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grabby-smitten · 6 months ago

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Concrete Jungle: King of the beasts

Summary: Buying a hybrid was not what you had in mind when you asked for independence. Sylus didn’t like humans but his owner was the exception.

Subjects: Albino lion Hybrid!Sylus x F!Reader

Word count: 4.1k+

Content Warnings: Hybrid AU, smut, owner reader, kissing, cunnilingus, P in V, breeding, cnc if u squint really hard, biting, textured tongue. Use of words like predator/prey, cunt, pussy, kitten. Not edited and no beta.

A.N: I learned that big cats can’t purr and I was so disappointed. Oh, well….ah! I might do one for each li. k bye 💋

“Are you sure, I need one?” You’ve asked your parents that question for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, a hybrid is a good caretaker and it would make us feel better knowing one is protecting you.” Your father answered with a tired smile, understanding your uneasiness but they weren’t going to change their mind.

Moving out and finally becoming independent was just one step away from happening. Your parents were against it at first. Coming from money means someone will always be after your trail, danger and they had overprotected you, their only daughter since… well, even before you were born. They weren’t able to have natural children so you were conceived through artificial methods. Which, according to your parents, was a whole ordeal and suffering. Details that you rather not know.

It was time, though, to deep your toes into a world of your own. You wanted freedom for once. No dozens of bodyguards, no tracking devices and no fear of the unknown.

The part of convincing your parents was hard. No, after no, after no. Until, the head of security, taking pity on you, suggested buying a hybrid for you. Not just any hybrid; one specially made to protect and serve.

Now it was your turn to profoundly refuse. Everyone had one and those who didn’t, desired one… like some kind of accessory. It sickened you and besides, you didn’t want another responsibility. You wanted your own life! Not taking care of some… dog? Cat? Fish?

In the end, you had no other choice but to agree and here you were, in some facility. Breeding facility? Training? You didn’t care enough to pay attention, honestly.

Walking behind your parents in an all-white hall, smelling like antiseptic and gagging at the chemical sensation in your throat, you started to notice how the white walls began to turn into cages. Placards hung in the walls near the tinted glass and steel bars of the cages with descriptions of the… hybrids?

Looking up from the labels, you finally realized you no longer were alone. Each cell was occupied by humanoid-shaped shadows. The tint of the reinforced glass obstructed your vision but it was clear they were there.

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize a couple of strangers had joined your family. Paying a bit more attention to their chatter, you concluded they were doctors or scientists from this facility. They were explaining something about their products and that it was the best the market could offer. You frowned at their words. It was like you were buying a car… they even explained the insurance policy.

“And this specimen, right here, is our finest hybrid!” One of the men talking to your parents loudly explained.

You stepped closer to the placard and read the few words it contained. ‘Albino Lion Hybrid (Panthera leo Hybrid, large cat family Felidae). Apex predator (no natural enemy known). Renowned king of the beasts. More active at night. Preferable habitats: grassland, dense scrub, savanna, and open woodland. Nomadic male.’

Your eyes widened once your brain processed the information. This was no guard dog or house cat. Before you could utter a complaint about how obnoxious this all was, the tinted glass cleared and you were looking straight into a pair of scarlet eyes.

Sylus almost laughed at the face of the female standing outside his cell. The little mouse seemed in shock to see him there. What was she expecting? Where else would he be? If not caged and on display here— absurd, he thought. All humans that came here, came for one thing and one thing only; to purchase a wild species, a unique breed to flaunt to their peers. Sylus continuously thought about how weird these humans behaved in society. Their hierarchy dynamics were messed up and he despised that.

You felt his eyes mocking you, such deep red and the only thing you could feel was irritation. Frowning, you turned your head and left him. See how he likes grouching on his own.

Once you were a few steps away, the scientists or doctors stared at the red-eyed big cat hybrid with wonder and… respect? This place was bonkers, you thought to yourself.

“So this is the one?” Your mother asked and marveled at the sight of the lion hybrid. White-silver hair, large, powerful presence, and sharp features.

“Yes, ma’am. Our best subject. Well trained in all the aspects you requested and fairly knowledgeable which is hard to come by with these beats.”

Hearing all that gave you stomach reflux, the acidity burning your esophagus. Your dam was about to break and all your pent-up feelings would end up costing you your freedom if it wasn’t for the red-eyed hybrid. He knocked on the glass and you jumped, startled. You were surprised, he even beckoned you with a finger and again, surprised now with yourself, you automatically obeyed.

It was like a trance. A hypnotic daze of sorts. Both met face to face once again, only separated by the reinforced glass. For a moment you were distracted, the outburst you were about to have laid dormant in the back of your head.

What is this…? Sylus couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity. That’s why he was so close to the glass earlier too. He couldn’t see the other side a while ago but something was pulling him there. The whole day he felt restless and on guard as if something resonated within him.

Could this be—

“Ah! Marvelous! Look! They are already interested in each other! Sylus is not showing any signs of hostility or repulsion…” a different scientist exclaimed with eagerness, interrupting whatever connection you had with Sylus at that moment.

Not many words were needed to convince your parents after that show you and Sylus put up. Papers were signed, money transferred and a very confused Sylus was sedated and prepared for shipment.

The big city. Polluted air, noisy streets twenty-four hours a day, and hybrids everywhere. Most people carried one; a human with some animal characteristics, and now you were one of them too. Sylus was scheduled to arrive in a few minutes. All the things you would need to care for him were already in your apartment and even his paperwork. Name, birth, permits and you; listed as his owner.

The melodic tune of your ring bell announced the dreaded moment. You knew Sylus would be escorted here and that most of the traveling time he would have been sedated, but still the long distance between your new home and the facility he was kept in was almost six hours away. You feared a big grumpy cat.

Oh boy… grumpy was an understatement. He didn’t look happy. The moment he stepped foot in and all the straps holding him were taken off, he waited for the delivery people to disappear and he pounced. Surprisingly not on you. He went through all your stuff. According to the guide you received he was scenting. He went through your whole house; rubbing, scratching and overall making a mess.

“Stop! Hey, hmm… Sylus? You don’t have to scent my clothes.” You tried talking to him but he was not interested in your opinion, apparently. He just glanced at you and kept doing whatever he was doing before, like you were the one, not understanding. You had to snatch your underwear from his closed fist in a panic.

He went nonverbal for a week. A week! You were going insane. Yes, he obeyed. Yes, he was extremely independent and didn’t cause any more commotion besides the panty situation on the first day. But God… he was extremely quiet. It wasn’t until you commanded him to that you realized you should have read the manual until the last page; not only the summary.

“Sylus! Say something!” You demanded; going insane was not in your plans for the foreseeable future. They never told you he was mute or anything of that nature.

“Is there anything you need from me, my lady?” His deep and slow voice had your heart leaping out from your chest.

You just stood there, gaping and looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was able to make a sound. Yeah, not even his steps produced sounds. Sylus examined his human with a gleam of humor in his sapphire eyes. This face was a common one for her and he found it… almost endearing. It reminded him of the first time you two met.

“You can talk…” you whispered low and saw how his fluffy round, and white ears twitched. “You can talk!” Again, you exclaimed, pointing a finger at him in disbelief. “Why haven’t you said anything before?!”

“I wasn’t allowed to,” he calmly explained. That mischievous twinkle in his eyes never left, “my owner never requested me to do so until now.”

And that’s how you spend almost three days reading the darn manuals with a now very talkative feline.

You found that Sylus was more than just a pet. He could cook, clean and even force you to exercise which ended up backfiring. You couldn’t keep up with his supposedly healthy routine. A healthy lifestyle means a happy owner, and you would curse under your breath every time he repeated it.

In general, you were happy, he seemed happy and living with him was easier than you thought. Quickly, you two began to build a bond and it was a matter of time before he began to realize why it had been so easy to adapt to this human. His human which is how he referred to you.

Following the manual, you always made sure to have everything Sylus would need. Even his heats. At first, you tried to get him a heat partner and it was a mess. More like you were a mess. Even Sylus was surprised at how you ended up kicking out the poor rental gazelle hybrid in less than five minutes. You didn’t understand what took over you to be so… overprotective.

Oh, but Sylus was not complaining. Watching you almost declare war in his name gave him a deep satisfaction. So much so that he accepted to take suppressants for the time being.

After that incident, things began to change drastically. Sylus in return became a bit more aggressive towards any living creature that was in less than a mile radius of you. Growling, pushing, and even wrapping you with his tail and pulling you towards his body anytime he felt you were in danger. Yeah, you were in so much danger from the tube man… that air dancing balloon from the car wash a couple of blocks away.

“It can be that bad…” you took hold of his arm around your waist in a reassuring manner.

He’s been walking with you in his hold since you crossed paths with the inflatable dancing man.

“It has erratic movements. You never know what he might do next.”

Yeah, it was a recurring situation.

Yeah, he was prepared for everything and anything. Well, except one morning when his nose woke him up.

A sweet intoxicating scent traveled through his nostrils and shook him awake. He felt his mouth water, his canines aching, and his eyes turning into thin lines. The predator in him had been disturbed and its awakening meant trouble.

In all his years in captivity, he had never felt such hunger. Something was clawing in his chest, desperate to come out, each intake of air was pulling his sanity deeper and deeper while the monster surfaced.

Like any good hunter, he let his nose guide him through the house. Following such an intoxicating aroma took him to your door. There he stood—elaborated breathing, sharp fingers encrusted on his palms searching for restrain. You were inside; sleeping soundly in the early hours of the morning. He could hear your soft breathing mixing with his wildly beating heart. Knowing you weren’t aware of the predator outside your door sent a jolt of excitement through his body. Easy prey.

Was it you? Were you the one producing such… inebriant aroma? Why?

He took the handle with a death grip, his rational side fighting against instinct. He felt the urge to hunt, pursue, chase… this… this aroma and make it his own. With an internal battle raging inside him, Sylus felt the door weighed heavy on his palm, the handle burned, but he still stepped in.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, it made no difference to him that you slept in complete darkness; his ruby-red eyes could see just fine. Then, his gaze focused on your sleeping form, little movement from your steady breathing and you had no idea that a hungry predator stood at the foot of your bed.

But Sylus didn’t move, didn’t pounce on you like he wanted. Torn between instinct and duty, he was frozen in place, sweating and overwhelmed with indecision. Your scent was clouding his every sense, making it even more difficult to do the right thing. It was like time had stopped and the only thing on his mind was the palpitations in his groin for even letting his skin touch the hair surrounding you.

What was the right thing? He asked himself. Neck—cracking as his body suddenly shuddered in pain, Sylus was holding himself back by a fine thread.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. You were not like his kind who would accept mating just because of a sudden heat. You were human and he had that fact ingrained into his mind. With a whimper of pain and trepidation, Sylus walked over to the side of your bed; every step was excruciating for the hybrid. Once he reached the edge, he did like every other night shared with you. Sylus, silently whining, laid beside you and wrapped his arms tightly, but this time he kept a generous distance between his hips and your back.

He was not a mindless beast. Not to you.

“Sylus… I can’t breathe…” you don’t know when, you don’t know how, but Sylus always ended up sleeping on top of you like a weighted blanket. “Sylus!”

“You don’t wanna know what I did to the last person who woke me up.” Each word came with a little slur at the end, he was barely waking up. No a second goes by and you felt his spiked tongue grooming the nape of your neck and soft growls shaking your whole body.

“Someone’s happy today, hmmm?” You asked in a short breath, reaching for his round and fluffy ear. As you scratched, you heard the deep grumbles of satisfaction increasing.

“Smells good…”

You felt him sniffing all over your chest, deeply inhaling, moving his head downwards. Sylus pulled your covers in a hasty manner and kept descending. Your eyes widened as you realized where he was going and your feet quickly stopped him; placing them on his shoulder and chest.

“Sy-Sylus! S-stop!” Your hands joined your legs and feet, placing your palms on his mouth and the rest of his face. “What do you—“

You stopped mid question as you felt a bit of moisture in between your legs. In a panic, your mind counted the weeks since you moved in and you have forgotten to make an appointment for your birth control replacement… which meant you must be ovulating. How could you forget? It’s been weeks! With everything happening after moving, getting Sylus and adapting to the new city. You had completely forgotten…

A muffled sound came from behind your palm and then a rough tongue pushed against your skin. You slowly retracted your arm, looking at him with apologetic eyes. It was your fault, after all.

“I was saying that you seem to be in need of assistance,” he uttered, arching an eyebrow at your saddened face.

His heavy body was pressing against the sole of your feet, your legs kept him at bay and it surprised you how… physically insistent he was being.

“What do you mean?” You quickly replied, feigning ignorance and he seemed to know your every trick because his first reaction was to give you one of those salacious smiles of his.

“You can’t exactly lie to my nose, kitten.” He almost growled every word, sending shivers through your body. “You’re fertile.”

Before you could even utter a word to contradict his truth, his hands brushed the back of your raised legs for then his fingers gently tapped your skin. You let out a squeak of surprise and swiftly moved your legs, thus giving him an opportunity to nestle in between your thighs.

“If you’re making fun of me, it’s not funny,” you rebuked, but even as you said that the pressure and sudden ache in your lower regions began to increase with the proximity and weight of Sylus.

“I’m not.” He chuckled and it reverberated down your tummy, sending deep palpitations through your core, “you didn’t read the whole manual yet, now did you?” His finger gently tugged your chin, making you stare right into his crimson orbs.

“No…” you sheepishly mumbled, embarrassed of being found again and your lack of knowledge about some stuff still in the encyclopedia-like book you were given.

“Give me the order and I will deliver, Kitten.” He whispered, eyes calling for your surrender. Sylus was pushing the right buttons by being so close, touching you, and having you cornered right where he wanted you.

“You mean…” voicing your hesitation didn’t deter him from destroying your inhibitions, brick by brick. His eyes were hypnotizing, he would give you anything you wanted and you knew you would be safe, right?

He had you caged between his body and the bed, your mind going a mile per second and your heart racing just as fast. No, he wasn’t moving an inch more and you knew he wouldn’t unless you said so.

“Okay…” you sighed finally removing a burden from your shoulders, “h-help me.” You wanted him to alleviate your aching.

“As you wish, Kitten.”

Not soon had those words left his lips, he was on you. You felt the heaviness of the impact of his lips on you. He had seemed calm while talking but his actions spoke differently. Sylus’ kiss was demanding, fiery even. His tongue took no time to slip in between your abused lips, delivering tentative licks to yours; as if tasting and enjoying you.

He kept his low throaty snarls flowing over your body, crushing you against the sheets. You could taste him too, wild, intense, so Sylus. Two bodies lay in the bed, limbs intertwined. Sylus hands traveled up your body, fingers gripping at anything he could find, your moans being greedily swallowed.

His tail kept a steady thumping behind him, lulling you deeper into his embrace. You would let him do anything, be anything if it meant this fire ignited in your chest would never cease to exist.

Sylus grasped the back of your head, fisting strands of your hair for him to pull back and expose your neck to his aching teeth. He felt euphoria ran through his veins as soon as his pearl whites connected with your tender skin. A growl and the stinging stab on your neck made you gasp, hands gripping his collar to bring him even closer as if that was possible.

In a hurry, his other hand began to tear away your pajamas as his teeth continued to gnaw almost painfully at your throat.

In a blink of an eye, you were lifted and bent. Your face harshly met the warmth of pillows. Gone were your clothes. In what moment exactly? You don’t recall and you didn’t really care at that moment.

“I knew it– fuck– the moment I saw you, I knew it.” Sylus rasped out, breath suddenly hitting your nude backside. “This was mine before you even knew it.”

He suddenly lifted your hips, exposing your dripping core to his crimson gaze. You whimpered as the cold hair hit you, hands gripping the bedsheets, and that’s all you could see. Your own fist and abundant white.

“Sy-Sylus!” You shrieked.

Your exposed pussy was invaded by his mouth, and a low vibrating sound joined. His bumpy tongue lapped eagerly, the texture making you mewl and tremble as you unconsciously tried to pull away. Now the chuffing sound changed to a growl of displeasure, his hands quickly moved to your lower tummy and pressed you back against his awaiting lips.

A mess, a wet and sloppy mess. That’s what Sylus was, still holding your body against his face. He couldn’t care less about anything other than your flavor and sounds overtaking his entire being. He slurped, nipped and spit back in just to repeat it all over again.

It took no time to have you trashing and shaking on his grip, cuming on his face, the chuffing sounds intensifying with your moaning.

Skin on skin, no clothes separating him from you, you didn’t register when he freed his body of them. Too lost to care, too much at once to have a sense of anything other than Sylus.

“You take me so well… My kitten—made for me…” he growled as he slipped every inch of him. Your warm walls protested at the intrusion as he mounted you.

Pinning you down, chest pressed against your back and your face shoved into your drool-stained pillows.

“If you keep struggling, kitten… I– fuck, fuck– you’re making it really hard to hold back” he groaned as his eyes zoomed in on your head trashing and shaking. The predator in him just looming around the corner, his female ready for the taking.

“It’s too big!” Your scream was muffled by the pillow. As your wailing reached his ears, his cock throbbed and released a few ropes of white.

“You’re being so good, kitten. Just a… bit longer…” Sylus sighed with pleasure as the creaminess made it easier to thrust into you. Incessantly, hitting that spongy spot, making you cry out as you felt more burning cum filling you up. Both breathless, both panting and an arrange of noises filled the room.

“I feel so full! Sylus! I can’t!” Tears streamed down your face at how bloated you felt, but he kept pushing and bursting inside you. One after the other; face down you had no other option but to take it.

“Not full enough— you need more…” hips slamming into you, the squelching sound of your insides consuming the silence— him bottoming out again and again. “My cunt… will only have my cubs…”

You’re not sure how long it was, you were in and out. Lost a daze, being shoved, pressed and pounded mercilessly… Sylus voice swirled through your mushy brain— satisfaction, and ecstasy running wild through both of your bodies.

Blinking once, twice. You felt heavy and your foggy vision wasn’t helping. You still felt the aftermath of it all. Legs sporadically spamming, lower tummy so heavy and sore.

“You… came so much…” you whispered in between breaths. His cum was dripping from your tender hole, rapidly pooling on the bed. “Why?”

He shrugged, as he caressed your cheek.

“A lion’s thing,” he mumbled softly, pulling you closer and gently holding you.

The rest of the day you were spent. Too exhausted to do anything else. Sylus bathed you, changed the bedding, brought you drinks and food, and gave you the darn manual to finish it for once.

“Sylus!” You slapped his naked chest with indignation. “Here,” you pointed to an article you highlighted, “it says that lion hybrids can copulate for two to three days? Two hundred times in succession? Are you insane?” That explains a lot.

“I am just waiting for you to rest, humans are more delicate than I thought. We’re not moving from this room.” He deadpanned.

Your expression fell as his eyes seemed to show how serious he was being.

“I read that lionesses bite the male’s ballsack when they are upset or something,” you grinned wickedly. “I will do that if you don’t behave!”

“I wouldn’t oppose, sweetie.” He goaded. Your smile slowly faded as your threat was not working as planned. “So… I see you are feeling more… energetic.”

You threw a pillow at him before he pounced on you.

Ah, yes… a gentle protector a trusted guardian, but a beast on the sheets.

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ahmed1132 · 2 months ago

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✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #594)✅️

Help my family in Gaza and give them hope to live in peace 💔🚨

Hi, I am Ahmed from Palestine, from the northern part of Gaza City. I am 33 years old, married, and a father of two children. I live in the Jabalia refugee camp with my family, which consists of 19 members, in a four-story house.

Since the beginning of the war on Gaza on October 7th, life in northern Gaza has been extremely difficult, lacking basic necessities due to the siege imposed by the Israeli army on the northern part of the Gaza Strip. The occupation has blocked food, medicine, water, electricity, and even communication networks. Thousands of airstrikes have been carried out, and hundreds of massacres have been committed, mostly affecting innocent civilians, the majority of whom are children and women. The infrastructure, thousands of homes, and civilian facilities have been destroyed.

On May 12th, 2024, the Israeli army besieged the Jabalia camp for the second time and ordered us to evacuate, informing us that it was a military operation zone and a dangerous combat area. We were forced to leave our homes in the camp and flee under heavy bombardment and intense gunfire, navigating through the rubble and bodies lying in the streets and on the roads. We became homeless, with no food or water. During this difficult siege, I lost two of my brothers, Abdullah, 30 years old, and Atallah, 26 years old, due to random shelling and airstrikes on the camp.

Why am I collecting donations?

After more than 15 months of war, on January 19th, 2025, the ceasefire came into effect, and we returned to the camp to check on our home. However, we were shocked by the extent of the destruction and devastation in the camp. The homes had turned into piles of rubble, and we could no longer recognize the places or roads due to the scale of the damage. Our house was completely destroyed, leaving us homeless. Now, my family and I live in a small tent that is insufficient for the number of family members. It offers no privacy, no bathroom, no kitchen, and it does not protect us from the summer heat or the winter cold. We are living in an overcrowded environment with displaced people, chaos, piles of garbage, and the spread of diseases, especially among the displaced children.

This war has forced us to live in extremely harsh conditions and an environment that is unfit for human life. We continue to suffer every day from the ongoing war, repeated displacement, lack of resources and essentials, fear, pain, and oppression. Not to mention the hardship of fetching water, standing in long queues for basic needs, and struggling to find food—another challenge added to our suffering in this devastating war that is destroying people, buildings, trees, and animals. All of this has exhausted our bodies and deeply affected our mental well-being.

Therefore, I am reaching out to you through this humanitarian platform to help me support my family, rebuild our destroyed home, and contribute to providing the basic necessities of life so that I can live with my family with dignity and freedom.

• How will these donations be used?

1) An apartment will be rented to temporarily house my family until the reconstruction of the destroyed house is completed, as an alternative to a tent, at a cost of $600 per month for at least two years. (An estimated total cost of $14,000 over the two years.)

2) Purchase the basic tools and equipment necessary to furnish the rented apartment at an estimated cost of $5,000.

3) Purchase clothing and basic necessities for all family members at an estimated cost of $6,000.

4) Remove the rubble of the destroyed house and rebuild it at an estimated cost of $140,000.

5) Purchase the tools and equipment necessary to furnish all apartments in the new house at an estimated cost of $35,000.

• How does your donation and support make a difference?

Your support and donation is a noble humanitarian cause that supports and strengthens our resilience during the war. This contribution, even if it is small, will make a huge difference in my life and the life of my family.

Please help us to live in safety and peace, to start over to achieve our ambitions and dreams, and to create a safe environment for our children that will provide them with a bright future.

@gazavetters @brokenbackmountain@gazavetters @just-browsing1222 @mothblossoms @aleciosun @serica-e @fluoresensitive @katherineonline @khizuo @lesbiandardevil @transmutationisms @schoolhater @timogsilangan @appsa @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutaliakhoa @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @yetisidelblog

#gaza #free palestine #free gaza #gaza gazaunderattack freegazafreies Palästina Gaza-Völkermord Gazastreifen Palästina

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senascoop · 6 months ago

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TIL DEATH DO US PART , S.JY !

PAIRING: husband ! jake × afab reader

SYNOPSIS: In an arranged marriage where sparks never flew, you finally chose divorce as the only path to freedom. But when your husband died in a sudden accident, life took an unexpected turn, binding you to a reality marked by guilt, grief, and the shadows of unfulfilled words. Now, you must navigate a world that holds him forever gone.

GENRE: fluff + angst

WARNING(S): not proofread, kissing, dirty jokes, a little bit suggestive, mentions of suicide and death, insecurities, mentions of pregnancy. lmk if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 16.2K

FEAT: JAY from ENHYPEN + some ocs

MASTERLISTS ARCHIVE !!

NOTE FROM SENA ┊ had this idea going from quite a lot of time (two months lol) though i wasn't sure of posting it... but here you go i guess. was supposed to post this a day ago for Jake’s bday (🎂) but I hope this still works. definitely won't claim this as one of my best works but hope it's not too bad. would love to know your opinions <3

DEAR JAKE,

I’m sorry, but I can’t continue living like this. I’m leaving. Our marriage has become a constant battle, and I believe we’re both suffering more by holding on than we would by letting go. I know neither of us wanted it to come to this, and I wish things were different. But deep down, I think we’re better apart. I hope one day you’ll understand.

With regret, Y/N.

TEARS BLURRED YOUR VISION AS YOU STARED AT THE CRUMBLED NOTE IN YOUR HAND—the one you had written to Jake months ago. The one that now felt like a curse. Your hands shook as you traced the familiar words, guilt twisting your insides. I’m leaving. I’m sorry. He had never known the true weight of those words. And now he never would.

The police had found it in his pocket. They said he’d carried it with him, even after everything. Even when he... when he was gone.

You collapsed onto the couch, clutching the note like a lifeline, but it only felt like a reminder of how far you had pushed him. How much you had wanted out, and now, how deeply you regretted it. A year together, two lives constantly at odds, and it had ended in this way. A divorce that never came, an accident that did. You didn’t want this, didn’t want him gone, but now, all you had was this—regret, and a body that was too still in your bed to hold. The anger, the frustration of him being gone—it consumed you, ate at your soul.

Why couldn’t you have waited?

You had hoped time apart would fix things, give you both breathing room. But he hadn’t lived long enough for you to see the good you could have made of it. The guilt ate you alive, deeper than the frustration ever had. You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t have known, but deep down, the truth stung. Your note had been his last reminder of your marriage. His last memory. He had carried your rejection right until the end.

Would things have been different if you hadn’t written that letter?

The thought raked at your mind like shards of glass, shredding everything in its path. What if you had kept fighting for him, for the marriage? Would he have been here? Would you have learned to love him? Or would he still have left, still have been gone, no matter what?

Your thoughts flickered back to moments with him—so small, so easy to overlook. The way Jake had rolled his eyes every time you’d scolded his niece Semi for spilling juice, or how he had tried to hide his smirk as he pretended to act innocent. The little things that used to irritate you, that you had never really appreciated until now.

You remembered the way he defended you against his relatives, his words sharp and protective as they made cruel comments about your body. They didn’t understand, but Jake did. He had always been there, not perfect but trying.

“She suits me well enough.”

The memory felt like a slap now, a cruel joke. You had spent so much time pushing him away, not seeing that he cared. You hadn’t seen that he had tried.

“Why couldn’t I have seen it?” you whispered to the empty room, curling up on the bed, pressing your face into the pillow. The tears soaked into the fabric, and the sobs wracked through you like a storm. Why was it only now, when he was gone, that you realized how much he had mattered?

You had never kissed him, never held him the way a wife should. You thought you had the luxury of time, but now you had nothing left but his memory. The memory of a man you barely knew but had somehow been the one constant in your life. How selfish of you to push him away. How stupid to think it was all about the fights, the annoyances, and not about the love you could have had.

“Please... Jake. I’m sorry...”

The words escaped you as your sobs grew louder, choking your breath. Your body trembled with grief, the weight of regret pressing down on you until you couldn’t breathe. If only you could undo it, go back and rewrite the note. If only you hadn’t given up on him, on the marriage, on the chance for something more.

The room felt suffocating now, as though the walls were closing in around you. What now? you thought. There was no future with him anymore. No next step. No reconciliation.

Why had you waited so long to realize how much he meant to you?

You sank deeper into your pillow, tears soaking your face and your hair, wishing for the impossible: for him to walk through the door, to come back, to make everything okay again. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

And all that was left was you. And the note.

YOUR MOTHER IN LAW’S HANDS TREMBLE AS SHE EXTENDS THE ANCESTRAL RING TOWARDS YOU, her eyes glistening with raw grief. The ring's delicate gold band catches the light, an unwanted reminder of everything Jake represented—strength, love, an unfinished story.

“He wanted you to have this… but I never thought I’d give it to you now. Not like this,” she whispers, her voice breaking before dissolving into quiet sobs. The sound is so raw it scrapes at your heart. For a moment, the room feels unbearably small, closing in with the suffocating weight of shared loss.

You stare at the ring, fingers hovering uncertainly. The thought of accepting it feels like admitting he’s really gone. Yet, you know you can’t refuse it; Jake’s wish, even unspoken now, feels sacred. You slip the ring onto your finger, a silent acknowledgment of the man you had once promised yourself to, a man you’ll never get the chance to truly know.

With a hesitant step forward, you place your hand on her shoulder, the touch meant to soothe but feeling fragile, as though it could shatter under the weight of her grief. The older woman leans into you, body racked with tremors as she buries her face in her hands. Her sobs rise and fall in uneven waves, echoing in the otherwise silent room.

“Please… don’t cry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and cracking at the edges. The night had drained you, leaving your eyes dry yet still burning, poised for more tears that you no longer had the strength to shed.

Her grief pierces deeper. “He wouldn’t want to see you in pain,” you add, voice low, carrying the weight of a plea that even you don’t believe.

“I-I know,” she manages between sobs, her shoulders trembling. “But… he was so young, so full of life. It should’ve been me, not him. He barely started his life, and now…”

The room seems to warp under the heaviness of her words. You know she’s right. The unfairness of it all gnaws at you. But what would Jake want? The question echoes in your mind, clawing for answers you wish you didn’t have to seek.

You close your eyes for a brief second, conjuring his face in your memory—the way his smile would sneak out when he thought you weren’t looking, the stubborn tilt of his chin when he was determined. You imagine him here, telling you what to do, how to be strong for her when he couldn’t be.

Drawing in a shaking breath, you shift, wrapping your arms around your mother-in-law. She stiffens for a heartbeat before collapsing into the embrace, her body convulsing with grief. Her head rests on your shoulder, and you stroke her back, the gesture rhythmic, almost desperate, as if the act itself could soothe the unsoothable.

“My poor boy… he must’ve been so scared, so alone in those final moments,” she chokes out, and it’s as if a knife twists in your chest. The image of him in pain, of his last moments, blurs the edges of your control. A tear slips down your cheek, a singular escape among the multitude waiting behind your lashes.

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you whisper, barely audible. The guilt is relentless, intertwining with the ache of loneliness that had settled deep within you long before he passed. You were alone when he was alive, and now that emptiness has transformed, sharpened by grief, into something more unbearable.

Her sobs quiet, just enough for her to lift her head and take in your expression, your tears mingling with unsaid words. She studies you, eyes clouded by grief but touched with understanding.

“You must feel so alone too… You and Jake… barely had time,” she murmurs, her voice a weak echo of empathy.

The silence stretches, heavy and uncertain. You meet her gaze and see the exhaustion, the pain mirrored back at you. It anchors you for a moment, before she speaks again.

“You’re still young. You should think of moving forward one day. Remarry, maybe… You’ll always be like a daughter to me, but you have to live, too.”

Your heart clenches, rejecting the thought. You don’t want to. The ache of wanting Jake, even in a marriage that had felt distant, is a raw wound you can’t imagine healing. The loneliness was familiar; life without him is uncharted, unbearable.

“I won’t… I can’t,” you admit, voice shaking as the tears finally spill, unchecked. “I just want him back. Even if it means being lonely again.”

The words break you open, and this time, neither of you tries to stop the crying. You hold each other in the ruins of shared loss, hoping, against hope, that the pieces of your shattered hearts will one day feel less sharp.

YOUR HANDS CHILLED FROM THE BRISK AIR, DIG DEEPER INTO YOUR COAT POCKETS AS YOU GAZE OUT INTO THE SWIRLING SNOW, a faint numbness settling in your bones. Each snowflake that brushes against your cheek feels colder than the last, a physical reminder of the frost that’s taken root in your heart, a void Jake's absence left behind. Life has lost its rhythm, its purpose, and the bustling world seems foreign, moving on a beat you no longer recognize.

Nursing, once a passion that filled your heart, now feels suffocating. The once-simple act of caring for patients, seeing them through their darkest times, now stirs something darker inside you—an envy for their hope, their chances. These creeping, bitter thoughts had scared you enough to step back from the only profession you knew. The faces of crying relatives haunted your dreams, their grief striking chords too familiar, too close. You’d sworn to heal, never harm, yet here you are, carrying shadows of guilt too heavy to bear.

The café’s warmth hits you as you push through the door, a momentary comfort against the gnawing cold. You shuffle forward, fingers fumbling in your pocket for money as your eyes wander the room. Jake had always spoken fondly of this place, a little corner shop with its cozy mismatched chairs and the sweet aroma of cocoa and baked pastries. A small pang clenches your chest, regret whispering its usual 'what ifs.' If only you’d agreed to visit here with him, if only time hadn’t been a cruel master.

The barista, a young woman with weary eyes, glances up as she speaks. “Ma’am, are you ordering?” Her voice, though polite, carries a slight impatience with the growing line behind you.

“Ah, yes… a cold coffee,” you manage, the words falling flat as if they don’t quite belong to you. Her brows lift, a flicker of confusion.

“In this weather?” she asks, a hint of genuine concern lacing her tone.

Realizing the absurdity, you swallow, forcing a small, resigned nod. “Hot chocolate then,” you say, the warmth of Jake’s recommendation tugging at the edges of your memory.

The exchange is brief, the hot drink pressed into your hands a minute later. As you turn to leave, the weight of the ancestral ring around your finger pulls at you, its cool surface grounding and yet suffocating. The bittersweet metal reflects a dull glow, a silent reminder of promises made and broken, of the love lost and the void left behind.

The wind picks up outside, tugging at your coat as you sip the hot chocolate. Its warmth spreads through you, but it’s fleeting, never enough to touch the ache within. You shake your head, Jake’s face vivid in your mind, his teasing smile as he’d planned your future dates. You’d push the thought aside, but every step feels like dragging a part of him behind you.

“Why can’t I let go?” you murmur, voice snatched away by the icy air. Your brother-in-law’s words echo in your mind, urging you to stop living in Jake’s shadow. But how do you tear yourself away from the ghost of a love that never got to finish its story?

Snow clings to your coat as you continue to trudge through the city, each step heavy with an ache that refuses to fade. The glow of the streetlights bathes the snow in a warm, golden hue, contrasting the bitter chill that settles in your chest. Sipping the hot chocolate, you try to focus on the warmth sliding down your throat, but the sweetness only sharpens the emptiness inside. The steam curls from the cup, a fleeting comfort as your breath mingles with it in the frigid air.

You pause near a park bench, eyes darting to couples bundled up, their laughter piercing through the quiet snowfall. One couple stands close, the man adjusting the scarf around his partner’s neck with a smile that makes your heart clench. You bite the inside of your cheek, the taste of copper sharp on your tongue as you fight back the sting in your eyes. The jealousy gnaws at you, sour and uninvited.

The memory of Jake’s voice flits through your mind, warm and teasing: “Good things happen to good people.” You scoff, the bitterness in that statement now a cruel joke. Were you not good enough? The universe seemed to think so, because it had ripped him away, leaving a hollow shell in his place.

Lost in thought, you find yourself on the bridge, fingers trailing over the iron railing that has frosted over, leaving cool streaks on your gloves. This place, once so filled with light and memories, feels haunted now. You trace a path where your and Jake’s hands once met, where laughter and shared secrets once echoed.

A voice, small and familiar, intrudes on your thoughts. Semi’s question echoes, fragile and innocent: “Aunty, when will Uncle come home?” You close your eyes, the lump in your throat thickening as the memory sharpens. You remember her wide, unknowing eyes searching yours for an answer you couldn't give, the guilt of that half-truth searing into you as you whispered, “I’m not sure, sweetie.”

You grip the railing tighter, feeling the cold seep through your gloves as the ache of regret claws at your heart. The river below moves steadily, unaffected by the chaos in your chest. You look down, watching the water catch the light in rippling patterns, your reflection distorted and wavering. The noise of the city fades as you breathe in the freezing air, each exhale a shuddering attempt to steady yourself.

A gust of wind stings your face, and you force yourself to look up, straightening with a resolve that feels fragile. Jake’s brother and his wife were inside your apartment, their watchful eyes filled with concern disguised as casual chatter. You know why they stay—it’s not out of pity, but out of fear, a silent agreement to keep you tethered when your world felt like it was splitting at the seams.

The laughter from the park drifts over again, mingling with the hum of distant traffic. For a moment, you let yourself remember the warmth of Jake’s embrace, the way he’d nudge your shoulder and murmur, “Life doesn’t stop, even when we want it to.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t,” you whisper into the night, the words barely a breath as they dissolve in the chill.

The warmth of the hot chocolate fades as the biting wind grazes your skin, a cruel reminder of the numbing void left behind. You stare at the bridge, eyes tracing the railings where Jake’s laughter once echoed. A memory surfaces, unbidden yet vivid.

“I know this isn't what either of us planned, but... I wish we could work it out,” Jake had said, a touch of hesitation softening his confident voice. His hands, hesitant but steady, hovered near you, respecting the space you held between.

“I wish that too,” you had murmured, the lie sliding off your tongue too easily. You’d convinced yourself you didn't care enough for Jake then, but the pang of that memory now gnawed at your insides. Regret had a way of reshaping the past, twisting even the most indifferent moments into sharp blades.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Jake had prodded gently, eyes bright even as he leaned down to meet your gaze.

Caught off guard, you’d raised an eyebrow. “Like what?” The question felt foreign, untouched by anyone's curiosity until now.

“Your ideal type,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as though challenging you. His height had always made you tilt your head back to catch his expression—a detail that now felt like a cruel nostalgia.

“Why would you ask that?” You'd played along, teasing but curious.

Jake chuckled, the sound resonant and warm. “Because we're getting married, and maybe knowing each other better will make it feel less... strange. Maybe, just maybe, we'll fall in love.” His hand, finally settling on your shoulder, had felt reassuring, a silent promise in its touch.

The memory cleaves through you like a knife, leaving behind a raw wound that no time or distance can heal. A single tear slips down your cheek as you blink, the reality of the moment washing over you like a wave. The park across the street bustles with couples walking hand-in-hand, laughter and warmth breaking through the cold that wraps around you. A fresh ache takes root, sharp and relentless.

You drop the empty cup into the trash can, the metallic clang breaking your reverie. The grief, heavy and suffocating, presses you to the edge as you turn and begin the long walk home. Your footsteps are heavy, every step an effort against the pull of the past.

“Aunty, you're so late. Did you bring Uncle with you?” Semi’s small voice meets you at the door, eyes bright with innocent hope. The guilt hits you like a punch, stealing the air from your lungs. Your throat tightens as you shake your head, eyes avoiding her searching gaze.

Jieun, seeing your reaction, sighs softly as she pulls Semi closer. “Semi, we talked about this, remember?” Her voice holds the practiced patience of a mother trying to shield her child from the pain.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Semi mumbles, eyes dropping to her tiny hands that fidget nervously. The sight twists your heart, guilt layering over the grief that refuses to ease.

You force a hollow smile. “It’s okay, Jieun. She's just a kid,” you say, your voice low and void of emotion as you shrug off your winter coat and hang it up. The familiar routine feels like a play you no longer wish to act in.

“Still, I just—” Jieun’s words falter as you cut her off, your voice breaking the tension.

“Please,” you murmur, the word sharp and desperate, silencing the room. The stillness that follows is suffocating, your breaths shallow as you fight to keep your composure.

Jieun's eyes search yours, understanding but hesitant. “We just don’t want you to be alone,” she whispers, her voice thick with worry.

“I know,” you reply, sitting on the couch with your head hung low, hands clenched tightly in your lap. After a long pause, you add, “But you need to leave. This is your home too, but you have your own life to get back to. I need time... time to figure out how to grieve.” Your eyes don’t lift to meet theirs; you can’t bear to see the disappointment or concern there.

Semi’s voice pipes up again, the innocence piercing through your defenses. “Are you sending us away, Aunty?”

The weight of guilt deepens, pressing into your chest. You close your eyes, feeling the sting behind your lids before you answer. “No, sweetie, I’m not sending you away. You can come whenever you want. Aunty will always be here.” The words come out flat, and you feel them land like lies in the air between you.

Jieun picks Semi up, nodding at you as if she understands, though her eyes glisten with worry. “We’ll give you some space. But we’ll check in. Don’t forget that, please.”

When the door clicks shut, silence wraps around you, heavy and thick. Your gaze shifts to the note you’d prepared earlier, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. The words, written in your own hand, feel foreign now: apologies to the people who stayed, memories they never knew you held, and the final confession of a heart too weary to go on.

You were battling with the urge to just end it all.

The rational part of your brain told you that you were young and had your whole life ahead and that you'd meet a lot of guys in your life but the stubborn heart won't give up and held onto the memory of the guy you once called your husband.

So, you gave up.

A smile, then another.

The city glows beneath you, lights sprawled like constellations cast on earth. The wind at this height is sharp, tearing through your clothes and chilling your skin, as if trying to pull you back from the edge. Your shoes scrape against the concrete ledge, the slight tremble in your legs betraying the battle waging within. The night air smells faintly of rain, metallic and crisp, mingling with the faint hum of traffic below.

You steady your phone in your trembling hand, its cold surface grounding you momentarily. A notification pings, an ironic reminder that life continues to tick on, indifferent to the turmoil within you. The camera lens reflects the shimmer of unshed tears as you hit record, the small red dot staring back like a silent witness.

A smile forms—hesitant, broken. Then another, and another, each one a mask that crumbles too soon. “To everyone who still cares,” you begin, your voice low and cracking, “Semi, sweet, innocent Semi. Jieun, always so patient. Jongseong... my husband’s shadow in every way. My sister, my friends, all of you who tried.”

The wind picks up, whipping strands of hair across your face as you pause, the weight of the unsaid pressing on your chest. You blink rapidly, tears slipping free, their warmth stinging against your cold cheeks. “Jake wouldn't want this. I know he'd call me stubborn, weak even.” You let out a hollow laugh, the sound swallowed by the wind. “But he wouldn’t understand how loud it is in the silence he left behind.”

Your heart hammers as you shift your weight, the city seeming to inhale with you, holding its breath in anticipation. The edge of the building digs into the soles of your feet, the space between you and the world below both terrifying and liberating.

“I miss the little moments, Jake,” you whisper, voice breaking as you squeeze your eyes shut. “I miss you making me feel lonely, and now... now I’m lonelier without you.” The ache in your chest is unbearable, a cavernous void that steals your breath.

One last deep breath, air burning through your lungs, and you step forward. The world blurs into a rush of sound and sensation—wind roaring in your ears, your body weightless, suspended in a moment between despair and peace.

And then the fall hits.

Pain surges through you, sharp and overwhelming, before darkness takes over. Around you, the chaos erupts into a cacophony—screams, the frantic pounding of feet, and the sharp cry of ambulance sirens slicing through the night. But these sounds are drifting away, becoming faint murmurs from a world slipping out of reach.

Silence wraps around you, one that made you feel like everything would be okay after this. Maybe, just maybe, peace waits on the other side. In death.

YOU WALK THROUGH THE DENSE, MILKY FOG, EACH REVERBERATING IN AN ECHO THAT NEVER QUITE SETTLES. The air is cool, feather-light, whispering like distant memories. Is this heaven? The question circles in your mind, unspoken. If it is, where is Jake? A quiet laugh escapes your lips, hollow. He couldn’t have done enough wrong to land in hell, you think, the hint of humor biting through your longing. Yet, the anticipation twists your heart—an ache that makes you want to see him so desperately.

You try to call out, “Jake?” but the sound stays trapped in your chest, choked by the thick fog. Another step forward and there’s nothing but endless white, stretching out, swallowing you whole. Your breath catches; suddenly, the air thins, compressing your lungs, squeezing out every ounce of oxygen. You gasp, your hands clawing at the invisible force stealing your breath. It feels like drowning in emptiness.

Then—without warning—everything shifts. White light erupts around you, blinding and all-consuming. You brace for oblivion, muscles tensing for an end you’re sure is near. But instead, there’s a softness beneath you—a mattress that cradles you like an embrace you forgot.

Your eyes snap open, pupils adjusting to the familiar pale ceiling. It’s your ceiling. Your shared room. The bed, the faint scent of Jake’s cologne still lingering in the sheets, as if he just left. You sit up, heart thundering, hands brushing over your body frantically. No pain, no bruises, no broken bones—nothing. You’re whole, intact.

Then the realization hits you like cold water, and your fingers tremble as you pull them away.

“What the…?” you murmur, eyes darting around, seeking answers that the silent room won’t give. Your gaze falls to the phone on the bedside table, its screen blank and mocking in its stillness. You grab it, breath hitching as the time blinks to life.

January 29th, 2024. 6:30 a.m.

A shiver races down your spine. The date stares back at you, sharp and impossible. You set the phone down, legs feeling weak as you stand and approach the mirror. Your reflection isn’t that of a woman who has been weeping endlessly. Your eyes, dry and wide, reflect confusion rather than the storm of emotions that you carry.

“Is this one of those flashes they say you see before death?” Your voice trembles as the words escape, and you reach up to touch the cold glass. The girl looking back at you does the same, fingers meeting yours in a silent plea.

Then, your eyes catch it. The blue gel pen resting on the dresser—a pen that has no place outside your drawer. It’s a small thing, but the sight of it makes your breath hitch. Memories slice through you, sharp and unforgiving. That pen was the one you’d used for the note to Jake, the one that demanded space, an end.

“No,” you breathe out, shaking your head, bile rising in your throat. The pen feels like a cruel token, mocking you for what came after. In a swift motion, you snatch it up, the cold plastic biting into your skin as you grip it tight. The weight of your guilt, your regret, turns your stomach, and with a sudden burst of anger, you hurl the pen into the trash, its clatter punctuating the silence like a final plea.

Chest heaving, you close your eyes. If this is some kind of twisted second chance, you don’t know if you should feel terror or relief. But the room, the sheets, the absence on the other side of the bed—everything points to one impossible truth.

You’re back.

But this isn't a romance novel, is it?

Your eyes trail back to the empty bed, where Jake should be. “Jake?” The name falls from your lips, hopeful, trembling, but the silence stretches on, suffocating.

Your heart thuds like a wild drumbeat, erratic and desperate, the rhythm matched only by the single hope that propels you forward: seeing Jake. Alive. Healthy. Breathing.

You practically jog out of the shared bedroom, your bare feet sliding slightly on the hardwood floor as you turn the corner. The guest room door is ajar, a sliver of dim light illuminating the narrow hallway. The pulse in your chest quickens, breaths shallower with each step until you reach the threshold. You pause, drawing in a trembling breath before stepping inside.

There he is. Jake. Lying on his side, dark hair fanned messily over the pillow, the soft rise and fall of his chest hypnotic in its simplicity. Relief washes over you so powerfully that your knees almost buckle. You inch closer, careful not to make a sound. The blanket is snug around his torso, exposing his bare, muscular chest—the way he prefers when he’s alone. Your throat tightens at the sight, familiar yet so foreign now.

Your hand, almost on its own accord, hovers over his face, fingers trembling as you place them under his nose. The soft, warm breath that meets your touch is enough to sting your eyes with unshed tears. Your hand drifts down, resting against his chest, where you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat—a rhythm you thought you’d never sense again.

Jake stirs, the sudden shift pulling you out of your trance. His eyelids flutter open, dark eyes glazed with sleep but sharpening as they land on you. He blinks once, then again, brows drawing together.

“What are you doing?” His voice, rough with sleep, carries a note of confusion that makes your hand fall away as though burned.

“I-I…” The words snag in your throat, scrambling to make sense of the madness. How could you possibly explain? Your eyes dart nervously to the floor, heat searing your cheeks as you mutter, “I missed your kisses.”

The room freezes. You can feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with disbelief. He shifts, sitting up, and the blanket slips down to his waist, revealing the sharp lines of his torso. Your eyes betray you, flickering over the familiar planes before darting away in embarrassment.

“But… we never kiss,” he says, voice low and edged with confusion. The statement slices through you, painfully reminding you of the distance you both had grown used to.

“I know... I...” you whisper, fingers clenching into fists at your sides. The silence stretches, heavy, until the sharp trill of his phone alarm shatters it. Jake’s attention shifts, eyes narrowing as he leans to silence it. When he looks up again, the space where you stood is empty.

You rush back to your room, shutting the door behind you with a soft thud, heart hammering in your chest. Sliding down until you sit with your back pressed against the cool wood, you cover your flushed face with shaking hands. Your pulse thunders in your ears, mixing with the replay of his sleepy voice, the fleeting touch of his warmth.

Is this really the past? The question festers, tugging at the edges of logic, but the ache in your chest and the rawness of your emotions tell you it is. And if so, this year holds one horrifying certainty: Jake’s death.

The mere thought twists something deep inside you, bringing back the soul-crushing grief, the endless nights of regret. You glance down at your wrist, breath catching as your eyes lock on the ink-black date that marks it: November 4th. The day Jake dies.

Frantically, you rub at the skin, as if the stubborn mark will simply smudge away under your touch. But it doesn’t. The date remains, stark and immovable, taunting you.

A shiver crawls up your spine, but then a thought—a glimmer of defiance—roots itself.

What if you change it? What if this was given to you, not as a cruel joke, but a chance to rewrite what went so terribly wrong? To love him in a way you never did and save him from the fate that once tore your entire world apart.

“I can do this,” you whisper, determination threading into your voice. The regret may have once paralyzed you, but now it fuels you. If you only have until that date, then every second will be spent fighting fate, no matter how impossible it seems.

THE SOFT MURMUR OF THE COUPLE’S CONVERSATION DRIFTS DOWN THE STERILE HOSPITAL CORRIDOR, brushing against your ears like a whispered secret. The woman lies propped against crisp white pillows, her leg encased in a cast, eyes fixed on her partner with a blend of exhaustion and comfort. He leans forward, fingers interlaced with hers, voice low and tender.

“Can you please see what's wrong?” he asks, eyes glistening with concern. He gently squeezes her hand, words spilling out as quiet reassurances. “You're doing so well, love. It's going to be okay.”

A tight warmth coils in your chest as you approach, a familiar pang of bittersweetness shadowing the sight. The love, the unwavering devotion-it's moments like these that remind you why you cherish your job. The fragility of life, held together by threads of connection, has always moved you, even when those threads unraveled in your own life.

When you started nursing, blood was your greatest fear, the sight once enough to turn your stomach. Time had softened those edges, transforming anxiety into steady resolve. It was also during those early years when you married Jake, the man whose smile was warm enough to banish shadows but whose presence now only haunted your memories. The marriage had lasted five years before everything shattered with the crash.

No. Stop. The thought rushes at you like a wave, cold and suffocating. You grit your teeth, eyes burning as you push it down, push him down, refusing to let the grief claw at you. He's alive here, in this fragile present you've been thrust into. Don't let the past bleed into now.

“Sure,” you say softly, the practiced smile you wear settling on your face. You reach out, fingers moving gently over the girl's cast, checking the edges, ensuring everything is as it should be. She nods in silent gratitude, eyes fluttering shut with relief as her partner exhales.

The end of your shift arrives with the deep hues of twilight stretching across the sky. The drive home is long, punctuated by the soft rumble of the engine and the anxious thrum of your thoughts. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, tapping out a nervous rhythm. Avoid home, your mind suggests, listing off a million errands you suddenly think of, any excuse to delay the inevitable.

But the excuses run dry when you're standing in front of your door, keys cold against your palm. The air outside is crisp, biting at your cheeks as you draw a deep breath and hold it. The weight of the morning—Jake's sleepy, questioning eyes and the ghost of your impulsive words-hangs between you and the door.

“Is it too late to back down?” The whisper escapes your lips, trembling in the chilly silence. You picture his expression, the puzzled furrow of his brow as he replayed your words. The way his fingers brushed over his phone, gaze lifted just in time to see you flee. He isn't stupid. Jake never was.

With a sigh, you slip the key into the lock, the click loud and final. The door opens, and warmth spills out to meet you, along with the faint scent of his cologne. Your pulse quickens as you step inside, the hum of your heartbeat louder than the quiet creak of the floor under your weight.

Don't run, you tell yourself, even as the urge coils tight in your muscles. You close the door behind you.

As you push open the front door, the faint glow of the television casts flickering shadows across the living room. There he is-your husband, Jake, reclined on the couch, eyes fixed intently on the news. His brows knit slightly as a montage of suited politicians gestures on screen, their voices droning promises as hollow as a whisper in the wind.

He is basically watching those politicians give some weird and untrue promises for the sake of votes.

How romantic. How normal. The bitter thought twists in your chest. But it isn't. Nothing about this is normal. Why would he be watching the news, of all things? Then, a pang of irony hits you like a wave. How hypocritical, you think. You promised Jake your forever in a ceremony that now feels like an echo. The vows shared between you had been spoken out loud but never truly lived.

You shake the memory away, an old wound you refuse to pick at as you step inside, the floor cool under your feet. Jake doesn't notice you at first, his attention locked on the screen, oblivious to the fact that the person who left him a note asking for space now stands in the doorway, wrestling with the tension roiling inside her.

“Hey,” you finally say, the word falling between you like an anchor. It comes out awkward, unsure, a fragile hope that he won't read too much into it. But Jake's eyes flick to yours, a spark of recognition cooling to something unreadable.

“You're back home?” His voice is measured, neither warm nor cold, but there's a tightness to it that you can't ignore. He shifts, the blue glow of the screen catching the sharp line of his jaw as he waits for your response.

The note. You had slipped it into his hand, asking for a break from a marriage four years deep but hollow. Your heart thuds in your chest, fingers clenched at your side as you speak before fear can pull the words back.

“The note-I take it back. I don't want a break from you or this relationship, Jake.”

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the low hum of the news anchor's voice. His eyes search yours, a hint of disbelief darkening the warm brown you once memorized. “Why?” The question slices through the quiet, clipped and cautious. You almost flinch at the hardness there, a wall built brick by brick in your absence.

“Because I don't want to stay away from you.” Your voice trembles, raw honesty exposed between you like an open wound. Jake's eyes widen slightly, the stoic mask cracking as a flush creeps across his cheeks.

“Y-You're blushing?” The soft, astonished laugh tumbles out of you, a momentary break in the storm that makes you feel like you're standing on the edge of something new. The corners of his mouth twitch, the faintest sign of a smile, but he shakes his head.

“No, I'm not. I'm just... cold,” he mutters, the lie transparent.

“Sure, sir. You're just cold.” You chuckle, sinking onto the floor beside the couch, knees drawn up as you hug them close. The laughter is sharp, almost giddy, the sound foreign in the room that has held so many silences.

Jake watches you, confusion settling into his features, the red on his cheeks fading as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You're acting weird,” he murmurs, the words half swallowed, uncertain.

“How am I acting weird if I'm seeing my husband show some attraction to me, which isn't platonic, for the first time?” The jest slips out, tinged with sincerity, but it brings a hush over both of you. The truth stands stark between you, glaring and painful. For a moment, neither of you speak, each of you weighed down by memories, by the heavy knowledge of what's been lost and what still aches to be found.

But determination flares in your chest, a stubborn warmth. So what if love had been absent before? So what if promises were half-kept and hearts guarded? You could start again. You could relearn how to be two flawed people willing to try. Your gaze meets Jake's, the hope in your eyes unyielding.

Don't let go, you silently plead. Let this be the start of something real.

Jake clears his throat, a subtle attempt to dissolve the tension settling over the living room like a blanket too heavy to lift. His fingers fidget, running nervously over the seam of the couch as he shifts his gaze downward. There you are, still seated on the floor, legs tucked to one side, eyes catching the soft glow from the TV. Cute, he thinks, the word rolling silently through his mind, too heavy with unsaid truths to speak aloud.

“So...” The word escapes him, thin and unfinished, hovering in the air. His eyes flit over your face, searching for a reaction. The awkwardness clings to the silence, but you don't falter.

“So?” you echo, your tone a notch steadier, holding the slight tremor that betrays your effort. You lean forward just slightly, a gesture that feels braver than it is. If courage could rewrite fate, you'd wield it now, not just for yourself, but for him. For Jake, who might not know the sharp edge of reality that's cut you.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side where the blue light paints his profile in soft, wavering lines. “You know... Semi's birthday is next week.” His words stumble, trailing off as if second-guessing their own existence. But you aren't in the dark. You know exactly what this moment leads to.

“Yes, I'd love to go shopping for gifts for her,” you respond, your voice quick and practiced. His eyes widen, caught off guard, the surprise stark against his usual composed expression. The tension in his jaw slackens, and he blinks, unsure if he heard you right.

“Excuse me?” He stares at you, the faint crease between his brows deepening.

“Isn't that what you were about to ask?” You tilt your head slightly, a small smile playing at your lips, testing him. He hesitates, realizing that denial means trouble, but his face softens into a relieved kind of acceptance.

“No, no... of course. You could... accompany me to shop for Semi's birthday presents.” His voice picks up, the uncertainty lifting as he finds the path back to normalcy. He notices your smile widening, the tension slipping just enough to let him breathe.

“Okay then, see you tomorrow, husband.” The word slips from you, unbidden, laced with a warmth that surprises even you as you turn on your heel. You make your way toward the guest room, feet padding softly against the floor. Jake's brows knit again, eyes following your form until you pause, hand on the frame of the doorway.

“Why are you heading to the guest room?” His question is quick, a thread of confusion laced with something else-something vulnerable.

“Because we sleep apart, and I wouldn't want my husband's back to break on that stiff, rough bed. The sheets aren't even comfortable,” you say, voice light but with an edge that dares him to react. You step into the room, but glance over your shoulder with eyes that glimmer, a playful smirk pulling at your lips. “Besides, I'd rather you break your back or get tired doing me than struggling on a bed.”

His jaw drops, eyes wide with stunned silence as the door closes between you. Jake sits back, eyes fixed on the now-empty hallway, replaying the moment in disbelief. The wife who barely spoke above a whisper at their wedding, who tiptoed through years of silence, had just turned the tables with a single teasing line. His pulse hammers beneath the stillness.

What on earth just happened?

“ARE YOU TELLING ME Y/N JUST TURNED INTO A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON?” Jay's voice, casual yet curious, echoes through the phone. He's speaking to Jake, who shifts from foot to foot, eyes glancing around the boutique as he waits for you to finish picking out a dress for his niece. The sound of soft music drifts around him, mixing with murmurs of other shoppers.

“Exactly that!” Jake's voice comes out louder than intended, drawing looks from the store's staff. A woman in a sleek uniform, brows raised in disapproval, approaches with a pointed glare.

“Sir, please keep your voice down or refrain from talking altogether,” she says, sternly but professional.

Jake's ears burn as embarrassment blooms across his face. “Yeah, I'm sorry” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Through the phone, Jay's laughter rings clear and unapologetic. “You seriously got told off by staff? Man, you're killing me!” Jay's chuckles fade into a smirk that Jake can practically hear. Jay's the same as he's always been-playful, relentless, the older brother who teases but listens when it counts.

“Fine, fine, I'll stop. Tell me what you mean by Y/N changing, just... keep it PG, will you?” Jay's tone is teasing, but curiosity laces through.

Jake's jaw tightens, eyes scanning the store for you as if your sudden return would put him on the spot. “There's nothing intimate going on between us,” he blurts, the words a knee-jerk reaction. His chest tightens with the memory of you resting your hand on him in your sleep last week, the way warmth had crept through him then. He clears his throat. “I mean, she's talking to me more, being... sweet. She listens. It's almost... submissive.”

“I told you, no bedroom details!” Jay chimes in, sarcasm sharp enough to make Jake's teeth clench.

“THIS IS NOT A BEDROOM DETAIL!!!” Jake retorts, frustration coloring his tone. It earns him another hard look from the store associate across the room, who pointedly glances over her glasses. Jake sighs and mouths an apology again, shoulders drooping as he lowers his voice.

“What I mean is, she's more... attentive. She's not arguing as much. It's like she's listening to me for the first time.”

Jay's voice softens, just a hint of seriousness slipping through. “Isn't that how she always is with others?”

“Yeah, with everyone else. Just not with me,” Jake admits, the admission heavy with a history neither of them mention.

“Interesting.” Jay's reply is contemplative, but before he can say more, Jake's voice interrupts, distorted through the line. “Oh shoot, she's coming back. I'll call you later.”

As the call ends, Jake pockets his phone, glancing up just in time to see you walking back with a smile. Jay, on the other side of the city, sets his phone down, a smirk playing at his lips as he thinks of sharing this tidbit with his wife later. Whatever was happening between his brother and sister-in-law, it was about to get even more intriguing.

On the other side, Jake stands, a mixture of amusement and curiosity on his face as you hold up a tiny pink dress. It's perfectly frilly, fit for a little girl. But all he can think is how charming it would look in a size for you—a thought that makes him shake his head, realizing how ridiculous it sounds.

“So, what do you think? Should I get this for Semi?” you ask, eyes sparkling with anticipation. There's already a growing collection of clothes for his niece in your arms, a reminder of how you've embraced being part of his family.

“Are you getting all of them?” he asks, more out of shock than judgment. He never imagined children's clothes could come with such hefty price tags.

“Yes, why? Is this too much? I can cover it if—”

Before you can finish, he interrupts, affronted. “I'll pay. It's for my lady, after all.”

The statement hangs in the air, not romantic as he'd intended but awkward, making your brows twitch slightly. You resist the urge to grimace, forcing a polite smile instead.

A staff member, the same one who had shushed Jake earlier, walks over with an unimpressed expression, exchanging a silent, almost comic glare with him. She gave Jake a look that said 'you're weird and I don't want to talk to you'

'what have I ever done to you' was the look that Jake presented back to the staff before she looked away. You glance between them, slightly confused. Then Jake clears his throat, moving the conversation forward.

“Do you have a similar dress in a bigger size?” His voice drops to almost a whisper. He feels self-conscious asking, but the idea has stuck.

The staff member blinks, taken aback. “Excuse me?” She tilts her head, uncertain if she heard right.

“Yeah, do you have something like this,” Jake gestures at the dress in your hands, “but, you know, for an adult?” A flush of red creeps across his cheeks as he points to you. The staff member nods after a moment, walking off to search, while you stand there stunned, watching her go.

“Why are you buying something for me? Semi’s dress is already pricey. A woman's size will be—”

“It's just a dress,” he interrupts with a small sigh, eyes softening. “Think of it as a gift.”

“But today isn't anything special.”

“Maybe not. But I'd like to make it special,” he replies, voice lowering. “I haven't given you anything since our wedding. That was four years ago.” His words carry a quiet vulnerability as he looks at you, taller and more serious than you expect. You hold his gaze before shifting and mumbling a reluctant, “Fine,” looking away to hide the way your cheeks warm.

The staff returns holding a similar dress, but in an adult size. It's pink, short, and undeniably cute-something that looks a little too daring for your style.

“Will this do?” she asks.

“Absolutely not,” “hell yeah,” you and Jake say in unison. The staff's eyebrows raise as she turns to you, sensing you as the more level-headed one.

“We're not buying it,” you insist, giving Jake a look.

He doubles down. “We are.”

“Jake, no.”

“Why not?”

“It's too short!” you argue, exasperated. He shrugs, eyes softening as he counters, “It's knee-length. That's normal.”

With a dramatic sigh, you roll your eyes and give in. But you don't try it on in the store; the idea of wearing it in front of him makes your heart thud with a mix of nerves and embarrassment. After all, you've barely even shared a bed in weeks—how could you possibly show him a dress like that now?

JAKE’S HEART STOPS FOR A MOMENT AS HE TAKES IN THE SIGHT BEFORE HIM. You, standing in the baby pink dress that hugs your figure just right, with its soft fabric brushing just above your knees. The playful, shy smile you wear as you twirl slightly sends a wave of warmth through him. He never expected to see you like this; the reality strikes him so suddenly that it leaves him breathless.

The laughter of Semi fills the room as she runs around in her matching pink dress, giggling and pulling you along by the hand. The soft glow of the post-birthday celebration lights casts a golden hue, warming up the atmosphere in the living room. Jake sits on the edge of the couch, one hand resting on his knee as he watches you and Semi, his gaze softening with an emotion he hasn't felt in what seems like ages.

A gentle nudge breaks his trance, and he turns to see his mother looking at him with raised brows and a hopeful gleam. “When are you two going to have kids?” she asks, her voice light but laced with longing.

The air in the room shifts. You pause mid-spin, eyes darting to Jake with a look of surprise. This isn't part of the script of your past life; this question throws you off balance, the sudden attention making your heart race.

Jake's father, seated across with a glass of wine in his hand, lets out a dramatic sigh. “I think I'll be long gone before I see any grandchildren from this one,” he jokes, though the weight behind it is unmistakable. The statement slices through the room's cheerful mood, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. Jake's jaw tightens, a subtle tension creeping up his spine. He wants kids too, he really does—but not in a house that feels as unstable as theirs has become.

Before he can respond, you surprise everyone, including yourself. “We're trying,” you say, the words slipping out with practiced ease, even as your pulse pounds. The room freezes, all eyes turning toward you in shock.

Jake's eyebrows lift in silent question, but he plays along, shifting to put on an unreadable expression. He nods, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he covers the uncertainty boiling beneath. The room shifts back into a mixture of excitement and surprise.

“Is that true? You're both trying?” Jake's mother's eyes glisten, her hope rekindled as she looks between you and her son.

“Really?” Jake's father echoes, leaning forward, his earlier sarcasm replaced by genuine interest.

Jay, standing near the fireplace, furrows his brow, lips parting in disbelief. Only last week, Jake had confided in him about how distant and weird things had become between you two.

Jake forces a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah... we've been trying for a while.” The lie feels heavy in his mouth, and he shoots you a look that says, Why'd you lie about that?

Your sister-in-law, Jieun, raises her hand, pointing at you with wide eyes. “Since when?” she blurts out, unable to contain her shock.

Jake stutters, “It's been a-a month,” the answer sounding rehearsed yet shaky. He glances at you again, his eyes pleading for an explanation that won't come.

The conversation quickly shifts into an excited buzz, with well-meaning wishes from your in-laws filling the air. You catch Jake's gaze, and despite the tight-lipped smile you give the family, there's a flicker of humor in your eyes. The absurdity of it all makes you want to laugh.

You both know the truth: the notion of trying for a child is impossibly far from reality.

Heck, it was funny for you to watch.

You were still a virgin. You two didn't even kiss more than once in those four years and they expect a baby to suddenly pop out of you?

And once the party winds down, you find yourself sitting on the couch with Semi by your side. Her wide, curious eyes shine with excitement as she swings her legs back and forth. At just four years old, she's a bundle of endless questions and innocent wonder.

You smile, reaching over to gently ruffle her soft, dark hair. “Does the birthday girl like her dress?” you ask, voice playful.

Semi beams, glancing down at the pink ruffled dress with pride. “It's so pretty,” she chirps, then looks up at you with a thoughtful expression. “But yours is prettier. You always look pretty, Aunty.”

Your heart melts, and you chuckle softly. “Aww, you learned how to give compliments, huh?” you tease, watching as her cheeks turn rosy and she averts her gaze to fiddle with her fingers.

“Aunty!” she whines, wanting you to stop teasing. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans in closer and motions for you to do the same. With a curious tilt of your head, you move closer, letting her whisper into your ear. “Will you eat a baby to have a baby?” she asks, voice so serious it makes you freeze for a moment.

You stifle a laugh, your eyes crinkling at the edges. Gently cupping her cheek, you whisper back, “No, sweetie. That's not how it works. But that's grown-up stuff, and we don't talk about it now, do we?”

Semi giggles, her little fingers playing with a toy she received from her grandmother. The sight makes your chest tighten in a bittersweet way. You can almost picture your mother-in-law doting on a future child, fussing over toys and tiny clothes. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, making you shake your head lightly as if to dispel the image.

But a small part of you can't help but smile at the idea, a blush rising to your cheeks. The dream is distant, almost unreachable, and not yet yours to claim.

When you and Jake step out into the cold night, the air nips at your exposed legs below your knees. The dress he had picked out for you, delicate and pastel pink, offers little warmth, and the heels are beginning to pinch with every step. You trail behind him, taking careful, aching strides to avoid twisting your ankle.

Jake notices, stopping suddenly to turn toward you, eyes scanning your shivering frame. “What’s wrong?” His gaze softens as he realizes how exposed you are, legs trembling from the chill. Without hesitating, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. The sudden warmth is welcome, but your teeth still chatter as you mutter, “Wish I had something covering my legs instead.”

He exhales, half exasperated, half amused, before a wry smile forms. “Should I carry you like a princess? You’d be warm then.”

Surprised, you bite back a retort, matching his teasing tone with confidence. “Maybe you should.”

Jake’s eyebrows shoot up, stunned. “Wait, what?”

“Chill, I was just joking,” you mumble, looking down at the ground. But before you know it, he’s stopped again, this time dropping to one knee. Your eyes widen in shock. “WHAT THE HELL?” you blurt out, stepping back in reflex, heat rising to your cheeks at the unexpected gesture. (more so because you believed he was trying to look up your dress)

Jake looks up, mildly annoyed but patient. “I’m helping you,” he says simply. Before you can argue, he pulls out a pair of slippers from a little carry bag he had brought from home. The realization hits, softening your expression as he glances up. “Lift your leg.”

You comply, feeling foolish for your earlier outburst. He slips the heels off your feet and replaces them with the soft slippers, careful and precise as if proving he has no ulterior motive. The chill in the air suddenly seems less biting.

“You had these the whole time?” you ask, voice softer now, eyes wide with realization. He places the heels into the carry bag, stands up, and meets your gaze with a smirk.

“Yeah. Thought you might need them,” he says, a hint of smugness in his tone. You’re about to thank him when he reminds you with a mock-accusing look, “And you were ready to accuse me of being a pervert.”

The memory makes you feel small, but you muster a sheepish, “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, a touch of amusement in his eyes as the two of you start walking again, your steps now confident and comfortable. His jacket around your shoulders holds a warmth that seems to seep straight to your heart.

“So...” Jake’s voice cuts through the silence, the question you've been dreading finally arriving. “Why did you lie about... us trying for a baby?” His tone is cautious, probing.

You sigh, the answer already clear in your mind. “It was the only way to get them to stop bothering us,” you admit. A pause follows, your gaze flitting up to meet his. You don’t dare to say more, not with your secret burden looming—coming from a future where he is no longer alive and your mission is to keep him safe.

Jake hums in agreement, the tension easing a bit. “I can’t argue with that.” A comfortable silence settles between you, only broken by the sound of your footsteps. He glances at you again and asks, “Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles. Relief flashes across his face before he reaches out, taking your hand and leading you forward. The two of you approach a small, tucked-away restaurant, its sign faded but familiar. Jake’s eyes light up. “You have to try the cold coffee from that café across the street,” he points out, the fondness in his voice unmistakable.

You nod, memories flickering back. His odd, endearing preferences were things you never forgot. “Fish curry with plain rice and some shrimp on the side?” you guess, eyes twinkling with recognition.

Jake’s head snaps to you, surprise clear as day. He stares, a laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “Since when did you start memorizing my favorites?”

You had heard about his fav things to eat from your brother in law, Jay. But Jake never said it to you himself so the boy was pretty much stunned when you literally memorised them, as if you were waiting to flex this whole time.

You offer a small, knowing smile. “I have my ways.”

The waiter arrives promptly with your orders, and the rich aroma fills the space between you and Jake. He takes a bite, but pauses, eyes drifting to you with a soft, contemplative expression. “We’ve never done this before…” he murmurs, his tone a mix of realization and gentle amusement.

You tilt your head, savoring a piece of shrimp. “You mean this date?” you ask, half-smiling.

“Yeah. I guess that’s what I mean,” he replies, taking a moment before continuing, as if gathering the courage. “I like it. I like how we are now.” He takes a sip of water, and the way he watches you is tender, raw. His hand slides across the table to rest over yours, fingers warm against your skin.

“I don’t know what changed, but I…” He hesitates, eyes locking with yours, a profound intensity that silences you. “I like how we’re not avoiding each other anymore, how we talk instead of fighting over every little thing.”

The sincerity in his words pierces through you, tugging at memories of a future where his absence left a hollow ache in your chest. The pain you’d carried, the distance, the loss—all of it feels heavy in this moment, but now, something else unfurls within you. An unexpected warmth that swells as his thumb brushes over your knuckles.

He draws in a shaky breath. “I know I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes, maybe too many, and that’s why we kept drifting apart in those four years we were married. But I want us to stay like this. Is that too much to ask for?” His voice cracks, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The depth of emotion he shows takes your breath away, and your vision blurs as your own tears spill over. The raw honesty in his confession reaches a part of you that had long been buried under grief and guilt. But this isn’t grief—it’s something different, a warmth that wraps around you and fills the spaces that loss once consumed.

“Jake…” you whisper, voice trembling. He blinks rapidly, tears tracing paths down his cheeks as he tries to manage a laugh, a hand lifting to wipe at his face. “Did I go too overboard?” he chuckles, awkwardly, brushing his fingers over yours, an attempt to ease the intensity.

But you can’t answer with words, your heart too full. Instead, you wipe your own tears away, watching him as he takes a deep breath and resumes eating, eyes still red-rimmed, his emotions raw and vivid between you. The silence that follows is... a little satisfying this time around. Your chest tightens, and you realize this feeling—this unexpected, overwhelming tenderness—is the spark you hadn’t felt in what feels like forever.

The confession... It did something to you. It made you feel things or you believed so.

You reach for his hand, this time without hesitation, and hold on as if anchoring both of you to this moment. A shared glance tells him everything you can’t yet put into words: you’re here, with him, and for now, that’s enough.

AS THE DAYS PASSED FOLLOWING THAT UNEXPECTED DINNER, a subtle shift had occurred between you and Jake. It had been a month since then, and despite your hectic lives—you, a dedicated nurse, and him, an ambitious lawyer—something had changed. You continued to sleep separately, a necessity due to your conflicting schedules. Late nights saw you returning home to find Jake already asleep, and early mornings had him leaving before you awoke. This unspoken arrangement was born out of mutual respect for each other’s rest.

However, the reminder of the future haunted you. The date on your wrist, November 4th, hadn’t faded or smudged. It remained stark and vivid, a grim reminder of the fate you knew awaited Jake, filling you with silent dread.

Despite your busy lives, the dinner at that small restaurant had stirred something unspoken between you. A shared tenderness had taken root, and in the brief pauses between work, you found yourself drawn to those moments that whispered of possibilities—moments that spoke of a bond that hadn’t existed before.

The room feels charged with an unspoken tension as you stand there, watching Jake. The question slips from your lips, “Are we sleeping separately again?” masking the tremble in your voice with an attempt at confidence. Jake’s eyes meet yours, an amused smile playing on his lips as he tilts his head. “Do you want to sleep with me?” he asks, casual yet knowing.

You stammer, trying to find an answer that won’t reveal how vulnerable you feel. “No—yes—but—” The uncertainty in your voice makes him chuckle softly, the sound sending warmth through your chest. The realization of your feelings for him washes over you again, clear and inescapable.

“It’s normal to want to sleep with your husband. Don’t worry,” he says reassuringly. His tone is light, yet there’s an edge of tenderness as he turns and walks to the bedroom. He pauses at the doorway, looking back with an expectant eyebrow raise, and you follow.

Inside, the dim light casts soft shadows. The atmosphere feels different tonight, heightened by the realization that, while you’ve shared this space before, this moment feels profoundly intimate. He hesitates for a moment, the usual playful confidence in his manner replaced by a quiet consideration.

Should he lie down first?

Wait for you?

Or speak?

“You don’t need to worry. I won’t touch you unless you want me to. We could even put a pillow between us if you prefer,” he says in a rush, trying to ease the tension. But his words leave you both flushed. You respond, flustered yet honest, “No—you can touch me—I mean...”

Jake’s eyes widen, and a surprised silence falls over you both, broken only by your slightly quickened breaths.

Finally, you break it, murmuring, “So... do we sleep?” You wish the dim light hides your expression, but Jake’s shifting on the bed signals that he’s as unsettled as you are. He lies down first, and you follow, settling into the bed with a space that feels simultaneously too close and too distant.

Minutes pass as the darkness deepens around you. You’re aware of every sound, every breath he takes, and the slight rustle of sheets as you both try to find comfort. The knowledge that he’s staying dressed out of respect doesn’t escape you, and neither does the chill that seeps through the room, despite the blanket. It’s enough to make sleep elusive, even as your heart drums with quiet, unspoken hope.

The air feels thick with tension as neither of you can fall asleep, despite the dim light and the shared silence. Jake gently sits up, his voice breaking the stillness. “I’ll get changed into my night clothes—this is uncomfortable. You should get changed too,” he suggests. His words are practical, but they stir a shyness inside you. The thought of wearing shorts around him makes you feel self-conscious, though the blanket and darkness give you some comfort.

With a deep breath, you agree. You grab your oversized top and shorts, retreating to the bathroom to change. When you return, Jake is already asleep, dressed in a soft T-shirt and shorts. His peaceful expression makes a pang of guilt settle in your chest. You feel both relief and unease at the same time, knowing he’s so close yet so far away.

You lie there, tense in the stillness of the night. Jake’s hand lands instinctively on your stomach, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you. You hold your breath, carefully shifting his hand away. Just when you think you're safe, his leg shifts under the blanket, pressing gently between your legs. A rush of heat floods your chest as you gently push his leg away, silently exhaling in relief.

In the quiet, you watch him sleep. His messy hair, a small trail of drool escaping his lips—something inside you stirs. Without thinking, you bring your thumb to wipe away the drool, brushing it lightly against your shirt. You stare at him for a moment, your heart racing in ways you can’t fully understand.

For Jake though,

He wakes to find you so close, your noses nearly touching. A small breath escapes him as he pulls back, but then he notices your body, curled into him—one of your legs and arms wrapped around him, as if clinging to his warmth to escape the cold. You’re nestled so comfortably against his chest, and though a small part of him wants to get up, he finds himself content in the moment.

He stares at you, watching as he slips his fingers through your hair, the quiet intimacy settling around him like a comforting blanket. When you stir, half-awake, he expects you to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you bury yourself further into his chest, and he smiles, a little amused by your unconscious need for closeness.

“Morning... Baby,” he says softly, though he’s hoping you’ll move just enough for him to slip out of bed.

“Morningg,” you murmur, nuzzling his chest. He notices how you don’t seem to mind the nickname, a small sign that you’re still in that dreamy, sleepy state. He wants to pull away, but he doesn't want to disturb you, so he asks, “Can you move a bit, baby?”

You barely stir, your arms and legs still tangled with his. “Too cold,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“I know, baby. I’ll turn the heater on for you, is that good?” he whispers, his voice tender. He’s careful not to wake you fully, knowing you won’t even remember this when you wake up.

An hour later, you wake up alone in the bed, the soft comforter still wrapped around your legs. You stretch and yawn, rubbing your eyes, only to hear the door creak open. Jake stands there, a plate in hand—an omelette and a fruit salad. You blink, unsure if you’re still dreaming, and pinch your cheek, just to make sure this isn’t some figment of your imagination.

“What's that?” you ask, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Breakfast in bed,” Jake says with a playful grin, setting the plate down in front of you.

“For me?” you ask, surprised and touched.

“Who else?” he replies with a shrug, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

“Why...?” You blink at him, unsure of why he's being so considerate, so affectionate.

“Why not?” he answers, teasing, but there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes your heart flutter.

You stare at the food in front of you, but the nerves kick in. “Well, uhm... I haven’t brushed.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures, waving off your concerns.

“No, it’s not. It’s gross. I do care about germs,” you argue, a bit embarrassed. Before he can say anything else, you rush off to brush your teeth, feeling a little self-conscious. You quickly freshen up, brushing your teeth with the toothpaste, hoping that’ll help with the lingering awkwardness.

When you return, you take a bite, and the emotion hits you harder than you expect. You don’t quite know why, but the tenderness of his gesture fills you with gratitude, and a soft lump forms in your throat.

“Why?” you ask again, your voice shaky, as you sip some water. The question has been swirling in your mind ever since you saw him standing there, holding that plate.

“Hm?” he hums, genuinely confused, not fully understanding why you're so emotional.

“Why are you being so nice... and romantic?” You wince after speaking, regretting your words, but you can't take them back now.

Jake tilts his head, his smile fading slightly. “Like I said a month ago... I meant those words. I want us to stay like this... And not go back to how it was in those four years.. Are we really that immature to let it happen again? ” The vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard, and for a moment, you can see the hurt in his eyes.

It's raw, honest, and you feel a knot twist in your chest, not having a reply to his genuine question.

THE DAYS AND MONTHS THAT FOLLOW ARE UNEXPECTEDLY TENDER, filled with moments that remind you of what being husband and wife is meant to feel like. The shared smiles, lingering touches, and quiet mornings are sweeter than they have ever been, and for the first time in a long while, peace seems attainable. Yet, there is an undercurrent that stirs beneath it all—the date that looms, casting a shadow over your contentment.

November 4th.

With the month drawing nearer, your heart starts to tighten with an anxious grip. Paranoia seeps into the quiet moments, the fear of what November 4th could mean—what it has meant in the past—makes the days feel more fragile. Your mind races, replaying scenarios and doubts that you can’t shake off. Each sweet gesture, each kind word from him, is tinged with the knowledge that the date approaches, threatening to unravel everything you’ve rebuilt.

Jake’s expression is heavy with exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes hinting at the long day he’s had. You offer, “I’ll heat up the dinner,” and turn toward the kitchen, but he stops you with a gentle grasp around your wrist. Before you can react, he pulls you back, pressing you against the wall. The soft strains of a romantic song drift from the living room, creating an intimate, almost fragile atmosphere.

He’s close—closer than usual—and you feel the warmth radiating from his body as well as the subtle scent of his cologne. The proximity sends your pulse racing.

“Jake?” you say softly, confusion lacing your voice as you look up at him. His face is unreadable, the dim lighting casting a shadow over the tired lines of his features. His eyes meet yours, carrying an unspoken emotion.

“Mm?” he murmurs, his voice hushed, as if not to disturb the moment. His hands find their way around you, holding you securely against him, and he leans his chin on your head. The gesture feels protective, desperate even.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your words barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re seeking clarification or reassurance. His embrace tightens for a moment, and you feel his chest rise and fall against yours as he takes a deep breath.

“Can you stop calling me Jake?” he says quietly, the request landing softly, yet weighted.

Surprise flashes through you. “What do you want me to call you?” you ask, voice muffled against his shirt. The question feels vulnerable, as if shifting something fundamental between you both.

“I don’t know... something like... baby, darling, honey... or anything,” he admits, a subtle flush spreading across his cheeks despite the solemn tone. You catch the shy dip of his eyes, and a faint smile tugs at your lips.

“You’re being quite demanding,” you tease, looking up into his face. His lips part slightly as he considers your words.

“This isn’t being demanding,” he counters, pausing just long enough for the silence to underline his meaning. His eyes search yours, raw and full of an unnamed plea. “I just want to spend my last months with you, thinking we’re just... normal. Like any other couple.”

His words sink in, bringing with them an ache that spreads through your chest. The silence that follows is heavy, laced with all the things unsaid and the truth that’s pressing in on both of you. You lift a hand, letting your fingers brush the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes soften, dark lashes casting shadows against his skin as he watches you.

There’s something fragile in this moment, a bittersweet understanding passing between you that makes your throat tighten. The future looms, uncertain and unkind, but for now, you’re here, held close, suspended in the tender present.

Jake’s voice lowers, a tremor in its depths that betrays the weight of his words. “You might not believe me, but... I come from a reality where I’m dead. So, I hope we can at least be nice to each other in my last moments. Can you do that?”

A stunned silence follows, your breath catching in your throat as his confession hangs in the air. You believe him; how could you not when you come from the same reality? Eyes widening, you step back, raising your wrist to show the dark, unerasable mark: November 4th. The ink-like number seems to pulse, a constant reminder of a fate that binds you both.

Jake’s eyes mirror your shock. He releases you, just enough to reveal his own wrist. There it is, the same haunting date. The mark seems alive, almost mocking, as if counting down with every heartbeat.

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the silence heavy with shared grief and realization. The next second, you’re in his arms again, your face buried in his chest as he pulls you close, his own face pressed into your hair. The world around you blurs, reduced to the rapid thumping of your heart and the warmth of his embrace.

“I... please don’t... leave me this time,” you plead, your voice breaking under the weight of your fear. The memory of finding him lifeless in the world you came from, the coldness of that reality, rushes back with a cruel force.

“I will try,” he whispers, his voice barely steady as he runs a hand down your back in a soothing gesture. “We changed the relationship, right? So maybe... just maybe, we can avoid death too.”

You both stand there, unmoving as the moment stretches out. It feels absurd, two souls transported from a fractured future, now clinging to each other in the present in a fragile hope. Yet the thought of letting go is unbearable, so you don’t. For now, the reality of the present is enough.

JAKE’S FINGERS TREMBLE SLIGHTLY AS HE HOLDS OUT THE SMALL BOX, A HINT OF NERVOUSNESS CREASING HIS BROW. “This is for you.” His voice is softer than usual, his eyes searching yours for a response. The box is familiar, a relic from the present you left behind, steeped in memories. Inside is the ancestral ring, one that Jake’s mother entrusted to you after his death—a token that held more value than any wedding ring could.

“I wasn’t... couldn’t give it to you before, but now... I’d like you to have it.” His voice is almost a whisper as he takes your hand, slipping the cool metal onto your finger. His touch lingers, warm and careful, as if anchoring the moment between you.

You look down at the ring, its delicate design catching the dim light and glistening softly. The weight of it brings back a rush of memories that mix grief with an unexpected warmth. Meeting his gaze, you let a small, genuine smile curve your lips. “Thank you. After you… I mean, after your death, your mother gave it to me,” you say, voice thick with the past, “but I’m glad it’s you giving it to me now.”

The way his eyes widen before softening speaks volumes—acceptance, regret, and hope, all blending seamlessly as he draws you closer.

Jake’s expression shifts, a soft smile forming as he leans in, his body pressing yours gently against the bedroom wall. His breath mingles with yours, warm and scented faintly with his cologne. His eyes trace your features, holding a glimmer of something tender and fragile. You raise a brow in playful defiance, a silent challenge, and a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. Without another word, he cups your face, his thumb grazing your cheek, and leans in until the space between you disappears.

The first touch of his lips is tentative, testing. A shiver races down your spine as his mouth moves with a gentleness that makes your heart stutter. Your eyes flutter open for a second, catching the serene expression on his face before closing again as you respond, deepening the kiss. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to reality.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing in short, uneven gasps. The room is silent except for the soft crackle of a song playing somewhere in the background. Jake’s eyes open, and in them, you see a question—a hesitation laced with anticipation. “Do you want to go further?” His voice, barely above a whisper, holds a vulnerability that makes your pulse quicken.

You exhale softly, a hint of a smile teasing your lips as you match his boldness. “How far can you go?” The playful edge in your voice makes him chuckle, low and breathy.

“As far as you want to go.” The words are a promise, and before you can respond, his lips capture yours again, more confident this time, as his hand moves to the strap of your dress, gently sliding it off of your shoulders.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS PASS IN A COMFORTING CALM, the bond between you and Jake strengthening with each passing day. You're no longer weighed down by the regret of the past, but instead, you focus on cherishing the present. Yet, there's still a lingering unease.

Jake driving the car is something that continues to gnaw at you. It's not just a simple fear; it's the haunting memory of the future you came from, where that very action led to his tragic end. As November nears, the pressure builds. You look at the date on your wrist—November 4th—and the thought of losing him again, of it becoming reality, is too much to bear. Your chest tightens, and you feel a mix of helplessness and dread, hoping with every fiber of your being that this time, things will be different.

Jake offers a reassuring smile, the kind that tries to mask his own unease as he softly says, “Chill, I’ll be back in an hour, alright?” His hand moves up to gently smooth your hair, eyes soft with understanding as he takes in the worry etched across your face. You cling tighter to his arm, voice trembling as you ask, “Is it important?”

He nods, and the hopeful part of you crumbles. The instinct to keep him close, to refuse, is almost overwhelming. But before you can protest, he leans forward, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. His hands slip down to rest on your shoulders as he looks at you earnestly.

“I promise I’ll be back. Now, will my pretty wife give me a smile so I can come back even sooner?” The playful plea tugs at your lips, and despite the fear swirling inside, you manage a small, forced smile. He chuckles softly, ruffling your hair before turning to leave.

You trail behind him to the door, eyes glued to the taillights of his car as they fade down the street. The ache in your chest sharpens, and you glance down at the ancestral ring on your finger, tracing its smooth surface as if the touch alone could make your wish come true: Please, come back safely.

The minutes stretch painfully long, and every ten minutes, you can’t resist sending a text, the same anxious message: “If you’re okay, just send a heart emoji.” True to his word, Jake replies with a heart every time—until the fifty-minute mark.

The silence is deafening. Your heart thunders as you stare at your phone, willing the screen to light up. Nothing. The dread coils tighter, stealing the air from your lungs. You take a shaky breath, but it barely settles you. Panic sets in, and you hit the call button. The phone doesn’t connect; the ring tone never plays. Your chest tightens.

In desperation, you call Jay, your brother-in-law. His voice is laced with confusion as he picks up. “Jay, is Jake with you?” The silence that follows your frantic question only amplifies your fear. “No, why? What’s going on?” he asks, suddenly serious. Before you can answer, he cuts the call, sensing the urgency and attempting to help in any way he can.

The next hour drags like an eternity, your anxiety swallowing every rational thought. You pace the room, eyes darting to the clock, phone clenched in your shaking hand. Then, after what feels like a lifetime, you hear the distant purr of an engine. Your pulse stutters as Jake’s car comes into view, whole and unharmed.

But you don’t relax. Not until you see him. The door swings open, and there he is, frustration etched into his features as he steps inside. Your breath catches, relief and anger colliding within you.

Jake's expression softens as he speaks, keeping his voice low despite the frustration. “Why’d you call Jay over something like this? My phone died while I was working. I charged it and got caught up in the case. It’s embarrassing.”

Your eyes well up, the weight of worry turning to a sting of hurt. “So? It’s not important?” Your voice wavers, raw with emotion. “I was terrified, Jake! I didn’t want to lose you again. Sorry for being the clingy wife you’re ashamed of.”

Turning to leave, you barely make a step before he’s there, blocking your path. His eyes search yours, but instead of a defensive remark, he pulls you close, enveloping you in an embrace that tells you more than words could. His arms tighten, anchoring you to him as he murmurs in your ear, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s strange, but I promise I won’t say that again, okay?”

His breath is warm against your hair as he leans his cheek on your head, his heartbeat steady against your own erratic one. Despite the tension, you sense his understanding, a silent acknowledgment of your fear. He’s learning to hold your worry without judgment.

“I was so scared, Jake. I thought I’d lose you all over again.” Your voice cracks, and he feels the tremor in your body. He wants to say the right thing, anything to soothe the tremble in your words, but all he can do is hold you tighter.

Both of you are haunted by that date imprinted on your wrists, “November 4th.” A reminder that looms like an uninvited shadow, a constant whisper of what could happen.

THE DAY ARRIVES, a heavy silence filling the air between you and Jake. His promise lingers like a protective shield around you both: he won’t drive, he won’t leave. His presence is a balm for the fear that pulses in your chest. As the two of you snuggle on the couch, the soft glow of the TV playing a rom-com, you turn to him with a worried look, your voice low and unsure.

“What if something bad happens while we’re in the house?” you whisper, nuzzling into his warmth. The thought of losing him, of the world continuing without him, feels unbearable.

Jake shifts, his arm wrapping tighter around you as he looks down at you, his breath warm against your neck. “Nothing will happen. And if it does, I’ll protect you,” he assures, his tone strong and sure, though his own heart is heavy. He knows how much your fear weighs on you, and he wants to shoulder it for you.

But the thought of you living without him—he can’t imagine it. He brushes your hair from your face gently, his voice a soft promise. “I love you too much for that.” His words come out naturally, like it’s something he’s been holding back but feels right now to say. It’s the first time you hear him say it, and the weight of those words floods your heart with warmth, knowing this is real.

“I get it. I won’t put my life at risk,” he murmurs, though there’s a quiet uncertainty in his words, an unspoken truth that he would never let anything harm you—even at the cost of his own safety.

You glance up at him, your lips pressing together in a worried frown. “You better not,” you mumble, not able to let go of the fear completely. You’ve spent the whole day together, in the safety of your home, trying to ignore the impending dread that the date will pass and nothing will change. Watching TV, cooking together, each small moment a reminder of how much he means to you—and how fragile life can be.

You curl up closer to him, as if physically wrapping yourself around him can keep him safe. Your eyes glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by too slowly. Every moment spent together now feels like a treasure, and you want to hold on to it forever.

The two of you lie in bed, the soft glow of the nightlight casting a gentle warmth over your forms. His hand rests tenderly over yours, fingers interlocking. He watches you as you sleep, your face relaxed, peaceful. A quiet whisper escapes his lips: “I love you.” His eyes linger on your peaceful expression, your other arm still clinging to him as if you’re unwilling to let go even in sleep.

He leans over to turn off the lamp, and then his gaze falls to his wrist—where the date once was. It’s gone. A wave of disbelief washes over him. The tension that has gripped him for so long begins to melt away. Perhaps it wasn’t an omen after all, but a reminder that after November 4th, a new chapter awaited them both.

He takes a deep breath, reaching for your wrist to find the same thing: no date. Relief floods him, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, pulling you even closer into his arms, savoring the moment.

But he knows, as much as this moment feels like a new beginning, there will still be challenges ahead. The fear you carry about him driving is not something that will fade overnight. Your worry, rooted in a past he knows you can’t shake, will take time to heal. But for now, he holds you close, understanding, and promises silently that he’ll be patient, allowing you to find peace in your own time.

TWO MONTHS HAVE PASSED SINCE THE FATEFUL DATE, and though life has taken you and Jake through different stages, there’s an undeniable warmth between the two of you. Sitting at the family dinner table, surrounded by loved ones, the air is filled with laughter, conversation, and the quiet hum of joy.

Semi, now a cheerful five-year-old, eats her meal quietly, occasionally looking up with shy glances.

You glance over at Jake, noticing him take a deep breath as he prepares to speak, his hand resting on the table near yours. It’s clear he’s nervous, even though it’s just family. He clears his throat, the words finally tumbling out: “So… We’re having a baby.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Jake’s father scoffs, not giving him an ounce of reaction, while his mother rolls her eyes. “Oh, c’mon, you can fool us one time, not twice,” she says, clearly referencing the last family dinner, where you had tried to casually mention trying for a baby, only for him to play along. He felt the blame was entirely on him, but you knew the truth—it was a team effort.

You chuckle softly to yourself, leaning into Jake’s side, your heart fluttering at the thought of a new life, a new chapter. He meets your gaze, his lips curving into a small smile, even amidst the teasing.

This moment, while filled with playful mockery, marks something deeper. You’re finally here together, stronger and more united than ever before. And this new adventure? It’s the start of a new journey that no one can take from you.

"Really, Y/n’s pregnant. We're having a baby," Jake says, his voice laced with excitement. His mother, skeptical, eyes you closely. "Is that true?"

Without waiting for Jake’s confirmation, you nod, feeling his fingers intertwine with yours beneath the table, his touch calming your nerves.

"I won’t hesitate to beat your ass if this is fake," his dad grumbles, irritation mixing with a hint of hope.

Jay, barely containing his amusement at the scene, watches the family react, while Jake proudly pulls out the ultrasound pictures, revealing the truth. His parents take turns looking at the images, jaws dropping in surprise. Jay, knowing already, can’t help but chuckle.

"Father was starting to question your masculinity. Glad you proved him wrong," Jay teases, earning a gentle nudge from Jieun, urging him to keep it light.

"Wait... So there’s a grandkid on the way?" Jake’s mother recovers first, grinning with hopeful excitement. Jake nods, and your heart swells at the thought of everything that's to come. This moment, this family, it feels like the beginning of something truly special.

Jake’s mother leans forward, still processing, but the excitement is slowly bubbling up. “A grandchild? Really? My little boy having a little one? I’m going to spoil that baby so much.”

Jake chuckles, glancing at you. “Well, you already spoil Semi enough, so I guess it’s fair.”

“Hey, I’m a great grandma-in-training,” she quips, giving Semi an affectionate pat. “But if you two need any advice, I’m here.”

Your heart swells seeing the warmth in her eyes. But then, Jake’s dad, clearly trying to keep his cool, mutters, “I’ll believe it when I see a baby in my arms.”

“You’ll see him,” Jake says, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Or her, right, Y/n?”

You smile, feeling the weight of the moment. “Definitely,” you whisper, feeling a rush of emotion.

Jay, still grinning, can’t help but poke at his younger brother. “So, what’s the plan, huh? You two gonna have one of those perfect Pinterest-worthy baby showers or just skip the whole thing?”

Jieun smacks his arm lightly. “Don’t make them nervous, Jay. Let them enjoy the moment.”

Jake laughs, looking over at you with that same loving gaze. “Honestly, I think we just need to take it one step at a time. But yeah, we’ll get there.”

“You know, when you have a baby, you’ll see just how much you need each other,” his dad says more seriously now, a rare moment of wisdom breaking through his tough exterior. “It’s not just about being a parent, it’s about being there for each other even more.”

Jake nods, his hand tightening around yours as if to say, “I’ve got you, always.”

The whole family seems to settle into a comfortable silence after that, everyone soaking in the news in their own way, but all of them sharing the same unspoken bond.

“Guess we’ll need one more chair for next time,” Jay jokes, breaking the silence, and everyone bursts out laughing.

You glance at Jake, his eyes full of joy, and your heart feels fuller than it ever has. There’s something about being surrounded by family—being with him—that feels right. “Yeah, we’ll need one more chair,” Jake agrees softly, his gaze drifting to the future, to the family that’s just beginning.

In the end, you and Jake had proven the vows true—til death do us part. Through all the challenges, fears, and moments of doubt, you had always found your way back to each other. The promises made, the trust built, and the love that had endured everything now stood as a testament to what you had together. With every touch, every shared laugh, and every quiet moment, you knew that no matter what, your hearts were bound—for life—and beyond.

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inseobts · 4 months ago

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Chains of the heart

charlotte katakuri x reader

you're being forced to marry big mom's son katakuri but the arrive of the strawhats will change everything. (WCI arc spoilers)

words count: 1.4k

tags: WCI spoilers, fight, forced marriage

masterlist // ko-fi

Your crew is ambushed by Big Mom’s fleet. Before you can do anything to stop it, Charlotte Katakuri appears, demanding you marry him to save your crew from Big Mom’s wrath.

"Marry you?” You scoff, eyes narrowing “I’m not some pawn to be used for your family’s gain.”

“I’m not asking,” Katakuri replies, his gaze unwavering. “This is Big Mom’s command. Refuse, and I’ll show you the consequences.”

Your crew’s lives hang in the balance, and the anger inside you boils. But there’s no choice. “Fine. But know this: I won’t go down without a fight.”

Katakuri gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. “I expect nothing less.”

As the days pass, the reality of the arrangement begins to sink in. You’re now living under Katakuri’s watchful eye, forced into a gilded cage. Every day feels suffocating, Katakuri and you don’t interact much, but there’s an underlying tension between you both. As days pass, you notice Katakuri’s quiet gestures—small acts of kindness like making sure your food is prepared to your liking, providing you with personal space, and even asking the cooks to make your favorite dishes.

One evening, as you sit in the grand dining hall, Katakuri silently places a small dish in front of you—a plate of desserts from the Totto Land kitchens. You eye it warily, not used to his quiet kindness.

“You ordered these?” you ask, not sure how to read his intentions.

“Big Mom insisted that you should be treated well,” he replies, not meeting your eyes. “Eat. It’s your favorite.”

You blink in surprise. “How do you know it’s my favorite?”

Katakuri looks up at you, his expression unreadable. “I’ve been watching.”

“Stalker” you tease, unable to help a small smile.

He doesn’t respond but the faintest hint of a blush colors his face.

The Straw Hats arrive on Whole Cake Island, and your world is turned upside down. Luffy’s loud voice rings in the distance, and you’re unsure of what to do.

One day you meet Luffy, Brook, Nami and Chooper. You know they’re here for Sanji and since you already met the blonde cook and befriend him, you decide to help them.

“I want to help you. He’s a funny guy and he helped me a few days ago, he made me feel less lonely, even in s situation this bad”

Nami looks at you with her sad eyes “what do you mean?”

You let out a sigh, feeling a strange pull to talk to them “Big Mom threatened my crew. I had no choice but to accept the marriage, or she would’ve killed them all.”

Chopper starts crying and sobbing he asks “Didn’t your crew tried to save you?”

“No, not really” you answer looking down “I don’t even know if they’re still my crew after all this and if I’m still their captain. I just hope they’re all alive and doing well”

Luffy’s face hardens for a moment before he grins “Well, what I know for sure is that you’re part of my crew now, too. We’ll get you out, just like our Sanji.”

After talking to Luffy, you feel a sense of determination growing inside you. You’ve been fighting for your freedom for so long, and now that Luffy is here, the plan begins to form.

Luffy’s voice rings with optimism, “We’ll break you out of this! You deserve better than a forced marriage.”

“You really think you can do that?” you ask, a hint of disbelief in your voice.

Luffy grins “No one gets left behind!”

You smile despite yourself “Thanks, Luffy. I’ll help you get Sanji back. And when the time comes, I’ll be leaving with you.”

You begin working with the Straw Hats to help them get Sanji back, all the while hiding your inner turmoil. Every interaction with Katakuri is strained, though you notice how he watches you carefully, almost protectively.

“You’re planning on leaving, aren’t you?” Katakuri asks one night, his voice quieter than usual. There’s something in his tone—almost like he’s resigned to it.

You meet his gaze, stubbornly “Yes, I am.”

“I’ll make sure your escape is… easier,” Katakuri says reluctantly. “But know this: if you leave, I won’t let you come back.”

You nod firmly, even tho your heart breaks a little, “If I leave, I’ll never come back”

You find yourself trapped in Luffy’s fight with Katakuri in the Mirror World is fierce. The tension between the two is palpable, and though you’ve spent much of your time fighting alongside the Straw Hats, you find yourself torn. Katakuri has shown you so much more than you expected—kindness, subtle care, and a level of respect that you never thought you’d receive from someone like him.

But since the start of this war you decided to side with the Straw Hats and you can’t change it now that it’s ending, even while watching Luffy push Katakuri to his limits. But you can’t resist anymore after seeing Katakuri vulnerability without his scarf, so you step forward, your voice shaking.

“Luffy!” you call out, running between the two “I think that’s enough, we should just leave now.”

Katakuri pushes himself to stand up and put an hand on your shoulder, “please move aside, I don’t need to be protected. And for the record, I’m fighting for you as well, y/n”

You look at him with regret, thinking that maybe you're doing it all wrong. But it's too late now, so you look at both of them, both determined to win, you nod and step aside to let them continue.

At the end of their fight you run towords Katakuri and try to help him but he gently grabs your wirst to stop you, "go, run away from here now that you can. Now I know that even out there, there will be someone who will protect you."

Now you feel the weight of your decision pressing down on you. Luffy’s words about freedom and loyalty ring in your ears, but a small voice inside you tells you that you’ve found something different with Katakuri. Something that’s real.

He let go of your wirst and turn his head to look away and avoid your eyes. You don't even have time to think that Luffy calls you to leave and you follow him but not without looking over Katakuri one last time and see his sister trying to help him. A sense of regret in you.

As the dust settles after the fight, Luffy and the others are ready to leave. You stand there, conflicted, caught between your past and the future that beckons with the Strawhats. You see the freedom in their eyes, the unrelenting will to fight for what’s right, and you feel that same fire inside yourself.

But when your eyes land on Katakuri, you realize the truth. The connection between you both isn’t just duty anymore—it’s something deeper, something worth fighting for.

“I’m staying” you say, your voice steady and sure.

Luffy looks at you, understanding in his eyes “I get it. You don’t have to explain it. But remember, you’ll always have a place with us.”

All the strawhats there smiling at you as to confirm their captain’s words.

You nod smiling at them, then turn to Katakuri, who’s watching you with that familiar, unreadable gaze. Slowly, he approaches, his usual reserved demeanor softening just enough to show that he respects your choice.

Katakuri finally looks at you, a mixture of confusion and relief crossing his face “You… You’re sure?”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest “I’m not staying out of obligation, Katakuri. I’m staying because I want to be here. With you.”

“I’ll protect you, y/n. I’ll make this marriage something real” Katakuri says, his voice almost tender.

Your heart swells with a strange mix of relief and uncertainty. But one thing is clear: you’ve chosen your path. And this time, it’s your choice.

The weeks pass, and with the battle over, a strange new peace settles between you and Katakuri. Your marriage, once forced, has evolved into something more.

One evening, as you sit across from him at dinner, you look up from your plate, meeting his eyes “You know,” you start, half-smiling, “this doesn’t feel so bad anymore.”

Katakuri’s lips twitch “I told you it wasn’t as bad as you thought.”

“You didn’t tell me anything,” you tease, grinning “you just kept being grumpy and mysterious. It wasn’t very helpful.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, but you notice the faintest smile tugging at his lips “And you didn’t make things easier either” he retorts, but there’s no heat in his words.

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand “So… I guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

Katakuri looks at you for a long moment, then, in his usual quiet way, says, “I suppose we are.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel something lighter—something that isn’t burdened by forced duty. Something that’s real.

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afloweroutofstone · 25 days ago

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Part 2: How Trump 2.0 has harmed civil liberties and civil rights

Part two of my summary report of the second Trump administration's first 100 days is out now. You can follow along on Medium (where you can sign up for email updates) or on my website.

In part one, we focused on democracy and government. Today, we're looking at 23 ways that the second Trump administration has worsened US policies on the freedom of speech and press, immigration, civil rights, mass surveillance, the justice system, women's rights, LGBTQ rights, and more:

20. Repressing Free Speech 21. Restricting the Freedom of the Press 22. Attacking Opponents 23. Targeting Palestine Activists 24. Exploiting Anti-Terrorism Policies 25. Expanding Government Surveillance 26. Waging War on Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion 27. Reversing Civil Rights 28. Launching Mass Deportations 29. Invoking the Alien Enemies Act 30. Militarizing the Border 31. Targeting Child Migrants 32. Terrorizing Legal Immigrants 33. Attacking Foreign Students 34. Turning Our Back on Refugees 35. Encouraging Police Violence 36. Expanding the Death Penalty 37. Worsening Mass Incarceration 38. Restricting Abortion 39. Weakening Sexual Assault Protections 40. Undermining LGBTQ Rights 41. Attacking Trans People 42. Weakening Separation of Church and State

#100 policies #Trump #politics #Donald Trump #immigration

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goldfades · 6 months ago

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baby time. | JOE BURROW⁹ [007]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your son's birth!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | mentions of birth (who would have thought!?), not too descriptive, joe being the sweetest baby daddy EVERRR, maisie being the coolest aunt, mentions of water-breaking, descriptions of contractions, idk what else but... it's pretty soft!

APRIL 9TH, 2022

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. The kind where the quiet hum of the fan filled the room and the soft rhythm of Joe’s breathing set a peaceful background to your restless tossing and turning. Pregnancy sleep was its own brand of chaos—you were hot, then cold, then uncomfortable, then starving. The baby wasn’t even here yet, and they already had your schedule on a tight leash.

Sighing, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor a small relief against your aching feet. The bedside clock glowed faintly: 3:27 a.m.

Joe stirred beside you, murmuring something incoherent before settling back into his usual sprawl. He looked so peaceful, one arm flung over his head, the other draped protectively over the empty side of the bed you’d just vacated.

You shuffled toward the bathroom, rubbing a hand over your belly as if to soothe the little one nestled there. "Let’s not make this a nightly thing, okay?" you muttered. The baby gave a single, emphatic kick in response.

Just as you reached for the bathroom door, it happened—a warm gush that stopped you in your tracks.

For a split second, you froze, your sleep-addled brain scrambling to make sense of what just happened. Did I…? No, it couldn’t be. But the dampness spreading down your legs told a very different story.

“Oh, no,” you whispered, wide-eyed.

Your water had broken.

The realization hit like a bolt of lightning, and panic surged through your veins. You weren’t ready. The baby wasn’t ready. Nothing was ready.

“Joe,” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper as you stood there, utterly frozen. Then louder, more urgent: “Joe!”

He shot up immediately, eyes wild with the disorientation of someone ripped from deep sleep. “What? What’s wrong?” His voice was thick, his hair sticking up in every direction.

“My water,” you stammered, gesturing vaguely to the puddle on the floor. “It broke. It’s happening. The baby’s coming. Right now.”

Joe blinked at you, his brain clearly lagging behind your words. Then his eyes darted down, taking in the scene.

“Oh, shit,” he said, throwing the covers off and leaping out of bed. “Okay, okay. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” you said, though your trembling hands and rapid-fire breathing told a very different story. “I’m just… processing.”

“Processing is good,” Joe said, nodding like a man trying very hard not to freak out himself. “Processing is great. Let’s… uh, let’s get to the hospital.”

He darted to the closet, yanking out a duffle bag you’d packed weeks ago. Thank God for Maisie, who had insisted on the just-in-case preparations.

“Where are your shoes?” he asked, rummaging through the closet like it was a black hole.

“I don’t know!” you wailed, clutching the dresser for support as another wave of panic rolled through you. “Joe, I can’t do this. It’s too early. What if something’s wrong? What if—”

“Hey, hey,” he said, dropping the bag and crossing the room in two long strides. He cupped your face in his hands, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “You can do this. We can do this. Everything’s going to be fine.”

His voice was calm, steady, and just grounding enough to slow the whirlwind in your head. You nodded, taking a shaky breath.

“Good,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Now, let’s get you out of these wet clothes, okay?”

A flurry of activity followed—Joe helping you into fresh leggings and one of his sweatshirts, both of you scrambling to gather last-minute items. The whole time, you couldn’t stop glancing at the clock. Was this really happening? Right now?

By the time you made it to the car, Joe had shifted into full quarterback mode, his focus laser-sharp as he buckled you in and started the engine.

“You good?” he asked, glancing over at you as he pulled out of the driveway.

You nodded, clutching your belly as the first faint contraction rippled through you. “I think so.”

The drive to the hospital felt both endless and impossibly fast. Joe kept glancing at you, his hand gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You okay?” he asked every few minutes.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice wavered as the contractions grew stronger. “Just keep driving.”

When you finally pulled up to the hospital, everything blurred into a chaotic rush—nurses, wheelchairs, bright lights, and a flurry of paperwork that Joe handled while you focused on breathing through the increasingly intense waves of pain.

“This is it,” he said softly as the nurse wheeled you toward a delivery room, his hand warm and steady on your shoulder. “We’re going to meet our baby.”

And just like that, the panic ebbed, replaced by a strange, calm anticipation. Because no matter how unprepared you felt, you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t doing this alone. Joe was there, and you were a team.

The hospital room was a blur of sterile white and cold tile floors, softened only slightly by the hum of machines monitoring your every breath and beat. You hadn’t even been in the room for an hour, but it already felt like days. The contractions were still mild, coming in waves that tightened your belly and sent a ripple of discomfort through your lower back.

Joe stood by the window, his phone pressed to his ear, his face tight with concentration. The fluorescent light overhead cast sharp angles on his features, making the exhaustion in his eyes more pronounced. He ran a hand through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time, a nervous tic that betrayed the calm front he was trying to keep up.

“Yeah, Mom,” he said, his voice low but insistent. “Her water broke a couple hours ago. We’re at the hospital now.”

You could hear Robin’s voice on the other end, shrill with concern even though she was hours away in Athens. Joe flinched slightly, pulling the phone an inch from his ear as he glanced back at you.

“She’s okay,” he assured her, though his eyes flicked nervously toward the monitors beeping steadily by your bedside. “It’s early, but the doctors aren’t worried. They said everything looks good so far.”

You shifted on the bed, trying to find a position that didn’t make your hips feel like they were being pried apart. Easier said than done. Joe noticed immediately, his brow furrowing as he mouthed, You good?

You nodded, even though you weren’t entirely sure it was true.

“Mom, I gotta go,” he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I’ll keep you updated, okay? Love you. Bye.”

He hung up and exhaled sharply, dragging a chair closer to your bedside and sinking into it. His hand found yours automatically, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a steady rhythm.

“My parents are driving up right now,” he said, managing a small, wry smile. “Mom’s freaking out, of course. Told me to tell you she loves you and to hang in there.”

You smiled faintly, though your heart clenched a little at the thought of your parents, who were currently halfway across the country on a long-awaited vacation. Timing really was everything.

“They’re gonna feel so guilty about missing this,” you murmured, wincing as another contraction started to build.

Joe squeezed your hand. “They’ll be here soon enough. And Maisie’s on her way—she’ll probably get here before I even figure out how to fold that damn swaddle blanket.”

That managed to pull a weak laugh out of you, even as the contraction peaked, forcing you to close your eyes and breathe through the sharp wave of pain. Joe immediately sat up straighter, his free hand hovering uncertainly over your leg like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said through gritted teeth. “That one was just… a little stronger.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Should I call the nurse?”

You shook your head, exhaling shakily as the contraction ebbed. “Not yet. They said this could take a while.”

Joe’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked like he wanted to argue, but the sound of the door opening cut him off. A nurse bustled in, her smile professional and calm as she checked your vitals and updated the monitor.

“Everything’s looking good,” she said brightly, glancing between you and Joe. “First babies can take their time, though, so try to relax as much as you can. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you again.”

Relax. Right.

The door had barely swung shut behind her when Joe’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. He snatched it up, glancing at the screen. “Maisie’s downstairs. I’ll go grab her, okay?”

You nodded, watching him go with a mix of relief and unease. As much as you appreciated his constant presence, the nervous energy radiating off him was almost suffocating. Maybe Maisie would help diffuse some of the tension.

Maisie arrived like a whirlwind, her hair pulled into a messy bun and a to-go coffee cup in one hand.

“Oh my God,” she said, rushing to your side. “You look… okay, actually. Better than I thought you’d look after your water broke in the middle of the night.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward despite the ache in your back.

Joe reappeared behind her, carrying a paper bag you could only assume was filled with the snacks Maisie insisted on bringing every time you so much as sneezed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, plopping into the chair Joe had vacated and immediately taking over the hand-holding duties. “Is it bad yet?”

“It’s… manageable,” you said, though another contraction building in the distance made you wonder how long that would last.

Joe stood by the window again, arms crossed as he stared out at the dark parking lot below. Maisie glanced at him, then back at you, lowering her voice.

“How’s he doing?” she asked, her tone laced with concern.

You sighed. “He’s trying. But you know Joe—he doesn’t like not being in control. And this… well, this is definitely not something he can control.”

Maisie nodded knowingly, squeezing your hand. “Well, that’s what I’m here for. To distract him and annoy him until he forgets how stressed he is.”

You laughed softly, but the sound was cut off by the sharp onset of another contraction. Maisie’s grip on your hand tightened, her expression shifting to one of fierce determination.

“Breathe through it,” she coached, her voice calm and steady. “You’ve got this.”

Joe turned from the window, his eyes darting to you as if he could feel the shift in the room.

“Another one?” he asked, stepping closer.

You nodded, focusing on the slow, measured breaths Maisie was guiding you through. When it finally passed, you leaned back against the pillows, utterly drained.

Joe brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his touch gentle. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You managed a tired smile. “I’m just trying to survive the night.”

Joe glanced at Maisie, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. For once, they seemed to be on the same team, united in their shared mission to get you through this.

And as the clock ticked past four in the morning, you realized just how long this night was going to be.

┈┈┈

Time in the labor room felt elastic, stretching and warping with every contraction that rolled over you like a storm. By now, the initial nerves had morphed into something heavier, grittier, as the reality of what lay ahead began to sink in. The monitor beside you beeped steadily, a metronome marking time in an endless loop as the contractions grew stronger and closer together.

Joe hadn’t sat down in what felt like hours. He hovered near your bedside, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking like he was ready to throw a block or tackle someone if it would make this easier for you. His hand was a near-permanent fixture in yours, and though he winced every time you squeezed too hard, he never once pulled away.

The nurse entered again, her calm professionalism a steadying presence in the chaos. “How are we doing?” she asked, pulling on gloves as she approached.

“How does it look like we’re doing?” you managed, the bite in your voice softened by the sheer exhaustion that clung to every word.

Joe rubbed soothing circles into your back with his free hand. “She’s hanging in there,” he answered for you, though his voice was tight with worry.

The nurse smiled, unbothered. “Let’s see where we’re at.” She glanced at the monitor, then moved to check your progress. “You’re about six centimeters now. Things are definitely moving along, but we’ve still got a little ways to go.”

Six centimeters. You wanted to cry, both because of how far you’d come and how much farther you still had to go.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Joe asked, his tone almost desperate.

The nurse tilted her head thoughtfully. “Walking can help speed things up, if she’s up for it. Otherwise, we’ll just keep monitoring and let nature take its course.”

Walking sounded like the most impossible thing in the world, but the thought of lying in this bed for several more hours wasn’t much better. You nodded weakly.

Joe sprang into action, gently untangling your hand from his to help you sit up. The shift in position sent a sharp wave of discomfort through your lower back, and you sucked in a breath.

“Easy,” he murmured, his hands firm but careful as he steadied you. “Take your time.”

Maisie appeared at the foot of the bed, her expression a mix of concern and determination. “You’re a warrior, babe. Let’s do this.”

With their help, you managed to swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, though your knees wobbled like a newborn fawn’s. Joe wrapped an arm securely around your waist, holding most of your weight as you shuffled toward the door.

The hallway was quiet, dimly lit in the eerie way only hospitals managed, and you could feel the curious stares of passing nurses and doctors. Every few steps, a contraction would stop you in your tracks, forcing you to cling to Joe as you breathed through the pain.

“You’re doing so good,” he said softly, his lips brushing your temple.

You didn’t have the energy to respond, but you leaned into him, drawing strength from his presence.

By the time you made it back to the room, the contractions were coming hard and fast, leaving little room to breathe between them. You collapsed onto the bed with a groan, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as the nurse reappeared to check on you again.

“You’re at eight centimeters,” she announced, giving you an encouraging smile. “We’re getting closer.”

“Closer,” you echoed faintly, as though the word had lost all meaning.

Joe crouched beside you, his hand brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. “You’re almost there, babe. Just a little longer.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, though there was no heat behind the words.

Maisie snorted from her seat in the corner. “He’d probably pass out if he had to do half of what you’re doing.”

“Not helping, Maisie,” Joe said, though his lips twitched upward for the briefest moment.

The tension in the room ebbed slightly, replaced by a flicker of warmth. But it didn’t last long. Another contraction ripped through you, stealing the air from your lungs and making you cry out. Joe immediately shifted closer, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice steady even as his eyes filled with helplessness. “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

You tried to focus on his voice, on the grounding sensation of his hand in yours, but the pain was relentless, all-consuming. By the time the contraction finally subsided, you were trembling, tears streaming silently down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Joe’s grip on your hand tightened. “Yes, you can. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve got this.”

Maisie appeared at your other side, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “He’s right. You’ve already done the impossible—this is just the final push, literally.”

You managed a weak laugh through your tears, though it quickly dissolved into a sob as another contraction loomed on the horizon.

Joe leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’re gonna meet our baby soon,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Just hold on a little longer.”

And so you did. With every ounce of strength you had left, you held on, clinging to Joe’s steady presence as the hours stretched on. Time lost all meaning, the only markers the intensifying contractions and the quiet reassurances of the nurses who moved in and out of the room like clockwork.

By the time the nurse announced you were fully dilated and ready to push, exhaustion weighed heavy on you, but there was a spark of determination in your chest.

Joe’s hand never left yours, his voice never wavered. And as you braced yourself for the final stretch, you knew that no matter how long or painful this night turned out to be, you weren’t facing it alone.

And finally, the time had come.

The world seemed to narrow to a single, blinding focus as you pushed, every ounce of energy you had left poured into this final effort. The voices of the medical team swirled around you—encouraging, instructing—but all you could truly hear was Joe.

His voice was steady, firm but soft, like a lighthouse in a storm. “You’ve got this, baby. You’re so close. I’m right here.” His hand gripped yours with unwavering strength, grounding you when you felt like you were splintering apart.

Another push. The room tilted slightly, your vision swimming as exhaustion tugged at your every muscle. But then—then—there was a shift in the air, a crescendo of activity from the doctors, and suddenly, the sound you’d been waiting for burst into the room.

A cry.

A wail so raw and new that it seemed to rip through every other sound, anchoring you firmly back to reality.

Joe’s breath hitched beside you, a sharp inhale as he straightened up, his eyes wide and unblinking. “He’s here,” he whispered, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “He’s here.”

Maisie, who had been pacing like a caged animal near the back of the room, let out a sob so loud and unrestrained it made one of the nurses jump. “Oh my god, oh my god! It’s a boy! He’s really here!”

Her tears came in rivers, and she pressed a tissue to her face, smearing mascara into a black mess. “I’m never going to be normal again!” she wailed, though her voice cracked with joy.

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you felt the weight of your baby being placed on your chest. The tiny, warm bundle shifted against you, his cries tapering off as he rooted instinctively. His skin was pink and wrinkled, his hair a dark tuft of softness.

You could barely see through the tears streaming down your face, but none of that mattered. “Hi,” you choked out, your voice cracking. “Hi, baby. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Joe leaned over you, his face inches from the baby’s, his own tears spilling freely now. His hand trembled as he brushed a finger against the baby’s tiny fist, which curled immediately around it. “Hey, buddy,” Joe said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

It was 7:09 a.m., and the sun was rising outside the hospital window, casting the room in a golden glow. Time seemed to stop for a moment, the three of you cocooned in a bubble of love and relief.

Maisie sniffled dramatically from her corner. “He’s going to be the quarterback of my heart forever.” She clutched at her chest like she was physically overwhelmed. “I’m gonna buy him so many tiny football jerseys, you don’t even understand.”

Joe let out a wet laugh, shaking his head as he kissed the top of your hair. “Maisie, give it an hour before you start planning his draft.”

“Nope. I’m in it for life,” she shot back, though her voice wavered with emotion.

The baby stirred against you, his little nose scrunching up as he adjusted to the strange, new world. Joe pressed another kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his eyes shining as they met yours.

“You’re amazing,” he said, his voice cracking. “I can’t believe you did that. He’s here, and he’s ours.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. “I can’t believe it either. Look at him, Joe. He’s perfect.”

Joe nodded, his jaw tightening as another wave of emotion hit him. “Yeah. He really is.”

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, the chaos of the world outside fading into nothingness. It didn’t matter that you were exhausted, or that your body ached in ways you hadn’t known it could.

What mattered was the tiny life cradled against you, the miracle you and Joe had created together.

Your son.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nfl fic #nfl football #nfl lb #nfl imagine #joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #cincinnati bengals #joeyb #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow x y/n #joey b

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ellipsus-writes · 2 months ago

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Ellipsus Digest: April 2

Each week (or so), we'll highlight the relevant (and sometimes rage-inducing) news adjacent to writing and freedom of expression. This week:

Meta trained on pirated books—and writers are not having it

ICYMI: Meta has forever earned a spot as the archetype for Shadowy Corporate Baddie in speculative fiction by training its LLMs on pirated books from LibGen. You're pissed, we're pissed—here's what you can do:

The Author’s Guild of America—longtime champions of authors’ rights and probably very tired of cleaning up this kind of mess (see its high-profile ongoing lawsuits, and January’s campaign to credit human authors over “AI-authored” work)—has released a new summary of what’s going on. They’ve also provided a plug-and-play template for contacting AI companies directly, because right now, “sincerely, a furious novelist” just doesn’t feel like enough.

No strangers to spilling the tea, the UK’s Society of Authors is also stepping up with its roundup of actions to raise awareness and fight back against the unlicensed scraping of creative work. (If you’re across the pond, we also recommend checking out the Creative Rights in AI Coalition campaign—it’s doing solid work to stop the extraction economy from feeding on artists’ work.)

Museums and libraries: fodder for the new culture war

Not to be outdone by Florida school boards and That Aunt's Facebook feed, MAGA’s nascent cultural revolution has turned its attention to museums and libraries. A new executive order (in that big boi font) is targeting funding for any program daring to tell a “divisive narrative” or acknowledge “improper ideology” (translation: anything involving actual history).

The first target is D.C.’s own Smithsonian. The newly restructured federal board has set its sights on “cleansing” the Institution’s 21 museums of “divisive, race-centered ideology.” (couch-enthusiast J.D. Vance snagged himself a board seat.) (Oh, and they’ve appointed a Trump-aligned lawyer to vet museum content.) The second seems to be the Institute of Museum and Library Services, a 70-person department (now placed on administrative leave) in charge of institutional funding. As we wrote last week, this isn’t isolated—far-right influence overmuseums and libraries means this kind of ideological takeover will seep into every corner of the country’s cultural life.

Meanwhile, the GOP is (once again) trying to defund PBS for its “Communist agenda.” It’s part of a larger crusade that’s banned picture books with LGBTQ+ characters, erased anti-racist history, and treated educators like enemies—all in the name of “protecting the children,” of course.

NaNoWriMo is no more; long live NaNo

When we initially signed on as sponsors in 2024, we really, really hoped NaNoWriMo could pull it together—but its support for generative AI and dismissiveness toward its own audience prompted us to withdraw our sponsorship, and many Wrimos to leave an institution that helped cultivate creativity and community for a near-quarter century. Now it seems NaNo has shuttered permanently, leaving the community confused, if not betrayed. But when an organization treats its community poorly and fumbles its ethics, people notice. (You can watch the official explainer here.)

Still, writers are resilient, and the rise of many independent writing groups and community-led challenges proves that creatives will always find spaces to connect and write—and the desire to write 50k words in the month of November isn’t going anywhere. Just maybe... somewhere better.

The continued attack on campus speech

The Trump administration continues its campaign against universities for perceived anti-conservative bias, gutting federal research budgets, and pressuring schools to abandon any trace of DEI (or, as we wrote on the blog, extremely common and important words). In short: If a school won’t conform to MAGA ideology, it doesn’t deserve federal money—or academic freedom.

Higher education is being pressured to excise entire frameworks and language in an effort to avoid becoming the next target of partisan outrage. Across the U.S., universities are bracing for politically motivated budget cuts, especially in departments tied to research, diversity, or anything remotely inclusive. Conservative watchdogs have made it their mission to root out “woke depravity”—one school confirmed it received emails offering payment in exchange for students to act as informants, or ghostwrite articles to “expose the liberal bias that occurs on college campuses across the nation.”

In a country where op-eds in student newspapers are grounds for deportation, what part of “free speech” is actually free?

We now live in knockoff Miyazaki hellscape

If you’ve been online lately (sorry), you’ve probably seen a flood of vaguely whimsical, oddly sterile, faux-hand-drawn illustrations popping up everywhere. That’s because OpenAI just launched a new image generator—and CEO Sam Altman couldn’t wait to brag that it was so popular their servers started “melting.” (Apparently, melting the climate is fine too, despite Miyazaki’s lifelong environmental themes.) (Nausicaa is our favorite at Ellipsus.)

This might be OpenAI’s attempt to “honor” Hayao Miyazaki, who once declared that AI-generated animation was “an insult to life itself.” Meanwhile, the meme lifecycle went into warp speed, since AI doesn't require actual human creativity—speed-running from personal exploration, to corporate slop, to 9/11 memes, to a supremely cruel take from The White House.

“People are going to create some really amazing stuff and some stuff that may offend people,” Altman said in a post on X. “What we'd like to aim for is that the tool doesn't create offensive stuff unless you want it to, in which case within reason it does.”

Still, the people must meme. And while cottagecore fox girls are fine, we suggest skipping straight to the truly cursed (and far more creative) J.D. Vance memes instead.

Let us know if you find something other writers should know about, (or join our Discord and share it there!)

- The Ellipsus Team xo

#ellipsus #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing #us politics #freedom of expression #anti ai #nanowrimo #writing community

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demonic0angel · 1 month ago

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The Cult AU

As inspired by this post and this post. AO3 version is here.

CW: emotional breakdowns, implied torture, codependency, 5k+ words

“Danny,” Sam said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I’m not, though?” Danny answered in a confused tone, putting his gloves on. When he turned, Sam stood there in her battle attire, flowy robes and plants that covered her protectively.

Danny stared at her for a moment in slight bewilderment before he said, “Take those off. I’m going in with Dan and Dani for a chat, not an interrogation, Sam.”

Sam growled. “They won’t be enough. Let me and Valerie come with you. We can protect you.”

“No. This is Jazz, we’re talking about. She’ll never hurt me. And like I said, it’s only a chat. I just want to see what’s going on.”

Sam narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “You think you can bet on it? You think she can’t hurt you?”

“Hell yeah, I can bet on it. She won’t hurt me.”

Sam sighed loudly before she said, “At least wear armor. Dani and Dan aren’t wearing armor either, but you should at least wear some.”

Danny shook his head. “No. And I’ll say it again, Jazz won’t hurt me. Besides, we're only going to talk. There's no fight to be had."

Sam sighed again, almost a groan. Then she muttered to herself, almost in complaint, "How could Jazz have turned to this in only 2 years? We were finishing our high school educations! We were supposed to be back here having a graduation party! Instead, Jazz is starting a damn cult?!"

They had only come back a day ago from their high school graduation, only to be met with news that the Ghost Zone was rebuilding from civil war and that Jazz had started a cult. Supporters of the cult had ambushed Danny when he came in, desperate for his attention and help as their god.

Danny had been horrified to see that in the two years he had been gone from the Ghost Zone, Jazz had somehow become a cult leader.

It was a jarring transition from peace within the human world to chaos within the Infinite Realms.

Danny frowned.

He thought of Jazz and the words she spoke to him two years ago, when he couldn't choose between taking the throne at the age of 16 or continuing his education as Jazz had encouraged him to do.

("It's okay, little brother. I'll keep the throne warm for you while you graduate!"

"But what about you? I'm supposed to be King since I turned 16. You're 18 now, you should be..."

"It'll be okay! I'll keep your Kingdom safe."

"And yourself? You'll keep yourself safe too, right?"

".... yes. Of course. We'll both be safe and ready for when you come back. Work hard, do your homework, and apply for college as fast as you can, alright? You can take online courses when you're king!"

"Ugh, don't treat me like a kid!"

"You'll always be my little brother, Danny. I'll do anything for your success."

".... I know. Thanks.")

Danny said, "Sam. Don't say that. It's probably something... not too bad. It's no one's fault."

Sam glared at him. "You clearly blame someone."

Yes.

He blamed himself.

He knew that Jazz had called him several times in the past two years when he had been gone, but as his exams mounted and he reveled in his newfound freedom, he answered her frequent calls less and less.

He knew that she needed him. That she didn’t have anyone else. That she was lonely.

He just… got lost in his own space.

He had no one to blame for Jazz derailing into insane ideas like cults but himself.

"Yes. And it's not Jazz, so don't say that."

Sam scowled, but begrudgingly nodded.

Danny eyed her. "Take off your armor. We're not going to fight."

Sam obeyed, glowering. However, her grumpy expression soon eased into something more thoughtful as she asked, "Practicing ordering me around for when you take back the throne?"

Danny gave her a small smile and hummed.

The door slammed open, startling them both. Tucker stumbled inside and then said, "I have information. I know where Jazz is and I think I know who's with her."

Danny's eyes went wide.

"Who?!"

Tucker swallowed at the sight of his blatant fury and then cleared his throat.

"Spectra. Penelope Spectra has been Jazz's advisor for the past year and... I think they're going to execute a heretic for the first time today."

————

"So what do we know?" Dani asked as all three of them flew through the Ghost Zone. "We just have to retrieve Jazz and defeat this cult, right?"

Danny frowned. "I guess, but keep the bloodshed to a minimum."

Dan clicked his tongue. "And why should we?"

"Because Jazz created this cult. She cares, at least a little, about them, so keep the killing to a minimum. From what we've been able to dig up, the cult is called 'The Religion' and Jazz calls herself 'the Matriarch.'"

"What does the cult worship?" Dani asked. "There's gotta be some sort of god, right? Is the cult worshipping Jazz?"

Danny grimaced.

"Err... no. The cult worships me, Danny Phantom."

Both Dani and Dan stared at him blankly. Then they shared a look before shaking their heads.

"Oh, Jazz," Dani sighed. "She's really gone off the deep end now..."

"Are we really surprised?" Dan growled. He turned to Danny with a glare. "She's only human and she's been holding up the fate of the Infinite Realms for 4 years! It should've only been two, but she's been sacrificing sleep and peace of mind to make sure that your throne would be secure and safe while you go and finish your high school education! Frankly, I'm more surprised that she hasn't even killed a single ghost since she became Queen."

Dan finished his heated rant with a vicious glare and a spat out, "It's your fault that she's come to this."

Danny closed his eyes.

In ways, Dan was out of line and blaming him for nothing. After all, he too, like Danny and Dani, had minimal contact with Jazz over the past two years, no matter how much he tried to argue about it. But even he knew that logic did not make the guilt go away.

No matter what, it was Danny's neglect and carelessness that made Jazz feel like she had to go off the deep end.

Why had she resorted to killing again?

(He knew why. She loved him, but to her, he was the little boy she raised since young.

Even now, she did not consider him as an equal, only someone she had to protect.)

His heart felt painful. He didn’t know how to describe the heaviness in his chest and the worry he felt as they continued traveling through the Ghost Zone to get to Jazz before she could execute someone.

Danny sighed.

"I know. That's why I'm taking back the throne now. I'll release her from the crown and take back my rightful place as the King."

Dani sighed too. "We're overthrowing her," she said. It wasn't a question, more like a forlorn statement.

"Yes. Let's keep the bloodshed to a minimum. C'mon, I hear that she's still in the cult place. She's going to try to execute someone so let's try to hurry."

Both Dani and Dan frowned before they followed him to fly to where Jazz was.

The building she was in looked like a cathedral built in the old times, with tall towers, sharp angles, and plenty of windows. It was enormous, with black and white marble walls and stained glass windows. It looked beautiful, but also in a way, haunting. The cathedral was enormous and towered over them like it wanted to eat them alive.

They all shared a determined look and then went inside without another word.

When Danny stepped into the cathedral, everyone took one look at him and then dropped to their knees in a deep kneeling position. All of them wore black veils on their heads, as if they were in mourning.

In the middle of the room was a ghost who was bowed over an execution block, who looked at him and then sagged in relief.

However, Danny was soon distracted by the sound of everyone else speaking.

Their chants echoed within the cathedral's tall ceilings.

“All hail the King! All hail our God! All hail Death!”

Goosebumps rose across his skin.

Their obedience made his stomach churn and he felt the urge to vomit. He almost wanted to turn around and leave just from that, feeling extremely unsettled. He glanced backwards to see Dan sneer as Dani similarly tensed, eyes wide as they looked at the rows and rows of ghosts kneeling.

There were so many of them.

How had Jazz been able to accumulate so many worshippers?

The urge to throw up nearly took over Danny's senses again. His insides twisted and he felt faint, bile rushing up his throat.

"Oh, Jazz," he couldn't help but murmur. "What have you done?"

Each and every one of the cult members were surprisingly and horrifically obedient. None of them moved away from their bowing, stiff and still, covered in veils like unmoving statues intent on showing him worship. Danny looked at Dan and Dani, both who nodded, although Dan looked disgruntled to be listening to him.

All of them wore their old costumes. Although Dani and Danny had outgrown that old uniform of theirs, they still wore it today in hopes of snapping Jazz out of whatever craze she had. Hopefully, they reminded her of the vows she made and how much she loved heroes.

He wasn't really sure what he was going for.

He just wanted his big sister back.

Danny clenched his fists as he tracked down the traces of his sister. Dani and Dan stayed behind to take care of the cult members.

He tracked her down through the long, empty hallways, full of marble statues and gray decor. He eventually ended up in front of a room with a tightly shut door. There were faint traces of Jazz everywhere, a trail of her soul that he could sense.

He stared at the door before he broke the door handle and then slid inside, uncaring of the damage he left behind.

Jazz stood in the middle of the room, holding a sword quietly, as if in thought. She turned when she heard the door open and they both paused at the sight of each other. The greenish light of an open window fell upon her, casting soft shadows for a perfect painting. Spectra stood next to her, colored in red and smiling sharply, completely disrupting the scenery.

Danny tilted his head as he observed Jazz.

She looked right back at him, but he couldn't see her face. She wore black and white robes with turquoise accents, covered in elegant armor and sparkling jewelry pieces. A starry veil covered her face, as well as a large headpiece that weighed everything down.

She looked authorative and regal. Like a deadly queen.

He hadn't seen her in such a long time, but he still couldn't see her face.

He glanced down at the sword in her hands, long and shiny and sharp.

Was she going to personally execute someone?

"Jazz, it's good to see you," Danny said with a small smile. "You're still huge."

"And you're still short," Jazz replied curtly. There was something in her voice, like she wanted to tease him and make him laugh but the energy required to do so had left her.

The sword in her hands did not lower.

"Your Highness!" Spectra crooned. "You're back from the human world! Did you have a good time?"

Danny ignored her and looked at Jazz. "Jazz, it's time to stop this. All of this. You don't have to do this anymore. You can stop now."

Jazz was quiet.

Spectra gasped, as if personally offended for Jazz's sake, "Your Highness! You can't just say that! Jazz has done all of this for you! Shouldn't you be grateful to your loving, caring big sister?"

Danny narrowed her eyes. "Who gave you permission to call her by her name? She is Her Majesty and soon, she'll be Your Highness. Watch your tongue."

Spectra gasped again. "What! Are you... are you overthrowing your sister?" She looked at Jazz with wide eyes of disbelief.

Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Was she seriously trying to start a fight with this nonsense?

Jazz was still silent and Danny frowned at this, eying her.

Danny ignored Spectra, who bristled at this, and said to Jazz, "C'mon, Jazz, let's go back. Please put down the sword. I don't want you killing for me, okay? Don't worry about a thing, I can take care of this for you."

He looked at her earnestly. He could not see the expression behind the veil, but he knew his sister. Her hands were clenched tight around the hilt of the sword, her knuckles white against the metal.

And of course, Spectra had to speak up again.

"You mustn't listen to him! He's only just come back, he doesn't know anything! You should continue as you've always done. We have plans, remember? Remember who all of this is for," she said, placing a manicured hand on Jazz's shoulder, a tad awkwardly due to Jazz's height.

Danny couldn’t hold back rolling his eyes this time.

Jazz did not speak.

Danny said, “Whatever she told you, Jazz, it’s probably not true. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. Please, Jazz.” He didn’t want to beg, but he would if it got him his sister back. “Please, let’s just go back home.”

“Don’t listen to him! I’m here to help you, Jazz. Haven’t I always been here to help you? He’s going to disrupt our plans. You must strike him down. It’s for his own good. He’s just a boy, you know that,” Spectra crooned, stroking Jazz’s arm. Her hands trailed down until she clasped at the fist holding up the sword and she lifted Jazz's arms, raising the blade to meet Danny's face.

Danny glared at her furiously.

The sight of someone else touching his sister had always unfuriated him, but he absolutely couldn't stand seeing this worthless ghost who thought she could control his big sister touching her like she had the right even more!

His powers crackled around him before he swiftly smothered it, taking another deep breath.

“Shut up,” he snapped. “Get away from her! You’re nothing but a powerless, manipulative psycho who wants to leech off of my sister. Back off!”

Spectra gasped. “What! I’ve been doing nothing but help Jazz this entire time! But... where have you been? You’ve been in the human world, having fun, dating people, getting an education, while your big sister suffers here! I’m helping her! What have you done, while your poor big sister runs herself ragged trying to keep everyone alive for your future reign? You're so selfish!"

Danny snarled. He clenched his fists as Spectra so easily threw the fact that he had unwittingly abandoned his sister to the Infinite Realms in his face. His claws flexed and the urge to attack her rose within him sharply.

How dare she.

How dare she!

Danny took a deep, forceful breath as he loosened his fists before he turned to Jazz with a hard look that he quickly tried to soften. “Jazz,” he said again, “please come home with me.”

“Your Majesty!" Spectra insisted, shaking Jazz a little. "You should strike him down before he ruins any more plans. You must not hesitate! You’re the Queen! He’s going to take the rightful throne away from you!”

“Jazz, please.”

Jazz visibly faltered, looking between the two.

Danny perked up at the sight of her conflicted appearance, but Spectra grew incensed at her hesitation.

She practically went ballistic, her green eyes flashing as her red painted lips stretched into a snarl.

Spectra screamed. “C’mon! Strike him down! Don’t be a coward, Jasmine Fenton! He’s here to capture you! He’s here to take down all of the things you’ve done! Remember who you’ve done this for!”

Jazz slowly dropped her arm, her grip loosening.

Danny's smile grew, as Spectra shrieked, “What are you doing?! Fight! You must fight him! He’s taking down everything you’ve worked so hard for! What are you doing, you stupid girl?!”

Danny immediately glared at her in fury as he snapped, “Shut up! Don’t you dare talk to her that way!”

He looked back at Jazz and his gaze softened. “Jazz, come here, please.”

Her entire body looked like a wilted flower, with her slumped shoulders and lowered head. The sword was pointing down at the ground now.

His heart broke for her.

“Don’t listen to him! He’s going to hurt you! Don’t you remember what we’ve been doing this for? He doesn’t know better! You did this to protect him, remember?!”

Danny responded as if Spectra hadn’t been talking at all. “Jazz, come here. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. But I know better now. I’m older now. You’ve been protecting me for so long.”

He smiled softly and opened his arms as he said, “Let me protect you now. Come here, Jazz.”

“Don’t,” Spectra hissed. “You’re smarter than this. You know he’s still just a child. Only 18 years old. You can’t trust him to know what he’s talking about.”

“Jazz,” Danny said, lowering his arms for a moment.

“You must get rid of him now!” Spectra’s voice grew even more frenzied. “He’ll ruin everything! You were supposed to be great! You were supposed to be better than this! Do it! Jazz, do it! GET RID OF HIM!!”

Danny gazed into Jazz’s face, still covered in that stupid veil.

For a brief second, he worried that she wouldn’t relent. He worried that she would fall for Spectra’s tricks and turn away from him. He worried that he wasn’t able to reach her.

But as he looked at her, as he stared at her statuesque form, at the way her robes couldn’t hide the armor wrapped around her like she desperately needed the protection, the way she stood still like a deer in headlights, he suddenly knew what she would do.

She was his big sister.

His only big sister.

“Come here, Jazz,” Danny repeated. He couldn’t help the way his voice cracked and his eyes watered. He inhaled a breath to calm himself down, opened his arms again, and said, “I missed you. C’mon, Jazz. Let’s go back home.”

Jazz was silent.

Spectra practically shrieked, “KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW!!”

Without warning, Jazz dropped the sword and then ran towards him. She flew into his arms and almost ran him over. Although she was heavy, Danny was not that weak, vulnerable 14 year old boy who couldn’t keep the crown on his head anymore. He was 18 now, ready to pull the heavy crown off of his sister’s head and take the responsibility for himself.

Danny breathed a sigh of relief as Jazz collapsed into his arms. Her veil flew off her head from the force of her collusion with him, landing on the floor with a flutter and a clack of her jewelry.

She sobbed and Danny held her tight, pulling her into his embrace so for once, it was him who was holding her and protecting her from outside forces.

For once, it was her who could let down her walls and be kept safe within someone else’s arms.

Each one of her tears fell onto his skin like boiling water. Each droplet made his body burn.

These were the tears of his big sister.

These were the tears of someone who desperately needed his help.

What was the use of being a king if he couldn’t even help the ones that depended on him? What was the use of being a hero if he couldn’t even save the ones that he loved? What was the use of being a brother if he couldn’t even be there to support his siblings?

As Jazz cried into his chest and began mumbling apologies, Danny sighed and squeezed her, gently pressing his cheek to her hair.

“Don’t worry, Jazz. I’ll take care of everything.” His voice was much more steady than he felt.

Danny lifted his gaze and stared at Spectra, who was full on trembling now. Her expression was horrified and scared, and she took a full step back when the full weight of Danny’s gaze landed on her. Danny rubbed Jazz’s back, ignoring her rapid fire murmurs as she sobbed and begged for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she mumbled, her words slurring over each other with her weeping.

Danny ignored her words, just trying to soothe her.

He would forgive her for anything.

(After all, he had forgiven her for what happened to their parents.

This was nothing compared to that.)

Though there was someone who he could never forgive.

Danny gave a bland smile to Spectra, who stiffened further like a horrified cat.

He had never wanted to kill anyone more than her.

Even when he had been strapped to his parents’ examination table, even when he had learned the truth of Dan’s life in another timeline, even when he had been humiliated and scorned by the people he was supposed to protect, he had never felt such a cold, unsympathetic hatred inside of him before.

His teeth and fangs itched for blood.

But his sister needed him more.

“It’s over,” he mouthed to the woman across from him, before he bent down to pick up his sister. An arm went underneath her knees and another steadied her in his hold. Jazz was limp, clutching tightly onto him, almost clawing at his skin as she continued crying. Danny calmly lifted her and then floated out of the room, where Dan and Dani were already waiting, eyes drawn to the still figure in his arms.

Immediately, their expressions changed, pupils sharpening at the sight of their big sister.

Danny gestured behind him. “Spectra’s still in there.”

Dan immediately darted off without another word. The door shut behind them and screams erupted before Danny moved Jazz away from the shrieks of pain. Her robes trailed behind them but Danny ignored it, adjusting his hold on Jazz as he left Spectra to her fate.

Dani followed them, carefully playing a hand on Jazz’s hip to test her reaction. Her soft cries had stopped, but she was as responsive as a block of wood.

“Jazz?” She called. “You alright?”

Jazz shook her head, burying her face into Danny’s shoulder as her arms squeezed tighter, almost choking in its tightness and grip. Danny hummed and said, “Let’s get her home first. She surrendered, so make sure to tell everyone that. Dani, can you also… uh, tell everyone else to go? Try and tell them that the cult is disbanded.”

Jazz whimpered.

Danny stroked her back and then said again, “Go, Dani.”

Dani scowled, but did as he said. Danny then went home, ignoring anything and everything in his path. Sam and Tucker, thankfully, did not say a word at the sight of Jazz in his arms and only directed everyone away from them both.

Danny finally entered Jazz’s room and placed her on her bed.

She turned to the side, away from him, curled up slightly in her pretentious, extravagant robes. They scattered around her in sparkly hues that looked distressing when contrasted against her pale expression and somber mood.

Danny stared at her.

She didn’t move.

Danny said softly, “You don’t have to tell me anything now… but you should know that we’ll have to talk later. But Jazz, also know this. No matter what you say, you know that we’re on your side. I’m on your side. No matter what, I— we’ll protect you.”

Jazz’s voice was weak. “I wanted to protect you.”

“I know. You’ve always protected me. But I’m 18 now, Jazz. I’m an adult. When I was 16, I was an adult in the eyes of the Infinite Realms too. I’m releasing you from the throne, Jazz. From now on, I’ll take on your burdens, like how you did for me.”

Jazz could only repeat, “I wanted to protect you.”

Patiently, Danny said, “I know. It’s my turn to protect you now. Rest up. We’ll definitely talk later, okay?”

She was silent.

"Unless you want to talk to me now? Why did you start all of this, Jazz?"

Jazz shifted and Danny waited, sensing her desire to speak.

“…. I’ve been having dreams lately.”

Danny paused and tilted his head. “What kind of dreams?”

He had to wait for her to speak again, as if she was unsure and afraid.

When she spoke, her tone was softer than ever, almost a whisper.

“……. Dreams of a boy. He protected me. He saved me and Dani. Sp-Spectra… she talked about him to me. About him and you. She told me that… she told me that you would’ve wanted me to do these things. I only wanted to protect you.”

Her voice cracked and her words wobbled. She curled up further, almost a ball now.

Danny was quiet. He thought of Jazz’s first year as Queen and that faithful night where a boy had saved her and Dani.

The memories began to return, like a flood from an open gate.

He winced as his head spun from new memories.

Danny began to recall that boy who had stayed with them for only 6 months before he left the Ghost Zone after being revived, devastating Jazz. Clockwork had sealed up their memories of him, but had Spectra manipulated Jazz in the wake of her memories returning?

“I see. Anything else?”

".... I did it all for you, Danny. Everything."

Danny closed his eyes.

When he had been young and childish, he had hated Jazz's stifling attention, the way she smothered him and treated him like he was a child, like he wasn't worthy of standing next to her.

As he grew older, he began to see things her way and gained a new appreciation for the ways she had protected him. Even when he had been alone for two years in the human world, finishing his high school education and growing up into an adult, he hadn't realized just how much she had protected him until he had lived on his own.

He sighed. "I know."

He stared at her still form before he said, "I love you."

His face couldn't help but flush.

He felt embarrassed for being so mushy, but Jazz was his big sister and she needed the comfort. She needed to know that he loved her.

No matter whatever lies Spectra fed to Jazz to make her do all of this, he needed her to know that he would back her up, no questions asked.

He would make sure that she would not be punished or treated differently for her reign. Like she always did for him, he would clean up after her mistakes and let her know better privately, so she could learn from her failures while knowing that he would remain by her side.

Just like what she always did for him.

Jazz did not say anything in response to his words and Danny awkwardly continued, "Do you want anything?"

"I want Robin," Jazz said immediately. Her voice jumped from her blurting out her words so fast. Then she abruptly fell silent, her face still turned away as her body went stiff.

Danny did not know what to say.

Robin had been a 15 year old boy.

He would be 19 now.

He was most definitely not Robin anymore. He was alive now. Different. Not the way he used to be, laughing loudly as he teased all of the Phantoms, staying by Jazz's side as she worked through the paperwork given to her, escorting Jazz to her many events as Queen, and playing around with them all when they were still just kids, carefree and happy.

Robin would probably never come back.

He couldn't come back. Not unless he died again, and even then, he would never be the boy that cared so much about others.

Danny swallowed around the lump in his throat and patted Jazz's hip again. He decided to ignore what she said, knowing that she hadn't truly intended to say it aloud. “Want me to call someone to help you out of your clothes?”

“… I want Dani to help.”

He was a little relieved to be moving on from this uncomfortable atmosphere. “Dani? Got it. I’ll call her in a little bit. Rest. You won’t get in trouble for any of this, I’ll make sure of it.”

At those last words, Jazz whimpered and then turned her head before she started crying again into her bedsheets. Danny was a tad surprised that she still had the hydration needed to cry, but he waved away his thoughts as her soft sobs and bitten off whimpers only made his heart twist even further in his chest. He had an extremely strong urge to sink his fangs into Spectra’s throat and rip out her voice box.

He would settle with knowing that Dan was already torturing her within every inch of her afterlife.

Danny reached over to stroke Jazz’s hair as her body trembled from the force of her tears.

Eventually, she fell into an uneasy sleep, stains on the silk sheets underneath her face. Danny moved her off of her tear stains and then called for Dani, who quickly arrived and moved past him into the room to help Jazz out of her ceremonial robes.

Danny left the room and was immediately caught by Dan, who was covered in green ectoplasm. His expression was stone cold, but there was a dark satisfaction in his eyes.

Sometimes, Danny could not stand even looking at Dan, but no matter what, they were technically the same person. One of the few things they could agree on was Jazz’s safety and happiness.

“Is she alive?” Danny asked. His tone was so venomous that it even surprised himself.

Dan huffed, “Of course. I’m not stupid. She has to be alive for us to blame everything on her.”

Danny snorted coldly. “Good. Jazz is…. not doing great. I’m not sure what happened, but Spectra was manipulating her by using my name and… Robin’s name.”

He inwardly grimaced a little at the thought of him. Danny remembered thinking he was cool and awesome, but he was probably different now, wasn’t he?

Not to mention…

(Danny couldn’t help but blame him too for Jazz’s current state of mind.)

Dan’s next words surprised him.

“Robin? That brat who hung off of Jazz for half a year before being revived?“

Danny raised an eyebrow. “You remember him? I only just recalled his existence moments ago.”

Dan shrugged carelessly. “I didn’t care enough for Clockwork to seal my memories of him."

Danny scowled and shook his head in frustration. “Everything is so complicated. We’ll have to talk to the Observants, then Clockwork, I’ll have to interrogate Spectra myself, then I have to take down the cult and talk to the citizens and then I have to prepare for the coronation, not to mention, we all have to talk to Jazz and help her and—“

“Ugh, shut up!” Dan snarled and Danny scowled at him. He sneered before he crossed his arms and said, “What the hell do you think we’re here for? You have your loser friends, don’t you? They must have some use to them. Use them and let’s get all of this solved so we can help Jazz and take the burdens off of her shoulders. She’s dealt with enough in this shitty Ghost Zone.“

Danny rolled his eyes.

Why was his entire family so weird and fucked up?

He said, “Fine. We have to get this done. For Jazz’s sake.”

Dan huffed and repeated, “Fine. I’ll talk to the Observants about what happened and make sure that Spectra is blamed for Jazz’s actions.”

Danny sighed deeply. “Don’t kill them. The last time you killed one, Jazz had to apologize to them.”

Dan sneered again and crossed his arms.

“The things I do for her…” Dan mumbled to himself in disgust, but he shook his head and then floated off.

Danny watched him go before he similarly shook his head to wave away the thoughts in his brain.

He began the trip to see his friends and ask for their assistance. His speed grew with his urgency, hoping to finish up quickly so he could go back to Jazz.

He had a sister to comfort and a coronation to get to. Hopefully, she would feel better to talk soon, because they needed to plan.

It was time for him to take back the throne and become the rightful Ghost King.

|||||||||||||||||||

Me when I tell someone that it'll take a while to finish the cult one-shot and it comes out less than a day later: 🤥

I’m obsessed with siblings who are codependent. Siblings who depend on each other and have each other’s backs no matter what, siblings who will kill and die for each other, oooooooh I’m literally deranged.

Angst to me should be very vulnerable. I do love making Jazz cry, sorry not sorry.

Small essay on Danny and Jazz’s relationship: I’ve always found it interesting how Danny treated Jazz in the show. Like idk about you, but while Jazz can be annoying and seen as a know-it-all, with the way Sam and Danny treat her, it’s almost like she’s the most annoying person in existence. I can guess various reasons why, but it’ll be too long so wtv. That is why when I write in Danny’s POV, he acts like a brat around her and is the only one to see her flaws, but ultimately, he is extremely protective over her and depends on her for support and familial love. Jazz’s relationship with Danny is inspired by Supernatural’s Sam and Dean, Demon Slayer’s Nezuko and Tanjirou, Fullmetal Alchemist’s Edward and Alfonso, my own preferences, and most importantly, the Christmas episode ‘the Fright Before Christmas’ where Jazz protects Danny as their parents argue. Jazz is very much parentified and the only one that Danny trusts in his household and vice versa. As such, both Jazz and Danny are extremely codependent and protective of each other, but while Danny is nonchalant ab it, Jazz is extremely chalant ab it. Danny gets embarrassed about being a sister’s boy, but if push comes to shove, he would destroy the entire world and become Dan 2.0 if she ever died, no questions asked.

Why is Jazz lowkey obsessed with Robin? In my hcs, Jason left the Elsewhereness/heaven in order to go back to Bruce. While he explored the Infinite Realms, he saved Jazz and Dani. Bc Jazz basically fell in love at first sight, the two spent a lot of time together and Jason helped her in her duties for the next 6 months. When he was revived, he left her behind (and forgot her) and bc Jazz was so distressed, Clockwork sealed up all memories of Jason. Jazz had just started remembering him and Spectra manipulated her feelings about him and Danny to do her bidding, so her obsession/love is more amplified than normal.

Did the mention of Jason surprise you all? :3 I do love combining AUs and ideas together. I feel like my version of DPxDC canon is confusing (even to me) so if you have any questions, ask away bc I’d love to answer them and organize my thoughts :D

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katemoneymartinsgf · 9 months ago

Text

Protective Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: Reader has an interesting encounter with her mom, CC is there for it all.

Warnings: Toxic family

A/N: I really thought the kate fic was going to win that poll. Lmk if you still want me to post it. Also posting two fics in a week is crazy for me.

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You and Caitlin had been together for nearly three years, a relationship that had withstood the judgment and disapproval of those who should have supported you the most. Pursuing photography, joining the basketball’s media team at Iowa—these were choices your parents couldn't understand, let alone accept. But choosing Cait over them when they gave you that ultimatum was the hardest thing you'd ever done. Caitlin, though, was your rock. Her and her family had welcomed you into their lives, making you feel at home in a way you hadn't in years.

Now, in your fourth year at Iowa, things were better. The sting of your parents' rejection had dulled over time, and you were happier than you ever thought possible. You were at the grocery store with Caitlin when it happened—one of those moments that bring the past crashing back into the present.

The grocery store wasn’t usually your idea of a fun date, but with her anything could be an adventure. You walked into the store together, your hand securely in hers, laughing at the way she was rambling about how drinking water with your off hand is less efficient than with your dominant hand. This girl had an interesting mind.

It was a Saturday afternoon, She had practice very early today and you two had decided to do a little “grocery challenge” where you’d each pick out ingredients for a dish and see whose creation turned out best.

"Okay, so rules are simple," Caitlin grinned, pulling out her phone to set a timer. "We split up, grab what we need for our dish, and meet back here in fifteen minutes. Loser has to do the dishes."

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. "You know I’m not losing this, right? I’ve been practicing my culinary skills."

"Oh, I’m terrified," Caitlin teased, rolling her eyes dramatically. "But we’ll see, hotshot. Ready... set... go!" she said but followed it up with a fast “wait!”

You stopped in your tracks and turned around. She grabbed your face in her hands and gave you a sweet kiss.

“good luck buddy you’re gonna need it”

You both took off, laughing as you darted down different aisles. Caitlin made a beeline for the produce section, and you headed toward the dairy, each trying to gather your secret ingredients without the other seeing. Every so often, you’d pass each other in an aisle, sharing a playful wink or a mock-serious glare before rushing off to find the next item on your list.

The store wasn’t particularly busy, which gave you the freedom to really enjoy yourselves. Caitlin even managed to sneak a small bag of candy into your basket when she thought you weren’t looking, clearly planning to snack on it while she cooked. You pretended not to notice, already plotting how you’d use that information against her later.

You were just rounding a corner, checking the shelves for the perfect seasoning to complete your dish, when you heard a familiar voice behind you. It was so unexpected that you froze mid-step, the excitement of the challenge instantly draining away.

The familiar voice hit you like a ton of bricks. "Oh wow, it’s been a while," your mother said, her tone unmistakable. You froze, the playful mood of the grocery challenge evaporating in an instant. She was standing there with a friend, both of them looking at you with judgmental eyes. Your stomach twisted as the anxiety rushed in, the past crashing back into your present.

You turned slowly, dread pooling in your chest as you met your mother’s cold gaze. "How’s that photography dream turning out? Still with that girl?" she added, her words dripping with condescension. Her friend snickered, and you felt yourself shrink under the weight of their gaze.

All the fun you had been having just moments ago vanished. The lightness, the joy—gone, replaced by the familiar sting of shame and doubt. You couldn’t find the words to respond. You just wanted to disappear.

Then, like a lifeline, Caitlin appeared at the end of the aisle. She had that determined look on her face, the one that told you she’d seen everything and wasn’t about to let it slide. Her eyes met yours first, softening for just a moment as she took in your distressed expression. Then, she turned her attention to your mother”

"Is there a problem here?" Caitlin asked, her voice steady but laced with an edge that you knew meant she was ready to defend you.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed at Caitlin’s arrival, clearly displeased. "I was just having a chat with my daughter. Is that a problem?"

"Depends on what you consider 'chatting'," Caitlin replied coolly, moving closer to you, her hand finding its familiar place on the small of your back. The gentle tracing of her fingers instantly started to calm your racing heart.

Your mother’s expression hardened. "Maybe if you hadn’t led her astray, she’d be on a better path."

Caitlin’s eyes darkened "Led her astray? The only thing I’ve done is love her and support her. All you’ve done is make her doubt herself, question her worth. You don’t get to do that anymore."

Your mother’s friend shifted uncomfortably, clearly taken aback by Caitlin’s fierce defense. Your mother, however, seemed stunned, not expecting this kind of confrontation. Caitlin leaned in slightly, her voice a soft but firm whisper. "You lost the right to criticize her when you made her choose. And she chose to be happy."

Caitlin’s words hung in the air, leaving your mother speechless.

With a final glance at your mother, Caitlin turned to you, her expression softening as she placed a gentle kiss on your head. "Let’s go, baby."

The ride home was quiet, the earlier playful mood long gone. Caitlin kept glancing over at you, her concern evident, but she didn’t push. She knew you needed time to process.

Once home, you headed straight for the bathroom, needing a moment to yourself. You stared into the mirror, trying to make sense of everything, but all you felt was the sharp sting of your mother's words replaying in your mind. How could the person who was supposed to love you the most feel that way about you? A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, but Caitlin had already seen it.

She walked in silently, her eyes meeting yours through the reflection. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around your waist from behind, holding you close. "It’s okay, sweetheart. I got you," she whispered, her voice steady, comforting.

You turned in her arms, resting your head against her chest as more tears fell. "I just... I don’t understand," you choked out, your voice trembling. "How could she... how could she feel like that about me? She's supposed to love me, but all she does is make me feel worthless. And even though I know better, I still... I still want her to love me."

Caitlin gently wiped the tears from your cheeks, her expression soft and full of love. "I know, baby. I know. But she doesn’t get to define your worth. You’re amazing, and strong, and kind, and I love you more than anything in this world. You’re doing so good right now, love. Think about all the hard work and sacrifices you made to get to this point. You stumbled and fell, but at the end of the day, you’re here, and you’re happy. No one can take that away from you. Especially not her." She paused, her thumb brushing gently across your cheek as she looked deep into your eyes. "I know it hurts that she doesn’t love you the way she should. That she doesn’t see how incredible you are. But you need to know this—she might not love you most in the world, but I do. I’m so proud of you,baby, for everything you’ve overcome, and for the person you’ve become. You deserve all the happiness in the world, and I’m going to be here, by your side, loving you through it all."

Her words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, easing the ache in your chest. You let out a small sniffle, managing a faint smile through the tears. "Are you only saying that because I take good pictures of you?"

Caitlin chuckled softly as she pulled you into another hug, placing a tender kiss on the top of your head. "Was it that obvious?" she teased, her voice full of warmth and affection.

You couldn’t help but smile a little wider, feeling the comfort of her embrace and the lightness she brought back into the moment. Caitlin had a way of making everything better, even on your darkest days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#Spotify #wnba #wnba basketball #wlw #ncaa wbb #iowa wbb #kate martin #las vegas aces #caitlin clark #pride month #indiana fever #caitlin clark x reader #cc x reader #iowa hawkeyes #iowa wbb x reader

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love-of-the-red-star · 8 months ago

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That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter six: A place to belong

(Unedited, like the rest of the series)

Outer space had always been cold.

Your body didn’t suffer the effects of the temperature, yet you still felt the chill of the void on your skin. The stars and their dusts glowed around you, decorating your space in the most beautiful way that your human self could never dream of.

You thought of your family in your previous life and wondered how they were, if they were alright, if they were eating well and living well.

You also came to realize you weren’t homesick at all.

Materializing in the express and glancing at Welt made you feel a humane sense of relief in knowing you aren’t the only one who wanted to badly convey that you were safe in this new world you resided in.

Unlike Welt though, you don’t have the luxury of ever returning to what once was, or have the choice in having the best of both worlds. Your existence was cemented in this world permanently the moment you became the embodiment of a concept and a being no longer human.

You can’t turn back. It’s a little funny that though you represented freedom, you don’t have the luxury of ever returning to something simpler. You did not have the freedom to return to be the being you once were.

You can emulate human expressions, you can still feel, but you know you’re not really seeing or feeling things the way a human would anymore.

You’re not disturbed by this in the slightest.

You snapped out of your thoughts and walked towards your room then thought of how you’d decorate it— maybe something similar to a bachelor pad? No, Pompom would not be a fan. Maybe something similar to the archives? No, you’d be stealing Dan Heng’s shine.

Then you remembered cozy cabins, quilts, books, all things comfortable and got an idea.

You walked out of your room to seek Pompom and Himeko, ready to lay out your idea in personalizing that little space inside of this train— now that you think of it, it’s more of a house than anything else.

You realized having a home feels comforting more than it ought to be. As an Aeon, your home was the cosmos, the space being your cradle and the nebulas your walls; but the cosmos is hollow and cold, and it did not provide the warmth of the train, or the warmth only humans had.

While you could not go back to being what you were before, you at least had a choice in what your home should be, and what you could do.

“Himeko.” You called out to her, and she turned to you, smiling like you’re a kid that wants her company. “I have ideas to personalize my room, would you be fine if I were to be a bit loud in there for a bit?”

“I don’t mind, though you should ask Dan Heng-“

“I’m fine with it.” Dan Heng answered for her, sitting on a chair and tasting one of her coffee cups— you bit the urge to grimace at the sheer will he had to even drink that.

“Great! I’ll start when we’re on our next stop.” You said with a grin. “Herta got something heavy for us to do right? Leave it to me, think of it as a thank you and a vacation of some sorts.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to burden you.” She sounded cautious almost, even after more than eight years.

“It won’t be much. Besides, you do own this train, think of it as a courtesy— like a tenant paying rent.” You stated, “I shared this space with you for more than eight years now and I’m modifying an area to my liking, it’s only fair if you get something in return in exchange right?”

Her eyes widened, seemingly surprised. She parted her lips, as if wanting to say something but you gently shushed her, knowing what it is she wanted to say. You’ve already given your protection and blessing to the express— you didn’t even need to help, but you want to.

“[Name].” She sighed fondly. “You can do as you wish, you don’t need permission from me or anyone else.”

“Oh, isn’t asking permission how things work in a shared space though?” You tilted your head, frowning. “I know I’ve done pretty unsavory things outside of this train,” you twirled a strand of your hair, looking away as you felt Dan Heng’s questioning stare on you. “But I don’t mind having to go back and forth with this every time I want to do something inside of it. it’d be unfair for everyone here if I don’t consider their feelings in the matter, or warning them ahead of time to what I will be doing.”

“Ah, I see.” She said, nodding to let you know she understood your point with a relieved and fond smile on her face. “Very well then. I’ll tell Welt you’ll be going to fetch the materials Herta asked for on your own.”

“We’ll have fun next time I promise— ugh if only Void was dead so I could use his body.” That sounded wrong, but soulium is great to use for whatever reason— be it a weapon, a snowboard, or a pan. “Hey uh before we land…. please tell Welt that (Censored).”

With those words, you left, disintegrating from the activation of a space anchor as you saw the planet where the materials on Herta’s list were particularly abundant.

Dan Heng for once looked a little horrified, Himeko however could only sigh at your antics.

What even was your suggestion? Well, it involves using Void as a snowboard, and using his “son” as the brakes.

Those words would be horrifying enough to hear if you were a man.

“Don’t worry, they won’t do that to you.” Himeko said in an attempt to reassure him. Although it worked, the words still rang through his head.

———————————

As you hummed and gathered the materials after killing a couple of Nanook’s children, you heard bells, then giggling.

You sighed. “You’re not very subtle in showing your amusement for the shit I do you know?”

You could feel them smiling, before multitudes of masks enter your vision and the sound of party balloons fill the space at the corner of your eyes.

The Elation morphs into a human-like shape like you, and you’re not surprised to find out whose form they took.

Familiar green eyes, and dark hair. Of course it would be Belobog’s conman this time— the last time Aha had showed themselves to you they took on the form of Hanabi when you were in some planet with Boothill some years ago.

“Of course! It’s rude to greet a friend without announcing my presence.” They grinned, their smile stretching a little wider than what a normal human could smile. You think this would have utterly creeped you out had you been a human.

“Good to see you again, Aha.” You said.

“And you are still the same old you.” They poked your nose. “What fun are you going to pull next I wonder?” They jeered.

“None of your business— I didn’t think you cared. I was under the assumption that as long as you are elated, then all is well.” Aha laughed at your intentional wording, slapping their knee as they wheezed too loudly.

“This is why you are my good friend.” They pinched your cheeks. “To think you’d offer all sides of a theater just like this, did you enjoy it when you were behind the safety of your screen too?”

What the fuck.

“What do you mean by that?” You innocently prodded, Aha merely kept their grin wide like a Cheshire Cat, their form morphing into something.. wrong, off, inelegant and disproportionate if you looked closer.

“Oh you know well what I am talking about, Little Libertas.” They said. “A reborn Aeon from a realm none of us can reach, how amusing indeed.” their eyes widened, pupils blown as they confirmed your suspicion. Aha had no reason to speak of lies to you for they were not human.

“Ugh.” You groaned. “Of course you’d break the fourth wall.” You said softly as you went back to picking up the materials with ease.

“Yet you still laugh whenever I rickroll you.”

“Fair.”

Aha hummed, their features returning back to normal seeing as it didn’t get a reaction out of you as they wanted.

“I would like to watch you more.” They said to you. “You are amusing.”

You made a face, and they laughed as they slowly but surely disappeared.

“Until next time little friend.”

You sighed, looking at the materials inside of the sack before dragging it with you and walking to a space anchor.

You still have a room to renovate after all.

—————————-

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII (HERE), Part VIII, …….

Interludes: one, two…..

I’m still navigating on how I could properly write this fic, so when I eventually edit it please expect minor or major changes to how things would function because we know HSR lore isn’t that concrete yet.

I would also like to thank everyone for their love and support for this series, I love everyone’s praises towards this— I was initially hesitant to publish it, but I’m glad I did.

See you on the next installation!

#aeon reader #himeko x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #reader insert #welt yang x reader #yaoshi x reader #boothill x reader #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail #aha hsr #Aha x reader #aeons x reader

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howiswhatawhy · 13 days ago

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touch tank - Bucky Barnes x reader

Note: My first first first ever fic that I wrote. Not proofread so I apologize for any mistakes that I made. I just recently got back into my Bucky era and started listening to my bucky playlist again and I was like touch tank is such a bucky song, so I decided to write this fic. Feedbacks are greatly appreciated. Word count: 1.7k Pairing: soft! Bucky x reader (mutual pining/idiots in love trope)

Summary: Bucky comforts you after a bad date. Warnings: a little angst, implied smut(?), soft bucky being a simp, bucky and reader both being idiots. I wrote this during class so idk how it turned out tbh. The playlist in question:

Cancelled a hot hipster threesome for you

‘Cause I preach a freedom, but you’re a fucking great excuse

Bucky is trying to make you late for your date again. Well, in all honesty, he’s trying to get you to skip your date completely and just spend time with him. Why are you wasting your time with these useless boys anyways? It’s not like they know how to treat you like Bucky does.

“Buck, you know I can’t just make up an excuse again. It’s like the hundredth time you suddenly have ‘something important’ when I have a date.” You’re not trying to call Bucky a liar, but the last time he said he had something important and he needs you to be there, it ended up just being him needing to buy cat treats for Alpine. You love Alpine, but couldn’t he just wait until after your date?

“But, doll, I really need you to be there. Please?” And it’s true, Bucky needs you to be there. In fact, Bucky needs you to be everywhere. He’s pretty sure you’re the sole reason he’s breathing at this point. “C’mon baby,”

Well, how can you really say no when he’s calling you baby and making your head spin while looking at you with his pleading eyes? You didn’t really care about your date in the first place, Isaac or Isaiah or whatever his name was. You’re just trying to get your mind off Bucky. Which is proven to be difficult when he’s practically begging you to spend time with him. It’s not like you want to say no to him at all, so you sighed and said “fine…” and Bucky just lights up, He grins and kisses your cheek while you said, “But this is the last time, James.”

“Yes, I promise.” Though, you both know it wasn’t true.

—-

Plus I’d rather get naked and swim in your blow-up pool

And dry our dolphin bodies off and question your tattoos

You’re lying on his chest and playing with his dog tags. He’s brushing your hair and murmuring something you can barely hear. You’re pretty sure he’s talking about how this is so much better than your planned date, which is true, but you’re too hazy and warm to care about it.

The scars on his chest are scattered like the constellation in the night sky. You wonder who on this god damned Earth would do something so cruel and inhumane to someone. You wonder why couldn’t there be someone to protect him from all this pain. You wonder if it still hurts, not physically, but if the memory still haunts him. You wonder about a lot of things. Most of all, you wonder how does one carry so much baggage and still have the power to be as gentle as him?

So you asked, “Tell me about your scars.” and he does.

—-

You took my breath away

So now I can’t suck in my stomach around you anymore

It turns out Bucky was right to make you skip all those dates before. Boys suck. They don’t know a thing about how to talk to women. Isaiah certainly didn’t.

Your date had gone terribly with Isaiah. He told you that you were too attached to the ‘Winter Soldier’. Said it was weird that you’re always there when he has a breakdown, like you’re his babysitter or something. So you defended Bucky. You said he’s not a burden, he’s your friend.

He’s someone who’s been through hell and still chooses to fight to be good. And he means a lot to you. Not because he needs you, but because you need him, too.

Turns out, Isaiah wasn’t too happy about you talking back to him, so he screamed and shouted. Right there in the middle of the restaurant, like a tantrum in adult form.

People stared. You were humiliated.

Isaiah said you were obsessed. That you were "too emotional," "too much," and so you slapped him. That’s when he snapped. Called you an attention whore who doesn’t deserve anything good. Loud enough for the next table to hear. Loud enough that the waiter stopped mid-step, unsure if they should step in. And you just walked out.

You didn’t go home after the restaurant. You didn’t want silence. Didn’t want to sit with Isaiah’s words echoing in your head like they meant anything. So you went to Bucky’s. You didn’t text first. You just showed up. And when he opened the door and saw your face, he didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t need to. He pulled you into his arms and you stayed there for a while.

“Bucky,” you sobbed out. He held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped firmly around your waist like he could shield you from everything that had ever hurt you.

“I'm here,” he murmured into your hair. “I got you.”

There’s something so comforting about him. Something you can’t really put your finger on. Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t rush you. Maybe it’s how he holds tension in his body like a soldier still expecting the worst, and yet when it comes to you, he softens. It’s the way that Bucky, through all his callouses and rough edges, is still a soft and warm place you consider home.

You tell Bucky everything. From the way Isaiah looked at you like your kindness was embarrassing. The way his words turned from cold to cruel so fast it made your head spin. How he mocked your connection to Bucky and called it strange, needy, pathetic. How he made you feel like loving deeply was a flaw.

You don’t say it all in a straight line. It slips out between shallow breaths and long silences. Half-finished sentences. Broken-off thoughts. But Bucky listens like it’s a map. Like he can trace every pause, every shake in your voice, and still understand exactly where it hurts.

“He’s a jackass, doll.” were the first words that came out of Bucky’s mouth. And somehow, despite everything, it made you laugh. Because it’s true, Isaiah is a grade-A asshole. Bucky’s whole demeanor softened at the sound of your laugh. He continued, “He doesn’t deserve you at all,” You just looked at him quietly, waiting for him to say his next words, hoping it’s finally going to be the words you’ve waited him to say all these years.

“Not even a conversation. Let alone your time. Let alone your heart.”

You looked down, blinking fast, because it hit harder than you expected. Not just the truth of it, but the fact that Bucky meant it. He wasn’t trying to comfort you with sweet nothings. He was telling you the truth like he always did. “I mean it,” he added, voice steady. “You give a damn. You care. And that’s not weakness. That’s not something you apologize for.”

His fingers brushed yours, light, careful. “But if anyone ever makes you feel like it is,” he said, “you let me know. I’ll take care of it.”

You nodded once. Barely. Then looked up at him. And you realized that your lips are only inches away. Your breath hitched. You gazed to his lips. And for a moment, neither of you moved.

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, like he was asking a question without speaking. Like he was waiting for a sign, a shift, a breath, anything to tell him he wasn’t reading this wrong.

And maybe it was the way your hand curled gently around his. Or the way your gaze didn’t drop this time. Or maybe he just finally stopped holding back. So he leaned in, slowly, like he didn’t want to startle the moment into disappearing. And when his lips touched yours, it wasn’t a crash. It was a beginning. Soft. Certain. Like he’d been carrying the shape of this kiss inside him for a long time, and now he was finally setting it free. You sighed into it, instinctively leaning closer. His hand rose to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your cheekbone, grounding you both in the present, in the realness of it. His lips moved against yours like he was learning them, like he already knew them.

“I’ve wanted this for so damn long,” he whispered, almost like a confession. And with him this close, you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Finally,” you whispered back. He chuckled, low and warm. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Took me long enough.”

—

We're too old to live with our parents

Do you wanna wake up to me every morning?

You wake up to an unfamiliar warmth beside you. The soft rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. The gentle rhythm of his breathing. His arm sprawled across the bed, his fingers just brushing your side as if he didn’t want to move but was still connected to you somehow.

For a few seconds, the world outside the room didn’t matter. It was just the quiet of morning, the feeling of his presence, and the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the blinds.

Your eyes are puffy from all the crying you did last night, but the event that caused it was already long forgotten. Truth be told, if going to one bad date was all it took to get you and Bucky together, you would’ve done it a long time ago. Bucky stirs, making you stop your train of thoughts, and his eyes flicker open slowly. "Morning," he murmurs, his voice still rough from sleep. There's a soft, almost nervous smile on your face as you meet his eyes. That same warmth you’d felt the night before, the one that settled deep inside you, is still there.

“I could really get used to this,” Bucky says, his voice still heavy with sleep. And you agree with him on that one. You also could get used to waking up to him. “Yeah?” you grin, unable to keep the giddiness from bubbling up. It was always hard to contain it around him, but now, more than ever, it feels like something you never want to stop feeling. “You wanna wake up to me every morning, huh?” You mean it as a joke, to tease him. Bucky’s gaze softens, and there’s a long pause before his lips curl into a small smile, his eyes meeting yours with warmth and sincerity. He doesn’t say anything at first, just tangles his fingers in your hair, brushing it behind your ear gently.

“I’d wake up to you every day, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and sure. “If you’ll have me.”

—-

He's so pretty when he goes down on me

Gold-skinned eager baby, blue shirt out the laundry

He tells me he's gentle when he wants to be

So I think he wants to be gentle with me

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I don't know how to write smut so uhm yeah but just imagine Bucky looking so pretty when he goes down on you:) ahhh I love him so much<3 I might make other fics based on the songs from the playlist depending on how much you guys like this fic.

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fawninthesnow · 5 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞: Part 2

Part 1,

𐙚 Emperor Geta x Fem Reader! 𐙚 18+

Summary: You are the daughter of General Marcus Acacius. After gaining your fathers blessing to join in at the palace, you run into a familiar face.

Warnings/contains: dom fem, f4m, teasing, pinning, size kink, praise, idealization, obsession, not proof read

Word Count: 2.5k