was different for Jake  that he’d still be going out, still be with other girls, while you were here, pregnant with his child.

But now, sitting here, watching the way his brows are still pulled together like he can’t believe you even asked  Something inside you loosens. You exhale. “Good.” Then, before you can overthink it, before Jake can even process what’s happening You lean in and kiss him.

Jake freezes. It’s so different from the way things used to be. Before, your kisses were quick, hungry, never filled with anything but need. But this is slow. This is intentional. And it’s Jake who responds first.

He melts into you, his hand reaching up to cup your jaw, tilting your face just right as he deepens the kiss. His lips are warm, familiar, but there’s something new in the way he kisses you now, something softer, something that lingers. And god, you need him. Every built-up thought, every moment of tension from the last few weeks, crashes into you all at once. You press closer, hands fisting into his hoodie, pulling him in.

Jake makes a low sound in his throat, his grip tightening slightly, his other hand sliding down to your waist. His fingers skim the hem of your shirt, hesitate — Then he pulls away just slightly, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard. “Are you—” His voice is hoarse, strained. “Are you sure?” You nod. Jake studies you for a moment, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when he finds none, his lips crash into yours again. And this time  Neither of you stop. Jake kisses you like he’s making up for lost time.

Like he’s been waiting for this, just as much as you have. His hands slide up your sides, slow and careful, like he’s still giving you a chance to change your mind but you don’t. You can’t. You press closer, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie, and that’s all it takes. A low curse slips from his lips as he pulls the hoodie over his head, tossing it aside. The sight of him, his flushed skin, his rapid breathing sends a shiver through you. He’s so warm, and when his hands find your hips, you let him guide you back against the pillows, your body reacting on instinct.

Everything feels different. Not in a bad way. Not in a way that makes you hesitate. Just in a way that makes you aware of the weight of his body, the way he touches you, the way he looks at you. Because for the first time, it’s not just mindless. For the first time, Jake is looking at you like he actually sees you. And god, you want him.

His lips trail down, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your neck, your shoulder everywhere. His hands are careful, slower than usual, like he’s savoring the moment instead of rushing through it. And that’s the thing there’s no rush. Because tonight isn’t about just getting lost in each other. Tonight is something else. Something neither of you have had before. And as Jake’s lips find yours again, breathless, desperate, needing you let yourself fall. 

He took his time peeling off every layer of clothing that stood in your way, his sensual kisses leaving butterfly like feelings in his wake as he moved them up and down the expanse of your neck. It was more romantic than you had ever experienced. He was taking his time with you, cherishing your body as he helped you, cradled you. There was beauty in the way the two of you were finally joined, again. 

You are on top of him, your knees on either side of his hips, lifting yourself up than crashing down to the tune of your own heartbeat in your ears. Jake drank in the sight of you, his hands running up and down your body, squeezing at your breasts like a vice. They were noticeably bigger and it was apparent that Jake loved it. 

Your moans and groans grew in tandem as Jake whispered dirty things into your ear. The gasps he let out everytime your hips slapped against yours served as a catalyst to your already awaiting orgasm. It hit you like a tidal wave, washing over your body in its wake. Jake followed not long after. His body is shaking along with yours. And when it was over, you sat atop him with him still nestled deep inside of you and fell asleep. Feeling more peaceful than you have in weeks. 

The next morning, the first thing you register is warmth. It’s different from the usual comfort of your blankets or the lingering haze of sleep. It’s heavier, grounding, and when you blink your eyes open, it takes you a second to realize why. Jake is still next to you. He’s lying on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, one arm stretched lazily across your waist. His breathing is slow, deep, even, and in the soft morning light filtering through your curtains, he looks so peaceful. So different.

Jake is always moving, always carrying some kind of restless energy on the ice, at parties, even just sitting next to you. But right now, he’s still. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles, his lips parted slightly as he sleeps. You can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the subtle weight of his arm over you, and for a brief, fragile moment, you let yourself just exist here. In this sliver of morning where nothing has to be said. Where nothing has to change. But eventually, Jake stirs.

He shifts against the pillow, letting out a low hum as his lashes flutter open, still heavy with sleep. His grip on you tightens for a second before he pulls away, rubbing at his face. You watch as he blinks a few times, clearly still waking up, before his gaze finally settles on you. A small, lazy smile.

"Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice low, hoarse. You swallow, forcing yourself to look away from the mess of his hair, the sleep-drunk warmth in his eyes. "Morning." Jake shifts onto his side, his movements slower than usual, more relaxed. His eyes flicker toward the bedside table, where his phone buzzes quietly, before he turns back to you.

"The frat’s having a thing tonight," he says, voice still rough from sleep. "Not a party, just a small get-together. You should come." You hesitate. "A get-together?"

Jake nods, stretching one arm above his head before letting it drop back onto the pillow. "Yeah. Just the guys, Yunjin, Yuna, Heeseung’s girl. No crazy shit." He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “It might be good for you.” There’s something careful in the way he says it. Like he’s watching for your reaction. And the truth is, you don’t know how to feel. You haven’t really been out since everything happened. The idea of being around everyone again of feeling like things are normal when they’re so clearly not makes something twist in your chest.

Jake notices. "You don’t have to," he says, quieter now. “I just thought—" He stops, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just thought you might wanna get out for a bit. Clear your head.” And the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker to your stomach for the briefest second before meeting yours again.  You know what he means. He’s giving you an out. If you don’t want to go, he won’t push. If you say no, he won’t mention it again. But the idea lingers.

Because part of you does miss it. Misses laughing with Yuna and Yunjin, miss sitting around and watching Heeseung get bullied by the guys, miss feeling like yourself. Even if things aren’t the same anymore. You exhale slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “…Okay.” Jake blinks, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually agree. Then slowly, a small smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah?” You nod, and something inside you eases. This could be fun and god knows you need that in your life right about now. 

That night, air is crisp as you step outside, carrying the first whispers of winter on its breath. You tug your coat tighter around you, relishing in the warmth as you walk alongside Jake. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, the fabric pulled over his head, but you can still see the easy grin playing at his lips. There’s something light about tonight, something you hadn’t expected. It’s been weeks of suffocating thoughts, of holding your breath, of feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on your chest. But tonight, for the first time, that pressure isn’t there. Maybe it’s because you’re choosing this. Or maybe it’s because Jake's here with you. 

Jake glances at you as you walk. “You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“You sure?” He nudges your arm lightly with his elbow, playful, teasing. “Because I don’t wanna show up and have you ditch me two minutes in. That’d be kinda embarrassing.” You roll your eyes but can’t fight the small laugh that escapes you. “I’m not gonna ditch you.” Jake hums, side-eyeing you like he doesn’t quite believe you. “I dunno. You’ve been real unpredictable lately.”  You nudge him back, a little harder this time, and he lets out a soft chuckle.

The sidewalk stretches ahead, illuminated by the golden glow of streetlights. It’s late enough that campus is quiet, the usual bustle of students reduced to only the occasional passing group, muffled laughter carrying through the air. The night feels calm. Jake walks beside you in that familiar, effortless way—like being near you is second nature. And maybe it is. Maybe, despite everything, it always has been You glance over at him. “So, what exactly is this get-together?”

Jake shrugs. “Just a small thing. Heeseung and Jay wanted to do something before our next away game. No crazy party, just hanging out.”

“And you’re sure about that?”

“Swear on my life.” He presses a hand over his heart. “No surprise kegs, no random strangers passing out in the hall. Just us.” It sounds… nice. Like the kind of normalcy you hadn’t realized you missed until now. The thought makes you exhale softly, your steps slowing just a fraction. You hadn’t expected to feel good tonight. Hadn’t expected to look forward to anything, let alone this. Jake notices your pause and turns slightly, walking backward now so he can face you. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head, “we can still turn around, you know. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” But you do.

So you shake your head. “I wanna go.” Jake studies you for a second, like he’s searching for any hesitation. But there isn’t any. Not tonight. Eventually, he nods. “Okay,” he says. Then, his lips twitch into something softer. “Good.” And as you near the house, the sound of laughter spilling out onto the porch, the glow of string lights hanging from the windows, You realize you’re glad you came. 

The warmth of the frat house greets you the moment you step inside, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The air is thick with the scent of garlic bread and pasta, something home-cooked and rich, filling the space with a kind of comfort you hadn’t expected. Laughter hums in the background, the low murmur of conversation weaving between the sound of utensils clinking against plates. It’s not the kind of party you’d grown used to at this house. No booming music rattling the walls, no overwhelming crush of bodies moving in tandem, no spilled drinks coating the floor in sticky regret. Instead, it feels warm, familiar. Like a gathering of people who actually care about each other. Jake’s friends greet him instantly, throwing easy nods and teasing jabs his way. Jay claps him on the shoulder, Heeseung tosses some offhand comment about how “Wow, Sim, you actually showed up for once?” but then their attention shifts to you.

“Hey!” Yunjin grins, pulling you into a quick hug. “We were wondering if you’d come.” You smile. “Yeah, Jake convinced me.”

“Good. You needed to get out,” Yuna says, appearing at your side with her usual knowing smirk. “You can’t just sit in the dorm watching Netflix and eating fruit snacks for the next few months.”

You narrow your eyes. “That was one time.”

Yunjin snickers. “Sure, babe.”

There’s no judgment in their words, though, just familiarity. That easy friendship that makes your chest loosen. Everyone settles into a comfortable rhythm as the night unfolds, plates passed around, laughter spilling over casual conversation, Jake leaning back into the couch beside you, his arm draped along the back of it, close but not quite touching. And then, at some point, the conversation shifts.

“So,” Yunjin says, sitting forward, her eyes flickering between you and Jake. “We have to talk about something important.” You blink. “Uh… okay?”

Yuna grins. “A baby shower.” You choke on your drink. “A what?”

“A baby shower!” Heeseung’s girlfriend nods eagerly. “Come on, you have to have one! It’ll be so cute!” You stare at them. “I mean, I—”

“It’s not really up to you,” Yunjin interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ve already decided. We’re throwing one.” Jake huffs a small laugh beside you, shaking his head. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“You’re having a baby, dude. This is happening.” Jay gestures between the two of you. “You might as well have a party for it.” You glance at Jake, unsure what to say. The idea of a baby shower hadn’t even crossed your mind yet. There’s been so much to think about. doctor’s appointments, your classes, the slow, terrifying reality of your life shifting that something as normal as a baby shower hadn’t even made it onto the list. But the way everyone is looking at you excited, hopeful, like they genuinely want to do this for you makes something warm settle in your chest.

Jake’s knee bumps against yours as he shifts beside you. “What do you think?” he asks, voice low enough that it’s meant just for you. You hesitate for only a second before nodding. “I think…” You exhale, looking back at your friends. “I think it sounds exciting.” The girls cheer. Heeseung claps Jake on the back. “Guess you better start making a registry, man.” Jake groans, but there’s something soft in his expression, something light. Something you’d love to see over and over again until you die. 

The conversation drifts naturally, flowing from one topic to the next like the rise and fall of a tide. The laughter still lingers in the air, the warmth of it curling around you like a blanket, but then the topic shifts. Jay leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “Man, this schedule is gonna kill me.”

Heeseung snorts. “You say that every year.”

“Yeah, and I mean it every year.” Jay groans, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Back-to-back away games? We barely get time to breathe.” Jake lets out a low chuckle beside you. “You’re so dramatic.”

Jay lifts his head just enough to glare at him. “Shut up, Sim. You love this shit.” Jake shrugs, unbothered. “I mean, yeah. It’s hockey. What’s not to love?” And just like that, the floodgates open. The guys dive into a conversation that feels almost foreign to you, play schedules, practice drills, strategies for upcoming games. They speak in a language that’s second nature to them, that thrives in their bones, their voices animated, hands gesturing wildly as they argue over stats and game plans. And at first, it’s nothing. At first, you just sit there, listening. But then — Then it starts to settle.

Jake does love this. It’s not just a hobby, not just a college sport—it’s his life. The hours, the dedication, the grueling schedule—it doesn’t seem to weigh on him the way it does the others. He thrives in it. He needs it. And this is just college. If he’s this busy now…

The thought creeps in, slow but merciless. If this is what his schedule looks like now—morning practices, late-night workouts, weekend-long away games—what the hell is it going to look like when he goes pro? Because he will. You know it as sure as you know the sun will rise in the morning. Jake was built for this. It’s what he’s worked for, what he’s bled for. Hockey isn’t just something he loves. It’s his future. And where the hell do you fit into that?

You blink, barely registering that the conversation is still going, that the guys are still talking and laughing and teasing each other, that the warmth of the room hasn’t faded—but suddenly, it feels distant. A dull, steady ache starts in your chest, creeping up your throat, tightening around your ribs. You stare at the flickering candle on the table, at the way the wax pools and hardens, melting and reforming in an endless cycle. They keep talking. And you go quiet.

You don’t even realize how still you’ve gone until Jake nudges your knee with his own. “Hey.” His voice is softer now, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. You look up, meeting his gaze, and there’s a slight furrow between his brows, that subtle shift that tells you he notices. “You okay?” he murmurs, low enough that the others don’t hear. You should say yes. Should push down the thoughts clawing at your chest, the creeping fear that tells you this is a mistake, that you’re deluding yourself into thinking this can work, that you won’t get left behind in the wake of his future.

But your throat is tight. So you just force a smile, nodding once. Jake doesn’t buy it. His gaze lingers, sharp and searching, like he’s trying to figure you out. But before he can press, someone calls his name, dragging him back into the conversation, and you take the out for what it is. You breathe. And the doubt lingers. The room is still alive with conversation, laughter curling at the edges of words, but your mind is somewhere else. Distant. Tangled.

Jake is talking again something about next week’s game, about how they need to tighten their defense but the words barely reach you. They swirl around the room, carried by voices that belong in this world, that fit. And then there’s you. Sitting here, stomach heavy with something that feels like lead, pressing against your ribs, against your lungs. Because how does this work? How do you fit?

You glance at Jake from the corner of your eye. He’s leaning forward now, elbows resting on his knees, brows furrowed as he listens to Heeseung explain something about their last game. He’s so focused. So in his element, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. And then there’s the baby. And you. Where do you fit in all of this? It was easy, easier when the thought of being pregnant was still something distant, something you were still getting used to. But now it’s real. You’ve seen the ultrasound. Heard the heartbeat. There’s something inside you, someone that’s growing, changing, becoming more real every single day. And Jake..

Jake is here. He’s showing up. He’s bringing you food and taking you to appointments and rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous way every time he catches himself looking at you for too long. But for how long? Because this is just college. This is before the contracts, before the NHL scouts come knocking, before his entire life shifts into something so much bigger than campus arenas and team dinners. You bite your lip, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. Jake loves hockey. It’s the one thing he’s never wavered on, the one thing that’s been steady, unwavering, untouchable.

And you, You’re just a detour. A pause in his story. A moment in time that he never planned for. He’s already stretched so thin. His schedule is already brutal. Morning practices, games, travel, training when would he even have time for you? For a baby? For late-night feedings and diaper changes and God, what were you thinking? This isn’t sustainable. This isn’t something that fits neatly into his world.

The realization crashes into you all at once, so heavy you almost feel sick. You need to talk to him. But then Jake laughs beside you, head thrown back, voice warm and unbothered, and when he looks at you, his smile is easy, soft. And for a second, just a second you wonder if maybe you’re wrong. Maybe he’s trying. Maybe he wants this. Maybe…

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, meant only for you. “You’re quiet.” You blink, jolted from your thoughts, your heart hammering against your ribs. You force a small smile. “Just tired.” Jake’s eyes linger for a second longer, like he doesn’t quite believe you. But then Jay nudges him, pulling him back into the conversation, and the moment is gone. And you, You’re still stuck wondering.

The night air is crisp when Jake pulls up in front of your dorm, the distant hum of campus life still lingering in the background, laughter from passing students, the occasional roar of a car engine down the street, the muffled bass of music from a party somewhere nearby. But inside the car, it’s just you and him.

The warmth of the heater hums softly, filling the silence that has stretched between you since you left the frat house. Jake’s hands are still wrapped loosely around the steering wheel, but he’s not in any rush to move. His eyes flick to you as you shift in your seat, your fingers curling and uncurling in your lap. “You want me to come in?” His voice is careful. Not forceful, not overbearing gentle. An offer. A quiet attempt to be there, to be with you.

You shake your head almost immediately. “No, it’s okay. I think I just wanna sleep.” The words leave your lips too quickly, too practiced, and you can tell by the way Jake’s brows furrow slightly that he catches it. That he knows you’re lying. He doesn’t call you out on it. He just exhales slowly, watching you for a long moment before nodding once. “Alright.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel, a restless little rhythm, like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how.

You push the car door open before he can change his mind and insist, before he can see through you too much. The cold air bites at your skin as you step out, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. You feel Jake’s gaze on you as you turn back toward the car, gripping the edge of the door. “Thanks for the ride.” Jake gives a small nod, his lips pressing together. “Yeah. Of course.”

You linger. For some reason, you linger. Your fingers tighten around the door, the weight in your chest heavy and pulling.Like there’s something that wants to slip out, some small confession that’s buried too deep for you to name just yet. But then Jake shifts in his seat, glancing toward the windshield, and the moment shatters. You clear your throat, forcing a small smile. “Night, Jake.”

His lips twitch slightly, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Night.” You shut the door and walk away before the doubt in your head can make you turn back.

Inside your dorm, it’s quiet. Too quiet. The air is still, untouched by Yuna’s usual presence—her music, her laughter, her constant, grounding presence that keeps you from feeling like you’re alone with your thoughts. But tonight, you are alone. You toe off your shoes and drop your bag by the door, shrugging off your jacket and letting it slip from your fingers onto the chair nearby. The room feels colder than usual, or maybe that’s just you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, fingers threading through your hair as you stare at the floor. The doubt is back. That creeping, suffocating feeling that has latched onto you ever since the conversation about hockey at dinner. How does this work? You feel like you’re standing at the edge of something. A reality you’re not prepared for, a future that you don’t know how to step into. Jake is here now. But what about when the season gets more intense? What about when the scouts come, when contracts are on the table, when suddenly he’s got offers from teams that are miles and miles away?

What about when the NHL swallows him whole and you and this baby become nothing more than a footnote in his history? Your fingers tremble slightly as you rest them against your stomach. It’s still flat, still unchanged, but you know you know something is growing, shifting, taking root inside you. And yet, you still don’t know where you fit in Jake’s life. Maybe he’s showing up now. Maybe he’s trying. But what if this, this thing between you was never meant to last? You press your lips together, blinking rapidly against the sting behind your eyes. You’re exhausted, your body heavy with the weight of your thoughts, but sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

It’s been a week. Seven days of silence. Seven days of unanswered texts, of ignored calls, of messages left on read. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, that eventually, Jake would force his way in. That he’d demand answers, refuse to let you keep pushing him away. But still, when the knock comes; sharp and insistent against your dorm door and  your stomach drops.

For a second, you think about pretending you’re not home. But then his voice comes through, firm but edged with something else. Something raw. “Open the door, please.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers curling against the fabric of your hoodie. There’s no running from this. No delaying the inevitable. So you inhale, force your hands to stop shaking, and pull the door open. Jake is standing there, still in his practice gear, sweat dampening the strands of hair curling against his forehead, his hockey duffel slung over one shoulder. He must’ve come straight from the rink, must’ve been thinking about this the entire time because his eyes are already burning with frustration. “What the hell is going on?” he demands.

You cross your arms over your chest, stepping back just enough for him to push past you into the dorm. He does, kicking the door shut behind him, and suddenly the room feels too small. Too full of him. He turns to you, brows furrowed, jaw tight. “You’ve been ignoring me.” You scoff, arms tightening around yourself. “Yeah, well. Maybe that’s because I needed some space.”

Jake shakes his head, running a hand down his face. “Space from what? Me? The baby? This whole situation?” He exhales, something heavy behind it. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t know when something’s wrong with you?” You look away, fixing your gaze on the floor. “Jake—”

“No.” His voice cuts through the room, not loud, but firm. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.” Your throat tightens. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he says, stepping closer. “Tell me why you suddenly don’t want me around. Why are you acting like I’m already failing at something I haven’t even gotten the chance to do yet.” The words hit you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You don’t mean to let it slip out, but suddenly, it’s there.The fear that’s been clawing at you, the doubt that’s been growing like a weed. “Because I don’t know if you can do it, Jake.” Silence.

His expression shifts, the frustration flickering into something else—hurt. You swallow hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “You might think you can handle it, but… this isn’t just a game, Jake. This isn’t a season, or a practice, or something you can walk away from if it gets too hard.” Your voice shakes, but you push forward. “This is a baby. A whole life. And you’re already stretched so thin. Your schedule is insane, your life is already moving in a direction that—” You shake your head, looking away. “What if I’m just setting myself up for disappointment?”

Jake exhales sharply, stepping closer again, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are stormy, filled with something desperate, something pleading. “I don’t know how to convince you,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t know how to make you believe me when I tell you that I want this. That I want to be here.” Your lip trembles, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “You can’t just say it, Jake. You have to prove it.” Jake flinches like the words sting, like they land somewhere deep inside him. He presses his lips together, dragging a hand through his hair. “And how am I supposed to do that if you won’t even let me try?” The words linger between you, thick and heavy, suffocating the space between breaths. You don’t have an answer.

So you just whisper, “I need space.” Jake’s shoulders rise and fall with a slow, controlled breath, like he’s forcing himself to accept it. He nods once, lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine.” But then his voice softens, just barely. “I have an away game this weekend. I’ll be gone until Monday.” His eyes search yours, like he’s looking for something, anything to tell him you’re not slipping too far away. “But I’ll be back. And when I am, we’re talking about this.”

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Okay.” Jake lingers for a moment, like there’s something else he wants to say. But instead, he just exhales, shoulders still tight with tension as he steps back toward the door. And then he’s gone. And the second the door clicks shut behind him, the weight in your chest pulls you under. 

The dorm is cloaked in darkness, save for the faint blue light spilling from the television screen. The glow flickers across the walls, illuminating the mess of blankets you’ve curled yourself into on the couch. The volume isn’t high, but it doesn’t need to be. The sound of the game filters in clearly, the scrape of skates on ice, the sharp whistles, the distant roar of the crowd.

You’d told yourself you wouldn’t watch. That you’d let the game pass without so much as checking the score. But now you’re here, heart hammering against your ribs, watching him. Jake. The camera zooms in as he weaves through the defense, his body moving like something fluid, something effortless. His hair is damp with sweat beneath his helmet, strands sticking to his forehead as he skates into position. He’s good. He’s so good.

You can see it in the way he moves, in the way the opposing team struggles to keep up. They’re aggressive, irritated because they know they can’t outplay him, so they’ll try to beat him down instead. And that’s exactly what they do. The hits tonight have been brutal. More than usual. It’s a grueling, ruthless game, bodies slamming against the boards with resounding cracks. The referees aren’t calling much, letting things slide, letting them play too rough.

And then, Sunghoon goes down. Your breath stutters as you watch him crash against the ice, his body crumpling on impact. He tries to get up, his gloved hands pressing against the rink, but something is wrong. His leg. You can tell immediately. The way he winces, the way his teammates circle him in concern, the way the trainer rushes onto the ice. The cameras cut in close. His face is tight with pain.

It takes two people to help him off the ice. Your stomach is twisted in knots, your hands clenched into fists. You hate this. You hate watching them get hurt like this. And then, Jake. He’s too fast, moving up the rink, his stick handling the puck with precision. The opposing team is trailing behind him, trying to keep up, trying to stop him.

They can’t. So one of them doesn’t even try. The moment it happens, you feel it, the wrongness. The guy comes in too fast. The check is too high, too hard, too reckless. And Jake never sees it coming. Your breath stops. Jake’s body is airborne before he crashes into the boards with a force that shakes the glass. The sound of it is sickening,a violent collision of bone, plexiglass, ice. His head snaps back. His helmet slams against the wall with a brutal crack. And then he slumps. He doesn’t move.

Your vision blurs. The game fades into the background, the commentators talking too calm, too casual as Jake remains still. His limbs are tangled awkwardly beneath him, his hand curled slightly over his side, his helmet tilted askew. He still hasn’t moved. Oh God. Move, Jake. Your stomach is in your throat, a sharp, rising panic clawing up your chest. Your hands are shaking. Your breath is coming too fast, too shallow, and you feel like you might be sick.

Then, slowly, he stirs. Not much, just a twitch of his fingers, a subtle shift in his shoulders. But it’s enough for the trainer to rush onto the ice, teammates circling him as he tries to push himself up. The camera zooms in, his face is twisted, his brows drawn together in pain.

His hand is gripping his ribs. Your throat tightens. You can see it, he’s hurting. Even as he shakes his head at the trainer, even as he tries to play it off. He’s trying to act fine, trying to prove he can keep going, but you know him. You can see through it. Jake’s not okay. Tears burn at your eyes, and you don’t even try to fight them. You don’t care that you’ve spent the last week avoiding him, don’t care that you’ve been drowning in doubts, don’t care that you still don’t have all the answers. Because none of it matters right now. Jake is hurt. You just want to be with him, you need to be with him. You have to get to him, and fast. 

You barely remember how you got there, your feet pounding the pavement in a haze, the world a blur of motion as you rushed toward the hospital. You’re too frantic to think, too scared to process anything more than the fact that Jake was hurt, hurt in a way you couldn’t ignore, couldn’t pretend didn’t matter. The lights from the hospital sign flicker above you as you stumble through the entrance, the sterile scent of antiseptic and disinfectant hitting you like a wall. Your heart is hammering, the fear sitting heavy in your chest as you make your way to the front desk, breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

"I—I’m looking for Jake Sim," you stutter, your voice shaky, too soft as you try to push past the thick knot of panic that clings to your throat. The receptionist eyes you, takes a moment to type something into her computer. “Room 214,” she says flatly, barely glancing up. “He’s being kept for observation.”

Room 214.

The number echoes in your head as you make your way down the hallway, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly. You can hear your pulse pounding in your ears, a steady thrum as you walk faster, too fast, the air around you seeming to constrict with every step. You reach the door. For a moment, you just stand there. Your hand is trembling as you push the door open, the sight of Jake in the bed almost too much to bear. His face is pale, too pale, and his eyes are closed, though he’s awake. He’s hooked up to an IV, his forehead glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

He looks - fragile. Your breath catches in your throat as you step into the room, and it takes everything in you to swallow the rising lump of emotion that threatens to spill out. You’ve seen Jake take hits, seen him get back up from injury after injury. But this feels different. His head turns when he hears the door, his eyes opening slowly, a small smile curling on his lips when he sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough but warm, like he’s trying to ease the tension in the air. His smile is weak, his usual confidence stripped away by the injury, but it’s still there. It’s still him.

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you whisper, your throat tight. You move to his side, hovering for a second before reaching out to touch his hand, your fingers trembling against his. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, the solid reassurance you’ve been craving, yet his grip feels fragile in a way you can’t quite shake.

“I didn’t mean to freak out like I did,” you murmur, your voice cracking. “I know you love the baby, and I know you’ll be there for them. I—I know you’ll be a good dad.” He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes softening as he looks at you. There’s a faint wince on his face as he shifts his weight, but the way his lips curl into something resembling a smile makes your heart ache.

“Baby,” he says, his voice low but steady, cutting through the tension that’s been hanging between you for days. “I used to think hockey was the world, that I lived for it, breathed for it. that it was my life. That hockey was the reason I woke up in the morning. I love hockey, hockey will always be my passion and it will always be what I want to do, and who i want to be. But it’s not my life. you are. you two are my life, you and this baby and I wouldn't want it any other way.” 

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t even realize you’ve been holding your breath until the air rushes out in one long, shaky exhale. Jake’s hand reaches up, brushing a few strands of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the pain he’s in. “I’ve been an idiot,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so focused on everything else, and I didn’t stop to think about what you needed. What we needed.”

Tears sting your eyes, a sudden rush of emotion overwhelming you. You hadn’t known how badly you needed to hear those words until they were out in the open. “Jake—” But he’s not letting you finish. He pulls you closer, gently, not forcefully, as though he’s afraid you might break. And when his lips meet yours, it’s soft, soft in a way that makes the world feel like it’s finally falling into place.

You close your eyes, the weight of everything you’ve been carrying melting away in an instant. His kiss is tentative at first, just the brush of his lips against yours, a delicate reassurance that he’s here. That he’s not going anywhere. But then, as if the words he’s spoken have unlocked something inside both of you, the kiss deepens, slow and aching, full of the longing that’s been building between you for weeks. The warmth of his lips against yours is the grounding force you needed to remind yourself that everything was going to be okay. You were going to be okay. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze full of tenderness, full of something real.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he murmurs. “I’m staying. I’m gonna be here for you, for the baby… for us.” The words resonate deep inside you, a wave of warmth flooding your chest. You don’t know what the future holds, but in this moment, you believe him. You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the world seems to slow down. The hurt, the uncertainty, all of it seems to fade into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync.

“I love you,” you whisper. And this time, it’s not a question. It’s not something you’re trying to convince yourself of. It’s just the truth. He smiles, the familiar glint of something unbreakable in his eyes. “I love you, too.” In that moment, you realize that everything’s been leading to this, a moment of vulnerability, of surrender, of knowing that no matter what comes next, you’ve got each other. And maybe that’s all you really need.

AFTER. 

The baby shower is a blur of light and warmth, laughter, and the soft hum of happy conversations filling the air. The room is decorated with soft blues and yellows, little stuffed animals and pastel balloons drifting lazily overhead. It’s a cozy, intimate gathering. more like a family get-together than a grand celebration, and everything feels perfect. The air smells faintly of sweet pastries and flowers, and there’s an undeniable sense of anticipation hanging in the air, as if everyone is waiting for the moment when you and Jake’s little one will finally arrive.

Yuna is by your side, her bright smile radiating as she hands you a piece of cake, teasing you about cravings you’d been indulging in the past few months. You laugh along with her, feeling lighter than you have in ages. There’s a sense of peace in this room — a fleeting, magical calmness that you don’t want to end. Every now and then, your hand drifts to your swollen belly, gently pressing against the soft curve of it, as if the little life inside is dancing along to the rhythm of the moment.

Jake, ever the protective figure, is right by your side, his hand resting on the small of your back, his gaze never straying too far from you. His face, always so expressive, is filled with an emotion you can’t quite name, something soft, something cherishing. It’s hard to imagine a time when things were uncertain, when you wondered if he could be the father you needed, the partner you dreamed of. Because now, standing here with him, you know the truth. He’s already there. Already doing everything he can to show you he’s in this for the long haul.

“Do you need anything?” Jake asks, his voice low, full of the kind of care that only someone who loves you like he does can muster. You shake your head, the warmth from his touch making your heart swell. It’s moments like these, quiet, simple moments that remind you how far you’ve come from the uncertainty you once felt. How far you’ve both come.

“Just you,” you smile up at him, the words coming out without a second thought, and he grins at you like it’s the best compliment he could ever receive.

The guests are all mingling now, with the occasional burst of laughter ringing out as the game ideas you and Yuna came up with take full effect. Everyone is gathered around, exchanging baby gifts, newborn clothes, soft blankets, bottles, stuffed animals. Your friends and family are here, laughing and celebrating this new chapter of your life. The people you love most are sharing this with you. And even though there’s a bittersweet ache in your chest, because Sunghoon is absent, recovering from that god-awful injury, there’s a deep sense of thankfulness that wraps around you like a warm blanket.

“Hey,” Jake says, breaking you from your thoughts. His voice is so gentle, his hand finding yours in the crowd. “I need to step outside for a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nod, watching as he slips through the door. You know he’s been feeling the weight of everything lately, the pressure of balancing his career, school, and this new role as a soon-to-be father. You trust him to make it all work, to prove to you that he can handle the responsibilities. But there’s a piece of you, a vulnerable part, that still worries. The doubts always seem to rise like whispers in the back of your mind.

“Win or lose; I want to come home to you,” Jake had said to you not long ago, those words echoing in your memory like a melody. They settle in your heart like a promise, something real, something that matters. The door opens softly, and you look up to see Jake reentering the room, his eyes catching yours immediately. His smile, though small, is genuine, and you feel your breath catch in your chest. The way he looks at you, the way his hand rests against your back once more as he steps closer. it’s as if he’s still trying to wrap his mind around the miracle of everything that’s happening.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” he asks, his voice full of tenderness, vulnerability slipping in beneath the surface. You nod slowly, your hand resting over your belly as you meet his gaze. “We already are, Jake. I already know we are.” The words settle between you both, and for a brief moment, the noise of the party fades into the background. All that matters is this. this feeling of being connected, being here, in this moment, together. The baby, the future, it’s all a little clearer now.

Jake’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you just a little closer as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. The room seems to hum around you, the laughter and chatter distant, but in this small space between the two of you, the world feels as if it’s standing still. Everything has changed. The uncertainty, the doubts, the fear. it’s all been replaced by the certainty of one truth: You’re in this together. And when you see Jake’s face soften with that same familiar warmth, you know it’s true. He’s here. He’s home. “Win or lose,” he whispers, echoing the words he had said to you weeks ago. “I’ll always come home to you.”

Your heart swells in your chest, the weight of his promise settling deep inside you. And in that moment, you know it’s all going to be okay.

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @chwesun , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @ghstzzn @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

@strayy-kidz @wolfhardbby @kwiwin @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @starfallia @mariegalea @adoredbyjay @strxwbloody @lovingvoidgoatee @beeboobeebss @zyvlxqht @weyukinluv @flwwon

@guapgoddees @demigodmahash @cloud-lyy @heesky @ikaw-at-ikaw @shuichi-sama @shawnyle @kwhluv @iarainha @ikeuwoniee @mora134340

[juleswritesstuff]

The Pillow Contract

James Potter seems to have found the best pillow on earth. You.

james potter x fem!reader

warnings: none

James Potter liked to consider himself a man of simple pleasures. 

A good meal ? Heaven. A lazy Sunday spent wrapped in a blanket burrito ? Perfection. A well-timed, sarcastic remark ? Chef’s kiss.

But above all else, there was one thing James had come to love more than anything in the world.

Your chest.

Well, you as a whole, of course. Body and soul alike. He was not a bloody prick, thank you very much. 

He loved you for you, not just for the flawless vessel that carried your golden heart and your beautiful mind.

But he couldn't help the way he was especially drawn to the perfection that peeked from your neckline when your shirt hung a little lower than usual.

And he also could not, in good conscience, ignore the life-altering comfort that was that perfection.

Now, to be clear, James wasn’t just some guy obsessed with his girlfriend’s body –okay, maybe he was a little addicted. 

But, come on, who could blame him when you were said girlfriend ? 

He was supposed to be a bit obsessed with you, right ? That’s what every person in their sane, right and helplessly in love mind would be about their partner, no ? 

Was that just him ? 

Ok, fine, maybe he was a bit of a simp (read, you had him at your feet). So what ? 

He liked it exactly like that. Sue him.

But this ? This was different. 

This wasn’t just about attraction or some primal male instinct. No, this was about something sacred.

This was about comfort.

The kind that he’d accidentally stumbled upon one evening when you had curled up next to him on the couch, and his head had somehow –miraculously– ended up resting right on your chest.

That’s when he had discovered it.

The Holy Grail of pillows. The pinnacle of all headrests.

Your chest was perfect. 

Warm. Soft. Inviting.

It had been life-changing. Existence-altering. World-stopping.

And in that moment, with his head resting against the softest, most heavenly cushion known to mankind, and your heart beating under his ear like a lullaby, James had made a decision.

He was never going back to regular pillows again.

Ever.

The problem was, he didn’t exactly know how to turn this into a permanent arrangement without looking like an absolute fool.

Which, really, was ironic, because James didn’t mind acting like the biggest dumbass in the world when it came to you. Not even a tiny bit.

The man had zero shame, and zero chill when you were involved.

If he had to beg ? Done.

If he had to bribe you with kisses ? Oh no, how awful.

If he had to declare his undying devotion in front of his friends and suffer their relentless teasing ? Call Sirius and Remus over, he was ready to suffer.

If he had to wear one of those, frankly quite obnoxious --yes, even for him-- ‘I ❤️ My Girlfriend’ shirts in public just because you wanted him to suffer a bit for forgetting the chores ? Consider it his new favorite outfit.

He’d do anything and everything –yes, even sacrificing his dignity in front of Pads and Moony– if it meant putting a smile on your face (and making you agree to be used as a headrest for the rest of your life. But let’s just say that was a teeny, tiny, wonderful bonus if the case ever came to be).

Tonight was his chance, he told himself.

You were already curled up on the couch, wearing one of his hoodies, your legs tucked beneath you as you scrolled through your phone. The dim lighting of the room cast a soft glow over you, and James took a moment to appreciate the scene. 

Because, honestly ? You looked really good.

Too good.

Like, unfairly good.

The hoodie –his hoodie, the one he had technically claimed as his favorite, but which spent more time on your body than his closet– was slightly oversized on you, slipping off one shoulder in a way that made his brain short-circuit for a second.

This was his moment.

You were comfortable. The couch was comfortable. 

And your chest ? Well, that was a level of bliss he had yet to find anywhere else in the world.

Time to execute: Operation Smothered by Heaven.

Ok, the name was a little ridiculous. But, to his defence, he had been a little distracted while thinking about it –the dress you were wearing mysteriously met the floor not even five minutes after he had taken a glimpse of you– and his brain had refused to work at his full potential.

Something that he absolutely couldn’t let happen now. 

Not when the fate of his comfort and sanity was at such a high risk.

That’s why he casually –so casually– stretched like a giant cat just waking up from a nap, letting out an exaggerated yawn before –still ever so nonchalantly, of course– leaning closer.

And would you look at that ? His head, as if drawn by an invisible magnetic force he absolutely had no control on –God forbid– found its way to your chest.

It was seamless. 

Flawless execution.

Absolutely fucking nailed that.

He gave himself a mental high five.

Operation Smothered by Heaven: officially successful.

“Wow. Smooth” you blinked down at him, amused.

James grinned but didn’t move. Not even an inch. Nope. 

He had claimed his rightful place, and there was no going back now.

“What can I say ? Gravity is a powerful thing” he purred, his voice smug, his eyes half-lidded like a cat who had just found the warmest sunspot in the house.

“Ah, I see. So this is all gravity’s fault, then ?”

“Absolutely” he confirmed, burrowing his face in just a little more “I have no control over it. Pure science”

You snorted, shaking your head, but you didn’t push him away. 

Of course you didn’t.

If anything, you shifted slightly, letting your arm drape around his back, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his spine. He hummed in approval, his whole body melting against yours like ice under the warm sunlight of a summer’s day.

Because the thing James didn’t know –or, at the very least, seemed to forget– was that he wore his heart on his sleeve. Always.

James Potter and secret scheming ? Not a good match. 

Not a match at all, actually. But you still liked watching him try.

And with the way he had been ogling you for the past week, it really wasn’t hard to figure out what had been brewing in that ridiculously pretty head of his.

His thoughtful frown, the way his brows scrunched together, his deep-in-thought lip-biting. James had looked like he was trying to crack some highly classified government code.

Except the code in question was you.

Or, more specifically, that area right below your neck that seemed to steal his attention more times then it should've been considered healthy.

Subtle, he was not.

He had been studying you. Analyzing the way your sweaters dipped lower when you leaned forward, the way the fabric of your shirts clung to your curves, the way–

God.

James had the audacity to look like he was pondering the meaning of life when, really, all he was trying to find was an excuse.

Funny how he could’ve just asked.

It wasn’t like you would have refused him.

Hell, you didn’t even think you possessed the ability to refuse him. To refuse him anything, really.

But your smitten and extremely down-bad behavior when it came to your boyfriend was a topic for another time.

James let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“You know” he murmured, voice slightly muffled as he nuzzled closer “I think I’ve discovered something important”

“Oh ?”

“Mhm” he tilted his head up, his expression dead serious. Like a man delivering a life-changing revelation “Your chest ? Best pillow I’ve ever used”

You raised an eyebrow, a quiet grin making its way onto your mouth. “I should be flattered, I think”

“You should be honored” he corrected, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk “I mean, it’s a very competitive market. But yours ? Easily top-tier”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Is that right ?”

James nodded solemnly. 

“Hell yeah, baby. I’d even write a five-star Yelp review if that were a thing”

You let out a soft laugh and slid your fingers into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

James immediately melted.

He let out a low, contented hum, eyes slipping shut, the tension in his body dissolving completely. You thought if he was a cat, he would’ve started purring.

“Mmh. Keep doing that, and I might never get up” he mumbled, voice already laced with drowsiness.

“Wouldn’t mind that” you teased.

Because, really, who in their right mind would complain about this ?

No one, that's who.

And surely not you.

James hummed in response, his arms tightening around your waist burying himself further into you. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. 

His lips brushed absentmindedly against your collarbone –a barely-there press of warmth that sent a quiet shiver down your spine.

This. This was perfection.

Then, because James Potter simply could not help himself, he tilted his head up again.

“So, uh... just out of curiosity. How often do you think I can get away with this ?”

You smirked. “That depends”

“On ?”

“How well you behave”

James’ eyes darkened slightly, though amusement still played at the edges. 

“Define behave” his voice dropped, all smooth and teasing, like he could coax an answer out of you if he said it just right.

You arched a brow, pretending to think. 

“Well, let’s see. No stealing the blankets at night. No pretending you don’t hear me when I ask you to grab something from the kitchen. And definitely no distracting me when I’m trying to get work done”

James gasped, offended.

“That last one is unreasonable and you know it”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, is it ?”

“Yes. It is literally part of my rights as your boyfriend to distract you”

You hummed, pretending to ponder your decision.

“Well, if we can do nothing about that…” your hand cupped his cheek, slender fingers applying a gentle pressure to lift his face up from that cocoon of warmth he had nestled himself into.

He blinked. “I-wait. What ?”

Before he could fully register what was happening, you leaned down and captured his lips in a slow, lazy kiss.

James melted.

Like, gone. Out of commission. Absolute goner.

The smug confidence he had a second ago ? Obliterated.

His hands, which had been lazily resting at your waist, tightened, pulling you closer like he never wanted to let go. One of them trailed up your spine, fingers tangling into your hair, holding you there like this was oxygen and he needed it to breathe.

You sighed against his lips, feeling the way he shuddered, the way his grip on you tightened, like he was physically trying to keep himself from falling apart.

Like you had just ruined him.

And maybe you had.

Because when you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, James just blinked at you, dazed and utterly wrecked, lips still parted like he hadn’t quite caught up with reality yet.

You bit back a smirk.

Unbelievable.

How had this man made a full-time career out of turning you into putty, and yet one well-placed kiss had him looking like he’d just been personally blessed by the universe ?

You dragged your fingers lazily through his curls, watching the way his lashes fluttered at the sensation, the slow, dopey grin tugging at his lips.

Completely gone.

You tilted your head, murmuring teasingly against his mouth “Was that up to your standards, Mr. Five-Star Review ?”

James, still grinning –and still absolutely useless– just nodded.

"Five stars ? That was worth the entire Milky Way, baby"

You let out a laugh, and he practically glowed at the sound, his fingers flexing against your waist like he wanted to bottle it.

Then, before you could say anything else, he tilted his head, brushing his nose against yours in that infuriatingly sweet way of his.

"You know-" he murmured, voice all warm and syrupy "-if this is part of my reward system, I promise to be so good"

You smirked, fingers tracing idle patterns into the back of his neck. “Do you now ?”

James nodded solemnly, though the grin he was fighting gave him away.

“The best. Model citizen. Proper gentleman. Will hold doors, carry bags, call you milady unironically if I have to”

You snorted. Loudly.

"Now that, I need to see"

He hummed, tilting his head up like he was about to deliver the most profound statement of his life.

“Mmh. Maybe after another kiss”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “That so ?”

He nodded again, already leaning in, his lips curling mischievously.

You let your fingers drag slowly down the back of his neck, feeling the way James shivered under your touch.

The moment stretched, thick with something warm and electric, the air between you charged in that intoxicating way it always was whenever you teased him like this.

You leaned in deliberately, lips hovering just over his, close enough that you could feel the ghost of his breath, the heat radiating off his skin.

James, for all his usual smugness, stilled, his lazy smirk faltering into something softer, deeper. His lips parting slightly, his pupils dark and expectant.

Waiting.

Wanting.

You let your gaze drop to his lips, watching as his tongue darted out just once, a quick, unconscious flick, like he was already tasting the kiss before it happened.

And, God, he was beautiful like this.

All that usual bravado stripped down to this, his sharp edges melted, his hands twitching slightly where they rested on your hips, fighting the urge to pull you closer.

His restraint was admirable.

His patience ?

Well. That was something you just had to test.

You leaned in that final inch –only for your lips to land on his cheek instead.

Soft. Chaste. Infuriating.

James let out a dramatic, suffering groan, his head thunking back against the cushions.

“Tease” he mumbled, voice hoarse, his hands finally losing their battle as they gripped your waist, fingers pressing into your sides like he was physically holding back the urge to grab your face and kiss you properly.

You pulled back just enough to grin down at him, impossibly pleased with yourself.

“What ?” you asked innocently, tilting your head “You asked for a kiss. You didn’t specify where, love”

He cracked one eye open, glowering.

“Oh, that’s dirty” he grumbled, before huffing dramatically and rolling onto his back, taking you with him.

You yelped as you landed against his chest, sprawled across him, your laughter cut off when his arms wrapped around you, pinning you against him with the strength of a human vice grip.

“James-”

“Nope” he said, shoving his face into your neck like a petulant child, muffling his words “You’re stuck here now. Actions have consequences”

You laughed, wiggling in his hold, but he just tightened his grip.

“James”

“Mmm. Nope”

“I-”

“Shh. Thinking about my suffering”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself, your fingers naturally finding their way into his curls again, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He made a sound, deep and content, his body practically melting beneath you.

“See ?” you teased, voice softening “That wasn’t so bad”

He exhaled heavily, but his hands had already started skimming over your back again, lazy and unbothered, like he’d completely forgotten why he was fake-pouting in the first place.

“Mmh” he hummed “Don't know. Still feel like you owe me”

You smirked, arching a brow. “Oh ?”

“Yeah” James sighed dramatically, finally tilting his head up again. Looking at you.

That expression.

Soft. Mischievous. A little challenging.

Maybe even a little hopeful.

Like he was just waiting for you to put him out of his misery.

You let the moment stretch for a beat longer, lips quirking.

Then, with a small, amused sigh, you finally gave in.

And kissed him properly.

For a few moments, the two of you just stayed like that, tangled together, basking in the warmth of each other’s touch.

You felt him smile against your lips before he pulled back just enough to murmur “So… hear me out”

“Oh boy” you sighed, already knowing. 

James just grinned, completely unbothered by your lack in faith in him.

“What if we made this a permanent arrangement ?”

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head at him. “A permanent arrangement ?”

“Yeah. Like, an official thing. A contract, even” he lifted his head slightly, hie expression the picture of seriousness “Something binding. A legally recognized agreement that states you will be my official human pillow for the foreseeable future”

You stared at him, an eyebrow quirked in amusement, lips twitiching. 

“You want to draft a pillow contract ?”

James nodded, almost professionally. 

“For accountability purposes”

You rolled your eyes, a disbelieved chuckle leaving your lips before you could stop it. 

“You’re ridiculous”

“But lovable” he pointed out.

You exhaled, shaking your head, your heart betraying you with the sheer amount of fondness you felt for this man.

“Fine” you relented, rolling your eyes as if you weren’t already completely gone for him “You win. You can rest on me whenever you want”

James grinned like he’d just won the lottery, wasting no time in smacking a quick, eager kiss right on your lips.

“But” you added, poking him in the ribs “I reserve the right to move if you start drooling”

“Excuse me ?” he gasped, offended “I do not drool”

You smirked. “That’s not what the couch cushions say”

James gasped again, dramatically this time, like you had personally insulted his honor “That was one time-”

“Oh, it so wasn’t”

James pouted, pulling you even closer and pressing his forehead against yours with a grumble.

“You wound me” he muttered, a mock distraught lilt to his voice.

You grinned, the warmth of him, the smell of him, completely surrounding you as you pressed a kiss to his jaw, lingering just enough to feel the way his breath hitched.

“I think you’ll survive just fine”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly, inviting you to keep going.

So you did.

You let your lips trail along his jawline, slow and lazy, your fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly in a way that made him melt.

“Well” James sighed, voice lower, heavier, the tiniest shiver running through him “If this is how you comfort me, I guess I’ll forgive you”

You laughed against his skin.

“How generous”

James smirked, but there was something else in his eyes now, something wicked, something that sparked just before–

Before the menace shimmied down.

Yes. Shimmied. Like a man with a mission.

“James-”

Your protest was cut off by laughter, because he was determined, wriggling lower and lower with expert precision, slipping out of your hold like a human-sized golden retriever trying to find the perfect spot on the couch.

And then, with a triumphant sigh, his head landed where he had been aiming all along–

Right on your chest.

James let out a deep, satisfied hum, snuggling in, his nose nuzzling into the soft fabric of your shirt like this was some long-lost paradise he had just returned to.

“Now we’re talking” he exhaled in sheer satisfaction, like the heaviest of weights had been lifted from his shoulders, snuggling even deeper, and muttering an appreciative “Mmh. Yep. Definitely five stars”

You blinked down at him, helpless to fight the way your heart swelled, a smile threatening to bloom against your better judgment.

“Should I start charging you for this service ?” you teased.

James hummed, content, his lips brushing absently against the skin just below your collarbone.

“I’d go broke, baby”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your fingers finding their way back into his hair, your nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

He groaned, pressing his face deeper into your chest, mumbling something incoherent that you were pretty sure translated to never stop doing that.

Before you could fully process how utterly whipped this man was, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss there –just because he could.

You pulled back slightly, blinking down at the mop of messy chocolate strands currently buried between your collarbones. 

“Do you make a habit of kissing all your pillows ?” you asked, voice mildly amused despite the unreasonable warmth now flooding your chest.

James, completely unashamed, grinned against you. 

“Pillows don’t usually deserve appreciation, but this one ?” his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns against your waist, his voice dropping to a reverent murmur “This one gets special treatment”

A full-body shiver rolled through you.

And James, that absolute menace, felt it.

His smirk was obnoxiously satisfied as he nuzzled in even deeper, practically purring as he molded himself further against you.

You rolled your eyes, trying –truly trying– to ignore the overwhelming affection clawing at your ribcage. And utterly failing.

“Jamie, you’re gonna choke like this” you warned playfully, fighting against yourself not to let out the endeared laugh threatening to spill.

He made a noncommittal noise, fully unbothered.

“Best way to go, honestly”

And that was it.

Not one beat missed. Not a single ounce of shame registered in his voice.

You stared wide-eyed at the mop of untamable chocolate curls right below your chin, completely bewildered by the words that had just come out of your boyfriend’s mouth.

Did this man, the actual love of your life, just casually declare that he would willingly –no, gladly– perish via boob-related asphyxiation ?

Because that was what it sounded like.

Was that a normal thing for a person to say ?

No. No, it wasn’t.

And yet—here you were.

"James"

“Mmm ?”

"James, get up"

"No"

You sighed, trying to nudge him off, but it was useless.

Because this man –this grown, six-foot, sport-trained, annoyingly fit man– was currently clinging to you like a koala experiencing its first-ever existential crisis.

And you knew –you knew– that there was no reasoning with a man who had just fully committed to making your chest his final resting place.

"James-"

"No"

"You cannot suffocate yourself on my–"

"I can and I will"

"You will not"

James lifted his head just enough to look at you with actual betrayal.

"How dare you harm a man in his final moments ?"

A stunned laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous”

James smirked triumphantly.

“And yet-” he murmured smugly “-you don’t seem to mind it”

He barely gave you a second to respond before he nuzzled right back in, burrowing into your chest like you were some long-lost paradise he had finally returned to.

You stared at the ceiling, dead inside.

How was this your life ?

You used to have dignity.

You used to be a strong, independent person.

And yet, somehow –somehow– you had become a glorified human mattress for your very large and very needy boyfriend.

And the worst part ?

You didn’t even mind.

You sighed deeply, fingers slipping into his hair against your better judgment. James melted immediately, exhaling in a way that was obscenely pleased. Like if he were any more relaxed, he'd have dissolved into a puddle of mushy, lovesick goo.

Then, with the solemnity of a man about to deliver a groundbreaking presidential address, he cleared his throat.

You barely had time to register the shift before he–

“Ladies” James began, his voice smooth, reverent “It’s always a pleasure”

Your mouth fell open.

Did he just–

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I just wanted to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude” he continued talking to your breasts, completely ignoring the look of utter disbelief and sheer horror plastered on your face and sighing dramatically “For your service. For your warmth. For providing me with the best naps of my life”

Your soul, quite frankly, left your body, just straight-up abandoned you.

“James–”

He shushed you.

Shushed you.

“I’m having a moment with my girls, baby” he whispered, like he was delivering a speech at fucking Buckingham Palace.

You gaped at him. “You are not-”

“I am” he placed a hand over his heart “They deserve it”

You had never contemplated murder so seriously in your life.

James, completely unbothered, pressed on. 

“I promise to treat you with the respect and admiration you deserve. To appreciate your softness in all its glory. To-” he paused, tilting his head “Actually, I feel like I should name you”

“For the love of God, James. Don’t you dare-”

He gasped. 

Gasped. 

“That’s a brilliant idea. Baby, why haven’t we named them ?”

You smacked his arm, your eyes so wide they threatened to fall out of your skull. “Because they are literally attached to my body ?!”

But he wasn’t listening. No, the absolute menace was thinking, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

“They deserve names that reflect their greatness. Something regal. Something powerful”

He snapped his fingers. “Got it. Thelma and Louise”

You groaned. “Absolutely fucking not”

James ignored you. 

“Or maybe Hall and Oates ?”

“I- What- Aren’t they both men ?”

“Gender’s nothing but a social construct, darling”

“Ok-”

A sudden gasp interrupted you, as if he had just discovered the meaning of life itself.

"Baby- Baby, I’ve got it"

You sighed, already regretting everything. "James, no"

"Yes" he insisted, eyes alight with the thrill of an idiot about to say something profoundly stupid "Bonnie and Clyde"

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

"You want to name ‘your girls’ after two actual criminals ?"

He nodded solemnly, as if he were making the most reasonable suggestion in the world. "Iconic criminals. Star-crossed lovers. Thrill-seekers. Just like us, babe"

"Just like us ?" you repeated, incredulous "James, they literally died in a hail of bullets"

"Tragic, right ?" he sighed dramatically, resting his cheek against your chest. "Just two outlaws against the world. Inseparable. Madly in love. Probably great at robbing banks"

You stared at him, completely dead inside. "Are you about to compare my chest to a highly coordinated armed robbery ?"

James lifted his head just enough to grin at you. 

"Well” he mused, eyes twinkling “they did steal my heart"

You were done. So done, in fact, that you just gave up entirely.

"I cannot believe this is my life" you muttered, shoving your hands over your face.

James, the absolute menace, took this as encouragement and nuzzled back in, pressing obnoxiously reverent kisses between his newly christened 'Bonnie and Clyde'.

"Rest easy, my loves" he murmured dramatically "Your legacy shall live on"

"James-"

"Shhh" he hushed, patting your side "They're outlaws, baby. They don’t play by the rules"

At that point, you seriously considered pushing him off the couch. Or out the window. 

Maybe both.

You shook your head, defeated, completely annihilated by your boyfriend’s questionable choices.

James grinned, entirely too pleased with himself. 

“Oh, come on. I’m just having a bit of fun” he chuckled lightheartedly, turning his attention back to your chest with the solemnity of a man who had just finished writing a best-selling novel “Well, ladies, whatever your names may be, just know –you have my eternal devotion”

And then, as if he hadn’t just committed the most embarrassing crime against you, he nestled back in with a satisfied hum.

You stared down at him, deadpan. 

“You’re an actual menace”

“And yet, despite that, you love me” he mumbled, already half-asleep.

You sighed, your fingers automatically sliding into his hair once again. It took him less than two seconds to turn into a puddle, his entire body going limp as he exhaled in the most ridiculously pleased way possible, like he had just been given an award for the best nap ever.

“Unfortunately” you muttered, your heart melting just a little bit too, because, yes, he was a ridiculous man, but he was your ridiculous man.

And, as much as you complained, you couldn’t deny it --having James like this, warm and completely wrapped around you, was its own kind of perfect.

The Pillow Contract (Unofficially Signed & Approved) 

Clause 1: James gets unlimited chest pillow privileges.

Clause 2: Y/n reserves the right to kick James off if he drools in his sleep.

Clause 3: Cuddles are mandatory.

Clause 4: James won't ever refer to Y/n's chest as ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ again. Penalty: annulment of Clause 1.

Hello beautiful people 💗

I have no idea of where this thing spouted from. It popped in my head, and I had to bring it to the world 😂.

This is my first attempt at a more humorous type of fic. I had so much fun writing it, and I really hope it didn't downright suck, and you had a good time reading it, too.

Let me know what you think!

Thank you for reading, and I'll catch you in the next one <3

[deardev0teddelicate]

those new pictures of joel kind of altered my brain chemistry and i have not stopped thinking about him in those slutty little glasses hehe

also @millersdoll this is for you so i hope you enjoy !

Joel was sitting at your table, deep in thought over some papers that Tommy had given him earlier in the day that laid out before him. In the past few years, his age and the strain he had relentlessly put on his body had begun to catch up with him, leaving him with the need for glasses. He only ever needed to wear them when working with things up close or things that were particularly tiny. You'd catch him wearing them in his workshop, or sometimes when he would read at night—or times like now.

And goddamn did he look good in them.

Walking across the room to him, you placed your fingers under his chin bringing his focus to you. You smiled at his furrowed brow, sitting yourself down to straddle his lap, sighing the moment you felt the heat from his body. His ears tinged a shade of red at your bold maneuvers and the lines on his forehead softened.

"Y'need somethin', darlin'?" He asked gently, in that low gruff voice of his. It sent sparks down your spine, your stomach flipping at his attention. Despite being with for as long as you have, you still would feel the excitement that you felt the day you laid eyes on him his first day in Jackson.

"Just you," your eyes flicked from his eyes to his mouth, while you leaned in wrapping your arms to rest lazily over his shoulders. Your lips connected with his and his eyes fluttered shut, intoxicated by your soft touches. Moving in sync with each other, you passed your tongue over his lip—a silent request. He opened to let you in your tongues dancing together in tranquil passion.

You sat there together, holding each other, before he steadily pulled back from you, a string of saliva bridging between his lips and yours. Whining, you protested his absence, confusion washing across your features as you tried to catch your breath. He slipped one of his hands that had found their way to your waist up to his face. You watched as he took his readers off, placing them behind you atop the papers he was previously studying.

Joel then moved his hand to your jaw, pulling your attention from the abandoned glasses back to him, closing the gap between you and him to resume your shared moment from before. But you didn't let him hardly do anything as you pulled back from him just as he had done. It was now his turn to be confused. You twisted in his lap to reach for the glasses, and twisted back to put them back on his face where they belonged with a grin.

"Really, darlin'?" He asked you, quirking an eyebrow at your antics.

"Really," you confirmed with a small nod.

Joel simply rolled his eyes playfully and said "they make me look like 'n ol'man."

"Yeah, but you're my old man. I like them," you looked up at him, your hands moving to cup his face, thumb brushing across the graying hair on his face. Your eyes glanced up to his framed, brown eyes. He looked at you with such devoted adoration it made heat creep up your neck and down to your tummy.

Again, you press your lips to his, only this time there was something different about it. As your mouth meshed with his, it evolved from something delicate and soothing to something needy and insatiable. This time, he was the one to open the kiss, sliding his hand from your chin to rest on the part of your neck just under your ear, holding you gently but firm. He groaned into your mouth, beginning to feel weak at your eagerness for him. It's moments like these that are permanently etched into his mind and yours, creating panels in the tapestry of your shared story.

His mustache brushed against your upper lip, leaving the subtle sting on your skin as evidence of his love. With one hand on the nape of your neck and the other pulling you in closer by your waist, you let out a soft whimper that sent blood rushing down his body. The sweet, dulcet sounds from you only made him hungry for more, but he pulled back to look at you through the frames of his glasses. You beamed up at him, at how handsome he looked in them.

"Why don't we take this to the bedroom? Wanna take care of you properly." He said into your ear, nudging his nose against where your hairline met the side of your face. The cool metal of his glasses pressed against your temple, evoking a faint gasp to fall from your lips and arousal to pool between your legs, leaving a damp patch on the material of his jeans.

"You are a dirty old man," you giggle leaning into him before he pulled you up from the chair. "You're my dirty old man, though," you said, winking at him over your shoulder, you begin to walk towards your shared room.

"Damn right," he smirked, before lightly smacking your ass, causing you to stumble over your steps just bit as he followed you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

[thebunnednun]

MHA Guidance Counselor AU Masterlist

Did you ever have a fuck ass guidance counselor or therapist that didn't do shit for you?

Don't worry, we're gonna fic that.

With your favorite mha characters!!

(Puns, but in all seriousness, I am sorry about what you went through and hope that you get the help you deserve. I can't 'fix' things but a silly little fic does wonders.)

What’s this about Angie?

You’ve been dealing with enough stress—academics, family expectations, shitty job, maybe a chaotic personal life—and you need help. A guidance counselor or therapist sounds like the right answer, but we’re not exactly talking about your typical "supportive and competent" staff here.

In this world, you’re dealing with a range of questionable advice, from well-meaning to completely off-base guidance, and advice that might just make you want to scream into a pillow.

At least you're not alone...sort of.

How It Works:

Each guidance counselor or therapist here takes a different approach to “helping.”

Some might be sarcastic, others way too eager, and a few might just be downright unqualified but somehow...well, still helpful? It’s a rollercoaster of chaos and sometimes even a bit of healing, if you can trust the process.

You’ll get to see the types of support each offers (or doesn’t), and maybe, just maybe, you’ll walk away with some real insight. If you’re lucky.

Rules:

You get to choose which counselor you want to go to. It's like a buffet of options! Every counselor has their own style—be prepared for anything.

Feel free to request a specific counselor or approach. Want a very professional, no-nonsense counselor? Or maybe one who's way too into "mindfulness" and could you please just leave me alone? Let me know. All characters are on the table.

No one is perfect. The counselors might mess up. A lot. But the key is they try, and sometimes that’s what counts. Also as your author I myself am only human so please have grace with me.

This is your fic. Your rules. You can ask for any vibe you need, comfort, angst, but we also lean into the humor. After all, we’re in control here... aren't we?

All my readers are gender neutral, but again, if you request something specific I can change that. Fresh soup.

While I don't find myself writing smut I do consider this blog to be 18+ because of the story themes. I do not want minors on my posts because I care about your mental health and sometimes reading certain fics can be damaging and permanently alter you. I don't want that. Your brain chemistry is important. YOU ARE IMPORTANT. So you have been warned. No ageless blogs!

Okay so the fic's are going to start as goes:

Midnight

30 Minutes --- Nemuris only got 30 minutes to work with her favorite stinker, and she's gonna make them count. You just wish you could stop thinking of her as a mom.

Aizawa

In their shoes --- Aizawa's best and brightest troublemaker by far. The only difference is that you don't talk. Ever. Getting you to open up is like trying to bring back the dead. So what can he do?

Take you on a walk outside. Maybe you'll talk, maybe you won't. But he's going to try and make you feel better by the end of it. Even if it's just a tiny bit.

Yamada

Stuck on Mute ---- Mic's gotta figure out how to get his soft spoken new assignment to open up in spite of his loud nature. And it does work! After a near death incident...

Enji

Family Jewels --- Enji comes across a student that's much more like himself than they initially let on. Maybe he's right for the job after all.

Fat Gum

Knock out --- Taishiro swaps assignments with Rumi and finds himself at odds with a student that has anger issues.

Mirko

Respawn? --- Rumi fucked up with her first student and now has a... very shy, kiddo to put it nicely. No idea how to communicate with them. So she hands up her gym bag and picks up a controller.

Hawks

Nap time --- Keigo can't get his new unimpressed spooky student with PTSD to open up after their recent villian attack until he gets personal.

All Might

NOT MY GRANPA --- Yagi finds himself assigned to a student that is every old mans worst fear: A modern trendy alternative teenager. But PLOT TWIST, you have social anxiety. Just like him. Good news, you and Toshinori click instantly and he adores you. You love time with your grandpa figure!

Bad news, you're a fighter and get into a bad situation after a nasty brawl...

More to come soon.

I've got some fic's in the workshop but please request some. If you do request please see my rules page or just DM me and ask.

Overall, this should be a safe space for everyone to enjoy and have fun while reading.

I also have a ko-fi now if you'd like to support me. :3 Not mandatory but always appreciated.

Pssst, my ao3 is alive and open for all readers.

See you soon!

-Angie

[qprsmackdown]

propaganda (under the readmore):

BENCHTRIO PROPAGANDA:

My friend wrote a fanfiction detailing their platonic relationship from childhood friends to spouses. It is over 1 million words long. Pls he needs this

my good friend sunny wrote over 1million words of fanfiction about them that was so good it permanently altered my brain chemistry. also i think the feat of over 1mil words is worth the win (:

Ranboo and Tubbo are canonically married, semi-canonically platonically so. Tubbo and Tommy have known each other for years, and have an understanding of each other that no one else does. Tommy and Ranboo went through a very awkward and begrudging beginning of their friendship, but Ranboo would go on to make Tommy's grave when he died.

I want to start off by stressing that these 3 are characters and are not at all connected to the real world creators that portrayed them aside from having the same name.

c!Ranboo and c!Tubbo were canonically married, with the nature of their marriage being largely ambiguous and up for interpretation! They live together in a mansion with their adopted child, Michael, a tiny baby piglin! c!Tommy was never an official part of their marriage, but the three spent so much time together(before the series' writing took a very unfortunate turn due to behind the scenes stuff) that they might as well have been a qpr polycule! It is confirmed that c!Ranboo(an 8'5 foot tall enderman hybrid) can only look 2 people directly in the eyes with it being STRONGLY implied those 2 people were c!Tommy and c!Tubbo! Their relationship didn't get as much time as it needed due to the series's unfortunate downturn near the end, but while it was there, it was a very comforting, very tender relationship between 3 traumatized young queer teens who were their for one another through their journeys in healing from their various traumas. Also one time c!Tommy and c!Ranboo got high together in a tiny smoke box they made(they also met when Ranboo hit him on the head with a giant flower. An allium, to be specific!).

MAJORWOOD PROPAGANDA:

i went so insane about them they spawned inside my brain, guys ever

They are the Mean Gills and they are canonically qpr!! They would also canonically die for each other

Canon QPR! Confirmed by cc!Martyn :D (he confirmed it on stream after the series ended)

They're canonically a QPR guys!!!! Both the CC's who play the characters have said that they see them as being in a QPR!!!!!! literally the first time ever i've seen any media ever portray a qpr of some sort

someone in Martyn's chat explained what a QPR was and he said "oh that sounds like me and Scott"

[lavenderapollo]

more things from my production of hamlet that permanently altered my brain chemistry

getting to pick out my own costume, wearing an old peacoat that i eventually took with me to college

all of the tiny details of my costume that nobody but myself noticed

horatio wearing a tiny heart locket because of the whole “heart’s core” thing

horatio fiddling with the necklace while watching the play within a play, while watching the fencing match

our director cut the script to create a deeper relationship between horatio and gertrude while hamlet is away getting captured by pirates

the letter scene

hamlet and horatio reading hamlet’s letter in sync, except hamlet reads “horatio” alone in the beginning and horatio reading “hamlet” alone at the end of the letter

horatio going straight from the letter scene into a conversation with gertrude about ophelia’s health

horatio being in ophelia’s mad scenes, watching her break down and cry, assisting with her wheelchair

gertrude relying on horatio for the truth about hamlet’s whereabouts

horatio staying with gertrude as she dies, then attending to laertes, then finally, to hamlet

our director remind our hamlet to “die center!!!”

hearing the bows music for the first time (the other side by david gray)

wittenberg crew making each other friendship bracelets (r&g had matching “rosie” and “guildy” bracelets, ho&ham had bracelets that read “good night” and “sweet prince” respectively)

making myself a bracelet that said “L + horatio”

THE GRAVEDIGGER SCENE

wearing my peacoat in the final scene, then tearing it off to give to laertes as he’s dying

hamlet holding claudius’ head, forcing him to drink the poison, then finishing him off with a small little nick to the ear, giving claudius a taste of his own medicine

ophelia having one fleeting moment of clarity when she sees laertes, running to hug him

polonia taking an awkward family photo with her kids, chastising them for not smiling enough

(accidentally photobombing those photos during rehearsals)

i mentioned yorick hot potato in the last post, but i didn’t mention that i pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer after tossing the skull away

the lighting, the set

having to carefully fumble my way offstage once the lights went down, the three times i almost tripped over a foil

and the one time where i actually did

after that they put glow tape on the stage

our set designer crafted an entirely original crest for the hamlet family, using nordic, danish, and even some tolkien characters for inspiration

seeing the set for the first time

our first time staging the death scene

there’s a photo of me in my lil spot by hamlet, surrounded by dead bodies and bathed in red light just kinda going like 😁👍👍

crushing the other teams at shakespeare trivia during our closing night cast party

[rin-and-jade]

In-Between Lines: A Post about Blurring, Blending & Fusing

We are like colors in a single palette, each with its own distinct vibrancy that our eyes can easily tell apart. Sometimes, when these colors touch, they create a faint overlap, making it difficult to distinguish where the red ends or when the blue is still truly blue upon contact,

Hopefully metaphor above explains how different colors may appear similar when mixed together, even though they are actually quite different depending on how one approaches the method. As how we will perceive today's topic similarly as.

Fast pass: TL;DR on bottom.

What are the difference, anyway..

It's definitely tough trying to grasp these definitions when we live our lives separated as parts, sometimes this topic may also appear mysterious as many don't talk on it.

Throw your worries away, as it is far from scary, or a bad thing to experience, nor it is impossible to understand, here's my breakdown on them, firstly:

Blur When the lines between distinct parts are reduced, though still walled up, it causes a partial leak of traits or behaviors from one part to another. Because this is the weakest level of penetration through the amnesia barriers, these qualities spill out incompletely. This makes it difficult to determine which traits belong to which part, or to identify who you feel closest to when experiencing blurring. An example would be putting on a gaussian blur filter to an object, the clear outline between the table and table is harder to separate, making it difficult to identify their exact details, though you can still vaguely recognize them.

Blend During blending, the barriers between parts are temporarily weakened, creating better transmission of traits and thoughts compared to blurring. From this, the overlaps between parts become more visible, making it easier to tell which traits belong to each part. In this state, they may be aware of the emotions and behaviors of other parts, while still able to distinguish it from their own qualities. Think of blending as an additional extension to your current personality state. An example would be applying a semi transparent image above an existing one, some overlaps fits with the main image, though the relevance or the elements from the second image is still be able to be told apart.

Fuse This is where the barriers completely dropped, where blending is the temporary and less complete form of it only, fusing is where you fully accept and be aware of the overlapping traits as your own. Since there's no more dissociation between the two parts, you will start to identify previously other's traits as yours. Fusing is a more stable and permanent state compared to blending. An example would be building a bigger version out of existing tiny lego creations. The block colors would mix, and the final outcome reflects what the smaller buildings looked like previously, the separated buildings were never gone or altered, but unified despite distinct, unlike how most think fusing feels like.

Why does it happen?

Honestly this topic by itself is complicated while i'd like to keep it as compact as possible. So here's the straight forward reasons why blur and blend can happen:

When you find yourself in a blur, it can be due to..

Stress - due to triggers or feelings that arises from other parts, which partially leaked and is affecting the overall mental state. This greatly varies, depending on the capacity to handle stress.

Exhaustion - due to not having enough energy to expend into distinguishing parts or gain clarity on what's going inside. For some they will blur more often when tired, while some will not be as frequent or never, depending on resilience.

Unfocused - confusion, or disorientation, means the brain cannot function normally to respond to internal or external cues, leaving gaps in details and attention. Other comorbids that affects attention and cognitive abilities will also heavily affect this.

Currently busy - due to how a demanding task requires your full attention, that being said, other functions are currently being upheld. This also depends on how much load a person can handle, some would be unaffected from it.

Fixing blurriness consists of various solutions, such as getting enough sleep or breaks, being in a less energy-demanding space, hydrating adequately, and proper nutrition. As blurriness can be caused by brain fog, it generally takes time to recover and function normally again.

The span of being blurry can vary for everyone, it can be short as for a few hours or days at best, or it can last months depending on your lifestyle and current life situation. Pay attention to what things can blur you, a pattern should bring insight.

When you find yourself to be in a blend, it can be due to..

Significant stress - stronger reactions to a situation cause other parts to bleed their behaviors. Different stress will cause different intensities on blurring.

Triggers - due to parts respond to something they resonate with, although not strong enough to switch, heavily influencing temporary behavior. Just like from stress, different triggers does the same.

Emotional charges - similar to triggers, but specifically with any negative or positive emotions, causing a sudden shift in thinking or feelings. The types of emotions and how intense will affect a blend, too.

Attempt to communicate - due to accidental integration when trying to be aware, connect/communicate, or understand others, as the qualities flow more than usual, creating an uncalled moment of blend.

Fixing blend would depend on situation. Generally if it is harmless, opt to wait it out until the lines of separation builds up again or alternatively, reclaim your clarity on what qualities or traits belong to you, and what belonged to the other to encourage severing a blend.

If it is due to harmful/difficult situations, it is much better to resolve or minimize the severity of the blend until you regain composure and process any emotional/thought bleeds that is causing a blend.

You missed the last one,

Ofcourse i won't forget about it, just that it is a very different aftermath compared to the previous ones.

What is fusing

Fusing is similar to blending, which is a temporary version, though this time you identify all of the qualities of the other parts more permanently and consistently as your own. The process to fusion can look like a seamless flow or can find it be more challenging to integrate. What it feels like

Unlike the circulating ideas of what fusing feels like, no parts are truly gone or have their highlighted traits disappeared. Consider it like mixing the colors blue and red to create a dominant purple hue. Although traces of blue and red can still be seen, the idea is that blue and red still exist closely enough that they are nearly indistinguishable, yet the essence of the pure colors is never gone.

An easier way to understand it is like emulsifying water and oil by shaking it. These two elements never create something entirely new but they are evenly dispersed, creating a tangible idea of integration.

You will start to like what the previous parts would've said, you will also be able to view and react to a situation in a more nuanced way as you had obtained another pov, and you will feel the more complex or sometimes opposing information that still can be true.

For example, A was a protective and cautious part towards people, and B was a compassionate and kind part due to its morals,, these two had constantly disagreed and fought over how the situation must be handled due to the inability to integrate the separate opinions/views. Now that they both fused, as C, upon meeting a new stranger, instead of A's natural instinct to fully avoid interaction, B's gentle demeanor thought that it would be rude. So C responds by approaching the stranger with curiosity, understanding that not all are evil, though still wary just in case for safety as A would, to prevent another negative experience.

What encourages a fuse

Working on trauma, which involves addressing and processing the compartmentalized and unprocessed emotional or mental damage of the past, encourages fusing. Since parts exist to hold and separate the pain, hiding the whole picture. To integrate is to fuse.

Working on triggers, uncovering repressed memories, processing unfinished business, healing unhealthy behaviors or mindsets, and establishing overall acceptance of your own parts will make the barriers for self protection become meaningless, creating an easier time to fuse and feel more whole, with better control between facets.

When you don't want to fuse

It's pretty valid, some are more comfortable being whole, while some would prefer being distinct yet fully functioning.

The alternative to this would be functional multiplicity, where the integration manifests differently as better internal communication, equal cooperation, sharing the same goal for the future, have healthy conflict resolutions between each other, respecting each part's boundaries, and lastly, able to be aware of other parts and their emotions.

Functional Multiplicity and Full Fusion are equally good, they are neither worser or better, as it heavily depends on the person's preference and comfort level.

Last notes

Remember, blurring, blending, and fusing never looks the same for everyone, everything written here are given purpose as insights on how it generally will look like.

What do you previously think fusing is like? Is it as you'd expect after reading it? Feel free to share your experiences related to this topic too, i'd love to hear them all! (though sorry, i don't think i can reply to everyone if so)

Feel free to let me know if you have questions, or need help in this topic! My DMs and askbox will still be available, although i also want to announce that i am taking 1-2 weeks of break before continuing again to enjoy my academic holiday.

(due to reason of how educative posts easily exceed 10 hours in process before release including interviewing, researching, and writing from start to end.. im tired)

TL;DR

Blurring, blending, and fusing are different levels of integration that can manifest in a system.

Blur: Partial leaks of traits between parts due to reduced but intact barriers. It’s the weakest form of integration, making it hard to identify distinct traits. Example: A Gaussian blur filter on an image, making objects hard to distinguish.

Blend: Temporary weakening of barriers, allowing more traits to flow between parts. Traits are more identifiable but still distinct. Example: A semi-transparent image overlay, showing both images' details.

Fuse: Permanent merging of parts, integrating all traits as one’s own. Traits from all parts are combined, creating a coherent personality. Example: Mixing colors to create a new hue while retaining traces of the original colors.

Reasons for Blurring & Blending:

Stress: Triggers cause partial leaks or stronger reactions.

Exhaustion: Lack of energy to distinguish parts.

Unfocused: Confusion or disorientation.

Busy: Demanding tasks take full attention.

Managing Blurring & Blending:

Blurring: Rest, reduce stress, stay hydrated, proper nutrition.

Blending: Wait for clarity, resolve stressful situations, reclaim individual traits.

Fusing:

Process: Working on trauma, triggers, repressed memories, and acceptance of all parts encourages fusing.

Outcome: Unified personality with integrated traits, retaining the essence of original parts.

Functional Multiplicity: Preferred by some, involves cooperation and communication between distinct parts without full integration, achieving similar functionality.

Remember, these processes vary greatly for each individual. Blurring, blending, and fusing can look different for everyone, and both full fusion and functional multiplicity are valid approaches depending on personal preference and comfort.

- j

[blindbatalex]

bruins hrpf recs from the server #5

Hello again! The theme for this week was ✨ a fic that broke your heart ✨ Below are our recs:

rec lists so far: || week 4 || week 3 || week 2 || week 1 ||

A (Little) Slice of Heaven by Anonymous || willypasta || 11,541 words || reccer's notes: this fic rewired my brain. I read it months and months and months ago and I have yet to recover. 11/10 I come back to it way more than I probably should

(and i’ve got a plane to catch) you drove me all the way back by @fvcking-damage || mcgryz || 2,862 words || reccer's notes: this is some self-indulgent mcgryz angst i wrote a couple of years ago, idk what i was writing out with this one but. yeah

and turns to dust by adjacently || Jordan Eberle/Taylor Hall || 2,130 words || reccer's notes: i can eat taylor hall angst for breakfast, lunch, and dinner

between your love and mine by @blindbatalex || willypasta || 6,360 words || reccer's notes: This is a story about trying to reconcile two sides of your identity that are at irreconcilable conflict with one another, and what having your wings clipped like that at a young age does to a person.  I certainly broke my own heart while writing it.

dancing by @rasksmoustache || marcheron || 1,111 words || reccer's notes: This fic is so vivid and visceral and sad, it permanently altered my brain chemistry.  Unrequited (but is it really?) marcheron which gets the feeling of loving someone and being just a little too late so so well

Done & Undone by @ghostgeno || marcheron || 14,428 words || reccer's notes: 2023 Game 7, the aftermath. Fair warning: I don’t reread this very often because of how effectively it puts you in Brad’s headspace immediately after the game, in brutal, excruciating detail. And yet. And yet. If you feel like being taken apart and then put back together, if you want to feel all the loss and tenderness and love that remains despite the loss, read this fic.

good at secrets by @fridgefishwrites || prefix boys; mcgryz || 4,017 words || reccer's notes: this fic meant (and means) so much to me because it just gets what trying to live your life and build something beautiful while faced with unrelenting homophobia is like.  I love the non-linear narrative and the prefix boys but it was always Matt who stole the show for me in this story

like a stranger by blindbatalex || marcheron || 13,142 words || reccer's notes: not a fic alex hasn't read before (sorry bud) but i'm Obsessed with fics where the characters talk past each other and the angst compounds and this fic is a perfect example of that, amongst other things!!!

make no apologies by @sphesphe || marcheron || 3,757 words || reccer's notes: Brad gets himself suspended before the Winter Classic and Patrice takes it harder than he thinks he should.  He plays it off as fine, things happen, just be better Marchy but it isn't true. He's angry. After the game, Brad stops by, they have a talk and lo and behold, feelings emerge! (And much more!)

Sixth Borough by bookhousegirl || Jimmy Hayes/Frank Vatrano || 3,067 words || reccer's notes: The third in a trilogy of fics featuring this pairing. This is a very quiet little vignette featuring two former Bruins who were not stars and did not end up experiencing great success in their time here. It exists entirely in the gray of adult complications and disappointments, and refuses any easy catharsis, and is beautiful for those reasons. For those of us who cared about the Bruins in the (relatively) dismal era between 2015-17 it may come across as a tiny time capsule; for everyone else, I hope the delicate way it honors the hopes and dreams of those who don’t become hometown heroes, who don’t get the happily everafter ending, stays with you.

Westward Expansion by bookhousegirl || Jimmy Hayes/Frank Vatrano || 3,625 words || reccer's notes: Jimmy stares out vacantly at the coaster climbing the track. “Just because we’re from the same place doesn’t mean we’re from the same place.” When Frank takes Jimmy to Six Flags, he expects it to be a fun day, showing Jimmy all the rides he used to love growing up. Jimmy is distracted though, melancholy because Frank has so much promise and Jimmy took so long to get to where he is.

Wolverine Feed by @sphesphe || swaymark || 10,659 words || reccer's notes: fic that makes me ill each and every time i think about it

[thenamesblurrito]

rito i've been unavle to get rungblast out of my head, i started thinking about it originally like "non-emotional bad guy meets tiny psychologist and the rest is history" in a semi-silly way and

its no longer silly.

shockblast holds him gently, rung touches his finials reverently and the two don't have to talk. they can work together, read and research together and enjoy the mutual silence and companionship. || also i accidentally made shockwave and shockblast syscoded (system coded) and i might actually also be a system. so i predicted myself.

i think rung would find that interesting, but he'd be so sweet about it. learns about their little quirks and thoughts and behaviors and is able to tell them both apart, even if the lights are off. maybe shockwave slouches a little more than blast does, maybe blast wiggles his finials more. rung can always tell who's who because he wants to know them both.

sory i just love them so much im nausesos

lol you are being CONSUMED such is the nature of niche ships smh they infect your brain forever

i think it makes sense that a permanent relic victim like Shockblast may end up psychologically balancing out into different alters, one being primarily relic-based and the other being the original host. and Rung would be a pretty excellent person to help navigate that considering his profession. and between the efforts of both alters, i'm sure Shockblast may find it easy to remember Rung, which is a boon for all of them.

Shockblast in canon is very driven and possessive of that which he thinks is 'correct' including people so i'm picturing Rung ending up like something of a teddy bear to be clutched lol

[abiiors]

Ross Holding the reader's belly and when his hand softly grazes he feels the baby's first kick .

writing dad!ross is always so cute 🤭❤️

the first time ross feels his brain chemistry being permanently altered is on a lazy saturday afternoon. he's refused to let you clean the house (“i can do it by myself” and “i don't want you bending and exerting yourself”) but after much arguing and lowkey threatening on your part, he relents that you can hoover a bit around the living room just as long as you're comfortable doing it.

he's also in a slight mood, he's been in a mood for a bit because all the worries of impending fatherhood have just started to dawn on him. 

you've answered plenty of late-night "what if i'm a shit father" questions with the patience of a saint but every time you see the little crease between his brows, you know what's about to come. you turn the hoover off, walk up to him and hug him from behind. the bump is still relatively small so you want to savour this for as long as it lasts.

you know he needs to be sat down and firmly told at least once a day that he’s going to be a fantastic father and you’re quite happy to do that until he starts believing it himself so that’s exactly what you do. 

you sit him down and snuggle up to him. it’s second nature to him now to immediately place his hand on your bump.

“you’re overthinking,” you point out, stern but gentle. 

“mmm.”

yep, figures. you sigh, closing your eyes and resting your head on his shoulder while he absentmindedly caressed your bump. it’s gentle, it’s nice. unfortunately, you’re sure you can physically hear the wheels in his head turning.  

“but what if she hates me?” 

you raise an eyebrow at him—first at the fact that you don’t know the gender yet but he’s adamant that the baby is a she. 

“ross…” you take a deep breath, fully turning to him, and grab his face in your hands. almost a perfect mirror of the way he cradles your stomach. “love… she’s not going to hate you.”

“look at you,” you continue, rubbing soothing circles on his cheek with your thumb. “you’re already so perfect to me, to both of us. sure, you make me go crazy when you hover like that—”

“hey!” he protests but you place your thumb on his lip, effecting shushing him. 

“let me finish, love. you have been perfect since day one. helping me through morning sickness and late-night cravings. making sure i never feel like i’m going through this alone. and we still have almost half the pregnancy to go through. you’re going to be a proper dad in no time! you already are, sweetheart, don’t think i’ve forgotten all the horrible dad jokes you’ve cracked this week.”

that makes him smile—a wide smile, dimples and all. one that has your insides fluttering. and fluttering some more. weirdly enough, it lasts much longer than you’re used to, weirder still, ross abruptly stops rubbing your stomach, frowning in concentration. 

“is she—” he starts, only to be interrupted by what is unmistakably a tiny kick. 

“oh my god,” you press a hand to your mouth in astonishment, smiling the widest you ever have while your baby continues to move around. 

“oh my love…” ross sniffles, instantly getting teary-eyed and bending down to kiss your stomach, only for the flutters to move right where his lips are. 

your daughter already recognising her dad’s voice. 

“see, she loves you. she already recognises you!” you laugh, still giddy from the kicks and movement, still in complete awe. 

ross finally straightens, looking at you with a knowing smile. “so you agree,” his smile has gone all coy, “you think we’re having a girl too.”

you’re about to protest until you realise how you’ve been subconsciously referring to your baby as a she for some time now. without even realising it. and now that he has pointed it out, it’s glaringly obvious.

“i do,” you smile at him again, rubbing your stomach, the spot where you last felt her move. “hello, my darling,” you speak softly and get a flutter in response. “i adore you already.”

[hsonlyangel]

Hi friends💕 I haven’t been on this blog for over 4 years (!!) but in light of recent events, I didn’t know where else to turn.

I can’t emphasize what a key role One Direction played in shaping my teen years. My first exposure to fan fiction was with 1D fics and oh boy did that open up a can of worms. I still have a Pinterest board from 2012 with everything from cute pics of the boys to unhinged (borderline incoherent) imagines. In tenth grade, I bought school supplies with Liam’s face on it because I was a Liam girlie before Harry *gasp*. I saw This Is Us in theaters and the Teenage Dirtbag sequence permanently altered my brain chemistry (seriously, give it a rewatch). When the Best Song Ever music video came out, I tortured my little brother by playing it on loop. I sat in shocked silence in my sociology class as news broke of Zayn leaving the band. My college roommate indulged me as I lost my mind over the release of the carpool karaoke video. I’m approaching 30 now but all of these memories are *so* fresh in my mind.

Although I don’t listen to them as much as I did a decade ago, when I need a pick me up or dose of teenage nostalgia, I throw on 1D. On Wednesday, I needed some cheering up so I put on some of their music and it helped, as always. The last song I listened to was Love You Goodbye and then I planned to go about my errands as usual. About 15 minutes later, in the middle of a bookstore, I got a text from my mom saying Liam had passed away. It felt like the world stopped. Getting back in the car to drive home, 1D came back on the queue and grief hit me like a Mack truck. Less than an hour before, I had been happily singing along to their music and now Liam’s just…gone? It doesn’t feel real. None of my friends were ever Directioners so I don’t really have an outlet for this grief. Which brings me here.

I’m not on social media much anymore for my mental health, but I knew that Tumblr was one of the only places where I would feel seen and understood in the aftermath of this loss. I was caught off guard by the depths of my grief and I just can’t stop crying. I see deep cuts of the band in their early days and the throwbacks that used to make me laugh now make me weep. The songs that got me through some of the most difficult times in my life will never be experienced the same way. I couldn’t afford 1D tickets while they were touring but a tiny part of me was hoping one day I could see them on a reunion tour in honor of my inner teen. I keep vacillating between denial and devastation and the whole situation is still so surreal.

Even though it’s under heartbreaking circumstances, it’s been so validating and heartwarming to see members of this community coming back and reminiscing, being open about their grief, and supporting one another. It’s hard to describe how deeply this hurts to people outside of the Directioner bubble, but I know y’all get it. I don’t know how to begin processing this but I’m gonna try.

Sending so much love and strength to everyone affected by this. You are not alone❤️

[actuallyevilgay]

The Apathy (Part 2)

Astarion x Male Reader/Tav

DNI if you are a minor. Dead dove don’t eat. Please read my about before replying. Content: Astarion x Male tav, this is post epilogue.

Summary: Once Astarion learns from Withers Tav is somewhere in Neverwinter, he intends to find his lost love. We learn from Tav's perspective what he has been doing all this time. Reminders: Astarion is the vampire ascendant, Tav is not a heroic figure. Contains headcanons for several characters, contains headcanons for illithid brain alteration but not evolving. Tav uses daggers and magic. Astarion is an Arcane Trickster Rogue. I created several npcs. Some Neverwinter lore is mentioned. Content Warnings: Tav suffering from depression / ptsd, self-neglect. This part contains implied sexual attempted assault. A/N: The first part is here: link I had fun writing part 2. Angstttt..

The plan used to be, to make no plan... For Astarion- Strategy had not been on his mind for 200 years up until he gained a palace and a title. He used to be a magistrate, sure- however.. The laws changed. He was learning the ropes again. Manipulating a few political allies and gaining some influence was easy in his position. Baldur’s gate believed him to be a benevolent contributor to the repairs of the city. In the six months of his reign behind the curtains, the city’s damage from the mind flayer invasion was but a stain in the back of everyone’s memory. Unlike Cazador, Astarion did not depend on fear. He preferred enticing and seducing his targets, but not with his body. With promises, promises he could fulfil. If you play tyrant for too long, people will want you gone. If you pretend to be a saint, people become complacent. Happy, they want you around. They will keep your secrets, and reveal their secrets, to be wielded like daggers. Ready and willing for a stab in the back. But no one has dared to leverage his, Astarion was too useful. Despite Jaheira’s distaste for him, her and her harper's caution did not warrant a fight. Astarion was too interested in making sure the city was safe, not just for him but for all the people who became dependent on him. And thus, Jaheira kept her mouth shut, tolerating his very damned existence.

He had sired a fair few, hundreds spawn in that time, many of which were servants, others who became his eyes and ears. As the ascendant, his blessing was more subtle, safe for a few differences… Not all spawn would gain red eyes, and while the majority could tolerate the sun just fine, that gift would fade should they leave the near vicinity of the mansion. Others suffered light sensitivity in the eyes, requiring them to wear masks or glasses to hide their vampirism. The fangs, the paler skin was all there, they could easily hide their nature and live off air, water and bread, threading borders and wading through water. The sun remained a tiny problem for the most part, but not for Astarion himself.

The mansion acted as an anchor point of this connection, even if Astarion left for a while, his connection to this place and the ritual location connected him to all his spawn in the city. The longer he stayed, the larger a permanent safety net became. As a result his spawn eagerly bounced around the city without much worry. 

There were rules of course, they were not to talk about their nature. They could not feed off strangers unless it was to kill off a problem permanently, someone who would not be missed. The bodies would have to be disposed of.

If anything, it felt peaceful. Astarion had his ambitions of course, as an immortal he had time enough to pan out his plans to make sure it would outlive any of his predecessors, as well as foes and friends alike.

The high from which he fell, the very jump that had pushed Tav away made him wary of the newly gained instincts. Desires, the need to covet power.. He would not let it control him again. It was a tool to be used warily. All his abilities were great, but he was not a god.

If he could rise to his position, someone could rise to a position to annihilate him if he made himself a big enough nuisance.

A portion of his instincts raged against the idea of staying sated, it wanted to be full. Being sated kept him going, he had no need to cause suffering. Yet. Suffering should have a purpose, yes? To indulge in those habits could make one thread dangerous waters. He had enough of the idea of walking through acid, still remembering his torture deeply.

All this thinking made him lonely.

Astarion looked to his throne in silence, listening to the sound of his servants moving things around and preparing their tools. He was not going alone to Neverwinter, and he could not leave his position without a caretaker in place.

Jaheira was not aware of it, but one of her harpers was his spawn. A recruit by the name of Alice. Alice was a rather small Tiefling girl, soft spoken and highly intelligent.

She made a bow as Astarion turned to her. ‘’I will be leaving for an undisclosed amount of time, I take it that you will continue your role as we discussed?’’

Alice nodded in response. ‘’I will report any noteworthy news.’’ Satisfied, Astarion dismissed her quickly, only for the next few servants to walk in. He revelled in the respect he received, trying not to show off how much he enjoyed their devotion and loyalty.

Two of the new faces were his personal bodyguards, the only two people he’d be bringing. Who’s to say Neverwinter didn’t have plenty of fresh people to make use of? He certainly preferred travelling light.. And in disguise. Both of the bodyguards were high elves, fraternal twin brothers. One rarely spoke, the other was tricky. His personality changed depending on who he was speaking to, as he used to be a theatre actor before taking this job. Vandelion and Tyselius. Vand and Ty for short.

They greeted with a salute and bow, the last person to talk to was standing behind them, waiting her turn. Astarion gestured for them to step aside so he could speak to his Chamberlain.

‘’Saralyn dear.’’ Astarion smiled at her, even though she avoided his gaze. Previously a human, Saralyn was one of his first spawn. ‘’You will manage business while I am away, is there anything you need before my departure?’’ 

‘’Nothing of note m’lord, my only request is for a bodyguard.’’

‘’Oh? Are you concerned about your safety? That is new.’’ Astarion’s brows lifted in surprise.

‘’It is simply the first time I am left in my position without your guidance and protection. I want to be sure to do my job well without risks.’’ Her speaking revealed no ill intent, only honesty.

‘’Very well, assign whomever you please from the dormitory as your personal guard.’’

‘’Thank you, my lord..’’

Enough formalities. His patience was wearing thin. Everything was done, preparations were made. They were leaving. Now.

Off to wherever Tav was, Neverwinter. What would he be doing in such a rich city? Living off trade? Did he pick up a job? Why would he push away Gale’s attempts to reach him?

If only that answer was so simple.

….

Neverwinter was vast, Volo called it the most civilised city in all of faerûn. Markets, shops, anything you could think of was sold here, if it was legal of course. There were enough things about this place that made you wonder if it was crime free. It certainly wasn’t.

Despite the cosmopolitan paradise, riches were still divided. Even if nobles were taxed heavily to share the wealth across the place, any rich civilisation invited division regardless.

You roamed the streets, catching sight of snowflakes as one landed on your nose.

Cold. It’s going to get cold.

Your clothes were worn, to the average pedestrian you looked like a beggar. To someone more prejudiced and worried for their life; you looked like a thief, or trouble.

The guard was aware of you, but never saw you act out any crimes. You would sit in public areas, watching folk pass by, wandering aimlessly until you were out of sight.

Like many times before, you took your pick. Using strange psychic abilities to displace items into your pockets. You would never aim for the better trinkets, just little things.. Like misplaced gold coins, or rusty coppers. Gold they can miss, a necklace? Maybe. If it looked like a family heirloom, you certainly avoided it. So far no one has reported their losses.

You only took what could easily be traded for food. During the nights, you would find a place to sleep on the docks, below a bridge, or an abandoned market stall.

Why are you here? One might wonder. There was no answer for it. You simply were here. 

As you nodded off, the cold was getting to you. A voice called out to wake your anxious body jerk right up. ‘’You poor sod.’’ It was a wintershield watchman, one you’ve met before. Never talked to, though. But his face was plain enough to remember. Remember.

‘’It’s certainly not the time of the year for you to sleep outside. I can’t stand it.’’ The man complained, you looked at him dully, wondering when he would leave you be, so you could sleep.

‘’How about I treat you to a night at the inn? Hmm?’’ His tone changed, but you couldn’t place with intentions. Your neck hairs stood up with caution. ‘’What’s your bargain, guard? I doubt you’d offer something so freely.’’ The man smirked in response.

‘’I’ll tell you, but first.. How about a warm meal?’’

The tavern was pretty empty, small. One quick look would make one assume it was not a popular establishment. Another one and you questioned the type of customers this place had. It wasn’t loud, but it felt.. Suspicious.

Your stomach disagreed with you, and you hungrily gorged on the dinner the man purchased for you. If not for the food, you would’ve noticed his obsessive staring. His eyes lingered on your dirtied face, picturing something.

‘’What is your name?’’ He asked, causing you to look up from your plate. ‘’..Why do you want to know?’’ Your eyes warily scanned the man. You did not trust him one bit, but you were so damn hungry. A part of you was ready to kill him if needed. You didn’t care if they threw you in jail.. At least you’d be somewhere inside. Hidden. ‘’Tav…My name is Tav..’’ 

Why you wanted to hide, you could not place. What were you hiding from? A headache?

No.. This food was too good. Just think about the food. Eat your heart out. Ignore this man.

Once finished, you watched the man pay for a room, he took you upstairs, guiding you inside. A warm bed was waiting for you, not the best.. But better than the stone floors of Neverwinter. Better than frostbite and cold feet.

Then.. The door lock made a loud sound behind you. The once too friendly guard grabbed you by the throat, slamming you onto the bed. Your vision quickly turns white, and before you know it, you’re covered in blood, drifting in the water by the docks, unsure what just happened.

Disoriented by the sudden displacement, you force yourself to swim back to the shore, fighting the nausea and coughing up from the cold. Shuddering.

There’s shouting, yelling in the distance. Fear. You wanted to run.. Did you kill the man? Did he drug you? The water already washed away any evidence. You search yourself for wounds but find none. Perhaps you did kill him, for one thing.. The dagger you hid below your shirt was missing. Your cloak was torn, making you believe there was a struggle and you got away.

You searched for the location of the fight in the distance. You could see the inn from where you stood. The roof was torn open, yet there were no signs of fire or explosion. Just a large hole, like a beast flew out. The guard certainly took notice, because you could see flashes of torches reaching the place.

Without much further thought, you jumped back in the water and swam to a different dock, to avoid leaving footsteps in the sand.

Once you reach the safety of the wooden planks, a fainting spell overtakes your body, but your stubborn reflexes refuse to let you pass out. Landing on your hands, you got right back up, jerking forward, eyes searching for the nearest hiding spot.

You notice the doors of a storage shed, likely used by the fishmongers. Once you got close enough, you halfway fell against the door, it opened just fine. Someone forgot to lock this place up it seems.

Exhausted, you drag yourself, crawling inside, hoping you aren’t bleeding and leaving no trail. It didn’t matter, even with the adrenaline, your body demanded sleep.

You face plant into the ground, unable to move. The fear kept you awake for a while, making you shake helplessly. Something awakened in your veins, a headache.. Then.. A quake. Some boxes fell, the sound of dead fish flopping over the floor was close .Afterwards, silence.

The silence was so deafening.

Morning came oh so rudely. A trail of light hits your wet face, you feel stiff. You hadn’t died of hypothermia, but you might soon.. Your instincts told you to get up and search for warmth.

The shed had many things, fish. Partially spoiled, some still fresh and preserved.

Firstly, you took boots that were laying around and happily discarded your old ones. For a moment, you looked at the scraps that previously covered your feet. The chunky old things had holes, and a strange familiarity. It made you sad as you stared. These boots must’ve been dear to you once, but you can’t fathom why it made your heart sink to toss them. Was it a family heirloom? No.. Maybe you’d just worn them for a very long time. It was nostalgia.

Some more searching and you found a few things they’d probably miss. A new bag you could slink around your waist, and a fresh shirt. It was old, smelled bad, and had a few patched holes, but it was good enough. A needle and thread later, and you repaired your cloak with some fabric you found.

Before leaving, you made sure to clean up the mess you made, hoping to hide your traces. A few fish they could miss as well, serving yourself some breakfast with a makeshift firebolt.

The docks were starting to become lively, not too crowded. You passed with ease back into the streets, returning to your usual habits. Wandering and taking things that could be missed. Your mind emptied itself of the events of last night. It happened, it passed.

 A thin layer of snow had started to cover the city landscape, greeting you bitterly.

Something about the season felt strange. As if you’d never seen snow before. Everything felt new, yet so strangely familiar. Images occasionally played in your head, showing the streets of a different city. It was confusing and disorienting at times, but you did not like the visions.

Something about the different city made you feel on edge. There was a vision of an explosion, fires. Bodies scattered among the rubble. Whatever that place was, you weren’t there anymore. You were here instead.

This morning, the usual charitable figures would approach you, not say a thing, but toss a few coins your way. They barely looked at you, feigning empathy, but truly they just pitied the sight of you. Hoping the money would be enough to make you leave.

One look at your reflection in the frozen fountain water spoke loudly. You were a mess. Your hair had grown longer, tangled, uncared for. Despite the fresh clothes, your face was covered in bruises and patches of dirt. You did not recognise your own face, vaguely recalling what it used to look like. Your eyes were dull, doll-like. Tired.

‘’Look at him. It reminds me of when this City had a Beggar’s Nest.’’ Gossip of two loud Elven nobles nearby took your attention, but you didn’t turn to face them.

‘’Hush! Enough of that. I don’t want to think about that damn volcano or the undead invasion again.’’ Afterwards, the couple huddled away quickly.

Your mind blanked. You are a beggar. That’s the closest to a sense of self you’ve gotten this past week. You’ve been here for at least a few months. Someone approached you with a letter a little while ago, but it made no sense to you. The place was vaguely described, and you did not know what any of it meant. The letter must’ve been misplaced, so you tossed it without much thought.

‘’You look like you could use some help.’’ Another voice. This time, it came from someone much smaller than you. A halfling woman, she looked at you with a bright smile. ‘’Want a job?’’ She offered. ‘’I’ve just opened a tavern nearby. Work for me.’’ The cheerfulness of the woman made you wary. ‘’I..I.. Don’t like taverns.’’ You stuttered. ‘’C’mon now lad.’’ She offered her hand. ‘’Let's get you warm, okay?’’ Something in you made you reach forward. She had this motherly feeling about her. Your height difference was a little awkward as she pulled you away from the public space as if you were a lost child.

All the way into her charming little building, she held your hand firmly, not tightly, but firm. She was strong, you could sense. Perhaps the woman had been an adventurer some time ago. All though it was more likely that you were skin and bones, you did not have much strength to go on with and last night reminded you of that.

‘’I am Jilvy Fogwater, This is my tavern! Do you have a name, dear?’’ The halfling woman spoke once you sat down. The tavern was definitely made for people of various heights. The woman grabbed a seat and climbed on top to meet you face to face. ‘’..Tav. It’s just Tav.’’

‘’Tav, hmm?’’ Jilvy cocked her head to the side. ‘’You seem so unsure..’’ She pondered, looking worried.

‘’No worries Tav! Let me take care of you from now on.’’ Her smile was warm and friendly. Something inside your empty head responded. Was that a sense of relief? You couldn’t tell.

Your emotions had been confusing for so long. The only things that made sense were your base instincts. Hide. Run. Steal. Eat. ‘’Okay..’’ You wanted to thank her, but you hesitated.

She nodded at your response in acknowledgement, turning around and pouring you a hot cup of tea from which you drank greedily.

‘’Usually the folks prefer beer at these kinds of establishments. I intend to serve breakfast and lunches without alcohol.’’ The woman continued to prattle on about her business venture. Something about healthier diets and battling addiction or whatever.

Your mind emptied as you eyed the wall. There were some pictures framed. Paintings. One of her family, probably. Another of a halfling child with a similar hair colour to you.

Perhaps this woman pitied you, or felt a need to heal from an old wound. You didn’t know, and you didn’t want to ask. Her motherly energy was difficult to ignore. You did not find it unwelcome, just odd. Everything was odd.

At the very least you didn’t feel lonely.

[saintsenara]

For the tag game can you tell us more about First Do No Harm :)

thank you very much, anon! first do no harm is an excellent choice from the work in progress tag game list.

provided you don't mind a bit of harrymort, with a snake-faced voldemort, rather than a hot one, that is.

[although - just as a pre-warning - i don't advise reading any further if you have health anxiety...]

i spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about the worldbuilding around wizarding medicine - and, in particular, how societal attitudes to illness and disability are changed by the fact that, canonically, magic can treat, cure, or render meaningless things which would, in our world, be considered permanent, chronic, life-limiting, or fatal.

[spoiler alert: i hate the fact that the series thinks this, since it pretty much justifies the blood-supremacist position that wizards and muggles are essentially different species... but that's a conversation for another day...]

the exception to the series' rule that wizards are more durable than muggles is its attitude towards brain injury and cognitive disability. the loss of cognitive function - which is implied to have a debilitating, irreversible impact on magical ability - is something the series finds uniquely horrifying. think of the brutal torture of frank and alice longbottom, the mind-altering power of the dementors, the fear of being placed under the imperius curse, and so on.

and i've been playing around a lot recently with how these thoughts could be used in fic - and, especially, how they could be used in a way which wasn't just me reeling off my notes from uni. not least because i don't know where those are.

and, obviously, how they could be tied into my actual favourite thing to write about...

harry potter and lord voldemort being forced to engage with the concept of love.

there is - of course - a very famous trope which medicalises love: hanahaki disease. and my original idea for first do no harm was to write something using this.

of real world diseases, hanahaki most closely resembles tuberculosis [a comparison which has been made in numerous fics, including a lovely bit of tomarry - consumption by @laeveteinn]. and i can understand why something tuberculosis-like grabs fic writers' imagination... after all, tb was considered incredibly glamorous in the victorian era - it makes you fashionably pale! it gives you big shiny eyes! it makes you look fragile and feminine and delicate! it makes you gives you an attractive flush on the cheekbones! it makes you cough blood delicately into a handkerchief! it consumes you from the inside out!

and it kills you.

[and it's getting harder to treat.]

and, sure, it makes a great metaphor for unrequited love. but for unrequited love which is sad, rather than terrifying and unwanted... and this fic is about love which is terrifying and unwanted.

which is where talking about the brain comes in...

when asked to name diseases which frighten them, most people would - and, indeed, should! - say rabies. and i do think there's something to be said for this humble virus - which can be transmitted by a tiny, unnoticeable bite from something as small as a bat; which has guaranteed its target is going to die in horrendous circumstances by the time they've even started to suspect that something's wrong - as a metaphor for love taking root without its host realising, and for how disorienting and overpowering love can be when it gets going.

rabies kills a bit too quickly for my purposes though...

lucky there's something just as horrifying lurking out there. a subset of neurodegenerative diseases known as transmissible spongiform encephalopathies. or prion diseases.

most people have very probably heard of at least one prion disease: bovine spongiform encephalopathy [mad cow disease - i.e. reveal you're a european millennial without saying you're a european millenial]; creutzfeld-jacob disease; kuru [famously transmitted via cannibalism]; and the one which has made me feel vaguely terrified since i first discovered it existed...

fatal familial insomnia. in which the prion-induced degeneration of the brain causes holes to appear in the thalamus - the area of the brain which regulates sleep - until it resembles a sponge.

and the patient can literally never sleep again.

for the rest of their life - usually within eighteen months of the disease's onset - they are held in hypnagogia [pre-sleep limbo, the state between wakefulness and sleeping]. they are disoriented, panicking, hallucinating, forgetful, losing control over their body, losing control over their entire sense of self...

[the face of prion diseases is the astonishing scientist sonia vallabh, who is trying to make as much progress towards a cure for fatal insomnia as she can before it kills her.]

you wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy.

well, maybe you would. if you didn't know that a bit of your worst enemy's soul lived inside your greatest weapon, or that your greatest weapon's blood kept your worst enemy's heart beating, or that they are most vulnerable to each other as their connected minds linger on the threshold of dreaming and waking...

how lucky that - unlike muggles, who just have to die from neurodegenerative diseases - this curse could be lifted from dear old harry and poor old snake-face voldemort if they put in a bit of effort and fall in love with each other...

ah.

shit.

[the title - first do no harm - is a bioethical phrase which is often misattributed as being part of the hippocratic oath. it is also just a generally sound philosophy to have in life. eh, albus?]

[soullessjack]

how was the con!! what did you put in the gift bag for alcal!? im curious! ^_^

IT WAS AMAZING!!!!!!!! Absolutely life changing permanently brain altering 100% would recommend doing but mind you it will be extremely emotionally exhausting and overwhelming (or it was in my case) so be mindful of that!

The gift bag had two of my favorite books:

> The Westing Game — a murder mystery slash funeral whodunnit sort of thing

> Who Am I? — an essay collection book about various peoples’ experiences with forming their identity and overall identity psychology (it’s one of my biggest special interests)

and then

> two ice wine teabags, because that’s one of my favorite tea flavors ever and the brand ironically is Canadian! Alex actually told me what ice wine is (basically a dessert drink) but he wasn’t aware there was a tea for it

> the note with all your guys’ messages!!

> a tiny drawstring bag full of gemstones I picked out of my rock collection bc he’s a crystal girlie! I had to have a friend help me actually identify them (shoutout 2 Asher my slime of all time) but they are, I think: aventurine, red hematoid quartz, amethyst, celestite, malachite, smoky quartz and I might have forgotten the rest actually

I think he liked the books most bc he was flipping through them right on the autograph table and told me how much he loved paperback books, and I’m so glad! These are my own books so I had to be very careful in picking ones I knew for sure that he would actually enjoy

and sorry I keep saying this but it just means the world to me so I absolutely have to. after I was done explaining the note from you guys as part of his gifts, he said “Oh, take this to pass along” and took a bracelet right off his wrist and handed it to me and I bawled my eyes out about it seven hours later (7 - 7)